The Wandering Jew — Complete
"But the young lady?" cried Frances. "You should have tried to see her,
my good Mother Bunch, and begged her not to abandon my son. She is so
rich that she must have influence, and her protection might save us from
great calamities."
"Alas!" said Mother Bunch, with bitter grief, "we must renounce this
last hope."
"Why?" said Frances. "If this young lady is so good, she will have
pity upon us, when she knows that my son is the only support of a whole
family, and that for him to go to prison is worse than for another,
because it will reduce us all to the greatest misery."
"But this young lady," replied the girl, "according to what I learned
from her weeping maid, was taken last evening to a lunatic asylum: it
appears she is mad."
"Mad! Oh! it is horrible for her, and for us also--for now there is no
hope. What will become of us without my son? Oh, merciful heaven!" The
unfortunate woman hid her face in her hands.
A profound silence followed this heart-rending outburst. Rose and
Blanche exchanged mournful glances, for they perceived that their
presence augmented the weighty embarrassments of this family. Mother
Bunch, worn out with fatigue, a prey to painful emotions, and trembling
with cold in her wet clothes, sank exhausted on a chair, and reflected
on their desperate position.
That position was indeed a cruel one!
Often, in times of political disturbances, or of agitation amongst the
laboring classes, caused by want of work, or by the unjust reduction of
wages (the result of the powerful coalition of the capitalists)--often
are whole families reduced, by a measure of preventive imprisonment, to
as deplorable a position as that of Dagobert's household by Agricola's
arrest--an arrest, which, as will afterwards appear, was entirely owing
to Rodin's arts.
Now, with regard to this "precautionary imprisonment," of which the
victims are almost always honest and industrious mechanics, driven to
the necessity of combining together by the In organization of Labor and
the Insufficiency of Wages, it is painful to see the law, which ought to
be equal for all, refuse to strikers what it grants to masters--because
the latter can dispose of a certain sum of money. Thus, under many
circumstances, the rich man, by giving bail, can escape the annoyance
and inconveniences of a preventive incarceration; he deposits a sum of
money, pledges his word to appear on a certain day, and goes back to
his pleasures, his occupations, and the sweet delights of his family.
Nothing can be better; an accused person is innocent till he is proved
guilty; we cannot be too much impressed with that indulgent maxim. It is
well for the rich man that he can avail himself of the mercy of the law.
But how is it with the poor?
Not only has he no bail to give, for his whole capital consists of his
daily labor; but it is upon him chiefly that the rigors of preventive
measures must fall with a terrible and fatal force.
For the rich man, imprisonment is merely the privation of ease
and comfort, tedious hours, and the pain of separation from his
family--distresses not unworthy of interest, for all suffering deserves
pity, and the tears of the rich man separated from his children are as
bitter as those of the poor. But the absence of the rich man does not
condemn his family to hunger and cold, and the incurable maladies caused
by exhaustion and misery.
For the workman, on the contrary, imprisonment means want, misery,
sometimes death, to those most dear to him. Possessing nothing, he is
unable to find bail, and he goes to prison. But if he have, as it often
happens, an old, infirm father or mother, a sick wife, or children in
the cradle? What will become of this unfortunate family? They could
hardly manage to live from day to day upon the wages of this man, wages
almost always insufficient, and suddenly this only resource will be
wanting for three or four months together.
What will this family do? To whom will they have recourse?
What will become of these infirm old men, these sickly wives, these
little children, unable to gain their daily bread? If they chance to
have a little linen and a few spare clothes, these will be carried
to the pawnbroker's, and thus they will exist for a week or so--but
afterwards?
And if winter adds the rigors of the season to this frightful and
inevitable misery?
Then will the imprisoned artisan see in his mind's eyes, during the long
and sleepless nights, those who are dear to him, wan, gaunt, haggard,
exhausted, stretched almost naked upon filthy straw, or huddled close
together to warm their frozen limbs. And, should he afterwards be
acquitted, it is ruin and desolation that he finds on his return to his
poor dwelling.
And then, after that long cessation from labor, he will find it
difficult to return to his old employers. How many days will be lost in
seeking for work! and a day without employment is a day without bread!
Let us repeat our opinion, that if, under various circumstances, the law
did not afford to the rich the facility of giving bail, we could only
lament over all such victims of individual and inevitable misfortune.
But since the law does provide the means of setting provisionally at
liberty those who possess a certain sum of money, why should it deprive
of this advantage those very persons, for whom liberty is indeed
indispensable, as it involves the existence of themselves and families?
Is there any remedy for this deplorable state of things? We believe
there is.
The law has fixed the minimum of bail at five hundred francs. Now five
hundred francs represent, upon the average, six months' labor of an
industrious workman.
If he have a wife and two children (which is also about the average), it
is evidently quite impossible for him to have saved any such sum.
