Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER XXII. MEMORIES.

  The person before whom Ninny Moulin stopped in such extreme astonishmentwas the Bacchanal Queen.

  Pale and wan, with, hair in disorder, hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, andclothed almost in rags, this brilliant and joyous heroine of so many madorgies was now only the shadow of her former self. Misery and grief wereimpressed on that countenance, once so charming. Hardly had she enteredthe room, when Cephyse paused; her mournful and unquiet gaze stroveto penetrate the half-obscurity of the apartment, in search of him shelonged to see. Suddenly the girl started, and uttered a loud scream.She had just perceived, at the other side of a long table, by the bluishlight of the punch, Jacques struggling with Morok and one of the guests,who were hardly able to restrain his convulsive movements.

  At this sight Cephyse, in her first alarm, carried away by heraffection, did what she had so often done in the intoxication of joy andpleasure. Light and agile, instead of losing precious time in making along circuit, she sprang at once upon the table, passed nimbly throughthe array of plates and bottles, and with one spring was by the side ofthe sufferer.

  "Jacques!" she exclaimed, without yet remarking the lion-tamer, andthrowing herself on the neck of her lover. "Jacques! it is I--Cephyse!"

  That well-known voice, that heart-piercing cry, which came from thebottom of the soul, seemed not unheard by Sleepinbuff. He turned hishead mechanically towards the Bacchanal Queen, without opening his eyes,and heaved a deep sigh; his stiffened limbs relaxed, a slight tremblingsucceeded to the convulsions, and in a few seconds his heavy eyelidswere raised with an effort, so as to uncover his dull and wanderinggaze. Mute with astonishment, the spectators of this scene felt anuneasy curiosity. Cephyse, kneeling beside her lover, bathed his handsin her tears, covered them with kisses, and exclaimed, in a voice brokenby sobs, "It is I--Cephyse--I have found you again--it was not my faultthat I abandoned you! Forgive me, forgive--"

  "Wretched woman!" cried Morok, irritated at this meeting, which might,perhaps, be fatal to his projects; "do you wish to kill him? In hispresent state, this agitation is death. Begone!" So saying, he seizedCephyse suddenly by the arm, just as Jacques, waking, as it were, from apainful dream, began to distinguish what was passing around him.

  "You! It is you!" cried the Bacchanal Queen, in amazement, as sherecognized Morok, "who separated me from Jacques!"

  She paused; for the dim eye of the victim, as it rested upon her, grewsuddenly bright.

  "Cephyse!" murmured Jacques; "is it you?"

  "Yes, it is I," answered she, in a voice of deep emotion; "who havecome--I will tell you--"

  She was unable to continue, and, as she clasped her hands together,her pale, agitated, tearful countenance expressed her astonishment anddespair at the mortal change which had taken place in the featuresof Jacques. He understood the cause of her surprise, and as hecontemplated, in his turn, the suffering and emaciated countenance ofCephyse, he said to her, "Poor girl! you also have had to bear muchgrief, much misery--I should hardly have known you."

  "Yes," replied Cephyse, "much grief--much misery--and worse thanmisery," she added, trembling, whilst a deep blush overspread her palefeatures.

  "Worse than misery?" said Jacques, astonished.

  "But it is you who have suffered," hastily resumed Cephyse, withoutanswering her lover.

  "Just now, I was going to make an end of it--your voice has recalled mefor an instant--but I feel something here," and he laid his hand uponhis breast, "which never gives quarter. It is all the same now--I haveseen you--I shall die happy."

  "You shall not die, Jacques; I am here--"

  "Listen to one, my girl. If I had a bushel of live coal in my stomach,it could hardly burn me more. For more than a month, I have beenconsuming my body by a slow fire. This gentleman," he added, glancing atMorok, "this dear friend, always undertook to feed the flame. I do notregret life; I have lost the habit of work, and taken to drink and riot;I should have finished by becoming a thorough blackguard: I preferredthat my friend here should amuse himself with lighting a furnace in myinside. Since what I drank just now, I am certain that it fumes likeyonder punch."

  "You are both foolish and ungrateful," said Morok, shrugging hisshoulders; "you held out your glass, and I filled it--and, faith, weshall drink long and often together yet."

