The Wandering Jew — Complete
"I cannot tell you more on this subject now; and, as regards myself, let
me conjure you to obtain M. Agricola's promise that he will not mention
to any one in the world the step you have taken, or the advice I have
given you. The happiness--no, not the happiness," resumed Florine
bitterly, as if that were a lost hope, "not the happiness--but the peace
of my life depends upon your discretion."
"Oh! be satisfied!" said the sewing-girl, both affected and amazed
by the sorrowful expression of Florine's countenance; "I will not be
ungrateful. No one in the world but Agricola shall know that I have seen
you."
"Thank you--thank you, mademoiselle," cried Florine, with emotion.
"Do you thank me?" said the other, astonished to see the large tears
roll down her cheeks.
"Yes! I am indebted to you for a moment of pure, unmixed happiness; for
I have perhaps rendered a service to my dear mistress, without risking
the increase of the troubles that already overwhelm me."
"You are not happy, then?"
"That astonishes you; but, believe me, whatever may be, your fate, I
would gladly change with you."
"Alas, mademoiselle!" said the sempstress: "you appear to have too good
a heart, for me to let you entertain such a wish--particularly now."
"What do you mean?"
"I hope sincerely, mademoiselle," proceeded Mother Bunch, with deep
sadness, "that you may never know what it is to want work, when labor is
your only resource."
"Are you reduced to that extremity?" cried Florine, looking anxiously
at the young sempstress, who hung her head, and made no answer. She
reproached herself, in her excessive delicacy, with having made a
communication which resembled a complaint, though it had only been wrung
from her by the thought of her dreadful situation.
"If it is so," went on Florine, "I pity you with all my heart; and yet I
know not, if my misfortunes are not still greater than yours."
Then, after a moment's reflection, Florine exclaimed, suddenly: "But let
me see! If you are really in that position, I think I can procure you
some work."
"Is it possible, mademoiselle?" cried Mother Bunch. "I should never have
dared to ask you such a service; but your generous offer commands my
confidence, and may save me from destruction. I will confess to you,
that, only this morning, I was thrown out of an employment which enabled
me to earn four francs a week."
"Four francs a week!" exclaimed Florine, hardly able to believe what she
heard.
"It was little, doubtless," replied the other; "but enough for me.
Unfortunately, the person who employed me, has found out where it can be
done still cheaper."
"Four francs a week!" repeated Florine, deeply touched by so much misery
and resignation. "Well! I think I can introduce you to persons, who will
secure you wages of at least two francs a day."
"I could earn two francs a day? Is it possible?"
"Yes, there is no doubt of it; only, you will have to go out by the day,
unless you chose to take a pace as servant."
"In my position," said Mother Bunch, with a mixture of timidity and
pride, "one has no right, I know, to be overnice; yet I should prefer to
go out by the day, and still more to remain at home, if possible, even
though I were to gain less."
"To go out is unfortunately an indispensable condition," said Florine.
"Then I must renounce this hope," answered Mother Bunch, timidly; "not
that I refuse to go out to work--but those who do so, are expected to be
decently clad--and I confess without shame, because there is no disgrace
in honest poverty, that I have no better clothes than these."
"If that be all," said Florine, hastily, "they will find you the means
of dressing yourself properly."
Mother Bunch looked at Florine with increasing surprise. These offers
were so much above what she could have hoped, and what indeed was
generally earned by needlewomen, that she could hardly credit them.
"But," resumed she, with hesitation, "why should any one be so generous
to me, mademoiselle? How should I deserve such high wages?"
Florine started. A natural impulse of the heart, a desire to be useful
to the sempstress, whose mildness and resignation greatly interested
her, had led her to make a hasty proposition; she knew at what price
would have to be purchased the advantages she proposed, and she now
asked herself, if the hunchback would ever accept them on such terms.
But Florine had gone too far to recede, and she durst not tell all. She
resolved, therefore, to leave the future to chance and as those,
who have themselves fallen, are little disposed to believe in the
infallibility of others, Florine said to herself, that perhaps in
the desperate position in which she was, Mother Bunch would not be so
scrupulous after all. Therefore she said: "I see, mademoiselle, that you
are astonished at offers so much above what you usually gain; but I
must tell you, that I am now speaking of a pious institution, founded
to procure work for deserving young women. This establishment, which is
called St. Mary's Society, undertakes to place them out as servants,
or by the day as needlewomen. Now this institution is managed by such
charitable persons, that they themselves undertake to supply an
outfit, when the young women, received under their protection are not
sufficiently well clothed to accept the places destined for them."
This plausible explanation of Florine's magnificent offers appeared to
satisfy the hearer. "I can now understand the high wages of which
you speak, mademoiselle," resumed she; "only I have no claim to be
patronized by the charitable persons who direct this establishment."
"You suffer--you are laborious and honest--those are sufficient claims;
only, I must tell you, they will ask if you perform regularly your
religious duties."
