Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER IV. MOROK and DAGOBERT

  Goliath had not been mistaken, for Dagobert was washing with thatimperturbable gravity with which he did everything else.

  When we remember the habits of a soldier a-field, we need not beastonished at this apparent eccentricity. Dagobert only thought ofsparing the scanty purse of the orphans, and of saving them all care andtrouble; so every evening when they came to a halt he devoted himselfto all sorts of feminine occupations. But he was not now serving hisapprenticeship in these matters; many times, during his campaigns, hehad industriously repaired the damage and disorder which a day of battlealways brings to the garments of the soldier; for it is not enough toreceive a sabre-cut--the soldier has also to mend his uniform; for thestroke which grazes the skin makes likewise a corresponding fissure inthe cloth.

  Therefore, in the evening or on the morrow of a hard-fought engagement,you will see the best soldiers (always distinguished by their finemilitary appearance) take from their cartridge-box or knapsack ahousewife, furnished with needles, thread, scissors, buttons, and othersuch gear, and apply themselves to all kinds of mending and darning,with a zeal that the most industrious workwoman might envy.

  We could not find a better opportunity to explain the name of Dagobert,given to Francis Baudoin (the guide of the orphans) at a time when hewas considered one of the handsomest and bravest horse-grenadiers of theImperial Guard.

  They had been fighting hard all day, without any decisive advantage. Inthe evening, the company to which our hero belonged was sent as outliersto occupy the ruins of a deserted village. Videttes being posted, halfthe troopers remained in saddle, whilst the others, having picketedtheir horses, were able to take a little rest. Our hero had chargedvaliantly that day without receiving any wound--for he counted as a merememento the deep scratch on his thigh, which a kaiserlitz had inflictedin awkwardly attempting an upward thrust with the bayonet.

  "You donkey! my new breeches!" the grenadier had exclaimed, when hesaw the wide yawning rent, which he instantly avenged by running theAustrian through, with a thrust scientifically administered. For, if heshowed a stoical indifference on the subject of injury to his skin, itwas not so with regard to the ripping up of his best parade uniform.

  He undertook, therefore, the same evening, at the bivouac, to repairthis accident. Selecting his best needle and thread from the stores ofhis housewife, and arming his finger with a thimble, he began to playthe tailor by the light of the watch-fire, having first drawn off hiscavalry-boots, and also (if it must be confessed) the injured garmentitself, which he turned the wrong side out the better to conceal thestitches.

  This partial undress was certainly a breach of discipline: but thecaptain, as he went his round, could not forbear laughing at the sightof the veteran soldier, who, gravely seated, in a squatting position,with his grenadier cap on, his regimental coat on his back, his bootsby his side, and his galligaskins in his lap, was sewing with all thecoolness of a tailor upon his own shop-board.

  Suddenly, a musket-shot is heard, and the videttes fall back upon thedetachment, calling to arms. "To horse!" cries the captain, in a voiceof thunder.

  In a moment, the troopers are in their saddles, the unfortunate clothesmender having to lead the first rank; there is no time to turn theunlucky garment, so he slips it on, as well as he can, wrong side out,and leaps upon his horse, without even stopping to put on his boots.

  A party of Cossacks, profiting by the cover of a neighboring wood, hadattempted to surprise the detachment: the fight was bloody, and our herofoamed with rage, for he set much value on his equipments, and the dayhad been fatal to him. Thinking of his torn clothes and lost boots, hehacked away with more fury than ever; a bright moon illumined the sceneof action, and his comrades were able to appreciate the brilliant valorof our grenadier, who killed two Cossacks, and took an officer prisoner,with his own hand.

  After this skirmish, in which the detachment had maintained itsposition, the captain drew up his men to compliment them on theirsuccess, and ordered the clothes-mender to advance from the ranks, thathe might thank him publicly for his gallant behavior. Our hero couldhave dispensed with this ovation, but he was not the less obliged toobey.

  Judge of the surprise of both captain and troopers, when they saw thistall and stern-looking figure ride forward at a slow pace, with hisnaked feet in the stirrups, and naked legs pressing the sides of hischarger.

  The captain drew near in astonishment; but recalling the occupation ofthe soldier at the moment when the alarm was given, he understood thewhole mystery. "Ha, my old comrade!" he exclaimed, "thou art like KingDagobert--wearing thy breeches inside out."

