Le Juif errant. English

  CHAPTER LXV. THE NUPTIAL BED.

  The mild light of a circular lamp of oriental alabaster, suspended fromthe ceiling by three silver chains, spreads a faint lustre through thebed-chamber of Adrienne de Cardoville.

  The large ivory bedstead, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, is not at presentoccupied, and almost disappears beneath snowy curtains of laceand muslin, transparent and vapory as clouds. On the white marblemantlepiece, from beneath which the fire throws ruddy beams on theermine 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 everycorner of the bed-chamber. All without is calm and silent. It is hardlyeleven o'clock. The ivory door, opposite to that which leads to thebath-room, opens slowly. Djalma appears. Two hours have elapsed since hecommitted a double murder, and believed that he had killed Adrienne in afit of jealous fury.

  The servants of Mdlle. de Cardoville, accustomed to Djalma's dailyvisits, no longer announced his arrival, and admitted him withoutdifficulty, having received no orders to the contrary from theirmistress. He had never before entered the bed-chamber, but, knowing thatthe apartment the lady occupied was on the first floor of the house,he had easily found it. As he entered that virgin sanctuary, hiscountenance was pretty calm, so well did he control his feelings, only aslight paleness tarnished the brilliant amber of his complexion. He worethat day a robe of purple cashmere, striped with silver--a color whichdid not show the stains of blood upon it. Djalma closed the door afterhim, and tore off his white turban, for it seemed to him as if a band ofhot iron encircled his brow. His dark hair streamed around his handsomeface. He crossed his arms upon his bosom, and looked slowly about him.When his eyes rested on Adrienne's bed, he started suddenly, and hischeek grew purple. Then he drew his hand across his brow, hung down hishead, and remained standing for some moments in a dream, motionless as astatue.

  After a mournful silence of a few seconds' duration, Djalma fell uponhis knees, and raised his eyes to heaven. The Asiatic's countenance wasbathed in tears, and no longer expressed any violent passion. On hisfeatures was no longer the stamp of hate, or despair, or the ferociousjoy of vengeance gratified. It was rather the expression of grief atonce simple and immense. For several minutes he was almost choked withsobs, and tears ran freely down his cheeks.

  "Dead! dead!" he murmured, in a half-stifled voice. "She, who thismorning slept so peacefully in this chamber! And I have killed her. Nowthat she is dead, what is her treachery to me? I should not have killedher for that. She had betrayed me; she loved the man whom I slew--sheloved him! Alas! I could not hope to gain the preference," added he,with a touching mixture of resignation and remorse; "I, poor, untaughtyouth--how could I merit her love? It was my fault that she did not loveme; but, always generous, she concealed from me her indifference, thatshe might not make me too unhappy--and for that I killed her. Whatwas her crime? Did she not meet me freely? Did she not open to me herdwelling? Did she not allow me to pass whole days with her? No doubt shetried to love me, and could not. I loved her with all the faculties ofmy soul, but my love was not such as she required. For that, I shouldnot have killed her. But a fatal delusion seized me and, after it wasdone, I woke as from a dream. Alas! it was not a dream: I have killedher. And yet--until this evening--what happiness I owed to her--whathope--what joy! She made my heart better, nobler, more generous. Allcame from her," added the Indian, with a new burst of grief. "Thatremained with me--no one could take from me that treasure of thepast--that ought to have consoled me. But why think of it? I struck themboth--her and the man--without a struggle. It was a cowardly murder--theferocity 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 restoreher to life!"

  He rose from the ground, and drew from his girdle Faringhea's bloodydagger; then, taking the little phial from the hilt, he threw the bloodstained blade upon the ermine carpet, the immaculate whiteness of whichwas thus slightly stained with red.

  "Yes," resumed Djalma, holding the phial with a convulsive grasp, "Iknow well that I am about to die. It is right. Blood for blood; my lifefor hers. How happens it that my steel did not turn aside? How could Ikill 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 burningvisions!" And then he added, with a heartrending accent, as he againburied 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 willsuffice; and, when I am quite certain of dying, my remorse will perhapsbe less terrible. Yesterday, she pressed my hand when we parted. Whocould have foretold me this?" The Indian raised the phial resolutely tohis lips. He drank a few drops of the liquor it contained, and replacedit 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 thischamber--to lay my dying head on the couch where she has reposed."

