Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  The porter had barely uttered these words when John and his sister heard a low moan from the Count of Plouernel. At the same moment the porter called still more loudly, once more knocking at the door.

  “The wretch is not dead, and we can not give him up,” said the workman to his sister, looking at Plouernel.

  “Citizen John, awake!” it was the porter’s voice as he redoubled his knocks. “Here is the commissioner of the Section.”

  “Who is knocking? Who’s there?” answered the artisan, with a meaning gesture to his sister, and saying to her, softly: “I’ll feign to be waking from a deep sleep. Help me carry the wounded man to your room; for it would be an infamous deed to give up a suffering enemy. I shall say that you are ill in bed, and they will not intrude upon you.”

  “It is I, James,” replied the porter. “You sleep a sound sleep, Citizen John. This is the third time I have pounded at your door.”

  “Ah, ’tis you, Father James. I slept so hard I did not hear you. What do you wish?”

  “The commissioner of the Section and his agents are after an Emigrant. They have already visited three floors; they will doubtless come up to your chamber, as a matter of form. They know well enough that you would never harbor an Emigrant in your place.”

  “Alright, Father James. I’ll slip on my trousers and open the door in an instant.”

  While speaking, John had hustled off his cravat, his vest, and his cloak of municipal officership. He kept on only his pantaloons, and feigning to be but half dressed in his haste to get out of bed, opened the door at the moment that the commissioner of the Section, the same who the evening before had carried on the search at Desmarais’s, appeared on the landing, followed by his agents and several gendarmes. The magistrate, a friend of Marat’s, knew Lebrenn, and greeted him cordially:

  “I regret, Citizen Lebrenn, that you have been awakened. You are one of those in whose abodes there is no reason for searches and seizures.”

  “No matter, citizen; come in, do your duty. I ask you only not to go into my sister’s room. She is ill.”

  “I shall go neither into your sister’s room nor yours, Citizen Lebrenn.”

  “Who is it you seek?”

  “An ex-noble, the Count of Plouernel, formerly a colonel in the Guards. He was installed in a house next to this, in the rooms of an old huntsman of Louis Capet’s; but warned, no doubt, of our approach, our ex-noble took to his heels. I first thought he might have escaped by the roofs; but after an inspection of them, I recognized that only a roofer, and an intrepid one at that, would have dared to risk his life on such a slope. To acquit my conscience I came, nevertheless, to inspect the attic of this house. So, good night, Citizen Lebrenn.”

  The magistrate shook the hand of the young man, who watched the commissioner proceed towards the attic, and then re-entered his own rooms and locked the door.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  PLANS FOR THE FUTURE.

  THE DAY FOLLOWING these events in the lodgings of John Lebrenn, Charlotte Desmarais was again talking with her mother in the parlor of their apartment. The latter, pale and downcast, and her eyes red with weeping, still trembled for the life of her brother, who, scenting the snare in the commissioner’s advice to leave Paris by the St. Victor barrier, had remained snug in his refuge. The lawyer’s wife was saying to her daughter:

  “And so you are happy, very happy at your coming marriage, my child?”

  “Oh, mother!” echoed the young girl, covering Madam Desmarais’s hand with kisses, “nothing is now wanting to my happiness but to see you no longer sad.”

  “You know the reason for my sadness.”

  “Has not, perhaps, my marriage, to which you consented only reluctantly, added to the other causes of your sorrow?”

  “Since you ask me, my dear daughter, I will admit that the ideas, or prejudices, if you will, in which I was brought up made me consider this match with a workingman a misalliance. I opposed it with all my might, up to the last moment. But — I confess it to you sincerely, my child — last night when your father announced to Monsieur Lebrenn that he granted him your hand, the young man showed himself so grateful, he expressed his joy in such eloquent terms, he evinced so much attention, so much deference, he spoke so touchingly of his sister, in short he showed himself so completely a man of heart and generosity, that my repugnance vanished. Your marriage now satisfies me at all points.”

  “What delight I feel, good mother, to hear you say so,” responded Charlotte clasping Madam Desmarais around the neck. “John will be to you the tenderest of sons.”

