The Wandering Jew — Complete

"That is just what I said to the general. He answered me that he had never been able to explain to himself this event, which seemed as incredible as it was true. Moreover, your father must have been greatly struck with the countenance of this man, who appeared, he said, about thirty years of age--for he remarked, that his extremely black eyebrows were joined together, and formed, as it were, one line from temple to temple, so that he seemed to have a black streak across his forehead. Remember this, my children; you will soon see why." "Oh, Dagobert! we shall not forget it," said the orphans, growing more and more astonished as he proceeded. "Is it not strange--this man with a black seam on his forehead?" "Well, you shall hear. The general had, as I told you, been left for dead at Waterloo. During the night which he passed on the field of battle, in a sort of delirium brought on by the fever of his wounds, he saw, or fancied he saw, this same man bending over him, with a look of great mildness and deep melancholy, stanching his wounds, and using every effort to revive him. But as your father, whose senses were still wandering, repulsed his kindness saying, that after such a defeat, it only remained to die--it appeared as if this man replied to him; 'You must live for Eva!' meaning your mother, whom the general had left at Warsaw, to join the Emperor, and make this campaign of France." "How strange, Dagobert!--And since then, did our father never see this man?" "Yes, he saw him--for it was he who brought news of the general to your poor mother." "When was that? We never heard of it." "You remember that, on the day your mother died, you went to the pine forest with old Fedora?" "Yes," answered Rose, mournfully; "to fetch some heath, of which our mother was so fond." "Poor mother!" added Blanche; "she appeared so well that morning, that we could not dream of the calamity which awaited us before night." "True, my children; I sang and worked that morning in the garden, expecting, no more than you did, what was to happen. Well, as I was singing at my work, on a sudden I heard a voice ask me in French: 'Is this the village of Milosk?'--I turned round, and saw before me a stranger; I looked at him attentively, and, instead of replying, fell back two steps, quite stupefied." "Ah, why?" "He was of tall stature, very pale, with a high and open forehead; but his eyebrows met, and seemed to form one black streak across it." "Then it was the same man who had twice been with our father in battle?" "Yes--it was he." "But, Dagobert," said Rose, thoughtfully, "is it not a long time since these battles?" "About sixteen years." "And of what age was this stranger?" "Hardly more than thirty." "Then how can it be the same man, who sixteen years before, had been with our father in the wars?" "You are right," said Dagobert, after a moment's silence, and shrugging his shoulders: "I may have been deceived by a chance likeness--and yet--" "Or, if it were the same, he could not have got older all that while." "But did you ask him, if he had not formerly relieved our father?" "At first I was so surprised that I did not think of it; and afterwards, he remained so short a time, that I had no opportunity. Well, he asked me for the village of Milosk. 'You are there, sir,' said I, 'but how do you know that I am a Frenchman?' 'I heard you singing as I passed,' replied he; 'could you tell me the house of Madame Simon, the general's wife?' 'She lives here, sir.' Then looking at me for some seconds in silence, he took me by the hand and said: 'You are the friend of General Simon--his best friend?' Judge of my astonishment, as I answered: 'But, sir, how do you know?' 'He has often spoken of you with gratitude.' 'You have seen the general then?' 'Yes, some time ago, in India. I am also his friend: I bring news of him to his wife, whom I knew to be exiled in Siberia. At Tobolsk, whence I come, I learned that she inhabits this village. Conduct me to her!'" "The good traveller--I love him already," said Rose. "Yes, being father's friend." "I begged him to wait an instant, whilst I went to inform your mother, so that the surprise might not do her harm; five minutes after, he was beside her." "And what kind of man was this traveller, Dagobert?" "He was very tall; he wore a dark pelisse, and a fur cap, and had long black hair." "Was he handsome?" "Yes, my children--very handsome; but with so mild and melancholy an air, that it pained my heart to see him." "Poor man! he had doubtless known some great sorrow." "Your mother had been closeted with him for some minutes, when she called me to her and said that she had just received good news of the general. She was in tears, and had before her a large packet of papers; it was a kind of journal, which your father had written every evening to console himself; not being able to speak to her, he told the paper all that he would have told her." "Oh! where are these papers, Dagobert?" "There, in the knapsack, with my cross and our purse. One day I will give them to you: but I have picked out a few leaves here and there for you to read presently. You will see why." "Had our father been long in India?" "I gathered from the few words which your mother said, that the general had gone to that country, after fighting for the Greeks against the Turks--for he always liked to side with the weak against the strong. In India he made fierce war against the English, they had murdered our prisoners in pontoons, and tortured the Emperor at St. Helena, and the war was a doubly good one, for in harming them he served a just cause." "What cause did he serve then?" "That of one of the poor native princes, whose territories the English, lay waste, till the day when they can take possession of them against law and