The Wandering Jew — Volume 01

  CHAPTER VIII.

  EXTRACTS FROM GENERAL SIMON'S DIARY.

  Bivouac on the Mountains of Avers February the 20th, 1830.

  "Each time I add some pages to this journal, written now in the heart ofIndia, where the fortune of my wandering and proscribed existence hasthrown me--a journal which, alas! my beloved Eva, you may never read--Iexperience a sweet, yet painful emotion; for, although to converse thuswith you is a consolation, it brings back the bitter thought that I amunable to see or speak to you.

  "Still, if these pages should ever meet your eyes, your generous heartwill throb at the name of the intrepid being, to whom I am this dayindebted for my life, and to whom I may thus perhaps owe the happiness ofseeing you again--you and my child--for of course our child lives. Yes,it must be--for else, poor wife, what an existence would be yours amidthe horrors of exile! Dear soul! he must now be fourteen. Whom does heresemble? Is he like you? Has he your large and beautiful blueeyes?--Madman that I am! how many times, in this long day-book, have Ialready asked the same idle question, to which you can return noanswer!--How many times shall I continue to ask it?--But you will teachour child to speak and love the somewhat savage name of Djalma."

  "Djalma!" said Rose, as with moist eyes she left off reading.

  "Djalma!" repeated Blanche, who shared the emotion of her sister. "Oh, weshall never forget that name."

  "And you will do well, my children; for it seems to be the name of afamous soldier, though a very young one. But go on, my little Rose!"

  "I have told you in the preceding pages, my dear Eva, of the two gloriousdays we had this month. The troops of my old friend, the prince, whichdaily make fresh advances in European discipline, have performed wonders.We have beaten the English, and obliged them to abandon a portion of thisunhappy country, which they had invaded in contempt of all the rights ofjustice, and which they continue to ravage without mercy, for, in theseparts, warfare is another name for treachery, pillage, and massacre. Thismorning, after a toilsome march through a rocky and mountainous district,we received information from our scouts, that the enemy had beenreinforced, and was preparing to act on the offensive; and, as we wereseparated from them by a distance of a few leagues only, an engagementbecame inevitable. My old friend the prince, the father of my deliverer,was impatient to march to the attack. The action began about threeo'clock; it was very bloody and furious. Seeing that our men wavered fora moment, for they were inferior in number, and the Englishreinforcements consisted of fresh troops, I charged at the head of ourweak reserve of cavalry. The old prince was in the centre, fighting, ashe always fights, intrepidly; his son, Djalma, scarcely eighteen, asbrave as his father, did not leave my side. In the hottest part of theengagement, my horse was killed under me, and rolling over into a ravine,along the edge of which I was riding, I found myself so awkwardlyentangled beneath him, that for an instant I thought my thigh wasbroken."

  "Poor father!" said Blanche.

  "This time, happily, nothing more dangerous ensued thanks to Djalma! Yousee, Dagobert," added Rose, "that I remember the name." And she continuedto read,

  "The English thought--and a very flattering opinion it was--that, if theycould kill me, they would make short work of the prince's army. So aSepoy officer, with five or six irregulars--cowardly, ferociousplunderers--seeing me roll down the ravine, threw themselves into it todespatch me. Surrounded by fire and smoke, and carried away by theirardor, our mountaineers had not seen me fall; but Djalma never left me.He leaped into the ravine to my assistance, and his cool intrepiditysaved my life. He had held the fire of his double-barrelled carbine; withone load, he killed the officer on the spot; with the other he broke thearm of an irregular, who had already pierced my left hand with hisbayonet. But do not be alarmed, dear Eva; it is nothing--only a scratch."

  "Wounded--again wounded--alas!" cried Blanche, clasping her handstogether, and interrupting her sister.

  "Take courage!" said Dagobert: "I dare say it was only a scratch, as thegeneral calls it. Formerly, he used to call wounds, which did not disablea man from fighting, blank wounds. There was no one like him for suchsayings."

  "Djalma, seeing me wounded," resumed Rose, wiping her eyes, "made use ofhis heavy carbine as a club, and drove back the soldiers. At thatinstant, I perceived a new assailant, who, sheltered behind a clump ofbamboos which commanded the ravine, slowly lowered his long gun, placedthe barrel between two branches, and took deliberate aim at Djalma.Before my shouts could apprise him of his danger, the brave youth hadreceived a ball in his breast. Feeling himself hit, he fell barkinvoluntarily two paces, and dropped upon one knee: but he still remainedfirm, endeavoring to cover me with his body. You may conceive my rage anddespair, whilst all my efforts to disengage myself were paralyzed by theexcruciating pain in my thigh. Powerless and disarmed, I witnessed forsome moments this unequal struggle.

