The Wandering Jew, Book I.

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"But why did you leave us so hastily, Dagobert?"

"Yes, now I remember--did we not hear a great noise, sister, and see
Dagobert run to the staircase, crying: 'My horse! what are they doing to
my horse?'"

"It was then Jovial who neighed?"

These questions renewed the anguish of the soldier; he feared to answer
them, and said, with a confused air: "Yes--Jovial neighed--but it was
nothing. By the by, we must have a light here. Do you know where I put my
flint and steel last evening? Well, I have lost my senses; it is here in
my pocket. Luckily, too, we have a candle, which I am going to light; I
want to look in my knapsack for some papers I require."

Dagobert struck a few sparks, obtained a light, and saw that the window
was indeed open, the table thrown down, and the lamp lying by the side of
the knapsack. He shut the window, set the little table on its feet again,
placed the knapsack upon it, and began to unbuckle this last in order to
take out his portfolio, which had been deposited along with his cross and
purse, in a kind of pocket between the outside and the lining. The straps
had been readjusted with so much care, that there was no appearance of
the knapsack having been disturbed; but when the soldier plunged his hand
into the pocket above-mentioned, he found it empty. Struck with
consternation, he grew pale, and retreated a step, crying: "How is
this?--Nothing!"

"What is the matter?" said Blanche. He made her no answer. Motionless, he
leaned against the table, with his hand still buried in the pocket. Then,
yielding to a vague hope--for so cruel a reality did not appear
possible--he hastily emptied the contents of the knapsack on the
table--his poor half-worn clothes--his old uniform-coat of the
horse-grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, a sacred relic for the
soldiers--but, turn and return them as he would, he found neither his
purse, nor the portfolio that contained his papers, the letters of
General Simon, and his cross.

In vain, with that serious childishness which always accompanies a
hopeless search, he took the knapsack by the two ends, and shook it
vigorously; nothing came out. The orphans looked on with uneasiness, not
understanding his silence or his movements, for his back was turned to
them. Blanche ventured to say to him in a timid voice: "What ails
you--you don't answer us.--What is it you are looking for in your
knapsack?"

Still mute, Dagobert searched his own person, turned out all his
pockets--nothing!--For the first time in his life, perhaps, his two
children, as he called them, had spoken to him without receiving a reply.
Blanche and Rose felt the big tears start into their eyes; thinking that
the soldier was angry, they darst not again address him.

"No, no! it is impossible--no!" said the veteran, pressing his hand to
his forehead, and seeking in his memory where he might have put those
precious objects, the loss of which he could not yet bring himself to
believe. A sudden beam of joy flashed from his eyes. He ran to a chair,
and took from it the portmanteau of the orphans; it contained a little
linen, two black dresses, and a small box of white wood, in which were a
silk handkerchief that had belonged to their mother, two locks of her
hair, and a black ribbon she had worn round her neck. The little she
possessed had been seized by the Russian government, in pursuance of the
confiscation. Dagobert searched and researched every article--peeped into
all the corners of the portmanteau--still nothing!

This time, completely worn out, leaning against the table, the strong,
energetic man felt himself giving way. His face was burning, yet bathed
in a cold sweat; his knees trembled under him. It is a common saying,
that drowning men will catch at straws; and so it is with the despair
that still clings to some shred of hope. Catching at a last
chance--absurd, insane, impossible--he turned abruptly towards the
orphans, and said to them, without considering the alteration in his
voice and features: "I did not give them to you--to keep for me?--speak?"

Instead of answering, Rose and Blanche, terrified at his paleness and the
expression of his countenance, uttered a cry. "Good heavens! what is the
matter with you?" murmured Rose.

"Have you got them--yes, or no?" cried in a voice of thunder the
unfortunate, distracted man. "If you have not--I'll take the first knife
I meet with, and stick it into my body!"

"Alas! You are so good: pardon us if we have done anything to afflict
you! You love us so much, you would not do us any harm." The orphans
began to weep, as they stretched forth their hands in supplication
towards the soldier.

He looked at them with haggard eye, without even seeing them; till, as
the delusion passed away, the reality presented itself to his mind with
all its terrible consequences. Then he clasped his hands together, fell
on his knees before the bed of the orphans, leaned his forehead upon it,
and amid his convulsive sobs--for the man of iron sobbed like a
child--these broken words were audible: "Forgive me--forgive!--I do not
know how it can be!--Oh! what a misfortune!--what a misfortune!--Forgive
me!"

