Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  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 heartof India, 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 happinessof seeing 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 yoursamid the horrors of exile! Dear soul! he must now be fourteen. Whomdoes he resemble? Is he like you? Has he your large and beautiful blueeyes?--Madman that I am! how many times, in this long day-book, haveI already 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,we shall 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 twoglorious days we had this month. The troops of my old friend, theprince, which daily make fresh advances in European discipline, haveperformed wonders. We have beaten the English, and obliged them toabandon a portion of this unhappy country, which they had invaded incontempt of all the rights of justice, and which they continue toravage without mercy, for, in these parts, warfare is another name fortreachery, pillage, and massacre. This morning, after a toilsome marchthrough a rocky and mountainous district, we received information fromour scouts, that the enemy had been reinforced, and was preparing to acton the offensive; and, as we were separated from them by a distance ofa few leagues only, an engagement became inevitable. My old friendthe prince, the father of my deliverer, was impatient to march to theattack. The action began about three o'clock; it was very bloodyand furious. Seeing that our men wavered for a moment, for they wereinferior in number, and the English reinforcements consisted of freshtroops, I charged at the head of our weak reserve of cavalry. The oldprince was in the centre, fighting, as he always fights, intrepidly; hisson, Djalma, scarcely eighteen, as brave as his father, did not leave myside. In the hottest part of the engagement, my horse was killed underme, and rolling over into a ravine, along the edge of which I wasriding, I found myself so awkwardly entangled beneath him, that for aninstant I thought my thigh was broken."

  "Poor father!" said Blanche.

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

  "The English thought--and a very flattering opinion it was--that, ifthey could kill me, they would make short work of the prince's army.So a Sepoy officer, with five or six irregulars--cowardly, ferociousplunderers--seeing me roll down the ravine, threw themselves into itto despatch 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;with one load, he killed the officer on the spot; with the other hebroke the arm of an irregular, who had already pierced my left handwith his bayonet. But do not be alarmed, dear Eva; it is nothing--only ascratch."

  "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, asthe general calls it. Formerly, he used to call wounds, which did notdisable a man from fighting, blank wounds. There was no one like him forsuch sayings."

  "Djalma, seeing me wounded," resumed Rose, wiping her eyes, "made useof his 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 youthhad received a ball in his breast. Feeling himself hit, he fell barkinvoluntarily two paces, and dropped upon one knee: but he stillremained firm, endeavoring to cover me with his body. You may conceivemy rage and despair, whilst all my efforts to disengage myself wereparalyzed by the excruciating pain in my thigh. Powerless and disarmed,I witnessed for some 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,drew from his belt a huge, heavy kind of bill-hook, when a dozen ofour mountaineers made their appearance, borne towards the spot by theirresistible current of the battle. Djalma was rescued in his turn, Iwas released, and, in a quarter of an hour, I was able to mount a horse.The fortune of the day is ours, though with severe loss; but the firesof the English camp are still visible, and to-morrow the conflict willbe decisive. Thus, my beloved Eva, I owe my life to this youth. Happily,his wound occasions us no uneasiness; the ball only glanced along theribs in a 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, bymeans of this narrative at least, with the intrepid Djalma. He is butjust eighteen. 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 honorand proud independence. He might, like so many other poor princes ofthis country, have humbled himself before the execrable despotism ofthe English, bargained for the relinquishment of sovereign power,and submitted to brute force--but it was not in his nature. 'My wholerights, or a grave in my native mountains!'--such is his motto. And thisis no empty boast; it springs from the conviction of what is right andjust. '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 Emperorset up 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. ThePrussian swore he was dishonored, and that a sabre-cut would have beenpreferable. I should rather think so! That devil of a king; he onlyhad one idea: 'Forward, on to the cannon!' As soon as they began tocannonade, one would have thought the guns were calling him with alltheir might, for he was soon up to them with his 'Here I am!' If Ispeak to you about him, my children, it's because he was fond ofrepeating,--'No one can break through a square of infantry, if GeneralSimon or I can't do it.'"

&
nbsp; Rose continued:

  "I have observed with pain, that, notwithstanding his youth, Djalmais often subject to fits of deep melancholy. At times, I have seenhim exchange with his father looks of singular import. In spite of ourmutual attachment, I believe that both conceal from me some sad familysecret, in so far as I can judge from expressions which have droppedfrom them by chance.

  "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 withthat extraordinary 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,since the 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 arequite simple--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 twoare so 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 whomhe adored.

