The Wandering Jew — Complete
large imperial was incessantly agitated by nervous trembling--but he
restrained himself. Taking, by two of the corners, the handkerchief
which he had just dipped in the water, he shook it, wrung it, and began
to hum to himself the burden of the old camp ditty:
"Out of Tirlemont's flea-haunted den,
We ride forth next day of the sen,
With sabre in hand, ah!
Good-bye to Amanda," etc.
The silence to which Dagobert had condemned himself, almost choked him;
this song afforded him some relief.
Morok, turning towards the spectators, said to them, with an air of
hypocritical restraint: "We knew that the soldiers of Napoleon were
pagans, who stabled their horses in churches, and offended the Lord a
hundred times a day, and who, for their sins, were justly drowned in the
Beresino, like so many Pharaohs; but we did not know that the Lord,
to punish these miscreants, had deprived them of courage--their single
gift. Here is a man, who has insulted, in me, a creature favored by
divine grace, and who affects not to understand that I require an
apology; or else--"
"What?" said Dagobert, without looking at the Prophet.
"Or you must give me satisfaction!--I have already told you that I have
seen service. We shall easily find somewhere a couple of swords, and to
morrow morning, at peep of day, we can meet behind a wall, and show the
color of our blood--that is, if you have any in your veins!"
This challenge began to frighten the spectators, who were not prepared
for so tragical a conclusion.
"What, fight?--a very, fine idea!" said one. "To get yourself both
locked up in prison: the laws against duelling are strict."
"Particularly with relation to strangers or nondescripts," added
another. "If they were to find you with arms in your hands, the
burgomaster would shut you up in jail, and keep you there two or three
months before trial."
"Would you be so mean as to denounce us?" asked Morok.
"No, certainly not," cried several; "do as you like. We are only giving
you a friendly piece of advice, by which you may profit, if you think
fit."
"What care I for prison?" exclaimed the Prophet. "Only give me a couple
of swords, and you shall see to-morrow morning if I heed what the
burgomaster can do or say."
"What would you do with two swords?" asked Dagobert, quietly.
"When you have one in your grasp, and I one in mine, you'd see. The Lord
commands us to have a care of his honor!"
Dagobert shrugged his shoulders, made a bundle of his linen in his
handkerchief, dried his soap, and put it carefully into a little
oil-silk bag--then, whistling his favorite air of Tirlemont, moved to
depart.
The Prophet frowned; he began to fear that his challenge would not be
accepted. He advanced a step or so to encounter Dagobert, placed himself
before him, as if to intercept his passage, and, folding his arms, and
scanning him from head to foot with bitter insolence, said to him:
"So! an old soldier of that arch-robber, Napoleon, is only fit for a
washerwoman, and refuses to fight!"
"Yes, he refuses to fight," answered Dagobert, in a firm voice, but
becoming fearfully pale. Never, perhaps, had the soldier given to his
orphan charge such a proof of tenderness and devotion. For a man of
his character to let himself be insulted with impunity, and refuse to
fight--the sacrifice was immense.
"So you are a coward--you are afraid of me--and you confess it?"
At these words Dagobert made, as it were, a pull upon himself--as if a
sudden thought had restrained him the moment he was about to rush on
the Prophet. Indeed, he had remembered the two maidens, and the fatal
hindrance which a duel, whatever might be the result, would occasion
to their journey. But the impulse of anger, though rapid, had been so
significant--the expression of the stern, pale face, bathed in sweat,
was so daunting, that the Prophet and the spectators drew back a step.
Profound silence reigned for some seconds, and then, by a sudden
reaction, Dagobert seemed to have gained the general interest. One of
the company said to those near him; "This man is clearly not a coward."
"Oh, no! certainly not."
"It sometimes requires more courage to refuse a challenge than to accept
one."
"After all the Prophet was wrong to pick a quarrel about nothing--and
with a stranger, too."
"Yes, for a stranger, if he fought and was taken up, would have a good
long imprisonment."
"And then, you see," added another, "he travels with two young girls.
In such a position, ought a man to fight about trifles? If he should be
killed or put in prison, what would become of them, poor children?"
Dagobert turned towards the person who had pronounced these last words.
He saw a stout fellow, with a frank and simple countenance; the soldier
offered him his hand, and said with emotion:
"Thank you, sir."
The German shook cordially the hand, which Dagobert had proffered, and,
holding it still in his own, he added: "Do one thing, sir--share a bowl
of punch with us. We will make that mischief-making Prophet acknowledge
that he has been too touchy, and he shall drink to your health."
Up to this moment the brute-tamer, enraged at the issue of this scene,
for he had hoped that the soldier would accept his challenge, looked on
with savage contempt at those who had thus sided against him. But now
his features gradually relaxed; and, believing it useful to his projects
to hide his disappointment, he walked up to the soldier, and said to
him, with a tolerably good grace: "Well, I give way to these gentlemen.
I own I was wrong. Your frigid air had wounded me, and I was not master
of myself. I repeat, that I was wrong," he added, with suppressed
vexation; "the Lord commands humility--and--I beg your pardon."
