Le Juif errant. English by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER VII. THE TRAVELER.
Upon the cry of the young girl, Dagobert rose abruptly.
"What is the matter, Rose?"
"There--there!" she said, pointing to the window. "I thought I saw ahand move the pelisse."
She had not concluded these words before Dagobert rushed to the windowand opened it, tearing down the mantle, which had been suspended fromthe fastening.
It was still dark night, and the wind was blowing hard. The soldierlistened, but could hear nothing.
Returning to fetch the lamp from the table, he shaded the flame withhis hand, and strove to throw the light outside. Still he saw nothing.Persuaded that a gust of wind had disturbed and shaken the pelisse: andthat Rose had been deceived by her own fears he again shut the window.
"Be satisfied, children! The wind is very high; it is that which liftedthe corner of the pelisse."
"Yet methought I saw plainly the fingers which had hold of it," saidRose, still trembling.
"I was looking at Dagobert," said Blanche, "and I saw nothing."
"There was nothing to see, my children; the thing is clear enough. Thewindow is at least eight feet above the ground; none but a giant couldreach it without a ladder. Now, had any one used a ladder, there wouldnot have been time to remove it; for, as soon as Rose cried out, I ranto the window, and, when I held out the light, I could see nothing."
"I must have been deceived," said Rose.
"You may be sure, sister, it was only the wind," added Blanche.
"Then I beg pardon for having disturbed you, my good Dagobert."
"Never mind!" replied the soldier musingly, "I am only sorry that Spoilsport is not come back. He would have watched the window, and that wouldhave quite tranquillized you. But he no doubt scented the stable of hiscomrade, Jovial, and will have called in to bid him good-night on theroad. I have half a mind to go and fetch him."
"Oh, no, Dagobert! do not leave us alone," cried the maidens; "we aretoo much afraid."
"Well, the dog is not likely to remain away much longer, and I am surewe shall soon hear him scratching at the door, so we will continue ourstory," said Dagobert, as he again seated himself near the head of thebed, but this time with his face towards the window.
"Now the general was prisoner at Warsaw," continued he, "and in lovewith your mother, whom they wished to marry to another. In 1814, welearned the finish of the war, the banishment of the Emperor to the Isleof Elba, and the return of the Bourbons. In concert with the Prussiansand Russians, who had brought them back, they had exiled the Emperor.Learning all this, your mother said to the general: 'The war isfinished; you are free, but your Emperor is in trouble. You oweeverything to him; go and join him in his misfortunes. I know not whenwe shall meet again, but I shall never marry any one but you, I am yourstill death!'--Before he set out the general called me to him, and said:'Dagobert, remain here; Mademoiselle Eva may have need of you tofly from her family, if they should press too hard upon her; ourcorrespondence will have to pass through your hands; at Paris, I shallsee your wife and son; I will comfort them, and tell them you are myfriend.'"
"Always the same," said Rose, with emotion, as she looked affectionatelyat Dagobert.
"As faithful to the father and mother as to their children," addedBlanche.
"To love one was to love them all," replied the soldier. "Well, thegeneral joined the Emperor at Elba; I remained at Warsaw, concealed inthe neighborhood of your mother's house; I received the letters, andconveyed them to her clandestinely. In one of those letters--I feelproud to tell you of it my children--the general informed me that theEmperor himself had remembered me."
"What, did he know you?"
"A little, I flatter myself--'Oh! Dagobert!' said he to your father,who was talking to him about me; 'a horse-grenadier of my old guard--asoldier of Egypt and Italy, battered with wounds--an old dare-devil,whom I decorated with my own hand at Wagram--I have not forgottenhim!'--I vow, children, when your mother read that to me, I cried like afool."
"The Emperor--what a fine golden face he has on the silver cross withthe red ribbon that you would sometimes show us when we behaved well."
"That cross--given by him--is my relic. It is there in my knapsack, withwhatever we have of value--our little purse and papers. But, to returnto your mother; it was a great consolation to her, when I took herletters from the general, or talked with her about him--for she sufferedmuch--oh, so much! In vain her parents tormented and persecuted her;she always answered: 'I will never marry any one but General Simon.' Aspirited woman, I can tell you--resigned, but wonderfully courageous.One day she received a letter from the general; he had left the Isle ofElba with the Emperor; the war had again broken out, a short campaign,but as fierce as ever, and heightened by soldiers' devotion. In thatcampaign of France; my children, especially at Montmirail, your fatherfought like a lion, and his division followed his example it was nolonger valor--it was frenzy. He told me that, in Champagne, the peasantskilled so many of those Prussians, that their fields were manured withthem for years. Men, women, children, all rushed upon them. Pitchforks,stones, mattocks, all served for the slaughter. It was a true wolfhunt!"
