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

the prince was so

violently affected by it, that he was about involuntarily to rise, in a

state of the utmost confusion; but he felt the iron hand of Faringhea

laid 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 is

lost!"

 

"So! there you are again, talking your dreadful gibberish," said Rose

Pompon, turning round towards Faringhea. "First of all, it is not polite;

and then the language is so odd, that one might suppose you were cracking

nuts."

 

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

surprise for you."

 

"A surprise? oh! that is different. Only make haste--do you hear, Prince

Charming!" 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 the half-caste.

"It is only by disdain that you can conquer a proud woman. To-morrow, I

tell you, she will be trembling, confused, supplicating, at your 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 to

draw back; look full at her, take the nosegay from this girl, and raise

it to your lips. Instantly, you will see yonder woman, proud as she is,

grow pale and red, as just now. Then will you believe me?"

 

Reduced by despair to make almost any attempt, and fascinated, in spite

of himself, by the diabolical hints of Faringhea, Djalma looked for a

second full at Mdlle. de Cardoville; then, with a trembling hand he took

the bouquet from Rose-Pompon, and, again looking at Adrienne, pressed it

to his lips.

 

Upon this insolent bravado, Mdlle. de Cardoville could not restrain so

sudden 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, how

she trembled with jealousy?--Only have courage! and she is yours. She

will soon prefer you to that handsome young man behind her--for it is he

whom she has hitherto fancied herself in love with."

 

As if the half-caste had guessed the movement of rage and hatred, which

this revelation would excite in the heart of the prince, he hastily

added: "Calmness and disdain! Is it not his turn now to hate you?"

 

The prince restrained himself, and drew his hand across his forehead

which glowed with anger.

 

"There now! what are you telling him, that vexes him so?" said Rose

Pompon to Faringhea, with pouting lip. Then, addressing Djalma, she

continued: "Come, Prince Charming, as they say in the fairy-tale, give me

back my flowers."

 

As she took it again, she added: "You have kissed it, and I could almost

eat it." Then, with a sigh, and a passionate glance at Djalma, she said

softly to herself: "That monster Ninny Moulin did not deceive me. All

this is quite proper; I have not even that to reproach myself with." And

with 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 been

delivered to the prince, and that he had not gone to pass the day in the

country with Marshal Simon. During the three days in which Montbron had

not seen Djalma, Faringhea had persuaded him, that, by affecting another

passion, he would bring Mdlle. de Cardoville to terms. With regard to

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-Saint

Martin. Before Djalma had recognized her, Adrienne, who felt her strength

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 hero and a

demi-god and whom she had imagined plunged in such dreadful despair,

that, led by the most tender pity, she had written to him with simple

frankness, that a sweet hope might calm his grief--replied to a generous

mark of sincerity and love, by making himself a ridiculous spectacle with

a creature unworthy of him. What incurable wounds for Adrienne's pride!

It mattered little, whether Djalma knew or not, that she would be a

spectator of the indignity. But when she saw herself recognized by the

prince, when he carried the insult so far as to look full at her, and, at

the same time, raise to his lips the creature's bouquet who accompanied

him, Adrienne was seized with noble indignation, and felt sufficient

courage to remain: instead of closing her eyes to evidence, she found a

sort of barbarous pleasure in assisting at the agony and death of her

pure and divine love. With head erect, proud and flashing eye, flushed

cheek, and curling lip, she looked in her turn at the prince with

disdainful steadiness. It was with a sardonic smile that she said to the

marchioness, who, like many others of the spectators was occupied with

what was passing in the stage-box: "This revolting exhibition of savage

manners is at least in accordance with the rest of the 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 his arrival.

Is it not to him that I am indebted for his charming evening?"

 

Perhaps Madame de Morinval would have remarked the expression of bitter

irony, that Adrienne could not altogether dissemble, if suddenly a hoarse

and prolonged roar had net attracted her attention, as well as that of

the rest of the audience, who had hitherto been quite indifferent to the

scenes intended for an introduction to the appearance of Morok. Every eye

was now turned instinctively towards the cavern situated to the left of

the stage, just below Mdlle. de Cardoville's box; a thrill of curiosity

ran through the house. A second roar, deeper and more sonorous, and

apparently expressive of more irritation than the first, now rose from

the cave, the mouth of which was half-hidden by artificial brambles, made

so as to be easily put on one side. At this sound, the Englishman stood

up in his little box, leaned half over the front, and began to rub his

hands with great energy; then, remaining perfectly motionless, he fixed

his large, green, glittering eyes on the mouth of the cavern.

