The Wandering Jew — Complete
forehead with a purple band; and (still more sad!) his hands had
been cruelly pierced by a crucifixion--his feet had suffered the same
injury--and, if he now walked with so much difficulty, it was that his
wounds had reopened, as he struggled over the sharp rocks.
This young man was Gabriel, the priest attached to the foreign mission,
the adopted son of Dagobert's wife. He was a priest and martyr--for, in
our days, there are still martyrs, as in the time when the Caesars flung
the early Christians to the lions and tigers of the circus.
Yes, in our days, the children of the people--for it is almost always
amongst them that heroic and disinterested devotion may still be
found--the children of the people, led by an honorable conviction,
because it is courageous and sincere, go to all parts of the world, to
try and propagate their faith, and brave both torture and death with the
most unpretending valor.
How many of them, victims of some barbarous tribe, have perished,
obscure and unknown, in the midst of the solitudes of the two
worlds!--And for these humble soldiers of the cross, who have nothing
but their faith and their intrepidity, there is never reserved on their
return (and they seldom do return) the rich and sumptuous dignities of
the church. Never does the purple or the mitre conceal their scarred
brows and mutilated limbs; like the great majority of other soldiers,
they die forgotten.(8)
In their ingenuous gratitude, the daughters of General Simon, as soon
as they recovered their senses after the shipwreck, and felt themselves
able to ascend the cliffs, would not leave to any other person the
care of sustaining the faltering steps of him who had rescued them from
certain death.
The black garments of Rose and Blanche streamed with water; their faces
were deadly pale, and expressive of deep grief; the marks of recent
tears were on their cheeks, and, with sad, downcast eyes, they trembled
both from agitation and cold, as the agonizing thought recurred to them,
that they should never again see Dagobert, their friend and guide; for
it was to him that Gabriel had stretched forth a helping hand, to assist
him to climb the rocks. Unfortunately the strength of both had failed,
and the soldier had been carried away by a retreating wave.
The sight of Gabriel was a fresh surprise for Rodin, who had retired on
one side, in order to observe all; but this surprise was of so pleasant
a nature, and he felt so much joy in beholding the missionary safe after
such imminent peril, that the painful impression, caused by the view
of General Simon's daughters, was a little softened. It must not
be forgotten, that the presence of Gabriel in Paris, on the 13th of
February, was essential to the success of Rodin's projects.
The bailiff and his wife, who were greatly moved at sight of the
orphans, approached them with eagerness. Just then a farm-boy entered
the room, crying: "Sir! sir! good news--two more saved from the wreck!"
"Blessing and praise to God for it!" said the missionary.
"Where are they?" asked the bailiff, hastening towards the door.
"There is one who can walk, and is following behind me with Justin;
the other was wounded against the rocks, and they are carrying him on a
litter made of branches."
"I will run and have him placed in the room below," said the bailiff, as
he went out. "Catherine, you can look to the young ladies."
"And the shipwrecked man who can walk--where is he?" asked the bailiff's
wife.
"Here he is," said the peasant, pointing to some one who came rapidly
along the gallery; "when he heard that the two young ladies were safe
in the chateau--though he is old, and wounded in the head, he took such
great strides, that it was all I could do to get here before him."
Hardly had the peasant pronounced these words, when Rose and Blanche,
springing up by a common impulse, flew to the door. They arrived there
at the same moment as Dagobert.
The soldier, unable to utter a syllable, fell on his knees at the
threshold, and extended his arms to the daughters of General Simon;
while Spoil-sport, running to them licked their hands.
But the emotion was too much for Dagobert; and, when he had clasped the
orphans in his arms, his head fell backward, and he would have sunk
down altogether, but for the care of the peasants. In spite of the
observations of the bailiff's wife, on their state of weakness and
agitation, the two young girls insisted on accompanying Dagobert, who
was carried fainting into an adjoining apartment.
At sight of the soldier, Rodin's face was again violently contracted,
for he had till then believed that the guide of General Simon's
daughters was dead. The missionary, worn out with fatigue, was leaning
upon a chair, and had not yet perceived Rodin.
A new personage, a man with a dead yellow complexion, now entered the
room, accompanied by another peasant, who pointed out Gabriel to him.
This man, who had just borrowed a smock-frock and a pair of trousers,
approached the missionary, and said to him in French but with a foreign
accent: "Prince Djalma has just been brought in here. His first word was
to ask for you."
"What does that man say?" cried Rodin, in a voice of thunder; for, at
the name of Djalma, he had sprung with one bound to Gabriel's side.
"M. Rodin!" exclaimed the missionary, falling back in surprise.
"M. Rodin," cried the other shipwrecked person; and from that moment, he
kept his eye fixed on the correspondent of M. Van Dael.
"You here, sir?" said Gabriel, approaching Rodin with an air of
deference, not unmixed with fear.
"What did that man say to you?" repeated Rodin, in an excited tone. "Did
he not utter the name of Prince Djalma?"
"Yes, sir; Prince Djalma was one of the passengers on board the English
ship, which came from Alexandria, and in which we have just been
wrecked. This vessel touched at the Azores, where I then was; the ship
that brought me from Charlestown having been obliged to put in there,
and being likely to remain for some time, on account of serious damage,
I embarked on board the 'Black Eagle,' where I met Prince Djalma. We
were bound to Portsmouth, and from thence my intention was to proceed to
France."
