THE WILL.
Francois Germain resided No. 11 Boulevard St. Denis. It may not be amiss
to recall to the reader, who has probably forgotten the circumstance,
that Madame Mathieu, the diamond-matcher, whose name has been already
mentioned as the person for whom Morel the lapidary worked, lodged in
the same house as Germain. During the long ride from the Rue du Temple
to the Rue St. Honore, where dwelt the dressmaker for whom Rigolette
worked, Rodolph had ample opportunities of more fully appreciating the
fine natural disposition of his companion. Like all instinctively noble
and devoted characters, she appeared utterly unconscious of the delicacy
and generosity of her conduct, all she said and did seeming to her as
the most simple and matter-of-course thing possible.
Nothing would have been more easy than for Rodolph to provide liberally
both for Rigolette's present and future wants, and thus to have enabled
her to carry her consoling attentions to Louise and Germain, without
grieving over the loss of that time which was necessarily taken from her
work,--her sole dependence; but the prince was unwilling to diminish the
value of the grisette's devotion by removing all the difficulties, and,
although firmly resolved to bestow a rich reward on the rare and
beautiful qualities he hourly discovered in her, he determined to follow
her to the termination of this new and interesting trial. It is scarcely
necessary to say that, had the health of the young girl appeared to
suffer in the smallest degree from the increase of labour she so
courageously imposed on herself, in order to dedicate a portion of each
week to the unhappy daughter of the lapidary and the son of the
Schoolmaster, Rodolph would instantaneously have stepped forward to her
aid; and he continued to study with equal pleasure and emotion the
workings of a nature so naturally disposed to view everything on its
sunny side, so full of internal happiness, and so little accustomed to
sorrow that occasionally she would smile, and seem the mirthful creature
nature had made her, spite of all the grief by which she was surrounded.
At the end of about an hour, the _fiacre_, returning from the Rue St.
Honore, stopped before a modest, unpretending sort of house, situated
No. 11 Boulevard St. Denis. Rodolph assisted Rigolette to alight. The
young sempstress then proceeded to the porter's lodge, where she
communicated Germain's intentions, without forgetting the promised
gratuity.
Owing to the extreme amenity of his disposition, the son of the
Schoolmaster was unusually beloved, and the _confrere_ of M. Pipelet was
deeply grieved to learn that so quiet and well-conducted a lodger was
about to quit the house, and to that purpose the worthy porter warmly
expressed himself. Having obtained a light, Rigolette proceeded to
rejoin her companion, having first arranged with the porter that he
should not follow her up-stairs till a time she indicated should have
elapsed, and then merely to receive his final orders. The chamber
occupied by Germain was situated on the fourth floor. When they reached
the door, Rigolette handed the key to Rodolph, saying:
"Here, will you open the door? My hand trembles so violently, I cannot
do it. I fear you will laugh at me. But, when I think that poor Germain
will never more enter this room, I seem as though I were about to pass
the threshold of a chamber of death."
"Come, come, my good neighbour, try and exert yourself; you must not
indulge such thoughts as these."
"I know it is wrong; but, indeed, I cannot help it." And here Rigolette
tried to dry up the tears with which her eyes were filled.
Without being equally affected as his companion, Rodolph still
experienced a deep and painful emotion as he penetrated into this humble
abode. Well aware of the detestable pertinacity with which the
accomplices of the Schoolmaster pursued, and were possibly still
pursuing, Germain, he pictured to himself the many hours the unfortunate
youth was constrained to pass in this cheerless solitude. Rigolette
placed the light on the table. Nothing could possibly be more simple
than the fittings-up of the apartment itself. Its sole furniture
consisted of a small bed, a chest of drawers, a walnut-tree bureau, four
rush-bottomed chairs, and a table; white calico curtains hung from the
windows and around the bed. The only ornament the mantelpiece presented
was a water-bottle and glass. The bed was made; but, by the impression
left on it, it would seem that Germain had thrown himself on it without
undressing on the night previous to his arrest.
