The Wandering Jew — Complete
cynical brutalities; to bring these detestable actions to public
knowledge. How many other victims have been, and, perhaps still are,
entombed in those large silent mansions, where no profane look may
penetrate, and which, through the privileges of the clergy, escape the
superintendence of the civil power. Is it not deplorable that these
dwellings should not also be subject to periodical inspection, by
visitors consisting, if it be desired, of a priest, a magistrate, and
some delegate of the municipal authorities? If nothing takes place, but
what is legal, human, and charitable, in these establishments, which
have all the character, and incur all the responsibility, of public
institutions, why this resistance, this furious indignation of the
church party, when any mention is made of touching what they call their
privileges? There is something higher than the constitutions devised
at Rome. We mean the Law of France--the common law--which grants to all
protection, but which, in return, exacts from all respect and obedience.
BOOK VII.
XL. The East Indian in Paris XLI. Rising XLII. Doubts XLIII.
The Letter XLIV. Adrienne and Djalma XLV. The Consultation
XLVI. Mother Bunch's Diary XLVII. The Diary Continued
XLVIII. The Discovery XLIX. The Trysting-Place of the Wolves
L. The Common Dwelling-House LI. The Secret LII. Revelations
CHAPTER XL. THE EAST INDIAN IN PARIS.
Since three days, Mdlle. de Cardoville had left Dr. Baleinier's. The
following scene took place in a little dwelling in the Rue Blanche, to
which Djalma had been conducted in the name of his unknown protector.
Fancy to yourself a pretty, circular apartment, hung with Indian
drapery, with purple figures on a gray ground, just relieved by a
few threads of gold. The ceiling, towards the centre, is concealed by
similar hangings, tied together by a thick, silken cord; the two ends
of this cord, unequal in length, terminated, instead of tassels, in two
tiny Indian lamps of gold filigreed-work, marvellously finished. By one
of those ingenious combinations, so common in barbarous countries,
these lamps served also to burn perfumes. Plates of blue crystal, let
in between the openings of the arabesque, and illumined by the interior
light, shone with so limpid an azure, that the golden lamps seemed
starred with transparent sapphires. Light clouds, of whitish vapor rose
incessantly from these lamps, and spread all around their balmy odor.
Daylight was only admitted to this room (it was about two o'clock in the
afternoon) through a little greenhouse, on the other side of a door of
plate-glass, made to slide into the thickness of the wall, by means of a
groove. A Chinese shade was arranged so as to hide or replace this
glass at pleasure. Some dwarf palm tress, plantains, and other Indian
productions, with thick leaves of a metallic green, arranged in clusters
in this conservatory, formed, as it were, the background to two large
variegated bushes of exotic flowers, which were separated by a narrow
path, paved with yellow and blue Japanese tiles, running to the foot of
the glass. The daylight, already much dimmed by the leaves through which
it passed, took a hue of singular mildness as it mingled with the azure
lustre of the perfumed lamps, and the crimson brightness of the fire
in the tall chimney of oriental porphyry. In the obscurity of this
apartment, impregnated with sweet odors and the aromatic vapor of
Persian tobacco, a man with brown, hanging locks, dressed in a long robe
of dark green, fastened round the waist by a parti-colored sash, was
kneeling upon a magnificent Turkey carpet, filling the golden bowl of
a hookah; the long, flexible tube of this pipe, after rolling its folds
upon the carpet, like a scarlet serpent with silver scales, rested
between the slender fingers of Djalma, who was reclining negligently on
a divan. The young prince was bareheaded; his jet-black hair, parted on
the middle of his forehead, streamed waving about his face and neck of
antique beauty--their warm transparent colors resembling amber or topaz.
Leaning his elbow on a cushion, he supported his chin with the palm of
his right hand. The flowing sleeve of his robe, falling back from his
arm, which was round as that of a woman, revealed mysterious signs
formerly tattooed there in India by a Thug's needle. The son of
Radja-sing held in his left hand the amber mouthpiece of his pipe. His
robe of magnificent cashmere, with a border of a thousand hues, reaching
to his knee, was fastened about his slim and well-formed figure by the
large folds of an orange-colored shawl. This robe was half withdrawn
from one of the elegant legs of this Asiatic Antinous, clad in a kind
of very close fitting gaiter of crimson velvet, embroidered with silver,
and terminating in a small white morocco slipper, with a scarlet heel.
At once mild and manly, the countenance of Djalma was expressive of that
melancholy and contemplative calmness habitual to the Indian and the
Arab, who possess the happy privilege of uniting, by a rare combination,
the meditative indolence of the dreamer with the fiery energy of the
man of action--now delicate, nervous, impressionable as women--now
determined, ferocious, and sanguinary as bandits.
And this semi-feminine comparison, applicable to the moral nature of the
Arab and the Indian, so long as they are not carried away by the ardor
of battle and the excitement of carnage, is almost equally applicable to
their physical constitution; for if, like women of good blood, they have
small extremities, slender limbs, fine and supple forms, this delicate
and often charming exterior always covers muscles of steel, full of an
elasticity, and vigor truly masculine. Djalma's oblong eyes, like black
diamonds set in bluish mother-of-pearl, wandered mechanically from the
exotic flowers to the ceiling; from time to time he raised the amber
mouthpiece of the hookah to his lips; then, after a slow aspiration,
half opening his rosy lips, strongly contrasted with the shining enamel
of his teeth, he sent forth a little spiral line of smoke, freshly
scented by the rose-water through which it had passed.
