The Wandering Jew — Complete
blinded by your first success. The results of your denunciation will
be stifled, because they are calumnious. The judge who received your
evidence will soon repent his odious partiality. You may make what use
you please of this letter. We know what we write, to whom we write, and
how we write. You will receive this letter at three o'clock; if by four
o'clock we have not your full and complete acceptance, written with your
own hand at the bottom of this letter, war must commence between us--and
not from to-morrow, but on the instant.'"
Having finished reading the letter, Djalma looked at Rodin, who said to
him: "Permit me to summon Faringhea."
He rang the bell, and the half-caste appeared. Rodin took the letter
from the hands of Djalma, tore it into halves, rubbed it between his
palms, so as to make a sort of a ball, and said to the half-caste, as
he returned it to him: "Give this palter to the person who waits for
it, and tell him that is my only answer to his shameless and insolent
letter; you understand me--this shameless and insolent letter."
"I understand." said the half-caste; and he went out.
"This will perhaps be a dangerous war for you, father, said the Indian,
with interest.
"Yes, dear prince, it may be dangerous, but I am not like you; I have no
wish to kill my enemies, because they are cowardly and wicked. I fight
them under the shield of the law. Imitate me in this." Then, seeing that
the countenance of Djalma darkened, he added: "I am wrong. I will advise
you no more on this subject. Only, let us defer the decision to the
judgment of your noble and motherly protectress. I shall see her to
morrow; if she consents, I will tell you the names of your enemies. If
not--not."
"And this woman, this second mother," said Djalma, "is her character
such, that I can rely on her judgment?"
"She!" cried Rodin, clasping his hands, and speaking with increased
excitement. "Why, she is the most noble, the most generous, the most
valiant being upon earth!--why, if you were really her son, and she
loved you with all the strength of maternal affection, and a case arose
in which you had to choose between an act of baseness and death, she
would say to you: 'Die!' though she might herself die with you."
"Oh, noble woman! so was my mother!" cried Djalma, with enthusiasm.
"Yes," resumed Rodin, with growing energy, as he approached the window
concealed by the shade, towards which he threw an oblique and anxious
glance, "if you would imagine your protectress, think only of courage,
uprightness, and loyalty personified. Oh! she has the chivalrous
frankness of the brave man, joined with the high-souled dignity of the
woman, who not only never in her life told a falsehood, never concealed
a single thought, but who would rather die than give way to the least
of those sentiments of craft and dissimulation, which are almost forced
upon ordinary women by the situation in which they are placed."
It is difficult to express the admiration which shone upon the
countenance of Djalma, as he listened to this description. His eyes
sparkled, his cheeks glowed, his heart palpitated with enthusiasm.
"That is well, noble heart!" said Rodin to him, drawing still nearer
to the blind; "I love to see your soul sparkle through your eyes, on
hearing me speak thus of your unknown protectress. Oh! but she is worthy
of the pious adoration which noble hearts and great characters inspire!"
"Oh! I believe you," cried Djalma, with enthusiasm; "my heart is full of
admiration and also of astonishment, for my mother is no more, and yet
such a woman exists!"
"Yes, she exists. For the consolation of the afflicted, for the glory of
her sex, she exists. For the honor of truth, and the shame of falsehood,
she exists. No lie, no disguise, has ever tainted her loyalty, brilliant
and heroic as the sword of a knight. It is but a few days ago that this
noble woman spoke to me these admirable words, which, in all my life,
I shall not forget: 'Sir,' she said, 'if ever I suspect any one that I
love or esteem--'"
Rodin did not finish. The shade, so violently shaken that the spring
broke, was drawn up abruptly, and, to the great astonishment of Djalma,
Mdlle. de Cardoville appeared before him. Adrienne's cloak had fallen
from her shoulders, and in the violence of the movement with which she
had approached the blind, her bonnet, the strings of which were untied,
had also fallen. Having left home suddenly, with only just time to throw
a mantle over the picturesque and charming costume which she often chose
to wear when alone, she appeared so radiant with beauty to Djalma's
dazzled eyes, in the centre of those leaves and flowers, that the Indian
believed himself under the influence of a dream.
With clasped hands, eyes wide open, the body slightly bent forward, as
if in the act of prayer, he stood petrified with admiration, Mdlle. de
Cardoville, much agitated, and her countenance glowing with emotion,
remained on the threshold of the greenhouse, without entering the room.
All this had passed in less time than it takes to describe it. Hardly
had the blind been raised, than Rodin, feigning surprise, exclaimed:
"You here, madame?"
"Oh, sir!" said Adrienne, in an agitated voice, "I come to terminate
the phrase which you have commenced. I told you, that when a suspicion
crossed my mind, I uttered it aloud to the person by whom it was
inspired. Well! I confess it: I have failed in this honesty. I came here
as a spy upon you, when your answer to the Abbe d'Aigrigny was giving me
a new pledge of your devotion and sincerity. I doubted your uprightness
at the moment when you were bearing testimony to my frankness. For
the first time in my life, I stooped to deceit; this weakness merits
punishment, and I submit to it--demands reparation, and I make it--calls
for apologies, and I tender them to you." Then turning towards Djalma,
she added: "Now, prince, I am no longer mistress of my secret. I am your
relation, Mdlle. de Cardoville; and I hope you will accept from a sister
the hospitality that you did not refuse from a mother."
