The Wandering Jew, Complete

E >> Eugene Sue >> The Wandering Jew, Complete


"That is still another cause the less for uneasiness."

"As for M. Hardy," resumed Rodin "I have received this morning, from
Toulouse, a letter from his intimate friend, M. de Bressac, who has been
of such service to us in keeping the manufacturer away for some days
longer. This letter contains a note, addressed by M. Hardy to a
confidential person, which M. de Bressac has thought fit to intercept,
and send to us as another proof of the success of the steps he has taken,
and for which he hopes we shall give him credit--as to serve us, he adds,
he betrays his friend in the most shameful manner, and acts a part in an
odious comedy. M. de Bressac trusts that, in return for these good
offices, we will deliver up to him those papers, which place him in our
absolute dependence, as they might ruin for ever a woman he loves with an
adulterous passion. He says that we ought to have pity on the horrible
alternative in which he is placed--either to dishonor and ruin the woman
he adores, or infamously to betray the confidence of his bosom friend."

"These adulterous lamentations are not deserving of pity," answered
Father d'Aigrigny, with contempt. "We will see about that; M. de Bressac
may still be useful to us. But let us hear this letter of M. Hardy, that
impious and republican manufacturer, worthy descendant of an accursed
race, whom it is of the first importance to keep away."

"Here is M. Hardy's letter," resumed Rodin. "To-morrow, we will send it
to the person to whom it is addressed." Rodin read as follows:

"TOULOUSE, February the 10th.

"At length I find a moment to write to you, and to explain the cause of
the sudden departure which, without alarming, must at least have
astonished you. I write also to ask you a service; the facts may be
stated in a few words. I have often spoken to you of Felix de Bressac,
one of my boyhood mates, though not nearly so old as myself. We have
always loved each other tenderly, and have shown too many proofs of
mutual affection not to count upon one another. He is a brother to me.
You know all I mean by that expression. Well--a few days ago, he wrote to
me from Toulouse, where he was to spend some time: 'If you love me, come;
I have the greatest need of you. At once! Your consolations may perhaps
give me the courage to live. If you arrive too late--why, forgive me--and
think sometimes of him who will be yours to the last.' Judge of my grief
and fear on receipt of the above. I seat instantly for post-horses. My
old foreman, whom I esteem and revere (the father of General Simon),
hearing that I was going to the south, begged me to take him with me, and
to leave him for some days in the department of the Creuse, to examine
some ironworks recently founded there. I consented willingly to this
proposition, as I should thus at least have some one to whom I could pour
out the grief and anxiety which had been caused by this letter from
Bressac. I arrive at Toulouse; they tell me that he left the evening
before, taking arms with him, a prey to the most violent despair. It was
impossible at first to tell whither he had gone; after two days, some
indications, collected with great trouble, put me upon his track. At
last, after a thousand adventures, I found him in a miserable village.
Never--no, never, have I seen despair like this. No violence, but a
dreadful dejection, a savage silence. At first, he almost repulsed me;
then, this horrible agony having reached its height, he softened by
degrees, and, in about a quarter of an hour, threw himself into my arms,
bathed in tears. Beside him were his loaded pistols: one day later, and
all would have been over. I cannot tell you the reason of his despair; I
am not at liberty to do so; but it did not greatly astonish me. Now there
is a complete cure to effect. We must calm, and soothe, and heal this
poor soul, which has been cruelly wounded. The hand of friendship is
alone equal to this delicate task, and I have good hope of success. I
have therefore persuaded him to travel for some time; movement and change
of scene will be favorable to him. I shall take him first to Nice; we set
out tomorrow. If he wishes to prolong this excursion. I shall do so too,
for my affairs do not imperiously demand my presence in Paris before the
end of March. As for the service I have to ask of you, it is conditional.
These are the facts. According to some family papers that belonged to my
mother, it seems I have a certain interest to present myself at No. 3,
Rue Saint-Francois, in Paris, on the 13th of February. I had inquired
about it, and could learn nothing, except that this house of very antique
appearance, has been shut up for the last hundred and fifty years,
through a whim of one of my maternal ancestors, and that it is to be
opened on the 13th of this month, in presence of the co-heirs who, if I
have any, are quite unknown to me. Not being able to attend myself, I
have written to my foreman, the father of General Simon, in whom I have
the greatest confidence, and whom I had left behind in the department of
the Creuse, to set out for Paris, and to be present at the opening of
this house, not as an agent (which would be useless), but as a spectator,
and inform me at Nice what has been the result of this romantic notion of
my ancestor's. As it is possible that my foreman may arrive too late to
accomplish this mission, I should be much obliged if you would inquire at
my house at Plessy, if he has yet come, and, in case of his still being
absent, if you would take his place at the opening of the house in the
Rue Saint-Francois. I believe that I have made a very small sacrifice for
my friend Bressac, in not being in Paris on that day. But had the
sacrifice been immense, I should have made it with pleasure, for my care
and friendship are at present most necessary to the man whom I look upon
as a brother. I count upon your compliance with my request, and, begging
you to be kind enough to write me, 'to be called for,' at Nice, the
result of your visit of inquiry, I remain, etc., etc.