The veins swelled on the soldier's forehead, and his cheeks flushed ashe spoke, for this popular heroism recalled to his memory the sublimeenthusiasm of the wars of the republic--those armed risings of a wholepeople, from which dated the first steps of his military career, as thetriumphs of the Empire were the last days of his service.
The orphans, too, daughters of a soldier and a brave woman, did notshrink from the rough energy of these words, but felt their cheeks glow,and their hearts beat tumultuously.
"How happy we are to be the children of so brave a father!" criedBlanche.
"It is a happiness and an honor too, my children--for the evening of thebattle of Montmirail, the Emperor, to the joy of the whole army, madeyour father Duke of Ligny and Marshal of France."
"Marshal of France!" said Rose in astonishment, without understandingthe exact meaning of the words.
"Duke of Ligny!" added Blanche with equal surprise.
"Yes; Peter Simon, the son of a workman, became duke and marshal--thereis nothing higher except a king!" resumed Dagobert, proudly. "That's howthe Emperor treated the sons of the people, and, therefore, the peoplewere devoted to him. It was all very fine to tell them 'Your Emperormakes you food for cannon.' 'Stuff!' replied the people, who are nofools, 'another would make us food for misery. We prefer the cannon,with the chance of becoming captain or colonel, marshal, king--orinvalid; that's better than to perish with hunger, cold, and age, onstraw in a garret, after toiling forty years for others.'"
"Even in France--even in Paris, that beautiful city--do you mean to saythere are poor people who die of hunger and misery, Dagobert?"
"Even in Paris? Yes, my children; therefore, I come back to the point,the cannon is better. With it, one has the chance of becoming, like yourfather, duke and marshal: when I say duke and marshal, I am partly rightand partly wrong, for the title and the rank were not recognized inthe end; because, after Montmirail, came a day of gloom, a day of greatmourning, when, as the general has told me, old soldiers like myselfwept--yes, wept!--on the evening of a battle. That day, my children, wasWaterloo!"
There was in these simple words of Dagobert an expression of such deepsorrow, that it thrilled the hearts of the orphans.
"Alas!" resumed the soldier, with a sigh, "there are days which seemto have a curse on them. That same day, at Waterloo, the general fell,covered with wounds, at the head of a division of the Guards. When hewas nearly cured, which was not for a long time, he solicited permissionto go to St. Helena--another island at the far end of the world, towhich the English had carried the Emperor, to torture him at theirleisure; for if he was very fortunate in the first instance, he had togo through a deal of hard rubs at last, my poor children."
"If you talk in that way, you will make us cry, Dagobert."
"There is cause enough for it--the Emperor suffered so muc
"Merciful heaven!"
"The general was yet wiping his sword, when a faithful friend came tohim, and told him he had only just time to save himself. In fact, hehappily succeeded in leaving France--yes, happily--for a fortnightafter, he was condemned to death as a conspirator."
"What misfortunes, good heaven!"
"There was some luck, however, in the midst of his troubles. Your motherhad kept her promise bravely, and was still waiting for him. She hadwritten to him: 'The Emperor first, and me next!' both unable to doanything more for the Emperor, nor even for his son, the general,banished from France, set out for Warsaw. Your mother had lost herparents, and was now free; they were married--and I am one of thewitnesses to the marriage."
"You are right, Dagobert; that was great happiness in the midst of greatmisfortunes!"
"Yes, they were very happy; but, as it happened with all good hearts,the happier they were themselves, the more they felt for the sorrowsof others--and there was quite enough to grieve them at Warsaw. TheRussians had again begun to treat the Poles as their slaves; your bravemother, though of French origin, was a Pole in heart and soul; she spokeout boldly what others did not dare speak in a whisper, and all theunfortunate called her their protecting angel. That was enough toexcite the suspicions of the Russian governor. One day, a friend of thegeneral's, formerly a colonel in the lancers, a brave and worthy man,was condemned to be exiled to Siberia for a military plot against theRussians. He took refuge in your father's house, and lay hid there; buthis retreat was discovered. During the next night, a party of Cossacks,commanded by an officer, and followed by a travelling-carriage, arriveat our door; they rouse the general from his sleep and take him awaywith them."
"Oh, heaven! what did they mean to do with him?"
