The Wandering Jew — Volume 01 by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER II.
THE TRAVELLERS.
While the above scene was passing in the White Falcon at Mockern, thethree persons whose arrival Morok was so anxiously expecting, travelledon leisurely in the midst of smiling meadows, bounded on one side by ariver, the current of which turned a mill; and on the other by thehighway leading to the village, which was situated on an eminence, atabout a league's distance.
The sky was beautifully serene; the bubbling of the river, beaten by themill-wheel and sparkling with foam, alone broke upon the silence of anevening profoundly calm. Thick willows, bending over the river, coveredit with their green transparent shadow; whilst, further on, the streamreflected so splendidly the blue heavens and the glowing tints of thewest, that, but for the hills which rose between it and the sky, the goldand azure of the water would have mingled in one dazzling sheet with thegold and azure of the firmament. The tall reeds on the bank bent theirblack velvet heads beneath the light breath of the breeze that rises atthe close of day--for the sun was gradually sinking behind a broad streakof purple clouds, fringed with fire. The tinkling bells of a flock ofsheep sounded from afar in the clear and sonorous air.
Along a path trodden in the grass of the meadow, two girls, almostchildren--for they had but just completed their fifteenth year--wereriding on a white horse of medium size, seated upon a large saddle with aback to it, which easily took them both in, for their figures were slightand delicate.
A man of tall stature, with a sun-burnt face, and long gray moustache,was leading the horse by the bridle, and ever and anon turned towards thegirls, with an air of solicitude at once respectful and paternal. Heleaned upon a long staff; his still robust shoulders carried a soldier'sknapsack; his dusty shoes, and step that began to drag a little, showedthat he had walked a long way.
One of those dogs which the tribes of Northern Siberia harness to theirsledges--a sturdy animal, nearly of the size, form, and hairy coat of thewolf--followed closely in the steps of the leader of this little caravan,never quitting, as it is commonly said, the heels of his master.
Nothing could be more charming than the group formed by the girls. Oneheld with her left hand the flowing reins, and with her right encircledthe waist of her sleeping sister, whose head reposed on her shoulder.Each step of the horse gave a graceful swaying to these pliant forms, andswung their little feet, which rested on a wooden ledge in lieu of astirrup.
These twin sisters, by a sweet maternal caprice, had been called Rose andBlanche; they were now orphans, as might be seen by their sad mourningvestments, already much worn. Extremely, like in feature, and of the samesize, it was necessary to be in the constant habit of seeing them, todistinguish one from the other. The portrait of her who slept not, mightserve them for both of them; the only difference at the moment being,that Rose was awake and discharging for that day the duties of eldersister--duties thus divided between then, according to the fancy of theirguide, who, being an old soldier of the empire, and a martinet, hadjudged fit thus to alternate obedience and command between the orphans.
Greuze would have been inspired by the sight of those sweet faces, coifedin close caps of black velvet, from beneath which strayed a profusion ofthick ringlets of a light chestnut color, floating down their necks andshoulders, and setting, as in a frame, their round, firm, rosy, satinlike cheeks. A carnation, bathed in dew, is of no richer softness thantheir blooming lips; the wood violet's tender blue would appear darkbeside the limpid azure of their large eyes, in which are depicted thesweetness of their characters, and the innocence of their age; a pure andwhite forehead, small nose, dimpled chin, complete these gracefulcountenances, which present a delightful blending of candor andgentleness.
You should have seen them too, when, on the threatening of rain or storm,the old soldier carefully wrapped them both in a large pelisse ofreindeer fur, and pulled over their heads the ample hood of thisimpervious garment; then nothing could be more lovely than those freshand smiling little faces, sheltered beneath the dark-colored cowl.
But now the evening was fine and calm; the heavy cloak hung in foldsabout the knees of the sisters, and the hood rested on the back of theirsaddle.
Rose, still encircling with her right arm the waist of her sleepingsister, contemplated her with an expression of ineffable tenderness, akinto maternal; for Rose was the eldest for the day, and an elder sister isalmost a mother.
Not only, did the orphans idolize each other; but, by a psychologicalphenomenon, frequent with twins, they were almost always simultaneouslyaffected; the emotion of one was reflected instantly in the countenanceof the other; the same cause would make both of them start or blush, soclosely did their young hearts beat in unison; all ingenuous joys, allbitter griefs were mutually felt, and shared in a moment between them.
