Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER XIV. DEATH.

  The pantomime opening, by which was introduced the combat of Morok withthe black panther, was so unmeaning, that the majority of the audiencepaid no attention to it, reserving all their interest for the scene inwhich the lion-tamer was to make his appearance.

  This indifference of the public explains the curiosity excited inthe theatre by the arrival of Faringhea and Djalma--a curiosity whichexpressed itself (as at this day, when uncommon foreigners appear inpublic) by a slight murmur and general movement amongst the crowd. Thesprightly, pretty face of Rose-Pompon, always charming, in spite of hersingularly staring dress, in style so ridiculous for such a theatre,and her light and familiar manner towards the handsome Indian whoaccompanied her, increased and animated the general surprise; for, atthis moment, Rose-Pompon, yielding without reserve to a movement ofteasing coquetry, had held up, as we have already stated, her largebunch of roses to Djalma. But the prince, at sight of the landscapewhich reminded him of his country, instead of appearing sensible to thispretty, provocation, remained for some minutes as in a dream, with hiseyes fixed upon the stage. Then Rose-Pompon began to beat time on thefront of the box with her bouquet, whilst the somewhat too visiblemovement of her pretty shoulders showed that this devoted dancer wasthinking of fast-life dances, as the orchestra struck up a more livelystrain.

  Placed directly opposite the box in which Faringhea, Djalma, and RosePompon had just taken their seats, Lady Morinval soon perceivedthe arrival of these two personages, and particularly the eccentriccoquetries of Rose-Pompon. Immediately, the young marchioness, leaningover towards Mdlle. de Cardoville, who was still absorbed in memoriesineffable, said to her, laughing: "My dear, the most amusing part of theperformance is not upon the stage. Look just opposite."

  "Just opposite?" repeated Adrienne, mechanically: and, turning towardsLady Morinval with an air of surprise, she glanced in the directionpointed out.

  She looked--what did she see?--Djalma seated by the side of a youngwoman, who was familiarly offering to his sense of smell the perfumeof her bouquet. Amazed, struck almost literally to the heart, as by anelectric shock, swift, sharp, and painful, Adrienne became deadly pale.From instinct, she shut her eyes for a second, in order not to see--asmen try to ward off the dagger, which, having once dealt the blow,threatens to strike again. Then suddenly, to this feeling of griefsucceeded a reflection, terrible both to her love and to her woundedpride.

  "Djalma is present with this woman, though he must have received myletter," she said to herself,--"wherein he was informed of the happinessthat awaited him."

  At the idea of so cruel an insult, a blush of shame and indignationdisplaced Adrienne's paleness, who overwhelmed by this sad reality, saidto herself: "Rodin did not deceive me."

  We abandon all idea of picturing the lightning-like rapidity of certainemotions which in a moment may torture--may kill you in the space of aminute. Thus Adrienne was precipitated from the most radiant happinessto the lowest depths of an abyss of the most heart-rending grief, inless than a second; for a second had hardly elapsed before she repliedto Lady Morinval: "What is there, then, so curious, opposite to us, mydear Julia?"

  This evasive question gave Adrienne time to recover her self-possession.Fortunately, thanks to the thick folds of hair which almost entirelyconcealed her cheeks, the rapid and sudden changes from pallor to blushescaped the notice of Lady Morinval, who gayly replied: "What, my dear,do you not perceive those East Indians, who have just entered the boximmediately opposite to ours? There, just before us!"

  "Yes, I see them; but what then?" replied Adrienne, in a firm tone.

  "And don't you observe anything remarkable?" said the marchioness.

  "Don't be too hard, ladies," laughingly interposed the marquis; "weought to allow the poor foreigners some little indulgence. They areignorant of our manners and customs; were it not for that, they wouldnever appear in the face of all Paris in such dubious company."

  "Indeed," said Adrienne, with a bitter smile, "their simplicity istouching; we must pity them."

  "And, unfortunately, the girl is charming, spite of her low dress andbare arms," said the marchioness; "she cannot be more than sixteen orseventeen at most. Look at her, my dear Adrienne; what a pity!"

  "It is one of your charitable days, my dear Julia," answered Adrienne;"we are to pity the Indians, to pity this creature, and--pray, whom elseare we to pity?"

  "We will not pity that handsome Indian, in his red-and-gold turban,"said the marquis, laughing, "for, if this goes on, the girl with thecherry colored ribbons will be giving him a kiss. See how she leanstowards her sultan."