"Conduct him out of the Russian dominions, with a charge never toreturn, on pain of perpetual imprisonment. His last words were:'Dagobert, I entrust to thee my wife and child!'--for it wanted yet somemonths of the time when you were to be born. Well, notwithstanding that,they exiled your mother to Siberia; it was an opportunity to get rid ofher; she did too much good at Warsaw, and they feared her accordingly.Not content with banishing her, they confiscated all her property; theonly favor she could obtain was, that I should accompany her, and, hadit not been for Jovial, whom the general had given to me, she would havehad to make the journey on foot. It was thus, with her on horseback,and I leading her as I lead you, my children, that we arrived at thepoverty-stricken village, where, three months after, you poor littlethings were born!"
"And our father?"
"It was impossible for him to return to Russia; impossible for yourmother to think of flight, with two children; impossible for the generalto write to her, as he knew not where she was."
"So, since that time, you have had no news of him?"
"Yes, my children--once we had news."
"And by whom?"
After a moment's silence, Dagobert resumed with a singular expression ofcountenance: "By whom?--by one who is not like other men. Yes--thatyou may understand me better, I will relate to you an extraordinaryadventure, which happened to your father during his last Frenchcampaign. He had been ordered by the Emperor to carry a battery, whichwas playing heavily on our army; after several unsuccessful efforts,the general put himself at the head of a regiment of cuirassiers, andcharged the battery, intending, as was his custom, to cut down the menat their guns. He was on horseback, just before the mouth of a cannon,where all the artillerymen had been either killed or wounded, when oneof them still found strength to raise himself upon one knee, and toapply the lighted match to the touchhole--and that when your father wasabout ten paces in front of the loaded piece."
"Oh! what a peril for our father!"
"Never, he told me, had he run such imminent danger for he saw theartilleryman apply the match, and the gun go off--but, at the very nick,a man of tall stature, dressed as a peasant, and whom he had not beforeremarked, threw himself in front of the cannon."
"Unfortunate creature! what a horrible death!"
"Yes," said Dagobert, thoughtfully; "it should have been so. He ought byrights to have been blown into a thousand pieces. But no--nothing of thekind!"
"What do you tell us?"
"What the general told me. 'At the moment when the gun went off,' as heoften repeated to me, 'I shut my eyes by an involuntary movement, thatI might not see the mutilated body of the poor wretch who had sacrificedhimself in my place. When I again opened them, the first thing I saw inthe midst of the smoke, was the tall figure of this man, standingerect and calm on the same spot, and casting a sad mild look on theartilleryman, who, with one knee on the ground, and his body thrownbackward, gazed on him in as much terror as if he had been the devil.Afterwards, I lost sight of this man in the tumult,' added your father."
"Bless me Dagobert! how can this be possible?"
"That is just what I said to the general. He answered me that he hadnever been able to explain to himself this event, which seemed asincredible as it was true. Moreover, your father must have been greatlystruck with the countenance of this man, who appeared, he said, aboutthirty years of age--for he remarked, that his extremely black eyebrowswere joined together, and formed, as it were, one line from temple totemple, so that he seemed to have a black streak across his forehead.Remember this, my children; you will soon see why."
"Oh, Dagobert! we shall not forget it," said the orphans, growing moreand more astonished as he proceeded.
"Is it not strange--this man with a black seam on his forehead?"
"Well, you shall hear. The general had, as I told you, been left fordead at Waterloo. During the night which he passed on the field ofbattle, in a sort of delirium brought on by the fever of his wounds, hesaw, or fancied he saw, this same man bending over him, with a lookof great mildness and deep melancholy, stanching his wounds, and usingevery effort to revive him. But as your father, whose senses were stillwandering, repulsed his kindness saying, that after such a defeat, itonly remained to die--it appeared as if this man replied to him; 'Youmust live for Eva!' meaning your mother, whom the general had left atWarsaw, to join the Emperor, and make this campaign of France."
"How strange, Dagobert!--And since then, did our father never see thisman?"
"Yes, he saw him--for it was he who brought news of the general to yourpoor mother."
"When was that? We never heard of it."
"You remember that, on the day your mother died, you went to the pineforest with old Fedora?"
"Yes," answered Rose, mournfully; "to fetch some heath, of which ourmother was so fond."
"Poor mother!" added Blanche; "she appeared so well that morning, thatwe could not dream of the calamity which awaited us before night."