  "Djalma was losing blood rapidly; his strength of arm began to fail him;already one of the irregulars, inciting his comrades with his voice, drewfrom his belt a huge, heavy kind of bill-hook, when a dozen of ourmountaineers made their appearance, borne towards the spot by theirresistible current of the battle. Djalma was rescued in his turn, I wasreleased, and, in a quarter of an hour, I was able to mount a horse. Thefortune of the day is ours, though with severe loss; but the fires of theEnglish camp are still visible, and to-morrow the conflict will bedecisive. Thus, my beloved Eva, I owe my life to this youth. Happily, hiswound occasions us no uneasiness; the ball only glanced along the ribs ina slanting direction."

  "The brave boy might have said: 'A blank wound,' like the general,"observed Dagobert.

  "Now, my dear Eva," continued Rose, "you must become acquainted, by meansof this narrative at least, with the intrepid Djalma. He is but justeighteen. With one word, I will paint for you his noble and valiantnature; it is a custom of this country to give surnames, and, when onlyfifteen, he was called 'The Generous'--by which was, of course, meantgenerous in heart and mind. By another custom, no less touching thanwhimsical, this name was reverted to his parent, who is called 'TheFather of the Generous,' and who might, with equal propriety, be called'The Just,' for this old Indian is a rare example of chivalrous honor andproud independence. He might, like so many other poor princes of thiscountry, have humbled himself before the execrable despotism of theEnglish, bargained for the relinquishment of sovereign power, andsubmitted to brute force--but it was not in his nature. 'My whole rights,or a grave in my native mountains!'--such is his motto. And this is noempty boast; it springs from the conviction of what is right and just.'But you will be crushed in the struggle,' I have said to him--'Myfriend,' he answered, 'what if, to force you to a disgraceful act, youwere told to yield or die?'--From that day I understood him, and havedevoted myself, mind and body, to the ever sacred cause of the weakagainst the strong. You see, my Eva, that Djalma shows himself worthy ofsuch a father. This young Indian is so proud, so heroic in his bravery,that, like a young Greek of Leonidas' age, he fights with his breastbare; while other warriors of his country (who, indeed, usually havearms, breast, and shoulders uncovered) wear, in time of battle, a thick,impenetrable vest. The rash daring of this youth reminds me of Murat,King of Naples, who, I have so often told you, I have seen a hundredtimes leading the most desperate charges with nothing but a riding-whipin his hand."

  "That's another of those kings I was telling you of, whom the Emperor setup for his amusement," said Dagobert. "I once saw a Prussian officerprisoner, whose face had been cut across by that mad-cap King of Naples'riding-whip; the mark was there, a black and blue stripe. The Prussianswore he was dishonored, and that a sabre-cut would have been preferable.I should rather think so! That devil of a king; he only had one idea:'Forward, on to the cannon!' As soon as they began to cannonade, onewould have thought the guns were calling him with all their might, for hewas soon up to them with his 'Here I am!' If I speak to you about him, mychildren, it's because he was fond of repeating,--'No one can breakthrough a square of infantry, if General Simon or I can't d
o it.'"

  Rose continued:

  "I have observed with pain, that, notwithstanding his youth, Djalma isoften subject to fits of deep melancholy. At times, I have seen himexchange with his father looks of singular import. In spite of our mutualattachment, I believe that both conceal from me some sad family secret,in so far as I can judge from expressions which have dropped from them bychance.

  "It relates to some strange event which their vivid imaginations haveinvested with a supernatural character.

  "And yet, my love, you and I have no longer the right to smile at thecredulity of others. I, since the French campaign, when I met with thatextraordinary adventure, which, to this day, I am quite unable tounderstand--"

  "This refers to the man who threw himself before the mouth of thecannon," said Dagobert.

  "And you," continued the maiden, still reading, "you, my dear Eva, sincethe visits of that young and beautiful woman, whom, as your motherasserted, she had seen at her mother's house forty years before."

  The orphans, in amazement, looked at the soldier.

  "Your mother never spoke to me of that, nor the general either, mychildren; this is as strange to me as it is to you."

  With increasing excitement and curiosity, Rose continued:

  "After all, my dear Eva, things which appear very extraordinary, mayoften be explained by a chance resemblance or a freak of nature. Marvelsbeing always the result of optical illusion or heated fancy, a time mustcome, when that which appeared to be superhuman or supernatural, willprove to be the most simple and natural event in the world. I doubt not,therefore, that the things, which we denominate our prodigies, will oneday receive this commonplace solution."

  "You see, my children--things appear marvelous, which at bottom are quitesimple--though for a long time we understand nothing about them."

  "As our father relates this, we must believe it, and not beastonished--eh, sister?"

  "Yes, truly--since it will all be explained one day."

