The Wandering Jew Part 133

These words p.r.o.nounced 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 circ.u.mstances, that an inexorable fatality pursues all those who are worthy of interest, affection or respect. Oh, my G.o.d!" 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 bra.s.s, 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sage--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 pa.s.sage, "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, G.o.d! 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!"