"Poor fellow!" said Rigolette, sadly, as she examined each minute detail
of the interior of the apartment; "it is very easy to see I was not near
him. His room is tidy, to be sure, but not as neat as it ought to be.
Everything is covered with dust. The curtains are smoke-dried, the
windows want cleaning, and the floor is not kept as it should be. Oh,
dear, what a difference! The Rue du Temple was not a better room, but it
had a much more cheerful look, because everything was kept so bright and
clean,--like in my apartment!"
"Because in the Rue du Temple he had the benefit of your advice and
assistance."
"Oh, pray look here!" cried Rigolette, pointing to the bed. "Only
see,--the poor fellow never went to bed at all the last night he was
here! How uneasy he must have been! See, he has left his handkerchief on
his pillow, quite wet with his tears! I can see that plainly enough."
Then, taking up the handkerchief, she added, "Germain has kept a small,
orange-coloured silk cravat I gave him once during our happy days. I
have a great mind to keep this handkerchief in remembrance of his
misfortune. Do you think he would be angry?"
"On the contrary, he would but be too much delighted with such a mark of
your affection."
"Ah, but we must not indulge in such thoughts now; let us attend to more
serious matters. I will make up a parcel of linen from the contents of
those drawers, ready to take to the prison, and Mother Bouvard, whom I
will send to-morrow, will see to the rest; but first of all I will open
the bureau, in order to get out the papers and money Germain wished me
to take charge of."
"But, now I think of it, Louise Morel gave me back yesterday the
thirteen hundred francs in gold she received from Germain, to pay the
lapidary's debt, which I had already discharged. I have this money about
me; it justly belongs to Germain, since he repaid the notary what he
withdrew from the cash-box. I will place it in your hands, in order that
you may add it to the sum entrusted to your care."
"Just as you like, M. Rodolph, although really I should prefer not
having so large a sum in my possession, really there are so many
dishonest people nowadays! As for papers, that's quite another thing;
I'll willingly take charge of as many papers as you please, but money is
such a dangerous thing!"
"Perhaps you are right; then I tell you what we will do--eh, neighbour?
I will be banker, and undertake the responsibility of guarding this
money. Should Germain require anything, you can let me know; I will
leave you my address, and whatever you send for shall be punctually and
faithfully sent."
"Oh, dear, yes, that will be very much better! How good of you to offer,
for I could not have ventured to propose such a thing to you! So that is
settled; I will beg of you, also, to take whatever this furniture sells
for. And now let us see about the papers," continued Rigolette, opening
the bureau and pulling out several drawers. "Ah, I dare say this is it!
See what a large packet! But, oh, good gracious, M. Rodolph, do pray
look what mournful words these are written on the outside!"
And here Rigolette, in a faltering voice, read as follows:
"'In the event of my dying by either a violent or natural death, I
request whoever may open this bureau to carry these papers to Mlle.
Rigolette, dressmaker, No. 17 Rue du Temple.' Do you think, M. Rodolph,
that I may break the seals of the envelope?"
"Undoubtedly; does not Germain expressly say that among the papers you
will find a letter particularly addressed to yourself?"
The agitated girl broke the seals which secured the outward cover, and
from it fell a quantity of papers, one of which, bearing the
superscription of Mlle. Rigolette, contained these words:
"MADEMOISELLE:--When this letter reaches your hands, I shall
be no more, if, as I fear, I should perish by a violent death,
through falling into a snare similar to that from which I lately
escaped. A few particulars herein enclosed, and entitled 'Notes
on My Life,' may serve to discover my murderers."
"Ah, M. Rodolph," cried Rigolette, interrupting herself, "I am no longer
astonished poor Germain was so melancholy! How very dreadful to be
continually pursued by such ideas!"
"He must, indeed, have suffered deeply; but, trust me, his worst
misfortunes are over."
"Alas, M. Rodolph, I trust it may prove so! Still, to be in prison, and
accused of theft!"
