The Wandering Jew — Complete
through the brain and heart of the prince. A cloud of blood came over
his eyes, he uttered a hollow moan, which the thickness of the glass
prevented from being heard in the next room, and broke his nails in
attempting to tear down the iron railing before the window.
Having reached this paroxysm of delirious rage, Djalma saw the uncertain
light grow still fainter, as if it had been discreetly obscured, and,
through the vapory shadow that hung before him, he perceived the young
lady returning, clad in a long white dressing-gown, and with her
golden curls floating over her naked arms and shoulders. She advanced
cautiously in the direction of a door which was hid from Djalma's view.
At this moment, one of the doors of the apartment in which the prince
was concealed was gently opened by an invisible hand. Djalma noticed it
by the click of the lock, and by the current of fresh air which streamed
upon his face, for he could see nothing. This door, left open for
Djalma, like that in the next room, to which the young lady had drawn
near, led to a sort of ante-chamber communicating with the stairs, which
some one now rapidly ascended, and, stopping short, knocked twice at the
outer door.
"Here comes Agricola Baudoin. Look and listen!" said the same voice that
the prince had already heard.
Mad, intoxicated, but with the fixed idea and reckless determination of
a madman or a drunkard, Djalma drew the dagger which Faringhea had left
in his possession, and stood in motionless expectation. Hardly were the
two knocks heard before the young lady quitted the apartment, from which
streamed a faint ray of light, ran to the door of the staircase, so that
some faint glimmer reached the place where Djalma stood watching, his
dagger in his hand. He saw the young lady pass across the ante-chamber,
and approach the door of the staircase, where she said in a whisper:
"Who is there?"
"It is I--Agricola Baudoin," answered, from, without, a manly voice.
What followed was rapid as lightning, and must be conceived rather than
described. Hardly had the young lady drawn the bolt of the door, hardly
had Agricola Baudoin stepped across the threshold, than Djalma, with the
bound of a tiger, stabbed as it were at once, so rapid were the strokes,
both the young lady, who fell dead on the floor, and Agricola, who sank,
dangerously wounded, by the side of the unfortunate victim. This
scene of murder, rapid as thought, took place in the midst of a half
obscurity. Suddenly the faint light from the chamber was completely
extinguished, and a second after, Djalma felt his arm seized in the
darkness by an iron grasp, and the voice of Faringhea whispered: "You
are avenged. Come; we can secure our retreat." Inert, stupefied at what
he had done, Djalma offered no resistance, and let himself be dragged
by the half-caste into the inner apartment, from which there was another
way out.
When Rodin had exclaimed, in his admiration of the generative power
of thought, that the word NECKLACE had been the germ of the infernal
project he then contemplated, it was, that chance had brought to his
mind the remembrance of the too famous affair of the diamond necklace,
in which a woman, thanks to her vague resemblance to Queen Marie
Antoinette, being dressed like that princess, and favored by the
uncertainty of a twilight, had played so skillfully the part of her
unfortunate sovereign, as to make the Cardinal Prince de Rohan, though
familiar with the court, the complete dupe of the illusion. Having once
determined on his execrable design, Rodin had sent Jacques Dumoulin to
Sainte-Colombe, without telling him the real object of his mission, to
ask this experienced woman to procure a fine young girl, tall, and
with red hair. Once found, a costume exactly resembling that worn by
Adrienne, and of which the Princess de Saint-Dizier gave the description
to Rodin (though herself ignorant of this new plot), was to complete the
deception. The rest is known, or may be guessed. The unfortunate girl,
who acted as Adrienne's double, believed she was only aiding in a jest.
As for Agricola, he had received a letter, in which he was invited to
a meeting that might be of the greatest importance to Mdlle. de
Cardoville.
(43) See the strange effect of hasheesh. To the effect of this is
attributed the kind of hallucination which seized on those unhappy
persons, whom the Prince of the Assassins (the Old Man of the Mountain)
used as the instruments of his vengeance.
CHAPTER LXV. THE NUPTIAL BED.
The mild light of a circular lamp of oriental alabaster, suspended from
the ceiling by three silver chains, spreads a faint lustre through the
bed-chamber of Adrienne de Cardoville.
The large ivory bedstead, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, is not at present
occupied, and almost disappears beneath snowy curtains of lace
and muslin, transparent and vapory as clouds. On the white marble
mantlepiece, from beneath which the fire throws ruddy beams on the
ermine carpet, is the usual basket filled with a bush of red camellias,
in the midst of their shining green leaves. A pleasant aromatic odor,
rising from a warm and perfumed bath in the next room, penetrates every
corner of the bed-chamber. All without is calm and silent. It is hardly
eleven o'clock. The ivory door, opposite to that which leads to the
bath-room, opens slowly. Djalma appears. Two hours have elapsed since he
committed a double murder, and believed that he had killed Adrienne in a
fit of jealous fury.
