by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER IX. LOVE.
Mdlle. de Cardoville was transfigured. For the first time her beautyshone forth in all its lustre. Until now overshadowed by indifference,or darkened by grief, she appeared suddenly illumined by a brilliant rayof sunshine. The slight irritation caused by Rodin's perfidy passed likean imperceptible shade from her brow. What cared she now for falsehoodand perfidy? Had they not failed? And, for the future, what human powercould interpose between her and Djalma, so sure of each other? Who woulddare to cross the path of those two things, resolute and strong with theirresistible power of youth, love, and liberty? Who would dare to followthem into that blazing sphere, whither they went, so beautiful andhappy, to blend together in their inextinguishable love, protected bythe proof armor of their own happiness? Hardly had Florine left theroom, when Adrienne approached M. de Montbron with a rapid step.She seemed to have become taller; and to watch her advancing, light,radiant, and triumphant, one might have fancied her a goddess walkingupon clouds.
"When shall I see him?" was her first word to M. de Montbron.
"Well--say to-morrow; he must be prepared for so much happiness; in soardent a nature, such sudden, unexpected joy might be terrible."
Adrienne remained pensive for a moment, and then said rapidly: "Tomorrow--yes--not before to-morrow. I have a superstition of the heart."
"What is it?"
"You shall know. HE LOVES ME--that word says all, contains all,comprehends all, is all--and yet I have a thousand questions to askwith regard to him--but I will ask none before to-morrow, because, by amysterious fatality, to-morrow is with me a sacred anniversary. It willbe an age till then; but happily, I can wait. Look here!"
Beckoning M. de Montbron, she led him to the Indian Bacchus. "How muchit is like him!" said she to the count.
"Indeed," exclaimed the latter, "it is strange!"
"Strange?" returned Adrienne, with a smile of gentle pride; "strange,that a hero, a demi-god, an ideal of beauty, should resemble Djalma?"
"How you love him!" said M. de Montbron, deeply touched, and almostdazzled by the felicity which beamed from the countenance of Adrienne.
"I must have suffered a good deal, do you not think so?" said she, aftera moment's silence.
"If I had not made up my mind to come here to-day, almost in despair,what would have happened?"
"I cannot tell; I should perhaps have died, for I am wounded mortallyhere"--she pressed her hand to her heart. "But what might have beendeath to me, will now be life."
"It was horrible," said the count, shuddering. "Such a passion, buriedin your own breast, proud as you are--"
"Yes, proud--but not self-conceited. When I learned his love foranother, and that the impression which I fancied I had made on him atour first interview had been immediately effaced, I renounced all hope,without being able to renounce my love. Instead of shunning his image,I surrounded myself with all that could remind me of him. In defaultof happiness, there is a bitter pleasure in suffering through what welove."
"I can now understand your Indian library."
Instead of answering the count, Adrienne took from the stand one of thefreshly-cut volumes, and, bringing it to M. de Montbron, said to him,with a smile and a celestial expression of joy and happiness: "I waswrong--I am vain. Just read this--aloud, if you please. I tell you thatI can wait for to-morrow." Presenting the book to the count, she pointedout one passage with the tip of her charming finger. Then she sank downupon the couch, and, in an attitude of deep attention, with her bodybent forward, her hands crossed upon the cushion, her chin resting uponher hands, her large eyes fixed with a sort of adoration on the IndianBacchus, that was just opposite to her, she appeared by this impassionedcontemplation to prepare herself to listen to M. de Montbron.
The latter, much astonished, began to read, after again looking atAdrienne, who said to him, in her most coaxing voice, "Very slowly, Ibeg of you."
M. de Montbron then read the following passage from the journal of atraveller in India: "'When I was at Bombay, in 1829, I constantly heardamongst the English there, of a young hero, the son of--'"
The count having paused a second, by reason of the barbarous spellingof the name of Djalma's father, Adrienne immediately said to him, in hersoft voice: "The son of Kadja-sing."
"What a memory!" said the count, with a smile. And he resumed: "'A younghero, the son of Kadja-sing, king of Mundi. On his return from a distantand sanguinary expedition amongst the mountains against this Indianking, Colonel Drake was filled with enthusiasm for this son ofKadja-sing, known as Djalma. Hardly beyond the age of childhood, thisyoung prince has in the course of this implacable war given proofsof such chivalrous intrepidity, and of so noble a character, that hisfather has been surnamed the Father of the Generous.'"
"That is a touching custom," said the count. "To recompense the father,as it were, by giving him a surname in honor of his son, is a greatidea. But how strange you should have met with this book!" added thecount, in surprise. "I can understand; there is matter here to inflamethe coolest head."
