The Wandering Jew, Book VI.

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THE WANDERING JEW

By Eugene Sue




BOOK VI.



PART SECOND.--THE CHASTISEMENT. (Concluded.)

XXVI. A Good Genius
XXVII. The First Last, And the Last First
XXVIII. The Stranger
XXIX. The Den
XXX. An Unexpected Visit
XXXI. Friendly Services
XXXII. The Advice
XXXIII. The Accuser
XXXIV. Father d'Aigrigny's Secretary
XXXV. Sympathy
XXXVI. Suspicions
XXXVII. Excuses
XXXVIII. Revelations
XXXIX. Pierre Simon




CHAPTER XXVI.

A GOOD GENIUS.

The first of the two, whose arrival had interrupted the answer of the
notary, was Faringhea. At sight of this man's forbidding countenance,
Samuel approached, and said to him: "Who are you, sir?"

After casting a piercing glance at Rodin, who started but soon recovered
his habitual coolness, Faringhea replied to Samuel: "Prince Djalma
arrived lately from India, in order to be present here this day, as it
was recommended to him by an inscription on a medal, which he wore about
his neck."

"He, also!" cried Gabriel, who had been the shipmate of the Indian Prince
from the Azores, where the vessel in which he came from Alexandria had
been driven into port: "he also one of the heirs! In fact, the prince
told me during the voyage that his mother was of French origin. But,
doubtless, he thought it right to conceal from me the object of his
journey. Oh! that Indian is a noble and courageous young man. Where is
he?"

The Strangler again looked at Rodin, and said, laying strong emphasis
upon his words: "I left the prince yesterday evening. He informed me
that, although he had a great interest to be here, he might possibly
sacrifice that interest to other motives. I passed the night in the same
hotel, and this morning, when I went to call on him, they told me he was
already gone out. My friendship for him led me to come hither, hoping the
information I should be able to give might be of use to the prince."

In making no mention of the snare into which he had fallen the day
before, in concealing Rodin's machinations with regard to Djalma, and in
attributing the absence of this latter to a voluntary cause, the
Strangler evidently wished to serve the socius, trusting that Rodin would
know how to recompense his discretion. It is useless to observe, that all
this story was impudently false. Having succeeded that morning in
escaping from his prison by a prodigious effort of cunning, audacity, and
skill, he had run to the hotel where he had left Djalma; there he had
learned that a man and woman, of an advanced age, and most respectable
appearance, calling themselves relations of the young Indian, had asked
to see him--and that, alarmed at the dangerous state of somnolency in
which he seemed to be plunged, they had taken him home in their carriage,
in order to pay him the necessary attention.

"It is unfortunate," said the notary, "that this heir also did not make
his appearance--but he has, unhappily, forfeited his right to the immense
inheritance that is in question."

"Oh! an immense inheritance is in question," said Faringhea, looking
fixedly at Rodin, who prudently turned away his eyes.

The second of the two personages we have mentioned entered at this
moment. It was the father of Marshal Simon, an old man of tall stature,
still active and vigorous for his age. His hair was white and thin. His
countenance, rather fresh-colored, was expressive at once of quickness,
mildness and energy.

Agricola advanced hastily to meet him. "You here, M. Simon!" he
exclaimed.

"Yes, my boy," said the marshal's father, cordially pressing Agricola's
hand "I have just arrived from my journey. M. Hardy was to have been
here, about some matter of inheritance, as he supposed: but, as he will
still be absent from Paris for some time, he has charged me--"

"He also an heir!--M. Francis Hardy!" cried Agricola, interrupting the
old workman.

"But how pale and agitated you are, my boy!" said the marshal's father,
looking round with astonishment. "What is the matter?"

"What is the matter?" cried Dagobert, in despair, as he approached the
foreman. "The matter is that they would rob your granddaughters, and that
I have brought them from the depths of Siberia only to witness this
shameful deed!"

"Eh?" cried the old workman, trying to recognize the soldiers face, "you
are then--"

"Dagobert."

"You--the generous, devoted friend of my son!" cried the marshal's
father, pressing the hands of Dagobert in his own with strong emotion;
"but did you not speak of Simon's daughter?"

"Of his daughters; for he is more fortunate than he imagines," said
Dagobert. "The poor children are twins."

"And where are they?" asked the old man.

"In a convent."

"In a convent?"

"Yes; by the treachery of this man, who keeps them there in order to
disinherit them."

"What man?"

"The Marquis d'Aigrigny."

