The Wandering Jew — Complete
which had resounded through this dwelling, of which he had closed the
doors a hundred and fifty years before; for the faithful friend,
in favor of whom M. de Rennepont had made a feigned transfer of the
property, had afterwards parted with the same, to place it in the name
of Samuel's grandfather, who had transmitted it to his descendants, as
if it had been his own inheritance.
To these thoughts, in which Samuel was wholly absorbed, was joined the
remembrance of the light seen that morning through the seven openings in
the leaden cover of the belvedere; and, in spite of the firmness of his
character, the old man could not repress a shudder, as, taking a second
key from his bunch, and reading upon the label, The Key of the Red
Room, he opened a pair of large folding doors, leading to the inner
apartments. The window which, of all those in the house, had alone been
opened, lighted this large room, hung with damask, the deep purple of
which had undergone no alteration. A thick Turkey carpet covered the
floor, and large arm-chairs of gilded wood, in the severe Louis XIV.
style, were symmetrically arranged along the wall. A second door,
leading to the next room, was just opposite the entrance. The
wainscoting and the cornice were white, relieved with fillets and
mouldings of burnished gold. On each side of this door was a large
piece of buhl-furniture, inlaid with brass and porcelain, supporting
ornamental sets of sea crackle vases. The window was hung with heavy
deep-fringed damask curtains, surmounted by scalloped drapery, with
silk tassels, directly opposite the chimney-piece of dark-gray marble,
adorned with carved brass-work. Rich chandeliers, and a clock in the
same style as the furniture, were reflected in a large Venice glass,
with basiled edges. A round table, covered with a cloth of crimson
velvet, was placed in the centre of this saloon.
As he approached this table, Samuel perceived a piece of white vellum,
on which were inscribed these words: "My testament is to be opened in
this saloon. The other apartments are to remain closed, until after the
reading of my last will--M. De R."
"Yes," said the Jew, as he perused with emotion these lines traced so
long ago; "this is the same recommendation as that which I received from
my father; for it would seem that the other apartments of this house are
filled with objects, on which M. de Rennepont set a high value, not for
their intrinsic worth, but because of their origin. The Hall of Mourning
must be a strange and mysterious chamber. Well," added Samuel, as he
drew from his pocket a register bound in black shagreen, with a brass
lock, from which he drew the key, after placing it upon the table, "here
is the statement of the property in hand, which I have been ordered to
bring hither, before the arrival of the heirs."
The deepest silence reigned in the room, at the moment when Samuel
placed the register on the table. Suddenly a simple and yet most
startling occurrence roused him from his reverie. In the next apartment
was heard the clear, silvery tone of a clock, striking slowly ten. And
the hour was ten! Samuel had too much sense to believe in perpetual
motion, or in the possibility of constructing a clock to go far one
hundred and fifty years. He asked himself, therefore, with surprise and
alarm, how this clock could still be going, and how it could mark so
exactly the hour of the day. Urged with restless curiosity, the old man
was about to enter the room; but recollecting the recommendation of his
father, which had now been confirmed by the few lines he had just read
from De Rennepont's pen, he stopped at the door, and listened with
extreme attention.
He heard nothing--absolutely nothing, but the last dying vibration of
the clock. After having long reflected upon this strange fact, Samuel,
comparing it with the no less extraordinary circumstance of the light
perceived that morning through the apertures in the belvedere, concluded
that there must be some connection between these two incidents. If
the old man could not penetrate the true cause of these extraordinary
appearances, he at least explained them to himself, by remembering the
subterraneous communications, which, according to tradition, were said
to exist between the cellars of this house and distant places; and he
conjectured that unknown and mysterious personages thus gained access
to it two or three times in a century. Absorbed in these thoughts Samuel
approached the fireplace, which, as we have said, was directly opposite
the window. Just then, a bright ray of sunlight, piercing the clouds,
shone full upon two large portraits, hung upon either side of the
fireplace, and not before remarked by the Jew. They were painted life
size, and represented one a woman, the other a man. By the sober yet
powerful coloring of these paintings, by the large and vigorous style,
it was easy to recognize a master's hand. It would have been difficult
to find models more fitted to inspire a great painter. The woman
appeared to be from five-and-twenty to thirty years of age. Magnificent
brown hair, with golden tints, crooned a forehead, white, noble, and
lofty. Her head-dress, far from recalling the fashion, which Madame de
Sevigne brought in during the age of Louis XIV., reminded one rather of
some of the portraits of Paul Veronese, in which the hair encircles the
face in broad, undulating bands, surmounted by a thick plait, like a
crown, at the back of the head. The eyebrows, finely pencilled, were
arched over large eyes of bright, sapphire blue. Their gaze at once
proud and mournful, had something fatal about it. The nose, finely
formed, terminated in slight dilated nostrils: a half smile, almost
of pain, contracted the mouth; the face was a long oval, and the
complexion, extremely pale, was hardly shaded on the cheek by a light
rose-color. The position of the head and neck announced a rare mixture
of grace and dignity. A sort of tunic or robe, of glossy black material,
came as high as the commencement of her shoulders, and just marking
her lithe and tall figure, reached down to her feet, which were almost
entirely concealed by the folds of this garment.