At this outbreak of grief, the cause of which they understood not, but
which in such a man was heart-rending, the two sisters wound their arms
about his old gray head, and exclaimed amid their tears: "Look at us!
Only tell us what is the matter with you?--Is it our fault?"

At this instant, the noise of footsteps resounded from the stairs,
mingled with the barking of Spoil-sport, who had remained outside the
door. The nearer the steps approached, the more furious became the
barking; it was no doubt accompanied with hostile demonstrations, for the
host was heard to cry out in an angry tone: "Hollo! you there! Call off
your dog, or speak to him. It is Mr. Burgomaster who is coming up."

"Dagobert--do you hear?--it is the burgomaster," said Rose.

"They are coming upstairs--a number of people," resumed Blanche.

The word burgomaster recalled whatever had happened to the mind of
Dagobert, and completed, so to express it, the picture of his terrible
position. His horse was dead, he had neither papers nor money, and a day,
a single day's detention, might defeat the last hope of the sisters, and
render useless this long and toilsome journey.

Men of strong minds, and the veteran was of the number, prefer great
perils, positions of danger accurately defined, to the vague anxieties
which precede a settled misfortune. Guided by his good sense and
admirable devotion, Dagobert understood at once, that his only resource
was now in the justice of the burgomaster, and that all his efforts
should tend to conciliate the favor of that magistrate. He therefore
dried his eyes with the sheet, rose from the ground, erect, calm, and
resolute, and said to the orphans: "Fear nothing, my children; it is our
deliverer who is at hand."

"Will you call off your dog or no?" cried the host, still detained on the
stairs by Spoil-sport, who, as a vigilant sentinel, continued to dispute
the passage. "Is the animal mad, I say? Why don't you tie him up? Have
you not caused trouble enough in my house? I tell you, that Mr.
Burgomaster is waiting to examine you in your turn, for he has finished
with Morok."

Dagobert drew his fingers through his gray locks and across his
moustache, clasped the collar of his top-coat, and brushed the sleeves
with his hand, in order to give himself the best appearance possible; for
he felt that the fate of the orphans must depend on his interview with
the magistrate. It was not without a violent beating of the heart, that
he laid his hand upon the door-knob, saying to the young girls, who were
growing more and more frightened by such a succession of events: "Hide
yourselves in your bed, my children; if any one must needs enter, it
shall be the burgomaster alone."

Thereupon, opening the door, the soldier stepped out on the landing
place, and said: "Down, Spoil-sport!--Here!"

The dog obeyed, but with manifest repugnance. His master had to speak
twice, before he would abstain from all hostile movements towards the
host. This latter, with a lantern in one hand and his cap in the other,
respectfully preceded the burgomaster, whose magisterial proportions were
lost in the half shadows of the staircase. Behind the judge, and a few
steps lower, the inquisitive faces of the people belonging to the inn
were dimly visible by the light of another lantern.

Dagobert, having turned the dog into the room, shut the door after him,
and advanced two steps on the landing-place, which was sufficiently
spacious to hold several persons, and had in one corner a wooden bench
with a back to it. The burgomaster, as he ascended the last stair, was
surprised to see Dagobert close the door of the chamber, as though he
wished to forbid his entrance. "Why do you shut that door?" asked he in
an abrupt tone.

"First, because two girls, whom I have the charge of, are in bed in that
room; secondly, because your examination would alarm them," replied
Dagobert. "Sit down upon this bench, Mr. Burgomaster, and examine me
here; it will not make any difference, I should think."

"And by what right," asked the judge, with a displeased air, "do you
pretend to dictate to me the place of your examination?"

"Oh, I have no such pretension, Mr. Burgomaster!" said the soldier
hastily, fearing above all things to prejudice the judge against him:
"only, as the girls are in bed, and already much frightened, it would be
a proof of your good heart to examine me where I am."

"Humph!" said the magistrate, with ill-humor; "a pretty state of things,
truly!--It was much worth while to disturb me in the middle of the night.
But, come, so be it; I will examine you here." Then, turning to the
landlord, he added: "Put your lantern upon this bench, and leave us."

The innkeeper obeyed, and went down, followed by his people, as
dissatisfied as they were at being excluded from the examination. The
veteran was left alone with the magistrate.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE JUDGEMENT.