"My son's mortal enemy!" cried the old workman, as he threw a glance of
aversion at Father d'Aigrigny, whose audacity did not fail him.

"And that is not all," added Agricola. "M. Hardy, my worthy and excellent
master, has also lost his right to this immense inheritance."

"What?" cried Marshal Simon's father; "but M. Hardy did not know that
such important interests were concerned. He set out hastily to join one
of his friends who was in want of him."

At each of these successive revelations, Samuel felt his trouble
increase: but he could only sigh over it, for the will of the testator
was couched, unhappily, in precise and positive terms.

Father d'Aigrigny, impatient to end this scene, which caused him cruel
embarrassment, in spite of his apparent calmness, said to the notary, in
a grave and expressive voice: "It is necessary, sir, that all this should
have an end. If calumny could reach me, I would answer victoriously by
the facts that have just come to light. Why attribute to odious
conspiracies the absence of the heirs, in whose names this soldier and
his son have so uncourteously urged their demands? Why should such
absence be less explicable than the young Indian's, or than M. Hardy's,
who, as his confidential man has just told us, did not even know the
importance of the interests that called him hither? Is it not probable,
that the daughters of Marshal Simon, and Mdlle. de Cardoville have been
prevented from coming here to-day by some very natural reasons? But, once
again, this has lasted too long. I think M. Notary will agree with me,
that this discovery of new heirs does not at all affect the question,
which I had the honor to propose to him just now; namely whether, as
trustee for the poor, to whom Abbe Gabriel made a free gift of all he
possessed, I remain notwithstanding his tardy and illegal opposition, the
only possessor of this property, which I have promised, and which I now
again promise, in presence of all here assembled, to employ for the
Greater Glory of the Lord? Please to answer me plainly, M. Notary; and
thus terminate the scene which must needs be painful to us all."

"Sir," replied the notary, in a solemn tone, "on my soul and conscience,
and in the name of law and justice--as a faithful and impartial executor
of the last will of M. Marius de Rennepont, I declare that, by virtue of
the deed of gift of Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont, you, M. l'Abbe d'Aigrigny,
are the only possessor of this property, which I place at your immediate
disposal, that you may employ the same according to the intention of the
donor."

These words pronounced with conviction and gravity, destroyed the last
vague hopes that the representatives of the heirs might till then have
entertained. Samuel became paler than usual, and pressed convulsively the
hand of Bathsheba, who had drawn near to him. Large tears rolled down the
cheeks of the two old people. Dagobert and Agricola were plunged into the
deepest dejection. Struck with the reasoning of the notary, who refused
to give more credence and authority to their remonstrances than the
magistrates had done before him, they saw themselves forced to abandon
every hope. But Gabriel suffered more than any one; he felt the most
terrible remorse, in reflecting that, by his blindness, he had been the
involuntary cause and instrument of this abominable theft.

So, when the notary, after having examined and verified the amount of
securities contained in the cedar box, said to Father d'Aigrigny: "Take
possession, sir, of this casket--" Gabriel exclaimed, with bitter
disappointment and profound despair: "Alas! one would fancy, under these
circumstances, that an inexorable fatality pursues all those who are
worthy of interest, affection or respect. Oh, my God!" added the young
priest, clasping his hands with fervor, "Thy sovereign justice will never
permit the triumph of such iniquity."

It was as if heaven had listened to the prayer of the missionary. Hardly
had he spoken, when a strange event took place.

Without waiting for the end of Gabriel's invocation, Rodin, profiting by
the decision of the notary, had seized the casket in his arms, unable to
repress a deep aspiration of joy and triumph. At the very moment when
Father d'Aigrigny and his socius thought themselves at last in safe
possession of the treasure, the door of the apartment in which the clock
had been heard striking was suddenly opened.

A woman appeared upon the threshold.

At sight of her, Gabriel uttered a loud cry, and remained as if
thunderstruck. Samuel and Bathsheba fell on their knees together, and
raised their clasped hands. The Jew and Jewess felt inexplicable hopes
reviving within them.

