The Wandering Jew, Book VIII.. by Eugene Sue (feel good novels txt) 📕

in her most coaxing voice, "Very slowly, I beg

of you."

 

de Montbron then read the following passage from the journal of a

traveller in India: "'When I was at Bombay, in 1829, I constantly heard

amongst the English there, of a young hero, the son of--'"

 

The count having paused a second, by reason of the barbarous spelling of

the name of Djalma's father, Adrienne immediately said to him, in her

soft voice: "The son of Kadja-sing."

 

"What a memory!" said the count, with a smile. And he resumed: "'A young

hero, the son of Kadja-sing, king of Mundi. On his return from a distant

and sanguinary expedition amongst the mountains against this Indian king,

Colonel Drake was filled with enthusiasm for this son of Kadja-sing,

known as Djalma. Hardly beyond the age of childhood, this young prince

has in the course of this implacable war given proofs of such chivalrous

intrepidity, and of so noble a character, that his father has been

surnamed the Father of the Generous.'"

 

"That is a touching custom," said the count. "To recompense the father,

as it were, by giving him a surname in honor of his son, is a great idea.

But how strange you should have met with this book!" added the count, in

surprise. "I can understand; there is matter here to inflame the coolest

head."

 

"Oh! you will see, you will see," said Adrienne.

 

The count continued to read: "'Colonel Drake, one of the bravest and best

officers of the English army, said yesterday, in my presence, that having

been dangerously wounded, and taken prisoner by Prince Djalma, after an

energetic resistance, he had been conveyed to the camp established in the

village of--"

 

Here there was the same hesitation on the part of the count, on seeing a

still more barbarous name than the first; so, not wishing to try the

adventure, he paused, and said to Adrienne, "Now really, I give this up."

 

"And yet it is so easy!" replied Adrienne; and she pronounced with

inexpressible softness, a name in itself soft, "The village of

Shumshabad."

 

"You appear to have an infallible process for remembering geographical

names," said the count, continuing: "'Once arrived at the camp, Colonel

Drake received the kindest hospitality, and Prince Djalma treated him

with the respect of a son. It was there that the colonel became

acquainted with some facts, which carried to the highest pitch his

enthusiasm for prince Djalma. I heard him relate the two following.

 

"'In one of the battles, the prince was accompanied by a young Indian of

about twelve years of age, whom he loved tenderly, and who served him as

a page, following him on horseback to carry his spare weapons. This child

was idolized by its mother; just as they set out on the expedition, she

had entrusted her son to Prince Djalma's care, saying, with a stoicism

worthy of antiquity, "Let him be your brother." "He shall be my brother,"

had replied the prince. In the height of a disastrous defeat, the child

is severely wounded, and his horse killed; the prince, at peril of his

life, notwithstanding the perception of a forced retreat, disengages him,

and places him on the croup of his own horse; they are pursued; a

musket-ball strikes their steed, who is just able to reach a jungle, in

the midst of which, after some vain efforts, he falls exhausted. The

child is unable to walk, but the prince carries him in his arms, and

hides with him in the thickest part of the jungle. The English arrive,

and begin their search; but the two victims escape. After a night and a

day of marches, counter-marches, stratagems, fatigues, unheard-of perils,

the prince, still, carrying the child, one of whose legs is broken,

arrives at his father's camp, and says, with the utmost simplicity, "I

had promised his mother that I would act a brother's part by him--and I

have done so."'

 

"That is admirable!" cried the count.

 

"Go on--pray go on!" said Adrienne, drying a tear, without removing her

eyes from the bas-relief, which she continued to contemplate with growing

adoration.

 

The count continued: "'Another time, Prince Djalma, followed by two black

slaves, went, before sunrise, to a very wild spot, to seize a couple of

tiger cubs only a few days old. The den had been previously discovered.

The two old tigers were still abroad. One of the blacks entered the den

by a narrow aperture; the other, aided by Djalma, cut down a tolerably

large tree, to prepare a trap for one of the old tigers. On the side of

the aperture, the cavern was exceedingly steep. The prince mounted to the

top of it with agility, to set his trap, with the aid of the other black.

Suddenly, a dreadful roar was heard; and, in a few bounds, the tigress,

returning from the chase, reached the opening of the den. The black who

was laying the trap with the prince had his skull fractured by her bite;

the tree, falling across the entrance, prevented the female from

penetrating the cavern, and at the same time stopped the exit of the

black who had seized the cubs.

 

"'About twenty feet higher, upon a ledge of rock, the prince lay flat on

the ground, looking down upon this frightful spectacle. The tigress,

rendered furious by the cries of her little ones, gnawed the hands of the

black, who, from the interior of the den, strove to support the trunk of

the tree, his only rampart, whilst he uttered the most lamentable

outcries.'

 

"It is horrible!" said the count.

 

"Oh! go on! pray go on!" exclaimed Adrienne, with excitement; "you will

see what can be achieved by the heroism of goodness."

 

The count pursued: "'Suddenly the prince seized his dagger between his

teeth, fastened his sash to a block of stone, took his axe in one hand,

and with the other slid down this substitute for a rope; falling a few

steps from the wild beast, he sprang upon her, and, swift as lightning,

dealt her two mortal strokes, just as the black, losing his strength, was

about to drop the trunk of the tree, sure to have been torn to pieces.'"

