Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER XVII. THE HOUSE IN THE RUE SAINT-FRANCOIS.

  On entering the Rue Saint-Gervais, by the Rue Dore (in the Marais),you would have found yourself, at the epoch of this narrative, directlyopposite to an enormously high wall, the stones of which were black andworm-eaten with age. This wall, which extended nearly the whole lengthof that solitary street, served to support a terrace shaded by treesof some hundred years old, which thus grew about forty feet above thecauseway. Through their thick branches appeared the stone front, peakedroof and tall brick chimneys of an antique house, the entrance of whichwas situated in the Rue Saint-Francois, not far from the Rue SaintGervais corner. Nothing could be more gloomy than the exterior of thisabode. On the entrance-side also was a very high wall, pierced with twoor three loop-holes, strongly grated. A carriage gateway in massive oak,barred with iron, and studded with large nail-heads, whose primitivecolor disappeared beneath a thick layer of mud, dust, and rust, fittedclose into the arch of a deep recess, forming the swell of a bay windowabove. In one of these massive gates was a smaller door, which servedfor ingress and egress to Samuel the Jew, the guardian of this drearyabode. On passing the threshold, you came to a passage, formed in thebuilding which faced in the street. In this building was the lodging ofSamuel, with its windows opening upon the rather spacious inner courtyard, through the railing of which you perceived the garden. In themiddle of this garden stood a two-storied stone house, so strangelybuilt, that you had to mount a flight of steps, or rather adouble-flight of at least twenty steps, to reach the door, which hadbeen walled up a hundred and fifty years before. The window-blindsof this habitation had been replaced by large thick plates of lead,hermetically soldered and kept in by frames of iron clamped in thestone. Moreover, completely to intercept air and light, and thus toguard against decay within and without, the roof had been covered withthick sheets of lead, as well as the vents of the tall chimneys, whichhad previously been bricked up. The same precautions had been taken withrespect to a small square belvedere, situated on the top of the house;this glass cage was covered with a sort of dome, soldered to the roof.Only, in consequence of some singular fancy, in every one of the leadenplates, which concealed the four sides of the belvedere, correspondingto the cardinal points, seven little round holes had been bored inthe form of a cross, and were easily distinguishable from the outside.Everywhere else the plates of lead were completely unpierced. Thanksto these precautions, and to the substantial structure of thebuilding, nothing but a few outward repairs had been necessary; and theapartments, entirely removed from the influence of the external air, nodoubt remained, during a century and a half, exactly in the same stateas at the time of their being shut up. The aspect of walls in crevices,of broken, worm-eaten shutters, of a roof half fallen in, and windowscovered with wall-flowers, would perhaps have been less sad than theappearance of this stone house, plated with iron and lead, and preservedlike a mausoleum. The garden, completely deserted, and only regularlyvisited once a week by Samuel, presented to the view, particularly insummer, an incredible confusion of parasites and brambles. The trees,left to themselves, had shot forth and mingled their branches in alldirections; some straggling vines, reproduced from offshoots, hadcrept along the ground to the foot of the trees, and, climbing up theirtrunks, had twined themselves about them, and encircled their highestbranches with their inextricable net. You could only pass through thisvirgin forest by following the path made by the guardian, to go from thegrating to the house, the approaches to which were a little sloped tolet the water run off, and carefully paved to the width of about tenfeet. Another narrow path which extended all around the enclosure, wasevery night perambulated by two or three Pyrenees dogs--a faithful race,which had been perpetuated in the house during a century and a half.Such was the habitation destined for the meeting of the descendants ofthe family of Rennepont. The night which separated the 12th from the13th day of February was near its close. A calm had succeeded the storm,and the rain had ceased; the sky was clear and full of stars; the moon,on its decline, shone with a mild lustre, and threw a melancholy lightover that deserted, silent house, whose threshold for so many years nohuman footstep had crossed.

  A bright gleam of light, issuing from one of the windows of theguardian's dwelling, announced that Samuel was awake. Figure to yourselfa tolerably large room, lined from top to bottom with old walnutwainscoting browned to an almost black, with age. Two half-extinguishedbrands are smoking amid the cinders on the hearth. On the stonemantelpiece, painted to resemble gray granite, stands an old ironcandlestick, furnished with a meagre candle, capped by an extinguisher.Near it one sees a pair of double-barrelled pistols, and a sharpcutlass, with a hilt of carved bronze, belonging to the seventeenthcentury. Moreover, a heavy rifle rests against one of the chimney jambs.Four stools, an old oak press, and a square table with twisted legs,formed the sole furniture of this apartment. Against the wall weresystematically suspended a number of keys of different sizes, the shapeof which bore evidence to their antiquity, whilst to their rings wereaffixed divers labels. The back of the old press, which moved by asecret spring, had been pushed aside, and discovered, built in the wall,a large and deep iron chest, the lid of which, being open, displayedthe wondrous mechanism of one of those Florentine locks of the sixteenthcentury, which, better than any modern invention, set all picklocksat defiance; and, moreover, according to the notions of that age, aresupplied with a thick lining of asbestos cloth, suspended by gold wireat a distance from the sides of the chest, for the purpose of renderingincombustible the articles contained in it. A large cedar-wood boxhad been taken from the chest, and placed upon a stool; it containednumerous papers, carefully arranged and docketed. By the light of abrass lamp, the old keeper Samuel, was writing in a small register,whilst Bathsheba, his wife, was dictating to him from an account. Samuelwas about eighty two years old, and, notwithstanding his advanced age, amass of gray curling hair covered his head. He was short, thin, nervous,and the involuntary petulance of his movements proved that years had notweakened his energy and activity; though, out of doors, where, however,he made his appearance very seldom, he affected a sort of secondchildhood, as had been remarked by Rodin to Father d'Aigrigny. An olddressing-gown, of maroon-colored camlet, with large sleeves, completelyenveloped the old man, and reached to his feet.

