The Wandering Jew — Complete
place, and rushing at the open door, escaped into the court-yard.
Dagobert had himself started at the suddenness of this wild and fearful
sound, which at once explained to him the cause of his horse's terror.
The adjoining stable was occupied by the itinerant menagerie of the
brute-tamer, and was only separated by the partition, which supported
the mangers. The three horses of the Prophet, accustomed to these
howlings, had remained perfectly quiet.
"Good!" said the soldier, recovering himself; "I understand it now.
Jovial has heard another such roar before, and he can scent the animals
of that insolent scoundrel. It is enough to frighten him," added he,
as he carefully collected the oats from the manger; "once in another
stable, and there must be others in this place, he will no longer leave
his peck, and we shall be able to start early to-morrow morning!"
The terrified horse, after running and galloping about the yard,
returned at the voice of the soldier, who easily caught him by the
broken halter; and a hostler, whom Dagobert asked if there was another
vacant stable, having pointed out one that was only intended for a
single animal, Jovial was comfortably installed there.
When delivered from his ferocious neighbors, the horse became tranquil
as before, and even amused himself much at the expense of Dagobert's
top coat, which, thanks to his tricks, might have afforded immediate
occupation for his master's needle, if the latter had not been fully
engaged in admiring the eagerness with which Jovial dispatched his
provender. Completely reassured on his account, the soldier shut the
door of the stable, and proceeded to get his supper as quickly as
possible, in order to rejoin the orphans, whom he reproached himself
with having left so long.
CHAPTER V. ROSE AND BLANCHE.
The orphans occupied a dilapidated chamber in one of the most remote
wings of the inn, with a single window opening upon the country. A bed
without curtains, a table, and two chairs, composed the more than modest
furniture of this retreat, which was now lighted by a lamp. On the
table, which stood near the window, was deposited the knapsack of the
soldier.
The great Siberian dog, who was lying close to the door, had already
twice uttered a deep growl, and turned his head towards the window--but
without giving any further affect to this hostile manifestation.
The two sisters, half recumbent in their bed, were clad in long white
wrappers, buttoned at the neck and wrists. They wore no caps, but their
beautiful chestnut hair was confined at the temples by a broad piece
of tape, so that it might not get tangled during the night. These white
garments, and the white fillet that like a halo encircled their brows,
gave to their fresh and blooming faces a still more candid expression.
The orphans laughed and chatted, for, in spite of some early sorrows,
they still retained the ingenuous gayety of their age. The remembrance
of their mother would sometimes make them sad, but this sorrow had in it
nothing bitter; it was rather a sweet melancholy, to be sought instead
of shunned. For them, this adored mother was not dead--she was only
absent.
Almost as ignorant as Dagobert, with regard to devotional exercises, for
in the desert where they had lived there was neither church nor priest,
their faith, as was already said, consisted in this--that God, just and
good, had so much pity for the poor mothers whose children were left
on earth, that he allowed them to look down upon them from highest
heaven--to see them always, to hear them always, and sometimes to
send fair guardian angels to protect therein. Thanks to this guileless
illusion, the orphans, persuaded that their mother incessantly watched
over them, felt, that to do wrong would be to afflict her, and to
forfeit the protection of the good angels.--This was the entire theology
of Rose and Blanche--a creed sufficient for such pure and loving souls.
Now, on the evening in question, the two sisters chatted together whilst
waiting for Dagobert. Their theme interested them much, for, since
some days, they had a secret, a great secret, which often quickened the
beatings of their innocent hearts, often agitated their budding bosoms,
changed to bright scarlet the roses on their cheeks, and infused a
restless and dreamy langour into the soft blue of their large eyes.
Rose, this evening, occupied the edge of the couch, with her rounded
arms crossed behind her head, which was half turned towards her sister;
Blanche, with her elbow resting on the bolster, looked at her smilingly,
and said: "Do you think he will come again to-night?"
"Oh, yes! certainly. He promised us yesterday."
"He is so good, he would not break his promise."
"And so handsome, with his long fair curls."
"And his name--what a charming name!--How well it suits his face."
"And what a sweet smile and soft voice, when he says to us, taking us by
the hand: 'My children, bless God that he has given you one soul. What
others seek elsewhere, you will find in yourselves.'"
"'Since your two hearts,' he added, 'only make one.'"
"What pleasure to remember his words, sister!"
"We are so attentive! When I see you listening to him, it is as if I
saw myself, my dear little mirror!" said Rose, laughing, and kissing her
sister's forehead. "Well--when he speaks, your--or rather our eyes--are
wide, wide open, our lips moving as if we repeated every word after him.
It is no wonder we forget nothing that he says."
"And what he says is so grand, so noble, and generous."
"Then, my sister, as he goes on talking, what good thoughts rise within
us! If we could but always keep them in mind."
"Do not be afraid! they will remain in our hearts, like little birds in
their mother's nests."
"And how lucky it is, Rose, that he loves us both at the same time!"
"He could not do otherwise, since we have but one heart between us."
"How could he love Rose, without loving Blanche?"
"What would have become of the poor, neglected one?"