"FRANCIS HARDY."

"Though his presence cannot be of any great importance, it would be
preferable that Marshal Simon's father should not attend at the opening
of this house to-morrow," said Father d'Aigrigny. "But no matter. M.
Hardy himself is out of the way. There only remains the young Indian."

"As for him," continued the abbe, with a thoughtful air, "we acted wisely
in letting M. Norval set out with the presents of Mdlle. de Cardoville.
The doctor who accompanies M. Norval, and who was chosen by M. Baleinier,
will inspire no suspicion?"

"None," answered Rodin. "His letter of yesterday is completely
satisfactory."

"There is nothing, then, to fear from the Indian prince," said
D'Aigrigny. "All goes well."

"As for Gabriel," resumed Rodin, "he has again written this morning, to
obtain from your reverence the interview that he has vainly solicited for
the last three days. He is affected by the rigor exercised towards him,
in forbidding him to leave the house for these five days past."

"To-morrow, when we take him to the Rue Saint-Francois, I will hear what
he has to say. It will be time enough. Thus, at this hour," said Father
d'Aigrigny, with an air of triumphant satisfaction, "all the descendants
of this family, whose presence might ruin our projects, are so placed
that it is absolutely impossible for them to be at the Rue Saint-Francois
to-morrow before noon, while Gabriel will be sure to be there. At last
our end is gained."

Two cautious knocks at the door interrupted Father d'Aigrigny. "Come in,"
said he.

An old servant in black presented himself, and said: "There is a man
downstairs who wishes to speak instantly to M. Rodin on very urgent
business."

"His name?" asked Father d'Aigrigny.

"He would not tell his name; but he says that he comes from M. Van Dael,
a merchant in Java."

Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin exchanged a glance of surprise, almost of
alarm.

"See what this man is," said D'Aigrigny to Rodin, unable to conceal his
uneasiness, "and then come and give me an account of it." Then,
addressing the servant, he added: "Show him in"--and exchanging another
expressive sign with Rodin, Father d'Aigrigny disappeared by a side-door.

A minute after, Faringhea, the ex-chief of the Stranglers, appeared
before Rodin, who instantly remembered having seen him at Cardoville
Castle.

The socius started, but he did not wish to appear to recollect his
visitor. Still bending over his desk, he seemed not to seen Faringhea,
but wrote hastily some words on a sheet of paper that lay before him.

"Sir," said the servant, astonished at the silence of Rodin, "here is the
person."

Rodin folded the note that he had so precipitately written, and said to
the servant: "Let this be taken to its address. Wait for an answer."

The servant bowed, and went out. Then Rodin, without rising, fixed his
little reptile-eyes on Faringhea, and said to him courteously: "To whom,
sir, have I the honor of speaking?"




CHAPTER XVI.

THE TWO BROTHERS OF THE GOOD WORK.

Faringhea, as we have before stated, though born in India, had travelled
a good deal, and frequented the European factories in different parts of
Asia. Speaking well both English and French, and full of intelligence and
sagacity, he was perfectly civilized.

Instead of answering Rodin's question, he turned upon him a fixed and
searching look. The socius, provoked by this silence, and forseeing
vaguely that Faringhea's arrival had some connection--direct or
indirect--with Djalma, repeated, though still with the greatest coolness:
"To whom, sir, have I the honor of speaking?"

"Do you not recognize me," said Faringhea, advancing two steps nearer to
Rodin's chair.

"I do not think I have ever had the honor of seeing you," answered the
other, coldly.

"But I recognize you," said Faringhea; "I saw you at Cardoville Castle
the day that a ship and a steamer were wrecked together."

"At Cardoville Castle? It is very possible, sir. I was there when a
shipwreck took place."

"And that day I called you by your name, and you asked me what I wanted.
I replied: 'Nothing now, brother--hereafter, much.' The time has arrived.
I have come to ask for much."

