The Wandering Jew — Complete
has been already lost; and, if you were not to arrive before the 13th
of next February, this cruel separation and toilsome journey would have
been all in vain.'"
"Suppose we were one day after?"
"Your mother told me that if we arrived the 14th instead of the 13th, it
would be too late. She also gave me a thick letter, to put into the
post for France, in the first town we should pass through--which I have
done."
"And do you think we shall be at Paris in time?"
"I hope so; still, if you are strong enough, we must sometimes make
forced marches--for, if we only travel our five leagues a day, and that
without accident, we shall scarcely reach Paris until the beginning of
February, and it is better to be a little beforehand."
"But as father is in--India, and condemned to death if he return to
France, when shall we see him?"
"And where shall we see him?"
"Poor children! there are so many things you have yet to learn. When the
traveller quitted him, the general could not return to France, but now
he can do so."
"And why is that?"
"Because the Bourbons, who had banished him, were themselves turned out
last year. The news must reach India, and your father will certainly
come to meet you at Paris, because he expects that you and your mother
will be there on the 13th of next February."
"Ah! now I understand how we may hope to see him," said Rose with a
sigh.
"Do you know the name of this traveller, Dagobert?"
"No, my children; but whether called Jack or John, he is a good sort.
When he left your mother, she thanked him with tears for all his
kindness and devotion to the general, herself, and the children; but he
pressed her hands in his, and said to her, in so gentle a voice that
I could not help being touched by it: 'Why do you thank me? Did He not
Say--LOVE YE ONE ANOTHER!'"
"Who is that, Dagobert?"
"Yes, of whom did the traveller speak?"
"I know nothing about it; only the manner in which he pronounced those
words struck me, and they were the last he spoke."
"Love one another!" repeated Rose, thoughtfully.
"How beautiful are those words!" added Blanche.
"And whither was the traveller going?"
"Far, very far into the North, as he told your mother. When she saw
him depart, she said to me: 'His mild, sad talk has affected me even to
tears; whilst I listened to him, I seemed to be growing better--I
seemed to love my husband and my children more--and yet, to judge by the
expression of his countenance, one would think that this stranger had
never either smiled or wept!' She and I watched him from the door as
long as we could follow him with our eyes; he carried his head down, and
his walk was slow, calm, and firm; one might fancy that he counted his
steps. And, talking of steps, I remarked yet another thing."
"What was it, Dagobert?"
"You know that the road which led to our house way, always damp, because
of the overflowing of the little spring."
"Yes."
"Well, then, the mark of the traveller's footsteps remained in the clay,
and I saw that he had nails under his shoe in the form of a cross."
"How in the form of a cross?"
"Look!" said Dagobert, placing the tip of his finger seven times on the
coverlet of the bed; "they were arrange: thus beneath his heel:"
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"You see it forms a cross."
"What could it mean, Dagobert?"
"Chance, perhaps--yes, chance--and yet, in spite of myself, this
confounded cross left behind him struck me as a bad omen, for hardly was
he gone when misfortune after misfortune fell upon us."
"Alas! the death of our mother!"
"Yes--but, before that, another piece of ill-luck. You had not yet
returned, and she was writing her petition to ask leave to go to France
or to send you there, when I heard the gallop of a horse. It was a
courier from the governor general of Siberia. He brought us orders to
change our residence; within three days we were to join other condemned
persons, and be removed with them four hundred leagues further north.
Thus, after fifteen years of exile, they redoubled in cruelty towards
your mother."
"Why did they thus torment her?"
"One would think that some evil genius was at work against her. A few
days later, the traveller would no longer have found us at Milosk; and
if he had joined us further on, it would have been too far for the medal
and papers to be of use--since, having set out almost immediately, we
shall hardly arrive in time at Paris. 'If they had some interest to
prevent me and my children from going to France,' said your mother,
'they would act just as they have done. To banish us four hundred
leagues further, is to render impossible this journey, of which the term
is fixed.' And the idea overwhelmed her with grief."
"Perhaps it was this unexpected sorrow that was the cause of her sudden
illness."
"Alas! no, my children; it was that infernal cholera, who arrives
without giving you notice--for he too is a great traveller--and strikes
you down like a thunderbolt. Three hours after the traveller had left
us, when you returned quite pleased and gay from the forest, with your
large bunches of wild-flowers for your mother, she was already in the
last agony, and hardly to be recognized. The cholera had broken out in
the village, and that evening five persons died of it. Your mother had
only time to hang the medal about your neck, my dear little Rose,
to recommend you both to my care, and to beg that we should set out
immediately. When she was gone, the new order of exile could not apply
to you; and I obtained permission from the governor to take my departure
with you for France, according to the last wishes--"
The soldier could not finish the sentence; he covered his eyes with his
hand, whilst the orphans embraced him sobbing.