  For some moments, Cephyse had not withdrawn her eyes from Morok. "I tellyou, that you have long blown the fire, in which I have burnt my skin,"resumed Jacques, addressing Morok in a feeble voice, "so that they maynot think I die of cholera. It would look as if I had been frightenedby the part I played. I do not therefore reproach you, my affectionatefriend," added he, with a sardonic smile; "you dug my grave gayly--andsometimes, when, seeing the great dark hole, into which I was about tofall, I drew back a step--but you, my excellent friend, still pushedme forward, saying, 'Go on, my boy, go on!'--and I went on--and here Iam--"

  So saying, Sleepinbuff burst into a bitter laugh, which sent an icyshudder through the spectators of this scene.

  "My good fellow," said Morok, coolly, "listen to me, and follow myadvice."

  "Thank you! I know your advice--and, instead of listening to you, Iprefer speaking to my poor Cephyse. Before I go down to the moles, Ishould like to tell her what weighs on my heart."

  "Jacques," replied Cephyse, "do not talk so. I tell you, you shall notdie."

  "Why, then, my brave Cephyse, I shall owe my life to you," returnedJacques, in a tone of serious feeling, which surprised the spectators."Yes," resumed he, "when I came to myself, and saw you so poorly clad,I felt something good about my heart--do you know why?--it was becauseI said to myself, 'Poor girl! she has kept her word bravely; she haschosen to toil, and want, and suffer--rather than take another love--whowould have given her what I gave her as long as I could'--and thatthought, Cephyse, refreshed my soul. I needed it, for I was burning--andI burn still," added he, clinching his fists with pain; "but that mademe happy--it did me good--thanks, my good, brave Cephyse--yes, you aregood and brave--and you were right; for I never loved any but you in thewide world; and if, in my degradation, I had one thought that raised mea little above the filth, and made me regret that I was not better--thethought was of you! Thanks then, my poor, dear love," said Jacques,whose hot and shining eyes were becoming moist; "thanks once again," andhe reached his cold hand to Cephyse; "if I die, I shall die happy--if Ilive, I shall live happy also. Give me your hand, my brave Cephyse!--youhave acted like a good and honest creature."

  Instead of taking the hand which Jacques offered her, Cephyse, stillkneeling, bowed her head, and dared not raise her eyes to her lover.

  "You don't answer," said he, leaning over towards the young girl; "youdon't take my hand--why is this?"

  The unfortunate creature only answered by stifled sobs. Borne down withshame, she held herself in so humble, so supplicating an attitude, thather forehead almost touched the feet of her lover.

  Amazed at the silence and conduct of the Bacchanal Queen, Jacqueslooked at her with increasing agitation; suddenly he stammered out withtrembling lips, "Cephyse, I know you. If you do not take my hand, it isbecause--"

  Then, his voice failing, he added, in a dull tone, after a moment'ssilence, "When, six weeks ago, I was taken to prison, did you not say tome, 'Jacques, I swear that I will work--and if need be, live in horriblemisery--but I will live true!' That was your promise. Now, I know younever speak false; tell me you have kept your word, and I shall believeyou."

  Cephyse only answered by a heart-rending sob, as she pressed the kneesof Jacques against her heaving bosom. By a strange contradiction, morecommon than is generally thought--this man, degraded by intoxicationand debauchery, who, since he came out of prison, had plunged in everyexcess, and tamely yielded to all the fatal incitements of Morok, yetreceived a fearful blow, when he learned, by the mute avowal ofCephyse, the infidelity, of this creature, whom he had loved in spite ofdegradation. The first impulse of Jacques was terrible. Notwithstandinghis weakness and exhaustion, he succeede
d in rising from his seat, and,with a countenance contracted by rage and despair, he seized a knife,before they had time to prevent him, and turned it upon Cephyse. But atthe moment he was about to strike, shrinking from an act of murder, hehurled the knife far away from him, and falling back into the chair,covered his face with his hands.

  At the cry of Ninny Moulin, who had, though late, thrown himself uponJacques to take away the knife, Cephyse raised her head: Jacques'swoeful dejection wrung her heart; she rose, and fell upon his neck,notwithstanding his resistance, exclaiming in a voice broken by sobs,"Jacques, if you knew! if you only knew--listen--do not condemn mewithout hearing me--I will tell you all, I swear to you--withoutfalsehood--this man," and she pointed to Morok, "will not dare deny whatI say; he came, and told me to have the courage to--"

  "I do not reproach you. I have no right to reproach you. Let me diein peace. I ask nothing but that now," said Jacques, in a still weakervoice, as he repulsed Cephyse. Then he added, with a grievous andbitter smile, "Luckily, I have my dose. I knew--what I was doing--when Iaccepted the duel with brandy."