So, to ask of such a man five hundred francs, to enable him to continue
to support his family, is in fact to put him beyond the pale of the law,
though, more than any one else, he requires its protection, because of
the disastrous consequences which his imprisonment entails upon others.
Would it not be equitable and humane, a noble and salutary example,
to accept, in every case where bail is allowed (and where the good
character of the accused could be honorably established), moral
guarantees, in the absence of material ones, from those who have no
capital but their labor and their integrity--to accept the word of an
honest man to appear upon the day of trial? Would it not be great and
moral, in these days to raise the value of the lighted word, and exalt
man in his own eyes, by showing him that his promise was held to be
sufficient security?
Will you so degrade the dignity of man, as to treat this proposition as
an impossible and Utopian dream? We ask, how many prisoners of war have
ever broken their parole, and if officers and soldiers are not brothers
of the workingman?
Without exaggerating the virtue of promise-keeping in the honest and
laborious poor, we feel certain, that an engagement taken by the accused
to appear on the day of trial would be always fulfilled, not only with
fidelity, but with the warmest gratitude--for his family would not have
suffered by his absence, thanks to the indulgence of the law.
There is also another fact, of which France may well be proud. It is,
that her magistrates (although miserably paid as the army itself) are
generally wise, upright, humane, and independent; they have the true
feeling of their own useful and sacred mission; they know how to
appreciate the wants and distresses of the working classes, with whom
they are so often brought in contact; to them might be safely granted
the power of fixing those cases in which a moral security, the only one
that can be given by the honest and necessitous man, should be received
as sufficient.(10)
Finally, if those who make the laws have so low an opinion of the people
as to reject with disdain the suggestions we have ventured to throw
out, let them at least so reduce the minimum of bail, as to render it
available for those who have most need to escape the fruitless rigors of
imprisonment. Let them take as their lowest limit, the month's wages of
an artisan--say eighty francs.
This sum would still be exorbitant; but, with the aid of friends, the
pawnbroker's, and some little advances, eighty francs might perhaps be
found--not always, it is true--but still sometimes--and, at all events,
many families would be rescued from frightful misery.
Having made these observations, let us return to Dagobert's family, who,
in consequence of the preventive arrest of Agricola, were now reduced to
an almost hopeless state.
The anguish of Dagobert's wife increased, the more she reflected on her
situation, for, including the marshal's daughters, four persons were
left absolutely without resource. It must be confessed, however, that
the excellent mother thought less of herself, than of the grief which
her son must feel in thinking over her deplorable position.
At this moment there was a knock at the door.
"Who is there?" said Frances.
"It is me--Father Loriot."
"Come in," said Dagobert's wife.
The dyer, who also performed the functions of a porter, appeared at the
door of the room. This time, his arms were no longer of a bright apple
green, but of a magnificent violet.
"Mrs. Baudoin," said Father Loriot, "here is a letter that the giver of
holy water at Saint Merely's has just brought from Abbe Dubois, with
a request that I would bring it up to you immediately, as it is very
pressing."
"A letter from my confessor?" said Frances, in astonishment; and, as she
took it, added: "Thank you, Father Loriot."
"You do not want anything?"
"No, Father Loriot."
"My respects to the ladies!" and the dyer went out.
"Mother Bunch, will you read this letter for me?" said Frances, anxious
to learn the contents of the missive in question.
"Yes, mother,"--and the young girl read as follows:
"'MY DEAR MADAME BAUDOIN,--I am in the habit of hearing you Tuesday and
Saturday, but I shall not be at liberty either to-morrow or the last day
of the week; you must then come to me this morning, unless you wish to
remain a whole week without approaching the tribunal of penance.'"
"Good heavens! a week!" cried Dagobert's wife. "Alas! I am only too
conscious of the necessity of going there today, notwithstanding the
trouble and grief in which I am plunged."
Then, addressing herself to the orphans, she continued: "Heaven has
heard the prayers that I made for you, my dear young ladies; this very
day I shall be able to consult a good and holy man with regard to the
great dangers to which you are exposed. Poor dear souls, that are so
innocent, and yet so guilty, without any fault of your own! Heaven is my
witness, that my heart bleeds for you as much as for my son."
Rose and Blanche looked at each other in confusion; they could not
understand the fears with which the state of their souls inspired
the wife of Dagobert. The latter soon resumed, addressing the young
sempstress:
"My good girl, will you render me yet another service?"
"Certainly."
"My husband took Agricola's week's wages with him to pay his journey
to Chartres. It was all the money I had in the house; I am sure that my
poor child had none about him, and in prison he will perhaps want some.
Therefore take my silver cup, fork, and spoon, the two pair of sheets
that remain over, and my wadded silk shawl, that Agricola gave me on my
birthday, and carry them all to the pawnbroker's. I will try and find
out in which prison my son is confined, and will send him half of
the little sum we get upon the things; the rest will serve us till my
husband comes home. And then, what shall we do? What a blow for him--and