All the other actors in this scene appeared struck with stupor.
Rodin--Rodin himself--recoiled two steps, and replaced the casket on the
table with a trembling hand. Though the incident might appear natural
enough--a woman appearing on the threshold of a door, which she had just
thrown open--there was a pause of deep and solemn silence. Every bosom
seemed oppressed, and as if struggling for breath. All experienced, at
sight of this woman, surprise mingled with fear, and indefinable
anxiety--for this woman was the living original of the portrait, which
had been placed in the room a hundred and fifty years ago. The same
head-dress, the same flowing robe, the same countenance, so full of
poignant and resigned grief! She advanced slowly, and without appearing
to perceive the deep impression she had caused. She approached one of the
pieces of furniture, inlaid with brass, touched a spring concealed in the
moulding of gilded bronze, so that an upper drawer flew open, and taking
from it a sealed parchment envelope, she walked up to the table, and
placed this packet before the notary, who, hitherto silent and
motionless, received it mechanically from her.

Then, casting upon Gabriel, who seemed fascinated by her presence, a
long, mild, melancholy look, this woman directed her steps towards the
hall, the door of which had remained open. As she passed near Samuel and
Bathsheba, who were still kneeling, she stopped an instant, bowed her
fair head towards them, and looked at them with tender solicitude. Then,
giving them her hands to kiss, she glided away as slowly as she had
entered--throwing a last glance upon Gabriel. The departure of this woman
seemed to break the spell under which all present had remained for the
last few minutes. Gabriel was the first to speak, exclaiming, in an
agitated voice. "It is she--again--here--in this house!"

"Who, brother?" said Agricola, uneasy at the pale and almost wild looks
of the missionary; for the smith had not yet remarked the strange
resemblance of the woman to the portrait, though he shared in the general
feeling of amazement, without being able to explain it to himself.
Dagobert and Faringhea were in a similar state of mind.

"Who is this woman?" resumed Agricola, as he took the hand of Gabriel,
which felt damp and icy cold.

"Look!" said the young priest. "Those portraits have been there for more
than a century and a half."

He pointed to the paintings before which he was now seated, and Agricola,
Dagobert, and Faringhea raised their eyes to either side of the
fireplace. Three exclamations were now heard at once.

"It is she--it is the same woman!" cried the smith, in amazement, "and
her portrait has been here for a hundred and fifty years!"

"What do I see?" cried Dagobert, as he gazed at the portrait of the man.
"The friend and emissary of Marshal Simon. Yes! it is the same face that
I saw last year in Siberia. Oh, yes! I recognize that wild and sorrowful
air--those black eyebrows, which make only one!"

"My eyes do not deceive me," muttered Faringhea to himself, shuddering
with horror. "It is the same man, with the black mark on his forehead,
that we strangled and buried on the banks of the Ganges--the same man,
that one of the sons of Bowanee told me, in the ruins of Tchandi, had
been met by him afterwards at one of the gates of Bombay--the man of the
fatal curse, who scatters death upon his passage--and his picture has
existed for a hundred and fifty years!"

And, like Dagobert and Agricola, the stranger could not withdraw his eyes
from that strange portrait.

"What a mysterious resemblance!" thought Father d'Aigrigny. Then, as if
struck with a sudden idea, he said to Gabriel: "But this woman is the
same that saved your life in America?"

"It is the same," answered Gabriel, with emotion; "and yet she told me
she was going towards the North," added the young priest, speaking to
himself.

"But how came she in this house?" said Father d'Aigrigny, addressing
Samuel. "Answer me! did this woman come in with you, or before you?"

"I came in first, and alone, when this door was first opened since a
century and half," said Samuel, gravely.

"Then how can you explain the presence of this woman here?" said Father
d'Aigrigny.

"I do not try to explain it," said the Jew. "I see, I believe, and now I
hope." added he, looking at Bathsheba with an indefinable expression.

"But you ought to explain the presence of this woman!" said Father
d'Aigrigny, with vague uneasiness. "Who is she? How came she hither?"

"All I know is, sir, that my father has often told me; there are
subterraneous communications between this house and distant parts of the
quarter."

"Oh! then nothing can be clearer," said Father d'Aigrigny; "it only
remains to be known what this woman intends by coming hither. As for her
singular resemblance to this portrait, it is one of the freaks of
nature."

Rodin had shared in the general emotion, at the apparition of this
mysterious woman. But when he saw that she had delivered a sealed packet
to the notary, the socius, instead of thinking of the strangeness of this
unexpected vision, was only occupied with a violent desire to quit the
house with the treasure which had just fallen to the Company. He felt a
vague anxiety at sight of the envelope with the black seal, which the
protectress of Gabriel had delivered to the notary, and was still held
mechanically in his hands. The socius, therefore, judging this a very
good opportunity to walk off with the casket, during the general silence
and stupor which still continued, slightly touched Father d'Aigrigny's
elbow, made him a sign of intelligence, and, tucking the cedar-wood chest
under his arm, was hastening towards the door.