"Make yourself quite easy about him; his innocence once proved, instead
of returning to his former seclusion and loneliness, he will regain his
friends. You, first and foremost, and then a dearly loved mother, from
whom he has been separated from his childhood."
"His mother! Has he, then, still a mother?"
"He has, but she has long believed him lost to her for ever. Imagine her
delight at seeing him again, cleared from the unworthy charge now
brought against him. You see I was right in saying that his greatest
troubles were over; do not mention his mother to him. I entrust you with
the secret, because you take so generous an interest in the fate of
Germain that it is but due to your devotedness that you should be
tranquillised as to his future fate."
"Oh, thank you, M. Rodolph! I promise you to guard the secret as
carefully as you could do."
Rigolette then proceeded with the perusal of Germain's letter; it
continued thus:
"'Should you deign, mademoiselle, to cast your eyes over these
notes, you will find that I have been unfortunate all my life,
always unhappy, except during the hours I have passed with you;
you will find sentiments I should never have ventured to express
by words fully revealed in a sort of memorandum, entitled "My
Only Days of Happiness." Nearly every evening, after quitting
you, I thus poured forth the cheering thoughts with which your
affection inspired me, and which only sweetened the bitterness
of a cup full even to overflowing. That which was but friendship
in you, was, in my breast, the purest, the sincerest love; but
of that love I have never spoken. No, I reserved its full
disclosure till the moment should arrive when I could be but as
an object of your sorrowing recollection. No, never would I have
sought to involve you in a destiny as thoroughly miserable as my
own. But, when your eye peruses these pages, there will be
nothing to fear from the power of my ill-starred fate. I shall
have been your faithful friend, your adoring lover, but I shall
no longer be dangerous to your future happiness in either sense.
I have but one last wish and desire, and I trust that you will
kindly accomplish it. I have witnessed the noble courage with
which you labour day by day, as well as the care and management
requisite to make your hard-earned gain suffice for your
moderate wants. Often have I shuddered at the bare idea of your
being reduced by illness (brought on, probably, by overattention
to your work) to a state too frightful to dwell upon. And it is
no small consolation to me to believe it in my power to spare
you, not only a considerable share of personal inconvenience,
but also to preserve you from evils your unsuspicious nature
dreams not of.'
"What does that last part mean, M. Rodolph?" asked Rigolette, much
surprised.
"Proceed with the letter; we shall see by and by."
Rigolette thus resumed:
"'I know upon how little you can live, and of what service even
a small sum would be to you in any case of emergency. I am very
poor myself, but still, by dint of rigid economy, I have managed
to save fifteen hundred francs, which are placed in the hands of
a banker; it is all I am worth in the world, but by my will,
which you will find with this, I have ventured to bequeath it to
you; and I trust you will not refuse to accept this last proof
of the sincere affection of a friend and brother, from whom
death will have separated you when this meets your eye.'
"Oh, M. Rodolph," cried Rigolette, bursting into tears, "this is too
much! Kind, good Germain, thus to consider my future welfare! What an
excellent heart he must have!"
"Worthy and noble-minded young man!" rejoined Rodolph, with deep
emotion. "But calm yourself, my good girl. Thank God, Germain is still
living! And, by anticipating the perusal of his last wishes, you will at
least have learned how sincerely he loved you,--nay, still loves you!"
"And only to think," said Rigolette, drying up her tears, "that I should
never once have suspected it! When first I knew M. Girandeau and M.
Cabrion, they were always talking to me of their violent love, and
flames, and darts, and such stuff; but finding I took no notice of them,
they left off wearying me with such nonsense. Now, on the contrary,
Germain never named love to me. When I proposed to him that we should be
good friends, he accepted the offer as frankly as it was made, and ever
after that we were always excellent companions and neighbours; but--now
I don't mind telling you, M. Rodolph, that I was not sorry Germain never
talked to me in the same silly strain."
"But still it astonished you, did it not?"