"My dear sir," said Rodin, still impassible, "before we continue this
conversation, which appears hitherto tolerably obscure, I must repeat my
wish to be informed to whom I have the advantage of speaking. You have
introduced yourself here under pretext of a commission from Mynheer
Joshua Van Dael, a respectable merchant of Batavia, and--"

"You know the writing of M. Van Dael?" said Faringhea, interrupting
Rodin.

"I know it perfectly."

"Look!" The half-caste drew from his pocket (he was shabbily dressed in
European clothes) a long dispatch, which he had taken from one Mahal the
Smuggler, after strangling him on the beach near Batavia. These papers he
placed before Rodin's eyes, but without quitting his hold of them.

"It is, indeed, M. Van Dael's writing," said Rodin, and he stretched out
his hard towards the letter, which Faringhea quickly and prudently
returned to his pocket.

"Allow me to observe, my dear sir, that you have a singular manner of
executing a commission," said Rodin. "This letter, being to my address,
and having been entrusted to you by M. Van Dael, you ought--"

"This letter was not entrusted to me by M. Van Dael," said Faringhea,
interrupting Rodin.

"How, then, is it in your possession?"

"A Javanese smuggler betrayed me. Van Dael had secured a passage to
Alexandria for this man, and had given him this letter to carry with him
for the European mail. I strangled the smuggler, took the letter, made
the passage--and here I am."

The Thug had pronounced these words with an air of savage boasting; his
wild, intrepid glance did not quail before the piercing look of Rodin,
who, at this strange confession, had hastily raised his head to observe
the speaker.

Faringhea thought to astonish or intimidate Rodin by these ferocious
words; but, to his great surprise, the socius, impassible as a corpse,
said to him, quite simply: "Oh! they strangle people in Java?"

"Yes, there and elsewhere," answered Faringhea, with a bitter smile.

"I would prefer to disbelieve you; but I am surprised at your sincerity
M.--, what is your name?"

"Faringhea."

"Well, then, M. Faringhea, what do you wish to come to? You have obtained
by an abominable crime, a letter addressed to me, and now you hesitate to
deliver it."

"Because I have read it, and it may be useful to me."

"Oh! you have read it?" said Rodin, disconcerted for a moment. Then he
resumed: "It is true, that judging by your mode of possessing yourself of
other people's correspondence, we cannot expect any great amount of
honesty on your part. And pray what have you found so useful to you in
this letter?"

"I have found, brother, that you are, like myself, a son of the Good
Work."

"Of what good work do you speak" asked Rodin not a little surprised.

Faringhea replied with an expression of bitter irony. "Joshua says to you
in his letter--'Obedience and courage, secrecy and patience, craft and
audacity, union between us, who have the world for our country, the
brethren for our family, Rome for our queen.'"

"It is possible that M. Van Dael has written thus to me Pray, sir, what
do you conclude from it?"

"We, too, have the world for our country, brother, our accomplices for
our family, and for our queen Bowanee."

"I do not know that saint," said Rodin, humbly.

"It is our Rome," answered the Strangler. "Van Dael speaks to you of
those of your Order, who, scattered over all the earth, labor for the
glory of Rome, your queen. Those of our band labor also in divers
countries, for the glory of Bowanee."

"And who are these sons of Bowanee, M. Faringhea?"

"Men of resolution, audacious, patient, crafty, obstinate, who, to make
the Good Work succeed, would sacrifice country and parents, and sister
and brother, and who regard as enemies all not of their band!"

"There seems to be much that is good in the persevering and exclusively
religious spirit of such an order," said Rodin, with a modest and
sanctified air; "only, one must know your ends and objects."

"The same as your own, brother--we make corpses."[13]

"Corpses!" cried Rodin.

"In this letter," resumed Faringhea, "Van Dael tells you that the
greatest glory of your Order is to make 'a corpse of man.' Our work also
is to make corpses of men. Man's death is sweet to Bowanee."

"But sir," cried Rodin, "M. Van Dael speaks of the soul, of the will, of
the mind, which are to be brought down by discipline."

"It is true--you kill the soul, and we the body. Give me your hand,
brother, for you also are hunters of men."

"But once more, sir,--understand, that we only meddle with the will, the
mind," said Rodin.

"And what are bodies deprived of soul, will, thought, but mere corpses?
Come--come, brother; the dead we make by the cord are not more icy and
inanimate than those you make by your discipline. Take my hand, brother;
Rome and Bowanee are sisters."