The attitude was full of nobleness and simplicity. The head looked white
and luminous, standing out from a dark gray sky, marbled at the horizon
by purple clouds, upon which were visible the bluish summits of distant
hills, in deep shadow. The arrangement of the picture, as well as the
warm tints of the foreground, contrasting strongly with these distant
objects, showed that the woman was placed upon an eminence, from which
she could view the whole horizon. The countenance was deeply pensive and
desponding. There was an expression of supplicating and resigned grief,
particularly in her look, half raised to heaven, which one would have
thought impossible to picture. On the left side of the fireplace was the
other portrait, painted with like vigor. It represented a man, between
thirty and thirty-five years of age, of tall stature. A large brown
cloak, which hung round him in graceful folds, did not quite conceal a
black doublet, buttoned up to the neck, over which fell a square white
collar. The handsome and expressive head was marked with stern powerful
lines, which did not exclude an admirable air of suffering, resignation,
and ineffable goodness. The hair, as well as the beard and eyebrows, was
black; and the latter, by some singular caprice of nature, instead
of being separated and forming two distinct arches, extended from one
temple to the other, in a single bow, and seemed to mark the forehead of
this man with a black line.
The background of this picture also represented a stormy sky; but,
beyond some rocks in the distance, the sea was visible, and appeared to
mingle with the dark clouds. The sun, just now shining upon these two
remarkable figures (which it appeared impossible to forget, after once
seeing them), augmented their brilliancy.
Starting from his reverie, and casting his eyes by chance upon these
portraits, Samuel was greatly struck with them. They appeared almost
alive. "What noble and handsome faces!" he exclaimed, as he approached
to examine them more closely. "Whose are these portraits? They are not
those of any of the Rennepont family, for my father told me that they
are all in the Hall of Mourning. Alas!" added the old man, "one might
think, from the great sorrow expressed in their countenances, that they
ought to have a place in that mourning-chamber."
After a moment's silence, Samuel resumed: "Let me prepare everything for
this solemn assembly, for it has struck ten." So saying, he placed the
gilded arm-chairs round the table, and then continued, with a pensive
air: "The hour approaches, and of the descendants of my grandfather's
benefactor, we have seen only this young priest, with the angelic
countenance. Can he be the sole representative of the Rennepont family?
He is a priest, and this family will finish with him! Well! the moment
is come when I must open this door, that the will may be read. Bathsheba
is bringing hither the notary. They knock at the door; it is time!" And
Samuel, after casting a last glance towards the place where the clock
had struck ten, hastened to the outer door, behind which voices were now
audible.
He turned the key twice in the lock, and threw the portals open. To his
great regret, he saw only Gabriel on the steps, between Rodin and Father
d'Aigrigny. The notary, and Bathsheba, who had served them as a guide,
waited a little behind the principal group.
Samuel could not repress a sigh, as he stood bowing on the threshold,
and said to them: "All is ready, gentlemen. You may walk in."
CHAPTER XXIII. THE TESTAMENT.
When Gabriel, Rodin, and Father d'Aigrigny entered the Red Room, they
were differently affected. Gabriel, pale and sad, felt a kind of painful
impatience. He was anxious to quit this house, though he had already
relieved himself of a great weight, by executing before the notary,
secured by every legal formality, a deed making over all his rights of
inheritance to Father d'Aigrigny. Until now it had not occurred to the
young priest, that in bestowing the care upon him, which he was about
to reward so generously, and in forcing his vocation by a sacrilegious
falsehood, the only object of Father d'Aigrigny might have been to
secure the success of a dark intrigue. In acting as he did, Gabriel was
not yielding, in his view of the question, to a sentiment of exaggerated
delicacy. He had made this donation freely, many years before. He would
have looked upon it as infamy now to withdraw it. It was hard enough
to be suspected of cowardice: for nothing in the world would he have
incurred the least reproach of cupidity.
The missionary must have been endowed with a very rare and excellent
nature, or this flower of scrupulous probity would have withered
beneath the deleterious and demoralizing influence of his education; but
happily, as cold sometimes preserves from corruption, the icy atmosphere
in which he had passed a portion of his childhood and youth had
benumbed, but not vitiated, his generous qualities, which had indeed
soon revived in the warm air of liberty. Father d'Aigrigny, much paler
and more agitated than Gabriel, strove to excuse and explain his anxiety
by attributing it to the sorrow he experienced at the rupture of his
dear son with the Order. Rodin, calm, and perfectly master of himself,
saw with secret rage the strong emotion of Father d'Aigrigny, which
might have inspired a man less confiding than Gabriel with strange
suspicions. Yet, notwithstanding his apparent indifference, the socius
was perhaps still more ardently impatient than his superior for the
success of this important affair. Samuel appeared quite desponding, no