The Wandering Jew — Complete
Charpentier, curate of the Parish of Saint-Aubin, a hamlet of Sologne:
"Springwater Farm, "June 2d, 1836.
"Intending to write to you yesterday, my bear Joseph, I seated myself
at the little old black table, that you will remember well. My window
looks, you know, upon the farmyard, and I can see all that takes place
there. These are grave preliminaries, my friend, but I am coming to the
point. I had just taken my seat at the table, when, looking from the
window, this is what I saw. You, my dear Joseph, who can draw so well,
should have been there to have sketched the charming scene. The sun was
sinking, the sky serene, the air warm and balmy with the breath of the
hawthorn, which, flowering by the side of a little rivulet, forms the
edge which borders the yard. Under the large pear-tree, close to the
wall of the barn, sat upon the stone bench my adopted father, Dagobert,
that brave and honest soldier whom you love so much. He appeared
thoughtful, his white head was bowed on his bosom; with absent mind,
he patted old Spoil-sport, whose intelligent face was resting on his
master's knees. By his side was his wife, my dear adopted mother,
occupied with her sewing; and near them, on a stool, sat Angela,
the wife of Agricola, nursing her last-born child, while the gentle
Magdalen, with the eldest boy in her lap, was occupied in teaching him
the letters of the alphabet. Agricola had just returned from the fields,
and was beginning to unyoke his cattle, when, struck, like me, no doubt,
with this picture, he stood gazing on it for a moment, with his hand
still leaning on the yoke, beneath which bent submissive the broad
foreheads of his two large black oxen. I cannot express to you, my
friend, the enchanting repose of this picture, lighted by the last rays
of the sun, here and there broken by the thick foliage. What various
and touching types! The venerable face of the soldier--the good, loving
countenance of my adopted mother--the fresh beauty of Angela, smiling
on her little child--the soft melancholy of the hunchback, now and
then pressing her lips to the fair, laughing cheek of Agricola's eldest
son--and then Agricola himself, in his manly beauty, which seems to
reflect so well the valor and honesty of his heart! Oh, my Friend!
in contemplating this assemblage of good, devoted, noble, and loving
beings, so dear to each other, living retired in a little farm of our
poor Sologne, my heart rose towards heaven with a feeling of ineffable
gratitude. This peace of the family circle--this clear evening, with the
perfume of the woods and wild flowers wafted on the breeze--this deep
silence, only broken by the murmur of the neighboring rill--all affected
me with one of these passing fits of vague and sweet emotion, which
one feels but cannot express. You well know it, my friend, who, in your
solitary walks, in the midst of your immense plains of flowering heath,
surrounded by forests of fir trees, often feel your eyes grow moist,
without being able to explain the cause of that sweet melancholy, which
I, too, have often felt, during those glorious nights passed in the
profound solitudes of America.
"But, alas! a painful incident disturbed the serenity of the picture.
Suddenly I heard Dagobert's wife say to him: 'My dear--you are weeping!'
"At these words, Agricola, Angela, and Magdalen gathered round the
soldier. Anxiety was visible upon every face. Then, as he raised his
head abruptly, one could see two large tears trickle down his cheek to
his white moustache. 'It is nothing, my children,' said he, in a voice
of emotion 'it is nothing. Only, to-day is the first of June--and this
day four years--' He could not complete the sentence; and, as he raised
his hands to his eyes, to brush away the tears, we saw that he held
between his fingers a little bronze chain, with a medal suspended to it.
That is his dearest relic. Four years ago, almost dying with despair at
the loss of the two angels, of whom I have so often spoken to you, my
friend, he took from the neck of Marshal Simon, brought home dead from a
fatal duel, this chain and medal which his children had so long worn.
I went down instantly, as you may suppose, to endeavor to soothe the
painful remembrances of this excellent man; gradually, he grew calmer,
and the evening was passed in a pious and quiet sadness.
"You cannot imagine, my friend, when I returned to my chamber, what
cruel thoughts came to my mind, as I recalled those past events, from
which I generally turn away with fear and horror. Then I saw once more
the victims of those terrible and mysterious plots, the awful depths of
which have never been penetrated thanks to the death of Father d'A.
and Father R., and the incurable madness of Madame de St.-D., the three
authors or accomplices of the dreadful deeds. The calamities occasioned
by them are irreparable; for those who were thus sacrificed to a
criminal ambition, would have been the pride of humanity by the good
they would have done. Ah, my friend! if you had known those noble
hearts; if you had known the projects of splendid charity, formed by
that young lady, whose heart was so generous, whose mind so elevated,
whose soul so great! On the eve of her death, as a kind of prelude to
her magnificent designs, after a conversation, the subject of which I
must keep secret, even from you, she put into my hands a considerable
sum, saying, with her usual grace and goodness: 'I have been threatened
with ruin, and it might perhaps come. What I now confide to you will at
least be safe--safe--for those who suffer. Give much--give freely--make
as many happy hearts as you can. My happiness shall have a royal
inauguration!!' I do not know whether I ever told you, my friend,
that, after those fatal events, seeing Dagobert and his wife reduced to
misery, poor 'Mother Bunch' hardly able to earn a wretched subsistence,
Agricola soon to become a father, and myself deprived of my curacy, and
suspended by my bishop, for having given religious consolations to
a Protestant, and offered up prayers at the tomb of an unfortunate
suicide--I considered myself justified in employing a small portion of
the sum intrusted to me by Mdlle. de Cardoville in the purchase of this
farm in Dagobert's name.