The worthy burgomaster of Mockern wore a cloth cap, and was enveloped in
a cloak. He sat down heavily on the bench. He was a corpulent man, about
sixty, with an arrogant, morose countenance; and he frequently rubbed
with his red, fat fist, eyes that were still swollen and blood shot, from
his having been suddenly roused from sleep.

Dagobert stood bareheaded before him, with a submissive, respectful air,
holding his old foraging cap in his hands, and trying to read in the
sullen physiognomy of his judge what chance there might be to interest
him in his favor--that is, in favor of the orphans.

In this critical juncture, the poor soldier summoned to his aid all his
presence of mind, reason, eloquence and resolution. He, who had twenty
times braved death with the utmost coolness--who, calm and serene,
because sincere and tried, had never quailed before the eagle-glance of
the Emperor, his hero and idol--now felt himself disconcerted and
trembling before the ill-humored face of a village burgomaster. Even so,
a few hours before, he had submitted, impassive and resigned, to the
insults of the Prophet--that he might not compromise the sacred mission
with which a dying mother had entrusted him--thus showing to what a
height of heroic abnegation it is possible for a simple and honest heart
to attain.

"What have you to say in your justification? Come, be quick!" said the
judge roughly, with a yawn of impatience.

"I have not got to justify myself--I have to make a complaint, Mr.
Burgomaster," replied Dagobert in a firm voice.

"Do you think you are to teach me in what terms I am to put my
questions?" exclaimed the magistrate, in so sharp a tone that the soldier
reproached himself with having begun the interview so badly. Wishing to
pacify his judge, he made haste to answer with submission:

"Pardon me, Mr. Burgomaster, I have ill-explained my meaning. I only
wished to say that I was not wrong in this affair."

"The Prophet says the contrary."

"The Prophet?" repeated the soldier, with an air of doubt.

"The Prophet is a pious and honest man," resumed the judge, "incapable of
falsehood."

"I cannot say anything upon that subject; but you are too just, and have
too good a heart, Mr. Burgomaster, to condemn without hearing me. It is
not a man like you that would do an injustice; oh, one can see that at a
glance!"

In resigning himself thus to play the part of a courtier, Dagobert
softened as much as possible his gruff voice, and strove to give to his
austere countenance a smiling, agreeable, and flattering expression. "A
man like you," he added, with redoubled suavity of manner, "a respectable
judge like you, never shuts his ears to one side or the other."

"Ears are not in question, but eyes; and, though mine smart as if I had
rubbed them with nettles, I have seen the hand of the brute-tamer, with a
frightful wound on it."

"Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, it is very true; but consider, if he had shut his
cages and his door, all this would not have happened."

"Not so; it is your fault. You should have fastened your horse securely
to the manger."

"You are right, Mr. Burgomaster, certainly, you are right," said the
soldier, in a still more affable and conciliating voice. "It is not for a
poor devil like me to contradict you. But supposing my horse was let
loose out of pure malice, in order that he might stray into the
menagerie--you will then acknowledge that it was not my fault. That is,
you will acknowledge it if you think fit," hastily added the soldier "I
have no right to dictate to you in anything."

"And why the devil should any one do you this ill-turn?"

"I do not know, Mr. Burgomaster--but--"

"You do not know--well, nor I either," said the burgomaster impatiently.
"Zounds! what a many words about the carcass of an old horse!"

The countenance of the soldier, losing on a sudden its expression of
forced suavity, became once more severe; he answered in a grave voice,
full of emotion: "My horse is dead--he is no more than a carcass--that is
true; but an hour ago, though very old, he was full of life and
intelligence. He neighed joyously at my voice--and, every evening, he
licked the hands of the two poor children, whom he had carried all the
day--as formerly he had carried their mother. Now he will never carry any
one again; they will throw him to the dogs, and all will be finished. You
need not have reminded me harshly of it, Mr. Burgomaster--for I loved my
horse!"

By these words, pronounced with noble and touching simplicity, the
burgomaster was moved in spite of himself, and regretted his hasty
speech. "It is natural that you should be sorry for your horse," said he,
in a less impatient tone; "but what is to be done?--It is a misfortune."

"A misfortune?--Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, a very great misfortune. The girls,
who accompany me, were too weak to undertake a long journey on foot, too
poor to travel in a carriage--and yet we have to arrive in Paris before
the month of February. When their mother died, I promised her to take
them to France, for these children have only me to take care of them."