  In spite of discipline, this joke of the captain's was received withpeals of ill-repressed laughter. But our friend, sitting upright in hissaddle, with his left thumb pressing the well adjusted reins, and hissword-hilt carried close to his right thigh, made a half-wheel, andreturned to his place in the ranks without changing countenance, afterhe had duly received the congratulations of his captain. From that day,Francis Baudoin received and kept the nickname of Dagobert.

  Now Dagobert was under the porch of the inn, occupied in washing, to thegreat amazement of sundry beer-drinkers, who observed him with curiouseyes from the large common room in which they were assembled.

  In truth, it was a curious spectacle. Dagobert had laid aside his graytop-coat, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt; with a vigorous hand,and good supply of soap, he was rubbing away at a wet handkerchief,spread out on the board, the end of which rested in a tub full ofwater. Upon his right arm, tattooed with warlike emblems in red andblue colors, two scars, deep enough to admit the finger, were distinctlyvisible. No wonder then, that, while smoking their pipes, and emptyingtheir pots of beer, the Germans should display some surprise at thesingular occupation of this tall, moustached, bald-headed old man, withthe forbidding countenance--for the features of Dagobert assumed a harshand grim expression, when he was no longer in presence of the two girls.

  The sustained attention, of which he saw himself the object, beganto put him out of patience, for his employment appeared to him quitenatural. At this moment, the Prophet entered the porch, and, perceivingthe soldier, eyed him attentively for several seconds; then approaching,he said to him in French, in a rather sly tone: "It would seem, comrade,that you have not much confidence in the washerwomen of Mockern?"

  Dagobert, without discontinuing his work, half turned his head with afrown, looked askant at the Prophet, and made him no answer.

  Astonished at this silence, Morok resumed: "If I do not deceive myself,you are French, my fine fellow. The words on your arm prove it, and yourmilitary air stamps you as an old soldier of the Empire. Therefore Ifind, that, for a hero, you have taken rather late to wear petticoats."

  Dagobert remained mute, but he gnawed his moustache, and plied the soap,with which he was rubbing the linen, in a most hurried, not to say angrystyle; for the face and words of the beast-tamer displeased himmore than he cared to show. Far from being discouraged, the Prophetcontinued: "I am sure, my fine fellow, that you are neither deaf nordumb; why, then, will you not answer me?"

  Losing all patience, Dagobert turned abruptly round, looked Morok fullin the face, and said to him in a rough voice: "I don't know you: Idon't wish to know you! Chain up your curb!" And he betook himself againto his washing.

  "But we may make acquaintance. We can drink a glass of Rhine-winetogether, and talk of our campaigns. I also have seen some service, Iassure you; and that, perhaps, will induce you to be more civil."

  The veins on the bald forehead of Dagobert swelled perceptibly; he sawin the look and accent of the man, who thus obstinately addressed him,something designedly provoking; still he contained himself.

  "I ask you, why should you not drink a glass of wine with me--we couldtalk about France. I lived there a long time; it is a fine country; andwhen I meet Frenchmen abroad, I feel sociable--particularly when theyknow how to use the soap as well as you do. If I had a housewife I'dsend her
to your school."

  The sarcastic meaning was no longer disguised; impudence and bravadowere legible in the Prophet's looks. Thinking that, with such anadversary, the dispute might become serious, Dagobert, who wished toavoid a quarrel at any price, carried off his tub to the other end ofthe porch, hoping thus to put an end to the scene which was a soretrial of his temper. A flash of joy lighted up the tawny eyes of thebrute-tamer. The white circle, which surrounded the pupil seemed todilate. He ran his crooked fingers two or three times through his yellowbeard, in token of satisfaction; then he advanced slowly towards thesoldier, accompanied by several idlers from the common-room.

  Notwithstanding his coolness, Dagobert, amazed and incensed at theimpudent pertinacity of the Prophet, was at first disposed to breakthe washing-board on his head; but, remembering the orphans, he thoughtbetter of it.

  Folding his arms upon his breast, Morok said to him, in a dry andinsolent tone: "It is very certain you are not civil, my man of suds!"Then, turning to the spectators, he continued in German: "I tell thisFrenchman, with his long moustache, that he is not civil. We shallsee what answer he'll make. Perhaps it will be necessary to give hima lesson. Heaven preserve me from quarrels!" he added, with mockcompunction; "but the Lord has enlightened me--I am his creature, and Iought to make his work respected."