  Samuel's features were cast in the pure, Eastern mould of his race. Hiscomplexion was of a dead yellow, his nose aquiline, his chin shaded bya little tuft of white beard, while projecting cheek-bones threw a harshshadow upon the hollow and wrinkled cheeks. His countenance was full ofintelligence, fine sharpness, and sagacity. On his broad, high foreheadone might read frankness, honesty, and firmness; his eyes, black andbrilliant as an Arab's, were at once mild and piercing.

  His wife, Bathsheba, some fifteen years younger than himself, was oftall stature, and dressed entirely in black. A low cap, of starchedlawn, which reminded one of the grave head-dresses of Dutch matrons,encircled a pale and austere countenance, formerly of a rare and haughtybeauty, and impressed with the Scriptural character. Some lines in theforehead, caused by the almost continual knitting of her gray brows,showed that this woman had often suffered from the pressure of intensegrief.

  At this very moment her countenance betrayed inexpressible sorrow. Herlook was fixed, her head resting on her bosom. She had let her righthand, which held a small account-book, fall upon her lap, while theother hand grasped convulsively a long tress of jet-black hair, whichshe bore about her neck. It was fastened by a golden clasp, about aninch square, in which, under a plate of crystal, that shut in one sideof it like a relic-case, could be seen a piece of linen, folded square,and almost entirely covered with dark red spots that resembled blood along time dried.

  After a short silence, during which Samuel was occupied with hisregister, he read aloud what he had just been writing: "Per contra,5,000 Austrian Metallics of 1,000 florins, under date of October 19th,1826."

  After which enumeration, Samuel raised his head, and said to his wife:"Well, is i
t right, Bathsheba? Have you compared it with the accountbook?"

  Bathsheba did not answer. Samuel looked at her, and, seeing that she wasabsorbed in grief, said to her, with an expression of tender anxiety:"What is the matter? Good heaven! what is the matter with you?"

  "The 19th of October, 1826," said she, slowly, with her eyes stillfixed, and pressing yet more closely the lock of black hair which shewore about her neck; "It was a fatal day--for, Samuel, it was the dateof the last letter which we received from--"

  Bathsheba was unable to proceed. She uttered a long sigh, and concealedher face in her hands.

  "Oh! I understand you," observed the old man, in a tremulous voice; "afather may be taken up by the thought of other cares; but the heart ofa mother is ever wakeful." Throwing his pen down upon the table, Samuelleaned his forehead upon his hands in sorrow.

  Bathsheba resumed, as if she found a melancholy pleasure in these cruelremembrances: "Yes; that was the last day on which our son, Abel, wroteto us from Germany, to announce to us that he had invested the fundsaccording to your desire and was going thence into Poland, to effectanother operation."

  "And in Poland he met the death of a martyr," added Samuel. "With nomotive and no proof, they accused him falsely of coming to organizesmuggling, and the Russian governor, treating him as they treat ourbrothers in that land of cruel tyranny, condemned him to the dreadfulpunishment of the knout, without even hearing him in his defence. Whyshould they hear a Jew? What is a Jew? A creature below a serf, whomthey reproach for all the vices that a degrading slavery has engendered.A Jew beaten to death? Who would trouble themselves about it?"

  "And poor Abel, so good, so faithful, died beneath their stripes, partlyfrom shame, partly from the wounds," said Bathsheba, shuddering. "Oneof our Polish brethren obtained with great difficulty permission tobury him. He cut off this lock of beautiful black hair--which, with thisscrap of linen, bathed in the blood of our dear son, is all thatnow remains to us of him." Bathsheba covered the hair and clasp withconvulsive kisses.

  "Alas!" said Samuel, drying his tears, which had burst forth at thesesad recollections, "the Lord did not at last remove our child, until thetask which our family has accomplished faithfully for a century and ahalf was nearly at an end. Of what use will our race be henceforth uponearth?" added Samuel, most bitterly. "Our duty is performed. This casketcontains a royal fortune--and yonder house, walled up for a hundredand fifty years, will be opened to-morrow to the descendants of myancestor's benefactor." So saying, Samuel turned his face sorrowfullytowards the house, which he could see through the window. The dawn wasjust about to appear. The moon had set; belvedere, roof, and chimneysformed a black mass upon the dark blue of the starry firmament.

  Suddenly, Samuel grew pale, and, rising abruptly, said to his wife ina tremulous tone, whilst he still pointed to the house: "Bathsheba! theseven points of light--just as it was thirty years ago. Look! look:"

  Indeed, the seven round holes, bored in the form of a cross in theleaden plates which covered the window of the belvedere, sparkled likeso many luminous points, as if some one in the house ascended with alight to the roof.