The servants of Mdlle. de Cardoville, accustomed to Djalma's daily
visits, no longer announced his arrival, and admitted him without
difficulty, having received no orders to the contrary from their
mistress. He had never before entered the bed-chamber, but, knowing that
the apartment the lady occupied was on the first floor of the house,
he had easily found it. As he entered that virgin sanctuary, his
countenance was pretty calm, so well did he control his feelings, only a
slight paleness tarnished the brilliant amber of his complexion. He wore
that day a robe of purple cashmere, striped with silver--a color which
did not show the stains of blood upon it. Djalma closed the door after
him, and tore off his white turban, for it seemed to him as if a band of
hot iron encircled his brow. His dark hair streamed around his handsome
face. He crossed his arms upon his bosom, and looked slowly about him.
When his eyes rested on Adrienne's bed, he started suddenly, and his
cheek grew purple. Then he drew his hand across his brow, hung down his
head, and remained standing for some moments in a dream, motionless as a
statue.
After a mournful silence of a few seconds' duration, Djalma fell upon
his knees, and raised his eyes to heaven. The Asiatic's countenance was
bathed in tears, and no longer expressed any violent passion. On his
features was no longer the stamp of hate, or despair, or the ferocious
joy of vengeance gratified. It was rather the expression of grief at
once simple and immense. For several minutes he was almost choked with
sobs, and tears ran freely down his cheeks.
"Dead! dead!" he murmured, in a half-stifled voice. "She, who this
morning slept so peacefully in this chamber! And I have killed her. Now
that she is dead, what is her treachery to me? I should not have killed
her for that. She had betrayed me; she loved the man whom I slew--she
loved him! Alas! I could not hope to gain the preference," added he,
with a touching mixture of resignation and remorse; "I, poor, untaught
youth--how could I merit her love? It was my fault that she did not love
me; but, always generous, she concealed from me her indifference, that
she might not make me too unhappy--and for that I killed her. What
was her crime? Did she not meet me freely? Did she not open to me her
dwelling? Did she not allow me to pass whole days with her? No doubt she
tried to love me, and could not. I loved her with all the faculties of
my soul, but my love was not such as she required. For that, I should
not have killed her. But a fatal delusion seized me and, after it was
done, I woke as from a dream. Alas! it was not a dream: I have killed
her. And yet--until this evening--what happiness I owed to her--what
hope--what joy! She made my heart better, nobler, more generous. All
came from her," added the Indian, with a new burst of grief. "That
remained with me--no one could take from me that treasure of the
past--that ought to have consoled me. But why think of it? I struck them
both--her and the man--without a struggle. It was a cowardly murder--the
ferocity of the tiger that tears its innocent prey!"
Djalma buried his face in his hands. Then, drying his tears, he resumed,
"I know, clearly, that I mean to die also. But my death will not restore
her to life!"
He rose from the ground, and drew from his girdle Faringhea's bloody
dagger; then, taking the little phial from the hilt, he threw the blood
stained blade upon the ermine carpet, the immaculate whiteness of which
was thus slightly stained with red.
"Yes," resumed Djalma, holding the phial with a convulsive grasp, "I
know well that I am about to die. It is right. Blood for blood; my life
for hers. How happens it that my steel did not turn aside? How could I
kill her?--but it is done--and my heart is full of remorse, and sorrow,
an inexpressible tenderness--and I have come here--to die!
"Here, in this chamber," he continued, "the heaven of my burning
visions!" And then he added, with a heartrending accent, as he again
buried his face in his hands, "Dead! dead!"
"Well! I too shall soon be dead," he resumed, in a firmer voice.
"But, no! I will die slowly, gradually. A few drops of the poison will
suffice; and, when I am quite certain of dying, my remorse will perhaps
be less terrible. Yesterday, she pressed my hand when we parted. Who
could have foretold me this?" The Indian raised the phial resolutely to
his lips. He drank a few drops of the liquor it contained, and replaced
it on a little ivory table close to Adrienne's bed.
"This liquor is sharp and hot," said he. "Now I am certain to die. Oh!
that I may still have time to feast on the sight and perfume of this
chamber--to lay my dying head on the couch where she has reposed."
Djalma fell on his knees beside the bed, and leaned against it his
burning brow. At this moment, the ivory door, which communicated with
the bath-room, rolled gently on its hinges, and Adrienne entered. The
young lady had just sent away her woman, who had assisted to undress
her. She wore a long muslin wrapper of lustrous whiteness. Her golden
hair, neatly arranged in little plaits, formed two bands, which gave
to her sweet face an extremely juvenile air. Her snowy complexion was
slightly tinged with rose-color, from the warmth of the perfumed bath,
which she used for a few seconds every evening. When she opened the
ivory door, and placed her little naked foot, in its white satin
slipper, upon the ermine carpet, Adrienne was dazzlingly beautiful.
Happiness sparkled in her eyes, and adorned her brow. All the
difficulties relative to her union with Djalma had now been removed. In
two days she would be his. The sight of the nuptial chamber oppressed
her with a vague and ineffable languor. The ivory door had been opened
so gently, the lady's first steps were so soft upon the fur carpet, that
Djalma, still leaning against the bed, had heard nothing. But suddenly a
cry of surprise and alarm struck upon his ear. He turned round abruptly.
Adrienne stood before him.
With an impulse of modesty, Adrienne closed her nightdress over her
bosom, and hastily drew back, still more afflicted than angry at what
she considered a guilty attempt on the part of Djalma. Cruelly hurt
and offended, she was about to reproach him with his conduct, when she