The Wandering Jew Part 155

"Of what you will," said Djalma, with careless contempt, as he fixed on the ceiling his eyes, half-veiled with languor. "One thought pursues me--I wish to be diverted from it. Speak to me."

Faringhea threw a piercing glance on the countenance of the young Indian, and saw that his cheeks were colored with a slight blush. "My lord," said the half-caste, "I can guess your thought."

Djalma shook his head, without looking at the Strangler. The latter resumed: "You are thinking of the women of Paris, my lord."

"Be silent, slave!" said Djalma, turning abruptly on the sofa, as if some painful wound had been touched to the quick. Faringhea obeyed.

After the lapse of some moments. Djalma broke forth again with impatience, throwing aside the tube of the hookah, and veiling both eyes with his hands: "Your words are better than silence. Cursed be my thoughts, and the spirit which calls up these phantoms!"

"Why should you fly these thoughts, my lord? You are nineteen years of age, and hitherto all your youth has been spent in war and captivity.

Up to this time, you have remained as chaste as Gabriel, that young Christian priest, who accompanied us on our voyage."

Though Faringhea did not at all depart from his respectful deference for the prince, the latter felt that there was something of irony in the tone of the half-caste, as he p.r.o.nounced the word "chaste."

Djalma said to him with a mixture of pride and severity: "I do not wish to pa.s.s for a barbarian, as they call us, with these civilized people; therefore I glory in my chast.i.ty."

"I do not understand, my lord."

"I may perhaps love some woman, pure as was my mother when she married my father; and to ask for purity from a woman, a man must be chaste as she."

At this, Faringhea could not refrain from a sardonic smile.

"Why do you laugh, slave?" said the young prince, imperiously.

"Among civilized people, as you call them, my lord, the man who married in the flower of his innocence would be mortally wounded with ridicule."

"It is false, slave! He would only be ridiculous if he married one that was not pure as himself."

"Then, my lord, he would not only be wounded--he would be killed outright, for he would be doubly and unmercifully laughed at."

"It is false! it is false. Where did you learn all this?"

"I have seen Parisian women at the Isle of France, and at Pondicherry, my lord. Moreover, I learned a good deal during our voyage; I talked with a young officer, while you conversed with the young priest."

"So, like the sultans of our harems, civilized men require of women the innocence they have themselves lost."

"They require it the more, the less they have of it, my lord."

"To require without any return, is to act as a master to his slave; by what right?"

"By the right of the strongest--as it is among us, my lord."

"And what do the women do?"

"They prevent the men from being too ridiculous, when they marry, in the eyes of the world."

"But they kill a woman that is false?" said Djalma, raising himself abruptly, and fixing upon Faringhea a savage look, that sparkled with lurid fire.

"They kill her, my lord, as with us--when they find her out."

"Despots like ourselves! Why then do these civilized men not shut up their women, to force them to a fidelity which they do not practise?"

"Because their civilization is barbarous, and their barbarism civilized, my lord."

"All this is sad enough, if true," observed Djalma, with a pensive air, adding, with a species of enthusiasm, employing, as usual, the mystic and figurative language familiar to the people of his country; "yes, your talk afflicts me, slave--for two drops of dew blending in the cup of a flower are as hearts that mingle in a pure and virgin love; and two rays of light united in one inextinguishable flame, are as the burning and eternal joys of lovers joined in wedlock."

Djalma spoke of the pure enjoyments of the soul with inexpressible grace, yet it was when he painted less ideal happiness, that his eyes shone like stars; he shuddered slightly, his nostrils swelled, the pale gold of his complexion became vermilion, and the young prince sank into a deep reverie.

Faringhea, having remarked this emotion, thus spoke: "If, like the proud and brilliant king-bird of our woods, you prefer numerous and varied pleasures to solitary and monotonous amours--handsome, young, rich as you are, my lord, were you to seek out the seductive Parisians--voluptuous phantoms of your nights--charming tormentors of your dreams--were you to cast upon them looks bold as a challenge, supplicating as prayers, ardent as desires--do you not think that many a half-veiled eye would borrow fire from your glance? Then it would no longer be the monotonous delights of a single love, the heavy chain of our life--no, it would be the thousand pleasures of the harem--a harem peopled with free and proud beauties, whom happy love would make your slaves. So long constrained, there is no such thing as excess to you.

Believe me, it would then be you, the ardent, the magnificent son of our country, that would become the love and pride of these women--the most seductive in the world, who would soon have for you no looks but those of languor and pa.s.sion."