"You are then their--"

"I am their faithful servant, Mr. Burgomaster; and now that my horse has
been killed, what can I do for them? Come, you are good, you have perhaps
children of your own; if, one day, they should find themselves in the
position of my two little orphans--with no wealth, no resources in the
world, but an old soldier who loves them, and an old horse to carry them
along--if, after being very unfortunate from their birth--yes, very
unfortunate, for my orphans are the daughters of exiles--they should see
happiness before them at the end of a journey, and then, by the death of
their horse, that journey become impossible--tell me, Mr. Burgomaster, if
this would not touch your heart? Would you not find, as I do, that the
loss of my horse is irreparable?"

"Certainly," answered the burgomaster, who was not ill natured at bottom,
and who could not help taking part in Dagobert's emotion; "I now
understand the importance of the loss you have suffered. And then your
orphans interest me: how old are they?"

"Fifteen years and two months. They are twins."

"Fifteen years and two months--that is about the age of my Frederica."

"You have a young lady of that age?" cried Dagobert, once more awaking to
hope; "ah, Mr. Burgomaster! I am really no longer uneasy about my poor
children. You will do us justice."

"To do justice is my duty. After all, in this affair, the faults are
about equal on both sides. You tied up your horse badly, and the brute
tamer left his door open. He says: 'I am wounded in the hand.' You
answer: 'My horse has been killed--and, for a thousand reasons, the loss
of my horse is irreparable.'"

"You make me speak better than I could ever speak on my own account, Mr.
Burgomaster," said the soldier, with a humble, insinuating smile; "but
'tis what I meant to express--and, as you say yourself, Mr. Burgomaster,
my horse being my whole fortune, it is only fair--"

"Exactly so," resumed the magistrate, interrupting the soldier; "your
reasons are excellent. The Prophet--who is a good and pious man with all
has related the facts to me in his own way; and then, you see, he is an
old acquaintance. We are nearly all zealous Catholics here, and he sells
to our wives such cheap and edifying little books, with chaplets and
amulets of the best manufacture, at less than the prime cost. All this,
you will say, has nothing to do with the affair; and you will be right in
saying so: still I must needs confess that I came here with the
intention--"

"Of deciding against me, eh, Mr. Burgomaster?" said Dagobert, gaining
more and more confidence. "You see, you were not quite awake, and your
justice had only one eye open."

"Really, master soldier," answered the judge with good humor, "it is not
unlikely; for I did not conceal from Morok that I gave it in his favor.
Then he said to me (very generously, by the way): 'Since you condemn my
adversary, I will not aggravate his position by telling you certain
things--'"

"What! against me?"

"Apparently so; but, like a generous enemy, when I told him that I should
most likely condemn you to pay him damages, he said no more about it. For
I will not hide from you, that, before I heard your reasons, I fully
intended that you should make compensation for the Prophet's wound."

"See, Mr. Burgomaster, how the most just and able persons are subject to
be deceived," said Dagobert, becoming once more the courtier; then,
trying to assume a prodigiously knowing look, he added: "But such persons
find out the truth at last, and are not to be made dupes of, whatever
prophets may say."

This poor attempt at a jest--the first and only one, perhaps, that
Dagobert had ever been guilty of--will show the extremity to which he was
reduced, and the desperate efforts of all kinds he was making to
conciliate the good graces of his judge. The burgomaster did not at first
see the pleasantry; he was only led to perceive it by the self satisfied
mien of Dagobert, and by his inquiring glance, which seemed to say: "Is
it not good, eh?--I am astonished at it myself."

The magistrate began, therefore, to smile with a patronizing air, and,
nodding his head, replied in the same jocular spirit: "Ha! Ha! Ha! You
are right; the Prophet is out in his prophecy. You shall not pay him any
damages. The faults on both sides are equal, and the injuries balance one
another. He has been wounded, your horse has been killed; so you may cry
quits, and have done with it."

"But how much then, do you think he owes me?" asked the soldier, with
singular simplicity.

"How much?"

"Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, what sum will he have to pay me? Yes--but, before
you decide, I must tell you one thing, Mr. Burgomaster. I think I shall
be entitled to spend only part of the money in buying a horse. I am sure,
that, in the environs of Leipsic, I could get a beast very cheap from
some of the peasants; and, between ourselves, I will own to you, that, if
I could meet with only a nice little donkey--I should not be over
particular--I should even like it just as well; for, after my poor
Jovial, the company of another horse would be painful to me. I must also
tell you--"

"Hey-day!" cried the burgomaster, interrupting Dagobert, "of what money,
what donkey, and what other horse are you talking? I tell you, that you
owe nothing to the Prophet, and that he owes you nothing!"