  Djalma fell on his knees beside the bed, and leaned against it hisburning brow. At this moment, the ivory door, which communicated withthe bath-room, rolled gently on its hinges, and Adrienne entered. Theyoung lady had just sent away her woman, who had assisted to undressher. She wore a long muslin wrapper of lustrous whiteness. Her goldenhair, neatly arranged in little plaits, formed two bands, which gaveto her sweet face an extremely juvenile air. Her snowy complexion wasslightly tinged with rose-color, from the warmth of the perfumed bath,which she used for a few seconds every evening. When she opened theivory door, and placed her little naked foot, in its white satinslipper, upon the ermine carpet, Adrienne was dazzlingly beautiful.Happiness sparkled in her eyes, and adorned her brow. All thedifficulties relative to her union with Djalma had now been removed. Intwo days she would be his. The sight of the nuptial chamber oppressedher with a vague and ineffable languor. The ivory door had been openedso gently, the lady's first steps were so soft upon the fur carpet, thatDjalma, still leaning against the bed, had heard nothing. But suddenly acry 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 herbosom, and hastily drew back, still more afflicted than angry at whatshe considered a guilty attempt on the part of Djalma. Cruelly hurtand offended, she was about to reproach him with his conduct, when sheperceived the dagger, which he had thrown down upon the ermine carpet.At sight of this weapon, and the expression of fear and stupor whichpetrified the features of Djalma, who remained kneeling, motionless,with his body thrown back, hands stretched out, his eyes fixed andwildly staring Adrienne, no longer dreading an amorous surprise, wasseized with an indescribable terror, and, instead of flying from theprince, advanced several steps towards him, and said, in an agitatedvoice, whilst she pointed to the kandjiar, "My friend, why are you here?what ails you? why this dagger?"

  Djalma made no answer. At first, the presence of Adrienne seemed to hima vision, which he attributed to the excitement of his brain, already(it might be) under the influence of the poison. But when the soft voicesounded in his ears--when his heart bounded with the species of electricshock, which he always felt when he met the gaze of that woman soardently beloved--when he had contemplated for an instant thatadorable face, so fresh and fair, in spite of its expression of deepuneasiness--Djalma understood that he was not the sport of a dream, butthat Mdlle. de Cardoville was really before his eyes.

  Then, as he began fully to grasp the thought that Adrienne was not dead,though he could not at all explain the prodigy of her resurrection, theHindoo's countenance was transfigured, the pale gold of his complexionbecame warm and red, his eyes (tarnished by tears of remorse) shone withnew radiance, and his features, s
o lately contracted with terror anddespair, expressed all the phases of the most ecstatic joy. Advancing,still on his knees, towards Adrienne, he lifted up to her his tremblinghands, and, too deeply affected to pronounce a word, he gazed on herwith so much amazement, love, adoration, gratitude, that the young lady,fascinated by those inexplicable looks, remained mute also, motionlessalso, and felt, by the precipitate beating of her heart, and by theshudder which ran through her frame, that there was here some dreadfulmystery to be unfolded.

  At last, Djalma, clasping his hands together, exclaimed with an accentimpossible to describe, "Thou art not dead!"

  "Dead!" repeated the young lady, in amazement.

  "It was not thou, really not thou, whom I killed? God is kind and just!"

  And as he pronounced these words with intense joy, the unfortunate youthforgot the victim whom he had sacrificed in error.

  More and more alarmed, and again glancing at the dagger en which she nowperceived marks of blood--a terrible evidence, in confirmation of thewords of Djalma--Mdlle. de Cardoville exclaimed, "You have killed someone, Djalma! Oh! what does he say? It is dreadful!"

  "You are alive--I see you--you are here," said Djalma, in a voicetrembling with rapture. "You are here--beautiful! pure! for it was notyou! Oh, no! had it been you, the steel would have turned back uponmyself."

  "You have killed some one?" cried the young lady, beside her with thisunforeseen revelation, and clasping her hands in horror. "Why? whom didyou kill?"

  "I do not know. A woman that was like you--a man that I thought yourlover--it was an illusion, a frightful dream--you are alive--you arehere!"

  And the oriental wept for joy.

  "A dream? but no, it is not a dream. There is blood upon that dagger!"cried the young lady, as she pointed wildly to the kandjiar. "I tell youthere is blood upon it!"

  "Yes. I threw it down just now, when I took the poison from it, thinkingthat I had killed you."

  "The poison!" exclaimed Adrienne, and her teeth chattered convulsively."What poison?"

  "I thought I had killed you, and I came here to die."

  "To die? Oh! wherefore? who is to die?" cried the young lady, almost indelirium.

  "I," replied Djalma, with inexpressible tenderness, "I thought I hadkilled you--and I took poison."

  "You!" exclaimed Adrienne, becoming pale as death. "You!"

  "Yes."

  "Oh! it is not true!" said the young lady, shaking her head.

  "Look!" said the Asiatic. Mechanically, he turned towards thebed--towards the little ivory table, on which sparkled the crystalphial.

  With a sudden movement, swifter than thought, swifter, it may be, thanthe will, Adrienne rushed to the table, seized the phial, and applied iteagerly to her lips.

  Djalma had hitherto remained on his knees; but he now uttered a terriblecry, made one spring to the drinker's side, and dragged away the phial,which seemed almost glued to her mouth.

  "No matter! I have swallowed as much as you," said Adrienne, with an airof gloomy triumph.