"Oh! you will see, you will see," said Adrienne.
The count continued to read: "'Colonel Drake, one of the bravest andbest officers of the English army, said yesterday, in my presence, thathaving been dangerously wounded, and taken prisoner by Prince Djalma,after an energetic resistance, he had been conveyed to the campestablished in the village of--"
Here there was the same hesitation on the part of the count, on seeinga still more barbarous name than the first; so, not wishing to try theadventure, he paused, and said to Adrienne, "Now really, I give thisup."
"And yet it is so easy!" replied Adrienne; and she pronounced withinexpressible softness, a name in itself soft, "The village ofShumshabad."
"You appear to have an infallible process for remembering geographicalnames," said the count, continuing: "'Once arrived at the camp, ColonelDrake received the kindest hospitality, and Prince Djalma treatedhim with the respect of a son. It was there that the colonel becameacquainted with some facts, which carried to the highest pitch hisenthusiasm for prince Djalma. I heard him relate the two following.
"'In one of the battles, the prince was accompanied by a young Indian ofabout twelve years of age, whom he loved tenderly, and who served himas a page, following him on horseback to carry his spare weapons.This child was idolized by its mother; just as they set out on theexpedition, she had entrusted her son to Prince Djalma's care, saying,with a stoicism worthy of antiquity, "Let him be your brother." "Heshall be my brother," had replied the prince. In the height of adisastrous defeat, the child is severely wounded, and his horse killed;the prince, at peril of his life, notwithstanding the perception of aforced retreat, disengages him, and places him on the croup of his ownhorse; they are pursued; a musket-ball strikes their steed, who is justable to reach a jungle, in the midst of which, after some vain efforts,he falls exhausted. The child is unable to walk, but the prince carrieshim in his arms, and hides with him in the thickest part of the jungle.The English arrive, and begin their search; but the two victims escape.After a night and a day of marches, counter-marches, stratagems,fatigues, unheard-of perils, the prince, still, carrying the child, oneof whose legs is broken, arrives at his father's camp, and says, withthe utmost simplicity, "I had promised his mother that I would act abrother's part by him--and I have done so."'
"That is admirable!" cried the count.
"Go on--pray go on!" said Adrienne, drying a tear, without removingher eyes from the bas-relief, which she continued to contemplate withgrowing adoration.
The count continued: "'Another time, Prince Djalma, followed by twoblack slaves, went, before sunrise, to a very wild spot, to seize acouple of tiger cubs only a few days old. The den had been previouslydiscovered. The two old tigers were still abroad. One of the blacksentered the den by a narrow aperture; the other, aided by Djalma,cut down a tolerably large tree, to prepare a trap for one of the oldtigers. On the side of the aperture, the cavern was exceedingly steep.The prince mounted to t
he top of it with agility, to set his trap, withthe aid of the other black. Suddenly, a dreadful roar was heard; and, ina few bounds, the tigress, returning from the chase, reached the openingof the den. The black who was laying the trap with the prince had hisskull fractured by her bite; the tree, falling across the entrance,prevented the female from penetrating the cavern, and at the same timestopped the exit of the black who had seized the cubs.
"'About twenty feet higher, upon a ledge of rock, the prince lay flaton the ground, looking down upon this frightful spectacle. The tigress,rendered furious by the cries of her little ones, gnawed the hands ofthe black, who, from the interior of the den, strove to supportthe trunk of the tree, his only rampart, whilst he uttered the mostlamentable outcries.'
"It is horrible!" said the count.
"Oh! go on! pray go on!" exclaimed Adrienne, with excitement; "you willsee what can be achieved by the heroism of goodness."
The count pursued: "'Suddenly the prince seized his dagger between histeeth, fastened his sash to a block of stone, took his axe in one hand,and with the other slid down this substitute for a rope; falling a fewsteps from the wild beast, he sprang upon her, and, swift as lightning,dealt her two mortal strokes, just as the black, losing his strength,was about to drop the trunk of the tree, sure to have been torn topieces.'"
"And you are astonished at his resemblance with the demi-god, to whomfable itself ascribes no more generous devotion!" cried the young lady,with still increasing excitement.
"I am astonished no longer, I only admire," said the count, in a voiceof emotion; "and, at these two noble instances of heroism, my heartbeats with enthusiasm, as if I were still twenty."
"And the noble heart of this traveller beat like yours at the recital,"said Adrienne; "you will see."
"'What renders so admirable the intrepidity of the prince, is, that,according to the principle of Indian castes, the life of a slave is ofno importance; thus a king's son, risking his life for the safety ofa poor creature, so generally despised, obeyed an heroic and trulyChristian instinct of charity, until then unheard of in this country."