Notwithstanding his apparent calmness, Rodin could not behold, without
some secret alarm, a wretch like Faringhea in possession of a long letter
from Van Dael, wherein mention must necessarily have been made of Djalma.
Rodin believed, indeed, that he had rendered it impossible for the young
Indian to be at Paris on the morrow, but not knowing what connection
might have been formed, since the shipwreck, between the prince and the
half-caste, he looked upon Faringhea as a man who might probably be very
dangerous. But the more uneasy the socius felt in himself, the more he
affected to appear calm and disdainful. He replied, therefore: "This
comparison between Rome and Bowanee is no doubt very amusing; but what,
sir, do you deduce from it?"

"I wish to show you, brother, what I am, and of what I am capable, to
convince you that it is better to have me for a friend than an enemy."

"In other terms, sir," said Rodin, with contemptuous irony, "you belong
to a murderous sect in India, and, you wish, by a transparent allegory,
to lead me to reflect on the fate of the man from whom you have stolen
the letter addressed to me. In my turn, I will take the freedom just to
observe to you, in all humility, M. Faringhea, that here it is not
permitted to strangle anybody, and that if you were to think fit to make
any corpses for the love of Bowanee, your goddess, we should make you a
head shorter, for the love of another divinity commonly called justice."

"And what would they do to me, if I tried to poison any one?"

"I will again humbly observe to you, M. Faringhea, that I have no time to
give you a course of criminal jurisprudence; but, believe me, you had
better resist the temptation to strangle or poison any one. One word
more: will you deliver up to me the letters of M. Van Dael, or not?"

"The letters relative to Prince Djalma?" said the half-caste, looking
fixedly at Rodin, who, notwithstanding a sharp and sudden twinge,
remained impenetrable, and answered with the utmost simplicity: "Not
knowing what the letters which you, sir, are pleased to keep from me, may
contain, it is impossible for me to answer your question. I beg, and if
necessary, I demand, that you will hand me those letters--or that you
will retire."

"In a few minutes, brother, you will entreat me to remain."

"I doubt it."

"A few words will operate--this miracle. If just now I spoke to you about
poisoning, brother, it was because you sent a doctor to Cardoville
Castle, to poison (at least for a time) Prince Djalma."

In spite of himself, Rodin started almost imperceptibly, as he replied:
"I do not understand you."

"It is true, that I am a poor foreigner, and doubtless speak with an
accent; I will try and explain myself better. I know, by Van Dael's
letters, the interest you have that Prince Djalma should not be here to
morrow, and all that you have done with this view. Do you understand me
now?"

"I have no answer for you."

Two cautious taps at the door here interrupted the conversation. "Come
in," said Rodin.

"The letter has been taken to its address, sir," said the old servant,
bowing, "and here is the answer."

Rodin took the paper, and, before he opened it, said courteously to
Faringhea: "With your permission, sir?"

"Make no ceremonies," said the half-caste.

"You are very kind," replied Rodin, as, having read the letter he
received, he wrote hastily some words at the bottom, saying: "Send this
back to the same address."

The servant bowed respectfully, and withdrew.

"Now can I continue"' asked the half-caste, of Rodin.

"Certainly."

"I will continue, then," resumed Faringhea:

"The day before yesterday, just as the prince, all wounded as he was, was
about, by my advice, to take his departure for Paris, a fine carriage
arrived, with superb presents for Djalma, from an unknown friend. In this
carriage were two men--one sent by the unknown friend--the other a
doctor, sent by you to attend upon Djalma, and accompany him to Paris. It
was a charitable act, brother--was it not so?"

"Go on with your story, sir."

"Djalma set out yesterday. By declaring that the prince's wound would
grow seriously worse, if he did not lie down in the carriage during all
the journey, the doctor got rid of the envoy of the unknown friend, who
went away by himself. The doctor wished to get rid of me too; but Djalma
so strongly insisted upon it, that I accompanied the prince and doctor.
Yesterday evening, we had come about half the distance. The doctor
proposed we should pass the night at an inn. 'We have plenty of time,'
said he, 'to reach Paris by to-morrow evening'--the prince having told
him, that he must absolutely be in Paris by the evening of the 12th. The
doctor had been very pressing to set out alone with the prince. I knew by
Van Dael's letter, that it was of great importance to you for Djalma not
to be here on the 13th; I had my suspicions, and I asked the doctor if he
knew you; he answered with an embarrassed air, and then my suspicion
became certainty. When we reached the inn, whilst the doctor was occupied
with Djalma, I went up to the room of the former, and examined a box full
of phials that he had brought with him. One of them contained opium--and
then I guessed--"

"What did you guess, sir?"