Rodin did not care to interrupt Gabriel. This new shock had completely
paralyzed his thoughts. At length, like a man who catches at a last
hope, which he knows beforehand to be vain, he said to Gabriel: "Can you
tell me who this Prince Djalma is?"
"A young man as good as brave--the son of an East Indian king,
dispossessed of his territory by the English."
Then, turning towards the other shipwrecked man, the missionary said
to him with anxious interest: "How is the Prince? are his wounds
dangerous?"
"They are serious contusions, but they will not be mortal," answered the
other.
"Heaven be praised!" said the missionary, addressing Rodin; "here, you
see, is another saved."
"So much the better," observed Rodin, in a quick, imperious tone.
"I will go see him," said Gabriel, submissively. "You have no orders to
give me?"
"Will you be able to leave this place in two or three hours,
notwithstanding your fatigue?"
"If it be necessary--yes."
"It is necessary. You will go with me."
Gabriel only bowed in reply, and Rodin sank confounded into a chair,
while the missionary went out with the peasant. The man with the sallow
complexion still lingered in a corner of the room, unperceived by Rodin.
This man was Faringhea, the half-caste, one of the three chiefs of the
Stranglers. Having escaped the pursuit of the soldiers in the ruins
of Tchandi, he had killed Mahal the Smuggler, and robbed him of the
despatches written by M. Joshua Van Dael to Rodin, as also of the letter
by which the smuggler was to have been received as passenger on board
the "Ruyter." When Faringhea left the hut in the ruins of Tchandi,
he had not been seen by Djalma; and the latter, when he met him on
shipboard, after his escape (which we shall explain by and by), not
knowing that he belonged to the sect of Phansegars, treated him during
the voyage as a fellow-countryman.
Rodin, with his eye fixed and haggard, his countenance of a livid hue,
biting his nails to the quick in silent rage, did not perceive the half
caste, who quietly approached him and laying his hand familiarly on his
shoulder, said to him: "Your name is Rodin?"
"What now?" asked the other, starting, and raising his head abruptly.
"Your name is Rodin?" repeated Faringhea.
"Yes. What do you want?"
"You live in the Rue du Milieu-des-Ursins, Paris?"
"Yes. But, once more, what do you want?"
"Nothing now, brother: hereafter, much!"
And Faringhea, retiring, with slow steps, left Rodin alarmed at what
had passed; for this man, who scarcely trembled at anything, had quailed
before the dark look and grim visage of the Strangler.
(8) We always remember with emotion the end of a letter written, two or
three years ago, by one of these young and valiant missionaries, the son
of poor parents in Beauce. He was writing to his mother from the heart
of Japan, and thus concluded his letter: "Adieu, my dear mother! they
say there is much danger where I am now sent to. Pray for me, and tell
all our good neighbors that I think of them very often." These few
words, addressed from the centre of Asia to poor peasants in a hamlet of
France, are only the more touching from their very simplicity--E. S.
CHAPTER XXVI. THE DEPARTURE FOR PARIS.
The most profound silence reigns throughout Cardoville House. The
tempest has lulled by degrees, and nothing is heard from afar but the
hoarse murmur of the waves, as they wash heavily the shore.
Dagobert and the orphans have been lodged in warm and comfortable
apartments on the first-floor of the chateau. Djalma, too severely hurt
to be carried upstairs, has remained in a room below. At the moment of
the shipwreck, a weeping mother had placed her child in his arms. He
had failed in the attempt to snatch this unfortunate infant from certain
death, but his generous devotion had hampered his movements, and when
thrown upon the rocks, he was almost dashed to pieces. Faringhea, who
has been able to convince him of his affection, remains to watch over
him.
Gabriel, after administering consolation to Djalma, has rescinded to the
chamber allotted to him; faithful to the promise he made to Rodin, to be
ready to set out in two hours, he has not gone to bed; but, having dried
his clothes, he has fallen asleep in a large, high-backed arm-chair,
placed in front of a bright coal-fire. His apartment is situated near
those occupied by Dagobert and the two sisters.
Spoil-sport, probably quite at his ease in so respectable a dwelling,
has quitted the door of Rose and Blanche's chamber, to lie down and warm
himself at the hearth, by the side of which the missionary is sleeping.
There, with his nose resting on his outstretched paws, he enjoys a
feeling of perfect comfort and repose, after so many perils by land and
sea. We will not venture to affirm, that he thinks habitually of poor
old Jovial; unless we recognize as a token of remembrance on his part,
his irresistible propensity to bite all the white horses he has met
with, ever since the death of his venerable companion, though before, he
was the most inoffensive of dogs with regard to horses of every color.
Presently one of the doors of the chamber opened, and the two sisters
entered timidly. Awake for some minutes, they had risen and dressed
themselves, feeling still some uneasiness with respect to Dagobert;
though the bailiff's wife, after showing them to their room, had
returned again to tell them that the village doctor found nothing
serious in the hurt of the old soldier, still they hoped to meet some
one belonging to the chateau, of whom they could make further inquiries