The Wandering Jew, Complete

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"Where do you wish me to go, then?"

"Into the loft, at the end of the stable, and wait my orders; you may
this night have to set out for Leipsic."

"As you please; I have some provisions left in my pouch, and can sup in
the loft whilst I rest myself."

"Go."

"Master, remember what I told you. Beware of that old fellow with the
gray moustache; I think he's devilish tough; I'm up to these things--he's
an ugly customer--be on your guard!"

"Be quite easy! I am always on my guard," said Morok.

"Then good luck to you, master!"--and Karl, having reached the ladder,
suddenly disappeared.

After making a friendly farewell gesture to his servant, the Prophet
walked up and down for some time, with an air of deep meditation; then,
approaching the box which contained the papers, he took out a pretty long
letter, and read it over and over with profound attention. From time to
time he rose and went to the closed window, which looked upon the inner
court of the inn, and appealed to listen anxiously; for he waited with
impatience the arrival of the three persons whose approach had just been
announced to him.




CHAPTER II.

THE TRAVELLERS.

While the above scene was passing in the White Falcon at Mockern, the
three persons whose arrival Morok was so anxiously expecting, travelled
on leisurely in the midst of smiling meadows, bounded on one side by a
river, the current of which turned a mill; and on the other by the
highway leading to the village, which was situated on an eminence, at
about a league's distance.

The sky was beautifully serene; the bubbling of the river, beaten by the
mill-wheel and sparkling with foam, alone broke upon the silence of an
evening profoundly calm. Thick willows, bending over the river, covered
it with their green transparent shadow; whilst, further on, the stream
reflected so splendidly the blue heavens and the glowing tints of the
west, that, but for the hills which rose between it and the sky, the gold
and azure of the water would have mingled in one dazzling sheet with the
gold and azure of the firmament. The tall reeds on the bank bent their
black velvet heads beneath the light breath of the breeze that rises at
the close of day--for the sun was gradually sinking behind a broad streak
of purple clouds, fringed with fire. The tinkling bells of a flock of
sheep sounded from afar in the clear and sonorous air.

Along a path trodden in the grass of the meadow, two girls, almost
children--for they had but just completed their fifteenth year--were
riding on a white horse of medium size, seated upon a large saddle with a
back to it, which easily took them both in, for their figures were slight
and 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 the
girls, with an air of solicitude at once respectful and paternal. He
leaned upon a long staff; his still robust shoulders carried a soldier's
knapsack; his dusty shoes, and step that began to drag a little, showed
that he had walked a long way.

One of those dogs which the tribes of Northern Siberia harness to their
sledges--a sturdy animal, nearly of the size, form, and hairy coat of the
wolf--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. One
held with her left hand the flowing reins, and with her right encircled
the waist of her sleeping sister, whose head reposed on her shoulder.
Each step of the horse gave a graceful swaying to these pliant forms, and
swung their little feet, which rested on a wooden ledge in lieu of a
stirrup.

These twin sisters, by a sweet maternal caprice, had been called Rose and
Blanche; they were now orphans, as might be seen by their sad mourning
vestments, already much worn. Extremely, like in feature, and of the same
size, it was necessary to be in the constant habit of seeing them, to
distinguish one from the other. The portrait of her who slept not, might
serve them for both of them; the only difference at the moment being,
that Rose was awake and discharging for that day the duties of elder
sister--duties thus divided between then, according to the fancy of their
guide, who, being an old soldier of the empire, and a martinet, had
judged fit thus to alternate obedience and command between the orphans.

Greuze would have been inspired by the sight of those sweet faces, coifed
in close caps of black velvet, from beneath which strayed a profusion of
thick ringlets of a light chestnut color, floating down their necks and
shoulders, and setting, as in a frame, their round, firm, rosy, satin
like cheeks. A carnation, bathed in dew, is of no richer softness than
their blooming lips; the wood violet's tender blue would appear dark
beside the limpid azure of their large eyes, in which are depicted the
sweetness of their characters, and the innocence of their age; a pure and
white forehead, small nose, dimpled chin, complete these graceful
countenances, which present a delightful blending of candor and
gentleness.