"Why, M. Rodolph, I ascribed it to his melancholy, and I fancied his low
spirits prevented his joking like the others."
"And you felt angry with him, did you not, for always being so sad?"
"No," said the grisette, ingenuously; "no, I excused him, because it was
the only fault he had. But now that I have read his kind and feeling
letter, I cannot forgive myself for ever having blamed him even for that
one thing."
"In the first place," said Rodolph, smiling, "you find that he had many
and just causes for his sadness; and secondly, that, spite of his
melancholy, he did love you deeply and sincerely."
"To be sure; and it seems a thing to be proud of, to be loved by so
excellent a young man!"
"Whose love you will, no doubt, return one of these days?"
"I don't know about that, M. Rodolph, though it is very likely, for poor
Germain is so much to be pitied. I can imagine myself in his place.
Suppose, just when I fancied myself despised and forsaken by all the
world, some one whom I loved very dearly should evince for me more
regard than I had ventured to hope for, don't you think it would make me
very happy?" Then, after a short silence, Rigolette continued, with a
sigh, "On the other hand, we are both so poor that, perhaps, it would
be very imprudent. Ah, well, M. Rodolph, I must not think of such
things. Perhaps, too, I deceive myself. One thing, however, is quite
sure, and that is, that so long as Germain remains in prison I will do
all in my power for him. It will be time enough when he has regained his
liberty for me to determine whether 'tis love or friendship I feel for
him. Until then it would only torment me needlessly to try to make up my
mind what I had better do. But it is getting late, M. Rodolph. Will you
have the goodness to collect all those papers, while I make up a parcel
of linen? Ah, I forgot the little bag containing the little
orange-coloured cravat I gave him. No doubt it is here--in this drawer.
Oh, yes, this is it. Oh, see, what a pretty bag! How nicely embroidered!
Poor Germain! I declare he has kept such a trifle as this little
handkerchief with as much care as though it had been some holy relic. I
well remember the last time I had it around my throat; and when I gave
it to him, poor fellow, how very pleased he was!"
At this moment some one knocked at the door.
"Who's there?" inquired Rodolph.
"Want to speak to Ma'am Mathieu," replied a harsh, hoarse voice, and in
a tone which is peculiar to the lowest orders. (Madame Mathieu was the
matcher of precious stones to whom we have before referred.)
This voice, whose accent was peculiar, awoke some vague recollections in
Rodolph's breast; and, desirous of elucidating them, he took the light,
and went himself to open the door. He found himself confronted by a man
who was one of the frequenters of the _tapis-franc_ of the ogress, and
recognised him instantly, so deeply was the print of vice stamped upon
him, so completely marked on his beardless and youthful features. It was
Barbillon.
Barbillon, the pretended hackney-coachman, who had driven the
Schoolmaster and the Chouette to the hollow way of Bouqueval,--Barbillon,
the assassin of the husband of the unhappy milkwoman, who had set the
labourers of the farm at Arnouville on against La Goualeuse. Whether
this wretch had forgotten Rodolph's face, which he had never seen but
once at the _tapis-franc_ of the ogress, or that the change of dress
prevented him from recognising the Chourineur's conqueror, he did not
evince the slightest surprise at his appearance.
"What do you want?" inquired Rodolph.
"Here's a letter for Ma'am Mathieu, and I must give it to her myself,"
was Barbillon's reply.
"She does not live here,--it's opposite," said Rodolph.
"Thank ye, master. They told me the left-hand door; but I've mistook."
Rodolph did not recollect the name of the diamond-matcher, which Morel
the lapidary had only mentioned once or twice, and thus had no motive
for interesting himself in the female to whom Barbillon came with his
message; but yet, although ignorant of the ruffian's crimes, his face
was so decidedly repulsive that he remained at the threshold of the
door, curious to see the person to whom Barbillon brought the letter.
Barbillon had scarcely knocked at the door opposite to Germain's, than
it opened, and the jewel-matcher, a stout woman of about fifty, appeared
with a candle in her hand.