  “He will, I doubt not, but—” added Madam Desmarais sorrowfully, “I can never share your happiness, dear child. I know the uprightness of your spirit, the strength of your character; and I am going to make to you a serious and painful avowal: Your father has wounded me to the heart, he has lost my esteem and affection. It is impossible for me to live longer with him. You witnessed his conduct toward me, you heard his repeated denunciations.”

  “Alas,” replied Charlotte, forcing herself to make excuses for her father, “it was only a shameful role he was driven to by necessity; be assured of that, good mother.”

  “No, it was not a role,” answered the injured wife. “You must know the whole truth. Last night, after Monsieur Lebrenn’s departure, when we were alone, your father said to me:

  “‘Madam, take this once for all, you and your miserable brother; you almost sent me to the guillotine to-day. God grant that the perils which I dread be fended off in the future by this marriage of my daughter to this — this Lebrenn.

  “‘We live, madam,’ continued your father, ‘in terrible times, and I am in such a position that, should it some day come about that I must either send others to the guillotine or face death myself, I would not hesitate to send even you before the revolutionary tribunal. Let these words always be present to your mind, madam, in regulating your conduct henceforth.’

  “In these words your father wound up. Such, my child, was his language,” concluded Madam Desmarais, burying her tear-bedewed face in her handkerchief.

  Charlotte answered not. She was torn with inward struggle against the sad flood of ideas borne upon her by her father’s hypocrisy. Brought up in an atmosphere of filial affection and respect, the young girl suffered at being compelled to lower her estimate of her paternal parent. But this last conversation of the lawyer with his wife left no more room for doubt as to his true character.

  Having somewhat calmed her tears, Madam Desmarais went on:

  “I have now, dear child, too much knowledge of your father’s innermost nature. His presence is hateful to me. It would be impossible for me to live with him. Hence, my poor girl, we must part.”

  “We part!” cried Charlotte, passionately embracing Madam Desmarais and mingling her tears with her mother’s: “And where will you go?”

  “I shall go back to Lyons, to my cousin’s; I have resolved upon that, since I can do nothing here, alas, to add either to your happiness or my brother’s safety.”

  “Let us hope, mother, let us hope,” said Charlotte through her tears, after a pause. “Perhaps there is a way for us not to separate, good mother, and also to save uncle. Ah, mother, happiness, and above all the desire to make others whom we love share our happiness, renders the mind quick to invent. Last night, after father and you consented to my marrying John, he and I were alone for a few minutes. Here is what he told me: Before coming here, he had gone to Monsieur Billaud-Varenne, and he learned from this gentleman that father had previously commissioned him to offer my hand to Monsieur St. Just. Thus John learned that father counted on finding in him a buffer against the dangers which he fears, and that this was the motive that led him, in default of Monsieur St. Just, to offer my hand to John. That does not matter; but John also learned from Monsieur Billaud-Varenne that he had said to father: ‘Since you so greatly desire to marry your daughter to a good republican, why not give her to John Lebrenn? He is, you say, your pupil; he enjoys the est
eem and friendship of the most eminent men of the Revolution.’”

  “No doubt your father hoped, in marrying you to St. Just—”

  “To build himself a powerful bulwark against possible danger. But Monsieur St. Just not having accepted the alliance, and Monsieur Billaud-Varenne proposing John, father feared to seem to despise a workingman should he refuse him my hand.”

  “And what opinion did John Lebrenn express of your father?”

  “John said that father’s conduct was lacking in straightforwardness, and added, ‘I have never failed in frankness toward you, Charlotte. If it pleases you still to live with your father, I shall yield to your desires, and I shall keep ever hidden the slight esteem in which, unhappily, I am forced to hold him. But if it is in your thoughts not to dwell beneath the paternal roof after our marriage, I shall be more pleased with that resolution, as it will permit me not to be separated from my sister.’ And in this connection, mother,” added Charlotte with touching emotion, “John gave me a proof of confidence as honorable in him as in his sister. He recounted to me all that related to the unfortunate girl, but all under the seal of secrecy. If Mademoiselle Lebrenn has been the most unhappy creature in the world, because of certain terrible events, no one is now more than she worthy of the respect of all.”

