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

watch for the death of the lion-tamer (what a horrible

death!) with unshaken confidence. Above the dark box of the Englishman,

affording a graceful contrast, were seated the Morinvals and Mdlle. de

Cardoville. The latter was placed nearest the stage. Her head was

uncovered, and she wore a dress of sky-blue China crepe, ornamented at

the bosom with a brooch of the finest Oriental pearls--nothing more; yet

Adrienne, thus attired, was charming. She held in her hand an enormous

bouquet, composed of the rarest flowers of India: the stephanotis and the

gardenia mingled the dead white of their blossoms with the purple

hibiscus and Java amaryllis.

 

Madame de Morinval, seated on the opposite side of the box, was dressed

with equal taste and simplicity; Morinval, a fair and very handsome young

man, of elegant appearance, was behind the two ladies. M. de Montbron was

expected to arrive every moment. The reader will please to recollect that

the stage-box to the right of the audience, opposite Adrienne's, had

remained till then quite empty. The stage represented one of the gigantic

forests of India. In the background, tall exotic trees rose in spiral or

spreading forms, among rugged masses of perpendicular rocks, with here

and there glimpses of a tropical sky. The side-scenes formed tufts of

trees, interspersed with rocks; and at the side which was immediately

beneath Adrienne's box appeared the irregular opening of a deep and

gloomy cavern, round which were heaped huge blocks of granite, as if

thrown together by some convulsion of nature. This scenery, full of a

wild and savage grandeur, was wonderfully "built up," so as to make the

illusion as complete as possible; the footlights were lowered, and being

covered with a purple shade, threw over this landscape a subdued reddish

light, which increased the gloomy and startling effect of the whole.

Adrienne, leaning forward from the box, with cheeks slightly flushed,

sparkling eyes, and throbbing heart, sought to trace in this scene the

solitary forest described by the traveller who had eulogized Djalma's

generosity and courage, when he threw himself upon a ferocious tigress to

save the life of a poor black slave. Chance coincided wonderfully indeed

with her recollections. Absorbed in the contemplation of the scenery and

the thoughts it awakened in her heart, she paid no attention to what was

passing in the house. And yet something calculated to excite curiosity

was taking place in the opposite stage-box.

 

The door of this box opened. A man about forty years of age, of a yellow

complexion, entered; he was clothed after the East Indian fashion, in a

long robe of orange silk, bound round the waist with a green sash, and he

wore a small white turban. He placed two chairs at the front of the box;

and, having glanced round the house for a moment, he started, his black

eyes sparkled, and he went out quickly. That man was Faringhea. His

apparition caused surprise and curiosity in the theatre; the majority of

the spectators not having, like Adrienne, a thousand reasons for being

absorbed in the contemplation of a picturesque set scene. The public

attention was still more excited when they saw the box which Faringhea

had just left, entered by a youth of rare beauty, also dressed Oriental

fashion, in a long robe of white Cashmere with flowing sleeves, with a

scarlet turban striped with gold on his head, and a sash to correspond,

in which was stuck a long dagger, glittering with precious stones. This

young man was Prince Djalma. For an instant he remained standing at the

door, and cast a look of indifference upon the immense theatre, crowded

with people; then, stepping forward with a majestic and tranquil air, the

prince seated himself negligently on one of the chairs, and, turning his

head in a few moments towards the entrance, appeared surprised at not

seeing some person whom he doubtless expected. This person appeared at

length; the boxkeeper had been assisting her to take off her cloak. She

was a charming, fair-haired girl, attired with more show than taste, in a

dress of white silk, with broad cherry-colored stripes, made ultra

fashionably low, and with short sleeves; a large bow of cherry-colored

ribbon was placed on each side of her light hair, and set off the

prettiest, sprightliest, most wilful little face in the world.

 

It was Rose-Pompon. Her pretty arms were partly covered by long white

gloves, and ridiculously loaded with bracelets: in her hand she carried

an enormous bouquet of roses.

 

Far from imitating the calm demeanor of Djalma, Rose-Pompon skipped into

the box, moved the chairs about noisily, and fidgeted on her seat for

some time, to display her fine dress; then, without being in the least

intimidated by the presence of the brilliant assembly, she, with a little

coquettish air, held her bouquet towards Djalma, that he might smell it,

and appeared finally to establish herself on her seat. Faringhea came in,

shut the door of the box, and seated himself behind the prince. Adrienne,

still completely absorbed in the contemplation of the Indian forest, and

in her own sweet thoughts, had not observed the newcomers. As she was

turning her head completely towards the stage, and Djalma could not, for

the moment, see even her profile, he, on his side, had not recognized

Mdlle. de Cardoville.

CHAPTER XIV. (DEATH.)

 

The pantomime opening, by which was introduced the combat of Morok with

the black panther, was so unmeaning, that the majority of the audience

paid no attention to it, reserving all their interest for the scene in

which the lion-tamer was to make his appearance.