 

At these ferocious howlings, Djalma also had started, notwithstanding the

frenzy of love, hate, and jealousy, to which he was a prey. The sight of

this forest, and the roarings of the panther, filled him with deep

emotion, for they recalled the remembrance of his country, and of those

great hunts which, like war, have their own terrible excitement. Had he

suddenly heard the horns and gongs of his father's army sounding to the

charge, he could not have been transported with more savage ardor. And

now deep growls, like distant thunder, almost drowned the roar of the

panther. The lion and tiger, Judas and Cain answered her from 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 of India, 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 the box, his whole body

trembled with a convulsive shudder. The audience, the theatre, Adrienne

herself no longer existed for him; he was in a forest of his own lands,

tracking the tiger.

 

Then there mingled with his beauty so intrepid and ferocious an

expression, that Rose-Pompon looked at him with a sort of terror and

passionate admiration. For the first time in her life, perhaps, her

pretty blue eyes, generally so gay and mischievous; expressed a serious

emotion. She could not explain what she felt; but her heart seemed

frightened, and beat violently, as though some calamity were at hand.

 

Yielding to a movement of involuntary fear, she seized Djalma by the arm,

and said to him: "Do not stare so into that cavern; you frighten me."

 

Djalma did not hear what she said.

 

"Here he is! here he is!" murmured the crowd, almost with one voice, as

Morok appeared at the back of the stage.

 

Dressed as we have described, Morok now carried in addition a bow and a

long quiver full of arrows. He slowly descended the line of painted

rocks, which came sloping down towards the centre of the stage. From time

to time, he stopped as if to listen, and appeared to advance with

caution. Looking from one side to the other, his eyes involuntarily

encountered the large, green eyes of the Englishman, whose box was close

to the cavern. Instantly the lion-tamer's countenance was contracted in

so frightful a manner, that Lady Morinval, who was examining him closely

with 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 of animation!

Misfortunes here, this evening! why, dear Julia, you do not think it. It

is in darkness and solitude that misfortunes come--never in the midst of

a joyous crowd, and in all this blaze of light."

 

"Good gracious, Adrienne! take care!" cried the marchioness, unable to

repress an exclamation of alarm, and seizing her arm, as if to draw her

closer; "do you not see it?" And with a trembling hand, she pointed to

the cavern's mouth. Adrienne hastily bent forward, and looked in that

direction. "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, and

every eye was intently fixed on the cavern. From amongst the artificial

brambles, which she abruptly pushed aside with her broad chest, the black

panther suddenly appeared. Twice she stretched forth her flat head,

illumined by yellow, flaming eyes; then, half-opening her blood-red jaws,

she uttered another roar, and exhibited two rows of formidable fangs. A

double iron chain, and a collar also of iron, painted black, blended with

the ebon shades of her hide, and with the darkness of the cavern. The

illusion was complete, and the terrible animal seemed to be at liberty in

her den.

 

"Ladies," said the marquis, suddenly, "look at those Indians. Their

emotion makes them superb!"

 

In fact, the sight of the panther had raised the wild ardor of Djalma to

its utmost pitch. His eyes sparkled in their pearly orbits like two black

diamonds; his upper lip was curled convulsively with an expression of

animal ferocity, as if he were in a violent paroxysm of rage.

 

Faringhea, now leaning on the front of the box, was also greatly excited,

by reason of a strange coincidence. "That black panther of so rare 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 Djalma at Java

during his sleep--"took quite young from his den, and sold to a European

captain. Bowanee's power is everywhere!" added the Thug, in his

sanguinary superstition.

 

"Do you not think," resumed the marquis, addressing Adrienne, "that those

Indians are really splendid in their present attitude?"

 

"Perhaps they may have seen such a hunt in their own country," said

Adrienne, as if she would recall and brave the most cruel remembrances.

 

"Adrienne," said the marchioness, suddenly, in an agitated voice, "the

lion-tamer has now come nearer--is not his countenance fearful to look

at?--I tell you he is afraid."

 

"In truth," observed the marquis, this time very seriously, "he is

dreadfully pale, and seems to grow worse every minute, the nearer he

approaches this side. It is said that, were he to lose his presence of

mind 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 such

cold indifference, that the marchioness looked at her with surprise, and

said 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 an

icy smile.

 

"Look! look! the lion-tamer is about to shoot his arrow at the panther,"

said the marquis,