  “Gertrude was speaking to me yesterday about Mademoiselle Lebrenn, and assured me that during the four years she has lived in our quarter, all agree in praising her conduct. My husband used this as a pretext for giving Monsieur Lebrenn to believe that if he formerly refused him your hand on the ground that his sister had been Louis XV’s mistress, that obstacle no longer intervened, as by her virtuous conduct Mademoiselle Lebrenn had redeemed the past. Would not such deceit, without, alas, the other grievances I have against my husband, suffice to estrange us? Such is our situation.”

  “Mother,” said Charlotte, interrupting Madam Desmarais, “I told you that John, while consenting to live with me at father’s house, would much prefer for us to dwell by ourselves, with his sister. Ah, well, mother, as I can not feel for father the sentiments which hallow the paternal roof-tree, I have resolved to part from him after my marriage. And now, mother mine, what reason can you give for a separation between us two?”

  “Dear child,” answered Madam Desmarais, embracing her daughter in tears, “you grant my wish before I utter it. Much as I longed for it, I did not dare make the request of you for our living together; and even now I do not know whether I ought to accept. To live with you would be my most cherished desire; but Monsieur Lebrenn knows that I have constantly opposed his marriage, and perhaps it would not please him to see me in his home.”

  “Here comes John, mother,” cried her daughter as Gertrude led the young man into the parlor. “He will take upon himself the task of reassuring you.”

  As soon as the maid had withdrawn, Charlotte said to her betrothed, who bowed respectfully to Madam Desmarais:

  “My dear John, in case, after our marriage, it should not please me to live in my father’s house, would it be agreeable to you for mother to come with us?”

  “I shall answer you, Charlotte, in all sincerity,” responded the young artisan. “I should be happy to have Madam Desmarais with us; all the more, seeing that since what passed between her husband and her after Monsieur Hubert’s escape, it seems to me almost impossible that she could resign herself to inhabit any longer the home of her marriage.” And he continued, to Madam Desmarais: “Believe me, madam; by my respect, by my filial attachment, I shall strive to make you forget what you have suffered; moreover, I promise to try to call a halt to the pursuit of your brother.”

  “Great God!” cried Madam Desmarais in accents of gratitude, “can it be possible!”

  “I have some hope, due to my political relations, of success in what concerns your brother’s safety.”

  “Ah, John!” said Charlotte, “you have divined my thoughts, anticipated my wishes; for just now, in trying to reassure mother on the score of uncle’s fate, I dreamt of asking your assistance.”

  “And I, Monsieur Lebrenn, am doubly grateful for your generosity towards my brother, especially since you are not unaware that, even as I, he was ever obstinately opposed to your marriage with my daughter,” added Madam Desmarais, with tears of happiness standing in her eyes. “Ah, whatever the result of your efforts, my gratitude towards you will be eternal, Monsieur Lebrenn. But, alas! how can you save my brother?”

  “Write, madam, to Monsieur Hubert, that if he will promise, on his word of honor, to abstain henceforth from all intrigue, and to live quietly in Paris, I hope, due to my relations with the procurator of the Commune and several members of the Committee of General Safety, to be able to secure a suspension of the searches against him. I ask of him nothing which a man of honor can not accede to; I ask nothing which looks toward his dropping his opinions, nothing that engages him towards the Republic, except that he respect the established laws.”

  “Ah, uncle is saved, mother. This proposal is too straightforward for him not to accept. Let your heart rejoice.”

  “Ah, Monsieur Lebrenn, what generosity, what grandeur of heart! Will you pardon me for having so long misprised you?”

  “John, for answer, embrace our mother,” said Charlotte, gently pushing her betrothed toward Madam Desmarais. The latter held out her arms to the young workman, who clasped her in a hearty hug.

  “Aye, aye, you will hereafter be for me the best of sons,” replied she. “I owe to you forgetfulness from my sorrows, perhaps the life of my brother, and assuredly the happiness of my Charlotte.”

