The Wandering Jew — Complete
the notary, who refused to give more credence and authority to their
remonstrances than the magistrates had done before him, they saw
themselves forced to abandon every hope. But Gabriel suffered more than
any one; he felt the most terrible remorse, in reflecting that, by his
blindness, he had been the involuntary cause and instrument of this
abominable theft.
So, when the notary, after having examined and verified the amount of
securities contained in the cedar box, said to Father d'Aigrigny:
"Take possession, sir, of this casket--" Gabriel exclaimed, with bitter
disappointment and profound despair: "Alas! one would fancy, under these
circumstances, that an inexorable fatality pursues all those who are
worthy of interest, affection or respect. Oh, my God!" added the young
priest, clasping his hands with fervor, "Thy sovereign justice will
never permit the triumph of such iniquity."
It was as if heaven had listened to the prayer of the missionary. Hardly
had he spoken, when a strange event took place.
Without waiting for the end of Gabriel's invocation, Rodin, profiting by
the decision of the notary, had seized the casket in his arms, unable
to repress a deep aspiration of joy and triumph. At the very moment
when Father d'Aigrigny and his socius thought themselves at last in safe
possession of the treasure, the door of the apartment in which the clock
had been heard striking was suddenly opened.
A woman appeared upon the threshold.
At sight of her, Gabriel uttered a loud cry, and remained as if
thunderstruck. Samuel and Bathsheba fell on their knees together, and
raised their clasped hands. The Jew and Jewess felt inexplicable hopes
reviving within them.
All the other actors in this scene appeared struck with stupor.
Rodin--Rodin himself--recoiled two steps, and replaced the casket on the
table with a trembling hand. Though the incident might appear natural
enough--a woman appearing on the threshold of a door, which she had just
thrown open--there was a pause of deep and solemn silence. Every bosom
seemed oppressed, and as if struggling for breath. All experienced,
at sight of this woman, surprise mingled with fear, and indefinable
anxiety--for this woman was the living original of the portrait, which
had been placed in the room a hundred and fifty years ago. The same
head-dress, the same flowing robe, the same countenance, so full of
poignant and resigned grief! She advanced slowly, and without appearing
to perceive the deep impression she had caused. She approached one of
the pieces of furniture, inlaid with brass, touched a spring concealed
in the moulding of gilded bronze, so that an upper drawer flew open, and
taking from it a sealed parchment envelope, she walked up to the table,
and placed this packet before the notary, who, hitherto silent and
motionless, received it mechanically from her.
Then, casting upon Gabriel, who seemed fascinated by her presence, a
long, mild, melancholy look, this woman directed her steps towards the
hall, the door of which had remained open. As she passed near Samuel and
Bathsheba, who were still kneeling, she stopped an instant, bowed her
fair head towards them, and looked at them with tender solicitude. Then,
giving them her hands to kiss, she glided away as slowly as she had
entered--throwing a last glance upon Gabriel. The departure of this
woman seemed to break the spell under which all present had remained for
the last few minutes. Gabriel was the first to speak, exclaiming, in an
agitated voice. "It is she--again--here--in this house!"
"Who, brother?" said Agricola, uneasy at the pale and almost wild
looks of the missionary; for the smith had not yet remarked the strange
resemblance of the woman to the portrait, though he shared in the
general feeling of amazement, without being able to explain it to
himself. Dagobert and Faringhea were in a similar state of mind.
"Who is this woman?" resumed Agricola, as he took the hand of Gabriel,
which felt damp and icy cold.
"Look!" said the young priest. "Those portraits have been there for more
than a century and a half."
He pointed to the paintings before which he was now seated, and
Agricola, Dagobert, and Faringhea raised their eyes to either side of
the fireplace. Three exclamations were now heard at once.
"It is she--it is the same woman!" cried the smith, in amazement, "and
her portrait has been here for a hundred and fifty years!"
"What do I see?" cried Dagobert, as he gazed at the portrait of the man.
"The friend and emissary of Marshal Simon. Yes! it is the same face that
I saw last year in Siberia. Oh, yes! I recognize that wild and sorrowful
air--those black eyebrows, which make only one!"
"My eyes do not deceive me," muttered Faringhea to himself, shuddering
with horror. "It is the same man, with the black mark on his forehead,
that we strangled and buried on the banks of the Ganges--the same man,
that one of the sons of Bowanee told me, in the ruins of Tchandi, had
been met by him afterwards at one of the gates of Bombay--the man of the
fatal curse, who scatters death upon his passage--and his picture has
existed for a hundred and fifty years!"
And, like Dagobert and Agricola, the stranger could not withdraw his
eyes from that strange portrait.
"What a mysterious resemblance!" thought Father d'Aigrigny. Then, as if
struck with a sudden idea, he said to Gabriel: "But this woman is the
same that saved your life in America?"
"It is the same," answered Gabriel, with emotion; "and yet she told me
she was going towards the North," added the young priest, speaking to
himself.
"But how came she in this house?" said Father d'Aigrigny, addressing
Samuel. "Answer me! did this woman come in with you, or before you?"
"I came in first, and alone, when this door was first opened since a
century and half," said Samuel, gravely.
"Then how can you explain the presence of this woman here?" said Father
d'Aigrigny.
