The Wandering Jew — Complete
exhibitions where my life is at stake--find a wild, fierce pleasure in
braving death, before a crowded assembly, shuddering and terrified at my
audacity. Yes, even in the fear with which this Englishman inspires me,
I find, in spite of myself, a terrible excitement, which I abhor, and
which yet subjugates me."
At this moment, the stage-manager entered the room, and interrupted the
beast-tamer. "May we give the signal, M. Morok?" said the stage-manager.
"The overture will not last above ten minutes."
"I am ready," said Morok.
"The police-inspector has just now given orders, that the double chain
of the panther, and the iron ring riveted to the floor of the stage, at
the end of the cavern in the foreground, shall be again examined; and
everything has been reported quite secure."
"Yes--secure--except for me," murmured the beast-tamer.
"So, M. Morok, the signal may be given?"
"The signal may--be given," replied Morok. And the manager went out.
CHAPTER XIII. UP WITH THE CURTAIN.
The usual bell sounded with solemnity behind the scenes the overture
began, and, to say the truth, but little attention was paid to it. The
interior of the theatre offered a very animated view. With the exception
of two stage-boxes even with the dress circle, one to the left, the
other to the right of the audience, every seat was occupied. A great
number of very fashionable ladies, attracted, as is always the case, by
the strange wildness of the spectacle, filled the boxes. The stalls were
crowded by most of the young men who; in the morning, had walked their
horses on the Champs-Elysees. The observations which passed from one
stall to another, will give some idea of their conversation.
"Do you know, my dear boy, there would not be so crowded or fashionable
an audience to witness Racine's Athalia?"
"Undoubtedly. What is the beggarly howling of an actor, compared to the
roaring of the lion?"
"I cannot understand how the authorities permit this Morok to fasten his
panther with a chain to an iron ring in the corner of the stage. If the
chain were to break?"
"Talking of broken chains--there's little Mme. de Blinville, who is no
tigress. Do you see her in the second tier, opposite?"
"It becomes her very well to have broken, as you say, the marriage
chain; she looks very well this season."
"Oh! there is the beautiful Duchess de Saint-Prix; all the world is here
to-night--I don't speak of ourselves."
"It is a regular opera night--what a festive scene!"
"Well, after all, people do well to amuse themselves, perhaps it will
not be for long."
"Why so?"
"Suppose the cholera were to come to Paris?"
"Oh! nonsense!"
"Do you believe in the cholera?"
"To be sure I do! He's coming from the North, with his walking-stick
under his arm."
"The devil take him on the road! don't let us see his green visage
here."
"They say he's at London."
"A pleasant journey to him."
"Come, let us talk of something else; it may be a weakness, if you
please, but I call this a dull subject."
"I believe you."
"Oh! gentlemen--I am not mistaken--no--it is she!"
"Who, then?"
"Mdlle. de Cardoville! She is coming into the stage-box with Morinval
and his wife. It is a complete resuscitation: this morning on the
Champs-Elysees; in the evening here."
"Faith, you are right! It is Mdlle. de Cardoville."
"Good heaven! how lovely she is!"
"Lend me your eyeglass."
"Well, what do you think of her?"
"Exquisite--dazzling."
"And in addition to her beauty, an inexhaustible flow of wit, three
hundred thousand francs a year, high birth, eighteen years of age,
and--free as air."
"Yes, that is to say, that, provided it pleased her, I might be to
morrow--or even to-day--the happiest of men."
"It is enough to turn one's brain."
"I am told that her mansion, Rue d'Anjou, is like an enchanted palace; a
great deal is said about a bath-room and bedroom, worthy of the Arabian
Nights."
"And free as air--I come back to that."
"Ah! if I were in her place!"
"My levity would be quite shocking."
"Oh! gentlemen, what a happy man will he be who is loved first!"
"You think, then, that she will have many lovers?"
"Being as free as air--"
"All the boxes are full, except the stage-box opposite to that in which
Mdlle. de Cardoville is seated. Happy the occupiers of that box!"
"Did you see the English ambassador's lady in the dress circle?"
"And the Princess d'Alvimar--what an enormous bouquet!"
"I should like to know the name--of that nosegay."
"Oh!--it's Germigny."
"How flattering for the lions and tigers, to attract so fashionable an
audience."
"Do you notice, gentlemen, how all the women are eye-glassing Mdlle. de
Cardoville?"
"She makes a sensation."
"She is right to show herself; they gave her out as mad."
"Oh! gentlemen, what a capital phiz!"
"Where--where?"
"There--in the omnibus-box beneath Mdlle. de Cardoville's."
"It's a Nuremburg nutcracker."
"An ourang-outang!"
"Did you ever see such round, staring eyes?"
"And the nose!"
"And the forehead!"
"It's a caricature."
"Order, order! the curtain rises."
And, in fact, the curtain rose. Some explanation is necessary for the
clear understanding of what follows. In the lower stage-box, to the left
of the audience, were several persons, who had been referred to by the
young men in the stalls. The omnibus-box was occupied by the Englishman,
the eccentric and portentous bettor, whose presence inspired Morok with
so much dread.
