The Wandering Jew — Volume 11

Produced by David Widger and Pat Castevens
By Eugene Sue
L. The Ruins of the Abbey of St. John the Baptist LI. The Calvary LII. The Council LIII. Happiness LIV. Duty LV. The Improvised Hospital LVI. Hydrophobia LVII. The Guardian Angel LVIII. Ruin LIX. Memories LX. The Ordeal LXI. Ambition LXII. To a Socius, a Socius and a Half LXIII. Faringhea's Affection LXIV. An Evening at St. Colombe's LXV. The Nuptial Bed LXVI. A Duel to the Death LXVII. A Message LXVIII. The First of June
I. Four Years After II. The Redemption
The sun is fast sinking. In the depths of an immense piny wood, in the midst of profound solitude, rise the ruins of an abbey, once sacred to St. John the Baptist. Ivy, moss, and creeping plants, almost entirely conceal the stones, now black with age. Some broken arches, some walls pierced with ovals, still remain standing, visible on the dark background of the thick wood. Looking down upon this mass of ruins from a broken pedestal, half-covered with ivy, a mutilated, but colossal statue of stone still keeps its place. This statue is strange and awful. It represents a headless human figure. Clad in the antique toga, it holds in its hand a dish and on that dish is a head. This head is its own. It is the statue of St. John the Baptist and Martyr, put to death by wish of Herodias.
The silence around is solemn. From time to time, however, is heard the dull rustling of the enormous branches of the pine-trees, shaken by the wind. Copper-colored clouds, reddened by the setting sun, pass slowly over the forest, and are reflected in the current of a brook, which, deriving its source from a neighboring mass of rocks, flows through the ruins. The water flows, the clouds pass on, the ancient trees tremble, the breeze murmurs.
Suddenly, through the shadow thrown by the overhanging wood, which stretches far into endless depths, a human form appears. It is a woman. She advances slowly towards the ruins. She has reached them. She treads the once sacred ground. This woman is pale, her look sad, her long robe floats on the wind, her feet covered with dust. She walks with difficulty and pain. A block of stone is placed near the stream, almost at the foot of the statue of John the Baptist. Upon this stone she sinks breathless and exhausted, worn out with fatigue. And yet, for many days, many years, many centuries, she has walked on unwearied.