"'Two such actions,' said Colonel Drake, with good reason, 'aresufficient to paint the man; it is with a feeling of profound respectand admiration, therefore, that I, an obscure traveller, have writtenthe name of Prince Djalma in my book; and at the same time, I haveexperienced a kind of sorrow, when I have asked myself what would be thefuture fate of this prince, buried in the depths of a savage country,always devastated by war. However humble may be the homage that I payto this character, worthy of the heroic age, his name will at least berepeated with generous enthusiasm by all those who have hearts that beatin sympathy with what is great and noble.'"
"And just now, when I read those simple and touching lines," resumedAdrienne, "I could not forbear pressing my lips to the name of thetraveller."
"Yes; he is such as I thought him," cried the count, with still moreemotion, as he returned the book to Adrienne, who rose, with a grave andtouching air, and said to him: "It was thus I wished you to know him,that you might understand my adoration; for this courage, this heroicgoodness, I had guessed beforehand, when I was an involuntary listenerto his conversation. From that moment, I knew him to be generous asintrepid, tender and sensitive as energetic and resolute; and when I sawhim so marvellously beautiful--so different, in the noble character ofhis countenance, and even in the style of his garments, from all I hadhitherto met with--when I saw the impression that I made upon him, andwhich I perhaps felt still more violently--I knew that my whole life wasbound up with his love."
"And now, what are your plans?"
"Divine, radiant as my heart. When he learns his happiness, I wish thatDjalma should feel dazzled as I do, so as to prevent my gazing on mysun; for I repeat, that until tomorrow will be a century to me. Yes, itis strange! I should have thought that after such a discovery, I shouldfeel the want of being left alone, plunged in an ocean of deliciousdreams. But no! from this time till to-morrow--I dread solitude--Ifeel a kind of feverish impatience--uneasy--ardent--Oh! where is thebeneficent fairy, that, touching me with her wand, will lull me intoslumber till to-morrow!"
"I will be that beneficent fairy," said the count, smiling.
"You?"
"Yes, I."
"And how so?"
"The power of my wand is this: I will relieve you from a portion of yourthoughts by making them materially visible."
"Pray explain yourself."
"And my plan will have another advantage for you. Listen to me; youare so happy now that you can hear anything. Your odious aunt, and herequally odious friends, are spreading the report that your residencewith Dr. Baleinier--"
"Was rendered necessary by the derangement of my mind," said Adrienne,with a smile; "I expected that."
"It is stupid enough; but, as your resolution to live alone makes manyenvious of you, and many hostile, you must feel that there will be nowant of persons ready to believe the most absurd calumny possible."
"I hope as much. To pass for mad in the eyes of fools is veryflattering."
"Yes; but to prove to fools that they are fools, and that in the faceof all Paris, is much more amusing. Now, people begin to talk of yourabsence; you have given up your daily rides; for some time my niece hasappeared alone in our box at the Opera; you wish to kill the time tillto-morrow--well! here is an excellent opportunity. It is two o'clock;at halfpast three, my niece will come in the carriage; the weather issplendid; there is sure to be a crowd in the Bois de Boulogne. You cantake a delightful ride, and be seen by everybody. Then, as the air andmovement will have calmed your fever of happiness, I will commence mymagic this evening, and take you to India."
"To India?"
"Into the midst of one of those wild forests, in which roar the lion,the panther, and the tiger. We will have this heroic combat, which somoved you just now, under our own eyes, in all its terrible reality."
"Really, my dear count, you must be joking."
"Not at all; I promise to show you real wild beasts, formidable tenantsof the country of our demigod--growling tigers--roaring lions--do younot think that will be better than books?"
"But how?"
"Come! I must give you the secret of my supernatural power. On returningfrom your ride, you shall dine with my niece, and we will go togetherto a very curious spectacle now exhibiting at the Porte-Saint-MartinTheatre. A most extraordinary lion-tamer there shows you a number ofwild beasts, in a state of nature, in the midst of a forest (here onlycommences the illusion), and has fierce combats with them all--tigers,lions, and panthers. All Paris is crowding to these representations, andall Paris will see you there, more charming than ever."
"I accept your offer," said Adrienne, with childish delight. "Yes,you are right. I feel a strange pleasure in beholding these ferociousmonsters, who will remind me of those that my demi-god so heroicallyovercame. I accept also, because, for the first time in my life, I amanxious to be admired--even by everybody. I accept finally because--"Here Mdlle. de Cardoville was interrupted by a low knock at the door,and by the entrance of Florine, who announced M. Rodin.