Djalma had listened to Faringhea with silent eagerness. The expression of his features had completely changed; it was no longer the melancholy and dreaming youth, invoking the sacred remembrance of his mother, and finding only in the dew of heaven, in the calyx of flowers, images sufficiently pure to paint the chast.i.ty of the love he dreamed of; it was no longer even the young man, blus.h.i.+ng with a modest ardor at the thought of the permitted joys of a legitimate union. No! the incitements of Faringhea had kindled a subterraneous fire; the inflamed countenance of Djalma, his eyes now sparkling and now veiled, his manly and sonorous respiration, announced the heat of his blood, the boiling up of the pa.s.sions, only the more energetic, that they had been hitherto restrained.

So, springing suddenly from the divan, supple, vigorous, and light as a young tiger, Djalma clutched Faringhea by the throat exclaiming: "Thy words are burning poison!"

"My lord," said Faringhea, without opposing the least resistance, "your slave is your slave." This submission disarmed the prince.

"My life belongs to you," repeated the half-caste.

"I belong to you, slave!" cried Djalma, repulsing him. "Just now, I hung upon your lips, devouring your dangerous lies."

"Lies, my lord? Only appear before these women, and their looks will confirm my words."

"These women love me!--me, who have only lived in war and in the woods?"

"The thought that you, so young, have already waged b.l.o.o.d.y war on men and tigers, will make them adore, my lord."

"You lie!"

"I tell you, my lord, on seeing your hand, as delicate as theirs, but which has been so often bathed in hostile blood, they will wish to caress it; and they will kiss it again, when they think that, in our forests, with loaded rifle, and a poniard between your teeth, you smiled at the roaring of a lion or panther for whom you lay in wait."

"But I am a savage--a barbarian."

"And for that very reason you will have them at your feet. They will feel themselves both terrified and charmed by all the violence and fury, the rage of jealousy, the pa.s.sion and the love, to which a man of your blood, your youth, your ardor must be subject. To-day mild and tender, to-morrow fierce and suspicious, another time ardent and pa.s.sionate, such you will be--and such you ought to be, if you wish to win them.

Yes; let a kiss of rage be heard between two kisses: let a dagger glitter in the midst of caresses, and they will fall before you, palpitating with pleasure, love, and fear--and you will be to them, not a man, but a G.o.d."

"Dost think so?" cried Djalma, carried away in spite of himself by the Thug's wild eloquence.

"You know, you feel, that I speak the truth," cried the latter, extending his arm towards the young Indian.

"Why, yes!" exclaimed Djalma, his eyes sparkling, his nostrils swelling, as he moved about the apartment with savage bounds. "I know not if I possess my reason, or if I am intoxicated, but it seems to me that you speak truth. Yes, I feel that they will love me with madness and fury, because my love will be mad and furious they will tremble with pleasure and fear, because the very thought of it makes me tremble with delight and terror. Slave, it is true; there is something exciting and fearful in such a love!" As he spoke forth these words, Djalma was superb in his impetuous sensuality. It is a rare thing to see a young man arrive in his native purity, at the age in which are developed, in all their powerful energy, those admirable instincts of love, which G.o.d has implanted in the heart of his creatures, and which, repressed, disguised, or perverted, may unseat the reason, or generate mad excesses and frightful crimes--but which, directed towards a great and n.o.ble pa.s.sion, may and must, by their very violence, elevate man, through devotion and tenderness, to the limits of the ideal.

"Oh! this woman--this woman, before whom I am to tremble--and who, in turn, must tremble before me--where is she?" cried Djalma, with redoubled excitement. "Shall I ever find her?"

"One is a good deal, my lord," replied Faringhea, with his sardonic coolness; "he who looks for one woman, will rarely succeed in this country; he who seeks women, is only at a loss to choose."

As the half-caste made this impertinent answer to Djalma, a very elegant blue-and-white carriage stopped before the garden-gate of the house, which opened upon a deserted street. It was drawn by a pair of beautiful blood-horses, of a cream color, with black manes and tails. The scutcheons on the harness were of silver, as were also the b.u.t.tons of the servants' livery, which was blue with white collars. On the blue hammercloth, also laced with white, as well as on the panels of the doors, were lozenge-shaped coats of arms, without crest or coronet, as usually borne by unmarried daughters of n.o.ble families. Two women were in this carriage--Mdlle. de Cardoville and Florine.