The Wandering Jew — Complete
woman, and then this proud young lady--"
At these words Djalma looked at the half-caste with so piercing a
glance, that the latter stopped short; but the prince said to him with
affectionate goodness, "Go on! I listen."
Then, leaning his chin upon his hand, and his elbow on his knee, he
gazed so intently on Faringhea, and yet with such unutterable mildness,
that even that iron soul was touched for a moment with a slight feeling
of remorse.
"I was saying, my lord," he resumed, "that by following the counsels of
your faithful slave, who persuaded you to feign a passionate love for
another woman, you have brought the proud Mdlle. de Cardoville to come
to you. Did I not tell you it would be so?"
"Yes, you did tell me so," answered Djalma, still maintaining the same
position, and examining the half-caste with the same fixed and mild
attention.
The surprise of Faringhea increased; generally, the prince, without
treating him with the least harshness, preserved the somewhat distant
and imperious manners of their common country, and he had never before
spoken to him with such extreme mildness. Knowing all the evil he
had done the prince, and suspicious as the wicked must ever be, the
half-caste thought for a moment, that his master's apparent kindness
might conceal a snare. He continued, therefore, with less assurance,
"Believe me, my lord, this day, if you do but know how to profit by your
advantages, will console you for all your troubles, which have indeed
been great--for only yesterday, though you were generous enough to
forget it, only yesterday you suffered cruelly--but you were not alone
in your sufferings. This proud young lady suffered also!"
"Do you think so?" said Djalma.
"Oh! it is quite sure, my lord. What must she not have felt, when she
saw you at the theatre with another woman!--If she loved you only a
little, she must have been deeply wounded in her self-esteem; if she
loved you with passion, she must have been struck to the heart. At
length, you see, wearied out with suffering, she has come to you."
"So that, any way, she must have suffered--and that does not move your
pity?" said Djalma, in a constrained, but still very mild voice.
"Before thinking of others, my lord, I think of your distresses; and
they touch me too nearly to leave me any pity for other woes," added
Faringhea hypocritically, so greatly had the influence of Rodin already
modified the character of the Phansegar.
"It is strange!" said Djalma, speaking to himself, as he viewed the half
caste with a glance still kind but piercing.
"What is strange, my lord?"
"Nothing. But tell me, since your advice has hitherto prospered so well,
what think you of the future?"
"Of the future, my lord?"
"Yes; in an hour I shall be with Mdlle. de Cardoville."
"That is a serious matter, my lord. The whole future will depend upon
this interview."
"That is what I was just thinking."
"Believe me, my lord, women never love any so well, as the bold man who
spares them the embarrassment of a refusal."
"Explain more fully."
"Well, my lord, they despise the timid and languishing lover, who asks
humbly for what he might take by force."
"But to-day I shall meet Mdlle. de Cardoville for the first time."
"You have met her a thousand times in your dreams, my lord; and depend
upon it, she has seen you also in her dreams, since she loves you. Every
one of your amorous thoughts has found an echo in her heart. All your
ardent adorations have been responded to by her. Love has not two
languages, and, without meeting, you have said all that you had to say
to each other. Now, it is for you to act as her master, and she will be
yours entirely."
"It is strange--very strange!" said Djalma, a second time, without
removing his eyes from Faringhea's face.
Mistaking the sense which the prince attached to these words, the half
caste resumed: "Believe me, my lord, however strange it may appear, this
is the wisest course. Remember the past. Was it by playing the part of a
timid lover that you have brought to your feet this proud young lady,
my lord? No, it was by pretending to despise her, in favor of another
woman. Therefore, let us have no weakness. The lion does not woo like
the poor turtle-dove. What cares the sultan of the desert for a few
plaintive howls from the lioness, who is more pleased than angry at his
rude and wild caresses? Soon submissive, fearful and happy, she follows
in the track of her master. Believe me, my lord--try everything--dare
everything--and to-day you will become the adored sultan of this young
lady, whose beauty all Paris admires."
After some minutes' silence, Djalma, shaking his head with an expression
of tender pity, said to the half-caste, in his mild, sonorous voice:
"Why betray me thus? Why advise me thus wickedly to use violence,
terror, and surprise, towards an angel of purity, whom I respect as
my mother? Is it not enough for you to have been so long devoted to my
enemies, whose hatred has followed me from Java?"
Had Djalma sprung upon the half-caste with bloodshot eye, menacing
brow, and lifted poniard, the latter would have been less surprised,
and perhaps less frightened, than when he heard the prince speak of his
treachery in this tone of mild reproach.
He drew back hastily, as if about to stand on his guard. But Djalma
resumed, with the same gentleness, "Fear nothing. Yesterday I should
have killed you! But to-day happy love renders me too just, too merciful
for that. I pity you, without any feeling of bitterness--for you must
have been very unhappy, or you could not have become so wicked."
"My lord!" said the half-caste, with growing amazement.
"Yes, you must have suffered much, and met with little mercy, poor
creature, to have become so merciless, in your hate, and proof against
the sight of a happiness like mine. When I listened to you just now,
and saw the sad perseverance of your hatred, I felt the deepest
commiseration for you."