"One moment, sir," said Samuel, rising, and standing in his path; "I
request M. Notary to examine the envelope, that has just been delivered
to him. You may then go out."

"But, sir," said Rodin, trying to force a passage, "the question is
definitively decided in favor of Father d'Aigrigny. Therefore, with your
permission--"

"I tell you, sir," answered the old man, in a loud voice, "that this
casket shall not leave the house, until M. Notary has examined the
envelope just delivered to him!"

These words drew the attention of all, Rodin was forced to retrace his
steps. Notwithstanding the firmness of his character, the Jew shuddered
at the look of implacable hate which Rodin turned upon him at this
moment.

Yielding to the wish of Samuel, the notary examined the envelope with
attention. "Good Heaven!" he cried suddenly; "what do I see?--Ah! so much
the better!"

At this exclamation all eyes turned upon the notary. "Oh! read, read,
sir!" cried Samuel, clasping his hands together. "My presentiments have
not then deceived me!"

"But, sir," said Father d'Aigrigny to the notary, for he began to share
in the anxiety of Rodin, "what is this paper?"

"A codicil," answered the notary; "a codicil, which reopens the whole
question."

"How, sir?" cried Father d'Aigrigny, in a fury, as he hastily drew nearer
to the notary, "reopens the whole question! By what right?"

"It is impossible," added Rodin. "We protest against it.

"Gabriel! father! listen," cried Agricola, "all is not lost. There is yet
hope. Do you hear, Gabriel? There is yet hope."

"What do you say?" exclaimed the young priest, rising, and hardly
believing the words of his adopted brother.

"Gentlemen," said the notary; "I will read to you the superscription of
this envelope. It changes, or rather, it adjourns, the whole of the
testamentary provisions."

"Gabriel!" cried Agricola, throwing himself on the neck of the
missionary, "all is adjourned, nothing is lost!"

"Listen, gentlemen," said the notary; and he read as follows:

"'This is a Codicil, which for reasons herein stated, adjourns and
prorogues to the 1st day of June, 1832, though without any other change,
all the provisions contained in the testament made by me, at one o'clock
this afternoon. The house shall be reclosed, and the funds left in the
hands of the same trustee, to be distributed to the rightful claimants on
the 1st of June, 1832.

"'Villetaneuse, this 13th of February, 1682, eleven o'clock at night.
"'MARIUS DE RENNEPONT.'"

"I protest against this codicil as a forgery!" cried Father d'Aigrigny
livid with rage and despair.

"The woman who delivered it to the notary is a suspicious character,"
added Rodin. "The codicil has been forged."

"No, sir," said the notary, severely; "I have just compared the two
signatures, and they are absolutely alike. For the rest--what I said this
morning, with regard to the absent heirs, is now applicable to you--the
law is open; you may dispute the authenticity of this codicil. Meanwhile,
everything will remain suspended--since the term for the adjustment of
the inheritance is prolonged for three months and a half."

When the notary had uttered these last words, Rodin's nails dripped
blood; for the first time, his wan lips became red.

"Oh, God! Thou hast heard and granted my prayer!" cried Gabriel, kneeling
down with religious fervor, and turning his angelic face towards heaven.
"Thy sovereign justice has not let iniquity triumph!"

"What do you say, my brave boy?" cried Dagobert, who, in the first tumult
of joy, had not exactly understood the meaning of the codicil.

"All is put off, father!" exclaimed the smith; "the heirs will have three
months and a half more to make their claim. And now that these people are
unmasked," added Agricola, pointing to Rodin and Father d'Aigrigny, "we
have nothing more to fear from them. We shall be on our guard; and the
orphans, Mdlle. de Cardoville, my worthy master, M. Hardy, and this young
Indian, will all recover their own."

We must renounce the attempt to paint the delight, the transport of
Gabriel and Agricola, of Dagobert, and Marshal Simon's father, of Samuel
and Bathsheba. Faringhea alone remained in gloomy silence, before the
portrait of the man with the black-barred forehead. As for the fury of
Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin, when they saw Samuel retake possession of
the casket, we must also renounce any attempt to describe it. On the
notary's suggestion, who took with him the codicil, to have it opened
according to the formalities of the law, Samuel agreed that it would be
more prudent to deposit in the Bank of France the securities of immense
value that were now known to be in his possession.

