The Wandering Jew — Complete
"Take courage!" said Dagobert: "I dare say it was only a scratch, as
the general calls it. Formerly, he used to call wounds, which did not
disable a man from fighting, blank wounds. There was no one like him for
such sayings."
"Djalma, seeing me wounded," resumed Rose, wiping her eyes, "made use
of his heavy carbine as a club, and drove back the soldiers. At that
instant, I perceived a new assailant, who, sheltered behind a clump of
bamboos which commanded the ravine, slowly lowered his long gun, placed
the barrel between two branches, and took deliberate aim at Djalma.
Before my shouts could apprise him of his danger, the brave youth
had received a ball in his breast. Feeling himself hit, he fell bark
involuntarily two paces, and dropped upon one knee: but he still
remained firm, endeavoring to cover me with his body. You may conceive
my rage and despair, whilst all my efforts to disengage myself were
paralyzed by the excruciating pain in my thigh. Powerless and disarmed,
I witnessed for some moments this unequal struggle.
"Djalma was losing blood rapidly; his strength of arm began to fail him;
already one of the irregulars, inciting his comrades with his voice,
drew from his belt a huge, heavy kind of bill-hook, when a dozen of
our mountaineers made their appearance, borne towards the spot by the
irresistible current of the battle. Djalma was rescued in his turn, I
was released, and, in a quarter of an hour, I was able to mount a horse.
The fortune of the day is ours, though with severe loss; but the fires
of the English camp are still visible, and to-morrow the conflict will
be decisive. Thus, my beloved Eva, I owe my life to this youth. Happily,
his wound occasions us no uneasiness; the ball only glanced along the
ribs in a slanting direction."
"The brave boy might have said: 'A blank wound,' like the general,"
observed Dagobert.
"Now, my dear Eva," continued Rose, "you must become acquainted, by
means of this narrative at least, with the intrepid Djalma. He is but
just eighteen. With one word, I will paint for you his noble and valiant
nature; it is a custom of this country to give surnames, and, when only
fifteen, he was called 'The Generous'--by which was, of course, meant
generous in heart and mind. By another custom, no less touching than
whimsical, this name was reverted to his parent, who is called 'The
Father of the Generous,' and who might, with equal propriety, be called
'The Just,' for this old Indian is a rare example of chivalrous honor
and proud independence. He might, like so many other poor princes of
this country, have humbled himself before the execrable despotism of
the English, bargained for the relinquishment of sovereign power,
and submitted to brute force--but it was not in his nature. 'My whole
rights, or a grave in my native mountains!'--such is his motto. And this
is no empty boast; it springs from the conviction of what is right and
just. 'But you will be crushed in the struggle,' I have said to him--'My
friend,' he answered, 'what if, to force you to a disgraceful act, you
were told to yield or die?'--From that day I understood him, and have
devoted myself, mind and body, to the ever sacred cause of the weak
against the strong. You see, my Eva, that Djalma shows himself worthy of
such a father. This young Indian is so proud, so heroic in his bravery,
that, like a young Greek of Leonidas' age, he fights with his breast
bare; while other warriors of his country (who, indeed, usually have
arms, breast, and shoulders uncovered) wear, in time of battle, a thick,
impenetrable vest. The rash daring of this youth reminds me of Murat,
King of Naples, who, I have so often told you, I have seen a hundred
times leading the most desperate charges with nothing but a riding-whip
in his hand."
"That's another of those kings I was telling you of, whom the Emperor
set up for his amusement," said Dagobert. "I once saw a Prussian officer
prisoner, whose face had been cut across by that mad-cap King of Naples'
riding-whip; the mark was there, a black and blue stripe. The
Prussian swore he was dishonored, and that a sabre-cut would have been
preferable. I should rather think so! That devil of a king; he only
had one idea: 'Forward, on to the cannon!' As soon as they began to
cannonade, one would have thought the guns were calling him with all
their might, for he was soon up to them with his 'Here I am!' If I
speak to you about him, my children, it's because he was fond of
repeating,--'No one can break through a square of infantry, if General
Simon or I can't do it.'"
Rose continued:
"I have observed with pain, that, notwithstanding his youth, Djalma
is often subject to fits of deep melancholy. At times, I have seen
him exchange with his father looks of singular import. In spite of our
mutual attachment, I believe that both conceal from me some sad family
secret, in so far as I can judge from expressions which have dropped
from them by chance.
"It relates to some strange event which their vivid imaginations have
invested with a supernatural character.
"And yet, my love, you and I have no longer the right to smile at the
credulity of others. I, since the French campaign, when I met with
that extraordinary adventure, which, to this day, I am quite unable to
understand--"
"This refers to the man who threw himself before the mouth of the
cannon," said Dagobert.
"And you," continued the maiden, still reading, "you, my dear Eva,
since the visits of that young and beautiful woman, whom, as your mother
asserted, she had seen at her mother's house forty years before."
The orphans, in amazement, looked at the soldier.
"Your mother never spoke to me of that, nor the general either, my
children; this is as strange to me as it is to you."