  "No, you shall not die, and you shall hear me," cried Cephyse, with abewildered air; "you shall hear me, and everybody else shall hear me.They shall see that it is not my fault. Is it not so, gentlemen? Do Inot deserve pity? You will entreat Jacques to forgive me; for if drivenby misery--finding no work--I was forced to this--not for the sake ofany luxury--you see the rags I wear--but to get bread and shelter for mypoor, sick sister--dying, and even more miserable than myself--would younot have pity upon me? Do you think one finds pleasure in one's infamy?"cried the unfortunate, with a burst of frightful laughter; then sheadded, in a low voice, and with a shudder, "Oh, if you knew, Jacques! itis so infamous, so horrible, that I preferred death to falling so lowa second time. I should have killed myself, had I not heard you werehere." Then, seeing that Jacques did not answer her, but shook hishead mournfully as he sank down though still supported by NinnyMoulin, Cephyse exclaimed, as she lifted her clasped hands towards him,"Jacques! one word--for pity's sake--forgive me!"

  "Gentlemen, pray remove this woman," cried Morok; "the sight of hercauses my friend too painful emotions."

  "Come, my dear child, be reasonable," said several of the guests, who,deeply moved by this scene, were endeavoring to withdraw Cephyse fromit; "leave him, and come with us; he is not in any danger."

  "Gentlemen! oh, gentlemen!" cried the unfortunate creature, burstinginto tears, and raising her hands in supplication; "listen to me--Iwill do all that you wish me--I will go--but, in heaven's name, sendfor help, and do not let him die thus. Look, what pain he suffers! whathorrible convulsions!"

  "She is right," said one of the guests, hastening towards the door; "wemust send for a doctor."

  "There is no doctor to be found," said another; "they are all too busy."

  "We will do better than that," cried a third; "the Hospital is justopposite, and we can carry the poor fellow thither. They will give himinstant help. A leaf of the table will make a litter, and the tablecloth a covering."

  "Yes, yes, that is it," said several voices; "let us carry him over atonce."

  Jacques, burnt up with brandy, and overcome by his interview withCephyse, had again fallen into violent convulsions. It was the dyingparoxysm of the unfortunate man. They were obliged to tie him with theends of the cloth, so as to secure him to the leaf which was to servefor a litter, which two of the guests hastened to carry away. Theyyielded to the supplication of Cephyse, who asked, as a last favor, toaccompany Jacques to the Hospital. When the mournful procession quittedthe great room of the eating-house, there was a general flight among theguests. Men and women made haste to wrap themselves in their cloaks, inorder to conceal their costumes. The coaches, which had been ordered intolerable number for the return of the masquerade, had luckilyarrived. The defiance had been fully carried out, the audacious bravadoaccomplished, and they could now retire with the honors of war. Whilst apart of the guests were still in the room, an uproar, at first distant,but which soon drew nearer, broke out with incredible fury in the squareof Notre Dame.

  Jacques had been carried to the outer door of the tavern. Morok andNinny Moulin, striving to open a passage through the crowd in thedirection of the Hospital, preceded the litter. A violent reflux ofthe multitude soon forced them to stop, whilst a new storm of savageoutcries burst from the other extremity of the square, near the angle ofthe church.

  "What is it then?" asked Ninny Moulin of one of those ignoble figuresthat was leaping up before him. "What are those cries?"

  "They are making mince-meat of a poisoner, like him they have throwninto the river," replied the man. "If you want to see the fun, follow meclose," added he, "and peg away with your elbows, for fear you should betoo late."

  Hardly had the wretch pronounced these words than a dreadful shrieksounded above the roar of the crowd, through which the bearers of thelitter, preceded by Morok, were with difficulty making their way. Itwas Cephyse who uttered that cry. Jacques (one of the seven heirs of theRennepont family) had just expired in her arms! By a strange fatality,at the very moment that the despairing exclamation of Cephyse announcedthat death, another cry rose from that part of the square where theywere attacking the poisoner. That distant, supplicating cry, tremulouswith horrible alarm, like the last appeal of a man staggering beneaththe blows of his murderers, chilled the soul of Morok in the midst ofhis execrable triumph.

  "Damnation!" cried the skillful assassin, who had selected drunkennessand debauchery for his murderous but legal weapons; "it is the voice ofthe Abbe d'Aigrigny, whom they have in their clutches!"