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 of
reindeer fur, and pulled over their heads the ample hood of this
impervious garment; then nothing could be more lovely than those fresh
and smiling little faces, sheltered beneath the dark-colored cowl.

But now the evening was fine and calm; the heavy cloak hung in folds
about the knees of the sisters, and the hood rested on the back of their
saddle.

Rose, still encircling with her right arm the waist of her sleeping
sister, contemplated her with an expression of ineffable tenderness, akin
to maternal; for Rose was the eldest for the day, and an elder sister is
almost a mother.

Not only, did the orphans idolize each other; but, by a psychological
phenomenon, frequent with twins, they were almost always simultaneously
affected; the emotion of one was reflected instantly in the countenance
of the other; the same cause would make both of them start or blush, so
closely did their young hearts beat in unison; all ingenuous joys, all
bitter griefs were mutually felt, and shared in a moment between them.

In their infancy, simultaneously attacked by a severe illness, like two
flowers on the same steam, they had drooped, grown pale, and languished
together; but together also had they again found the pure, fresh hues of
health.

Need it be said, that those mysterious, indissoluble links which united
the twins, could not have been broken without striking a mortal blow at
the existence of the poor children?

Thus the sweet birds called love-birds, only living in pairs, as if
endowed with a common life, pine, despond, and die, when parted by a
barbarous hand.

The guide of the orphans, a man of about fifty-five, distinguished by his
military air and gait, preserved the immortal type of the warriors of the
republic and the empire--some heroic of the people, who became, in one
campaign, the first soldiers in the world--to prove what the people can
do, have done, and will renew, when the rulers of their choice place in
them confidence, strength, and their hope.

This soldier, guide of the sisters, and formerly a horse-grenadier of the
Imperial Guard, had been nicknamed Dagobert. His grave, stern countenance
was strongly marked; his long, gray, and thick moustache completely
concealed his upper lip, and united with a large imperial, which almost
covered his chin; his meagre cheeks, brick-colored, and tanned as
parchment, were carefully shaven; thick eyebrows, still black, overhung
and shaded his light blue eyes; gold ear-rings reached down to his
white-edged military stock; his topcoat, of coarse gray cloth, was
confined at the waist by a leathern belt; and a blue foraging cap, with a
red tuft falling on his left shoulder, covered his bald head.

Once endowed with the strength of Hercules, and having still the heart of
a lion--kind and patient, because he was courageous and strong--Dagobert,
notwithstanding his rough exterior, evinced for his orphan charges an
exquisite solicitude, a watchful kindness, and a tenderness almost
maternal. Yes, motherly; for the heroism of affection dwells alike in the
mother's heart and the soldiers.

Stoically calm, and repressing all emotion, the unchangeable coolness of
Dagobert never failed him; and, though few were less given to drollery,
he was now and then highly comic, by reason of the imperturbable gravity
with which he did everything.

From time to time, as they journeyed on, Dagobert would turn to bestow a
caress or friendly word on the good white home upon which the orphans
were 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 that
his horse had been present in hot battles; nor was it without an act of
pride that he sometimes shook his old military bridle, the brass stud of
which was still adorned with an embossed eagle. His pace was regular,
careful, and steady; his coat sleek, and his bulk moderate; the abundant
foam, which covered his bit, bore witness to that health which horses
acquire by the constant, but not excessive, labor of a long journey,
performed by short stages. Although he had been more than six months on
the road, this excellent animal carried the orphans, with a tolerably
heavy portmanteau fastened to the saddle, as freely as on the day they
started.

