The Wandering Jew — Complete
serve us better than a stranger; his having been here twenty years will
prevent all suspicion on the part of that dull and narrow-minded woman.
Once in the hands of our man at Roiville, I will answer for the result.
The course of all such gross and stupid women is traced beforehand:
in their youth, they serve the devil; in riper years, they make others
serve him; in their old age, they are horribly afraid of him; and this
fear must continue till she has left us the Chateau de Cardoville,
which, from its isolated position, will make us an excellent college.
All then goes well. As for the affair of the medals, the 13th of
February approaches, without news from Joshua--evidently, Prince Djalma
is still kept prisoner by the English in the heart of India, or I must
have received letters from Batavia. The daughters of General Simon will
be detained at Leipsic for at least a month longer. All our foreign
relations are in the best condition. As for our internal affairs--"
Here M. Rodin was interrupted in the current of his reflections by the
entrance of Madame Dupont, who was zealously engaged in preparations to
give assistance in case of need.
"Now," said she to the servant, "light a fire in the next room; put this
warm wine there; your master may be in every minute."
"Well, my dear madam," said Rodin to her, "do they hope to save any of
these poor creatures?"
"Alas! I do not know, sir. My husband has been gone nearly two hours. I
am terribly uneasy on his account. He is so courageous, so imprudent, if
once he thinks he can be of any service."
"Courageous even to imprudence," said Rodin to himself, impatiently; "I
do not like that."
"Well," resumed Catherine, "I have here at hand my hot linen, my
cordials--heaven grant it may all be of use!"
"We may at least hope so, my dear madam. I very much regretted that my
age and weakness did not permit me to assist your excellent husband. I
also regret not being able to wait for the issue of his exertions,
and to wish him joy if successful--for I am unfortunately compelled to
depart, my moments are precious. I shall be much obliged if you will
have the carriage got ready."
"Yes, Sir; I will see about it directly."
"One word, my dear, good Madame Dupont. You are a woman of sense, and
excellent judgment. Now I have put your husband in the way to keep, if
he will, his situation as bailiff of the estate--"
"Is it possible? What gratitude do we not owe you! Without this place
what would become of us at our time of life?"
"I have only saddled my promise with two conditions--mere trifles--he
will explain all that to you."
"Ah, sir! we shall regard you as our deliverer."
"You are too good. Only, on two little conditions--"
"If there were a hundred, sir we should gladly accept them. Think what
we should be without this place--penniless--absolutely penniless!"
"I reckon upon you then; for the interest of your husband, you will try
to persuade him."
"Missus! I say, missus! here's master come back," cried a servant,
rushing into the chamber.
"Has he many with him?"
"No, missus; he is alone."
"Alone! alone?"
"Quite alone, missus."
A few moments after, M. Dupont entered the room; his clothes were
streaming with water; to keep his hat on in the midst of the storm, he
had tied it down to his head by means of his cravat, which was knotted
under his chin; his gaiters were covered with chalky stains.
"There I have thee, my dear love!" cried his wife, tenderly embracing
him. "I have been so uneasy!"
"Up to the present moment--THREE SAVED."
"God be praised, my dear M. Dupont!" said Rodin; "at least your efforts
will not have been all in vain."
"Three, only three?" said Catherine. "Gracious heaven!"
"I only speak of those I saw myself, near the little creek of Goelands.
Let us hope there may be more saved on other parts of the coast."
"Yes, indeed; happily, the shore is not equally steep in all parts."
"And where are these interesting sufferers, my dear sir?" asked Rodin,
who could not avoid remaining a few instants longer.
"They are mounting the cliffs, supported by our people. As they cannot
walk very fast, I ran on before to console my wife, and to take the
necessary measures for their reception. First of all, my dear, you must
get ready some women's clothes."
"There is then a woman amongst the persons saved?"
"There are two girls--fifteen or sixteen years of age at the most--mere
children--and so pretty!"
"Poor little things!" said Rodin, with an affectation of interest.
"The person to whom they owe their lives is with them. He is a real
hero!"
"A hero?"
"Yes; only fancy--"
"You can tell me all this by and by. Just slip on this dry warm
dressing-gown, and take some of this hot wine. You are wet through."
"I'll not refuse, for I am almost frozen to death. I was telling you
that the person who saved these young girls was a hero; and certainly
his courage was beyond anything one could have imagined. When I left
here with the men of the farm, we descended the little winding path,
and arrived at the foot of the cliff--near the little creek of Goelands,
fortunately somewhat sheltered from the waves by five or six enormous
masses of rock stretching out into the sea. Well, what should we find
there? Why, the two young girls I spoke of, in a swoon, with their feet
still in the water, and their bodies resting against a rock, as though
they had been placed there by some one, after being withdrawn from the
sea."
"Dear children! it is quite touching!" said M. Rodin, raising, as usual,
the tip of his little finger to the corner of his right eye, as though
to dry a tear, which was very seldom visible.
"What struck me was their great resemblance to each other," resumed
the bailiff; "only one in the habit of seeing them could tell the
difference."