  "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?But no! the very fear is madness; and yet what a horrible torture isuncertainty! Where may you now be? What are you doing? What has becomeof you? Pardon these black thoughts, which are sometimes too much forme. They are the cause of my worst moments--for, when free from them,I can at least say to myself: I am proscribed, I am every wayunfortunate--but, at the other end of the world, two hearts still beatfor me with affection--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 fearsof General Simon and the sad reality; and what could be more touchingthan these outpourings of the heart, written by the light of a watchfire, on the eve of battle, by a soldier who thus sought to soothe thepangs of a separation, which he felt bitterly, but knew not would beeternal?

  "Poor general! he is unaware of our misfortune," said Dagobert, aftera moment'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,and strove to banish those black presentiments. Let us resume ourconversation! After discoursing so long about India, I will talk toyou a little of Europe. Yesterday evening, one of our people (a trustyfellow) rejoined our outposts. He brought me a letter, which had arrivedfrom France at Calcutta; at length, I have news of my father, and am nolonger anxious on his account. This letter is dated in August of lastyear. I see by its contents, that several other letters, to which healludes, have either been delayed or lost; for I had not receivedany for two years before, and was extremely uneasy about him. But myexcellent father is the same as ever! Age has not weakened him; hischaracter is as energetic, his health as robust, as in times past--stilla workman, still proud of his order, still faithful to his austererepublican ideas, still hoping much.

  "For he says to me, 'the time is at hand,' and he underlines thosewords. 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 griefto think, that this excellent man is with you, that he will haveaccompanied you in your exile--for I know him--a kernel of gold beneaththe rude rind of a soldier! How he must love our child!"

  Here Dagobert coughed two or three times, stooped down, and appearedto be 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--butcome, child, read, read," added the old soldier, wishing to conceal hisemotion.

  "I still hope against hope, my dear Eva, that these pages will oneday reach 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,tells me that worthy man has also taken into his house the son of oldDagobert. Agricola works under my father, who is enchanted with him.He is, he tells me, a tall and vigorous lad, who wields the heavyforge hammer as if it were a feather, and is light-spirited as he isintelligent and laborious. He is the best workman on the establishment;and this does not prevent him in the evening, after his hard day's work,when he returns home to his mother, whom he truly loves, from makingsongs and writing excellent patriotic verses. His poetry is full of fireand energy; his fellow-workmen sing nothing else, and his lays have thepower to warm the coldest 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. Asfor the songs, before he makes a 'Rising of the People,' or a'Marseillaise,' he will have had to beat a good deal of iron; but wherecan this rascally sweet Agricola have learned to make songs at all?--Nodoubt, it was at school, where he went, as you will see, with hisadopted brother Gabriel."

  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, forms, my father tells m
e, 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, soto speak, has the aspect, which belongs to his character. Agricolais dark, tall, and strong, with a gay and bold air; Gabriel, onthe contrary, is weak, fair, timid as a girl, and his face wears anexpression of angelic mildness."

  The orphans looked at each other in surprise; then, as they turnedtowards the soldier their ingenuous countenances, Rose said to him;"Have you heard, Dagobert? Father says, that your Gabriel is fair, andhas the face 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 youwill see why."

  Blanche resumed:

  "His face wears an expression of angelic mildness. One of the Brothersof the Christian Schools, where he went with Agricola and other childrenof his quarter, struck with his intelligence and good disposition, spokeof him 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,and will 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, everyone to his taste; there are good people in all trades; but I prefer thatit should be Gabriel who has chosen the black gown. I'd rather see myboy with arms bare, hammer in hand, and a leathern apron round him,neither more nor less than your old grandfather, my children--the fatherof Marshal Simon, Duke of Ligny--for, after all, marshal and duke he isby the 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 willhave found some means of compensation.

  "Adieu!--Again adieu, for to-day, my beloved Eva; I left off writingfor a moment, to visit the tent of Djalma. He slept peacefully, andhis father 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 silentand calm; the fires of the bivouac are slowly dying out, and our poormountaineers repose after this bloody day; I can hear, from hour tohour, the distant all's well of our sentinels. Those foreign wordsbring back my grief; they remind me of what I sometimes forget inwriting--that I am faraway, separated from you and from my child! Poor,beloved beings! what will be your destiny? Ah! if I could only send you,in time, that medal, which, by a fatal accident, I carried away withme from Warsaw, you might, perhaps, obtain leave to visit France, orat least to send our child there with Dagobert; for you know of whatimportance--But why add this sorrow to all the rest? Unfortunately, theyears 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 notclose the evening by so sad a thought. Adieu, my beloved Eva! Clasp ourchild to your bosom, and cover it with all the kisses which I send toboth of you from the depths of exile!"

  "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 rainbegan to beat on the sounding panes; the most profound silence reignedin the interior of the inn. But, whilst the daughters of General Simonwere reading with such deep emotion, these fragments of their father'sjournal, a strange and mysterious scene transpired in the menagerie ofthe brute-tamer.