 

This indifference of the public explains the curiosity excited in the

theatre by the arrival of Faringhea and Djalma--a curiosity which

expressed itself (as at this day, when uncommon foreigners appear in

public) by a slight murmur and general movement amongst the crowd. The

sprightly, pretty face of Rose-Pompon, always charming, in spite of her

singularly staring dress, in style so ridiculous for such a theatre, and

her light and familiar manner towards the handsome Indian who accompanied

her, increased and animated the general surprise; for, at this moment,

Rose-Pompon, yielding without reserve to a movement of teasing coquetry,

had held up, as we have already stated, her large bunch of roses to

Djalma. But the prince, at sight of the landscape which reminded him of

his country, instead of appearing sensible to this pretty, provocation,

remained for some minutes as in a dream, with his eyes fixed upon the

stage. Then Rose-Pompon began to beat time on the front of the box with

her bouquet, whilst the somewhat too visible movement of her pretty

shoulders showed that this devoted dancer was thinking of fast-life

dances, as the orchestra struck up a more lively strain.

 

Placed directly opposite the box in which Faringhea, Djalma, and Rose

Pompon had just taken their seats, Lady Morinval soon perceived the

arrival of these two personages, and particularly the eccentric

coquetries of Rose-Pompon. Immediately, the young marchioness, leaning

over towards Mdlle. de Cardoville, who was still absorbed in memories

ineffable, said to her, laughing: "My dear, the most amusing part of the

performance is not upon the stage. Look just opposite."

 

"Just opposite?" repeated Adrienne, mechanically: and, turning towards

Lady Morinval with an air of surprise, she glanced in the direction

pointed out.

 

She looked--what did she see?--Djalma seated by the side of a young

woman, who was familiarly offering to his sense of smell the perfume of

her bouquet. Amazed, struck almost literally to the heart, as by an

electric shock, swift, sharp, and painful, Adrienne became deadly pale.

From instinct, she shut her eyes for a second, in order not to see--as

men try to ward off the dagger, which, having once dealt the blow,

threatens to strike again. Then suddenly, to this feeling of grief

succeeded a reflection, terrible both to her love and to her wounded

pride.

 

"Djalma is present with this woman, though he must have received my

letter," she said to herself,--"wherein he was informed of the happiness

that awaited him."

 

At the idea of so cruel an insult, a blush of shame and indignation

displaced Adrienne's paleness, who overwhelmed by this sad reality, said

to herself: "Rodin did not deceive me."

 

We abandon all idea of picturing the lightning-like rapidity of certain

emotions which in a moment may torture--may kill you in the space of a

minute. Thus Adrienne was precipitated from the most radiant happiness to

the lowest depths of an abyss of the most heart-rending grief, in less

than a second; for a second had hardly elapsed before she replied to Lady

Morinval: "What is there, then, so curious, opposite to us, my dear

Julia?"

 

This evasive question gave Adrienne time to recover her self-possession.

Fortunately, thanks to the thick folds of hair which almost entirely

concealed her cheeks, the rapid and sudden changes from pallor to blush

escaped the notice of Lady Morinval, who gayly replied: "What, my dear,

do you not perceive those East Indians, who have just entered the box

immediately 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; "we ought

to allow the poor foreigners some little indulgence. They are ignorant of

our manners and customs; were it not for that, they would never appear in

the face of all Paris in such dubious company."

 

"Indeed," said Adrienne, with a bitter smile, "their simplicity is

touching; we must pity them."

 

"And, unfortunately, the girl is charming, spite of her low dress and

bare arms," said the marchioness; "she cannot be more than sixteen or

seventeen 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 else

are 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 the cherry

colored ribbons will be giving him a kiss. See how she leans towards her

sultan."

 

"They are very amusing," said the marchioness, sharing the hilarity of

her husband, and looking at Rose-Pompom through her glass; then she

resumed, in about a minute, addressing herself to Adrienne: "I am quite

certain of one thing. Notwithstanding her giddy airs, that girl is very

fond of her Indian. I just saw a look that expresses a great deal."

 

"Why so much penetration, my dear Julia?" said Adrienne, mildly; "what

interest have we to read the heart of that girl?"

 

"Why, if she loves her sultan, she is quite in the right," said the

marquis, looking through his opera-glass in turn; "for, in my whole life,

I never saw a more handsome fellow than that Indian. I can only catch his

side-face, but the profile is pure and fine as an antique cameo. Do you

not think so?" added the marquis, leaning towards Adrienne. "Of course,

it is only as a matter of art, that I permit myself 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 creature

is!--She is actually staring at us."

 

"Well!" said the marquis; "and she is actually laying her hand quite

unceremoniously 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 the scene

which reminded him of his country, had remained insensible to the

enticements of Rose-Pompon, and had not yet perceived Adrienne.

 

"Well, now!" said Rose-Pompon, bustling herself about in front of the

box, and continuing to stare at Mdlle. de Cardoville, for it was she, and

not the marchioness, who now drew her attention; "that is something quite

out of the common way--a pretty woman, with red hair; but such sweet red,

it must be owned. Look, Prince Charming!"

 

And so saying, she tapped Djalma lightly on the shoulder; he started at

these words, turned round, and for the first time perceived Mdlle. de

Cardoville.

 

Though he had been almost prepared for this meeting,