"Oh! but," resumed Dagobert, with pride, after a moment of painful
silence, "it was then that you showed yourselves the brave daughters of
the general. Notwithstanding the danger, it was impossible to tear
you from your mother's bedside; you remained with her to the last, you
closed her eyes, you watched there all night, and you would not leave
the village till you had seen me plant the little wooden cross over the
grave I had dug for her."
Dagobert paused abruptly. A strange, wild neighing, mingled with
ferocious roarings, made the soldier start from his seat. He grew pale,
and cried: "It is Jovial! my horse! What are they doing to my horse?"
With that, opening the door he rushed down the stairs precipitately.
The two sisters clung together, so terrified at the sudden departure of
the soldier, that they saw not an enormous hand pass through the broken
panes, unfasten the catch of the window, push it violently open,
and throw down the lamp placed on the little table, on which was the
soldiers's knapsack. The orphans thus found themselves plunged into
complete darkness.
CHAPTER XI. JOVIAL and DEATH.
Morok had led Jovial into the middle of the menagerie, and then removed
the cloth which prevented him from seeing and smelling. Scarcely had
the tiger, lion, and panther caught a glimpse of him than they threw
themselves, half famished, against the bars of their dens.
The horse struck with stupor, his neck stretched out, his eye fixed, and
trembling through all his limbs, appeared as if nailed to the ground;
an abundant icy sweat rolled suddenly down his flanks. The lion and the
tiger uttered fearful roarings, and struggled violently in their dens.
The panther did not roar, but her mute rage was terrific.
With a tremendous bound, at the risk of breaking her skull, she sprang
from the back of the cage against the bars; then, still mute, still
furious, she crawled back to the extreme corner of the den, and with a
new spring, as impetuous as it was blind, she again strove to force
out the iron grating. Three times had she thus bounded--silent,
appalling--when the horse, passing from the immobility of stupor to the
wild agony of fear, neighed long and loud, and rushed in desperation at
the door by which he had entered. Finding it closed he hung his head,
bent his knees a little, and rubbed his nostrils against the opening
left between the ground and the bottom of the door, as if he wished
to inhale the air from the outside; then, more and more affrighted, he
began to neigh with redoubled force, and struck out violently with his
fore-feet.
At the moment when Death was about once more to make her spring, the
Prophet approached her cage. The heavy bolt which secured the grating
was pushed from its staple by the pike of the brute-tamer, and, in
another second, Morok was half way up the ladder that communicated with
the loft.
The roaring of the lion and tiger, mingled with the neighing of Jovial,
now resounded through all parts of the inn. The panther had again
thrown herself furiously on the grating, and this time yielding with one
spring, she was in the middle of the shed.
The light of the lantern was reflected from the glossy ebon of her
hide, spotted with stains of a duller black. For an instant she remained
motionless, crouching upon her thick-set limbs, with her head close to
the floor, as if calculating the distance of the leap by which she was
to reach the horse; then suddenly she darted upon him.
On seeing her break from her cage Jovial had thrown himself violently
against the door, which was made to open inwards, and leaned against
it with all his might, as though he would force it down. Then, at
the moment when Death took her leap, he reared up in almost an erect
position; but she, rapid as lightning, had fastened upon his throat and
hung there, whilst at the same time she buried the sharp claws of her
fore-feet in his chest. The jugular vein of the horse opened; a torrent
of bright red blood spouted forth beneath the tooth of the panther, who,
now supporting herself on her hind legs, squeezed her victim up against
the door, whilst she dug into his flank with her claws, and laid bare
the palpitating flesh. Then his half-strangled neighing became awful.
Suddenly these words resounded: "Courage, Jovial!--I am at hand!
Courage!"
It was the voice of Dagobert, who was exhausting himself in desperate
exertions to force open the door that concealed this sanguinary
struggle. "Jovial!" cried the soldier, "I am here. Help! Help!"
At the sound of that friendly and well-known voice, the poor animal,
almost at its last gasp, strove to turn its head in the direction whence
came the accents of his master, answered him with a plaintive neigh,
and, sinking beneath the efforts of the panther, fell prostrate, first
on its knees, then upon its flank, so that its backbone lay right
across the door, and still prevented its being opened. And now all was
finished. The panther, squatting down upon the horse, crushed him with
all her paws, and, in spite of some last faint kicks, buried her bloody
snout in his body.
"Help! help! my horse!" cried Dagobert, as he vainly shook the door.
"And no arms!" he added with rage; "no arms!"
"Take care!" exclaimed the brute-tamer, who appeared at the window
of the loft; "do not attempt to enter it might cost you your life. My
panther is furious."
"But my horse! my horse!" cried Dagobert, in a voice of agony.
"He must have strayed from his stable during the night, and pushed open
the door of the shed. At sight of him the panther must have broken out
of her cage and seized him. You are answerable for all the mischief that
may ensue," added the brute-tamer, with a menacing air; "for I shall
have to run the greatest danger, to make Death return to her den."
"But my horse! only save my horse!" cried Dagobert, in a tone of
hopeless supplication.
The Prophet disappeared from the window.