The Wandering Jew — Complete
"Oh, lady! forgive me. But now that you know the secret of my life,"
said the workgirl, casting down her eyes, and unable to vanquish
her confusion, "it seems to me, that I can never look at you without
blushing."
"And why? because you love Agricola?" said Adrienne. "Then I must die
of shame before you, since, less courageous than you, I had not the
strength to suffer and be resigned, and so conceal my love in the depths
of my heart. He that I love, with a love henceforth deprived of hope,
knew of that love and despised it--preferring to me a woman, the very
choice of whom was a new and grievous insult, if I am not much deceived
by appearances. I sometimes hope that I am deceived on this point. Now
tell me--is it for you to blush?"
"Alas, lady! who could tell you all this?"
"Which you only entrusted to your journal? Well, then--it was the dying
Florine who confessed her misdeeds. She had been base enough to steal
your papers, forced to this odious act, by the people who had dominion
over her. But she had read your journal--and as every good feeling was
not dead within her, your admirable resignation, your melancholy and
pious love, had left such an impression on her mind, that she was able
to repeat whole passages to me on her death bed, and thus to explain the
cause of your sudden disappearance--for she had no doubt that the fear
of seeing your love for Agricola divulged had been the cause of your
flight."
"Alas! it is but too true, lady."
"Oh, yes!" answered Adrienne, bitterly; "those who employed the wretched
girl to act as she did, well knew the effect of the blow. It was not
their first attempt. They reduced you to despair, they would have killed
you, because you were devoted to me, and because you had guessed their
intentions. Oh! these black-gowns are implacable, and their power is
great!" said Adrienne, shuddering.
"It is fearful, lady."
"But do not be alarmed, dear child; you see, that the arms of the wicked
have turned against themselves; for the moment I knew the cause of your
flight, you became dearer to me than ever. From that time I made every
exertion to find out where you were; after long efforts, it was only
this morning that the person I had employed succeeded in discovering
that you inhabited this house. Agricola was with me when I heard it, and
instantly asked to accompany me."
"Agricola!" said Mother Bunch, clasping her hands; "he came--"
"Yes, my child--be calm. Whilst I attended to you, he was busy with your
poor sister. You will soon see him."
"Alas, lady!" resumed the hunchback, in alarm. "He doubtless knows--"
"Your love! No, no; be satisfied. Only think of the happiness of again
seeing your good and worthy brother."
"Ah, lady! may he never know what caused me so much shame, that I was
like to die of it. Thank God, he is not aware of it!"
"Then let us have no more sad thoughts, my child. Only remember, that
this worthy brother came here in time to save us from everlasting
regrets--and you from a great fault. Oh! I do not speak of the
prejudices of the world, with regard to the right of every creature to
return to heaven a life that has become too burdensome!--I only say that
you ought not to have died, because those who love you, and whom you
love, were still in need of your assistance."
"I thought you happy; Agricola was married to the girl of his choice,
who will, I am sure, make him happy. To whom could I be useful?"
"First, to myself, as you see--and then, who tells you that Agricola
will never have need of you? Who tells you, that his happiness, or that
of his family, will last forever, and will not be tried by cruel shocks?
And even if those you love had been destined to be always happy, could
their happiness be complete without you? And would not your death, with
which they would perhaps have reproached themselves, have left behind it
endless regrets?"
"It is true, lady," answered the other, "I was wrong--the dizziness of
despair had seized me--frightful misery weighed upon us--we had not
been able to find work for some days--we lived on the charity of a poor
woman, and her the cholera carried off. To-morrow or next day, we must
have died of hunger."
"Die of hunger!--and you knew where I lived!"
"I had written to you, lady, and receiving no answer, I thought you
offended at my abrupt departure."
"Poor, dear child! you must have been, as you say, seized with dizziness
in that terrible moment; so that I have not the courage to reproach you
for doubting me a single instant. How can I blame you? Did I not myself
think of terminating my life?"
"You, lady!" cried the hunchback.
"Yes, I thought of it--when they came to tell me, that Florine, dying,
wished to speak to me. I heard what she had to say; her revelations
changed my projects. This dark and mournful life which had become
insupportable to me, was suddenly lighted up. The sense of duty woke
within me. You were no doubt a prey to horrible misery; it was my duty
to seek and save you. Florine's confessions unveiled to me the new plots
of the enemies of my scattered family, dispersed by sorrows and cruel
losses; it was my duty to warn them of their danger, and to unite them
against the common enemy. I had been the victim of odious manoeuvres:
it was my duty to punish their authors, for fear that, encouraged by
impunity, these black-gowns should make other victims. Then the sense of
duty gave me strength, and I was able to rouse myself from my lethargy.
With the help of Abbe Gabriel, a sublime, oh! a sublime priest--the
ideal of a true Christian--the worthy brother of Agricola--I
courageously entered on the struggle. What shall I say to you, my child?
The performance of these duties, the hope of finding you again, have
been some relief to me in my trouble. If I was not consoled, I was at
least occupied. Your tender friendship, the example of your resignation,
will do the rest--I think so--I am sure so--and I shall forget this
fatal love."