"No one loves and blesses God more fervently than I do, mademoiselle,"
said the hunchback, with mild firmness; "but certain duties are an
affair of conscience, and I would rather renounce this patronage, than
be compelled--"
"Not the least in the world. Only, as I told you, there are very pious
persons at the head of this institution, and you must not be astonished
at their questions on such a subject. Make the trial, at all events;
what do you risk? If the propositions are suitable--accept them; if, on
the contrary, they should appear to touch your liberty of conscience,
you can always refuse--your position will not be the worse for it."
Mother Bunch had nothing to object to this reasoning which left her at
perfect freedom, and disarmed her of all suspicion. "On these terms,
mademoiselle," said she, "I accept your offer, and thank you with all my
heart. But who will introduce me?"
"I will--to-morrow, if you please."
"But they will perhaps desire to make some inquiries about me."
"The venerable Mother Sainte-Perpetue, Superior of St, Mary's Convent,
where the institution is established, will, I am sure, appreciate your
good qualities without inquiry; but if otherwise, she will tell you, and
you can easily satisfy her. It is then agreed--to-morrow."
"Shall I call upon you here, mademoiselle?"
"No; as I told you before, they must not know that you came here on the
part of M. Agricola, and a second visit might be discovered, and excite
suspicion. I will come and fetch you in a coach; where do you live?"
"At No. 3, Rue Brise-Miche; as you are pleased to give yourself so
much trouble, mademoiselle, you have only to ask the dyer, who acts as
porter, to call down Mother Bunch."
"Mother Bunch?" said Florine, with surprise.
"Yes, mademoiselle," answered the sempstress, with a sad smile; "it is
the name every one gives me. And you see," added the hunchback, unable
to restrain a tear, "it is because of my ridiculous infirmity, to which
this name alludes, that I dread going out to work among strangers,
because there are so many people who laugh at one, without knowing the
pain they occasion. But," continued she, drying her eyes, "I have no
choice, and must make up my mind to it."
Florine, deeply affected, took the speaker's hand, and said to her: "Do
not fear. Misfortunes like yours must inspire compassion, not ridicule.
May I not inquire for you by your real name?"
"It is Magdalen Soliveau; but I repeat, mademoiselle, that you had
better ask for Mother Bunch, as I am hardly known by any other name."
"I will, then, be in the Rue Brise-Miche to-morrow, at twelve o'clock."
"Oh, mademoiselle! How can I ever requite your goodness?"
"Don't speak of it: I only hope my interference may be of use to you.
But of this you must judge for yourself. As for M. Agricola, do not
answer his letter; wait till he is out of prison, and then tell him to
keep his secret till he can see my poor mistress."
"And where is the dear young lady now?"
"I cannot tell you. I do not know where they took her, when she was
attacked with this frenzy. You will expect me to-morrow?"
"Yes--to-morrow," said Mother Bunch.
The convent whither Florine was to conduct the hunchback contained the
daughters of Marshal Simon, and was next door to the lunatic asylum of
Dr. Baleinier, in which Adrienne de Cardoville was confined.
CHAPTER VI. MOTHER SAINTE-PERPETUE.
St. Mary's Convent, whither the daughters of Marshal Simon had been
conveyed, was a large old building, the vast garden of which was on
the Boulevard de l'Hopital, one of the most retired places in Paris,
particularly at this period. The following scenes took place on the 12th
February, the eve of the fatal day, on which the members of the family
of Rennepont, the last descendants of the sister of the Wandering Jew,
were to meet together in the Rue St. Francois. St. Mary's Convent was a
model of perfect regularity. A superior council, composed of influential
ecclesiastics, with Father d'Aigrigny for president, and of women of
great reputed piety, at the head of whom was the Princess de Saint
Dizier, frequently assembled in deliberation, to consult on the means
of extending and strengthening the secret and powerful influence of this
establishment, which had already made remarkable progress.
Skillful combinations and deep foresight had presided at the foundation
of St. Mary's Convent, which, in consequence of numerous donations,
possessed already real estate to a great extent, and was daily
augmenting its acquisitions. The religious community was only a pretext;
but, thanks to an extensive connection, kept up by means of the most
decided members of the ultramontane (i. e. high-church) party, a great
number of rich orphans were placed in the convent, there to receive a
solid, austere, religious education, very preferable, it was said, to
the frivolous instruction which might be had in the fashionable boarding
schools, infected by the corruption of the age. To widows also, and
lone women who happened moreover to be rich, the convent offered a sure
asylum from the dangers and temptations of the world; in this peaceful
retreat, they enjoyed a delightful calm, and secured their salvation,
whilst surrounded by the most tender and affectionate attentions. Nor
was this all. Mother Sainte-Perpetue, the superior of the convent,
undertook in the name of the institution to procure for the faithful,
who wished to preserve the interior of their houses from the depravity
of the age, companions for aged ladies, domestic servants, or
needlewomen working by the day, all selected persons whose morality
could be warranted. Nothing would seem more worthy of sympathy and
encouragement than such an institution; but we shall presently unveil
the vast and dangerous network of intrigue concealed under
these charitable and holy appearances. The lady Superior, Mother
Sainte-Perpetue, was a tall woman of about forty years of age, clad in a