  "They are very amusing," said the marchioness, sharing the hilarityof her husband, and looking at Rose-Pompom through her glass; then sheresumed, in about a minute, addressing herself to Adrienne: "I am quitecertain of one thing. Notwithstanding her giddy airs, that girl is veryfond of her Indian. I just saw a look that expresses a great deal."

  "Why so much penetration, my dear Julia?" said Adrienne, mildly; "whatinterest have we to read the heart of that girl?"

  "Why, if she loves her sultan, she is quite in the right," said themarquis, looking through his opera-glass in turn; "for, in my wholelife, I never saw a more handsome fellow than that Indian. I can onlycatch his side-face, but the profile is pure and fine as an antiquecameo. Do you not think so?" added the marquis, leaning towardsAdrienne. "Of course, it is only as a matter of art, that I permitmyself to ask you the question."

  "As a work of art," answered Adrienne, "it is certainly very fine."

  "But see!" said the marchioness; "how impertinent the little creatureis!--She is actually staring at us."

  "Well!" said the marquis; "and she is actually laying her hand quiteunceremoniously on her sultan's shoulder, to make him share, no doubt,in her admiration of you ladies."

  In fact, Djalma, until now occupied with the contemplation of thescene which reminded him of his country, had remained insensible to theenticements of Rose-Pompon, and had not yet perceived Adrienne.

  "Well, now!" said Rose-Pompon, bustling herself about in front of thebox, and continuing to stare at Mdlle. de Cardoville, for it was she,and not the marchioness, who now drew her attention; "that is somethingquite out of the common way--a pretty woman, with red hair; but suchsweet red, it must be owned. Look, Prince Charming!"

  And so saying, she tapped Djalma lightly on the shoulder; he started atthese words, turned round, and for the first time perceived Mdlle. deCardoville.

  Though he had been almost prepared for this meeting, the prince was soviolently affected by it, that he was about involuntarily to rise, ina state of the utmost confusion; but he felt the iron hand of Faringhealaid heavily on his shoulder, and heard him whisper in Hindostanee:"Courage! and by to-morrow she will be at your feet."

  As Djalma still struggled to rise, the half-caste added to restrain him:"Just now, she grew pale and red with jealousy. No weakness, or all islost!"

  "So! there you are again, talking your dreadful gibberish," said RosePompon, turning round towards Faringhea. "First of all, it is notpolite; and then the language is so odd, that one might suppose you werecracking nuts."

  "I spoke of you to my master," said the half-caste; "he is preparing asurprise for you."

  "A surprise? oh! that is different. Only make haste--do you hear, PrinceCharming!" added she, looking tenderly at Djalma.

  "My heart is breaking," said Djalma, in a hollow voice to Faringhea,still using the language of India.

  "But to-morrow it will bound with joy and love," answered thehalf-caste. "It is only by disdain that you can conquer a proud woman.To-morrow, I tell you, she will be trembling, confused, supplicating, atyour feet!"

  "To-morrow, she will hate me like death!" replied the prince,mournfully.

  "Yes, were she now to see you weak and cowardly. It is now too late todraw back; look full at her, take the nosegay from this girl, and raiseit to your lips. Instantly, you will see yonder woman, proud as she is,grow pale and re
d, as just now. Then will you believe me?"

  Reduced by despair to make almost any attempt, and fascinated, in spiteof himself, by the diabolical hints of Faringhea, Djalma looked for asecond full at Mdlle. de Cardoville; then, with a trembling hand he tookthe bouquet from Rose-Pompon, and, again looking at Adrienne, pressed itto his lips.

  Upon this insolent bravado, Mdlle. de Cardoville could not restrain sosudden and visible a pang, that the prince was struck by it.

  "She is yours," said the half-caste, to him. "Did you see, my lord, howshe trembled with jealousy?--Only have courage! and she is yours. Shewill soon prefer you to that handsome young man behind her--for it is hewhom she has hitherto fancied herself in love with."

  As if the half-caste had guessed the movement of rage and hatred, whichthis revelation would excite in the heart of the prince, he hastilyadded: "Calmness and disdain! Is it not his turn now to hate you?"

  The prince restrained himself, and drew his hand across his foreheadwhich glowed with anger.

  "There now! what are you telling him, that vexes him so?" said RosePompon to Faringhea, with pouting lip. Then, addressing Djalma, shecontinued: "Come, Prince Charming, as they say in the fairy-tale, giveme back my flowers."