Djalma made no reply. Plunged in ecstatic contemplation of this sudden
apparition, which surpassed his wildest and most dazzling visions, he
felt a sort of intoxication, which, paralyzing the power of thought,
concentrated all his faculties in the one sense of sight; and just as we
sometimes seek in vain to satisfy unquenchable thirst, the burning look
of the Indian sought, as it were, with devouring avidity, to take in
all the rare perfections of the young lady. Verily, never had two more
divine types of beauty met face to face. Adrienne and Djalma were the
very ideal of a handsome youth and maiden. There seemed to be something
providential in the meeting of these two natures, so young and so
vivacious, so generous and so full of passion, so heroic and so proud,
who, before coming into contact, had, singularly enough, each learned
the moral worth of the other; for if, at the words of Rodin, Djalma had
felt arise in his heart an admiration, as lively as it was sudden, for
the valiant and generous qualities of that unknown benefactress, whom
he now discovered in Mdlle. de Cardoville, the latter had, in her turn,
been moved, affected, almost terrified, by the interview she had just
overheard, in which Djalma had displayed the nobleness of his soul,
the delicate goodness of his heart, and the terrible transports of
his temper. Then she had not been able to repress a movement of
astonishment, almost admiration, at sight of the surprising beauty of
the prince; and soon after, a strange, painful sentiment, a sort
of electric shock, seemed to penetrate all her being, as her eyes
encountered Djalma's.
Cruelly agitated, and suffering deeply from this agitation, she tried
to dissemble the impression she had received, by addressing Rodin, to
apologize for having suspected him. But the obstinate silence of the
Indian redoubled the lady's painful embarrassment. Again raising her
eyes towards the prince, to invite him to respond to her fraternal
offer, she met his ardent gaze wildly fixed upon her, and she looked
once more with a mixture of fear, sadness, and wounded pride; then she
congratulated herself on having foreseen the inexorable necessity of
keeping Djalma at a distance from her, such apprehension did this ardent
and impetuous nature already inspire. Wishing to put an end to her
present painful situation, she said to Rodin, in a low and trembling
voice, "Pray, sir, speak to the prince; repeat to him my offers. I
cannot remain longer." So saying, Adrienne turned, as if to rejoin
Florine. But, at the first step, Djalma sprang towards her with the
bound of a tiger, about to be deprived of his prey. Terrified by the
expression of wild excitement which inflamed the Indian's countenance,
the young lady drew back with a loud scream.
At this, Djalma remembered himself, and all that had passed. Pale with
regret and shame, trembling, dismayed, his eyes streaming with tears,
and all his features marked with an expression of the most touching
despair, he fell at Adrienne's feet, and lifting his clasped hands
towards her, said in a soft, supplicating, timid voice: "Oh, remain!
remain! do not leave me. I have waited for you so long!" To this prayer,
uttered with the timid simplicity of a child, and a resignation which
contrasted strangely with the savage violence that had so frightened
Adrienne, she replied, as she made a sign to Florine to prepare for
their departure: "Prince, it is impossible for me to remain longer
here."
"But you will return?" said Djalma, striving to restrain his tears. "I
shall see you again?"
"Oh, no! never--never!" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a failing voice.
Then, profiting by the stupor into which her answer had thrown Djalma,
Adrienne disappeared rapidly behind the plants in the greenhouse.
Florine was hastening to rejoin her mistress, when, just at the
moment she passed before Rodin, he said to her in a low, quick voice:
"To-morrow we must finish with the hunchback." Florine trembled in every
limb, and, without answering Rodin, disappeared, like her mistress,
behind the plants. Broken, overpowered, Djalma remained upon his knees,
with his head resting on his breast. His countenance expressed neither
rage nor excitement, but a painful stupor; he wept silently. Seeing
Rodin approach him, he rose, but with so tremulous a step, that he could
hardly reach the divan, on which he sank down, hiding his face in his
hands.
Then Rodin, advancing, said to him in a mild and insinuating tone:
"Alas! I feared what has happened. I did not wish you to see your
benefactress; and if I told you she was old, do you know why, dear
prince?"
Djalma, without answering, let his hands fall upon his knees, and turned
towards Rodin a countenance still bathed in tears.
"I knew that Mdlle. de Cardoville was charming, and at your age it is
so easy to fall in love," continued Rodin; "I wished to spare you that
misfortune, my dear prince, for your beautiful protectress passionately
loves a handsome young man of this town."
Upon these words, Djalma suddenly pressed both hands to his heart, as if
he felt a piercing stab, uttered a cry of savage grief, threw back his
head, and fell fainting upon the divan.
Rodin looked at him coldly for some seconds, and then said as he went
away, brushing his old hat with his elbow,
"Come! it works--it works!"
CHAPTER XLV. THE CONSULTATION.
It is night. It has just struck nine. It is the evening of that day
on which Mdlle. de Cardoville first found herself in the presence of
Djalma. Florine, pale, agitated, trembling, with a candle in her hand,
had just entered a bedroom, plainly but comfortably furnished. This room