 

"And you are astonished at his resemblance with the demi-god, to whom

fable itself ascribes no more generous devotion!" cried the young lady,

with still increasing excitement.

 

"I am astonished no longer, I only admire," said the count, in a voice of

emotion; "and, at these two noble instances of heroism, my heart beats

with enthusiasm, as if I were still twenty."

 

"And the, noble heart of this traveller beat like yours at the recital,"

said Adrienne; "you will see."

 

"'What renders so admirable the intrepidity of the prince, is, that,

according to the principle of Indian castes, the life of a slave is of no

importance; thus a king's son, risking his life for the safety of a poor

creature, so generally despised, obeyed an heroic and truly Christian

instinct of charity, until then unheard of in this country."

 

"'Two such actions," said Colonel Drake, with good reason, "are

sufficient to paint the man;" it is with a feeling of profound respect

and admiration, therefore, that I, an obscure traveller, have written the

name of Prince Djalma in my book; and at the same time, I have

experienced a kind of sorrow, when I have asked myself what would be the

future fate of this prince, buried in the depths of a savage country,

always devastated by war. However humble may be the homage that I pay to

this character, worthy of the heroic age, his name will at least be

repeated with generous enthusiasm by all those who have hearts that beat

in sympathy with what is great and noble.'"

 

"And just now, when I read those simple and touching lines," resumed

Adrienne, I could not forbear pressing my lips to the name of the

traveller."

 

"Yes; he is such as I thought him," cried the count, with still more

emotion, as he returned the book to Adrienne, who rose, with a grave and

touching air, and said to him: "It was thus I wished you to know him,

that you might understand my adoration; for this courage, this heroic

goodness, I had guessed beforehand, when I was an involuntary listener to

his conversation. From that moment, I knew him to be generous as

intrepid, tender and sensitive as energetic and resolute; and when I saw

him so marvellously beautiful--so different, in the noble character of

his countenance, and even in the style of his garments, from all I had

hitherto met with--when I saw the impression that I made upon him, and

which I perhaps felt still more violently--I knew that my whole life was

bound up with his love."

 

"And now, what are your plans?"

 

"Divine, radiant as my heart. When he learns his happiness, I wish that

Djalma should feel dazzled as I do, so as to prevent my gazing on my sun;

for I repeat, that until tomorrow will be a century to me. Yes, it is

strange! I should have thought that after such a discovery, I should feel

the want of being left alone, plunged in an ocean of delicious dreams.

But no! from this time till to-morrow--I dread solitude--I feel a kind of

feverish impatience--uneasy--ardent--Oh! where is the beneficent fairy,

that, touching me with her wand, will lull me into slumber till

to-morrow!"

 

"I will be that beneficent fairy," said the count, smiling.

 

"You?"

 

"Yes, I."

 

"And how so?"

 

"The power of my wand is this: I will relieve you from a portion of your

thoughts by making them materially visible."

 

"Pray explain yourself."

 

"And my plan will have another advantage for you. Listen to me; you are

so happy now that you can hear anything. Your odious aunt, and her

equally odious friends, are spreading the report that your residence with

Dr. Baleinier--"

 

"Was rendered necessary by the derangement of my mind," said Adrienne,

with a smile; "I expected that."

 

"It is stupid enough; but, as your resolution to live alone makes many

envious of you, and many hostile, you must feel that there will be no

want of persons ready to believe the most absurd calumny possible."

 

"I hope as much. To pass for mad in the eyes of fools is very

flattering."

 

"Yes; but to prove to fools that they are fools, and that in the face of

all Paris, is much more amusing. Now, people begin to talk of your

absence; you have given up your daily rides; for some time my niece has

appeared alone in our box at the Opera; you wish to kill the time till

to-morrow--well! here is an excellent opportunity. It is two o'clock; at

halfpast three, my niece will come in the carriage; the weather is

splendid; there is sure to be a crowd in the Bois de Boulogne. You can

take a delightful ride, and be seen by everybody. Then, as the air and

movement will have calmed your fever of happiness, I will commence my

magic this evening, and take you to India."

 

"To India?"

 

"Into the midst of one of those wild forests, in which roar the lion, the

panther, and the tiger. We will have this heroic combat, which so moved

you just now, under our own eyes, in all its terrible reality."

 

"Really, my dear count, you must be joking."

 

"Not at all; I promise to show you real wild beasts, formidable tenants

of the country of our demigod--growling tigers--roaring lions--do you not

think that will be better than books?"

 

"But how?"

 

"Come! I must give you the secret of my supernatural power. On returning

from your ride, you shall dine with my niece, and we will go together to

a very curious spectacle now exhibiting at the Porte-Saint-Martin

Theatre. A most extraordinary lion-tamer there shows you a number of wild

beasts, in a state of nature, in the midst of a forest (here only

commences the illusion), and has fierce combats with them all--tigers,

lions, and panthers. All Paris is crowding to these representations, and

all Paris will see you there, more charming than ever."

 

"I accept your offer," said Adrienne, with childish delight. "Yes, you

are right. I feel a strange pleasure in beholding these ferocious

monsters, who will remind me of those that my demi-god so heroically

overcame. I accept also, because, for the first time in my life, I am

anxious to be admired--even by everybody. I accept finally because--"

Here Mdlle. de Cardoville was interrupted by a low knock at the door, and

by the entrance of Florine, who announced M. Rodin.