PIERRE SIMON.
Marshal Pierre Simon, Duke de Ligny, was a man of tall stature, plainly
dressed in a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the throat, with a red
ribbon tied to the top buttonhole. You could not have wished to see a
more frank, honest, and chivalrous cast of countenance than the
marshal's. He had a broad forehead, an aquiline nose, a well formed chin,
and a complexion bronzed by exposure to the Indian sun. His hair, cut
very short, was inclined to gray about the temples; but his eyebrows were
still as black as his large, hanging moustache. His walk was free and
bold, and his decided movements showed his military impetuosity. A man of
the people, a man of war and action, the frank cordiality of his address
invited friendliness and sympathy. As enlightened as he was intrepid as
generous as he was sincere, his manly, plebeian pride was the most
remarkable part of his character. As others are proud of their high
birth, so was he of his obscure origin, because it was ennobled by the
fine qualities of his father, the rigid republican, the intelligent and
laborious artisan, who, for the space of forty years, had been the
example and the glory of his fellow-workmen. In accepting with gratitude
the aristocratic title which the Emperor had bestowed upon him, Pierre
Simon acted with that delicacy which receives from a friendly hand a
perfectly useless gift, and estimates it according to the intention of
the giver. The religious veneration of Pierre Simon for the Emperor had
never been blind; in proportion as his devotion and love for his idol
were instructive and necessary, his admiration was serious, and founded
upon reason. Far from resembling those swashbucklers who love fighting
for its own sake, Marshal Simon not only admired his hero as the greatest
captain in the world, but he admired him, above all, because he knew that
the Emperor had only accepted war in the hope of one day being able to
dictate universal peace; for if peace obtained by glory and strength is
great, fruitful, and magnificent, peace yielded by weakness and cowardice
is sterile, disastrous, and dishonoring. The son of a workman, Pierre
Simon still further admired the Emperor, because that imperial parvenu
had always known how to make that popular heart beat nobly, and,
remembering the people, from the masses of whom he first arose, had
invited them fraternally to share in regal and aristocratic pomp.
When Marshal Simon entered the room, his countenance was much agitated.
At sight of Dagobert, a flash of joy illumined his features; he rushed
towards the soldier, extending his arms, and exclaimed, "My friend! my
old friend!"
Dagobert answered this affectionate salute with silent emotion. Then the
marshal, disengaging himself from his arms, and fixing his moist eyes
upon him, said to him in so agitated a voice that his lips trembled,
"Well, didst arrive in time for the 13th of February?"
"Yes, general; but everything is postponed for four months."
"And--my wife?--my child?" At this question Dagobert shuddered, hung down
his head, and was silent.
"They are not, then, here?" asked Simon, with more surprise than
uneasiness. "They told me they were not at your house, but that I should
find you here--and I came immediately. Are they not with you?"
"General," said Dagobert, becoming deadly pale; "general--" Drying the
drops of cold sweat that stood upon his forehead, he was unable to
articulate a word, for his voice was checked in his parched throat.
"You frighten me!" exclaimed Pierre Simon, becoming pale as the soldier,
and seizing him by the arm.
At this, Adrienne advanced, with a countenance full of grief and
sympathy; seeing the cruel embarrassment of Dagobert, she wished to come
to his assistance, and she said to Pierre Simon, in a mild but agitated
voice, "Marshal, I am Mdlle. de Cardoville--a relation of your dear
children."
Pierre Simon turned around suddenly, as much struck with the dazzling
beauty of Adrienne as with the words she had just pronounced. He
stammered out in his surprise, "You, madame--a relation--of my children!"
He laid a stress on the last words, and looked at Dagobert in a kind of
stupor.
"Yes, marshal your children," hastily replied Adrienne; "and the love of
those charming twin sisters--"
"Twin sisters!" cried Pierre Simon, interrupting Mdlle. de Cardoville,
with an outburst of joy impossible to describe. "Two daughters instead of
one! Oh! what happiness for their mother! Pardon me, madame, for being so
impolite," he continued; "and so little grateful for what you tell me.
But you will understand it; I have been seventeen years without seeing my
wife; I come, and I find three loved beings, instead of two. Thanks,
madame: would I could express all the gratitude I owe you! You are our
relation; this is no doubt your house; my wife and children are with you.
Is it so? You think that my sudden appearance might be prejudicial to
them? I will wait--but madame, you, that I am certain are good as
fair--pity my impatience--will make haste to prepare them to receive
me--"
More and more agitated, Dagobert avoided the marshal's gaze, and trembled
like a leaf. Adrienne cast down her eyes without answering. Her heart
sunk within her, at thought of dealing the terrible blow to Marshal
Simon.
The latter, astonished at this silence, looking at Adrienne, then at the
soldier, became first uneasy, and at last alarmed. "Dagobert!" he
exclaimed, "something is concealed from me!"