  "For example," said Dagobert, after a moment's reflection, "you two areso much alike, that any one, who was not in the habit of seeing youdaily, might easily take one for the other. Well! if they did not knowthat you are, so to speak,'doubles,' they might think an imp was at workinstead of such good little angels as you are."

  "You are right, Dagobert; in this way many things may be explained, evenas our father says." And Rose continued to read:

  "Not without pride, my gentle Eva, have I learned that Djalma has Frenchblood in his veins. His father married, some years ago, a young girl,whose family, of French origin, had long been settled at Batavia in theisland of Java. This similarity of circumstances between my old friendand myself--for your family also, my Eva, is of French origin, and longsettled in a foreign land--has only served to augment my sympathy forhim. Unfortunately, he has long had to mourn the loss of the wife whom headored.

  "See, my beloved Eva! my hand trembles as I write these words. I amweak--I am foolish--but, alas! my heart sinks within me. If such amisfortune were to happen to me--Oh, my God!--what would become of ourchild without thee--without his father--in that barbarous country? Butno! the very fear is madness; and yet what a horrible torture isuncertainty! Where may you now be? What are you doing? What has become ofyou? Pardon these black thoughts, which are sometimes too much for me.They are the cause of my worst moments--for, when free from them, I canat least say to myself: I am proscribed, I am every way unfortunate--but,at the other end of the world, two hearts still beat for me withaffection--yours, my Eva, and our child's!"

  Rose could hardly finish this passage; for some seconds her voice wasbroken by sobs. There was indeed a fatal coincidence between the fears ofGeneral Simon and the sad reality; and what could be more touching thanthese outpourings of the heart, written by the light of a watch fire, onthe eve of battle, by a soldier who thus sought to soothe the pangs of aseparation, which he felt bitterly, but knew not would be eternal?

  "Poor general! he is unaware of our misfortune," said Dagobert, after amoment's silence; "but neither has he heard that he has two children,instead of one. That will be at least some consolation. But come,Blanche; do go on reading: I fear that this dwelling on grief fatiguesyour sister, and she is too much affected by it. Besides, after all, itis only just, that you should take your share of its pleasure and itssorrow."

  Blanche took the letter, and Rose, having dried her eyes, laid in herturn her sweet head on the shoulder of her sister, who thus continued:

  "I am calmer now, my dear Eva; I left off writing for a moment, andstrove to banish those black presentiments. Let us resume ourconversation! After discoursing so long about India, I will talk to you alittle of Europe. Yesterday evening, one of our people (a trusty fellow)rejoined our outposts. He brought me a letter, which had arrived fromFrance at Calcutta; at length, I have news of my father, and am no longeranxious on his account. This letter is dated in August of last year. Isee by its contents, that several other letters, to which he alludes,have either been delayed or lost; for I had not received any for twoyears before, and was extremely uneasy about him. But my excellent fatheris the same as ever! Age has not weakened him; his character is asenergetic, his health as robust, as in times past--still a workman, stillproud of his order, still faithful to his austere republican ideas, stillhoping much.

  "For he says to me, 'the time is at hand,' and he underlines those words.He gives me also, as you will see, good news of the family of oldDagobert, our friend--for in truth, my dear Eva, it soothes my grief tothink, that this excellent man is with you, that he will have accompaniedyou in your exile--for I know him--a kernel of gold beneath the rude rindof a soldier! How he must love our child!"

  Here Dagobert coughed two or three times, stooped down, and appeared tobe seeking on the ground the little red and blue check-handkerchiefspread over his knees. He remained thus bent for some seconds, and, whenhe raised himself, he drew his hand across his moustache.

  "How well father knows you!"

  "How rightly has he guessed that you would love us!"

  "Well, well, children; pass over that!--Let's come to the part where thegeneral speaks of my little Agricola, and of Gabriel, my wife's adoptedchild. Poor woman! when I think that in three months perhaps--but come,child, read, read," added the old soldier, wishing to conceal hisemotion.

  "I still hope against hope, my dear Eva, that these pages will one dayreach you, and therefore I wish to insert in them all that can beinteresting to Dagobert. It will be a consolation to him, to have somenews of his family. My father, who is still foreman at Mr. Hardy's, tellsme that worthy man has also taken into his house the son of old Dagobert.Agricola works under my father, who is enchanted with him. He is, hetells me, a tall and vigorous lad, who wields the heavy forge hammer asif it were a feather, and is light-spirited as he is intelligent andlaborious. He is the best workman on the establishment; and this does notprevent him in the evening, after his hard day's work, when he returnshome to his mother, whom he truly loves, from making songs and writingexcellent patriotic verses. His poetry is full of fire and energy; hisfellow-workmen sing nothing else, and his lays have the power to warm thecoldest and the most timid hearts."

  "How proud you must be of your son, Dagobert," said Rose, in admiration;"he writes songs."