"He owes me nothing?"

"You are very dull of comprehension, my good man. I repeat, that, if the
Prophet's animals have killed your horse, the Prophet himself has been
badly wounded; so you may cry quits. In other words, you owe him nothing,
and he owes you nothing. Now do you understand?"

Dagobert, confounded, remained for some moments without answering, whilst
he looked at the burgomaster with an expression of deep anguish. He saw
that his judgment would again destroy all his hopes.

"But, Mr. Burgomaster," resumed he, in an agitated voice, "you are too
just not to pay attention to one thing: the wound of the brute-tamer does
not prevent him from continuing his trade; the death of my horse prevents
me from continuing my journey; therefore, he ought to indemnify me."

The judge considered he had already done a good deal for Dagobert, in not
making him responsible for the wound of the Prophet, who, as we have
already said, exercised a certain influence over the Catholics of the
country by the sale of his devotional treasures, and also from its being
known that he was supported by some persons of eminence. The soldier's
pertinacity, therefore, offended the magistrate, who, reassuming his
lofty air, replied, in a chilling tone: "You will make me repent my
impartiality. How is this? Instead of thanking me, you ask for more."

"But, Mr. Burgomaster, I ask only for what is just. I wish I were wounded
in the hand, like the Prophet, so that I could but continue my journey."

"We are not talking of what you wish. I have pronounced sentence--there
is no more to say."

"But, Mr. Burgomaster--"

"Enough, enough. Let us go to the next subject. Your papers?"

"Yes, we will speak about my papers; but I beg of you, Mr. Burgomaster,
to have pity on those two children. Let us have the means to continue our
journey, and--"

"I have done all I could for you--perhaps, more than I ought. Once again,
your papers!"

"I must first explain to you--"

"No! No explanation--your papers!--Or would you like me to have you
arrested as a vagabond?"

"Me---arrested!"

"I tell you that, if you refuse to show me your papers, it will be as if
you had none. Now, those people who have no papers we take into custody
till the authorities can dispose of them. Let me see your papers, and
make haste!--I am in a hurry to get home."

Dagobert's position was the more distressing, as for a moment he had
indulged in sanguine hope. The last blow was now added to all the veteran
had suffered since the commencement of this scene, which was a cruel as
well as dangerous trial, for a man of his character--upright, but
obstinate--faithful, but rough and absolute--a man who, for a long time a
soldier, and a victorious one, had acquired a certain despotic mariner of
treating with civilians.

At these words--"your papers," Dagobert became very pale; but he tried to
conceal his anguish beneath an air of assurance, which he thought best
calculated to gain the magistrate's good opinion. "I will tell you all
about it, Mr. Burgomaster," said he. "Nothing can be clearer. Such a
thing might happen to any one. I do not look like a beggar and a
vagabond, do I? And yet--you will understand, that an honest man who
travels with two young girls--"

"No more words! Your papers!"

At this juncture two powerful auxiliaries arrived to the soldier's aid.
The orphans, growing more and more uneasy, and hearing Dagobert still
talking upon the landing-place, had risen and dressed themselves; so that
just at the instant, when the magistrate said in a rough voice--"No more
words! Your papers!"--Rose and Blanche holding each other by the hand,
came forth from the chamber.

At sight of those charming faces, which their poor mourning vestments
only rendered more interesting, the burgomaster rose from his seat,
struck with surprise and admiration. By a spontaneous movement, each
sister took a hand of Dagobert, and pressed close to him, whilst they
regarded the magistrate with looks of mingled anxiety and candor.

It was so touching a picture, this of the old soldier presenting as it
were to his judge the graceful children, with countenances full of
innocence and beauty, that the burgomaster, by a sudden reaction, found
himself once more disposed to sentiments of pity. Dagobert perceived it;
and, still holding the orphans by the hand, he advanced towards him, and
said in a feeling voice: "Look at these poor children, Mr. Burgomaster!
Could I show you a better passport?" And, overcome by so many painful
sensations--restrained, yet following each other in quick
succession--Dagobert felt, in spite of himself, that the tears were
starting to his eyes.