The Wandering Jew — Complete
"So, like the sultans of our harems, civilized men require of women the
innocence they have themselves lost."
"They require it the more, the less they have of it, my lord."
"To require without any return, is to act as a master to his slave; by
what right?"
"By the right of the strongest--as it is among us, my lord."
"And what do the women do?"
"They prevent the men from being too ridiculous, when they marry, in the
eyes of the world."
"But they kill a woman that is false?" said Djalma, raising himself
abruptly, and fixing upon Faringhea a savage look, that sparkled with
lurid fire.
"They kill her, my lord, as with us--when they find her out."
"Despots like ourselves! Why then do these civilized men not shut up
their women, to force them to a fidelity which they do not practise?"
"Because their civilization is barbarous, and their barbarism civilized,
my lord."
"All this is sad enough, if true," observed Djalma, with a pensive air,
adding, with a species of enthusiasm, employing, as usual, the mystic
and figurative language familiar to the people of his country; "yes,
your talk afflicts me, slave--for two drops of dew blending in the cup
of a flower are as hearts that mingle in a pure and virgin love; and two
rays of light united in one inextinguishable flame, are as the burning
and eternal joys of lovers joined in wedlock."
Djalma spoke of the pure enjoyments of the soul with inexpressible
grace, yet it was when he painted less ideal happiness, that his eyes
shone like stars; he shuddered slightly, his nostrils swelled, the pale
gold of his complexion became vermilion, and the young prince sank into
a deep reverie.
Faringhea, having remarked this emotion, thus spoke: "If, like the proud
and brilliant king-bird of our woods, you prefer numerous and varied
pleasures to solitary and monotonous amours--handsome, young, rich
as you are, my lord, were you to seek out the seductive
Parisians--voluptuous phantoms of your nights--charming tormentors
of your dreams--were you to cast upon them looks bold as a challenge,
supplicating as prayers, ardent as desires--do you not think that many
a half-veiled eye would borrow fire from your glance? Then it would no
longer be the monotonous delights of a single love, the heavy chain of
our life--no, it would be the thousand pleasures of the harem--a harem
peopled with free and proud beauties, whom happy love would make your
slaves. So long constrained, there is no such thing as excess to you.
Believe me, it would then be you, the ardent, the magnificent son of our
country, that would become the love and pride of these women--the most
seductive in the world, who would soon have for you no looks but those
of languor and passion."
Djalma had listened to Faringhea with silent eagerness. The expression
of his features had completely changed; it was no longer the melancholy
and dreaming youth, invoking the sacred remembrance of his mother,
and finding only in the dew of heaven, in the calyx of flowers, images
sufficiently pure to paint the chastity of the love he dreamed of; it
was no longer even the young man, blushing with a modest ardor at the
thought of the permitted joys of a legitimate union. No! the incitements
of Faringhea had kindled a subterraneous fire; the inflamed countenance
of Djalma, his eyes now sparkling and now veiled, his manly and sonorous
respiration, announced the heat of his blood, the boiling up of
the passions, only the more energetic, that they had been hitherto
restrained.
So, springing suddenly from the divan, supple, vigorous, and light as
a young tiger, Djalma clutched Faringhea by the throat exclaiming: "Thy
words are burning poison!"
"My lord," said Faringhea, without opposing the least resistance, "your
slave is your slave." This submission disarmed the prince.
"My life belongs to you," repeated the half-caste.
"I belong to you, slave!" cried Djalma, repulsing him. "Just now, I hung
upon your lips, devouring your dangerous lies."
"Lies, my lord? Only appear before these women, and their looks will
confirm my words."
"These women love me!--me, who have only lived in war and in the woods?"
"The thought that you, so young, have already waged bloody war on men
and tigers, will make them adore, my lord."
"You lie!"
"I tell you, my lord, on seeing your hand, as delicate as theirs, but
which has been so often bathed in hostile blood, they will wish to
caress it; and they will kiss it again, when they think that, in our
forests, with loaded rifle, and a poniard between your teeth, you smiled
at the roaring of a lion or panther for whom you lay in wait."
"But I am a savage--a barbarian."
"And for that very reason you will have them at your feet. They will
feel themselves both terrified and charmed by all the violence and fury,
the rage of jealousy, the passion and the love, to which a man of your
blood, your youth, your ardor must be subject. To-day mild and tender,
to-morrow fierce and suspicious, another time ardent and passionate,
such you will be--and such you ought to be, if you wish to win them.
Yes; let a kiss of rage be heard between two kisses: let a dagger
glitter in the midst of caresses, and they will fall before you,
palpitating with pleasure, love, and fear--and you will be to them, not
a man, but a god."
"Dost think so?" cried Djalma, carried away in spite of himself by the
Thug's wild eloquence.
"You know, you feel, that I speak the truth," cried the latter,
extending his arm towards the young Indian.