In their infancy, simultaneously attacked by a severe illness, like twoflowers on the same steam, they had drooped, grown pale, and languishedtogether; but together also had they again found the pure, fresh hues ofhealth.
Need it be said, that those mysterious, indissoluble links which unitedthe twins, could not have been broken without striking a mortal blow atthe existence of the poor children?
Thus the sweet birds called love-birds, only living in pairs, as ifendowed with a common life, pine, despond, and die, when parted by abarbarous hand.
The guide of the orphans, a man of about fifty-five, distinguished by hismilitary air and gait, preserved the immortal type of the warriors of therepublic and the empire--some heroic of the people, who became, in onecampaign, the first soldiers in the world--to prove what the people cando, have done, and will renew, when the rulers of their choice place inthem confidence, strength, and their hope.
This soldier, guide of the sisters, and formerly a horse-grenadier of theImperial Guard, had been nicknamed Dagobert. His grave, stern countenancewas strongly marked; his long, gray, and thick moustache completelyconcealed his upper lip, and united with a large imperial, which almostcovered his chin; his meagre cheeks, brick-colored, and tanned asparchment, were carefully shaven; thick eyebrows, still black, overhungand shaded his light blue eyes; gold ear-rings reached down to hiswhite-edged military stock; his topcoat, of coarse gray cloth, wasconfined at the waist by a leathern belt; and a blue foraging cap, with ared tuft falling on his left shoulder, covered his bald head.
Once endowed with the strength of Hercules, and having still the heart ofa lion--kind and patient, because he was courageous and strong--Dagobert,notwithstanding his rough exterior, evinced for his orphan charges anexquisite solicitude, a watchful kindness, and a tenderness almostmaternal. Yes, motherly; for the heroism of affection dwells alike in themother's heart and the soldiers.
Stoically calm, and repressing all emotion, the unchangeable coolness ofDagobert never failed him; and, though few were less given to drollery,he was now and then highly comic, by reason of the imperturbable gravitywith which he did everything.
From time to time, as they journeyed on, Dagobert would turn to bestow acaress or friendly word on the good white home upon which the orphanswere mounted. Its furrowed sides and long teeth betrayed a venerable age.Two deep scars, one on the flank and the other on the chest, proved thathis horse had been present in hot battles; nor was it without an act ofpride that he sometimes shook his old military bridle, the brass stud ofwhich was still adorned with an embossed eagle. His pace was regular,careful, and steady; his coat sleek, and his bulk moderate; the abundantfoam, which covered his bit, bore witness to that health which horsesacquire by the constant, but not excessive, labor of a long journey,performed by short stages. Although he had been more than six months onthe road, this excellent animal carried the orphans, with a tolerablyheavy portmanteau fastened to the saddle, as freely as on the day theystarted.
If we have spoken of the excessive length of the horse's teeth--theunquestionable evidence of great age--it is chiefly because he oftendisplayed them, for the sole purpose of acting up to his name (he wascalled Jovial), by playing a mischievous trick, of whi
This latter, who, doubtless for the sake of contrast, was calledSpoil-sport (Rabat-joie), being always at his master's heels, foundhimself within the reach of Jovial, who from time to time nipped himdelicately by the nape of the neck, lifted him from the ground, andcarried him thus for a moment. The dog, protected by his thick coat, andno doubt long accustomed to the practical jokes of his companion,submitted to all this with stoical complacency; save that, when hethought the jest had lasted long enough, he would turn his head andgrowl. Jovial understood him at the first hint, and hastened to set himdown again. At other times, just to avoid monotony, Jovial would gentlybite the knapsack of the soldier, who seemed, as well as the dog, to beperfectly accustomed to his pleasantries.
These details will give a notion of the excellent understanding thatexisted between the twin sisters, the old soldier, the horse, and thedog.
The little caravan proceeded on its ways anxious to reach, before night,the village of Mockern, which was now visible on the summit of a hill.Ever and anon, Dagobert looked around him, and seemed to be gathering upold recollections; by degrees, his countenance became clouded, and whenhe was at a little distance from the mill, the noise of which hadarrested his attention, he stopped, and drew his long moustache severaltimes between his finger and thumb, the only sign which revealed in himany strong and concentrated feeling.
Jovial, having stopped short behind his master, Blanche, awakenedsuddenly by the shock, raised her head; her first look sought her sister,on whom she smiled sweetly; then both exchanged glances of surprise, onseeing Dagobert motionless, with his hands clasped and resting on hislong staff, apparently affected by some painful and deep emotion.