"Yes, my friend, such is the origin of my fortune. The farmer to
whom these few acres formerly belonged, gave us the rudiments of our
agricultural education, and common sense, and the study of a few good
practical books, completed it. From an excellent workman, Agricola has
become an equally excellent husbandman; I have tried to imitate him, and
have put my hand also to the plough there is no derogation in it, for
the labor which provides food for man is thrice hallowed, and it is
truly to serve and glorify God, to cultivate and enrich the earth He has
created. Dagobert, when his first grief was a little appeased, seemed to
gather new vigor from this healthy life of the fields; and, during his
exile in Siberia, he had already learned to till the ground. Finally, my
dear adopted mother and sister, and Agricola's good wife, have divided
between them the household cares; and God has blessed this little colony
of people, who, alas! have been sorely tried by misfortune, and who now
only ask of toil and solitude, a quite, laborious, innocent life, and
oblivion of great sorrows. Sometimes, in our winter evenings, you have
been able to appreciate the delicate and charming mind of the gentle
'Mother Bunch,' the rare poetical imagination of Agricola, the
tenderness of his mother, the good sense of his father, the exquisite
natural grace of Angela. Tell me, my friend, was it possible to unite
more elements of domestic happiness? What long evenings have we passed
round the fire of crackling wood, reading, or commenting on a few
immortal works, which always warm the heart, and enlarge the soul!
What sweet talk have we had, prolonged far into the night! And then
Agricola's pastorals, and the timid literary confidences of Magdalen!
And the fresh, clear voice of Angela, joined to the deep manly tones of
Agricola, in songs of simple melody! And the old stories of Dagobert,
so energetic and picturesque in their warlike spirit! And the adorable
gayety of the children, in their sports with good old Spoil-sport,
who rather lends himself to their play than takes part in it--for the
faithful, intelligent creature seems always to be looking for somebody,
as Dagobert says--and he is right. Yes, the dog also regrets those two
angels, of whom he was the devoted guardian!
"Do not think, my friend, that our happiness makes us forgetful. No, no;
not a day passes without our repeating, with pious and tender respect,
those names so dear to our heart. And these painful memories, hovering
forever about us, give to our calm and happy existence that shade of
mild seriousness which struck you so much. No doubt, my friend, this
kind of life, bounded by the family circle, and not extending beyond,
for the happiness or improvement of our brethren, may be set down as
selfish; but, alas! we have not the means--and though the poor man
always finds a place at our frugal table, and shelter beneath our roof,
we must renounce all great projects of fraternal action. The little
revenue of our farm just suffices to supply our wants. Alas! when I
think over it, notwithstanding a momentary regret, I cannot blame my
resolution to keep faithfully my sacred oath, and to renounce that great
inheritance, which, alas! had become immense by the death of my kindred.
Yes, I believe I performed a duty, when I begged the guardian of that
treasure to reduce it to ashes, rather than let it fall into the hands
of people, who would have made an execrable use of it, or to perjure
myself by disputing a donation which I had granted freely, voluntarily,
sincerely. And yet, when I picture to myself the realization of the
magnificent views of--my ancestor--an admirable Utopia, only possible
with immense resources--and which Mdlle. de Cardoville hoped to carry
into execution, with the aid of M. Francois Hardy, of Prince Djalma,
of Marshal Simon and his daughters, and of myself--when I think of the
dazzling focus of living forces, which such an association would have
been, and of the immense influence it might have had on the happiness of
the whole human race--my indignation and horror, as an honest man and
a Christian, are excited against that abominable Company, whose black
plots nipped in their bud all those great hopes, which promised so much
for futurity. What remains now of all these splendid projects? Seven
tombs. For my grave also is dug in that mausoleum, which Samuel has
erected on the site of the house in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Francois, and of
which he remains the keeper--faithful to the end!
"I had written thus far, my friend, when I received your letter. So,
after having forbidden you to see me, your bishop now orders that you
shall cease to correspond with me. Your touching, painful regrets
have deeply moved me, my friend. Often have we talked together of
ecclesiastical discipline, and of the absolute power of the bishops
over, us, the poor working clergy, left to their mercy without remedy.
It is painful, but it is the law of the church, my friend, and you have
sworn to observe it. Submit as I have submitted. Every engagement is
binding upon the man of honor! My poor, dear Joseph! would that you had
the compensations which remained to me, after the rupture of ties that I
so much value. But I know too well what you must feel--I cannot go on
I find it impossible to continue this letter, I might be bitter against
those whose orders we are bound to respect. Since it must be so, this
letter shall be my last. Farewell, my friend! farewell forever. My heart
is almost broken.
"GABRIEL DE RENNEPONT."
CHAPTER II. THE REDEMPTION.