While all the generous hearts, which had for a moment suffered so much,
were overflowing with happiness, hope, and joy, Father d'Aigrigny and
Rodin quitted the house with rage and death in their souls. The reverend
father got into his carriage, and said to his servants: "To Saint-Dizier
House!"--Then, worn out and crushed, he fell back upon the seat, and hid
his face in his hands, while he uttered a deep groan. Rodin sat next to
him, and looked with a mixture of anger and disdain at this so dejected
and broken-spirited man.

"The coward!" said he to himself. "He despairs--and yet--"

A quarter of an hour later, the carriage stopped in the Rue de Babylone,
in the court-yard of Saint-Dizier House.




CHAPTER XXVII.

THE FIRST LAST, AND THE LAST FIRST.

The carriage had travelled rapidly to Saint-Dizier House. During all the
way, Rodin remained mute, contenting himself with observing Father
d'Aigrigny, and listening to him, as he poured forth his grief and fury
in a long monologue, interrupted by exclamations, lamentations, and
bursts of rage, directed against the strokes of that inexorable destiny,
which had ruined in a moment the best founded hopes. When the carriage
entered the courtyard, and stopped before the portico, the princess's
face could be seen through one of the windows, half hidden by the folds
of a curtain; in her burning anxiety, she came to see if it was really
Father d'Aigrigny who arrived at the house. Still more, in defiance of
all ordinary rules, this great lady, generally so scrupulous as to
appearances, hurried from her apartment, and descended several steps of
the staircase, to meet Father d'Aigrigny, who was coming up with a
dejected air. At sight of the livid and agitated countenance of the
reverend father, the princess stopped suddenly, and grew pale. She
suspected that all was lost. A look rapidly exchanged with her old lover
left her no doubt of the issue she so much feared. Rodin humbly followed
the reverend father, and both, preceded by the princess, entered the
room. The door once closed, the princess, addressing Father d'Aigrigny,
exclaimed with unspeakable anguish: "What has happened?"

Instead of answering this question, the reverend father, his eyes
sparkling with rage, his lips white, his features contracted, looked
fixedly at the princess, and said to her: "Do you know the amount of this
inheritance, that we estimated at forty millions?"

"I understand," cried the princess; "we have been deceived. The
inheritance amounts to nothing, and all you have dare has been in vain."

"Yes, it has indeed been in vain," answered the reverend father, grinding
his teeth with rage; "it was no question of forty millions, but of two
hundred and twelve millions.

"Two hundred and twelve millions!" repeated the princess in amazement, as
she drew back a step. "It is impossible!"

"I tell you I saw the vouchers, which were examined by the notary."

"Two hundred and twelve millions?" resumed the princess, with deep
dejection. "It is an immense and sovereign power--and you have
renounced--you have not struggled for it, by every possible means, and
till the last moment?"

"Madame, I have done all that I could!--notwithstanding the treachery of
Gabriel, who this very morning declared that he renounced us, and
separated from the Society."

"Ungrateful!" said the princess, unaffectedly.

"The deed of gift, which I had the precaution to have prepared by the
notary, was in such good, legal form, that in spite of the objections of
that accursed soldier and his son, the notary had put me in possession of
the treasure."

"Two hundred and twelve millions!" repeated the princess clasping her
hands. "Verily it is like a dream!"

"Yes," replied Father d'Aigrigny, bitterly, "for us, this possession is
indeed a dream, for a codicil has been discovered, which puts off for
three months and a half all the testamentary provisions. Now that our
very precautions have roused the suspicion of all these heirs--now that
they know the enormous amount at stake--they will be upon their guard;
and all is lost."

"But who is the wretch that produced this codicil?"

"A woman."

"What woman?"

"Some wandering creature, that Gabriel says he met in America, where she
saved his life."

"And how could this woman be there--how could she know the existence of
this codicil?"

"I think it was all arranged with a miserable Jew, the guardian of the
house, whose family has had charge of the funds for three generations; he
had no doubt some secret instructions, in case he suspected the detention
of any of the heirs, for this Marius de Rennepont had foreseen that our
Company would keep their eyes upon his race."

"But can you not dispute the validity of this codicil?"

"What, go to law in these times--litigate about a will--incur the
certainty of a thousand clamors, with no security for success?--It is bad
enough, that even this should get wind. Alas! it is terrible. So near the
goal! after so much care and trouble. An affair that had been followed up
with so much perseverance during a century and a half!"

"Two hundred and twelve millions!" said the princess. "The Order would
have had no need to look for establishments in foreign countries; with
such resources, it would have been able to impose itself upon France."