"You shall know. The doctor said to Djalma, before he left him: 'Your
wound is doing well, but the fatigue of the journey might bring on
inflammation; it will be good for you, in the course of to-morrow, to
take a soothing potion, that I will make ready this evening, to have with
us in the carriage.' The doctor's plan was a simple one," added
Faringhea; "to-day the prince was to take the potion at four or five
o'clock in the afternoon--and fall into a deep sleep--the doctor to grow
uneasy, and stop the carriage--to declare that it would be dangerous to
continue the journey--to pass the night at an inn, and keep close watch
over the prince, whose stupor was only, to cease when it suited your
purposes. That was your design--it was cleverly planned--I chose to make
use of it myself, and I have succeeded."

"All that you are talking about, my dear sir," said Rodin, biting his
nails, "is pure Hebrew to me."

"No doubt, because of my accent. But tell me, have you heard speak of
array--mow?"

"No."

"Your loss! It is an admirable production of the Island of Java, so
fertile in poisons."

"What is that to me?" said Rodin, in a sharp voice, but hardly able to
dissemble his growing anxiety.

"It concerns you nearly. We sons of Bowanee have a horror of shedding
blood," resumed Faringhea; "to pass the cord round the neck of our
victims, we wait till they are asleep. When their sleep is not deep
enough, we know how to make it deeper. We are skillful at our work; the
serpent is not more cunning, or the lion more valiant, Djalma himself
bears our mark. The array-mow is an impalpable powder, and, by letting
the sleeper inhale a few grains of it, or by mixing it with the tobacco
to be smoked by a waking man, we can throw our victim into a stupor, from
which nothing will rouse him. If we fear to administer too strong a dose
at once, we let the sleeper inhale a little at different times, and we
can thus prolong the trance at pleasure, and without any danger, as long
as a man does not require meat and drink--say, thirty or forty hours. You
see, that opium is mere trash compared to this divine narcotic. I had
brought some of this with me from Java--as a mere curiosity, you
know--without forgetting the counter poison."

"Oh! there is a counter-poison, then?" said Rodin, mechanically.

"Just as there are people quite contrary to what we are, brother of the
good work. The Javanese call the juice of this root tooboe; it dissipates
the stupor caused by the array-mow, as the sun disperses the clouds. Now,
yesterday evening, being certain of the projects of your emissary against
Djalma, I waited till the doctor was in bed and asleep. I crept into his
room, and made him inhale such a dose of array-mow--that he is probably
sleeping still."

"Miscreant!" cried Rodin, more and more alarmed by this narrative, for
Faringhea had dealt a terrible blow at the machinations of the socius and
his friends. "You risk poisoning the doctor."

"Yes, brother; just as he ran the risk of poisoning Djalma. This morning
we set out, leaving your doctor at the inn, plunged in a deep sleep. I
was alone in the carriage with Djalma. He smoked like a true Indian; some
grains of array-mow, mixed with the tobacco in his long pipe, first made
him drowsy; a second dose, that he inhaled, sent him to sleep; and so I
left him at the inn where we stopped. Now, brother, it depends upon me,
to leave Djalma in his trance, which will last till to-morrow evening or
to rouse him from it on the instant. Exactly as you comply with my
demands or not, Djalma will or will not be in the Rue Saint-Francois to
morrow."

So saying, Faringhea drew from his pocket the medal belonging to Djalma,
and observed, as he showed it to Rodin: "You see that I tell you the
truth. During Djalma's sleep, took from him this medal, the only
indication he has of the place where he ought to be to-morrow. I finish,
then as I began: Brother, I have come to ask you for a great deal."

For some minutes, Rodin had been biting his nails to the quick, as was
his custom when seized with a fit of dumb and concentrated rage. Just
then, the bell of the porter's lodge rang three times in a particular
manner. Rodin did not appear to notice it, and yet a sudden light
sparkled in his small reptile eyes; while Faringhea, with his arms
folded, looked at him with an expression of triumph and disdainful
superiority. The socius bent down his head, remained silent for some
seconds, took mechanically a pen from his desk, and began to gnaw the
feather, as if in deep reflection upon what Faringhea had just said.
Then, throwing down the pen upon the desk, he turned suddenly towards the
half-caste, and addressed him with an air of profound contempt "Now,
really, M. Faringhea--do you think to make game of us with your cock-and
bull stories?"