  "Certainly, it is all very fine--but what pleases me best is, that he isgood to his mother, and that he handles the hammer with a will. As forthe songs, before he makes a 'Rising of the People,' or a 'Marseillaise,'he will have had to beat a good deal of iron; but where can this rascallysweet Agricola have learned to make songs at all?--No doubt, it was atschool, where he went, as you will see, with his adopted brotherGabriel."

  At this name of Gabriel, which reminded them of the imaginary being whomthey called their guardian angel, the curiosity of the young girls wasgreatly excited. With redoubled attention, Blanche continued in thesewords:

  "The adopted brother of Agricola, the poor deserted child whom the wifeof our good Dagobert so generously took in, fo
rms, my father tells me, agreat contrast with Agricola; not in heart, for they have both excellenthearts; but Gabriel is as thoughtful and melancholy as Agricola islively, joyous, and active. Moreover, adds my father, each of them, so tospeak, has the aspect, which belongs to his character. Agricola is dark,tall, and strong, with a gay and bold air; Gabriel, on the contrary, isweak, fair, timid as a girl, and his face wears an expression of angelicmildness."

  The orphans looked at each other in surprise; then, as they turnedtowards the soldier their ingenuous countenances, Rose said to him; "Haveyou heard, Dagobert? Father says, that your Gabriel is fair, and has theface of an angel. Why, 'tis exactly like ours!"

  "Yes, yes, I heard very well; it is that which surprised me, in yourdream."

  "I should like to know, if he has also blue eyes," said Rose.

  "As for that, my children, though the general says nothing about it, Iwill answer for it: your fair boys have always blue eyes. But, blue orblack, he will not use them to stare at young ladies; go on, and you willsee why."

  Blanche resumed:

  "His face wears an expression of angelic mildness. One of the Brothers ofthe Christian Schools, where he went with Agricola and other children ofhis quarter, struck with his intelligence and good disposition, spoke ofhim to a person of consequence, who, becoming interested in the lad,placed him in a seminary for the clergy, and, since the last two years,Gabriel is a priest. He intends devoting himself to foreign missions, andwill soon set out for America."

  "Your Gabriel is a priest, it appears?" said Rose, looking at Dagobert.

  "While ours is an angel," added Blanche.

  "Which only proves that yours is a step higher than mine. Well, every oneto his taste; there are good people in all trades; but I prefer that itshould be Gabriel who has chosen the black gown. I'd rather see my boywith arms bare, hammer in hand, and a leathern apron round him, neithermore nor less than your old grandfather, my children--the father ofMarshal Simon, Duke of Ligny--for, after all, marshal and duke he is bythe grace of the Emperor. Now finish your letter."

  "Soon, alas, yes!" said Blanche; "there are only a few lines left." Andshe proceeded:

  "Thus, my dear, loving Eva, if this journal should ever reach itsdestination, you will be able to satisfy Dagobert as to the position ofhis wife and son, whom he left for our sakes. How can we ever repay sucha sacrifice? But I feel sure, that your good and generous heart will havefound some means of compensation.

  "Adieu!--Again adieu, for to-day, my beloved Eva; I left off writing fora moment, to visit the tent of Djalma. He slept peacefully, and hisfather watched beside him; with a smile, he banished my fears. Thisintrepid young man is no longer in any danger. May he still be spared inthe combat of to-morrow! Adieu, my gentle Eva! the night is silent andcalm; the fires of the bivouac are slowly dying out, and our poormountaineers repose after this bloody day; I can hear, from hour to hour,the distant all's well of our sentinels. Those foreign words bring backmy grief; they remind me of what I sometimes forget in writing--that I amfaraway, separated from you and from my child! Poor, beloved beings! whatwill be your destiny? Ah! if I could only send you, in time, that medal,which, by a fatal accident, I carried away with me from Warsaw, youmight, perhaps, obtain leave to visit France, or at least to send ourchild there with Dagobert; for you know of what importance--But why addthis sorrow to all the rest? Unfortunately, the years are passing away,the fatal day will arrive, and this last hope, in which I live for you,will also be taken from me: but I will not close the evening by so sad athought. Adieu, my beloved Eva! Clasp our child to your bosom, and coverit with all the kisses which I send to both of you from the depths ofexile!"

  "Till to-morrow--after the battle!"

  The reading of this touching letter was followed by long silence. Thetears of Rose and Blanche flowed together. Dagobert, with his headresting on his hand, was absorbed in painful reflections.

  Without doors, the wind had now augmented in violence; a heavy rain beganto beat on the sounding panes; the most profound silence reigned in theinterior of the inn. But, whilst the daughters of General Simon werereading with such deep emotion, these fragments of their father'sjournal, a strange and mysterious scene transpired in the menagerie ofthe brute-tamer.