If we have spoken of the excessive length of the horse's teeth--the
unquestionable evidence of great age--it is chiefly because he often
displayed them, for the sole purpose of acting up to his name (he was
called Jovial), by playing a mischievous trick, of which the dog was the
victim.

This latter, who, doubtless for the sake of contrast, was called
Spoil-sport (Rabat-joie), being always at his master's heels, found
himself within the reach of Jovial, who from time to time nipped him
delicately by the nape of the neck, lifted him from the ground, and
carried him thus for a moment. The dog, protected by his thick coat, and
no doubt long accustomed to the practical jokes of his companion,
submitted to all this with stoical complacency; save that, when he
thought the jest had lasted long enough, he would turn his head and
growl. Jovial understood him at the first hint, and hastened to set him
down again. At other times, just to avoid monotony, Jovial would gently
bite the knapsack of the soldier, who seemed, as well as the dog, to be
perfectly accustomed to his pleasantries.

These details will give a notion of the excellent understanding that
existed between the twin sisters, the old soldier, the horse, and the
dog.

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 up
old recollections; by degrees, his countenance became clouded, and when
he was at a little distance from the mill, the noise of which had
arrested his attention, he stopped, and drew his long moustache several
times between his finger and thumb, the only sign which revealed in him
any strong and concentrated feeling.

Jovial, having stopped short behind his master, Blanche, awakened
suddenly by the shock, raised her head; her first look sought her sister,
on whom she smiled sweetly; then both exchanged glances of surprise, on
seeing Dagobert motionless, with his hands clasped and resting on his
long staff, apparently affected by some painful and deep emotion.

The orphans just chanced to be at the foot of a little mound, the summit
of which was buried in the thick foliage of a huge oak, planted half way
down the slope. Perceiving that Dagobert continued motionless and
absorbed in thought, Rose leaned over her saddle, and, placing her little
white hand on the shoulder of their guide, whose back was turned towards
her, said to him, in a soft voice, "Whatever is the matter with you,
Dagobert?"

The veteran turned; to the great astonishment of the sisters, they
perceived a large tear, which traced its humid furrow down his tanned
cheek, and lost itself in his thick moustache.

"You weeping--you!" cried Rose and Blanche together, deeply moved. "Tell
us, we beseech, what is the matter?"

After a moments hesitation, the soldier brushed his horny hand across his
eyes, and said to the orphans in a faltering voice, whilst he pointed to
the old oak beside them: "I shall make you sad, my poor children: and yet
what I'm going to tell you has something sacred in it. Well, eighteen
years ago, on the eve of the great battle of Leipsic, I carried your
father to this very tree. He had two sabre-cuts on the head, a musket
ball in his shoulder; and it was here that he and I--who had got two
thrust of a lance for my share--were taken prisoners; and by whom, worse
luck?--why, a renegado! By a Frenchman--an emigrant marquis, then colonel
in the service of Russia--and who afterwards--but one day you shall know
all."

The veteran paused; then, pointing with his staff to the village of
Mockern, he added: "Yes, yes, I can recognize the spot. Yonder are the
heights where your brave father--who commanded us, and the Poles of the
Guard--overthrew the Russian Cuirassiers, after having carried the
battery. Ah, my children!" continued the soldier, with the utmost
simplicity, "I wish you had, seen your brave father, at the head of our
brigade of horse, rushing on in a desperate charge in the thick of a
shower of shells!--There was nothing like it--not a soul so grand as he!"

Whilst Dagobert thus expressed, in his own way, his regrets and
recollections, the two orphans--by a spontaneous movement, glided gently
from the horse, and holding each other by the hand, went together to
kneel at the foot of the old oak. And there, closely pressed in each
other's arms, they began to weep; whilst the soldier, standing behind
them, with his hands crossed on his long staff, rested his bald front
upon it.

