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diff --git a/old/1237-h/1237-h.htm b/old/1237-h/1237-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 17d33b8..0000000 --- a/old/1237-h/1237-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13071 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> - Father Goriot, by Honore de Balzac - </title> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; - margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; - text-align: right;} - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Father Goriot, by Honore de Balzac - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Father Goriot - -Author: Honore de Balzac - -Translator: Ellen Marriage - -Release Date: February 22, 2010 [EBook #1237] -Last Updated: November 22, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FATHER GORIOT *** - - - - -Produced by Dagny, and David Widger - - - - - -</pre> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <h1> - FATHER GORIOT - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <h2> - By Honore De Balzac - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <h3> - Translated by Ellen Marriage - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - To the great and illustrious Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, a token - of admiration for his works and genius. - DE BALZAC. -</pre> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <h3> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> FATHER GORIOT </a><br /><br /> <a - href="#link2H_4_0002"> ADDENDUM </a><br /><br /> - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <h2> - FATHER GORIOT - </h2> - <p> - Mme. Vauquer (<i>nee</i> de Conflans) is an elderly person, who for the - past forty years has kept a lodging-house in the Rue - Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve, in the district that lies between the Latin - Quarter and the Faubourg Saint-Marcel. Her house (known in the - neighborhood as the <i>Maison Vauquer</i>) receives men and women, old and - young, and no word has ever been breathed against her respectable - establishment; but, at the same time, it must be said that as a matter of - fact no young woman has been under her roof for thirty years, and that if - a young man stays there for any length of time it is a sure sign that his - allowance must be of the slenderest. In 1819, however, the time when this - drama opens, there was an almost penniless young girl among Mme. Vauquer’s - boarders. - </p> - <p> - That word drama has been somewhat discredited of late; it has been - overworked and twisted to strange uses in these days of dolorous - literature; but it must do service again here, not because this story is - dramatic in the restricted sense of the word, but because some tears may - perhaps be shed <i>intra et extra muros</i> before it is over. - </p> - <p> - Will any one without the walls of Paris understand it? It is open to - doubt. The only audience who could appreciate the results of close - observation, the careful reproduction of minute detail and local color, - are dwellers between the heights of Montrouge and Montmartre, in a vale of - crumbling stucco watered by streams of black mud, a vale of sorrows which - are real and joys too often hollow; but this audience is so accustomed to - terrible sensations, that only some unimaginable and well-neigh impossible - woe could produce any lasting impression there. Now and again there are - tragedies so awful and so grand by reason of the complication of virtues - and vices that bring them about, that egotism and selfishness are forced - to pause and are moved to pity; but the impression that they receive is - like a luscious fruit, soon consumed. Civilization, like the car of - Juggernaut, is scarcely stayed perceptibly in its progress by a heart less - easy to break than the others that lie in its course; this also is broken, - and Civilization continues on her course triumphant. And you, too, will do - the like; you who with this book in your white hand will sink back among - the cushions of your armchair, and say to yourself, “Perhaps this may - amuse me.” You will read the story of Father Goriot’s secret woes, and, - dining thereafter with an unspoiled appetite, will lay the blame of your - insensibility upon the writer, and accuse him of exaggeration, of writing - romances. Ah! once for all, this drama is neither a fiction nor a romance! - <i>All is true</i>,—so true, that every one can discern the elements - of the tragedy in his own house, perhaps in his own heart. - </p> - <p> - The lodging-house is Mme. Vauquer’s own property. It is still standing in - the lower end of the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve, just where the road - slopes so sharply down to the Rue de l’Arbalete, that wheeled traffic - seldom passes that way, because it is so stony and steep. This position is - sufficient to account for the silence prevalent in the streets shut in - between the dome of the Pantheon and the dome of the Val-de-Grace, two - conspicuous public buildings which give a yellowish tone to the landscape - and darken the whole district that lies beneath the shadow of their - leaden-hued cupolas. - </p> - <p> - In that district the pavements are clean and dry, there is neither mud nor - water in the gutters, grass grows in the chinks of the walls. The most - heedless passer-by feels the depressing influences of a place where the - sound of wheels creates a sensation; there is a grim look about the - houses, a suggestion of a jail about those high garden walls. A Parisian - straying into a suburb apparently composed of lodging-houses and public - institutions would see poverty and dullness, old age lying down to die, - and joyous youth condemned to drudgery. It is the ugliest quarter of - Paris, and, it may be added, the least known. But, before all things, the - Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve is like a bronze frame for a picture for which - the mind cannot be too well prepared by the contemplation of sad hues and - sober images. Even so, step by step the daylight decreases, and the - cicerone’s droning voice grows hollower as the traveler descends into the - Catacombs. The comparison holds good! Who shall say which is more ghastly, - the sight of the bleached skulls or of dried-up human hearts? - </p> - <p> - The front of the lodging-house is at right angles to the road, and looks - out upon a little garden, so that you see the side of the house in - section, as it were, from the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve. Beneath the wall - of the house front there lies a channel, a fathom wide, paved with - cobble-stones, and beside it runs a graveled walk bordered by geraniums - and oleanders and pomegranates set in great blue and white glazed - earthenware pots. Access into the graveled walk is afforded by a door, - above which the words MAISON VAUQUER may be read, and beneath, in rather - smaller letters, “<i>Lodgings for both sexes, etc.</i>” - </p> - <p> - During the day a glimpse into the garden is easily obtained through a - wicket to which a bell is attached. On the opposite wall, at the further - end of the graveled walk, a green marble arch was painted once upon a time - by a local artist, and in this semblance of a shrine a statue representing - Cupid is installed; a Parisian Cupid, so blistered and disfigured that he - looks like a candidate for one of the adjacent hospitals, and might - suggest an allegory to lovers of symbolism. The half-obliterated - inscription on the pedestal beneath determines the date of this work of - art, for it bears witness to the widespread enthusiasm felt for Voltaire - on his return to Paris in 1777: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Whoe’er thou art, thy master see; - He is, or was, or ought to be.” - </pre> - <p> - At night the wicket gate is replaced by a solid door. The little garden is - no wider than the front of the house; it is shut in between the wall of - the street and the partition wall of the neighboring house. A mantle of - ivy conceals the bricks and attracts the eyes of passers-by to an effect - which is picturesque in Paris, for each of the walls is covered with - trellised vines that yield a scanty dusty crop of fruit, and furnish - besides a subject of conversation for Mme. Vauquer and her lodgers; every - year the widow trembles for her vintage. - </p> - <p> - A straight path beneath the walls on either side of the garden leads to a - clump of lime-trees at the further end of it; <i>line</i>-trees, as Mme. - Vauquer persists in calling them, in spite of the fact that she was a de - Conflans, and regardless of repeated corrections from her lodgers. - </p> - <p> - The central space between the walls is filled with artichokes and rows of - pyramid fruit-trees, and surrounded by a border of lettuce, pot-herbs, and - parsley. Under the lime-trees there are a few green-painted garden seats - and a wooden table, and hither, during the dog-days, such of the lodgers - as are rich enough to indulge in a cup of coffee come to take their - pleasure, though it is hot enough to roast eggs even in the shade. - </p> - <p> - The house itself is three stories high, without counting the attics under - the roof. It is built of rough stone, and covered with the yellowish - stucco that gives a mean appearance to almost every house in Paris. There - are five windows in each story in the front of the house; all the blinds - visible through the small square panes are drawn up awry, so that the - lines are all at cross purposes. At the side of the house there are but - two windows on each floor, and the lowest of all are adorned with a heavy - iron grating. - </p> - <p> - Behind the house a yard extends for some twenty feet, a space inhabited by - a happy family of pigs, poultry, and rabbits; the wood-shed is situated on - the further side, and on the wall between the wood-shed and the kitchen - window hangs the meat-safe, just above the place where the sink discharges - its greasy streams. The cook sweeps all the refuse out through a little - door into the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve, and frequently cleanses the yard - with copious supplies of water, under pain of pestilence. - </p> - <p> - The house might have been built on purpose for its present uses. Access is - given by a French window to the first room on the ground floor, a - sitting-room which looks out upon the street through the two barred - windows already mentioned. Another door opens out of it into the - dining-room, which is separated from the kitchen by the well of the - staircase, the steps being constructed partly of wood, partly of tiles, - which are colored and beeswaxed. Nothing can be more depressing than the - sight of that sitting-room. The furniture is covered with horse hair woven - in alternate dull and glossy stripes. There is a round table in the - middle, with a purplish-red marble top, on which there stands, by way of - ornament, the inevitable white china tea-service, covered with a - half-effaced gilt network. The floor is sufficiently uneven, the wainscot - rises to elbow height, and the rest of the wall space is decorated with a - varnished paper, on which the principal scenes from <i>Telemaque</i> are - depicted, the various classical personages being colored. The subject - between the two windows is the banquet given by Calypso to the son of - Ulysses, displayed thereon for the admiration of the boarders, and has - furnished jokes these forty years to the young men who show themselves - superior to their position by making fun of the dinners to which poverty - condemns them. The hearth is always so clean and neat that it is evident - that a fire is only kindled there on great occasions; the stone - chimney-piece is adorned by a couple of vases filled with faded artificial - flowers imprisoned under glass shades, on either side of a bluish marble - clock in the very worst taste. - </p> - <p> - The first room exhales an odor for which there is no name in the language, - and which should be called the <i>odeur de pension</i>. The damp - atmosphere sends a chill through you as you breathe it; it has a stuffy, - musty, and rancid quality; it permeates your clothing; after-dinner scents - seem to be mingled in it with smells from the kitchen and scullery and the - reek of a hospital. It might be possible to describe it if some one should - discover a process by which to distil from the atmosphere all the - nauseating elements with which it is charged by the catarrhal exhalations - of every individual lodger, young or old. Yet, in spite of these stale - horrors, the sitting-room is as charming and as delicately perfumed as a - boudoir, when compared with the adjoining dining-room. - </p> - <p> - The paneled walls of that apartment were once painted some color, now a - matter of conjecture, for the surface is incrusted with accumulated layers - of grimy deposit, which cover it with fantastic outlines. A collection of - dim-ribbed glass decanters, metal discs with a satin sheen on them, and - piles of blue-edged earthenware plates of Touraine ware cover the sticky - surfaces of the sideboards that line the room. In a corner stands a box - containing a set of numbered pigeon-holes, in which the lodgers’ table - napkins, more or less soiled and stained with wine, are kept. Here you see - that indestructible furniture never met with elsewhere, which finds its - way into lodging-houses much as the wrecks of our civilization drift into - hospitals for incurables. You expect in such places as these to find the - weather-house whence a Capuchin issues on wet days; you look to find the - execrable engravings which spoil your appetite, framed every one in a - black varnished frame, with a gilt beading round it; you know the sort of - tortoise-shell clock-case, inlaid with brass; the green stove, the Argand - lamps, covered with oil and dust, have met your eyes before. The oilcloth - which covers the long table is so greasy that a waggish <i>externe</i> - will write his name on the surface, using his thumb-nail as a style. The - chairs are broken-down invalids; the wretched little hempen mats slip away - from under your feet without slipping away for good; and finally, the - foot-warmers are miserable wrecks, hingeless, charred, broken away about - the holes. It would be impossible to give an idea of the old, rotten, - shaky, cranky, worm-eaten, halt, maimed, one-eyed, rickety, and ramshackle - condition of the furniture without an exhaustive description, which would - delay the progress of the story to an extent that impatient people would - not pardon. The red tiles of the floor are full of depressions brought - about by scouring and periodical renewings of color. In short, there is no - illusory grace left to the poverty that reigns here; it is dire, - parsimonious, concentrated, threadbare poverty; as yet it has not sunk - into the mire, it is only splashed by it, and though not in rags as yet, - its clothing is ready to drop to pieces. - </p> - <p> - This apartment is in all its glory at seven o’clock in the morning, when - Mme. Vauquer’s cat appears, announcing the near approach of his mistress, - and jumps upon the sideboards to sniff at the milk in the bowls, each - protected by a plate, while he purrs his morning greeting to the world. A - moment later the widow shows her face; she is tricked out in a net cap - attached to a false front set on awry, and shuffles into the room in her - slipshod fashion. She is an oldish woman, with a bloated countenance, and - a nose like a parrot’s beak set in the middle of it; her fat little hands - (she is as sleek as a church rat) and her shapeless, slouching figure are - in keeping with the room that reeks of misfortune, where hope is reduced - to speculate for the meanest stakes. Mme. Vauquer alone can breathe that - tainted air without being disheartened by it. Her face is as fresh as a - frosty morning in autumn; there are wrinkles about the eyes that vary in - their expression from the set smile of a ballet-dancer to the dark, - suspicious scowl of a discounter of bills; in short, she is at once the - embodiment and interpretation of her lodging-house, as surely as her - lodging-house implies the existence of its mistress. You can no more - imagine the one without the other, than you can think of a jail without a - turnkey. The unwholesome corpulence of the little woman is produced by the - life she leads, just as typhus fever is bred in the tainted air of a - hospital. The very knitted woolen petticoat that she wears beneath a skirt - made of an old gown, with the wadding protruding through the rents in the - material, is a sort of epitome of the sitting-room, the dining-room, and - the little garden; it discovers the cook, it foreshadows the lodgers—the - picture of the house is completed by the portrait of its mistress. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Vauquer at the age of fifty is like all women who “have seen a deal - of trouble.” She has the glassy eyes and innocent air of a trafficker in - flesh and blood, who will wax virtuously indignant to obtain a higher - price for her services, but who is quite ready to betray a Georges or a - Pichegru, if a Georges or a Pichegru were in hiding and still to be - betrayed, or for any other expedient that may alleviate her lot. Still, - “she is a good woman at bottom,” said the lodgers who believed that the - widow was wholly dependent upon the money that they paid her, and - sympathized when they heard her cough and groan like one of themselves. - </p> - <p> - What had M. Vauquer been? The lady was never very explicit on this head. - How had she lost her money? “Through trouble,” was her answer. He had - treated her badly, had left her nothing but her eyes to cry over his - cruelty, the house she lived in, and the privilege of pitying nobody, - because, so she was wont to say, she herself had been through every - possible misfortune. - </p> - <p> - Sylvie, the stout cook, hearing her mistress’ shuffling footsteps, - hastened to serve the lodgers’ breakfasts. Beside those who lived in the - house, Mme. Vauquer took boarders who came for their meals; but these <i>externes</i> - usually only came to dinner, for which they paid thirty francs a month. - </p> - <p> - At the time when this story begins, the lodging-house contained seven - inmates. The best rooms in the house were on the first story, Mme. Vauquer - herself occupying the least important, while the rest were let to a Mme. - Couture, the widow of a commissary-general in the service of the Republic. - With her lived Victorine Taillefer, a schoolgirl, to whom she filled the - place of mother. These two ladies paid eighteen hundred francs a year. - </p> - <p> - The two sets of rooms on the second floor were respectively occupied by an - old man named Poiret and a man of forty or thereabouts, the wearer of a - black wig and dyed whiskers, who gave out that he was a retired merchant, - and was addressed as M. Vautrin. Two of the four rooms on the third floor - were also let—one to an elderly spinster, a Mlle. Michonneau, and - the other to a retired manufacturer of vermicelli, Italian paste and - starch, who allowed the others to address him as “Father Goriot.” The - remaining rooms were allotted to various birds of passage, to impecunious - students, who like “Father Goriot” and Mlle. Michonneau, could only muster - forty-five francs a month to pay for their board and lodging. Mme. Vauquer - had little desire for lodgers of this sort; they ate too much bread, and - she only took them in default of better. - </p> - <p> - At that time one of the rooms was tenanted by a law student, a young man - from the neighborhood of Angouleme, one of a large family who pinched and - starved themselves to spare twelve hundred francs a year for him. - Misfortune had accustomed Eugene de Rastignac, for that was his name, to - work. He belonged to the number of young men who know as children that - their parents’ hopes are centered on them, and deliberately prepare - themselves for a great career, subordinating their studies from the first - to this end, carefully watching the indications of the course of events, - calculating the probable turn that affairs will take, that they may be the - first to profit by them. But for his observant curiosity, and the skill - with which he managed to introduce himself into the salons of Paris, this - story would not have been colored by the tones of truth which it certainly - owes to him, for they are entirely due to his penetrating sagacity and - desire to fathom the mysteries of an appalling condition of things, which - was concealed as carefully by the victim as by those who had brought it to - pass. - </p> - <p> - Above the third story there was a garret where the linen was hung to dry, - and a couple of attics. Christophe, the man-of-all-work, slept in one, and - Sylvie, the stout cook, in the other. Beside the seven inmates thus - enumerated, taking one year with another, some eight law or medical - students dined in the house, as well as two or three regular comers who - lived in the neighborhood. There were usually eighteen people at dinner, - and there was room, if need be, for twenty at Mme. Vauquer’s table; at - breakfast, however, only the seven lodgers appeared. It was almost like a - family party. Every one came down in dressing-gown and slippers, and the - conversation usually turned on anything that had happened the evening - before; comments on the dress or appearance of the dinner contingent were - exchanged in friendly confidence. - </p> - <p> - These seven lodgers were Mme. Vauquer’s spoiled children. Among them she - distributed, with astronomical precision, the exact proportion of respect - and attention due to the varying amounts they paid for their board. One - single consideration influenced all these human beings thrown together by - chance. The two second-floor lodgers only paid seventy-two francs a month. - Such prices as these are confined to the Faubourg Saint-Marcel and the - district between La Bourbe and the Salpetriere; and, as might be expected, - poverty, more or less apparent, weighed upon them all, Mme. Couture being - the sole exception to the rule. - </p> - <p> - The dreary surroundings were reflected in the costumes of the inmates of - the house; all were alike threadbare. The color of the men’s coats were - problematical; such shoes, in more fashionable quarters, are only to be - seen lying in the gutter; the cuffs and collars were worn and frayed at - the edges; every limp article of clothing looked like the ghost of its - former self. The women’s dresses were faded, old-fashioned, dyed and - re-dyed; they wore gloves that were glazed with hard wear, much-mended - lace, dingy ruffles, crumpled muslin fichus. So much for their clothing; - but, for the most part, their frames were solid enough; their - constitutions had weathered the storms of life; their cold, hard faces - were worn like coins that have been withdrawn from circulation, but there - were greedy teeth behind the withered lips. Dramas brought to a close or - still in progress are foreshadowed by the sight of such actors as these, - not the dramas that are played before the footlights and against a - background of painted canvas, but dumb dramas of life, frost-bound dramas - that sere hearts like fire, dramas that do not end with the actors’ lives. - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Michonneau, that elderly young lady, screened her weak eyes from the - daylight by a soiled green silk shade with a rim of brass, an object fit - to scare away the Angel of Pity himself. Her shawl, with its scanty, - draggled fringe, might have covered a skeleton, so meagre and angular was - the form beneath it. Yet she must have been pretty and shapely once. What - corrosive had destroyed the feminine outlines? Was it trouble, or vice, or - greed? Had she loved too well? Had she been a second-hand clothes dealer, - a frequenter of the backstairs of great houses, or had she been merely a - courtesan? Was she expiating the flaunting triumphs of a youth overcrowded - with pleasures by an old age in which she was shunned by every passer-by? - Her vacant gaze sent a chill through you; her shriveled face seemed like a - menace. Her voice was like the shrill, thin note of the grasshopper - sounding from the thicket when winter is at hand. She said that she had - nursed an old gentleman, ill of catarrh of the bladder, and left to die by - his children, who thought that he had nothing left. His bequest to her, a - life annuity of a thousand francs, was periodically disputed by his heirs, - who mingled slander with their persecutions. In spite of the ravages of - conflicting passions, her face retained some traces of its former fairness - and fineness of tissue, some vestiges of the physical charms of her youth - still survived. - </p> - <p> - M. Poiret was a sort of automaton. He might be seen any day sailing like a - gray shadow along the walks of the Jardin des Plantes, on his head a - shabby cap, a cane with an old yellow ivory handle in the tips of his thin - fingers; the outspread skirts of his threadbare overcoat failed to conceal - his meagre figure; his breeches hung loosely on his shrunken limbs; the - thin, blue-stockinged legs trembled like those of a drunken man; there was - a notable breach of continuity between the dingy white waistcoat and - crumpled shirt frills and the cravat twisted about a throat like a turkey - gobbler’s; altogether, his appearance set people wondering whether this - outlandish ghost belonged to the audacious race of the sons of Japhet who - flutter about on the Boulevard Italien. What devouring kind of toil could - have so shriveled him? What devouring passions had darkened that bulbous - countenance, which would have seemed outrageous as a caricature? What had - he been? Well, perhaps he had been part of the machinery of justice, a - clerk in the office to which the executioner sends in his accounts,—so - much for providing black veils for parricides, so much for sawdust, so - much for pulleys and cord for the knife. Or he might have been a receiver - at the door of a public slaughter-house, or a sub-inspector of nuisances. - Indeed, the man appeared to have been one of the beasts of burden in our - great social mill; one of those Parisian Ratons whom their Bertrands do - not even know by sight; a pivot in the obscure machinery that disposes of - misery and things unclean; one of those men, in short, at sight of whom we - are prompted to remark that, “After all, we cannot do without them.” - </p> - <p> - Stately Paris ignores the existence of these faces bleached by moral or - physical suffering; but, then, Paris is in truth an ocean that no line can - plumb. You may survey its surface and describe it; but no matter how - numerous and painstaking the toilers in this sea, there will always be - lonely and unexplored regions in its depths, caverns unknown, flowers and - pearls and monsters of the deep overlooked or forgotten by the divers of - literature. The Maison Vauquer is one of these curious monstrosities. - </p> - <p> - Two, however, of Mme. Vauquer’s boarders formed a striking contrast to the - rest. There was a sickly pallor, such as is often seen in anaemic girls, - in Mlle. Victorine Taillefer’s face; and her unvarying expression of - sadness, like her embarrassed manner and pinched look, was in keeping with - the general wretchedness of the establishment in the Rue - Nueve-Saint-Genevieve, which forms a background to this picture; but her - face was young, there was youthfulness in her voice and elasticity in her - movements. This young misfortune was not unlike a shrub, newly planted in - an uncongenial soil, where its leaves have already begun to wither. The - outlines of her figure, revealed by her dress of the simplest and cheapest - materials, were also youthful. There was the same kind of charm about her - too slender form, her faintly colored face and light-brown hair, that - modern poets find in mediaeval statuettes; and a sweet expression, a look - of Christian resignation in the dark gray eyes. She was pretty by force of - contrast; if she had been happy, she would have been charming. Happiness - is the poetry of woman, as the toilette is her tinsel. If the delightful - excitement of a ball had made the pale face glow with color; if the - delights of a luxurious life had brought the color to the wan cheeks that - were slightly hollowed already; if love had put light into the sad eyes, - then Victorine might have ranked among the fairest; but she lacked the two - things which create woman a second time—pretty dresses and - love-letters. - </p> - <p> - A book might have been made of her story. Her father was persuaded that he - had sufficient reason for declining to acknowledge her, and allowed her a - bare six hundred francs a year; he had further taken measures to - disinherit his daughter, and had converted all his real estate into - personalty, that he might leave it undivided to his son. Victorine’s - mother had died broken-hearted in Mme. Couture’s house; and the latter, - who was a near relation, had taken charge of the little orphan. Unluckily, - the widow of the commissary-general to the armies of the Republic had - nothing in the world but her jointure and her widow’s pension, and some - day she might be obliged to leave the helpless, inexperienced girl to the - mercy of the world. The good soul, therefore, took Victorine to mass every - Sunday, and to confession once a fortnight, thinking that, in any case, - she would bring up her ward to be devout. She was right; religion offered - a solution of the problem of the young girl’s future. The poor child loved - the father who refused to acknowledge her. Once every year she tried to - see him to deliver her mother’s message of forgiveness, but every year - hitherto she had knocked at that door in vain; her father was inexorable. - Her brother, her only means of communication, had not come to see her for - four years, and had sent her no assistance; yet she prayed to God to - unseal her father’s eyes and to soften her brother’s heart, and no - accusations mingled with her prayers. Mme. Couture and Mme. Vauquer - exhausted the vocabulary of abuse, and failed to find words that did - justice to the banker’s iniquitous conduct; but while they heaped - execrations on the millionaire, Victorine’s words were as gentle as the - moan of the wounded dove, and affection found expression even in the cry - drawn from her by pain. - </p> - <p> - Eugene de Rastignac was a thoroughly southern type; he had a fair - complexion, blue eyes, black hair. In his figure, manner, and his whole - bearing it was easy to see that he had either come of a noble family, or - that, from his earliest childhood, he had been gently bred. If he was - careful of his wardrobe, only taking last year’s clothes into daily wear, - still upon occasion he could issue forth as a young man of fashion. - Ordinarily he wore a shabby coat and waistcoat, the limp black cravat, - untidily knotted, that students affect, trousers that matched the rest of - his costume, and boots that had been resoled. - </p> - <p> - Vautrin (the man of forty with the dyed whiskers) marked a transition - stage between these two young people and the others. He was the kind of - man that calls forth the remark: “He looks a jovial sort!” He had broad - shoulders, a well-developed chest, muscular arms, and strong square-fisted - hands; the joints of his fingers were covered with tufts of fiery red - hair. His face was furrowed by premature wrinkles; there was a certain - hardness about it in spite of his bland and insinuating manner. His bass - voice was by no means unpleasant, and was in keeping with his boisterous - laughter. He was always obliging, always in good spirits; if anything went - wrong with one of the locks, he would soon unscrew it, take it to pieces, - file it, oil and clean and set it in order, and put it back in its place - again; “I am an old hand at it,” he used to say. Not only so, he knew all - about ships, the sea, France, foreign countries, men, business, law, great - houses and prisons,—there was nothing that he did not know. If any - one complained rather more than usual, he would offer his services at - once. He had several times lent money to Mme. Vauquer, or to the boarders; - but, somehow, those whom he obliged felt that they would sooner face death - than fail to repay him; a certain resolute look, sometimes seen on his - face, inspired fear of him, for all his appearance of easy good-nature. In - the way he spat there was an imperturbable coolness which seemed to - indicate that this was a man who would not stick at a crime to extricate - himself from a false position. His eyes, like those of a pitiless judge, - seemed to go to the very bottom of all questions, to read all natures, all - feelings and thoughts. His habit of life was very regular; he usually went - out after breakfast, returning in time for dinner, and disappeared for the - rest of the evening, letting himself in about midnight with a latch key, a - privilege that Mme. Vauquer accorded to no other boarder. But then he was - on very good terms with the widow; he used to call her “mamma,” and put - his arm round her waist, a piece of flattery perhaps not appreciated to - the full! The worthy woman might imagine this to be an easy feat; but, as - a matter of fact, no arm but Vautrin’s was long enough to encircle her. - </p> - <p> - It was a characteristic trait of his generously to pay fifteen francs a - month for the cup of coffee with a dash of brandy in it, which he took - after dinner. Less superficial observers than young men engulfed by the - whirlpool of Parisian life, or old men, who took no interest in anything - that did not directly concern them, would not have stopped short at the - vaguely unsatisfactory impression that Vautrin