"Shall I put more tobacco in the hookah?" said the kneeling figure,
turning towards Djalma, and revealing the marked and sinister features
of Faringhea the Strangler.
The young prince remained dumb, either that, from an oriental contempt
for certain races, he disdained to answer the half-caste, or that,
absorbed in his reverie, he did not even hear him. The Strangler became
again silent; crouching cross-legged upon the carpet, with his elbows
resting on his knees, and his chin upon his hands, he kept his eyes
fixed on Djalma, and seemed to await the reply or the orders of him
whose sire had been surnamed the Father of the Generous. How had
Faringhea, the sanguinary worshipper of Bowanee, the Divinity of Murder,
been brought to seek or to accept such humble functions? How came this
man, possessed of no vulgar talents, whose passionate eloquence and
ferocious energy had recruited many assassins for the service of the
Good Work, to resign himself to so base a condition? Why, too, had
this man, who, profiting by the young prince's blindness with regard
to himself, might have so easily sacrificed him as an offering to
Bowanee--why had he spared the life of Radja-sings son? Why, in fine,
did he expose himself to such frequent encounters with Rodin, whom he
had only known under the most unfavorable auspices? The sequel of this
story will answer all these questions. We can only say at present,
that, after a long interview with Rodin, two nights before, the Thug had
quitted him with downcast eyes and cautious bearing.
After having remained silent for some time, Djalma, following with his
eye the cloud of whitish smoke that he had just sent forth into space,
addressed Faringhea, without looking at him, and said to him in the
language, as hyperbolical as concise, of Orientals: "Time passes. The
old man with the good heart does not come. But he will come. His word is
his word."
"His word is his word, my lord," repeated Faringhea, in an affirmative
tone. "When he came to fetch you, three days ago, from the house whither
those wretches, in furtherance of their wicked designs, had conveyed you
in a deep sleep--after throwing me, your watchful and devoted servant,
into a similar state--he said to you: 'The unknown friend, who sent for
you to Cardoville Castle, bids me come to you, prince. Have confidence,
and follow me. A worthy abode is prepared for you.'--And again, he said
to you, my lord: 'Consent not to leave the house, until my return. Your
interest requires it. In three days you will see me again, and then be
restored to perfect freedom.' You consented to those terms, my lord, and
for three days you have not left the house."
"And I wait for the old man with impatience," said Djalma, "for this
solitude is heavy with me. There must be so many things to admire in
Paris. Above all."
Djalma did not finish the sentence, but relapsed into a reverie. After
some moments' silence, the son of Radja-sing said suddenly to Faringhea,
in the tone of an impatient yet indolent sultan: "Speak to me!"
"Of what shall I speak, my lord?"
"Of what you will," said Djalma, with careless contempt, as he fixed
on the ceiling his eyes, half-veiled with languor. "One thought pursues
me--I wish to be diverted from it. Speak to me."
Faringhea threw a piercing glance on the countenance of the young
Indian, and saw that his cheeks were colored with a slight blush. "My
lord," said the half-caste, "I can guess your thought."
Djalma shook his head, without looking at the Strangler. The latter
resumed: "You are thinking of the women of Paris, my lord."
"Be silent, slave!" said Djalma, turning abruptly on the sofa, as if
some painful wound had been touched to the quick. Faringhea obeyed.
After the lapse of some moments. Djalma broke forth again with
impatience, throwing aside the tube of the hookah, and veiling both
eyes with his hands: "Your words are better than silence. Cursed be my
thoughts, and the spirit which calls up these phantoms!"
"Why should you fly these thoughts, my lord? You are nineteen years of
age, and hitherto all your youth has been spent in war and captivity.
Up to this time, you have remained as chaste as Gabriel, that young
Christian priest, who accompanied us on our voyage."
Though Faringhea did not at all depart from his respectful deference
for the prince, the latter felt that there was something of irony in the
tone of the half-caste, as he pronounced the word "chaste."
Djalma said to him with a mixture of pride and severity: "I do not wish
to pass for a barbarian, as they call us, with these civilized people;
therefore I glory in my chastity."
"I do not understand, my lord."
"I may perhaps love some woman, pure as was my mother when she married
my father; and to ask for purity from a woman, a man must be chaste as
she."
At this, Faringhea could not refrain from a sardonic smile.
"Why do you laugh, slave?" said the young prince, imperiously.
"Among civilized people, as you call them, my lord, the man who married
in the flower of his innocence would be mortally wounded with ridicule."
"It is false, slave! He would only be ridiculous if he married one that
was not pure as himself."
"Then, my lord, he would not only be wounded--he would be killed
outright, for he would be doubly and unmercifully laughed at."
"It is false! it is false. Where did you learn all this?"
"I have seen Parisian women at the Isle of France, and at Pondicherry,
my lord. Moreover, I learned a good deal during our voyage; I talked
with a young officer, while you conversed with the young priest."