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, 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, suddenly. "No doubt, he will next perform the hand to
hand grapple."
Morok was at this moment in front of the stage, but he had yet to
traverse its entire breadth to reach the cavern's mouth. He stopped an
instant, adjusted an arrow to the string, knelt down behind a mass of
rock, took deliberate aim--and then the arrow hissed across the stage,
and was lost in the depths of the cavern, into which the panther had
retired, after showing for a moment her threatening head to the audience.
Hardly had the arrow disappeared, than Death, purposely irritated by
Goliath (who was invisible) sent forth a howl of rage, as if she had been
really wounded. Morok's actions became so expressive, he evinced so
naturally his joy at having hit the wild beast, that a tempest of
applause burst from every quarter of the house. Then, throwing away his
bow, he drew a dagger from his girdle, took it between his teeth, and
began to crawl forward on hands and knees, as though he meant to surprise
the wounded panther in his den. To render the illusion perfect, Death,
again excited by Goliath, who struck him with an iron bar, 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--the
gestures, attitude, and countenance of Morok were so expressive of
terror, that the audience, attentive and trembling, now maintained a
profound silence. Every one held his breath, and a kind of shudder came
over the spectators, as though they expected some horrible event. What
gave such a fearful air of truth to the pantomime of Morok, was that, as
he approached the cavern step by step, he approached also the
Englishman's box. In spite of himself, the lion-tamer, fascinated by
terror, 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 in
crawling along, was produced by a species of magnetic attraction, caused
by the fixed gaze of the fatal wagerer. Therefore, the nearer Morok
approached, the more ghastly and livid he became. At sight of this
pantomime, which was no longer acting, but the real expression of intense
fear, the deep and trembling silence which had reigned in the theatre was
once more interrupted by acclamations, with which were mingled the
roarings of the panther, and the distant growls of the lion and tiger.
The Englishman leaned almost out of his box, with a frightful sardonic
smile on his lip, and with his large eyes still fixed, panted for breath.
The perspiration ran down his bald red forehead, as if he had really
expended an incredible amount of magnetic power in attracting Morok, whom
he now saw close to the cavern entrance. The moment was decisive.
Crouching down with his dagger in his hand, following with eye and
gesture Death's every movement, who, roaring furiously, and opening wide
her enormous jaws, seemed determined to guard the entrance of her den,
Morok waited for the moment to rush upon her. There is such fascination
in danger, that Adrienne shared, in spite of herself, the feeling of
painful curiosity, mixed with terror, that thrilled through all the
spectators. Leaning forward like the marchioness, and gazing upon this
scene of fearful interest, the lady still held mechanically in her hand
the Indian bouquet preserved since the morning. Suddenly, Morok raised a
wild shout, as he rushed towards Death, who answered this exclamation by
a dreadful roar, and threw herself upon her master with so much fury,
that Adrienne, in alarm, believing the man lost, drew herself back, and
covered her fact with her hands. Her flowers slipped from her grasp, and,
falling upon the stage, rolled into the cavern in which Morok was
struggling with the panther.
Quick as lightning, supple and agile as a tiger, yielding to the
intoxication of his love, and to the wild ardor excited in him by the
roaring of the panther, Djalma sprang at one bound upon the stage, drew
his dagger, and rushed into the cavern to recover Adrienne's nosegay. At
that instant, Morok, being wounded, uttered a dreadful cry for help; the
panther, rendered still more furious at sight of Djalma, make the most
desperate efforts to break her chain. Unable to succeed in doing so, she
rose upon her hind legs, in order to seize Djalma, then within reach of
her sharp claws. It was only by bending down his head, throwing himself
on his knees, and twice plunging his dagger into her belly with the
rapidity of lightning, that Djalma escaped certain death. The panther
gave a howl, and fell with her whole weight upon the prince. For a
second, during which lasted her terrible agony, nothing was seen but a
confused and convulsive mass of black limbs, and white garments stained
with blood--and then Djalma rose, pale, bleeding, for he was wounded--and
standing erect, his eye flashing with savage pride, his foot 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 superhuman courage had enabled her
to watch all the terrible incidents of the struggle.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Wandering Jew, Book VIII., by Eugene Sue