made upon them. He knew or - guessed the concerns of every one about him; but none of them had been - able to penetrate his thoughts, or to discover his occupation. He had - deliberately made his apparent good-nature, his unfailing readiness to - oblige, and his high spirits into a barrier between himself and the rest - of them, but not seldom he gave glimpses of appalling depths of character. - He seemed to delight in scourging the upper classes of society with the - lash of his tongue, to take pleasure in convicting it of inconsistency, in - mocking at law and order with some grim jest worthy of Juvenal, as if some - grudge against the social system rankled in him, as if there were some - mystery carefully hidden away in his life. - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Taillefer felt attracted, perhaps unconsciously, by the strength of - the one man, and the good looks of the other; her stolen glances and - secret thoughts were divided between them; but neither of them seemed to - take any notice of her, although some day a chance might alter her - position, and she would be a wealthy heiress. For that matter, there was - not a soul in the house who took any trouble to investigate the various - chronicles of misfortunes, real or imaginary, related by the rest. Each - one regarded the others with indifference, tempered by suspicion; it was a - natural result of their relative positions. Practical assistance not one - could give, this they all knew, and they had long since exhausted their - stock of condolence over previous discussions of their grievances. They - were in something the same position as an elderly couple who have nothing - left to say to each other. The routine of existence kept them in contact, - but they were parts of a mechanism which wanted oil. There was not one of - them but would have passed a blind man begging in the street, not one that - felt moved to pity by a tale of misfortune, not one who did not see in - death the solution of the all-absorbing problem of misery which left them - cold to the most terrible anguish in others. - </p> - <p> - The happiest of these hapless beings was certainly Mme. Vauquer, who - reigned supreme over this hospital supported by voluntary contributions. - For her, the little garden, which silence, and cold, and rain, and drought - combined to make as dreary as an Asian <i>steppe</i>, was a pleasant - shaded nook; the gaunt yellow house, the musty odors of a back shop had - charms for her, and for her alone. Those cells belonged to her. She fed - those convicts condemned to penal servitude for life, and her authority - was recognized among them. Where else in Paris would they have found - wholesome food in sufficient quantity at the prices she charged them, and - rooms which they were at liberty to make, if not exactly elegant or - comfortable, at any rate clean and healthy? If she had committed some - flagrant act of injustice, the victim would have borne it in silence. - </p> - <p> - Such a gathering contained, as might have been expected, the elements out - of which a complete society might be constructed. And, as in a school, as - in the world itself, there was among the eighteen men and women who met - round the dinner table a poor creature, despised by all the others, - condemned to be the butt of all their jokes. At the beginning of Eugene de - Rastignac’s second twelvemonth, this figure suddenly started out into bold - relief against the background of human forms and faces among which the law - student was yet to live for another two years to come. This laughing-stock - was the retired vermicelli-merchant, Father Goriot, upon whose face a - painter, like the historian, would have concentrated all the light in his - picture. - </p> - <p> - How had it come about that the boarders regarded him with a half-malignant - contempt? Why did they subject the oldest among their number to a kind of - persecution, in which there was mingled some pity, but no respect for his - misfortunes? Had he brought it on himself by some eccentricity or - absurdity, which is less easily forgiven or forgotten than more serious - defects? The question strikes at the root of many a social injustice. - Perhaps it is only human nature to inflict suffering on anything that will - endure suffering, whether by reason of its genuine humility, or - indifference, or sheer helplessness. Do we not, one and all, like to feel - our strength even at the expense of some one or of something? The poorest - sample of humanity, the street arab, will pull the bell handle at every - street door in bitter weather, and scramble up to write his name on the - unsullied marble of a monument. - </p> - <p> - In the year 1813, at the age of sixty-nine or thereabouts, “Father Goriot” - had sold his business and retired—to Mme. Vauquer’s boarding house. - When he first came there he had taken the rooms now occupied by Mme. - Couture; he had paid twelve hundred francs a year like a man to whom five - louis more or less was a mere trifle. For him Mme. Vauquer had made - various improvements in the three rooms destined for his use, in - consideration of a certain sum paid in advance, so it was said, for the - miserable furniture, that is to say, for some yellow cotton curtains, a - few chairs of stained wood covered with Utrecht velvet, several wretched - colored prints in frames, and wall papers that a little suburban tavern - would have disdained. Possibly it was the careless generosity with which - Father Goriot allowed himself to be overreached at this period of his life - (they called him Monsieur Goriot very respectfully then) that gave Mme. - Vauquer the meanest opinion of his business abilities; she looked on him - as an imbecile where money was concerned. - </p> - <p> - Goriot had brought with him a considerable wardrobe, the gorgeous outfit - of a retired tradesman who denies himself nothing. Mme. Vauquer’s - astonished eyes beheld no less than eighteen cambric-fronted shirts, the - splendor of their fineness being enhanced by a pair of pins each bearing a - large diamond, and connected by a short chain, an ornament which adorned - the vermicelli-maker’s shirt front. He usually wore a coat of corn-flower - blue; his rotund and portly person was still further set off by a clean - white waistcoat, and a gold chain and seals which dangled over that broad - expanse. When his hostess accused him of being “a bit of a beau,” he - smiled with the vanity of a citizen whose foible is gratified. His - cupboards (<i>ormoires</i>, as he called them in the popular dialect) were - filled with a quantity of plate that he brought with him. The widow’s eyes - gleamed as she obligingly helped him to unpack the soup ladles, - table-spoons, forks, cruet-stands, tureens, dishes, and breakfast services—all - of silver, which were duly arranged upon shelves, besides a few more or - less handsome pieces of plate, all weighing no inconsiderable number of - ounces; he could not bring himself to part with these gifts that reminded - him of past domestic festivals. - </p> - <p> - “This was my wife’s present to me on the first anniversary of our wedding - day,” he said to Mme. Vauquer, as he put away a little silver posset dish, - with two turtle-doves billing on the cover. “Poor dear! she spent on it - all the money she had saved before we were married. Do you know, I would - sooner scratch the earth with my nails for a living, madame, than part - with that. But I shall be able to take my coffee out of it every morning - for the rest of my days, thank the Lord! I am not to be pitied. There’s - not much fear of my starving for some time to come.” - </p> - <p> - Finally, Mme. Vauquer’s magpie’s eye had discovered and read certain - entries in the list of shareholders in the funds, and, after a rough - calculation, was disposed to credit Goriot (worthy man) with something - like ten thousand francs a year. From that day forward Mme. Vauquer (<i>nee</i> - de Conflans), who, as a matter of fact, had seen forty-eight summers, - though she would only own to thirty-nine of them—Mme. Vauquer had - her own ideas. Though Goriot’s eyes seemed to have shrunk in their - sockets, though they were weak and watery, owing to some glandular - affection which compelled him to wipe them continually, she considered him - to be a very gentlemanly and pleasant-looking man. Moreover, the widow saw - favorable indications of character in the well-developed calves of his - legs and in his square-shaped nose, indications still further borne out by - the worthy man’s full-moon countenance and look of stupid good-nature. - This, in all probability, was a strongly-build animal, whose brains mostly - consisted in a capacity for affection. His hair, worn in <i>ailes de - pigeon</i>, and duly powdered every morning by the barber from the Ecole - Polytechnique, described five points on his low forehead, and made an - elegant setting to his face. Though his manners were somewhat boorish, he - was always as neat as a new pin and he took his snuff in a lordly way, - like a man who knows that his snuff-box is always likely to be filled with - maccaboy, so that when Mme. Vauquer lay down to rest on the day of M. - Goriot’s installation, her heart, like a larded partridge, sweltered - before the fire of a burning desire to shake off the shroud of Vauquer and - rise again as Goriot. She would marry again, sell her boarding-house, give - her hand to this fine flower of citizenship, become a lady of consequence - in the quarter, and ask for subscriptions for charitable purposes; she - would make little Sunday excursions to Choisy, Soissy, Gentilly; she would - have a box at the theatre when she liked, instead of waiting for the - author’s tickets that one of her boarders sometimes gave her, in July; the - whole Eldorado of a little Parisian household rose up before Mme. Vauquer - in her dreams. Nobody knew that she herself possessed forty thousand - francs, accumulated <i>sou by sou</i>, that was her secret; surely as far - as money was concerned she was a very tolerable match. “And in other - respects, I am quite his equal,” she said to herself, turning as if to - assure herself of the charms of a form that the portly Sylvie found - moulded in down feathers every morning. - </p> - <p> - For three months from that day Mme. Veuve Vauquer availed herself of the - services of M. Goriot’s coiffeur, and went to some expense over her - toilette, expense justifiable on the ground that she owed it to herself - and her establishment to pay some attention to appearances when such - highly-respectable persons honored her house with their presence. She - expended no small amount of ingenuity in a sort of weeding process of her - lodgers, announcing her intention of receiving henceforward none but - people who were in every way select. If a stranger presented himself, she - let him know that M. Goriot, one of the best known and most - highly-respected merchants in Paris, had singled out her boarding-house - for a residence. She drew up a prospectus headed MAISON VAUQUER, in which - it was asserted that hers was “<i>one of the oldest and most highly - recommended boarding-houses in the Latin Quarter</i>.” “From the windows - of the house,” thus ran the prospectus, “there is a charming view of the - Vallee des Gobelins (so there is—from the third floor), and a <i>beautiful</i> - garden, <i>extending</i> down to <i>an avenue of lindens</i> at the - further end.” Mention was made of the bracing air of the place and its - quiet situation. - </p> - <p> - It was this prospectus that attracted Mme. la Comtesse de l’Ambermesnil, a - widow of six and thirty, who was awaiting the final settlement of her - husband’s affairs, and of another matter regarding a pension due to her as - the wife of a general who had died “on the field of battle.” On this Mme. - Vauquer saw to her table, lighted a fire daily in the sitting-room for - nearly six months, and kept the promise of her prospectus, even going to - some expense to do so. And the Countess, on her side, addressed Mme. - Vauquer as “my dear,” and promised her two more boarders, the Baronne de - Vaumerland and the widow of a colonel, the late Comte de Picquoisie, who - were about to leave a boarding-house in the Marais, where the terms were - higher than at the Maison Vauquer. Both these ladies, moreover, would be - very well to do when the people at the War Office had come to an end of - their formalities. “But Government departments are always so dilatory,” - the lady added. - </p> - <p> - After dinner the two widows went together up to Mme. Vauquer’s room, and - had a snug little chat over some cordial and various delicacies reserved - for the mistress of the house. Mme. Vauquer’s ideas as to Goriot were - cordially approved by Mme. de l’Ambermesnil; it was a capital notion, - which for that matter she had guessed from the very first; in her opinion - the vermicelli maker was an excellent man. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my dear lady, such a well-preserved man of his age, as sound as my - eyesight—a man who might make a woman happy!” said the widow. - </p> - <p> - The good-natured Countess turned to the subject of Mme. Vauquer’s dress, - which was not in harmony with her projects. “You must put yourself on a - war footing,” said she. - </p> - <p> - After much serious consideration the two widows went shopping together—they - purchased a hat adorned with ostrich feathers and a cap at the Palais - Royal, and the Countess took her friend to the Magasin de la Petite - Jeannette, where they chose a dress and a scarf. Thus equipped for the - campaign, the widow looked exactly like the prize animal hung out for a - sign above an a la mode beef shop; but she herself was so much pleased - with the improvement, as she considered it, in her appearance, that she - felt that she lay under some obligation to the Countess; and, though by no - means open-handed, she begged that lady to accept a hat that cost twenty - francs. The fact was that she needed the Countess’ services on the - delicate mission of sounding Goriot; the countess must sing her praises in - his ears. Mme. de l’Ambermesnil lent herself very good-naturedly to this - manoeuvre, began her operations, and succeeded in obtaining a private - interview; but the overtures that she made, with a view to securing him - for herself, were received with embarrassment, not to say a repulse. She - left him, revolted by his coarseness. - </p> - <p> - “My angel,” said she to her dear friend, “you will make nothing of that - man yonder. He is absurdly suspicious, and he is a mean curmudgeon, an - idiot, a fool; you would never be happy with him.” - </p> - <p> - After what had passed between M. Goriot and Mme. de l’Ambermesnil, the - Countess would no longer live under the same roof. She left the next day, - forgot to pay for six months’ board, and left behind her wardrobe, - cast-off clothing to the value of five francs. Eagerly and persistently as - Mme. Vauquer sought her quondam lodger, the Comtesse de l’Ambermesnil was - never heard of again in Paris. The widow often talked of this deplorable - business, and regretted her own too confiding disposition. As a matter of - fact, she was as suspicious as a cat; but she was like many other people, - who cannot trust their own kin and put themselves at the mercy of the next - chance comer—an odd but common phenomenon, whose causes may readily - be traced to the depths of the human heart. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps there are people who know that they have nothing more to look for - from those with whom they live; they have shown the emptiness of their - hearts to their housemates, and in their secret selves they are conscious - that they are severely judged, and that they deserve to be judged - severely; but still they feel an unconquerable craving for praises that - they do not hear, or they are consumed by a desire to appear to possess, - in the eyes of a new audience, the qualities which they have not, hoping - to win the admiration or affection of strangers at the risk of forfeiting - it again some day. Or, once more, there are other mercenary natures who - never do a kindness to a friend or a relation simply because these have a - claim upon them, while a service done to a stranger brings its reward to - self-love. Such natures feel but little affection for those who are - nearest to them; they keep their kindness for remoter circles of - acquaintance, and show most to those who dwell on its utmost limits. Mme. - Vauquer belonged to both these essentially mean, false, and execrable - classes. - </p> - <p> - “If I had been there at the time,” Vautrin would say at the end of the - story, “I would have shown her up, and that misfortune would not have - befallen you. I know that kind of phiz!” - </p> - <p> - Like all narrow natures, Mme. Vauquer was wont to confine her attention to - events, and did not go very deeply into the causes that brought them - about; she likewise preferred to throw the blame of her own mistakes on - other people, so she chose to consider that the honest vermicelli maker - was responsible for her misfortune. It had opened her eyes, so she said, - with regard to him. As soon as she saw that her blandishments were in - vain, and that her outlay on her toilette was money thrown away, she was - not slow to discover the reason of his indifference. It became plain to - her at once that there was <i>some other attraction</i>, to use her own - expression. In short, it was evident that the hope she had so fondly - cherished was a baseless delusion, and that she would “never make anything - out of that man yonder,” in the Countess’ forcible phrase. The Countess - seemed to have been a judge of character. Mme. Vauquer’s aversion was - naturally more energetic than her friendship, for her hatred was not in - proportion to her love, but to her disappointed expectations. The human - heart may find here and there a resting-place short of the highest height - of affection, but we seldom stop in the steep, downward slope of hatred. - Still, M. Goriot was a lodger, and the widow’s wounded self-love could not - vent itself in an explosion of wrath; like a monk harassed by the prior of - his convent, she was forced to stifle her sighs of disappointment, and to - gulp down her craving for revenge. Little minds find gratification for - their feelings, benevolent or otherwise, by a constant exercise of petty - ingenuity. The widow employed her woman’s malice to devise a system of - covert persecution. She began by a course of retrenchment—various - luxuries which had found their way to the table appeared there no more. - </p> - <p> - “No more gherkins, no more anchovies; they have made a fool of me!” she - said to Sylvie one morning, and they returned to the old bill of fare. - </p> - <p> - The thrifty frugality necessary to those who mean to make their way in the - world had become an inveterate habit of life with M. Goriot. Soup, boiled - beef, and a dish of vegetables had been, and always would be, the dinner - he liked best, so Mme. Vauquer found it very difficult to annoy a boarder - whose tastes were so simple. He was proof against her malice, and in - desperation she spoke to him and of him slightingly before the other - lodgers, who began to amuse themselves at his expense, and so gratified - her desire for revenge. - </p> - <p> - Towards the end of the first year the widow’s suspicions had reached such - a pitch that she began to wonder how it was that a retired merchant with a - secure income of seven or eight thousand livres, the owner of such - magnificent plate and jewelry handsome enough for a kept mistress, should - be living in her house. Why should he devote so small a proportion of his - money to his expenses? Until the first year was nearly at an end, Goriot - had dined out once or twice every week, but these occasions came less - frequently, and at last he was scarcely absent from the dinner-table twice - a month. It was hardly expected that Mme. Vauquer should regard the - increased regularity of her boarder’s habits with complacency, when those - little excursions of his had been so much to her interest. She attributed - the change not so much to a gradual diminution of fortune as to a spiteful - wish to annoy his hostess. It is one of the most detestable habits of a - Liliputian mind to credit other people with its own malignant pettiness. - </p> - <p> - Unluckily, towards the end of the second year, M. Goriot’s conduct gave - some color to the idle talk about him. He asked Mme. Vauquer to give him a - room on the second floor, and to make a corresponding reduction in her - charges. Apparently, such strict economy was called for, that he did - without a fire all through the winter. Mme. Vauquer asked to be paid in - advance, an arrangement to which M. Goriot consented, and thenceforward - she spoke of him as “Father Goriot.” - </p> - <p> - What had brought about this decline and fall? Conjecture was keen, but - investigation was difficult. Father Goriot was not communicative; in the - sham countess’ phrase he was “a curmudgeon.” Empty-headed people who - babble about their own affairs because they have nothing else to occupy - them, naturally conclude that if people say nothing of their doings it is - because their doings will not bear being talked about; so the highly - respectable merchant became a scoundrel, and the late beau was an old - rogue. Opinion fluctuated. Sometimes, according to Vautrin, who came about - this time to live in the Maison Vauquer, Father Goriot was a man who went - on ‘Change and <i>dabbled</i> (to use the sufficiently expressive language - of the Stock Exchange) in stocks and shares after he had ruined himself by - heavy speculation. Sometimes it was held that he was one of those petty - gamblers who nightly play for small stakes until they win a few francs. A - theory that he was a detective in the employ of the Home Office found - favor at one time, but Vautrin urged that “Goriot was not sharp enough for - one of that sort.” There were yet other solutions; Father Goriot was a - skinflint, a shark of a money-lender, a man who lived by selling lottery - tickets. He was by turns all the most mysterious brood of vice and shame - and misery; yet, however vile his life might be, the feeling of repulsion - which he aroused in others was not so strong that he must be banished from - their society—he paid his way. Besides, Goriot had his uses, every - one vented his spleen or sharpened his wit on him; he was pelted with - jokes and belabored with hard words. The general consensus of opinion was - in favor of a theory which seemed the most likely; this was Mme. Vauquer’s - view. According to her, the man so well preserved at his time of life, as - sound as her eyesight, with whom a woman might be very happy, was a - libertine who had strange tastes. These are the facts upon which Mme. - Vauquer’s slanders were based. - </p> - <p> - Early one morning, some few months after the departure of the unlucky - Countess who had managed to live for six months at the widow’s expense, - Mme. Vauquer (not yet dressed) heard the rustle of a silk dress and a - young woman’s light footstep on the stair; some one was going to Goriot’s - room. He seemed to expect the visit, for his door stood ajar. The portly - Sylvie presently came up to tell her mistress that a girl too pretty to be - honest, “dressed like a goddess,” and not a speck of mud on her laced - cashmere boots, had glided in from the street like a snake, had found the - kitchen, and asked for M. Goriot’s room. Mme. Vauquer and the cook, - listening, overheard several words affectionately spoken during the visit, - which lasted for some time. When M. Goriot went downstairs with the lady, - the stout Sylvie forthwith took her basket and followed the lover-like - couple, under pretext of going to do her marketing. - </p> - <p> - “M. Goriot must be awfully rich, all the same, madame,” she reported on - her return, “to keep her in such style. Just imagine it! There was a - splendid carriage waiting at the corner of the Place de l’Estrapade, and - <i>she</i> got into it.” - </p> - <p> - While they were at dinner that evening, Mme. Vauquer went to the window - and drew the curtain, as the sun was shining into Goriot’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You are beloved of fair ladies, M. Goriot—the sun seeks you out,” - she said, alluding to his visitor. “<i>Peste!</i> you have good taste; she - was very pretty.” - </p> - <p> - “That was my daughter,” he said, with a kind of pride in his voice, and - the rest chose to consider this as the fatuity of an old man who wishes to - save appearances. - </p> - <p> - A month after this visit M. Goriot received another. The same daughter who - had come to see him that morning came again after dinner, this time in - evening dress. The boarders, in deep discussion in the dining-room, caught - a glimpse of a lovely, fair-haired woman, slender, graceful, and much too - distinguished-looking to be a daughter of Father Goriot’s. - </p> - <p> - “Two of them!” cried the portly Sylvie, who did not recognize the lady of - the first visit. - </p> - <p> - A few days later, and another young lady—a tall, well-moulded - brunette, with dark hair and bright eyes—came to ask for M. Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “Three of them!” said Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - Then the second daughter, who had first come in the morning to see her - father, came shortly afterwards in the evening. She wore a ball dress, and - came in a carriage. - </p> - <p> - “Four of them!” commented Mme. Vauquer and her plump handmaid. Sylvie saw - not a trace of resemblance between this great lady and the girl in her - simple morning dress who had entered her kitchen on the occasion of her - first visit. - </p> - <p> - At that time Goriot was paying twelve hundred francs a year to his - landlady, and Mme. Vauquer saw nothing out of the common in the fact that - a rich man had four or five mistresses; nay, she thought it very knowing - of him to pass them off as his daughters. She was not at all inclined to - draw a hard-and-fast line, or to take umbrage at his sending for them to - the Maison Vauquer; yet, inasmuch as these visits explained her boarder’s - indifference to her, she went so far (at the end of the second year) as to - speak of him as an “ugly old wretch.” When at length her boarder declined - to nine hundred francs a year, she asked him very insolently what he took - her house to be, after meeting one of these ladies on the stairs. Father - Goriot answered that the lady was his eldest daughter. - </p> - <p> - “So you have two or three dozen daughters, have you?” said Mme. Vauquer - sharply. - </p> - <p> - “I have only two,” her boarder answered meekly, like a ruined man who is - broken in to all the cruel usage of misfortune. - </p> - <p> - Towards the end of the third year Father Goriot reduced his expenses still - further; he went up to the third story, and now paid forty-five francs a - month. He did without snuff, told his hairdresser that he no longer - required his services, and gave up wearing powder. When Goriot appeared - for the first time in this condition, an exclamation of astonishment broke - from his hostess at the color of his hair—a dingy olive gray. He had - grown sadder day by day under the influence of some hidden trouble; among - all the faces round the table, his was the most woe-begone. There was no - longer any doubt. Goriot was an elderly libertine, whose eyes had only - been preserved by the skill of the physician from the malign influence of - the remedies necessitated by the state of his health. The disgusting color - of his hair was a result of his excesses and of the drugs which he had - taken that he might continue his career. The poor old man’s mental and - physical condition afforded some grounds for the absurd rubbish talked - about him. When his outfit was worn out, he replaced the fine linen by - calico at fourteen <i>sous</i> the ell. His diamonds, his gold snuff-box, - watch-chain and trinkets, disappeared one by one. He had left off wearing - the corn-flower blue coat, and was sumptuously arrayed, summer as well as - winter, in a coarse chestnut-brown coat, a plush waistcoat, and doeskin - breeches. He grew thinner and thinner; his legs were shrunken, his cheeks, - once so puffed out by contented bourgeois prosperity, were covered with - wrinkles, and the outlines of the jawbones were distinctly visible; there - were deep furrows in his forehead. In the fourth year of his residence in - the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve he was no longer like his former self. The - hale vermicelli manufacturer, sixty-two years of age, who had looked - scarce forty, the stout, comfortable, prosperous tradesman, with an almost - bucolic air, and such a brisk demeanor that it did you good to look at - him; the man with something boyish in his smile, had suddenly sunk into - his dotage, and had become a feeble, vacillating septuagenarian. - </p> - <p> - The keen, bright blue eyes had grown dull, and faded to a steel-gray - color; the red inflamed rims looked as though they had shed tears of - blood. He excited feelings of repulsion in some, and of pity in others. - The young medical students who came to the house noticed the drooping of - his lower lip and the conformation of the facial angle; and, after teasing - him for some time to no purpose, they declared that cretinism was setting - in. - </p> - <p> - One evening after dinner Mme. Vauquer said half banteringly to him, “So - those daughters of yours don’t come to see you any more, eh?” meaning to - imply her doubts as to his paternity; but Father Goriot shrank as if his - hostess had touched him with a sword-point. - </p> - <p> - “They come sometimes,” he said in a tremulous voice. - </p> - <p> - “Aha! you still see them sometimes?” cried the students. “Bravo, Father - Goriot!” - </p> - <p> - The old man scarcely seemed to hear the witticisms at his expense that - followed on the words; he had relapsed into the dreamy state of mind that - these superficial observers took for senile torpor, due to his lack of - intelligence. If they had only known, they might have been deeply - interested by the problem of his condition; but few problems were more - obscure. It was easy, of course, to find out whether Goriot had really - been a vermicelli manufacturer; the amount of his fortune was readily - discoverable; but the old people, who were most inquisitive as to his - concerns, never went beyond the limits of the Quarter, and lived in the - lodging-house much as oysters cling to a rock. As for the rest, the - current of life in Paris daily awaited them, and swept them away with it; - so soon as they left the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, they forgot the - existence of the old man, their butt at dinner. For those narrow souls, or - for careless youth, the misery in Father Goriot’s withered face and its - dull apathy were quite incompatible with wealth or any sort of - intelligence. As for the creatures whom he called his daughters, all Mme. - Vauquer’s boarders were of her opinion. With the faculty for severe logic - sedulously cultivated by elderly women during long evenings of gossip till - they can always find an hypothesis to fit all circumstances, she was wont - to reason thus: - </p> - <p> - “If Father Goriot had daughters of his own as rich as those ladies who - came here seemed to be, he would not be lodging in my house, on the third - floor, at forty-five francs a month; and he would not go about dressed - like a poor man.” - </p> - <p> - No objection could be raised to these inferences. So by the end of the - month of November 1819, at the time when the curtain rises on this drama, - every one in the house had come to have a very decided opinion as to the - poor old man. He had never had either wife or daughter; excesses had - reduced him to this sluggish condition; he was a sort of human mollusk who - should be classed among the capulidoe, so one of the dinner contingent, an - <i>employe</i> at the Museum, who had a pretty wit of his own. Poiret was - an eagle, a gentleman, compared with Goriot. Poiret would join the talk, - argue, answer when he was spoken to; as a matter of fact, his talk, - arguments, and responses contributed nothing to the conversation, for - Poiret had a habit of repeating what the others said in different words; - still, he did join in the talk; he was alive, and seemed capable of - feeling; while Father Goriot (to quote the Museum official again) was - invariably at zero degrees—Reaumur. - </p> - <p> - Eugene de Rastignac had just returned to Paris in a state of mind not - unknown to young men who are conscious of unusual powers, and to those - whose faculties are so stimulated by a difficult position, that for the - time being they rise above the ordinary level. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac’s first year of study for the preliminary examinations in law - had left him free to see the sights of Paris and to enjoy some of its - amusements. A student has not much time on his hands if he sets himself to - learn the repertory of every theatre, and to study the ins and outs of the - labyrinth of Paris. To know its customs; to learn the language, and become - familiar with the amusements of the capital, he must explore its recesses, - good and bad, follow the studies that please him best, and form some idea - of the treasures contained in galleries and museums. - </p> - <p> - At this stage of his career a student grows eager and excited about all - sorts of follies that seem to him to be of immense importance. He has his - hero, his great man, a professor at the College de France, paid to talk - down to the level of his audience. He adjusts his cravat, and strikes - various attitudes for the benefit of the women in the first galleries at - the Opera-Comique. As he passes through all these successive initiations, - and breaks out of his sheath, the horizons of life widen around him, and - at length he grasps the plan of society with the different human strata of - which it is composed. - </p> - <p> - If he begins by admiring the procession of carriages on sunny afternoons - in the Champs-Elysees, he soon reaches the further stage of envying their - owners. Unconsciously, Eugene had served his apprenticeship before he went - back to Angouleme for the long vacation after taking his degrees as - bachelor of arts and bachelor of law. The illusions of childhood had - vanished, so also had the ideas he brought with him from the provinces; he - had returned thither with an intelligence developed, with loftier - ambitions, and saw things as they were at home in the old manor house. His - father and mother, his two brothers and two sisters, with an aged aunt, - whose whole fortune consisted in annuities, lived on the little estate of - Rastignac. The whole property brought in about three thousand francs; and - though the amount varied with the season (as must always be the case in a - vine-growing district), they were obliged to spare an unvarying twelve - hundred francs out of their income for him. He saw how constantly the - poverty, which they had generously hidden from him, weighed upon them; he - could not help comparing the sisters, who had seemed so beautiful to his - boyish eyes, with women in Paris, who had realized the beauty of his - dreams. The uncertain future of the whole family depended upon him. It did - not escape his eyes that not a crumb was wasted in the house, nor that the - wine they drank was made from the second pressing; a multitude of small - things, which it is useless to speak of in detail here, made him burn to - distinguish himself, and his ambition to succeed increased tenfold. - </p> - <p> - He meant, like all great souls, that his success should be owing entirely - to his merits; but his was pre-eminently a southern temperament, the - execution of his plans was sure to be marred by the vertigo that seizes on - youth when youth sees itself alone in a wide sea, uncertain how to spend - its energies, whither to steer its course, how to adapt its sails to the - winds. At first he determined to fling himself heart and soul into his - work, but he was diverted from this purpose by the need of society and - connections; then he saw how great an influence women exert in social - life, and suddenly made up his mind to go out into this world to seek a - protectress there. Surely a clever and high-spirited young man, whose wit - and courage were set off to advantage by a graceful figure and the - vigorous kind of beauty that readily strikes a woman’s imagination, need - not despair of finding a protectress. These ideas occurred to him in his - country walks with his sisters, whom he had once joined so gaily. The - girls thought him very much changed. - </p> - <p> - His aunt, Mme. de Marcillac, had been presented at court, and had moved - among the brightest heights of that lofty region. Suddenly the young man’s - ambition discerned in those recollections of hers, which had been like - nursery fairy tales to her nephews and nieces, the elements of a social - success at least as important as the success which he had achieved at the - Ecole de Droit. He began to ask his aunt about those relations; some of - the old ties might still hold good. After much shaking of the branches of - the family tree, the old lady came to the conclusion that of all persons - who could be useful to her nephew among the selfish genus of rich - relations, the Vicomtesse de Beauseant was the least likely to refuse. To - this lady, therefore, she wrote in the old-fashioned style, recommending - Eugene to her; pointing out to her nephew that if he succeeded in pleasing - Mme. de Beauseant, the Vicomtesse would introduce him to other relations. - A few days after his return to Paris, therefore, Rastignac sent his aunt’s - letter to Mme. de Beauseant. The Vicomtesse replied by an invitation to a - ball for the following evening. This was the position of affairs at the - Maison Vauquer at the end of November 1819. - </p> - <p> - A few days later, after Mme. de Beauseant’s ball, Eugene came in at two - o’clock in the morning. The persevering student meant to make up for the - lost time by working until daylight. It was the first time that he had - attempted to spend the night in this way in that silent quarter. The spell - of a factitious energy was upon him; he had beheld the pomp and splendor - of the world. He had not dined at the Maison Vauquer; the boarders - probably would think that he would walk home at daybreak from the dance, - as he had done sometimes on former occasions, after a fete at the Prado, - or a ball at the Odeon, splashing his silk stockings thereby, and ruining - his pumps. - </p> - <p> - It so happened that Christophe took a look into the street before drawing - the bolts of the door; and Rastignac, coming in at that moment, could go - up to his room without making any noise, followed by Christophe, who made - a great deal. Eugene exchanged his dress suit for a shabby overcoat and - slippers, kindled a fire with some blocks of patent fuel, and prepared for - his night’s work in such a sort that the faint sounds he made were drowned - by Christophe’s heavy tramp on the stairs. - </p> - <p> - Eugene sat absorbed in thought for a few moments before plunging into his - law books. He had just become aware of the fact that the Vicomtesse de - Beauseant was one of the queens of fashion, that her house was thought to - be the pleasantest in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. And not only so, she - was, by right of her fortune, and the name she bore, one of the most - conspicuous figures in that aristocratic world. Thanks to the aunt, thanks - to Mme. de Marcillac’s letter of introduction, the poor student had been - kindly received in that house before he knew the extent of the favor thus - shown to him. It was almost like a patent of nobility to be admitted to - those gilded salons; he had appeared in the most exclusive circle in - Paris, and now all doors were open for him. Eugene had been dazzled at - first by the brilliant assembly, and had scarcely exchanged a few words - with the Vicomtesse; he had been content to single out a goddess among - this throng of Parisian divinities, one of those women who are sure to - attract a young man’s fancy. - </p> - <p> - The Comtesse Anastasie de Restaud was tall and gracefully made; she had - one of the prettiest figures in Paris. Imagine a pair of great dark eyes, - a magnificently moulded hand, a shapely foot. There was a fiery energy in - her movements; the Marquis de Ronquerolles had called her “a - thoroughbred,” “a pure pedigree,” these figures of speech have replaced - the “heavenly angel” and Ossianic nomenclature; the old mythology of love - is extinct, doomed to perish by modern dandyism. But for Rastignac, Mme. - Anastasie de Restaud was the woman for whom he had sighed. He had - contrived to write his name twice upon the list of partners upon her fan, - and had snatched a few words with her during the first quadrille. - </p> - <p> - “Where shall I meet you again, Madame?” he asked abruptly, and the tones - of his voice were full of the vehement energy that women like so well. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, everywhere!” said she, “in the Bois, at the Bouffons, in my own - house.” - </p> - <p> - With the impetuosity of his adventurous southern temper, he did all he - could to cultivate an acquaintance with this lovely countess, making the - best of his opportunities in the quadrille and during a waltz that she - gave him. When he told her that he was a cousin of Mme. de Beauseant’s, - the Countess, whom he took for a great lady, asked him to call at her - house, and after her parting smile, Rastignac felt convinced that he must - make this visit. He was so lucky as to light upon some one who did not - laugh at his ignorance, a fatal defect among the gilded and insolent youth - of that period; the coterie of Maulincourts, Maximes de Trailles, de - Marsays, Ronquerolles, Ajuda-Pintos, and Vandenesses who shone there in - all the glory of coxcombry among the best-dressed women of fashion in - Paris—Lady Brandon, the Duchesse de Langeais, the Comtesse de - Kergarouet, Mme. de Serizy, the Duchesse de Carigliano, the Comtesse - Ferraud, Mme. de Lanty, the Marquise d’Aiglemont, Mme. Firmiani, the - Marquise de Listomere and the Marquise d’Espard, the Duchesse de - Maufrigneuse and the Grandlieus. Luckily, therefore, for him, the novice - happened upon the Marquis de Montriveau, the lover of the Duchesse de - Langeais, a general as simple as a child; from him Rastignac learned that - the Comtesse lived in the Rue du Helder. - </p> - <p> - Ah, what it is to be young, eager to see the world, greedily on the watch - for any chance that brings you nearer the woman of your dreams, and behold - two houses open their doors to you! To set foot in the Vicomtesse de - Beauseant’s house in the Faubourg Saint-Germain; to fall on your knees - before a Comtesse de Restaud in the Chaussee d’Antin; to look at one - glance across a vista of Paris drawing-rooms, conscious that, possessing - sufficient good looks, you may hope to find aid and protection there in a - feminine heart! To feel ambitious enough to spurn the tight-rope on which - you must walk with the steady head of an acrobat for whom a fall is - impossible, and to find in a charming woman the best of all balancing - poles. - </p> - <p> - He sat there with his thoughts for a while, Law on the one hand, and - Poverty on the other, beholding a radiant vision of a woman rise above the - dull, smouldering fire. Who would not have paused and questioned the - future as Eugene was doing? who would not have pictured it full of - success? His wondering thoughts took wings; he was transported out of the - present into that blissful future; he was sitting by Mme. de Restaud’s - side, when a sort of sigh, like the grunt of an overburdened St. Joseph, - broke the silence of the night. It vibrated through the student, who took - the sound for a death groan. He opened his door noiselessly, went out upon - the landing, and saw a thin streak of light under Father Goriot’s door. - Eugene feared that his neighbor had been taken ill; he went over and - looked through the keyhole; the old man was busily engaged in an - occupation so singular and so suspicious that Rastignac thought he was - only doing a piece of necessary service to society to watch the - self-styled vermicelli maker’s nocturnal industries. - </p> - <p> - The table was upturned, and Goriot had doubtless in some way secured a - silver plate and cup to the bar before knotting a thick rope round them; - he was pulling at this rope with such enormous force that they were being - crushed and twisted out of shape; to all appearance he meant to convert - the richly wrought metal into ingots. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Peste!</i> what a man!” said Rastignac, as he watched Goriot’s - muscular arms; there was not a sound in the room while the old man, with - the aid of the rope, was kneading the silver like dough. “Was he then, - indeed, a thief, or a receiver of stolen goods, who affected imbecility - and decrepitude, and lived like a beggar that he might carry on his - pursuits the more securely?” Eugene stood for a moment revolving these - questions, then he looked again through the keyhole. - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot had unwound his coil of rope; he had covered the table with - a blanket, and was now employed in rolling the flattened mass of silver - into a bar, an operation which he performed with marvelous dexterity. - </p> - <p> - “Why, he must be as strong as Augustus, King of Poland!” said Eugene to - himself when the bar was nearly finished. - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot looked sadly at his handiwork, tears fell from his eyes, he - blew out the dip which had served him for a light while he manipulated the - silver, and Eugene heard him sigh as he lay down again. - </p> - <p> - “He is mad,” thought the student. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Poor child!</i>” Father Goriot said aloud. Rastignac, hearing those - words, concluded to keep silence; he would not hastily condemn his - neighbor. He was just in the doorway of his room when a strange sound from - the staircase below reached his ears; it might have been made by two men - coming up in list slippers. Eugene listened; two men there certainly were, - he could hear their breathing. Yet there had been no sound of opening the - street door, no footsteps in the passage. Suddenly, too, he saw a faint - gleam of light on the second story; it came from M. Vautrin’s room. - </p> - <p> - “There are a good many mysteries here for a lodging-house!” he said to - himself. - </p> - <p> - He went part of the way downstairs and listened again. The rattle of gold - reached his ears. In another moment the light was put out, and again he - distinctly heard the breathing of two men, but no sound of a door being - opened or shut. The two men went downstairs, the faint sounds growing - fainter as they went. - </p> - <p> - “Who is there?” cried Mme. Vauquer out of her bedroom window. - </p> - <p> - “I, Mme. Vauquer,” answered Vautrin’s deep bass voice. “I am coming in.” - </p> - <p> - “That is odd! Christophe drew the bolts,” said Eugene, going back to his - room. “You have to sit up at night, it seems, if you really mean to know - all that is going on about you in Paris.” - </p> - <p> - These incidents turned his thought from his ambitious dreams; he betook - himself to his work, but his thought wandered back to Father Goriot’s - suspicious occupation; Mme. de Restaud’s face swam again and again before - his eyes like a vision of a brilliant future; and at last he lay down and - slept with clenched fists. When a young man makes up his mind that he will - work all night, the chances are that seven times out of ten he will sleep - till morning. Such vigils do not begin before we are turned twenty. - </p> - <p> - The next morning Paris was wrapped in one of the dense fogs that throw the - most punctual people out in their calculations as to the time; even the - most business-like folk fail to keep their appointments in such weather, - and ordinary mortals wake up at noon and fancy it is eight o’clock. On - this morning it was half-past nine, and Mme. Vauquer still lay abed. - Christophe was late, Sylvie was late, but the two sat comfortably taking - their coffee as usual. It was Sylvie’s custom to take the cream off the - milk destined for the boarders’ breakfast for her own, and to boil the - remainder for some time, so that madame should not discover this illegal - exaction. - </p> - <p> - “Sylvie,” said Christophe, as he dipped a piece of toast into the coffee, - “M. Vautrin, who is not such a bad sort, all the same, had two people come - to see him again last night. If madame says anything, mind you say nothing - about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Has he given you something?” - </p> - <p> - “He gave me a five-franc piece this month, which is as good as saying, - ‘Hold your tongue.’” - </p> - <p> - “Except him and Mme. Couture, who doesn’t look twice at every penny, - there’s no one in the house that doesn’t try to get back with the left - hand all that they give with the right at New Year,” said Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “And, after all,” said Christophe, “what do they give you? A miserable - five-franc piece. There is Father Goriot, who has cleaned his shoes - himself these two years past. There is that old beggar Poiret, who goes - without blacking altogether; he would sooner drink it than put it on his - boots. Then there is that whipper-snapper of a student, who gives me a - couple of francs. Two francs will not pay for my brushes, and he sells his - old clothes, and gets more for them than they are worth. Oh! they’re a - shabby lot!” - </p> - <p> - “Pooh!” said Sylvie, sipping her coffee, “our places are the best in the - Quarter, that I know. But about that great big chap Vautrin, Christophe; - has any one told you anything about him?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I met a gentleman in the street a few days ago; he said to me, - ‘There’s a gentleman in your place, isn’t there? a tall man that dyes his - whiskers?’ I told him, ‘No, sir; they aren’t dyed. A gay fellow like him - hasn’t the time to do it.’ And when I told M. Vautrin about it afterwards, - he said, ‘Quite right, my boy. That is the way to answer them. There is - nothing more unpleasant than to have your little weaknesses known; it - might spoil many a match.’” - </p> - <p> - “Well, and for my part,” said Sylvie, “a man tried to humbug me at the - market wanting to know if I had seen him put on his shirt. Such bosh! - There,” she cried, interrupting herself, “that’s a quarter to ten striking - at the Val-de-Grace, and not a soul stirring!” - </p> - <p> - “Pooh! they are all gone out. Mme. Couture and the girl went out at eight - o’clock to take the wafer at Saint-Etienne. Father Goriot started off - somewhere with a parcel, and the student won’t be back from his lecture - till ten o’clock. I saw them go while I was sweeping the stairs; Father - Goriot knocked up against me, and his parcel was as hard as iron. What is - the old fellow up to, I wonder? He is as good as a plaything for the rest - of them; they can never let him alone; but he is a good man, all the same, - and worth more than all of them put together. He doesn’t give you much - himself, but he sometimes sends you with a message to ladies who fork out - famous tips; they are dressed grandly, too.” - </p> - <p> - “His daughters, as he calls them, eh? There are a dozen of them.” - </p> - <p> - “I have never been to more than two—the two who came here.” - </p> - <p> - “There is madame moving overhead; I shall have to go, or she will raise a - fine racket. Just keep an eye on the milk, Christophe; don’t let the cat - get at it.” - </p> - <p> - Sylvie went up to her mistress’ room. - </p> - <p> - “Sylvie! How is this? It’s nearly ten o’clock, and you let me sleep like a - dormouse! Such a thing has never happened before.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s the fog; it is that thick, you could cut it with a knife.” - </p> - <p> - “But how about breakfast?” - </p> - <p> - “Bah! the boarders are possessed, I’m sure. They all cleared out before - there was a wink of daylight.” - </p> - <p> - “Do speak properly, Sylvie,” Mme. Vauquer retorted; “say a blink of - daylight.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, well, madame, whichever you please. Anyhow, you can have breakfast at - ten o’clock. La Michonnette and Poiret have neither of them stirred. There - are only those two upstairs, and they are sleeping like the logs they - are.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Sylvie, you put their names together as if——” - </p> - <p> - “As if what?” said Sylvie, bursting into a guffaw. “The two of them make a - pair.” - </p> - <p> - “It is a strange thing, isn’t it, Sylvie, how M. Vautrin got in last night - after Christophe had bolted the door?” - </p> - <p> - “Not at all, madame. Christophe heard M. Vautrin, and went down and undid - the door. And here are you imagining that——?” - </p> - <p> - “Give me my bodice, and be quick and get breakfast ready. Dish up the rest - of the mutton with the potatoes, and you can put the stewed pears on the - table, those at five a penny.” - </p> - <p> - A few moments later Mme. Vauquer came down, just in time to see the cat - knock down a plate that covered a bowl of milk, and begin to lap in all - haste. - </p> - <p> - “Mistigris!” she cried. - </p> - <p> - The cat fled, but promptly returned to rub against her ankles. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! yes, you can wheedle, you old hypocrite!” she said. “Sylvie! Sylvie!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, madame; what is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Just see what the cat has done!” - </p> - <p> - “It is all that stupid Christophe’s fault. I told him to stop and lay the - table. What has become of him? Don’t you worry, madame; Father Goriot - shall have it. I will fill it up with water, and he won’t know the - difference; he never notices anything, not even what he eats.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder where the old heathen can have gone?” said Mme. Vauquer, setting - the plates round the table. - </p> - <p> - “Who knows? He is up to all sorts of tricks.” - </p> - <p> - “I have overslept myself,” said Mme. Vauquer. - </p> - <p> - “But madame looks as fresh as a rose, all the same.” - </p> - <p> - The door bell rang at that moment, and Vautrin came through the - sitting-room, singing loudly: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “‘Tis the same old story everywhere, - A roving heart and a roving glance.. -</pre> - <p> - “Oh! Mamma Vauquer! good-morning!” he cried at the sight of his hostess, - and he put his arm gaily round her waist. - </p> - <p> - “There! have done——” - </p> - <p> - “‘Impertinence!’ Say it!” he answered. “Come, say it! Now, isn’t that what - you really mean? Stop a bit, I will help you to set the table. Ah! I am a - nice man, am I not? - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “For the locks of brown and the golden hair - A sighing lover... -</pre> - <p> - “Oh! I have just seen something so funny—— - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - .... led by chance.” - </pre> - <p> - “What?” asked the widow. - </p> - <p> - “Father Goriot in the goldsmith’s shop in the Rue Dauphine at half-past - eight this morning. They buy old spoons and forks and gold lace there, and - Goriot sold a piece of silver plate for a good round sum. It had been - twisted out of shape very neatly for a man that’s not used to the trade.” - </p> - <p> - “Really? You don’t say so?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. One of my friends is expatriating himself; I had been to see him off - on board the Royal Mail steamer, and was coming back here. I waited after - that to see what Father Goriot would do; it is a comical affair. He came - back to this quarter of the world, to the Rue des Gres, and went into a - money-lender’s house; everybody knows him, Gobseck, a stuck-up rascal, - that would make dominoes out of his father’s bones, a Turk, a heathen, an - old Jew, a Greek; it would be a difficult matter to rob <i>him</i>, for he - puts all his coin into the Bank.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what was Father Goriot doing there?” - </p> - <p> - “Doing?” said Vautrin. “Nothing; he was bent on his own undoing. He is a - simpleton, stupid enough to ruin himself by running after——” - </p> - <p> - “There he is!” cried Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “Christophe,” cried Father Goriot’s voice, “come upstairs with me.” - </p> - <p> - Christophe went up, and shortly afterwards came down again. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going?” Mme. Vauquer asked of her servant. - </p> - <p> - “Out on an errand for M. Goriot.” - </p> - <p> - “What may that be?” said Vautrin, pouncing on a letter in Christophe’s - hand. “<i>Mme. la Comtesse Anastasie de Restaud</i>,” he read. “Where are - you going with it?” he added, as he gave the letter back to Christophe. - </p> - <p> - “To the Rue du Helder. I have orders to give this into her hands myself.” - </p> - <p> - “What is there inside it?” said Vautrin, holding the letter up to the - light. “A banknote? No.” He peered into the envelope. “A receipted - account!” he cried. “My word! ‘tis a gallant old dotard. Off with you, old - chap,” he said, bringing down a hand on Christophe’s head, and spinning - the man round like a thimble; “you will have a famous tip.” - </p> - <p> - By this time the table was set. Sylvie was boiling the milk, Mme. Vauquer - was lighting a fire in the stove with some assistance from Vautrin, who - kept humming to himself: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “The same old story everywhere, - A roving heart and a roving glance.” - </pre> - <p> - When everything was ready, Mme. Couture and Mlle. Taillefer came in. - </p> - <p> - “Where have you been this morning, fair lady?” said Mme. Vauquer, turning - to Mme. Couture. - </p> - <p> - “We have just been to say our prayers at Saint-Etienne du Mont. To-day is - the day when we must go to see M. Taillefer. Poor little thing! She is - trembling like a leaf,” Mme. Couture went on, as she seated herself before - the fire and held the steaming soles of her boots to the blaze. - </p> - <p> - “Warm yourself, Victorine,” said Mme. Vauquer. - </p> - <p> - “It is quite right and proper, mademoiselle, to pray to Heaven to soften - your father’s heart,” said Vautrin, as he drew a chair nearer to the - orphan girl; “but that is not enough. What you want is a friend who will - give the monster a piece of his mind; a barbarian that has three millions - (so they say), and will not give you a dowry; and a pretty girl needs a - dowry nowadays.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor child!” said Mme. Vauquer. “Never mind, my pet, your wretch of a - father is going just the way to bring trouble upon himself.” - </p> - <p> - Victorine’s eyes filled with tears at the words, and the widow checked - herself at a sign from Mme. Couture. - </p> - <p> - “If we could only see him!” said the Commissary-General’s widow; “if I - could speak to him myself and give him his wife’s last letter! I have - never dared to run the risk of sending it by post; he knew my handwriting——” - </p> - <p> - “‘Oh woman, persecuted and injured innocent!’” exclaimed Vautrin, breaking - in upon her. “So that is how you are, is it? In a few days’ time I will - look into your affairs, and it will be all right, you shall see.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! sir,” said Victorine, with a tearful but eager glance at Vautrin, who - showed no sign of being touched by it, “if you know of any way of - communicating with my father, please be sure and tell him that his - affection and my mother’s honor are more to me than all the money in the - world. If you can induce him to relent a little towards me, I will pray to - God for you. You may be sure of my gratitude——” - </p> - <p> - “<i>The same old story everywhere</i>,” sang Vautrin, with a satirical - intonation. At this juncture, Goriot, Mlle. Michonneau, and Poiret came - downstairs together; possibly the scent of the gravy which Sylvie was - making to serve with the mutton had announced breakfast. The seven people - thus assembled bade each other good-morning, and took their places at the - table; the clock struck ten, and the student’s footstep was heard outside. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! here you are, M. Eugene,” said Sylvie; “every one is breakfasting at - home to-day.” - </p> - <p> - The student exchanged greetings with the lodgers, and sat down beside - Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “I have just met with a queer adventure,” he said, as he helped himself - abundantly to the mutton, and cut a slice of bread, which Mme. Vauquer’s - eyes gauged as usual. - </p> - <p> - “An adventure?” queried Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Well, and what is there to astonish you in that, old boy?” Vautrin asked - of Poiret. “M. Eugene is cut out for that kind of thing.” - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Taillefer stole a timid glance at the young student. - </p> - <p> - “Tell us about your adventure!” demanded M. Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “Yesterday evening I went to a ball given by a cousin of mine, the - Vicomtesse de Beauseant. She has a magnificent house; the rooms are hung - with silk—in short, it was a splendid affair, and I was as happy as - a king—-” - </p> - <p> - “Fisher,” put in Vautrin, interrupting. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean, sir?” said Eugene sharply. - </p> - <p> - “I said ‘fisher,’ because kingfishers see a good deal more fun than - kings.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite true; I would much rather be the little careless bird than a king,” - said Poiret the ditto-ist, “because——” - </p> - <p> - “In fact”—the law-student cut him short—“I danced with one of - the handsomest women in the room, a charming countess, the most exquisite - creature I have ever seen. There was peach blossom in her hair, and she - had the loveliest bouquet of flowers—real flowers, that scented the - air——but there! it is no use trying to describe a woman - glowing with the dance. You ought to have seen her! Well, and this morning - I met this divine countess about nine o’clock, on foot in the Rue de Gres. - Oh! how my heart beat! I began to think——” - </p> - <p> - “That she was coming here,” said Vautrin, with a keen look at the student. - “I expect that she was going to call on old Gobseck, a money-lender. If - ever you explore a Parisian woman’s heart, you will find the money-lender - first, and the lover afterwards. Your countess is called Anastasie de - Restaud, and she lives in the Rue du Helder.” - </p> - <p> - The student stared hard at Vautrin. Father Goriot raised his head at the - words, and gave the two speakers a glance so full of intelligence and - uneasiness that the lodgers beheld him with astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Then Christophe was too late, and she must have gone to him!” cried - Goriot, with anguish in his voice. - </p> - <p> - “It is just as I guessed,” said Vautrin, leaning over to whisper in Mme. - Vauquer’s ear. - </p> - <p> - Goriot went on with his breakfast, but seemed unconscious of what he was - doing. He had never looked more stupid nor more taken up with his own - thoughts than he did at that moment. - </p> - <p> - “Who the devil could have told you her name, M. Vautrin?” asked Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Aha! there you are!” answered Vautrin. “Old Father Goriot there knew it - quite well! and why should I not know it too?” - </p> - <p> - “M. Goriot?” the student cried. - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” asked the old man. “So she was very beautiful, was she, - yesterday night?” - </p> - <p> - “Who?” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. de Restaud.” - </p> - <p> - “Look at the old wretch,” said Mme. Vauquer, speaking to Vautrin; “how his - eyes light up!” - </p> - <p> - “Then does he really keep her?” said Mlle. Michonneau, in a whisper to the - student. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! yes, she was tremendously pretty,” Eugene answered. Father Goriot - watched him with eager eyes. “If Mme. de Beauseant had not been there, my - divine countess would have been the queen of the ball; none of the younger - men had eyes for any one else. I was the twelfth on her list, and she - danced every quadrille. The other women were furious. She must have - enjoyed herself, if ever creature did! It is a true saying that there is - no more beautiful sight than a frigate in full sail, a galloping horse, or - a woman dancing.” - </p> - <p> - “So the wheel turns,” said Vautrin; “yesterday night at a duchess’ ball, - this morning in a money-lender’s office, on the lowest rung of the ladder—just - like a Parisienne! If their husbands cannot afford to pay for their - frantic extravagance, they will sell themselves. Or if they cannot do - that, they will tear out their mothers’ hearts to find something to pay - for their splendor. They will turn the world upside down. Just a - Parisienne through and through!” - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot’s face, which had shone at the student’s words like the sun - on a bright day, clouded over all at once at this cruel speech of - Vautrin’s. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Mme. Vauquer, “but where is your adventure? Did you speak to - her? Did you ask her if she wanted to study law?” - </p> - <p> - “She did not see me,” said Eugene. “But only think of meeting one of the - prettiest women in Paris in the Rue des Gres at nine o’clock! She could - not have reached home after the ball till two o’clock this morning. Wasn’t - it queer? There is no place like Paris for this sort of adventures.” - </p> - <p> - “Pshaw! much funnier things than <i>that</i> happen here!” exclaimed - Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Taillefer had scarcely heeded the talk, she was so absorbed by the - thought of the new attempt that she was about to make. Mme. Couture made a - sign that it was time to go upstairs and dress; the two ladies went out, - and Father Goriot followed their example. - </p> - <p> - “Well, did you see?” said Mme. Vauquer, addressing Vautrin and the rest of - the circle. “He is ruining himself for those women, that is plain.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing will ever make me believe that that beautiful Comtesse de Restaud - is anything to Father Goriot,” cried the student. - </p> - <p> - “Well, and if you don’t,” broke in Vautrin, “we are not set on convincing - you. You are too young to know Paris thoroughly yet; later on you will - find out that there are what we call men with a passion——” - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Michonneau gave Vautrin a quick glance at these words. They seemed - to be like the sound of a trumpet to a trooper’s horse. “Aha!” said - Vautrin, stopping in his speech to give her a searching glance, “so we - have had our little experiences, have we?” - </p> - <p> - The old maid lowered her eyes like a nun who sees a statue. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he went on, “when folk of that kind get a notion into their heads, - they cannot drop it. They must drink the water from some particular spring—it - is stagnant as often as not; but they will sell their wives and families, - they will sell their own souls to the devil to get it. For some this - spring is play, or the stock-exchange, or music, or a collection of - pictures or insects; for others it is some woman who can give them the - dainties they like. You might offer these last all the women on earth—they - would turn up their noses; they will have the only one who can gratify - their passion. It often happens that the woman does not care for them at - all, and treats them cruelly; they buy their morsels of satisfaction very - dear; but no matter, the fools are never tired of it; they will take their - last blanket to the pawnbroker’s to give their last five-franc piece to - her. Father Goriot here is one of that sort. He is discreet, so the - Countess exploits him—just the way of the gay world. The poor old - fellow thinks of her and of nothing else. In all other respects you see he - is a stupid animal; but get him on that subject, and his eyes sparkle like - diamonds. That secret is not difficult to guess. He took some plate - himself this morning to the melting-pot, and I saw him at Daddy Gobseck’s - in the Rue des Gres. And now, mark what follows—he came back here, - and gave a letter for the Comtesse de Restaud to that noodle of a - Christophe, who showed us the address; there was a receipted bill inside - it. It is clear that it was an urgent matter if the Countess also went - herself to the old money lender. Father Goriot has financed her - handsomely. There is no need to tack a tale together; the thing is - self-evident. So that shows you, sir student, that all the time your - Countess was smiling, dancing, flirting, swaying her peach-flower crowned - head, with her gown gathered into her hand, her slippers were pinching - her, as they say; she was thinking of her protested bills, or her lover’s - protested bills.” - </p> - <p> - “You have made me wild to know the truth,” cried Eugene; “I will go to - call on Mme. de Restaud to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” echoed Poiret; “you must go and call on Mme. de Restaud.” - </p> - <p> - “And perhaps you will find Father Goriot there, who will take payment for - the assistance he politely rendered.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene looked disgusted. “Why, then, this Paris of yours is a slough.” - </p> - <p> - “And an uncommonly queer slough, too,” replied Vautrin. “The mud splashes - you as you drive through it in your carriage—you are a respectable - person; you go afoot and are splashed—you are a scoundrel. You are - so unlucky as to walk off with something or other belonging to somebody - else, and they exhibit you as a curiosity in the Place du - Palais-de-Justice; you steal a million, and you are pointed out in every - salon as a model of virtue. And you pay thirty millions for the police and - the courts of justice, for the maintenance of law and order! A pretty - slate of things it is!” - </p> - <p> - “What,” cried Mme. Vauquer, “has Father Goriot really melted down his - silver posset-dish?” - </p> - <p> - “There were two turtle-doves on the lid, were there not?” asked Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that there were.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, was he fond of it?” said Eugene. “He cried while he was breaking up - the cup and plate. I happened to see him by accident.” - </p> - <p> - “It was dear to him as his own life,” answered the widow. - </p> - <p> - “There! you see how infatuated the old fellow is!” cried Vautrin. “The - woman yonder can coax the soul out of him.” - </p> - <p> - The student went up to his room. Vautrin went out, and a few moments later - Mme. Couture and Victorine drove away in a cab which Sylvie had called for - them. Poiret gave his arm to Mlle. Michonneau, and they went together to - spend the two sunniest hours of the day in the Jardin des Plantes. - </p> - <p> - “Well, those two are as good as married,” was the portly Sylvie’s comment. - “They are going out together to-day for the first time. They are such a - couple of dry sticks that if they happen to strike against each other they - will draw sparks like flint and steel.” - </p> - <p> - “Keep clear of Mlle. Michonneau’s shawl, then,” said Mme. Vauquer, - laughing; “it would flare up like tinder.” - </p> - <p> - At four o’clock that evening, when Goriot came in, he saw, by the light of - two smoky lamps, that Victorine’s eyes were red. Mme. Vauquer was - listening to the history of the visit made that morning to M. Taillefer; - it had been made in vain. Taillefer was tired of the annual application - made by his daughter and her elderly friend; he gave them a personal - interview in order to arrive at an understanding with them. - </p> - <p> - “My dear lady,” said Mme. Couture, addressing Mme. Vauquer, “just imagine - it; he did not even ask Victorine to sit down, she was standing the whole - time. He said to me quite coolly, without putting himself in a passion, - that we might spare ourselves the trouble of going there; that the young - lady (he would not call her his daughter) was injuring her cause by - importuning him (<i>importuning!</i> once a year, the wretch!); that as - Victorine’s mother had nothing when he married her, Victorine ought not to - expect anything from him; in fact, he said the most cruel things, that - made the poor child burst out crying. The little thing threw herself at - her father’s feet and spoke up bravely; she said that she only persevered - in her visits for her mother’s sake; that she would obey him without a - murmur, but that she begged him to read her poor dead mother’s farewell - letter. She took it up and gave it to him, saying the most beautiful - things in the world, most beautifully expressed; I do not know where she - learned them; God must have put them into her head, for the poor child was - inspired to speak so nicely that it made me cry like a fool to hear her - talk. And what do you think the monster was doing all the time? Cutting - his nails! He took the letter that poor Mme. Taillefer had soaked with - tears, and flung it on to the chimney-piece. ‘That is all right,’ he said. - He held out his hands to raise his daughter, but she covered them with - kisses, and he drew them away again. Scandalous, isn’t it? And his great - booby of a son came in and took no notice of his sister.” - </p> - <p> - “What inhuman wretches they must be!” said Father Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “And then they both went out of the room,” Mme. Couture went on, without - heeding the worthy vermicelli maker’s exclamation; “father and son bowed - to me, and asked me to excuse them on account of urgent business! That is - the history of our call. Well, he has seen his daughter at any rate. How - he can refuse to acknowledge her I cannot think, for they are as alike as - two peas.” - </p> - <p> - The boarders dropped in one after another, interchanging greetings and - empty jokes that certain classes of Parisians regard as humorous and - witty. Dulness is their prevailing ingredient, and the whole point - consists in mispronouncing a word or a gesture. This kind of argot is - always changing. The essence of the jest consists in some catchword - suggested by a political event, an incident in the police courts, a street - song, or a bit of burlesque at some theatre, and forgotten in a month. - Anything and everything serves to keep up a game of battledore and - shuttlecock with words and ideas. The diorama, a recent invention, which - carried an optical illusion a degree further than panoramas, had given - rise to a mania among art students for ending every word with <i>rama</i>. - The Maison Vauquer had caught the infection from a young artist among the - boarders. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Monsieur-r-r Poiret,” said the <i>employe</i> from the Museum, “how - is your health-orama?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned to - Mme. Couture and Victorine with a “Ladies, you seem melancholy.” - </p> - <p> - “Is dinner ready?” cried Horace Bianchon, a medical student, and a friend - of Rastignac’s; “my stomach is sinking <i>usque ad talones</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “There is an uncommon <i>frozerama</i> outside,” said Vautrin. “Make room - there, Father Goriot! Confound it, your foot covers the whole front of the - stove.” - </p> - <p> - “Illustrious M. Vautrin,” put in Bianchon, “why do you say <i>frozerama</i>? - It is incorrect; it should be <i>frozenrama</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it shouldn’t,” said the official from the Museum; “<i>frozerama</i> - is right by the same rule that you say ‘My feet are <i>froze</i>.’” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! ah!” - </p> - <p> - “Here is his Excellency the Marquis de Rastignac, Doctor of the Law of - Contraries,” cried Bianchon, seizing Eugene by the throat, and almost - throttling him. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo there! hallo!” - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Michonneau came noiselessly in, bowed to the rest of the party, and - took her place beside the three women without saying a word. - </p> - <p> - “That old bat always makes me shudder,” said Bianchon in a low voice, - indicating Mlle. Michonneau to Vautrin. “I have studied Gall’s system, and - I am sure she has the bump of Judas.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you have seen a case before?” said Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “Who has not?” answered Bianchon. “Upon my word, that ghastly old maid - looks just like one of the long worms that will gnaw a beam through, give - them time enough.” - </p> - <p> - “That is the way, young man,” returned he of the forty years and the dyed - whiskers: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “The rose has lived the life of a rose— - A morning’s space.” - </pre> - <p> - “Aha! here is a magnificent <i>soupe-au-rama</i>,” cried Poiret as - Christophe came in bearing the soup with cautious heed. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Mme. Vauquer; “it is <i>soupe aux choux</i>.” - </p> - <p> - All the young men roared with laughter. - </p> - <p> - “Had you there, Poiret!” - </p> - <p> - “Poir-r-r-rette! she had you there!” - </p> - <p> - “Score two points to Mamma Vauquer,” said Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “Did any of you notice the fog this morning?” asked the official. - </p> - <p> - “It was a frantic fog,” said Bianchon, “a fog unparalleled, doleful, - melancholy, sea-green, asthmatical—a Goriot of a fog!” - </p> - <p> - “A Goriorama,” said the art student, “because you couldn’t see a thing in - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Hey! Milord Gaoriotte, they air talking about yoo-o-ou!” - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot, seated at the lower end of the table, close to the door - through which the servant entered, raised his face; he had smelt at a - scrap of bread that lay under his table napkin, an old trick acquired in - his commercial capacity, that still showed itself at times. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” Madame Vauquer cried in sharp tones, that rang above the rattle of - spoons and plates and the sound of other voices, “and is there anything - the matter with the bread?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing whatever, madame,” he answered; “on the contrary, it is made of - the best quality of corn; flour from Etampes.” - </p> - <p> - “How could you tell?” asked Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “By the color, by the flavor.” - </p> - <p> - “You knew the flavor by the smell, I suppose,” said Mme. Vauquer. “You - have grown so economical, you will find out how to live on the smell of - cooking at last.” - </p> - <p> - “Take out a patent for it, then,” cried the Museum official; “you would - make a handsome fortune.” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind him,” said the artist; “he does that sort of thing to delude - us into thinking that he was a vermicelli maker.” - </p> - <p> - “Your nose is a corn-sampler, it appears?” inquired the official. - </p> - <p> - “Corn <i>what</i>?” asked Bianchon. - </p> - <p> - “Corn-el.” - </p> - <p> - “Corn-et.” - </p> - <p> - “Corn-elian.” - </p> - <p> - “Corn-ice.” - </p> - <p> - “Corn-ucopia.” - </p> - <p> - “Corn-crake.” - </p> - <p> - “Corn-cockle.” - </p> - <p> - “Corn-orama.” - </p> - <p> - The eight responses came like a rolling fire from every part of the room, - and the laughter that followed was the more uproarious because poor Father - Goriot stared at the others with a puzzled look, like a foreigner trying - to catch the meaning of words in a language which he does not understand. - </p> - <p> - “Corn?...” he said, turning to Vautrin, his next neighbor. - </p> - <p> - “Corn on your foot, old man!” said Vautrin, and he drove Father Goriot’s - cap down over his eyes by a blow on the crown. - </p> - <p> - The poor old man thus suddenly attacked was for a moment too bewildered to - do anything. Christophe carried off his plate, thinking that he had - finished his soup, so that when Goriot had pushed back his cap from his - eyes his spoon encountered the table. Every one burst out laughing. “You - are a disagreeable joker, sir,” said the old man, “and if you take any - further liberties with me——” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what then, old boy?” Vautrin interrupted. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, you shall pay dearly for it some day——” - </p> - <p> - “Down below, eh?” said the artist, “in the little dark corner where they - put naughty boys.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, mademoiselle,” Vautrin said, turning to Victorine, “you are eating - nothing. So papa was refractory, was he?” - </p> - <p> - “A monster!” said Mme. Couture. - </p> - <p> - “Mademoiselle might make application for aliment pending her suit; she is - not eating anything. Eh! eh! just see how Father Goriot is staring at - Mlle. Victorine.” - </p> - <p> - The old man had forgotten his dinner, he was so absorbed in gazing at the - poor girl; the sorrow in her face was unmistakable,—the slighted - love of a child whose father would not recognize her. - </p> - <p> - “We are mistaken about Father Goriot, my dear boy,” said Eugene in a low - voice. “He is not an idiot, nor wanting in energy. Try your Gall system on - him, and let me know what you think. I saw him crush a silver dish last - night as if it had been made of wax; there seems to be something - extraordinary going on in his mind just now, to judge by his face. His - life is so mysterious that it must be worth studying. Oh! you may laugh, - Bianchon; I am not joking.” - </p> - <p> - “The man is a subject, is he?” said Bianchon; “all right! I will dissect - him, if he will give me the chance.” - </p> - <p> - “No; feel his bumps.” - </p> - <p> - “Hm!—his stupidity might perhaps be contagious.” - </p> - <p> - The next day Rastignac dressed himself very elegantly, and about three - o’clock in the afternoon went to call on Mme. de Restaud. On the way - thither he indulged in the wild intoxicating dreams which fill a young - head so full of delicious excitement. Young men at his age take no account - of obstacles nor of dangers; they see success in every direction; - imagination has free play, and turns their lives into a romance; they are - saddened or discouraged by the collapse of one of the visionary schemes - that have no existence save in their heated fancy. If youth were not - ignorant and timid, civilization would be impossible. - </p> - <p> - Eugene took unheard-of pains to keep himself in a spotless condition, but - on his way through the streets he began to think about Mme. de Restaud and - what he should say to her. He equipped himself with wit, rehearsed - repartees in the course of an imaginary conversation, and prepared certain - neat speeches a la Talleyrand, conjuring up a series of small events which - should prepare the way for the declaration on which he had based his - future; and during these musings the law student was bespattered with mud, - and by the time he reached the Palais Royal he was obliged to have his - boots blacked and his trousers brushed. - </p> - <p> - “If I were rich,” he said, as he changed the five-franc piece he had - brought with him in case anything might happen, “I would take a cab, then - I could think at my ease.” - </p> - <p> - At last he reached the Rue du Helder, and asked for the Comtesse de - Restaud. He bore the contemptuous glances of the servants, who had seen - him cross the court on foot, with the cold fury of a man who knows that he - will succeed some day. He understood the meaning of their glances at once, - for he had felt his inferiority as soon as he entered the court, where a - smart cab was waiting. All the delights of life in Paris seemed to be - implied by this visible and manifest sign of luxury and extravagance. A - fine horse, in magnificent harness, was pawing the ground, and all at once - the law student felt out of humor with himself. Every compartment in his - brain which he had thought to find so full of wit was bolted fast; he grew - positively stupid. He sent up his name to the Countess, and waited in the - ante-chamber, standing on one foot before a window that looked out upon - the court; mechanically he leaned his elbow against the sash, and stared - before him. The time seemed long; he would have left the house but for the - southern tenacity of purpose which works miracles when it is - single-minded. - </p> - <p> - “Madame is in her boudoir, and cannot see any one at present, sir,” said - the servant. “She gave me no answer; but if you will go into the - dining-room, there is some one already there.