The orphans just chanced to be at the foot of a little mound, the summitof which was buried in the thick foliage of a huge oak, planted half waydown the slope. Perceiving that Dagobert continued motionless andabsorbed in thought, Rose leaned over her saddle, and, placing her littlewhite hand on the shoulder of their guide, whose back was turned towardsher, said to him, in a soft voice, "Whatever is the matter with you,Dagobert?"
The veteran turned; to the great astonishment of the sisters, theyperceived a large tear, which traced its humid furrow down his tannedcheek, and lost itself in his thick moustache.
"You weeping--you!" cried Rose and Blanche together, deeply moved. "Tellus, we beseech, what is the matter?"
After a moments hesitation, the soldier brushed his horny hand across hiseyes, and said to the orphans in a faltering voice, whilst he pointed tothe old oak beside them: "I shall make you sad, my poor children: and yetwhat I'm going to tell you has something sacred in it. Well, eighteenyears ago, on the eve of the great battle of Leipsic, I carried yourfather to this very tree. He had two sabre-cuts on the head, a musketball in his shoulder; and it was here that he and I--who had got twothrust of a lance for my share--were taken prisoners; and by whom, worseluck?--why, a renegado! By a Frenchman--an emigrant marquis, then colonelin the service of Russia--and who afterwards--but one day you shall knowall."
The veteran paused; then, pointing with his staff to the village ofMockern, he added: "Yes, yes, I can recognize the spot. Yonder are theheights where your brave father--who commanded us, and the Poles of theGuard--overthrew the Russian Cuirassiers, after having carried thebattery. Ah, my children!" continued the soldier, with the utmostsimplicity, "I wish you had, seen your brave father, at the head of ourbrigade of horse, rushing on in a desperate charge in the thick of ashower of shells!--There was nothing like it--not a soul so grand as he!"
Whilst Dagobert thus expressed, in his own way, his regrets andrecollections, the two orphans--by a spontaneous movement, glided gentlyfrom the horse, and holding each other by the hand, went together tokneel at the foot of the old oak. And there, closely pressed in eachother's arms, they began to weep; whilst the soldier, standing behindthem, with his hands crossed on his long staff, rested his bald frontupon it.
"Come, come you must not fret," said he softly, when, after a pause of afew minutes, he saw tears run down the blooming cheeks of Rose andBlanche, still on their knees. "Perhaps we may find General Simon inParis," added he; "I will explain all that to you this evening at theinn. I purposely waited for this day, to tell you many things about yourfather; it was an idea of mine, because this day is a sort ofanniversary."
"We weep because we think also of our mother," said Rose.
"Of our mother, whom we shall only see again in heaven," added Blanche.
The soldier raised the orphans, took each by the hand, and gazing fromone to the other with ineffable affection, rendered still the moretouching by the contrast of his rude features, "You must not give waythus, my children," said he; "it is true your mother was the best ofwomen. When she lived in Poland, they called her the Pearl of Warsaw--itought to have been the Pearl of the Whole World--for in the whole worldyou could not have found her match. No--no!"
The voice of Dagobert faltered; he paused, and drew his long graymoustache between finger and thumb, as was his habit. "Listen, my girls,"he resumed, when he had mastered his emotion; "your mother could give younone but the best advice, eh?"
"Yes Dagobert."
"Well, what instructions did she give you before she died? To think oftenof her, but without grieving?"
"It is true; she told us than our Father in heaven, always good to poormothers whose children are left on earth, would permit her to hear usfrom above," said Blanche.
"And that her eyes would be ever fixed upon us," added Rose.
And the two, by a spontaneous impulse, replete with the most touchinggrace, joined hands, raised their innocent looks to heaven, andexclaimed, with that beautiful faith natural to their age: "Is it not so,mother?--thou seest us?--thou hearest us?"
"Since your mother sees and hears you," said Dagobert, much moved, "donot grieve her by fretting. She forbade you to do so."
"You are right, Dagobert. We will not cry any more."--And the orphansdried their eyes.
Dagobert, in the opinion of the devout, would have passed for a veryheathen. In Spain, he had found pleasure in cutting down those monks ofall orders and colors, who, bearing crucifix in one hand, and poniard inthe other, fought not for liberty--the Inquisition had strangled hercenturies ago--but, for their monstrous privileges. Yet, in forty years,Dagobert had witnessed so many sublime and awful scenes--he had been somany times face to face with death--that the instinct of naturalreligion, common to every simple, honest heart, had always remaineduppermost in his soul. Therefore, though he did not share in theconsoling faith of the two sisters, he would have held as criminal anyattempt to weaken its influence.