  As she took it again, she added: "You have kissed it, and I could almosteat it." Then, with a sigh, and a passionate glance at Djalma, she saidsoftly to herself: "That monster Ninny Moulin did not deceive me. Allthis is quite proper; I have not even that to reproach myself with." Andwith her little white teeth, she bit at a rosy nail of her right hand,from which she had just drawn the glove.

  It is hardly necessary to say, that Adrienne's letter had not beendelivered to the prince, and that he had not gone to pass the day in thecountry with Marshal Simon. During the three days in which Montbron hadnot seen Djalma, Faringhea had persuaded him, that, by affecting anotherpassion, he would bring Mdlle. de Cardoville to terms. With regardto Djalma's presence at the theatre, Rodin had learned from her maid,Florine, that her mistress was to go in the evening to the Porte-SaintMartin. Before Djalma had recognized her, Adrienne, who felt herstrength failing her, was on the point of quitting the theatre; the man,whom she had hitherto placed so high, whom she had regarded as a heroand a demi-god and whom she had imagined plunged in such dreadfuldespair, that, led by the most tender pity, she had written to him withsimple frankness, that a sweet hope might calm his grief--replied toa generous mark of sincerity and love, by making himself a ridiculousspectacle with a creature unworthy of him. What incurable wounds forAdrienne's pride! It mattered little, whether Djalma knew or not, thatshe would be a spectator of the indignity. But when she saw herselfrecognized by the prince, when he carried the insult so far as to lookfull at her, and, at the same time, raise to his lips the creature'sbouquet who accompanied him, Adrienne was seized with noble indignation,and felt sufficient courage to remain: instead of closing her eyes toevidence, she found a sort of barbarous pleasure in assisting at theagony and death of her pure and divine love. With head erect, proud andflashing eye, flushed cheek, and curling lip, she looked in her turn atthe prince with disdainful steadiness. It was with a sardonic smile thatshe said to the marchioness, who, like many others of the spectatorswas occupied with what was passing in the stage-box: "This revoltingexhibition of savage manners is at least in accordance with the rest ofthe performance."

  "Certainly," said the marchioness; "and my dear uncle will have lost,perhaps, the most amusing part."

  "Montbron?" said Adrienne, hastily, with hardly repressed bitterness;"yes, he will regret not having seen all. I am impatient for hisarrival. Is it not to him that I am indebted for his charming evening?"

  Perhaps Madame de Morinval would have remarked the expression of bitterirony, that Adrienne could not altogether dissemble, if suddenly ahoarse and prolonged roar had net attracted her attention, as wellas that of the rest of the audience, who had hitherto been quiteindifferent to the scenes intended for an introduction to the appearanceof Morok. Every eye was now turned instinctively towards the cavernsituated to the left of the stage, just below Mdlle. de Cardoville'sbox; a thrill of curiosity ran through the house. A second roar, deeperand more sonorous, and apparently expressive of more irritation thanthe first, now rose from the cave, the mouth of which was half-hiddenby artificial brambles, made so as to be easily put on one side. At thissound, the Englishman stood up in his little box, leaned half over thefront, and began to rub his hands with great energy; then, remainingperfectly motionless, he fixed his large, green, glittering eyes on themouth of the cavern.

  At these ferocious howlings, Djalma also had started, notwithstandingthe frenzy of love, hate, and jealousy, to which he was a prey. Thesight of this forest, and the roarings of the panther, filled him withdeep emotion, for they recalled the remembrance of his country, and ofthose great hunts which, like war, have their own terrible excitement.Had he suddenly heard the horns and gongs of his father's army soundingto the charge, he could not have been transported with more savageardor. And now deep growls, like distant thunder, almost drowned theroar of the panther. The lion and tiger, Judas and Cain answered herfrom their dens at the back of the stage. On this frightful concert,with which his ears had been familiar in the midst of the solitudes ofIndia, when he lay encamped, for the purposes of the chase or of war,Djalma's blood boiled in his veins. His eyes sparkled with a wild ardor.Leaning a little forward, with both hands pressed on the front of thebox, his whole body trembled with a convulsive shudder. The audience,the theatre, Adrienne herself no longer existed for him; he was in aforest of his own lands, tracking the tiger.

  Then there mingled with his beauty so intrepid and ferocious anexpression, that Rose-Pompon looked at him with a sort of terror andpassionate admiration. For the first time in her life, perhaps, herpretty blue eyes, generally so gay and mischievous; expressed a seriousemotion. She could not explain what she felt; but her heart seemedfrightened, and beat violently, as though some calamity were at hand.

  Yielding to a movement of involuntary fear, she seized Djalma by thearm, and said to him: "Do not stare so into that cavern; you frightenme."