This proof of moderation and regret was highly appreciated and loudly
applauded by the spectators. "He asks your pardon; you cannot expect
more, my brave fellow?" said one of them, addressing Dagobert. "Come,
let us all drink together; we make you this offer frankly--accept it in
the same spirit."
"Yes, yes; accept it, we beg you, in the name of your pretty little
girls," said the stout man, hoping to decide Dagobert by this argument.
"Many thanks, gentlemen," replied he, touched by the hearty advances of
the Germans; "you are very worthy people. But, when one is treated, he
must offer drink in return."
"Well, we will accept it--that's understood. Each his turn, and all
fair. We will pay for the first bowl, you for the second."
"Poverty is no crime," answered Dagobert; "and I must tell you honestly
that I cannot afford to pay for drink. We have still a long journey to
go, and I must not incur any useless expenses."
The soldier spoke these words with such firm, but simple dignity, that
the Germans did not venture to renew their offer, feeling that a man of
Dagobert's character could not accept it without humiliation.
"Well, so much the worse," said the stout man. "I should have liked to
clink glasses with you. Good-night, my brave trooper!--Good-night--for
it grows late, and mine host of the Falcon will soon turn us out of
doors."
"Good-night, gentlemen," replied Dagobert, as he directed his steps
towards the stable, to give his horse a second allowance of provender.
Morok approached him, and said in a voice even more humble than before:
"I have acknowledged my error, and asked your pardon. You have not
answered me; do you still bear malice?"
"If ever I meet you," said the veteran, in a suppressed and hollow tone,
"when my children have no longer need of me, I will just say two words
to you, and they will not be long ones."
Then he turned his back abruptly on the Prophet, who walked slowly out
of the yard.
The inn of the White Falcon formed a parallelogram. At one end rose
the principal dwelling; at the other was a range of buildings, which
contained sundry chambers, let at a low price to the poorer sort of
travellers; a vaulted passage opened a way through this latter into
the country; finally, on either side of the court-yard were sheds and
stables, with lofts and garrets erected over them.
Dagobert, entering one of these stables, took from off a chest the
portion of oats destined for his horse, and, pouring it into a winnowing
basket, shook it as he approached Jovial.
To his great astonishment, his old travelling companion did not respond
with a joyous neigh to the rustle of the oats rattling on the wicker
work. Alarmed, he called Jovial with a friendly voice; but the animal,
instead of turning towards his master a look of intelligence, and
impatiently striking the ground with his fore-feet, remained perfectly
motionless.
More and more surprised, the soldier went up to him. By the dubious
light of a stable-lantern, he saw the poor animal in an attitude which
implied terror--his legs half bent, his head stretched forward, his ears
down, his nostrils quivering; he had drawn tight his halter, as if
he wished to break it, in order to get away from the partition that
supported his rack and manger; abundant cold-sweat had speckled his hide
with bluish stains, and his coat altogether looked dull and bristling,
instead of standing out sleek and glossy from the dark background of
the stable; lastly, from time to time, his body shook with convulsive
starts.
"Why, old Jovial!" said the soldier, as he put down the basket, in
order to soothe his horse with more freedom, "you are like thy
master--afraid!--Yes," he added with bitterness, as he thought of the
offence he had himself endured, "you are afraid--though no coward in
general."
Notwithstanding the caresses and the voice of his master, the horse
continued to give signs of terror; he pulled somewhat less violently
at his halter, and approaching his nostrils to the hand of Dagobert,
sniffed audibly, as if he doubted it were he.
"You don't know me!" cried Dagobert. "Something extraordinary must be
passing here."
The soldier looked around him with uneasiness. It was a large stable,
faintly lighted by the lantern suspended from the roof, which was
covered with innumerable cobwebs; at the further end, separated from
Jovial by some stalls with bars between, were the three strong, black,
horses of the brute-tamer--as tranquil as Jovial was frightened.
Dagobert, struck with this singular contrast, of which he was soon
to have the explanation, again caressed his horse; and the animal,
gradually reassured by his master's presence, licked his hands, rubbed
his head against him, uttered a low neigh, and gave him his usual tokens
of affection.
"Come, come, this is how I like to see my old Jovial!" said Dagobert,
as he took up the winnowing-basket, and poured its contents into the
manger. "Now eat with a good appetite, for we have a long day's march
tomorrow; and, above all, no more of these foolish fears about nothing!
If thy comrade, Spoil-sport, was here, he would keep you in heart; but
he is along with the children, and takes care of them in my absence.
Come, eat! Instead of staring at me in that way."
But the horse, having just touched the oats with his mouth, as if in
obedience to his master, returned to them no more, and began to nibble
at the sleeve of Dagobert's coat.
"Come, come, my poor Jovial! there is something the matter with you. You
have generally such a good appetite, and now you leave your corn. 'Tis
the first time this has happened since our departure," said the soldier,
who was now growing seriously uneasy, for the issue of his journey
greatly depended on the health and vigor of his horse.
Just then a frightful roaring, so near that it seemed to come from the
stable in which they were, gave so violent a shock to Jovial, that with
one effort he broke his halter, leaped over the bar that marked his