"General!" stammered the soldier, "I assure you--I--I--."
"Madame!" cried Pierre Simon, "I conjure you, in pity, speak to me
frankly!--my anxiety is horrible. My first fears return upon me. What is
it? Are my wife and daughters ill? Are they in danger? Oh! speak! speak!"
"Your daughters, marshal," said Adrienne "have been rather unwell, since
their long journey--but they are in no danger."
"Oh, heaven! it is my wife!"
"Have courage, sir!" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, sadly. "Alas! you must
seek consolation in the affection of the two angels that remain to you."
"General!" said Dagobert, in a firm grave tone, "I returned from
Siberia--alone with your two daughters."
"And their mother! their mother!" cried Simon, in a voice of despair.
"I set out with the two orphans the day after her death," said the
soldier.
"Dead?" exclaimed Pierre Simon, overwhelmed by the stroke; "dead?" A
mournful silence was the only answer. The marshal staggered beneath this
unexpected shock, leaned on the back of a chair for support, and then,
sinking into the seat, concealed his face with his hands. For same
minutes nothing was heard but stifled sobs, for not only had Pierre Simon
idolized his wife, but by one of those singular compromises, that a man
long cruelly tried sometimes makes with destiny, Pierre Simon, with the
fatalism of loving souls, thought he had a right to reckon upon happiness
after so many years of suffering, and had not for a moment doubted that
he should find his wife and child--a double consolation reserved to him
after going through so much. Very different from certain people, whom the
habit of misfortune renders less exacting, Simon had reckoned upon
happiness as complete as had been his misery. His wife and child were the
sole, indispensable conditions of this felicity, and, had the mother
survived her daughters, she would have no more replaced them in his eyes
than they did her. Weakness or avarice of the heart, so it was; we insist
upon this singularity, because the consequences of these incessant and
painful regrets exercised a great influence on the future life of Marshal
Simon. Adrienne and Dagobert had respected the overwhelming grief of this
unfortunate man. When he had given a free course to his tears, he raised
his manly countenance, now of marble paleness, drew his hand across his
blood-shot eyes, rose, and said to Adrienne, "Pardon me, madame; I could
not conquer my first emotion. Permit me to retire. I have cruel details
to ask of the worthy friend who only quitted my wife at the last moment.
Have the kindness to let me see my children--my poor orphans!--" And the
marshal's voice again broke.
"Marshal," said Mdlle. de Cardoville, "just now we were expecting your
dear children: unfortunately, we have been deceived in our hopes." Pierre
Simon first looked at Adrienne without answering, as if he had not heard
or understood.--"But console yourself," resumed the young girl; "we have
yet no reason to despair."
"To despair?" repeated the marshaling by turns at Mdlle. de Cardoville
despair?--"of what, in heaven's name?"
"Of seeing your children, marshal," said Adrienne; "the presence of their
father will facilitate the search."
"The search!" cried Pierre Simon. "Then, my daughters are not here?"
"No, sir," said Adrienne, at length; "they have been taken from the
affectionate care of the excellent man who brought them from Russia, to
be removed to a convent."
"Wretch!" cried Pierre Simon, advancing towards Dagobert, with a menacing
and terrible aspect; "you shall answer to me for all!"
"Oh, sir, do not blame him!" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville.
"General," said Dagobert, in a tone of mournful resignation, "I merit
your anger. It is my fault. Forced to absent myself from Paris, I
entrusted the children to my wife; her confessor turned her head, and
persuaded her that your daughters would be better in a convent than at
our house. She believed him, and let them be conveyed there. Now they say
at the convent, that they do not know where they are. This is the truth:
do what you will with me; I have only to silently endure."
"This is infamous!" cried Pierre Simon, pointing to Dagobert, with a
gesture of despairing indignation. "In whom can a man confide, if he has
deceived me? Oh, my God!"
"Stay, marshal! do not blame him," repeated Mdlle. de Cardoville; "do not
think so! He has risked life and honor to rescue your children from the
convent. He is not the only one who has failed in this attempt. Just now,
a magistrate--despite his character and authority--was not more
successful. His firmness towards the superior, his minute search of the
convent, were all in vain. Up to this time it has been impossible to find
these unfortunate children."
"But where's this convent!" cried Marshal Simon, raising his head, his
face all pale and agitated with grief and rage. "Where is it? Do these
vermin know what a father is, deprived of his children?" At the moment
when Marshal Simon, turning towards Dagobert, pronounced these words,
Rodin, holding Rose and Blanche by the hand, appeared at the open door of
the chamber. On hearing the marshal's exclamation, he started with
surprise, and a flash of diabolical joy lit up his grim countenance--for
he had not expected to meet Pierre Simon so opportunely.
Mdlle. de Cardoville was the first to perceive the presence of Rodin. She
exclaimed, as she hastened towards him: "Oh! I was not deceived. He is
still our providence."