At the moment Adrienne pronounced these words, rapid footsteps were
heard upon the stairs, and a young, clear voice exclaimed: "Oh! dear me,
poor Mother Bunch! How lucky I have come just now! If only I could be of
some use to her!"
Almost immediately, Rose-Pompon entered the garret with precipitation.
Agricola soon followed the grisette, and pointing to the open window,
tried to make Adrienne understand by signs, that she was not to mention
to the girl the deplorable end of the Bacchanal Queen. This pantomime
was lost on Mdlle. de Cardoville. Adrienne's heart swelled with grief,
indignation, pride, as she recognized the girl she had seen at the Porte
Saint-Martin in company with Djalma, and who alone was the cause of the
dreadful sufferings she endured since that fatal evening. And, strange
irony of fate! it was at the very moment when Adrienne had just made the
humiliating and cruel confession of her despised love, that the woman,
to whom she believed herself sacrificed, appeared before her.
If the surprise of Mdlle. de Cardoville was great, Rose-Pompon's was not
less so. Not only did she recognize in Adrienne the fair young lady with
the golden locks, who had sat opposite to her at the theatre, on the
night of the adventure of the black panther, but she had serious reasons
for desiring most ardently this unexpected interview. It is impossible
to paint the look of malignant joy and triumph, that she affected to
cast upon Adrienne. The first impulse of Mdlle. de Cardoville was to
quit the room. But she could not bear to leave Mother Bunch at this
moment, or to give, in the presence of Agricola, her reasons for such an
abrupt departure, and moreover, an inexplicable and fatal curiosity held
her back, in spite of her offended pride. She remained, therefore, and
was about to examine closely, to hear and to judge, this rival, who
had nearly occasioned her death, to whom, in her jealous agony, she had
ascribed so many different aspects, in order to explain Djalma's love
for such a creature.
CHAPTER XXXV. THE RIVALS.
Rose-Pompon, whose presence caused such deep emotion in Mdlle. de
Cardoville, was dressed in the most showy and extravagant bad taste. Her
very small, narrow, rose-colored satin bonnet, placed so forward over
her face as almost to touch the tip of her little nose, left uncovered
behind half of her light, silky hair; her plaid dress, of an excessively
broad pattern, was open in front, and the almost transparent gauze,
rather too honest in its revelations, hardly covered the charms of the
form beneath.
The grisette having run all the way upstairs, held in her hands the ends
of her large blue shawl, which, falling from her shoulders, had slid
down to her wasp-like waist, and there been stopped by the swell of the
figure. If we enter into these details, it is to explain how, at the
sight of this pretty creature, dressed in so impertinent and almost
indecent, a fashion, Mdlle. de Cardoville, who thought she saw in her a
successful rival, felt her indignation, grief, and shame redoubled.
But judge of the surprise and confusion of Adrienne, when Mdlle.
Rose Pompon said to her, with the utmost freedom and pertness, "I am
delighted to see you, madame. You and I must have a long talk together.
Only I must begin by kissing poor Mother Bunch--with your permission,
madame!"
To understand the tone and manner with which this word, "madame" was
pronounced, you must have been present at some stormy discussion between
two Rose-Pompons, jealous of each other; then you would be able to judge
how much provoking hostility may be compressed into the word "madame,"
under certain circumstances. Amazed at the impudence of Rose-Pompon,
Mdlle. de Cardoville remained mute; whilst Agricola, entirely occupied
with the interest he took in the workgirl, who had never withdrawn her
eyes from him since he entered the room, and with the remembrance of
the painful scene he had just quitted, whispered to Adrienne, without
remarking the grisette's effrontery, "Alas, lady! it is all over.
Cephyse has just breathed her last sigh, without recovering her senses."
"Unfortunate girl!" said Adrienne, with emotion; and for the moment she
forgot Rose-Pompon.
"We must keep this sad news from Mother Bunch, and only let her know it
hereafter, with great caution," resumed Agricola. "Luckily, little Rose
Pompon knows nothing about it."
And he pointed to the grisette, who was now stooping down by the side
of the workgirl. On hearing Agricola speak so familiarly of Rose-Pompon,
Adrienne's amazement increased. It is impossible to describe what she
felt; yet, strangely enough, her sufferings grew less and less, and her
anxiety diminished, as she listened to the chatter of the grisette.
"Oh, my good dear!" said the latter, with as much volubility as emotion,
while her pretty blue eyes were filled with tears; "is it possible that
you did so stupid a thing? Do not poor people help one another? Could
you not apply to me? You knew that others are welcome to whatever is
mine, and I would have made a raffle of Philemon's bazaar," added this
singular girl, with a burst of feeling, at once sincere, touching, and
grotesque; "I would have sold his three boots, pipes, boating-costume,
bed, and even his great drinking-glass, and at all events you should not
have been brought to such an ugly pass. Philemon would not have minded,
for he is a good fellow; and if he had minded, it would have been all
the same. Thank heaven! we are not married. I am only wishing to remind
you that you should have thought of little Rose-Pompon."
"I know you are obliging and kind, miss," said Mother Bunch: for she had
heard from her sister that Rose-Pompon, like so many of her class, had a
warm and generous heart.
"After all," resumed the grisette, wiping with the back of her hand the