right. You see, my children, it was once more the weak against the strong, and your father did not miss this opportunity. In a few months he had so well-trained and disciplined the twelve or fifteen thousand men of the prince, that, in two encounters, they cut to pieces the English sent against them, and who, no doubt, had in their reckoning left out your brave father, my children. But come, you shall read some pages of his journal, which will tell you more and better than I can. Moreover, you will find in them a name which you ought always to remember; that's why I chose this passage." "Oh, what happiness! To read the pages written by our father, is almost to hear him speak," said Rose. "It is as if he were close beside us," added Blanche. And the girls stretched out their hands with eagerness, to catch hold of the leaves that Dagobert had taken from his pocket. Then, by a simultaneous movement, full of touching grace, they pressed the writing of their father in silence to their lips. "You will see also, my children, at the end of this letter, why I was surprised that your guardian angel, as you say, should be called Gabriel. Read, read," added the soldier, observing the puzzled air of the orphans. "Only I ought to tell you that, when he wrote this, the general had not yet fallen in with the traveller who brought the papers." Rose, sitting up in her bed, took the leaves, and began to read in a soft and trembling voice, Blanche, with her head resting on her sister's shoulder, followed attentively every word. One could even see, by the slight motion of her lips, that she too was reading, but only to herself. CHAPTER VIII. EXTRACTS FROM GENERAL SIMON'S DIARY. Bivouac on the Mountains of Avers February the 20th, 1830. "Each time I add some pages to this journal, written now in the heart of India, where the fortune of my wandering and proscribed existence has thrown me--a journal which, alas! my beloved Eva, you may never read--I experience a sweet, yet painful emotion; for, although to converse thus with you is a consolation, it brings back the bitter thought that I am unable to see or speak to you. "Still, if these pages should ever meet your eyes, your generous heart will throb at the name of the intrepid being, to whom I am this day indebted for my life, and to whom I may thus perhaps owe the happiness of seeing you again--you and my child--for of course our child lives. Yes, it must be--for else, poor wife, what an existence would be yours amid the horrors of exile! Dear soul! he must now be fourteen. Whom does he resemble? Is he like you? Has he your large and beautiful blue eyes?--Madman that I am! how many times, in this long day-book, have I already asked the same idle question, to which you can return no answer!--How many times shall I continue to ask it?--But you will teach our child to speak and love the somewhat savage name of Djalma." "Djalma!" said Rose, as with moist eyes she left off reading. "Djalma!" repeated Blanche, who shared the emotion of her sister. "Oh, we shall never forget that name." "And you will do well, my children; for it seems to be the name of a famous soldier, though a very young one. But go on, my little Rose!" "I have told you in the preceding pages, my dear Eva, of the two glorious days we had this month. The troops of my old friend, the prince, which daily make fresh advances in European discipline, have performed wonders. We have beaten the English, and obliged them to abandon a portion of this unhappy country, which they had invaded in contempt of all the rights of justice, and which they continue to ravage without mercy, for, in these parts, warfare is another name for treachery, pillage, and massacre. This morning, after a toilsome march through a rocky and mountainous district, we received information from our scouts, that the enemy had been reinforced, and was preparing to act on the offensive; and, as we were separated from them by a distance of a few leagues only, an engagement became inevitable. My old friend the prince, the father of my deliverer, was impatient to march to the attack. The action began about three o'clock; it was very bloody and furious. Seeing that our men wavered for a moment, for they were inferior in number, and the English reinforcements consisted of fresh troops, I charged at the head of our weak reserve of cavalry. The old prince was in the centre, fighting, as he always fights, intrepidly; his son, Djalma, scarcely eighteen, as brave as his father, did not leave my side. In the hottest part of the engagement, my horse was killed under me, and rolling over into a ravine, along the edge of which I was riding, I found myself so awkwardly entangled beneath him, that for an instant I thought my thigh was broken." "Poor father!" said Blanche. "This time, happily, nothing more dangerous ensued thanks to Djalma! You see, Dagobert," added Rose, "that I remember the name." And she continued to read, "The English thought--and a very flattering opinion it was--that, if they could kill me, they would make short work of the prince's army. So a Sepoy officer, with five or six irregulars--cowardly, ferocious plunderers--seeing me roll down the ravine, threw themselves into it to despatch me. Surrounded by fire and smoke, and carried away by their ardor, our mountaineers had not seen me fall; but Djalma never left me. He leaped into the ravine to my assistance, and his cool intrepidity saved my life. He had held the fire of his double-barrelled carbine; with one load, he killed the officer on the spot; with the other he broke the arm of an irregular, who had already pierced my left hand with his bayonet. But do not be alarmed, dear Eva; it is nothing--only a scratch." "Wounded--again wounded--alas!" cried Blanche, clasping her hands together, and interrupting her sister.