With increasing excitement and curiosity, Rose continued:
"After all, my dear Eva, things which appear very extraordinary, may
often be explained by a chance resemblance or a freak of nature. Marvels
being always the result of optical illusion or heated fancy, a time must
come, when that which appeared to be superhuman or supernatural, will
prove to be the most simple and natural event in the world. I doubt not,
therefore, that the things, which we denominate our prodigies, will one
day receive this commonplace solution."
"You see, my children--things appear marvelous, which at bottom are
quite simple--though for a long time we understand nothing about them."
"As our father relates this, we must believe it, and not be
astonished--eh, sister?"
"Yes, truly--since it will all be explained one day."
"For example," said Dagobert, after a moment's reflection, "you two
are so much alike, that any one, who was not in the habit of seeing you
daily, might easily take one for the other. Well! if they did not know
that you are, so to speak,'doubles,' they might think an imp was at work
instead of such good little angels as you are."
"You are right, Dagobert; in this way many things may be explained, even
as our father says." And Rose continued to read:
"Not without pride, my gentle Eva, have I learned that Djalma has French
blood in his veins. His father married, some years ago, a young girl,
whose family, of French origin, had long been settled at Batavia in the
island of Java. This similarity of circumstances between my old friend
and myself--for your family also, my Eva, is of French origin, and long
settled in a foreign land--has only served to augment my sympathy for
him. Unfortunately, he has long had to mourn the loss of the wife whom
he adored.
"See, my beloved Eva! my hand trembles as I write these words. I am
weak--I am foolish--but, alas! my heart sinks within me. If such a
misfortune were to happen to me--Oh, my God!--what would become of our
child without thee--without his father--in that barbarous country?
But no! the very fear is madness; and yet what a horrible torture is
uncertainty! Where may you now be? What are you doing? What has become
of you? Pardon these black thoughts, which are sometimes too much for
me. They are the cause of my worst moments--for, when free from them,
I can at least say to myself: I am proscribed, I am every way
unfortunate--but, at the other end of the world, two hearts still beat
for me with affection--yours, my Eva, and our child's!"
Rose could hardly finish this passage; for some seconds her voice was
broken by sobs. There was indeed a fatal coincidence between the fears
of General Simon and the sad reality; and what could be more touching
than these outpourings of the heart, written by the light of a watch
fire, on the eve of battle, by a soldier who thus sought to soothe the
pangs of a separation, which he felt bitterly, but knew not would be
eternal?
"Poor general! he is unaware of our misfortune," said Dagobert, after
a moment's silence; "but neither has he heard that he has two children,
instead of one. That will be at least some consolation. But come,
Blanche; do go on reading: I fear that this dwelling on grief fatigues
your sister, and she is too much affected by it. Besides, after all, it
is only just, that you should take your share of its pleasure and its
sorrow."
Blanche took the letter, and Rose, having dried her eyes, laid in her
turn her sweet head on the shoulder of her sister, who thus continued:
"I am calmer now, my dear Eva; I left off writing for a moment,
and strove to banish those black presentiments. Let us resume our
conversation! After discoursing so long about India, I will talk to
you a little of Europe. Yesterday evening, one of our people (a trusty
fellow) rejoined our outposts. He brought me a letter, which had arrived
from France at Calcutta; at length, I have news of my father, and am no
longer anxious on his account. This letter is dated in August of last
year. I see by its contents, that several other letters, to which he
alludes, have either been delayed or lost; for I had not received
any for two years before, and was extremely uneasy about him. But my
excellent father is the same as ever! Age has not weakened him; his
character is as energetic, his health as robust, as in times past--still
a workman, still proud of his order, still faithful to his austere
republican ideas, still hoping much.
"For he says to me, 'the time is at hand,' and he underlines those
words. He gives me also, as you will see, good news of the family of old
Dagobert, our friend--for in truth, my dear Eva, it soothes my grief
to think, that this excellent man is with you, that he will have
accompanied you in your exile--for I know him--a kernel of gold beneath
the rude rind of a soldier! How he must love our child!"
Here Dagobert coughed two or three times, stooped down, and appeared
to be seeking on the ground the little red and blue check-handkerchief
spread over his knees. He remained thus bent for some seconds, and, when
he raised himself, he drew his hand across his moustache.
"How well father knows you!"
"How rightly has he guessed that you would love us!"
"Well, well, children; pass over that!--Let's come to the part where the
general speaks of my little Agricola, and of Gabriel, my wife's adopted
child. Poor woman! when I think that in three months perhaps--but
come, child, read, read," added the old soldier, wishing to conceal his
emotion.
"I still hope against hope, my dear Eva, that these pages will one
day reach you, and therefore I wish to insert in them all that can be
interesting to Dagobert. It will be a consolation to him, to have some
news of his family. My father, who is still foreman at Mr. Hardy's,
tells me that worthy man has also taken into his house the son of old
Dagobert. Agricola works under my father, who is enchanted with him.
He is, he tells me, a tall and vigorous lad, who wields the heavy