"Come, come you must not fret," said he softly, when, after a pause of a
few minutes, he saw tears run down the blooming cheeks of Rose and
Blanche, still on their knees. "Perhaps we may find General Simon in
Paris," added he; "I will explain all that to you this evening at the
inn. I purposely waited for this day, to tell you many things about your
father; it was an idea of mine, because this day is a sort of
anniversary."

"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 from
one to the other with ineffable affection, rendered still the more
touching by the contrast of his rude features, "You must not give way
thus, my children," said he; "it is true your mother was the best of
women. When she lived in Poland, they called her the Pearl of Warsaw--it
ought to have been the Pearl of the Whole World--for in the whole world
you could not have found her match. No--no!"

The voice of Dagobert faltered; he paused, and drew his long gray
moustache between finger and thumb, as was his habit. "Listen, my girls,"
he resumed, when he had mastered his emotion; "your mother could give you
none but the best advice, eh?"

"Yes Dagobert."

"Well, what instructions did she give you before she died? To think often
of her, but without grieving?"

"It is true; she told us than our Father in heaven, always good to poor
mothers whose children are left on earth, would permit her to hear us
from 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 touching
grace, joined hands, raised their innocent looks to heaven, and
exclaimed, 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, "do
not grieve her by fretting. She forbade you to do so."

"You are right, Dagobert. We will not cry any more."--And the orphans
dried their eyes.

Dagobert, in the opinion of the devout, would have passed for a very
heathen. In Spain, he had found pleasure in cutting down those monks of
all orders and colors, who, bearing crucifix in one hand, and poniard in
the other, fought not for liberty--the Inquisition had strangled her
centuries ago--but, for their monstrous privileges. Yet, in forty years,
Dagobert had witnessed so many sublime and awful scenes--he had been so
many times face to face with death--that the instinct of natural
religion, common to every simple, honest heart, had always remained
uppermost in his soul. Therefore, though he did not share in the
consoling faith of the two sisters, he would have held as criminal any
attempt to weaken its influence.

Seeing them this downcast, he thus resumed: "That's right, my pretty
ones: I prefer to hear you chat as you did this morning and
yesterday--laughing at times, and answering me when I speak, instead of
being 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 with
the tears that yet filled their eyes, and Rose said to the soldier, with
a little embarrassment. "No, I assure you, Dagobert, we talk of nothing
in particular."

"Well, well; I don't wish to know it. Come, rest yourselves, a few
moments more, and then we must start again; for it grows late, and we
have to reach Mockern before night, so that we may be early on the road
to-morrow."

"Have we still a long, long way to go?" asked Rose.

"What, to reach Paris? Yes, my children; some hundred days' march. We
don't travel quick, but we get on; and we travel cheap, because we have a
light purse. A closet for you, a straw mattress and a blanket at your
door for me, with Spoil-sport on my feet, and a clean litter for old
Jovial, 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 learnt
in Egypt and Spain to be hungry only when it suits."

"Not forgetting that, to save still more, you do all the cooking for us,
and will not even let us assist."

"And to think, good Dagobert, that you wash almost every evening at our
resting-place. As if it were not for us to--"

"You!" said the soldier, interrupting Blanche, "I, allow you to chap your
pretty little hands in soap-suds! Pooh! don't a soldier on a campaign
always wash his own linen? Clumsy as you see me, I was the best
washerwoman in my squadron--and what a hand at ironing! Not to make a
brag 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 cheek
as I please; my skin is so tough that I don't feel the heat," said
Dagobert, with imperturbable gravity.

"We are only jesting, good Dagobert!"

"Then, children, if you think that I know my trade as a washerwoman, let
me continue to have your custom: it is cheaper; and, on a journey, poor
people like us should save where we can, for we must, at all events, keep
enough to reach Paris. Once there, our papers and the medal you wear will
do 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 to
time, that you have it safe."

"Here it is," said Blanche, as she drew from her bosom a small bronze
medal, which she wore suspended from her neck by a chain of the same
material. 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 the
mournful 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 medal
carefully, and away!--We have yet nearly an hour's march to arrive at
quarters. Come, my poor pets, once more look at the mound where your
brave father fell--and then--to horse! to horse!"