It would require Hoffman's rare and fantastic genius to describe
worthily that countenance, at once grotesque and frightful, as it stood
out from the dark background of the box. This Englishman was about fifty
years old; his forehead was quite bald, and of a conical shape; beneath
this forehead, surmounted by eyebrows like parenthesis marks, glittered
large, green eyes, remarkably round and staring, and set very close to a
hooked nose, extremely sharp and prominent; a chin like that on the old
fashioned nutcrackers was half-hidden in a broad and ample white cravat,
as stiffly-starched as the round-cornered shirt-collar, which nearly
touched his ears. The face was exceedingly thin and bony, and yet the
complexion was high-colored, approaching to purple, which made the
bright green of the pupils, and the white of the other part of the
eyes, still more conspicuous. The mouth, which was very wide, sometimes
whistled inaudibly the tune of a Scotch jig (always the same tune),
sometimes was slightly curled with a sardonic smite. The Englishman was
dressed with extreme care; his blue coat, with brass buttons, displayed
his spotless waistcoat, snowy, white as his ample cravat; his shirt was
fastened with two magnificent ruby studs, and his patrician hands were
carefully kid gloved.
To any one who knew the eccentric and cruel desire which attracted this
man to every representation, his grotesque face became almost terrific,
instead of exciting ridicule; and it was easy to understand the dread
experience by Morok at sight of those great, staring round eyes, which
appeared to watch for the death of the lion-tamer (what a horrible
death!) with unshaken confidence. Above the dark box of the Englishman,
affording a graceful contrast, were seated the Morinvals and Mdlle.
de Cardoville. The latter was placed nearest the stage. Her head was
uncovered, and she wore a dress of sky-blue China crepe, ornamented at
the bosom with a brooch of the finest Oriental pearls--nothing more; yet
Adrienne, thus attired, was charming. She held in her hand an enormous
bouquet, composed of the rarest flowers of India: the stephanotis and
the gardenia mingled the dead white of their blossoms with the purple
hibiscus and Java amaryllis.
Madame de Morinval, seated on the opposite side of the box, was dressed
with equal taste and simplicity; Morinval, a fair and very handsome
young man, of elegant appearance, was behind the two ladies. M. de
Montbron was expected to arrive every moment. The reader will please
to recollect that the stage-box to the right of the audience, opposite
Adrienne's, had remained till then quite empty. The stage represented
one of the gigantic forests of India. In the background, tall exotic
trees rose in spiral or spreading forms, among rugged masses of
perpendicular rocks, with here and there glimpses of a tropical sky. The
side-scenes formed tufts of trees, interspersed with rocks; and at the
side which was immediately beneath Adrienne's box appeared the irregular
opening of a deep and gloomy cavern, round which were heaped huge blocks
of granite, as if thrown together by some convulsion of nature. This
scenery, full of a wild and savage grandeur, was wonderfully "built up,"
so as to make the illusion as complete as possible; the footlights
were lowered, and being covered with a purple shade, threw over this
landscape a subdued reddish light, which increased the gloomy and
startling effect of the whole. Adrienne, leaning forward from the box,
with cheeks slightly flushed, sparkling eyes, and throbbing heart,
sought to trace in this scene the solitary forest described by the
traveller who had eulogized Djalma's generosity and courage, when he
threw himself upon a ferocious tigress to save the life of a poor black
slave. Chance coincided wonderfully indeed with her recollections.
Absorbed in the contemplation of the scenery and the thoughts it
awakened in her heart, she paid no attention to what was passing in the
house. And yet something calculated to excite curiosity was taking place
in the opposite stage-box.
The door of this box opened. A man about forty years of age, of a yellow
complexion, entered; he was clothed after the East Indian fashion, in a
long robe of orange silk, bound round the waist with a green sash, and
he wore a small white turban. He placed two chairs at the front of the
box; and, having glanced round the house for a moment, he started, his
black eyes sparkled, and he went out quickly. That man was Faringhea.
His apparition caused surprise and curiosity in the theatre; the
majority of the spectators not having, like Adrienne, a thousand reasons
for being absorbed in the contemplation of a picturesque set scene.
The public attention was still more excited when they saw the box which
Faringhea had just left, entered by a youth of rare beauty, also dressed
Oriental fashion, in a long robe of white Cashmere with flowing sleeves,
with a scarlet turban striped with gold on his head, and a sash to
correspond, in which was stuck a long dagger, glittering with precious
stones. This young man was Prince Djalma. For an instant he remained
standing at the door, and cast a look of indifference upon the immense
theatre, crowded with people; then, stepping forward with a majestic
and tranquil air, the prince seated himself negligently on one of the
chairs, and, turning his head in a few moments towards the entrance,
appeared surprised at not seeing some person whom he doubtless expected.
This person appeared at length; the boxkeeper had been assisting her to
take off her cloak. She was a charming, fair-haired girl, attired
with more show than taste, in a dress of white silk, with broad
cherry-colored stripes, made ultra fashionably low, and with short
sleeves; a large bow of cherry-colored ribbon was placed on each side
of her light hair, and set off the prettiest, sprightliest, most wilful
little face in the world.
It was Rose-Pompon. Her pretty arms were partly covered by long white
gloves, and ridiculously loaded with bracelets: in her hand she carried
an enormous bouquet of roses.
Far from imitating the calm demeanor of Djalma, Rose-Pompon skipped into
the box, moved the chairs about noisily, and fidgeted on her seat for