The Wandering Jew — Complete
the only consecration, and marriage enchains one's whole life."
Djalma looked at the young lady with surprise.
"Yes, one's whole life! and yet who can answer for the sentiments of a
whole life?" resumed Adrienne. "A God, that could see into the future,
could alone bind irrevocably certain hearts for their own happiness;
but, alas! to human eyes the future is impenetrable. Therefore, to
accept indissoluble ties, for any longer than one can answer for a
present sentiment, is to commit an act of selfish and impious folly."
Djalma made no reply, but, with an almost respectful gesture, he urged
the speaker to continue.
"And then," proceeded she, with a mixture of tenderness and pride, "from
respect for your dignity and mine, I would never promise to keep a law
made by man against woman, with contemptuous and brutal egotism--a
law, which denies to woman soul, mind, and heart--a law, which none can
accept, without being either a slave or perjured--a law, which takes
from the girl her name, reduces the wife to a state of degrading
inferiority, denies to the mother all rights over her own children,
and enslaves one human creature to the will of another, who is in all
respects her equal in the sight of God!--You know, my love," added the
young lady, with passionate enthusiasm, "how much I honor you, whose
father was called the Father of the Generous. I do not then fear, noble
and valiant heart, to see you use against me these tyrannical powers;
but, throughout my life, I never uttered a falsehood, and our love is
too sacred and celestial to be purchased by a double perjury. No, never
will I swear to observe a law, that my dignity, and my reason refuse to
sanction. If, to-morrow, the freedom of divorce were established, and
the rights of women recognized, I should be willing to observe usages,
which would then be in accordance with my conscience, and with what is
just, possible, and humane." Then, after a pause, Adrienne continued,
with such deep and sweet emotion, that a tear of tenderness veiled her
beauteous eyes: "Oh! if you knew, my love, what your love is to me: if
you knew how dear and sacred I hold your happiness--you would excuse,
you would understand, these generous superstitions of a loving and
honest heart, which could only see a fatal omen in forms degraded by
falsehood and perjury. What I wish, is, to attach you by love, to bind
you in chains of happiness--and to leave you free, that I may owe your
constancy only to your affection."
Djalma had listened to the young girl with passionate attention. Proud
and generous himself, he admired this proud and generous character.
After a moment's meditative silence, he answered, in his sweet, sonorous
voice, in an almost solemn tone: "Like you, I hold in detestation,
falsehood and perjury. Like you, I think that man degrades himself, by
accepting the right of being a cowardly tyrant, even though resolved
never to use the power. Like you, I could not bear the thought, that
I owed all I most valued, not to your love alone, but to the eternal
constraint of an indissoluble bond. Like you, I believe there is no
dignity but in freedom. But you have said, that, for this great and holy
love, you demand a religious consecration; and if you reject vows, that
you cannot make without folly and perjury, are there then others, which
your reason and your heart approve?--Who will pronounce the required
blessing? To whom must these vows be spoken?"
"In a few days, my love, I believe I shall be able to tell you all.
Every evening, after your departure, I have no other thought. I wish to
find the means of uniting yourself and me--in the eyes of God, not of
the law--without offending the habits and prejudices of a world, in
which it may suit us hereafter to live. Yes, my friend! when you know
whose are the noble hands, that are to join ours together, who is to
bless and glorify God in our union--a sacred union, that will leave us
worthy and free--you will say, I am sure, that never purer hands could
have been laid upon us. Forgive me, friend! all this is in earnest--yes,
earnest as our love, earnest as our happiness. If my words seem to you
strange, my thoughts unreasonable, tell it me, love! We will seek and
find some better means, to reconcile that we owe to heaven, with what
we owe to the world and to ourselves. It is said, that lovers are beside
themselves," added the young lady, with a smile, "but I think that no
creatures are more reasonable."
"When I hear you speak thus of our happiness," said Djalma, deeply
moved, "with so much calm and earnest tenderness, I think I see a mother
occupied with the future prospects of her darling child--trying
to surround him with all that can make him strong, valiant, and
generous--trying to remove far from him all that is ignoble and
unworthy. You ask me to tell you if your thoughts seem strange to
me, Adrienne. You forget, that what makes my faith in our love, is
my feeling exactly as you do. What offends you, offends me also; what
disgusts you, disgusts me. Just now, when you cited to me the laws of
this country, which respect in a woman not even a mother's right--I
thought with pride of our barbarous countries, where woman, though a
slave, is made free when she becomes a mother. No, no; such laws are not
made either for you or me. Is it not to prove your sacred respect for
our love, to wish to raise it above the shameful servitude that would
degrade it? You see, Adrienne, I have often heard said by the priests of
my country, that there were beings inferior to the gods, but superior
to every other creature. I did not believe those priests; but now I do."
These last words were uttered, not in the tone of flattery, but with
an accent of sincere conviction, and with that sort of passionate
veneration and almost timid fervor, which mark the believer talking of
his faith; but what is impossible to describe, is the ineffable harmony
of these almost religious words, with the mild, deep tone of the
young Oriental's voice--as well as the ardent expression of amorous
melancholy, which gave an irresistible charm to his enchanting features.