  For an instant, there followed an awful silence. Adrienne and Djalmagazed upon each other, mute, motionless, horror-struck. The young ladywas the first to break this mournful silence, and said in a tone whichshe tried to make calm and steady, "Well! what is there extraordinary inthis? You have killed, and death most expiate your crime. It is just. Iwill not survive you. That also is natural enough. Why look at me thus?This poison has a sharp taste--does it act quickly! Tell me, my Djalma!"

  The prince did not answer. Shuddering through all his frame, he lookeddown upon his hands. Faringhea had told the truth; a slight violettint appeared already beneath the nails. Death was approaching, slowly,almost insensibly, but not the less certain. Overwhelmed with despairat the thought that Adrienne, too, was about to die, Djalma felt hiscourage fail him. He uttered a long groan, and hid his face in hishands. His knees shook under him, and he felt down upon the bed, nearwhich he was standing.

  "Already?" cried the young lady in horror, as she threw herself on herknees at Djalma's feet. "Death already? Do you hide your face from me?"

  In her fright, she pulled his hands from before his face. That face wasbathed in tears.

  "No, not yet," murmured he, through his sobs. "The poison is slow."

  "Really!" cried Adrienne, with ineffable joy. Then, kissing the hands ofDjalma, she added tenderly, "If the poison is slow, why do you weep?"

  "For you! for you!" said the Indian, in a heart-rending tone.

  "Think not of me," replied Adrienne, resolutely. "You have killed, andwe must expiate the crime. I know not what has taken place; but I swearby our love that you did not do evil for evil's sake. There is somehorrible mystery in all this."

  "On a pretence which I felt bound to believe," replied Djalma, speakingquickly, and panting for breath, "Faringhea led me to a certain house.Once there, he told me that you had betrayed me. I did not believe him,but I know not what strange dizziness seized upon me--and then, througha half-obscurity, I saw you--"

  "Me!"

  "No--not you--but a woman resembling you, dressed like you, so that Ibelieved the illusion--and then there came a man--and you flew to meethim--and I--mad with rage--stabbed her, stabbed him, saw them fall--andso came here to die. And now I find you only to cause your death. Oh,misery! misery! that you should die through me!"

  And Djalma, this man of formidable energy, began again to weep withthe weakness of a child. At sight of this deep, touching, passionatedespair, Adrienne, with that admirable courage which women alone possessin love, thought only of consoling Djalma. By an effort of superhumanpassion, as the prince revealed to her this infernal plot, the lady'scountenance became so splendid with an expression of love and happiness,that the East Indian looked at her in amazement, fearing for an instantthat he must have lost his reason.

  "No more tears, my adored!" cried the young lady, exultingly. "No moretears--but only smiles of joy and love! Our cruel enemies shall nottriumph!"

  "What do you say?"

  "They wished to make us miserable. We pity them. Our felicity shall bethe envy of the world!"

  "Adrienne--bethink you--"

  "Oh! I have all my senses about me. Listen to me, my adored! I nowunderstand it all. Falling into a snare, which these wretches spread foryou, you have committed murder. Now, in this country, murder leads toinfamy, or the scaffold--and to-morrow--to-night, perhaps--you would bethrown into prison. But our enemies have said: 'A man like Prince Djalmadoes not wait for infamy--he kills himself. A woman like Adrienne deCardoville does not survive the disgrace or death of her lover--sheprefers to die.'"

  "Therefore a frightful death awaits them both," said the black-robedmen; "and that immense inheritance, which we covet--'"

  "And for you--so young, so beautiful so innocent--death is frightful,and these monsters triumph!" cried Djalma. "They have spoken the truth!"

  "They have lied!" answered Adrienne. "Our death shall be celestial. Thispoison is slow--and I adore you, my Djalma!"

  She spoke those words in a low voice, trembling with passionate love,and, leaning upon Djalma's knees, approached so near, that he felt herwarm breath upon his cheek. As he felt that breath, and saw the humidflame that darted from the large, swimming eyes of Adrienne, whose halfopened lips were becoming of a still deeper and brighter hue, the Indianstarted--his young blood boiled in his veins--he forgot everything--hisdespair, and the approach of death, which as yet (as with Adrienne),only showed itself in a kind of feverish ardor. His face, like the younggirl's, became once more splendidly beautiful.

  "Oh, my lover! my husband! how beautiful you are!" said Adrienne, withidolatry. "Those eyes--that brow--those lips--how I love them!--How manytimes has the remembrance of your grace and beauty, coupled with yourlove, unsettled my reason, and shaken my resolves--even to this moment,when I am wholly yours!--Yes, heaven wills that we should be united.Only this morning, I gave to the apostolic man, that was to bless ourunion, in thy name and mine, a royal gift--a gift, that will bring joy
and peace to the heart of many an unfortunate creature. Then what havewe to regret, my beloved? Our immortal souls will pass away in a kiss,and ascend, full of love, to that God who is all love!"

  "Adrienne!"

  "Djalma!"

  The light, transparent curtains fell like a cloud over that nuptial andfunereal couch. Yes, funereal; for, two hours after, Adrienne and Djalmabreathed their last sigh in a voluptuous agony.