  Djalma did not hear what she said.

  "Here he is! here he is!" murmured the crowd, almost with one voice, asMorok appeared at the back of the stage.

  Dressed as we have described, Morok now carried in addition a bow anda long quiver full of arrows. He slowly descended the line of paintedrocks, which came sloping down towards the centre of the stage. Fromtime to time, he stopped as if to listen, and appeared to advance withcaution. Looking from one side to the other, his eyes involuntarilyencountered the large, green eyes of the Englishman, whose box was closeto the cavern. Instantly the lion-tamer's countenance was contracted inso frightful a manner, that Lady Morinval, who was examining him closelywith the aid of an excellent glass, said hastily to Adrienne: "My dear,the man is afraid. Some misfortune will happen."

  "How can accidents happen," said Adrienne, with a sardonic smile,"in the midst of this brilliant crowd, so well dressed and full ofanimation! Misfortunes here, this evening! why, dear Julia, you do notthink it. It is in darkness and solitude that misfortunes come--never inthe midst of a joyous crowd, and in all this blaze of light."

  "Good gracious, Adrienne! take care!" cried the marchioness, unable torepress an exclamation of alarm, and seizing her arm, as if to draw hercloser; "do you not see it?" And with a trembling hand, she pointed tothe cavern's mouth. Adrienne hastily bent forward, and looked in thatdirection. "Take care, do not lean so forward!" exclaimed Lady Morinval.

  "Your terrors are nonsensical, my dear," said the marquis to his wife."The panther is securely chained; and even were it to break its chains(which is impossible), we are here beyond its reach."

  A long murmur of trembling curiosity here ran through the house, andevery eye was intently fixed on the cavern. From amongst the artificialbrambles, which she abruptly pushed aside with her broad chest, theblack panther suddenly appeared. Twice she stretched forth her flathead, illumined by yellow
, flaming eyes; then, half-opening herblood-red jaws, she uttered another roar, and exhibited two rows offormidable fangs. A double iron chain, and a collar also of iron,painted black, blended with the ebon shades of her hide, and with thedarkness of the cavern. The illusion was complete, and the terribleanimal seemed to be at liberty in her den.

  "Ladies," said the marquis, suddenly, "look at those Indians. Theiremotion makes them superb!"

  In fact, the sight of the panther had raised the wild ardor of Djalmato its utmost pitch. His eyes sparkled in their pearly orbits like twoblack diamonds; his upper lip was curled convulsively with an expressionof animal ferocity, as if he were in a violent paroxysm of rage.

  Faringhea, now leaning on the front of the box, was also greatlyexcited, by reason of a strange coincidence. "That black panther of sorare a breed," thought he, "which I see here at Paris, upon the stage,must be the very one that the Malay"--the Thug who had tatooed Djalmaat Java during his sleep--"took quite young from his den, and sold to aEuropean captain. Bowanee's power is everywhere!" added the Thug, in hissanguinary superstition.

  "Do you not think," resumed the marquis, addressing Adrienne, "thatthose Indians are really splendid in their present attitude?"

  "Perhaps they may have seen such a hunt in their own country," saidAdrienne, as if she would recall and brave the most cruel remembrances.

  "Adrienne," said the marchioness, suddenly, in an agitated voice, "thelion-tamer has now come nearer--is not his countenance fearful to lookat?--I tell you he is afraid."

  "In truth," observed the marquis, this time very seriously, "he isdreadfully pale, and seems to grow worse every minute, the nearer heapproaches this side. It is said that, were he to lose his presence ofmind for a single moment, he would run the greatest danger."

  "O! it would be horrible!" cried the marchioness, addressing Adrienne,"if he were wounded--there--under our eyes!"

  "Every wound does not kill," replied her friend, with an accent of suchcold indifference, that the marchioness looked at her with surprise, andsaid to her: "My dear girl, what you say there is cruel!"

  "It is the air of the place that acts on me," answered Adrienne, with anicy smile.

  "Look! look! the lion-tamer is about to shoot his arrow at the panther,"said the marquis, suddenly. "No doubt, he will next perform the hand tohand grapple."