"Why, yes!" exclaimed Djalma, his eyes sparkling, his nostrils swelling,
as he moved about the apartment with savage bounds. "I know not if I
possess my reason, or if I am intoxicated, but it seems to me that you
speak truth. Yes, I feel that they will love me with madness and fury,
because my love will be mad and furious they will tremble with pleasure
and fear, because the very thought of it makes me tremble with delight
and terror. Slave, it is true; there is something exciting and fearful
in such a love!" As he spoke forth these words, Djalma was superb in his
impetuous sensuality. It is a rare thing to see a young man arrive
in his native purity, at the age in which are developed, in all their
powerful energy, those admirable instincts of love, which God has
implanted in the heart of his creatures, and which, repressed,
disguised, or perverted, may unseat the reason, or generate mad excesses
and frightful crimes--but which, directed towards a great and noble
passion, may and must, by their very violence, elevate man, through
devotion and tenderness, to the limits of the ideal.
"Oh! this woman--this woman, before whom I am to tremble--and who,
in turn, must tremble before me--where is she?" cried Djalma, with
redoubled excitement. "Shall I ever find her?"
"One is a good deal, my lord," replied Faringhea, with his sardonic
coolness; "he who looks for one woman, will rarely succeed in this
country; he who seeks women, is only at a loss to choose."
As the half-caste made this impertinent answer to Djalma, a very elegant
blue-and-white carriage stopped before the garden-gate of the house,
which opened upon a deserted street. It was drawn by a pair of beautiful
blood-horses, of a cream color, with black manes and tails. The
scutcheons on the harness were of silver, as were also the buttons of
the servants' livery, which was blue with white collars. On the blue
hammercloth, also laced with white, as well as on the panels of the
doors, were lozenge-shaped coats of arms, without crest or coronet, as
usually borne by unmarried daughters of noble families. Two women were
in this carriage--Mdlle. de Cardoville and Florine.
CHAPTER XLI. RISING.
To explain the arrival of Mdlle. de Cardoville at the garden-door of
the house occupied by Djalma, we must cast a retrospective glance at
previous events. On leaving Doctor Baleinier's, Mdlle. de Cardoville had
gone to take up her residence in the Rue d'Anjou. During the last few
months of her stay with her aunt, Adrienne had secretly caused this
handsome dwelling to be repaired and furnished, and its luxury
and elegance were now increased by all the wonders of the lodge of
Saint-Dizier House. The world found it very strange, that a lady of the
age and condition of Mdlle. de Cardoville should take the resolution of
living completely alone and free, and, in fact, of keeping house exactly
like a bachelor, a young widow, or an emancipated minor. The world
pretended not to know that Mdlle. de Cardoville possessed what is often
wanting in men, whether of age or twice of age--a firm character, a
lofty mind, a generous heart, strong and vigorous good sense.
Judging that she would require faithful assistance in the internal
management of her house, Adrienne had written to the bailiff of
Cardoville, and his wife, old family servants, to come immediately to
Paris: M. Dupont thus filled the office of steward, and Mme. Dupont
that of housekeeper. An old friend of Adrienne's father, the Count de
Montbron, an accomplished old man, once very much in fashion, and still
a connoisseur in all sorts of elegances, had advised Adrienne to act
like a princess, and take an equerry; recommended for this office a man
of good rearing and ripe age, who, himself an amateur in horses, had
been ruined in England, at Newmarket, the Derby, and Tattersall's, and
reduced, as sometimes happened to gentlemen in that country, to drive
the stage coaches, thus finding an honest method of earning his bread,
and at the same time gratifying his taste for horses. Such was M. de
Bonneville, M. de Montbron's choice. Both from age and habits, this
equerry could accompany Mdlle. de Cardoville on horseback, and better
than any one else, superintend the stable. He accepted, therefore, the
employment with gratitude, and, thanks to his skill and attention, the
equipages of Mdlle. de Cardoville were not eclipsed in style by anything
of the kind in Paris. Mdlle. de Cardoville had taken back her women,
Hebe, Georgette, and Florine. The latter was at first to have re-entered
the service of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, to continue her part of spy
for the superior of St. Mary's Convent; but, in consequence of the new
direction given by Rodin to the Rennepont affair, it was decided
that Florine, if possible, should return to the service of Mdlle. de
Cardoville. This confidential place, enabling this unfortunate creature
to render important and mysterious services to the people who held her
fate in their hands, forced her to infamous treachery. Unfortunately,
all things favored this machination. We know that Florine, in her
interview with Mother Bunch, a few days after Mdlle. de Cardoville was
imprisoned at Dr. Baleinier's, had yielded to a twinge of remorse,
and given to the sempstress advice likely to be of use to Adrienne's
interests--sending word to Agricola not to deliver to Madame de Saint
Dizier the papers found in the hiding-place of the pavilion, but only
to entrust them to Mdlle. de Cardoville herself. The latter, afterwards
informed of these details by Mother Bunch, felt a double degree of
confidence and interest in Florine, took her back into her service
with gratitude, and almost immediately charged her with a confidential
mission--that of superintending the arrangements of the house hired for
Djalma's habitation. As for Mother Bunch (yielding to the solicitations
of Mdlle. de Cardoville, and finding she was no longer of use to
Dagobert's wife, of whom we shall speak hereafter), she had consented to
take up her abode in the hotel on the Rue d'Anjou, along with Adrienne,
who with that rare sagacity of the heart peculiar to her, entrusted
the young sempstress, who served her also as a secretary, with the
department of alms-giving.