"And then again he would have found it so difficult to choose."
"We are so much like one another."
"So, to save himself that trouble," said Rose, laughing, "he has chosen
us both."
"And is it not the best way? He is alone to love us; we are two together
to think of him."
"Only he must not leave us till we reach Paris."
"And in Paris, too--we must see him there also."
"Oh, above all at Paris; it will be good to have him with us--and
Dagobert, too--in that great city. Only think, Blanche, how beautiful it
must be."
"Paris!--it must be like a city all of gold."
"A city, where every one must be happy, since it is so beautiful."
"But ought we, poor orphans, dare so much as to enter it? How people
will look at us!"
"Yes--but every one there is happy, every one must be good also."
"They will love us."
"And, besides, we shall be with our friend with the fair hair and blue
eyes."
"He has yet told us nothing of Paris."
"He has not thought of it; we must speak to him about it this very
night."
"If he is in the mood for talking. Often you know, he likes best to gaze
on us in silence--his eyes on our eyes."
"Yes. In those moments, his look recalls to me the gaze of our dear
mother."
"And, as she sees it all, how pleased she must be at what has happened
to us!"
"Because, when we are so much beloved, we must, I hope, deserve it."
"See what a vain thing it is!" said Blanche, smoothing with her slender
fingers the parting of the hair on her sister's forehead.
After a moment's reflection, Rose said to her: "Don't you think we
should relate all this to Dagobert?"
"If you think so, let us do it."
"We tell him everything, as we told everything to mother. Why should we
conceal this from him?"
"Especially as it is something which gives us so much pleasure."
"Do you not find that, since we have known our friend, our hearts beat
quicker and stronger?"
"Yes, they seem to be more full."
"The reason why is plain enough; our friend fills up a good space in
them."
"Well, we will do best to tell Dagobert what a lucky star ours is."
"You are right--" At this moment the dog gave another deep growl.
"Sister," said Rose, as she pressed closer to Blanche, "there is the dog
growling again. What can be the matter with him?"
"Spoil-sport, do not growl! Come hither," said Blanche, striking with
her little hand on the side of the bed.
The dog rose, again growled deeply, and came to lay his great,
intelligent looking head on the counterpane, still obstinately casting
a sidelong glance at the window; the sisters bent over him to pat
his broad forehead, in the centre of which was a remarkable bump, the
certain sign of extreme purity of race.
"What makes you growl so, Spoil-sport?" said Blanche, pulling him gently
by the ears--"eh, my good dog?"
"Poor beast! he is always so uneasy when Dagobert is away."
"It is true; one would think he knows that he then has a double charge
over us."
"Sister, it seems to me, Dagobert is late in coming to say good-night."
"No doubt he is attending to Jovial."
"That makes me think that we did not bid good-night to dear old Jovial.
"I am sorry for it."
"Poor beast! he seems so glad when he licks our hands. One would think
that he thanked us for our visit."
"Luckily, Dagobert will have wished him good-night for us."
"Good Dagobert! he is always thinking of us. How he spoils us! We remain
idle, and he has all the trouble."
"How can we prevent it?"
"What a pity that we are not rich, to give him a little rest."
"We rich! Alas, my sister! we shall never be anything but poor orphans."
"Oh, there's the medal!"
"Doubtless, there is some hope attached to it, else we should not have
made this long journey."
"Dagobert has promised to tell us all, this evening."
She was prevented from continuing, for two of the windowpanes flew to
pieces with a loud crash.
The orphans, with a cry of terror, threw themselves into each other's
arms, whilst the dog rushed towards the window, barking furiously.
Pale, trembling, motionless with affright, clasping each other in a
close embrace, the two sisters held their breath; in their extreme fear,
they durst not even cast their eyes in the direction of the window.
The dog, with his forepaws resting on the sill, continued to bark with
violence.
"Alas! what can it be?" murmured the orphans. "And Dagobert not here!"
"Hark!" cried Rose, suddenly seizing Blanche by the arm; "hark!--some
one coming up the stairs!"
"Good heaven! it does not sound like the tread of Dagobert. Do you not
hear what heavy footsteps?"
"Quick! come, Spoil-sport, and defend us!" cried the two sisters at
once, in an agony of alarm.
The boards of the wooden staircase really creaked beneath the weight
of unusually heavy footsteps, and a singular kind of rustling was
heard along the thin partition that divided the chamber from the
landing-place. Then a ponderous mass, falling against the door of the
room, shook it violently; and the girls, at the very height of terror,
looked at each other without the power of speech.
The door opened. It was Dagobert.
At the sight of him Rose and Blanche joyfully exchanged a kiss, as if
they had just escaped from a great danger.
"What is the matter? why are you afraid?" asked the soldier in surprise.
"Oh, if you only knew!" said Rose, panting as she spoke, for both her
own heart and her sister's beat with violence.
"If you knew what has just happened! We did not recognize your
footsteps--they seemed so heavy--and then that noise behind the
partition!"
"Little frightened doves that you are! I could not run up the stairs
like a boy of fifteen, seeing that I carried my bed upon my back--a