  The mystical effrontery of this peroration was quite to the taste ofthe idlers; the fame of the Prophet had reached Mockern, and, as aperformance was expected on the morrow, this prelude much amused thecompany. On hearing the insults of his adversary, Dagobert could nothelp saying in the German language: "I know German. Speak in German--therest will understand you."

  New spectators now arrived, and joined the first comers; the adventurehad become exciting, and a ring was formed around the two persons mostconcerned.

  The Prophet resumed in German: "I said that you were not civil, and Inow say you are grossly rude. What do you answer to that?"

  "Nothing!" said Dagobert, coldly, as he proceeded to rinse out anotherpiece of linen.

  "Nothing!" returned Morok; "that is very little. I will be less brief,and tell you, that, when an honest man offers a glass of wine civillyto a stranger, that stranger has no right to answer with insolence, anddeserves to be taught manners if he does so."

  Great drops of sweat ran down Dagobert's forehead and cheeks; hislarge imperial was incessantly agitated by nervous trembling--but herestrained himself. Taking, by two of the corners, the handkerchiefwhich he had just dipped in the water, he shook it, wrung it, and beganto hum to himself the burden of the old camp ditty:

  "Out of Tirlemont's flea-haunted den, We ride forth next day of the sen, With sabre in hand, ah! Good-bye to Amanda," etc.

  The silence to which Dagobert had condemned himself, almost choked him;this song afforded him some relief.

  Morok, turning towards the spectators, said to them, with an air ofhypocritical restraint: "We knew that the soldiers of Napoleon werepagans, who stabled their horses in churches, and offended the Lord ahundred times a day, and who, for their sins, were justly drowned in theBeresino, like so many Pharaohs; but we did not know that the Lord,to punish these miscreants, had deprived them of courage--their singlegift. Here is a man, who has insulted, in me, a creature favored bydivine grace, and who affects not to understand that I require anapology; or else--"

  "What?" said Dagobert, without looking at the Prophet.

  "Or you must give me satisfaction!--I have already told you that I haveseen service. We shall easily find somewhere a couple of swords, and tomorrow morning, at peep of day, we can meet behind a wall, and show thecolor of our blood--that is, if you have any in your veins!"

  This challenge began to frighten the spectators, who were not preparedfor so tragical a conclusion.

  "What, fight?--a very, fine idea!" said one. "To get yourself bothlocked up in prison: the laws against duelling are strict."

  "Particularly with relation to strangers or nondescripts," addedanother. "If they were to find you with arms in your hands, theburgomaster would shut you up in jail, and keep you there two or threemonths before trial."

  "Would you be so mean as to denounce us?" asked Morok.

  "No, certainly not," cried several; "do as you like. We are only givingyou a friendly piece of advice, by which you may profit, if you thinkfit."

  "What care I for prison?" exclaimed the Prophet. "Only give me a coupleof swords, and you shall see to-morrow morning if I heed what theburgomaster can do or say."

  "What would you do with two swords?" asked Dagobert, quietly.

  "When you have one in your grasp, and I one in mine, you'd see. The Lordcommands us to have a care of his honor!"

  Dagobert shrugged his shoulders, made a bundle of his linen in hishandkerchief, dried his soap, and put it carefully into a littleoil-silk bag--then, whistling his favorite air of Tirlemont, moved todepart.

  The Prophet frowned; he began to fear that his challenge would not beaccepted. He advanced a step or so to encounter Dagobert, placed himselfbefore him, as if to intercept his passage, and, folding his arms, andscanning him from head to foot with bitter insolence, said to him:"So! an old soldier of that arch-robber, Napoleon, is only fit for awasherwoman, and refuses to fight!"

  "Yes, he refuses to fight," answered Dagobert, in a firm voice, butbecoming fearfully pale. Never, perhaps, had the soldier given to hisorphan charge such a proof of tenderness and devotion. For a man ofhis character to let himself be insulted with impunity, and refuse tofight--the sacrifice was immense.

  "So you are a coward--you are afraid of me--and you confess it?"