"True, my children; I sang and worked that morning in the garden,expecting, no more than you did, what was to happen. Well, as I wassinging at my work, on a sudden I heard a voice ask me in French:'Is this the village of Milosk?'-
"Ah, why?"
"He was of tall stature, very pale, with a high and open forehead; buthis eyebrows met, and seemed to form one black streak across it."
"Then it was the same man who had twice been with our father in battle?"
"Yes--it was he."
"But, Dagobert," said Rose, thoughtfully, "is it not a long time sincethese battles?"
"About sixteen years."
"And of what age was this stranger?"
"Hardly more than thirty."
"Then how can it be the same man, who sixteen years before, had beenwith our father in the wars?"
"You are right," said Dagobert, after a moment's silence, and shrugginghis shoulders: "I may have been deceived by a chance likeness--andyet--"
"Or, if it were the same, he could not have got older all that while."
"But did you ask him, if he had not formerly relieved our father?"
"At first I was so surprised that I did not think of it; and afterwards,he remained so short a time, that I had no opportunity. Well, he askedme for the village of Milosk. 'You are there, sir,' said I, 'but howdo you know that I am a Frenchman?' 'I heard you singing as I passed,'replied he; 'could you tell me the house of Madame Simon, the general'swife?' 'She lives here, sir.' Then looking at me for some seconds insilence, he took me by the hand and said: 'You are the friend of GeneralSimon--his best friend?' Judge of my astonishment, as I answered: 'But,sir, how do you know?' 'He has often spoken of you with gratitude.' 'Youhave seen the general then?' 'Yes, some time ago, in India. I am alsohis friend: I bring news of him to his wife, whom I knew to be exiledin Siberia. At Tobolsk, whence I come, I learned that she inhabits thisvillage. Conduct me to her!'"
"The good traveller--I love him already," said Rose.
"Yes, being father's friend."
"I begged him to wait an instant, whilst I went to inform your mother,so that the surprise might not do her harm; five minutes after, he wasbeside her."
"And what kind of man was this traveller, Dagobert?"
"He was very tall; he wore a dark pelisse, and a fur cap, and had longblack hair."
"Was he handsome?"
"Yes, my children--very handsome; but with so mild and melancholy anair, that it pained my heart to see him."
"Poor man! he had doubtless known some great sorrow."
"Your mother had been closeted with him for some minutes, when shecalled me to her and said that she had just received good news of thegeneral. She was in tears, and had before her a large packet of papers;it was a kind of journal, which your father had written every evening toconsole himself; not being able to speak to her, he told the paper allthat he would have told her."
"Oh! where are these papers, Dagobert?"
"There, in the knapsack, with my cross and our purse. One day I willgive them to you: but I have picked out a few leaves here and there foryou to read presently. You will see why."
"Had our father been long in India?"
"I gathered from the few words which your mother said, that the generalhad gone to that country, after fighting for the Greeks against theTurks--for he always liked to side with the weak against the strong.In India he made fierce war against the English, they had murdered ourprisoners in pontoons, and tortured the Emperor at St. Helena, and thewar was a doubly good one, for in harming them he served a just cause."
"What cause did he serve then?"
"That of one of the poor native princes, whose territories the English,lay waste, till the day when they can take possession of them againstlaw and right. You see, my children, it was once more the weak againstthe strong, and your father did not miss this opportunity. In a fewmonths he had so well-trained and disciplined the twelve or fifteenthousand men of the prince, that, in two encounters, they cut to piecesthe English sent against them, and who, no doubt, had in their reckoningleft out your brave father, my children. But come, you shall read somepages of his journal, which will tell you more and better than Ican. Moreover, you will find in them a name which you ought always toremember; that's why I chose this passage."
"Oh, what happiness! To read the pages written by our father, is almostto hear him speak," said Rose.
"It is as if he were close beside us," added Blanche.
And the girls stretched out their hands with eagerness, to catch holdof the leaves that Dagobert had taken from his pocket. Then, by asimultaneous movement, full of touching grace, they pressed the writingof their father in silence to their lips.
"You will see also, my children, at the end of this letter, why Iwas surprised that your guardian angel, as you say, should be calledGabriel. Read, read," added the soldier, observing the puzzled air ofthe orphans. "Only I ought to tell you that, when he wrote this,the general had not yet fallen in with the traveller who brought thepapers."
Rose, sitting up in her bed, took the leaves, and began to read in asoft and trembling voice, Blanche, with her head resting on her sister'sshoulder, followed attentively every word. One could even see, bythe slight motion of her lips, that she too was reading, but only toherself.