Seeing them this downcast, he thus resumed: "That's right, my prettyones: I prefer to hear you chat as you did this morning andyesterday--laughing at times, and answering me when I speak, instead ofbeing so much engrossed with your own talk. Yes, yes, my little ladies!you seem to have had famous secrets together these last two days--so,much the better, if it amuses you."
The sisters colored, and exchanged a subdued smile, which contrasted withthe tears that yet filled their eyes, and Rose said to the soldier, witha little embarrassment. "No, I assure you, Dagobert, we talk of nothingin particular."
"Well, well; I don't wish to know it. Come, rest yourselves, a fewmoments more, and then we must start again; for it grows late, and wehave to reach Mockern before night, so that we may be early on the roadto-morrow."
"Have we still a long, long way to go?" asked Rose.
"What, to reach Paris? Yes, my children; some hundred days' march. Wedon't travel quick, but we get on; and we travel cheap, because we have alight purse. A closet for you, a straw mattress and a blanket at yourdoor for me, with Spoil-sport on my feet, and a clean litter for oldJovial, these are our whole traveling expenses. I say nothing about food,because you two together don't eat more than a mouse, and I have learntin Egypt and Spain to be hungry only when it suits."
"Not forgetting that, to save still more, you do all the cooking for us,a
"And to think, good Dagobert, that you wash almost every evening at ourresting-place. As if it were not for us to--"
"You!" said the soldier, interrupting Blanche, "I, allow you to chap yourpretty little hands in soap-suds! Pooh! don't a soldier on a campaignalways wash his own linen? Clumsy as you see me, I was the bestwasherwoman in my squadron--and what a hand at ironing! Not to make abrag of it."
"Yes, yes--you can iron well--very well."
"Only sometimes, there will be a little singe," said Rose, smiling.
"Hah! when the iron is too hot. Zounds! I may bring it as near my cheekas I please; my skin is so tough that I don't feel the heat," saidDagobert, with imperturbable gravity.
"We are only jesting, good Dagobert!"
"Then, children, if you think that I know my trade as a washerwoman, letme continue to have your custom: it is cheaper; and, on a journey, poorpeople like us should save where we can, for we must, at all events, keepenough to reach Paris. Once there, our papers and the medal you wear willdo the rest--I hope so, at least."
"This medal is sacred to us; mother gave it to us on her death-bed."
"Therefore, take great care that you do not lose it: see, from time totime, that you have it safe."
"Here it is," said Blanche, as she drew from her bosom a small bronzemedal, which she wore suspended from her neck by a chain of the samematerial. The medal bore on its faces the following inscriptions:
Victim of L. C. D. J. Pray for me! ---- Paris February the, 13th, 1682.
At Paris. Rue Saint Francois, No. 3, In a century and a half you will be. February the 13th, 1832. ---- PRAY FOR ME!
"What does it mean, Dagobert?" resumed Blanche, as she examined themournful inscriptions. "Mother was not able to tell us."
"We will discuss all that this evening; at the place where we sleep,"answered Dagobert. "It grows late, let us be moving. Put up the medalcarefully, and away!--We have yet nearly an hour's march to arrive atquarters. Come, my poor pets, once more look at the mound where yourbrave father fell--and then--to horse! to horse!"
The orphans gave a last pious glance at the spot which had recalled totheir guide such painful recollections, and, with his aid, remountedJovial.
This venerable animal had not for one moment dreamed of moving; but, withthe consummate forethought of a veteran, he had made the best use of histime, by taking from that foreign soil a large contribution of green andtender grass, before the somewhat envious eyes of Spoil-sport, who hadcomfortably established himself in the meadow, with his snout protrudingbetween his fore-paws. On the signal of departure, the dog resumed hispost behind his master, and Dagobert, trying the ground with the end ofhis long staff, led the horse carefully along by the bridle, for themeadow was growing more and more marshy; indeed, after advancing a fewsteps, he was obliged to turn off to the left, in order to regain thehigh-road.
On reaching Mockern, Dagobert asked for the least expensive inn, and wastold there was only one in the village--the White Falcon.
"Let us go then to the White Falcon," observed the soldier.