  At these words Dagobert made, as it were, a pull upon himself--as if asudden thought had restrained him the moment he was about to rush onthe Prophet. Indeed, he had remembered the two maidens, and the fatalhindrance which a duel, whatever might be the result, would occasionto their journey. But the impulse of anger, though rapid, had been sosignificant--the expression of the stern, pale face, bathed in sweat,was so daunting, that the Prophet and the spectators drew back a step.

  Profound silence reigned for some seconds, and then, by a suddenreaction, Dagobert seemed to have gained the general interest. One ofthe company said to those near him; "This man is clearly not a coward."

  "Oh, no! certainly not."

  "It sometimes requires more courage to refuse a challenge than to acceptone."

  "After all the Prophet was wrong to pick a quarrel about nothing--andwith a stranger, too."

  "Yes, for a stranger, if he fought and was taken up, would have a goodlong imprisonment."

  "And then, you see," added another, "he travels with two young girls.In such a position, ought a man to fight about trifles? If he should bekilled or put in prison, what would become of them, poor children?"

  Dagobert turned towards the person who had pronounced these last words.He saw a stout fellow, with a frank and simple countenance; the soldieroffered him his hand, and said with emotion:

  "Thank you, sir."

  The German shook cordially the hand, which Dagobert had proffered, and,holding it still in his own, he added: "Do one thing, sir--share a bowlof punch with us. We will make that mischief-making Prophet acknowledgethat he has been too touchy, and he shall drink to your health."

  Up to this moment the brute-tamer, enraged at the issue of this scene,for he had hoped that the soldier would accept his challenge, looked onwith savage contempt at those who had thus sided against him. But nowhis features gradually relaxed; and, believing it useful to his projectsto hide his disappointment, he walked up to the soldier, and said tohim, with a tolerably good grace: "Well, I give way to these gentlemen.I own I was wrong. Your frigid air had wounded me, and I was not masterof myself. I repeat, that I was wrong," he added, with suppressedvexation; "the Lord commands humility--and--I beg your pardon."

  This proof of moderation and regret was highly appreciated and loudlyapplauded by the spectators. "He asks your pardon; you cannot expectmore, my brave fellow?" said one of them,
addressing Dagobert. "Come,let us all drink together; we make you this offer frankly--accept it inthe same spirit."

  "Yes, yes; accept it, we beg you, in the name of your pretty littlegirls," said the stout man, hoping to decide Dagobert by this argument.

  "Many thanks, gentlemen," replied he, touched by the hearty advances ofthe Germans; "you are very worthy people. But, when one is treated, hemust offer drink in return."

  "Well, we will accept it--that's understood. Each his turn, and allfair. We will pay for the first bowl, you for the second."

  "Poverty is no crime," answered Dagobert; "and I must tell you honestlythat I cannot afford to pay for drink. We have still a long journey togo, and I must not incur any useless expenses."

  The soldier spoke these words with such firm, but simple dignity, thatthe Germans did not venture to renew their offer, feeling that a man ofDagobert's character could not accept it without humiliation.

  "Well, so much the worse," said the stout man. "I should have liked toclink glasses with you. Good-night, my brave trooper!--Good-night--forit grows late, and mine host of the Falcon will soon turn us out ofdoors."

  "Good-night, gentlemen," replied Dagobert, as he directed his stepstowards the stable, to give his horse a second allowance of provender.

  Morok approached him, and said in a voice even more humble than before:"I have acknowledged my error, and asked your pardon. You have notanswered me; do you still bear malice?"

  "If ever I meet you," said the veteran, in a suppressed and hollow tone,"when my children have no longer need of me, I will just say two wordsto you, and they will not be long ones."

  Then he turned his back abruptly on the Prophet, who walked slowly outof the yard.

  The inn of the White Falcon formed a parallelogram. At one end rosethe principal dwelling; at the other was a range of buildings, whichcontained sundry chambers, let at a low price to the poorer sort oftravellers; a vaulted passage opened a way through this latter intothe country; finally, on either side of the court-yard were sheds andstables, with lofts and garrets erected over them.

  Dagobert, entering one of these stables, took from off a chest theportion of oats destined for his horse, and, pouring it into a winnowingbasket, shook it as he approached Jovial.