"Twin--sisters, no doubt," said Madame Dupont.
"One of the poor things," continued the bailiff, "held between her
clasped hands a little bronze medal, which was suspended from her neck
by a chain of the same material."
Rodin generally maintained a very stooping posture; but at these last
words of the bailiff, he drew himself up suddenly, whilst a faint color
spread itself over his livid cheeks. In any other person, these symptoms
would have appeared of little consequence; but in Rodin, accustomed for
long years to control and dissimulate his emotions, they announced
no ordinary excitement. Approaching the bailiff, he said to him in a
slightly agitated voice, but still with an air of indifference: "It was
doubtless a pious relic. Did you see what was inscribed on this medal?"
"No, sir; I did not think of it."
"And the two young girls were like one another--very much like, you
say?"
"So like, that one would hardly know which was which. Probably they are
orphans, for they are dressed in mourning."
"Oh! dressed in mourning?" said M. Rodin, with another start.
"Alas! orphans so young!" said Madame Dupont, wiping her eyes.
"As they had fainted away, we carried them further on to a place where
the sand was quite dry. While we were busy about this, we saw the head
of a man appear from behind one of the rocks, which he was trying to
climb, clinging to it by one hand; we ran to him, and luckily in the
nick of time, for he was clean worn out, and fell exhausted into the
arms of our men. It was of him I spoke when I talked of a hero; for, not
content with having saved the two young girls by his admirable courage,
he had attempted to rescue a third person, and had actually gone back
amongst the rocks and breakers--but his strength failed him, and,
without the aid of our men, he would certainly have been washed away
from the ridge to which he clung."
"He must indeed be a fine fellow!" said Catherine.
Rodin, with his head bowed upon his breast, seemed quite indifferent to
this conversation. The dismay and stupor, in which he had been plunged,
only increased upon reflection. The two girls, who had just been saved,
were fifteen years of age; were dressed in mourning; were so like, that
one might be taken for the other; one of them wore round her neck a
chain with a bronze medal; he could scarcely doubt that they were the
daughters of General Simon. But how could those sisters be amongst the
number of shipwrecked passengers? How could they have escaped from the
prison at Leipsic? How did it happen, that he had not been informed of
it? Could they have fled, or had they been set at liberty? How was
it possible that he should not be apprise of such an event? But these
secondary thoughts, which offered themselves in crowds to the mind of
M. Rodin, were swallowed up in the one fact: "the daughters of General
Simon are here!"--His plan, so laboriously laid, was thus entirely
destroyed.
"When I speak of the deliverer of these young girls," resumed the
bailiff, addressing his wife, and without remarking M. Rodin's absence
of mind, "you are expecting no doubt to see a Hercules?--well, he is
altogether the reverse. He is almost a boy in look, with fair, sweet
face, and light, curling locks. I left him a cloak to cover him, for he
had nothing on but his shirt, black knee-breeches, and a pair of black
worsted stockings--which struck me as singular."
"Why, it was certainly not a sailor's dress."
"Besides, though the ship was English, I believe my hero is a Frenchman,
for he speaks our language as well as we do. What brought the tears to
my eyes, was to see the young girls, when they came to themselves. As
soon as they saw him, they threw themselves at his feet, and seemed to
look up to him and thank him, as one would pray. Then they cast their
eyes around them, as if in search of some other person, and, having
exchanged a few words, they fell sobbing into each other's arms."
"What a dreadful thing it is! How many poor creatures must have
perished!"
"When we quitted the rocks, the sea had already cast ashore seven dead
bodies, besides fragments of the wrecks, and packages. I spoke to some
of the coast-guard, and they will remain all day on the look-out; and
if, as I hope, any more should escape with life, they are to be
brought here. But surely that is the sound of voices!--yes, it is our
shipwrecked guests!"
The bailiff and his wife ran to the door of the room--that door, which
opened on the long gallery--whilst Rodin, biting convulsively his flat
nails, awaited with angry impatience the arrival of the strangers. A
touching picture soon presented itself to his view.
From the end of the dark some gallery, only lighted on one side by
several windows, three persons, conducted by a peasant, advanced slowly.
This group consisted of the two maidens, and the intrepid young man
to whom they owed their lives. Rose and Blanche were on either side of
their deliverer, who, walking with great difficulty, supported himself
lightly on their arms.
Though he was full twenty-five years of age, the juvenile countenance
of this man made him appear younger. His long, fair hair, parted on
the forehead, streamed wet and smooth over the collar of a large brown
cloak, with which he had been covered. It would be difficult to describe
the adorable expression of goodness in his pale, mild face, as pure as
the most ideal creations of Raphael's pencil--for that divine artist
alone could have caught the melancholy grace of those exquisite
features, the serenity of that celestial look, from eyes limpid and blue
as those of an archangel, or of a martyr ascended to the skies.
Yes, of a martyr! for a blood-red halo already encircled that beauteous
head. Piteous sight to see! just above his light eyebrows, and rendered
still more visible by the effect of the cold, a narrow cicatrix, from
a wound inflicted many months before, appeared to encompass his fair