"I do not know, my lord--but--" stammered the half-caste, and was unable
to find words to proceed.
"Come, now--what harm have I ever done you?"
"None, my lord," answered Faringhea.
"Then why do you hate me thus? why pursue me with so much animosity? Was
it not enough to give me the perfidious counsel to feign a shameful love
for the young girl that was brought hither, and who quitted the house
disgusted at the miserable part she was to play?"
"Your feigned love for that young girl, my lord," replied Faringhea,
gradually recovering his presence of mind, "conquered the coldness of--"
"Do not say that," resumed the prince, interrupting him with the same
mildness. "If I enjoy this happiness, which makes me compassionate
towards you, and raises me above myself, it is because Mdlle de
Cardoville now knows that I have never for a moment ceased to love her
as she ought to be loved, with adoration and reverence. It was your
intention to have parted us forever, and you had nearly succeeded."
"If you think this of me, my lord, you must look upon me as your most
mortal enemy."
"Fear nothing, I tell you. I have no right to blame you. In the madness
of my grief, I listened to you and followed your advice. I was not only
your dupe, but your accomplice. Only confess that, when you saw me at
your mercy, dejected, crushed, despairing, it was cruel in you to advise
the course that might have been most fatal to me."
"The ardor of my zeal may have deceived me, my lord."
"I am willing to believe it. And yet again to-day there were the same
evil counsels. You had no more pity for my happiness than for my sorrow.
The rapture of my heart inspires you with only one desire--that of
changing this rapture into despair."
"I, my lord!"
"Yes, you. It was your intention to ruin me--to dishonor me forever in
the eyes of Mdlle. de Cardoville. Now, tell me--why this furious hate?
what have I done to you?"
"You misjudge me, my lord--and--"
"Listen to me. I do not wish you to be any longer wicked and
treacherous. I wish to make you good. In our country, they charm
serpents, and tame the wildest tigers. You are a man, with a mind to
reason, a heart to love, and I will tame you too by gentleness. This day
has bestowed on me divine happiness; you shall have good cause to bless
this day. What can I do for you? what would you have--gold? You shall
have it. Do you desire more than gold? Do you desire a friend, to
console you for the sorrows that made you wicked, and to teach you to
be good? Though a king's son, I will be that friend--in spite of the
evil--ay, because of the evil you have done me. Yes; I will be your
sincere friend, and it shall be my delight to say to myself: 'The day
on which I learned that my angel loved me, my happiness was great
indeed--for, in the morning, I had an implacable enemy, and, ere night,
his hatred was changed to friendship.' Believe me, Faringhea, misery
makes crime, but happiness produces virtue. Be happy!"
At this moment the clock struck two. The prince started. It was time to
go on his visit to Adrienne. The handsome countenance of Djalma, doubly
embellished by the mild, ineffable expression with which it had been
animated whilst he was talking to the half-caste, now seemed illumined
with almost divine radiance.
Approaching Faringhea, he extended his hand with the utmost, grace and
courtesy, saying to him, "Your hand!"
The half-caste, whose brow was bathed with a cold sweat, whose
countenance was pale and agitated, seemed to hesitate for an instant;
then, overawed, conquered, fascinated, he offered his trembling hand to
the prince, who pressed it, and said to him, in their country's fashion,
"You have laid your hand honestly in a friend's; this hand shall never
be closed against you. Faringhea, farewell! I now feel myself more
worthy to kneel before my angel."
And Djalma went out, on his way to the appointment with Adrienne. In
spite of his ferocity, in spite of the pitiless hate he bore to the
whole human race, the dark sectary of Bowanee was staggered by the noble
and clement words of Djalma, and said to himself, with terror, "I have
taken his hand. He is now sacred for me."
Then, after a moment's silence, a thought occurred to him, and he
exclaimed, "Yes--but he will not be sacred for him who, according to the
answer of last night, waits for him at the door of the house."
So saying, the half-caste hastened into the next room, which looked upon
the street, and, raising a corner of the curtain, muttered anxiously to
himself, "The carriage moves off--the man approaches. Perdition! it is
gone and I see no more."
CHAPTER XL. ANXIETY.
By a singular coincidence of ideas, Adrienne, like Djalma, had wished
to be dressed exactly in the same costume as at their interview in
the house in the Rue Blanche. For the site of this solemn meeting, so
important to her future happiness, Adrienne had chosen, with habitual
tact, the grand drawing-room of Cardoville House, in which hung many
family portraits. The most apparent were those of her father and mother.
The room was large and lofty, and furnished, like those which preceded
it, with all the imposing splendor of the age of Louis XIV. The ceiling,
painted by Lebrun, to represent the Triumph of Apollo, displayed his
bold designing and vigorous coloring, in the centre of a wide cornice,
magnificently carved and gilt, and supported at its angles by four
large gilt figures, representing the Seasons. Huge panels, covered
with crimson damask, and set in frames, served as the background to the
family portraits which adorned this apartment. It is easier to conceive
than describe the thousand conflicting emotions which agitated the bosom
of Mdlle. de Cardoville as the moment approached for her interview with