  To his great astonishment, his old travelling companion did not respondwith a joyous neigh to the rustle of the oats rattling on the wickerwork. Alarmed, he called Jovial with a friendly voice; but the animal,instead of turning towards his master a look of intelligence, andimpatiently striking the ground with his fore-feet, remained perfectlymotionless.

  More and more surprised, the soldier went up to him. By the dubiouslight of a stable-lantern, he saw the poor animal in an attitude whichimplied terror--his legs half bent, his head stretched forward, his earsdown, his nostrils quivering; he had drawn tight his halter, as ifhe wished to break it, in order to get away from the partition thatsupported his rack and manger; abundant cold-sweat had speckled his hidewith bluish stains, and his coat altogether looked dull and bristling,instead of standing out sleek and glossy from the dark background ofthe stable; lastly, from time to time, his body shook with convulsivestarts.

  "Why, old Jovial!" said the soldier, as he put down the basket, inorder to soothe his horse with more freedom, "you are like thymaster--afraid!--Yes," he added with bitterness, as he thought of theoffence he had himself endured, "you are afraid--though no coward ingeneral."

  Notwithstanding the caresses and the voice of his master, the horsecontinued to give signs of terror; he pulled somewhat less violentlyat his halter, and approaching his nostrils to the hand of Dagobert,sniffed audibly, as if he doubted it were he.

  "You don't know me!" cried Dagobert. "Something extraordinary must bepassing here."

  The soldier looked around him with uneasiness. It was a large stable,faintly lighted by the lantern suspended from the roof, which wascovered with innumerable cobwebs; at the further end, separated fromJovial by some stalls with bars between, were the three strong, black,horses of the brute-tamer--as tranquil as Jovial was frightened.

  Dagobert, struck with this singular contrast, of which he was soonto have the explanation, again caressed his horse; and the animal,gradually reassured by his master's presence, licked his hands, rubbedhis head against him, uttered a low neigh, and gave him his usual tokensof affection.

  "Come, come, this is how I like to see my old Jovial!" said Dagobert,as he took up the winnowing-basket, and poured its contents into themanger. "Now eat with a good appetite, for we have a long day's marchtomorrow; and, above all, no more of these foolish fears about nothing!If thy comrade, Spoil-sport, was here, he would keep you in heart; buthe is along with the children, and takes care of them in my absence.Come, eat! Instead of staring at me in that way."

  But the horse, having just touched the oats with his mouth, as if inobedience to his master, returned to them no more, and began to nibbleat the sleeve of Dagobert's coat.

  "Come, come, my poor Jovial! there is something the matter with you. Youhave generally such a good appetite, and now you leave your corn. 'Tisthe first time this has happened since our departure," said the soldier,who was now growing seriously uneasy, for the issue of his journeygreatly depended on the health and vigor of his horse.

  Just then a frightful roaring, so near that it seemed to come from thestable in which they were, gave so violent a shock to Jovial, that withone effort he broke his halter, leaped over the bar that marked hisplace, and rushing at the open door, escaped into the court-yard.

  Dagobert had himself started at the suddenness of this wild and fearfulsound, which at once explained to him the cause of his horse's terror.The adjoining stable was occupied by the itinerant menagerie of thebrute-tamer, and was only separated by the partition, which supportedthe mangers. The three horses of the Prophet, accustomed to thesehowlings, had remained perfectly quiet.

  "Good!" said the soldier, recovering himself; "I understand it now.Jovial has heard another such roar before, and he can scent the animalsof that insolent scoundrel. It is enough to frighten him," added he,as he carefully collected the oats from the manger; "once in anotherstable, and there must be others in this place, he will no longer leavehis peck, and we shall be able to start early to-morrow morning!"

  The terrified horse, after running and galloping about the yard,returned at the voice of the soldier, who easily caught him by thebroken halter; and a hostler, whom Dagobert asked if there was anothervacant stable, having pointed out one that was only intended for asingle animal, Jovial was comfortably installed there.

  When delivered from his ferocious neighbors, the horse became tranquilas before, and even amused himself much at the expense of Dagobert'stop coat, which, thanks to his tricks, might have afforded immediateoccupation for his master's needle, if the latter had not been fullyengaged in admiring the eagerness with which Jovial dispatched hisprovender. Completely reassured on his account, the soldier shut thedoor of the stable, and proceeded to get his supper as quickly aspossible, in order to rejoin the orphans, whom he reproached himselfwith having left so long.