"My poor children!" said Rodin, in a low voice, to the young girls, as he
pointed to Pierre Simon, "this is your father!"
"Sir!" cried Adrienne, following close upon Rose and Blanche. "Your
children are here!"
As Simon turned round abruptly, his two daughters threw themselves into
his arms. Here was a long silence, broken only by sobs, and kisses, and
exclamations of joy.
"Come forward, at least, and enjoy the good you have done!" said Mdlle.
de Cardoville, drying her eyes, and turning towards Rodin, who, leaning
against the door, seemed to contemplate this scene with deep emotion.
Dagobert, at sight of Rodin bringing back the children, was at first
struck with stupor, and unable to move a step; but hearing the words of
Adrienne, and yielding to a burst of almost insane gratitude, he threw
himself on his knees before the Jesuit, joined his hands together, and
exclaimed in a broken voice: "You have saved me, by bringing back these
children."
"Oh, bless you, sir!" said Mother Bunch, yielding to the general current.
"My good friends, this is too much," said Rodin, as if his emotions were
beyond his strength; "this is really too much for me. Excuse me to the
marshal, and tell him that I am repaid by the sight of his happiness."
"Pray, sir," said Adrienne, "let the marshal at least have the
opportunity to see and know you."
"Oh, remain! you that have saved us all!" cried Dagobert, trying to stop
Rodin.
"Providence, you know, my dear young lady, does not trouble itself about
the good that is done, but the good that remains to do," said Rodin, with
an accent of playful kindness. "Must I not think of Prince Djalma? My
task is not finished, and moments are precious. Come," he added,
disengaging himself gently from Dagobert's hold, "come the day has been
as good a one as I had hoped.. The Abbe d'Aigrigny is unmasked; you are
free, my dear young lady; you have recovered your cross, my brave
soldier; Mother Bunch is sure of a protectress; the marshal has found his
children. I have my share in all these joys, it is a full share--my heart
is satisfied. Adieu, my friends, till we meet again." So saying, Rodin
waved his hand affectionately to Adrienne, Dagobert, and the hunchback,
and withdrew, waving his hand with a look of delight on Marshal Simon,
who, seated between his daughters, held them in his arms, and covered
them with tears and kisses, remaining quite indifferent to all that was
passing around him.
An hour after this scene, Mdlle. de Cardoville and the sempstress,
Marshal Simon, his two daughters and Dagobert quitted Dr. Beleinier's
asylum.
In terminating this episode, a few words by way of moral, with regard to
lunatic asylums and convents may not be out of place. We have said, and
we repeat, that the laws which apply to the superintendence of lunatic
asylums appear to us insufficient. Facts that have recently transpired
before the courts, and other facts that have been privately communicated
to us, evidently prove this insufficiency. Doubtless, magistrates have
full power to visit lunatic asylums. They are even required to make such
visits. But we know, from the best authority, that the numerous and
pressing occupations of magistrates, whose number is often out of
proportion with the labor imposed upon them, render these inspections so
rare, that they are, so to speak, illusory. It appears, therefore, to us
advisable to institute a system of inspections, at least twice a month,
especially designed for lunatic asylums, and entrusted to a physician and
a magistrate, so that every complaint may be submitted to a double
examination. Doubtless, the law is sufficient when its ministers are
fully informed; but how many formalities, how many difficulties must be
gone through, before they can be so, particularly when the unfortunate
creature who needs their assistance, already suspected, isolated, and
imprisoned, has no friend to come forward in defence, and demand, in his
or her name, the protection of the authorities! Is it not imperative,
therefore, on the civil power, to meet these necessities by a periodical
and well-organized system of inspection?
What we here say of lunatic asylums will apply with still greater force
to convents for women, seminaries, and houses inhabited by religious
bodies. Recent and notorious facts, with which all France has rung, have,
unfortunately, proved that violence, forcible detention, barbarous usage,
abduction of minors, and illegal imprisonment, accompanied by torture,
are occurrences which, if not frequent, are at least possible in
religious houses. It required singular accidents, audacious and cynical
brutalities; to bring these detestable actions to public knowledge. How
many other victims have been, and, perhaps still are, entombed in those
large silent mansions, where no profane look may penetrate, and which,
through the privileges of the clergy, escape the superintendence of the
civil power. Is it not deplorable that these dwellings should not also be
subject to periodical inspection, by visitors consisting, if it be
desired, of a priest, a magistrate, and some delegate of the municipal
authorities? If nothing takes place, but what is legal, human, and
charitable, in these establishments, which have all the character, and
incur all the responsibility, of public institutions, why this
resistance, this furious indignation of the church party, when any
mention is made of touching what they call their privileges? There is
something higher than the constitutions devised at Rome. We mean the Law
of France--the common law--which grants to all protection, but which, in
return, exacts from all respect and obedience.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Wandering Jew, Book VI., by Eugene Sue