  “And now let us talk of our plans,” resumed the young girl. “It is understood, mother, that when we are married, you are to live with us? We need not go back to that.”

  “That is my dearest wish.”

  “Since we are speaking of plans, Charlotte,” put in John, “I should acquaint your mother and you of my intention to continue my trade of ironsmith. My employer, Master Gervais, has long proposed to turn his establishment over to me, for which I was to reimburse him by yearly payments to be agreed on by us. I am not of an age to enter upon another career from that I have so far lived by.”

  “But, my dear John,” began Madam Desmarais, “as you speak of continuing your trade, I should tell you that my daughter has a dower — of considerable importance.”

  “That is something, I must declare to you, which I have never considered,” John made answer. “Charlotte’s dowry belongs to her, she is to use it as seems good to her. As to me, I am certain that neither you nor she will disapprove of my resolution to live by my own labor, as heretofore. The establishment, perfectly equipped, which I shall get from Master Gervais for thirty thousand livres, should bring me, good year or bad, five or six thousand livres steadily. The output of my forge will permit us, then, to live in some comfort, and allow me to pay off my master in a few years, according to the arrangements that we shall make.”

  “But, my dear John, my daughter’s dower is more than 120,000 livres in good gold louis, snugly stowed underground in our cellar; not to speak of my personal fortune.”

  “Dear mother, permit me to interrupt you,” returned John. “Your private fortune is yours, and Charlotte’s dowry is hers; she and you may dispose of them as you will, and in acts of benevolence. I wish only to prove to you that my labor will suffice for the maintenance of our household, apart from your resources.”

  “I have always given you credit for delicacy, my dear John,” replied Madam Desmarais.

  “For which I thank you, dear mother. You now know that I wish to continue to live by my trade. For the rest, be easy,” added the young workingman, smiling. “Neither Charlotte nor you will be deafened by the clang of my anvil. Master Gervais’s shop is on Anjou Street, and a great courtyard separates it from a pretty house in the midst of a garden. The dwelling is at present occupied by Master Gervais, but as he purposes to go to live in the country, he will rent it to me. We shall be, my dear mother — you, Charlotte, my sister, a
nd I — comfortably established in our little nest, which smiles in the shade of the garden about it. These are my plans, subject to your and Charlotte’s approval; except, I repeat, my firm resolve to continue to live by the work of my forge.”

  “I, to begin with, am agreed to these projects of John’s,” said the young girl gaily. “The house, surrounded by its garden, charms me before I see it. But do not be afraid, Monsieur John, that I shall fear to blacken my dress with the smoke of your forge; I shall also prove to you that I dread not being deafened with the thunder of your anvil. And you, mother, what have you to say to our projects? Do they meet with your approval?”

  “I say that our John is honor, probity and delicacy itself,” replied Madam Desmarais with welling emotion. “I say that I would live, if need be, in a garret, rather than be parted from you, my children. I say that now I am ashamed of the prejudices in which I have heretofore lived in regard to the men of the people. John teaches me to value them as they truly deserve.”

  “Ah, dear mother,” was John’s answer, “I understand, I overlook the prejudices of which you accuse yourself. What causes them, what even often justifies them, is the faults of so many of the disinherited, unhappy ones, who, sunk in misery, in ignorance, and abandonment, have fallen prey to the fatal vices that are nearly always engendered by these conditions. So, do you know what has been my motive in wishing to succeed Master Gervais in his smithy, where a score or so of apprentices are always employed? It is to form in our shop a sort of practical school of industrious, upright, and efficient workmen, jealous of their rights as citizens, but also imbued with a sense of their public duties. I hope to render still more fervent, still more glowing, their love for their country, and for the Republic. I wish, in associating them with my labors, to make them associated with the benefits thereof. I hope, in short, to watch with fatherly solicitude over my young apprentices. I shall choose orphans wherever possible, to the end of giving them a family, and bringing them up good republicans. I have not, have I, Charlotte, presumed too much upon you, in counting on your help for these poor boys?”