The orphans gave a last pious glance at the spot which had recalled to
their guide such painful recollections, and, with his aid, remounted
Jovial.

This venerable animal had not for one moment dreamed of moving; but, with
the consummate forethought of a veteran, he had made the best use of his
time, by taking from that foreign soil a large contribution of green and
tender grass, before the somewhat envious eyes of Spoil-sport, who had
comfortably established himself in the meadow, with his snout protruding
between his fore-paws. On the signal of departure, the dog resumed his
post behind his master, and Dagobert, trying the ground with the end of
his long staff, led the horse carefully along by the bridle, for the
meadow was growing more and more marshy; indeed, after advancing a few
steps, he was obliged to turn off to the left, in order to regain the
high-road.

On reaching Mockern, Dagobert asked for the least expensive inn, and was
told there was only one in the village--the White Falcon.

"Let us go then to the White Falcon," observed the soldier.




CHAPTER III.

THE ARRIVAL.

Already had Morok several times opened with impatience the window
shutters of the loft, to look out upon the inn-yard, watching for the
arrival of the orphans and the soldier. Not seeing them, he began once
more to walk slowly up and down, with his head bent forward, and his arms
folded on his bosom, meditating on the best means to carry out the plan
he had conceived. The ideas which possessed his mind, were, doubtless, of
a painful character, for his countenance grew even more gloomy than
usual.

Notwithstanding his ferocious appearance, he was by no means deficient in
intelligence. The courage displayed in his taming exercises (which he
gravely attributed to his recent conversion), a solemn and mystical style
of speech, and a hypocritical affectation of austerity, had given him a
species of influence over the people he visited in his travels. Long
before his conversion, as may well be supposed, Morok had been familiar
with the habits of wild beasts. In fact born in the north of Siberia, he
had been, from his boyhood, one of the boldest hunters of bears and
reindeer; later, in 1810, he had abandoned this profession, to serve as
guide to a Russian engineer, who was charged with an exploring expedition
to the Polar regions. He afterwards followed him to St. Petersburg, and
there, after some vicissitudes of fortune, Morok became one of the
imperial couriers--these iron automata, that the least caprice of the
despot hurls in a frail sledge through the immensity of the empire, from
Persia to the Frozen Sea. For these men, who travel night and day, with
the rapidity of lightning there are neither seasons nor obstacles,
fatigues nor danger; living projectiles, they must either be broken to
pieces, or reach the intended mark. One may conceive the boldness, the
vigor, and the resignation, of men accustomed to such a life.

It is useless to relate here, by what series of singular circumstances
Morok was induced to exchange his rough pursuit for another profession,
and at last to enter, as catechumen, a religious house at Friburg; after
which, being duly and properly converted, he began his nomadic
excursions, with his menagerie of unknown origin.

Morok continued to walk up and down the loft. Night had come. The three
persons whose arrival he so impatiently expected had not yet made their
appearance. His walk became more and more nervous and irregular.

On a sudden he stopped abruptly; leaned his head towards the window; and
listened. His ear was quick as a savage's.

"They are here!" he exclaimed and his fox like eye shone with diabolic
joy. He had caught the sound of footsteps--a man's and a horse's.
Hastening to the window-shutter of the loft, he opened it cautiously, and
saw the two young girls on horseback, and the old soldier who served them
as a guide, enter the inn-yard together.

The night had set in, dark and cloudy; a high wind made the lights
flicker in the lanterns which were used to receive the new guests. But
the description given to Morok had been so exact, that it was impossible
to mistake them. Sure of his prey, he closed the window. Having remained
in meditation for another quarter of an hour--for the purpose, no doubt,
of thoroughly digesting his projects--he leaned over the aperture, from
which projected the ladder, and called, "Goliath!"