  Morok was at this moment in front of the stage, but he had yet totraverse its entire breadth to reach the cavern's mouth. He stopped aninstant, adjusted an arrow to the string, knelt down behind a mass ofrock, took deliberate aim--and then the arrow hissed across the stage,and was lost in the depths of the cavern, into which the pantherhad retired, after showing for a moment her threatening head to theaudience. Hardly had the arrow disappeared, than Death, purposelyirritated by Goliath (who was invisible) sent forth a howl of rage, asif she had been really wounded. Morok's actions became so expressive,he evinced so naturally his joy at having hit the wild beast, thata tempest of applause burst from every quarter of the house. Then,throwing away his bow, he drew a dagger from his girdle, took it betweenhis teeth, and began to crawl forward on hands and knees, as though hemeant to surprise the wounded panther in his den. To render the illusionperfect, Death, again excited by Goliath, who struck him with an ironbar, sent forth frightful howlings from the depths of the cavern.

  The gloomy aspect of the forest, only half-lighted with a reddish glare,was so effective--the howlings of the panther were so furious--thegestures, attitude, and countenance of Morok were so expressive ofterror, that the audience, attentive and trembling, now maintained aprofound silence. Every one held his breath, and a kind of shudder cameover the spectators, as though they expected some horrible event. Whatgave such a fearful air of truth to the pantomime of Morok, was that,as he approached the cavern step by step, he approached also theEnglishman's box. In spite of himself, the lion-tamer, fascinated byterror, could not take his eyes from the large green eyes of this man,and it seemed as if every one of the abrupt movements which he made incrawling along, was produced by a species of magnetic attraction, causedby the fixed gaze of the fatal wagerer. Therefore, the nearer Morokapproached, the more ghastly and livid he became. At sight of thispantomime, which was no longer acting, but the real expression ofintense fear, the deep and trembling silence which had reigned in thetheatre was once more interrupted by acclamations, with which weremingled the roarings of the panther, and the distant growls of the lionand tiger.

  The Englishman leaned almost out of his box, with a frightful sardonicsmile on his lip, and with his large eyes still fixed, panted forbreath. The perspiration ran down his bald red forehead, as if he hadreally expended an incredible amount of magnetic power in attractingMorok, whom he now saw close to the cavern entrance. The moment wasdecisive. Crouching down with his dagger in his hand, following with eyeand gesture Death's every movement, who, roaring furiously, and openingwide her enormous jaws, seemed determined to guard the entrance ofher den, Morok waited for the moment to rush upon her. There is suchfascination in danger, that Adrienne shared, in spite of herself, thefeeling of painful curiosity, mixed with terror, that thrilled throughall the spectators. Leaning forward like the marchioness, and gazingupon this scene of fearful interest, the lady still held mechanically inher hand the Indian bouquet preserved since the morning. Suddenly,Morok raised a wild shout, as he rushed towards Death, who answered thisexclamation by a dreadful roar, and threw herself upon her master withso much fury, that Adrienne, in alarm, believing the man lost, drewherself back, and covered her fact with her hands. Her flowers slippedfrom her grasp, and, falling upon the stage, rolled into the cavern inwhich Morok was struggling with the panther.

  Quick as lightning, supple and agile as a tiger, yielding to theintoxication of his love, and to the wild ardor excited in him by theroaring of the panther, Djalma sprang at one bound upon the stage, drewhis dagger, and rushed into the cavern to recover Adrienne's nosegay. Atthat instant, Morok, being wounded, uttered a dreadful cry for help; thepanther, rendered still more furious at sight of Djalma, make the mostdesperate efforts to break her chain. Unable to succeed in doing so, sherose upon her hind legs, in order to seize Djalma, then within reach ofher sharp claws. It was only by bending down his head, throwing himselfon his knees, and twice plunging his dagger into her belly with therapidity of lightning, that Djalma escaped certain death. The panthergave a howl, and fell with her whole weight upon the prince. For asecond, during which lasted her terrible agony, nothing was seen but aconfused and convulsive mass of black limbs, and white garmentsstained with blood--and then Djalma rose, pale, bleeding, for he waswounded--and standing erect, his eye flashing with savage pride, hisfoot on the body of the panther, he held in his hand Adrienne's bouquet,and cast towards her a glance which told the intensity of his love.Then only did Adrienne feel her strength fail her--for only superhumancourage had enabled her to watch all the terrible incidents of thestruggle.

  BOOK IX.

  XV. The Constant Wanderer XVI. The Luncheon XVII. Rendering the Account XVIII. The Square of Notre Dame XIX. The Cholera Masquerade XX. The Defiance XXI. Brandy to the Rescue XXII. Memories XXIII. The Poisoner XXIV. In the Cathedral XXV. The Murderers XXVI. The Patient XXVII. The Lure XXVIII. Good News XXIX. The Operation XXX. The Torture XXXI. Vice and Virtue XXXII. Suicide