"Ma'am Mathieu?" inquired Barbillon.
"That's me, my man."
"Here's a letter, and I waits for an answer."
And Barbillon made a step forward to enter the doorway, but the woman
made him a sign to remain where he was, and unsealed the letter, which
she read by the light of the candle she held, and then replied with an
air of satisfaction:
"Say it's all right, my man, and I will bring what is required. I will
be there at the same hour as usual. My respects to the lady."
"Yes, missus. Please to remember the porter!"
"Oh, you must ask them as sent you; they are richer than I am." And she
shut the door.
Rodolph returned to Germain's room, when he saw Barbillon run quickly
down the staircase. The ruffian found on the boulevard a man of
low-lived, brutal appearance, waiting for him in front of a shop.
Although the passers-by could hear (it is true they could not
comprehend), Barbillon appeared so delighted that he could not help
saying to his companion:
"Come and 'lush a drain of red tape,' Nicholas; the old mot swallows the
bait, hook and all. She'll show at the Chouette's. Old Mother Martial
will lend a hand to peel her of the swag, and a'terwards we can box the
'cold meat' in your 'barkey.'"[2]
[2] "Come and let's have some brandy together, Nicholas. The
old woman falls easily into the snare. She will come to the
Chouette's; Mother Martial will help us to take her jewels from
her forcibly, and then we can remove the dead body away in your
boat."
"Let's mizzle,[3] then; for I must get back to Asnieres early, or else
my brother Martial will smell summut."
[3] "Let's be quick, then."
And the two robbers, after having exchanged these words in their own
slang, went towards the Rue St. Denis.
* * * * *
Some minutes afterwards Rigolette and Rodolph left Germain's, got into
the hackney-coach, and reached the Rue du Temple.
The coach stopped.
At the moment when the door opened, Rodolph recognised by the light of
the dram-shop lamps his faithful Murphy, who was waiting for him at the
door of the entrance.
The squire's presence always announced some serious and sudden event,
for it was he alone who knew at all times where to find the prince.
"What's the matter?" inquired Rodolph, quickly, whilst Rigolette was
collecting several things out of the vehicle.
"A terrible circumstance, monseigneur!"
"Speak, in heaven's name!"
"M. the Marquis d'Harville--"
"You alarm me!"
"Had several friends to breakfast with him this morning. He was in high
spirits, had never been more joyous, when a fatal imprudence--"
"Pray come to the point--pray!"
"And playing with a pistol, which he did not believe to be loaded--"
"Wounded himself seriously."
"Monseigneur!"
"Well?"
"Something dreadful!"
"What do you mean?"
"He is dead!"
"D'Harville! Ah, how horrible!" exclaimed Rodolph, in a tone so agonised
that Rigolette, who was at the moment quitting the coach with the
parcels, said:
"Alas! what ails you, M. Rodolph?"
"Some very distressing information I have just told my friend,
mademoiselle," said Murphy to the young girl, for the prince was so
overcome that he could not reply.
"Is it, then, some dreadful misfortune?" said Rigolette, trembling all
over.
"Very dreadful, indeed!" replied the squire.
"Yes, most awful!" said Rodolph, after a few moment's silence; then
recollecting Rigolette, he said to her, "Excuse me, my dear neighbour,
if I do not go up to your room with you. To-morrow I will send you my
address, and an order to go to see Germain in his prison. I will soon
see you again."
"Ah, M. Rodolph, I assure you that I share in the grief you now
experience! I thank you very much for having accompanied me; but I
shall soon see you again, sha'n't I?"
"Yes, my child, very soon."
"Good evening, M. Rodolph," added Rigolette, and then disappeared down
the passage with the various things she had brought away from Germain's
room.