Adrienne had listened to Djalma with an indescribable mixture of joy,
gratitude, and pride. Laying her hand on her bosom, as if to keep down
its violent pulsations, she resumed, as she looked at the prince with
delight: "Behold him, ever the same!--just, good, great!--Oh, my heart!
my heart! how proudly it beats. Blessed be God, who created me for this
adored lover! He must mean to astonish the world, by the prodigies of
tenderness and charity, that such a love may produce. They do not yet
know the sovereign might of free, happy, ardent love. Yes, Djalma! on
the day when our hands are joined together, what hymns of gratitude
will ascend to heaven!--Ah! they do not know the immense, the insatiable
longing for joy aria delight, which possesses two hearts like ours; they
do not know what rays of happiness stream from the celestial halo of
such a flame!--Oh, yes! I feel it. Many tears will be dried, many cold
hearts warmed, at the divine fire of our love. And it will be by the
benedictions of those we serve, that they will learn the intoxication of
our rapture!"
To the dazzled eyes of Djalma, Adrienne appeared more and more an ideal
being--partaking of the Divinity by her goodness, of the animal nature
by passion--for, yielding to the intensity of excitement, Adrienne fixed
upon Djalma looks that sparkled with love.
'Then, almost beside himself, the Asiatic fell prostrate at the feet of
the maiden, and exclaimed, in a supplicating voice: "Mercy! my courage
fails me. Have pity on me! do not talk thus. Oh, that day! what years of
my life would I not give to hasten it!"
"Silence! no blasphemy. Do not your years belong to me?"
"Adrienne! you love me!"
The young lady did not answer; but her half-veiled, burning glance,
dealt the last blow to reason. Seizing her hands in his own, he
exclaimed, with a tremulous voice: "That day, in which we shall mount
to heaven, in which we shall be gods in happiness--why postpone it any
longer?"
"Because our love must be consecrated by the benediction of heaven."
"Are we not free?"
"Yes, yes, my love; we are free. Let us be worthy of our liberty!"
"Adrienne! mercy!"
"I ask you also to have mercy--to have mercy on the sacredness of our
love. Do not profane it in its very flower. Believe my heart! believe my
presentiments! to profane it would be to kill. Courage, my adored lover!
a few days longer--and then happiness--without regret, and without
remorse!"
"And, until then, hell! tortures without a name! You do not, cannot know
what I suffer when I leave your presence. Your image follows me, your
breath burns me up; I cannot sleep, but call on you every night with
sighs and tears--just as I called on, you, when I thought you did not
love me--and yet I know you love me, I know you are mine. But to see you
every day more beautiful, more adored--and every day to quit you more
impassioned--oh! you cannot tell--"
Djalma was unable to proceed. What he said of his devouring tortures,
Adrienne had felt, perhaps even more intensely. Electrified by the
passionate words of Djalma, so beautiful in his excitement, her courage
failed, and she perceived that an irresistible languor was creeping
over her. By a last chaste effort of the will, she rose abruptly, and
hastening to the door, which communicated with Mother Bunch's chamber,
she exclaimed: "My sister! help me!"
In another moment, Mdlle. de Cardoville, her face bathed in tears,
clasped the young sempstress in her arms; while Djalma knelt
respectfully on the threshold he did not dare to pass.
CHAPTER LXI. AMBITION.
A few days after the interview of Djalma and Adrienne, just described,
Rodin was alone in his bed-chamber, in the house in the Rue de
Vaugirard, walking up and down the room where he had so valiantly
undergone the moxas of Dr. Baleinier. With his hands thrust into the
hind-pockets of his greatcoat, and his head bowed upon his breast, the
Jesuit seemed to be reflecting profoundly, and his varying walk, now
slow, now quick, betrayed the agitation of his mind.
"On the side of Rome," said Rodin to himself, "I am tranquil. All is
going well. The abdication is as good as settled, and if I can pay them
the price agreed, the Prince Cardinal can secure me a majority of nine
voices in the conclave. Our General is with me; the doubts of Cardinal
Malipieri are at an end, or have found no echo. Yet I am not quite easy,
with regard to the reported correspondence between Father d'Aigrigny and
Malipieri. I have not been able to intercept any of it. No matter; that
soldier's business is settled. A little patience and he will be wiped
out."
Here the pale lips were contracted by one of those frightful smiles,
which gave to Rodin's countenance so diabolical an expression.
After a pause, he resumed: "The funeral of the freethinker, the
philanthropist, the workman's friend, took place yesterday at St.
Herem. Francis Hardy went off in a fit of ecstatic delirium. I had
his donation, it is true; but this is more certain. Everything may be
disputed in this world; the dead dispute nothing."
Rodin remained in thought for some moments; then he added, in a grave
tone: "There remain this red-haired wench and her mulatto. This is the
twenty-seventh of May; the first of June approaches, and these turtle
doves still seem invulnerable. The princess thought she had hit upon
a good plan, and I should have thought so too. It was a good idea to
mention the discovery of Agricola Baudoin in the madcap's room, for it
made the Indian tiger roar with savage jealousy. Yes: but then the
dove began to coo, and hold out her pretty beak, and the foolish tiger