"I do not try to explain it," said the Jew. "I see, I believe, and now I
hope." added he, looking at Bathsheba with an indefinable expression.
"But you ought to explain the presence of this woman!" said Father
d'Aigrigny, with vague uneasiness. "Who is she? How came she hither?"
"All I know is, sir, that my father has often told me; there are
subterraneous communications between this house and distant parts of the
quarter."
"Oh! then nothing can be clearer," said Father d'Aigrigny; "it only
remains to be known what this woman intends by coming hither. As for
her singular resemblance to this portrait, it is one of the freaks of
nature."
Rodin had shared in the general emotion, at the apparition of this
mysterious woman. But when he saw that she had delivered a sealed packet
to the notary, the socius, instead of thinking of the strangeness of
this unexpected vision, was only occupied with a violent desire to quit
the house with the treasure which had just fallen to the Company. He
felt a vague anxiety at sight of the envelope with the black seal, which
the protectress of Gabriel had delivered to the notary, and was still
held mechanically in his hands. The socius, therefore, judging this a
very good opportunity to walk off with the casket, during the general
silence and stupor which still continued, slightly touched Father
d'Aigrigny's elbow, made him a sign of intelligence, and, tucking the
cedar-wood chest under his arm, was hastening towards the door.
"One moment, sir," said Samuel, rising, and standing in his path; "I
request M. Notary to examine the envelope, that has just been delivered
to him. You may then go out."
"But, sir," said Rodin, trying to force a passage, "the question is
definitively decided in favor of Father d'Aigrigny. Therefore, with your
permission--"
"I tell you, sir," answered the old man, in a loud voice, "that this
casket shall not leave the house, until M. Notary has examined the
envelope just delivered to him!"
These words drew the attention of all, Rodin was forced to retrace his
steps. Notwithstanding the firmness of his character, the Jew shuddered
at the look of implacable hate which Rodin turned upon him at this
moment.
Yielding to the wish of Samuel, the notary examined the envelope with
attention. "Good Heaven!" he cried suddenly; "what do I see?--Ah! so
much the better!"
At this exclamation all eyes turned upon the notary. "Oh! read, read,
sir!" cried Samuel, clasping his hands together. "My presentiments have
not then deceived me!"
"But, sir," said Father d'Aigrigny to the notary, for he began to share
in the anxiety of Rodin, "what is this paper?"
"A codicil," answered the notary; "a codicil, which reopens the whole
question."
"How, sir?" cried Father d'Aigrigny, in a fury, as he hastily drew
nearer to the notary, "reopens the whole question! By what right?"
"It is impossible," added Rodin. "We protest against it.
"Gabriel! father! listen," cried Agricola, "all is not lost. There is
yet hope. Do you hear, Gabriel? There is yet hope."
"What do you say?" exclaimed the young priest, rising, and hardly
believing the words of his adopted brother.
"Gentlemen," said the notary; "I will read to you the superscription
of this envelope. It changes, or rather, it adjourns, the whole of the
testamentary provisions."
"Gabriel!" cried Agricola, throwing himself on the neck of the
missionary, "all is adjourned, nothing is lost!"
"Listen, gentlemen," said the notary; and he read as follows:
"'This is a Codicil, which for reasons herein stated, adjourns and
prorogues to the 1st day of June, 1832, though without any other change,
all the provisions contained in the testament made by me, at one o'clock
this afternoon. The house shall be reclosed, and the funds left in the
hands of the same trustee, to be distributed to the rightful claimants
on the 1st of June, 1832.
"'Villetaneuse, this 13th of February, 1682, eleven o'clock at night.
"'MARIUS DE RENNEPONT.'"
"I protest against this codicil as a forgery!" cried Father d'Aigrigny
livid with rage and despair.
"The woman who delivered it to the notary is a suspicious character,"
added Rodin. "The codicil has been forged."
"No, sir," said the notary, severely; "I have just compared the two
signatures, and they are absolutely alike. For the rest--what I said
this morning, with regard to the absent heirs, is now applicable to
you--the law is open; you may dispute the authenticity of this codicil.
Meanwhile, everything will remain suspended--since the term for the
adjustment of the inheritance is prolonged for three months and a half."
When the notary had uttered these last words, Rodin's nails dripped
blood; for the first time, his wan lips became red.
"Oh, God! Thou hast heard and granted my prayer!" cried Gabriel,
kneeling down with religious fervor, and turning his angelic face
towards heaven. "Thy sovereign justice has not let iniquity triumph!"
"What do you say, my brave boy?" cried Dagobert, who, in the first
tumult of joy, had not exactly understood the meaning of the codicil.
"All is put off, father!" exclaimed the smith; "the heirs will have
three months and a half more to make their claim. And now that these
people are unmasked," added Agricola, pointing to Rodin and Father
d'Aigrigny, "we have nothing more to fear from them. We shall be on
our guard; and the orphans, Mdlle. de Cardoville, my worthy master, M.
Hardy, and this young Indian, will all recover their own."
We must renounce the attempt to paint the delight, the transport of
Gabriel and Agricola, of Dagobert, and Marshal Simon's father, of Samuel
and Bathsheba. Faringhea alone remained in gloomy silence, before the
portrait of the man with the black-barred forehead. As for the fury of
Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin, when they saw Samuel retake possession of