The prince and Murphy got into the hackney-coach, which took them to the
Rue Plumet. Rodolph immediately wrote the following note to Clemence:
"MADAME:--I have this instant learned the sudden blow which has
struck you, and deprived me of one of my best friends. I forbear
any attempt to portray my horror and my regret. Yet I must
mention to you certain circumstances unconnected with this cruel
event. I have just learned that your stepmother, who has been,
no doubt, in Paris for several days, returns this evening to
Normandy, taking with her Polidori. No doubt but this fact will
convince you of the peril which threatens your father; and pray
allow me to give you some advice, which I think requisite. After
the appalling event of this morning, every one must but too
easily conceive your anxiety to quit Paris for some time; go,
therefore, go at once, to Aubiers, so that you may arrive there
before your stepmother, or, at least, as soon as she. Make
yourself easy, madame, for I shall watch at a distance, as well
as close, the abominable projects of your stepmother. Adieu,
madame; I write these few lines to you in great haste. My heart
is lacerated when I remember yesterday evening, when I left
him,--him,--more tranquil and more happy than he had been for a
very long time.
"Believe, madame, in my deep and lasting devotion,
"RODOLPH."
Following the prince's advice, three hours after she had received this
letter, Madame d'Harville, accompanied by her daughter, was on the road
to Normandy. A post-chaise, despatched from Rodolph's mansion, followed
in the same route. Unfortunately, in the troubled state into which this
complication of events and the hurry of her departure had driven her,
Clemence had forgotten to inform the prince that she had met
Fleur-de-Marie at St. Lazare.
Our readers may, perhaps, remember that, on the previous evening, the
Chouette had been menacing Madame Seraphin, and threatening to unfold
the whole history of La Goualeuse's existence, affirming that she knew
(and she spoke truth) where the young girl then was. The reader may also
recollect that, after this conversation, the notary, Jacques Ferrand,
dreading the disclosure of his criminal course, believed that he had a
strong motive for effecting the disappearance of La Goualeuse, whose
existence, once known, would compromise him fatally. He had, in
consequence, written to Bradamanti, one of his accomplices, to come to
him that they might together arrange a fresh plot, of which
Fleur-de-Marie was to be the victim. Bradamanti, occupied by the no less
pressing interests of Madame d'Harville's stepmother, who had her own
sinister motives for taking the charlatan with her to M. d'Orbigny,
finding it, no doubt, more profitable to serve his ancient female ally,
did not attend to the notary's appointment, but set out for Normandy
without seeing Madame Seraphin.
The storm was gathering over the head of Jacques Ferrand. During the day
the Chouette had returned to reiterate her threats; and to prove that
they were not vain, she declared to the notary that the little girl,
formerly abandoned by Madame Seraphin, was then a prisoner in St.
Lazare, under the name of La Goualeuse; and that if he did not give ten
thousand francs (400_l._) in three days, this young girl would receive
the papers which belonged to her, and which would instruct her that she
had been confided in her infancy to the care of Jacques Ferrand.
According to his custom, the notary denied all boldly, and drove the
Chouette away as an impudent liar, although he was perfectly convinced,
and greatly alarmed at the dangerous drift of her threats. Thanks to his
numerous connections, the notary found means to ascertain that very day
(during the conversation of Fleur-de-Marie and Madame d'Harville) that
La Goualeuse was actually a prisoner in St. Lazare, and so marked for
her good conduct that they were expecting her discharge every moment.
Thus informed, Jacques Ferrand, having determined on his deadly scheme,
felt that, in order to carry it into execution, Bradamanti's help was
more than ever indispensable; and thereon came Madame Seraphin's vain
attempts to see the doctor. Having at length heard, in the evening, of
the departure of the charlatan, the notary, driven to act by the
imminence of his fears and danger, recalled to mind the Martial family,
those freshwater pirates established near the bridge of Asnieres, with
whom Bradamanti had proposed to place Louise, in order to get rid of her
undetected. Having absolutely need of an accomplice to carry out his
deadly purposes against Fleur-de-Marie, the notary took every precaution
not to be compromised in case a fresh crime should be committed; and,
the day after Bradamanti's departure for Normandy, Madame Seraphin went
with all speed to the Martials.