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac was impressed with a sense of the formidable power of the lackey - who can accuse or condemn his masters by a word; he coolly opened the door - by which the man had just entered the ante-chamber, meaning, no doubt, to - show these insolent flunkeys that he was familiar with the house; but he - found that he had thoughtlessly precipitated himself into a small room - full of dressers, where lamps were standing, and hot-water pipes, on which - towels were being dried; a dark passage and a back staircase lay beyond - it. Stifled laughter from the ante-chamber added to his confusion. - </p> - <p> - “This way to the drawing-room, sir,” said the servant, with the - exaggerated respect which seemed to be one more jest at his expense. - </p> - <p> - Eugene turned so quickly that he stumbled against a bath. By good luck, he - managed to keep his hat on his head, and saved it from immersion in the - water; but just as he turned, a door opened at the further end of the dark - passage, dimly lighted by a small lamp. Rastignac heard voices and the - sound of a kiss; one of the speakers was Mme. de Restaud, the other was - Father Goriot. Eugene followed the servant through the dining-room into - the drawing-room; he went to a window that looked out into the courtyard, - and stood there for a while. He meant to know whether this Goriot was - really the Goriot that he knew. His heart beat unwontedly fast; he - remembered Vautrin’s hideous insinuations. A well-dressed young man - suddenly emerged from the room almost as Eugene entered it, saying - impatiently to the servant who stood at the door: “I am going, Maurice. - Tell Madame la Comtesse that I waited more than half an hour for her.” - </p> - <p> - Whereupon this insolent being, who, doubtless, had a right to be insolent, - sang an Italian trill, and went towards the window where Eugene was - standing, moved thereto quite as much by a desire to see the student’s - face as by a wish to look out into the courtyard. - </p> - <p> - “But M. le Comte had better wait a moment longer; madame is disengaged,” - said Maurice, as he returned to the ante-chamber. - </p> - <p> - Just at that moment Father Goriot appeared close to the gate; he had - emerged from a door at the foot of the back staircase. The worthy soul was - preparing to open his umbrella regardless of the fact that the great gate - had opened to admit a tilbury, in which a young man with a ribbon at his - button-hole was seated. Father Goriot had scarcely time to start back and - save himself. The horse took fright at the umbrella, swerved, and dashed - forward towards the flight of steps. The young man looked round in - annoyance, saw Father Goriot, and greeted him as he went out with - constrained courtesy, such as people usually show to a money-lender so - long as they require his services, or the sort of respect they feel it - necessary to show for some one whose reputation has been blown upon, so - that they blush to acknowledge his acquaintance. Father Goriot gave him a - little friendly nod and a good-natured smile. All this happened with - lightning speed. Eugene was so deeply interested that he forgot that he - was not alone till he suddenly heard the Countess’ voice. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Maxime, were you going away?” she said reproachfully, with a shade of - pique in her manner. The Countess had not seen the incident nor the - entrance of the tilbury. Rastignac turned abruptly and saw her standing - before him, coquettishly dressed in a loose white cashmere gown with knots - of rose-colored ribbon here and there; her hair was carelessly coiled - about her head, as is the wont of Parisian women in the morning; there was - a soft fragrance about her—doubtless she was fresh from a bath;—her - graceful form seemed more flexible, her beauty more luxuriant. Her eyes - glistened. A young man can see everything at a glance; he feels the - radiant influence of woman as a plant discerns and absorbs its nutriment - from the air; he did not need to touch her hands to feel their cool - freshness. He saw faint rose tints through the cashmere of the dressing - gown; it had fallen slightly open, giving glimpses of a bare throat, on - which the student’s eyes rested. The Countess had no need of the - adventitious aid of corsets; her girdle defined the outlines of her - slender waist; her throat was a challenge to love; her feet, thrust into - slippers, were daintily small. As Maxime took her hand and kissed it, - Eugene became aware of Maxime’s existence, and the Countess saw Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! is that you M. de Rastignac? I am very glad to see you,” she said, - but there was something in her manner that a shrewd observer would have - taken as a hint to depart. - </p> - <p> - Maxime, as the Countess Anastasie had called the young man with the - haughty insolence of bearing, looked from Eugene to the lady, and from the - lady to Eugene; it was sufficiently evident that he wished to be rid of - the latter. An exact and faithful rendering of the glance might be given - in the words: “Look here, my dear; I hope you intend to send this little - whipper-snapper about his business.” - </p> - <p> - The Countess consulted the young man’s face with an intent submissiveness - that betrays all the secrets of a woman’s heart, and Rastignac all at once - began to hate him violently. To begin with, the sight of the fair - carefully arranged curls on the other’s comely head had convinced him that - his own crop was hideous; Maxime’s boots, moreover, were elegant and - spotless, while his own, in spite of all his care, bore some traces of his - recent walk; and, finally, Maxime’s overcoat fitted the outline of his - figure gracefully, he looked like a pretty woman, while Eugene was wearing - a black coat at half-past two. The quick-witted child of the Charente felt - the disadvantage at which he was placed beside this tall, slender dandy, - with the clear gaze and the pale face, one of those men who would ruin - orphan children without scruple. Mme. de Restaud fled into the next room - without waiting for Eugene to speak; shaking out the skirts of her - dressing-gown in her flight, so that she looked like a white butterfly, - and Maxime hurried after her. Eugene, in a fury, followed Maxime and the - Countess, and the three stood once more face to face by the hearth in the - large drawing-room. The law student felt quite sure that the odious Maxime - found him in the way, and even at the risk of displeasing Mme. de Restaud, - he meant to annoy the dandy. It had struck him all at once that he had - seen the young man before at Mme. de Beauseant’s ball; he guessed the - relation between Maxime and Mme. de Restaud; and with the youthful - audacity that commits prodigious blunders or achieves signal success, he - said to himself, “This is my rival; I mean to cut him out.” - </p> - <p> - Rash resolve! He did not know that M. le Comte Maxime de Trailles would - wait till he was insulted, so as to fire first and kill his man. Eugene - was a sportsman and a good shot, but he had not yet hit the bulls’s eye - twenty times out of twenty-two. The young Count dropped into a low chair - by the hearth, took up the tongs, and made up the fire so violently and so - sulkily, that Anastasie’s fair face suddenly clouded over. She turned to - Eugene, with a cool, questioning glance that asked plainly, “Why do you - not go?” a glance which well-bred people regard as a cue to make their - exit. - </p> - <p> - Eugene assumed an amiable expression. - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” he began, “I hastened to call upon you——” - </p> - <p> - He stopped short. The door opened, and the owner of the tilbury suddenly - appeared. He had left his hat outside, and did not greet the Countess; he - looked meditatively at Rastignac, and held out his hand to Maxime with a - cordial “Good morning,” that astonished Eugene not a little. The young - provincial did not understand the amenities of a triple alliance. - </p> - <p> - “M. de Restaud,” said the Countess, introducing her husband to the law - student. - </p> - <p> - Eugene bowed profoundly. - </p> - <p> - “This gentleman,” she continued, presenting Eugene to her husband, “is M. - de Rastignac; he is related to Mme. la Vicomtesse de Beauseant through the - Marcillacs; I had the pleasure of meeting him at her last ball.” - </p> - <p> - <i>Related to Mme. la Vicomtesse de Beauseant through the Marcillacs!</i> - These words, on which the countess threw ever so slight an emphasis, by - reason of the pride that the mistress of a house takes in showing that she - only receives people of distinction as visitors in her house, produced a - magical effect. The Count’s stiff manner relaxed at once as he returned - the student’s bow. - </p> - <p> - “Delighted to have an opportunity of making your acquaintance,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Maxime de Trailles himself gave Eugene an uneasy glance, and suddenly - dropped his insolent manner. The mighty name had all the power of a - fairy’s wand; those closed compartments in the southern brain flew open - again; Rastignac’s carefully drilled faculties returned. It was as if a - sudden light had pierced the obscurity of this upper world of Paris, and - he began to see, though everything was indistinct as yet. Mme. Vauquer’s - lodging-house and Father Goriot were very far remote from his thoughts. - </p> - <p> - “I thought that the Marcillacs were extinct,” the Comte de Restaud said, - addressing Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they are extinct,” answered the law student. “My great-uncle, the - Chevalier de Rastignac, married the heiress of the Marcillac family. They - had only one daughter, who married the Marechal de Clarimbault, Mme. de - Beauseant’s grandfather on the mother’s side. We are the younger branch of - the family, and the younger branch is all the poorer because my - great-uncle, the Vice-Admiral, lost all that he had in the King’s service. - The Government during the Revolution refused to admit our claims when the - Compagnie des Indes was liquidated.” - </p> - <p> - “Was not your great-uncle in command of the <i>Vengeur</i> before 1789?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Then he would be acquainted with my grandfather, who commanded the <i>Warwick</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Maxime looked at Mme. de Restaud and shrugged his shoulders, as who should - say, “If he is going to discuss nautical matters with that fellow, it is - all over with us.” Anastasie understood the glance that M. de Trailles - gave her. With a woman’s admirable tact, she began to smile and said: - </p> - <p> - “Come with me, Maxime; I have something to say to you. We will leave you - two gentlemen to sail in company on board the <i>Warwick</i> and the <i>Vengeur</i>.” - </p> - <p> - She rose to her feet and signed to Maxime to follow her, mirth and - mischief in her whole attitude, and the two went in the direction of the - boudoir. The <i>morganatic</i> couple (to use a convenient German - expression which has no exact equivalent) had reached the door, when the - Count interrupted himself in his talk with Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Anastasie!” he cried pettishly, “just stay a moment, dear; you know very - well that——” - </p> - <p> - “I am coming back in a minute,” she interrupted; “I have a commission for - Maxime to execute, and I want to tell him about it.” - </p> - <p> - She came back almost immediately. She had noticed the inflection in her - husband’s voice, and knew that it would not be safe to retire to the - boudoir; like all women who are compelled to study their husbands’ - characters in order to have their own way, and whose business it is to - know exactly how far they can go without endangering a good understanding, - she was very careful to avoid petty collisions in domestic life. It was - Eugene who had brought about this untoward incident; so the Countess - looked at Maxime and indicated the law student with an air of - exasperation. M. de Trailles addressed the Count, the Countess, and Eugene - with the pointed remark, “You are busy, I do not want to interrupt you; - good-day,” and he went. - </p> - <p> - “Just wait a moment, Maxime!” the Count called after him. - </p> - <p> - “Come and dine with us,” said the Countess, leaving Eugene and her husband - together once more. She followed Maxime into the little drawing-room, - where they sat together sufficiently long to feel sure that Rastignac had - taken his leave. - </p> - <p> - The law student heard their laughter, and their voices, and the pauses in - their talk; he grew malicious, exerted his conversational powers for M. de - Restaud, flattered him, and drew him into discussions, to the end that he - might see the Countess again and discover the nature of her relations with - Father Goriot. This Countess with a husband and a lover, for Maxime - clearly was her lover, was a mystery. What was the secret tie that bound - her to the old tradesman? This mystery he meant to penetrate, hoping by - its means to gain a sovereign ascendency over this fair typical Parisian. - </p> - <p> - “Anastasie!” the Count called again to his wife. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Maxime!” she said, addressing the young man. “Come, we must resign - ourselves. This evening——” - </p> - <p> - “I hope, Nasie,” he said in her ear, “that you will give orders not to - admit that youngster, whose eyes light up like live coals when he looks at - you. He will make you a declaration, and compromise you, and then you will - compel me to kill him.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you mad, Maxime?” she said. “A young lad of a student is, on the - contrary, a capital lightning-conductor; is not that so? Of course, I mean - to make Restaud furiously jealous of him.” - </p> - <p> - Maxime burst out laughing, and went out, followed by the Countess, who - stood at the window to watch him into his carriage; he shook his whip, and - made his horse prance. She only returned when the great gate had been - closed after him. - </p> - <p> - “What do you think, dear?” cried the Count, her husband, “this gentleman’s - family estate is not far from Verteuil, on the Charente; his great-uncle - and my grandfather were acquainted.” - </p> - <p> - “Delighted to find that we have acquaintances in common,” said the - Countess, with a preoccupied manner. - </p> - <p> - “More than you think,” said Eugene, in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean?” she asked quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Why, only just now,” said the student, “I saw a gentleman go out at the - gate, Father Goriot, my next door neighbor in the house where I am - lodging.” - </p> - <p> - At the sound of this name, and the prefix that embellished it, the Count, - who was stirring the fire, let the tongs fall as though they had burned - his fingers, and rose to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” he cried, “you might have called him ‘Monsieur Goriot’!” - </p> - <p> - The Countess turned pale at first at the sight of her husband’s vexation, - then she reddened; clearly she was embarrassed, her answer was made in a - tone that she tried to make natural, and with an air of assumed - carelessness: - </p> - <p> - “You could not know any one who is dearer to us both...” - </p> - <p> - She broke off, glanced at the piano as if some fancy had crossed her mind, - and asked, “Are you fond of music, M. de Rastignac?” - </p> - <p> - “Exceedingly,” answered Eugene, flushing, and disconcerted by a dim - suspicion that he had somehow been guilty of a clumsy piece of folly. - </p> - <p> - “Do you sing?” she cried, going to the piano, and, sitting down before it, - she swept her fingers over the keyboard from end to end. R-r-r-rah! - </p> - <p> - “No, madame.” - </p> - <p> - The Comte de Restaud walked to and fro. - </p> - <p> - “That is a pity; you are without one great means of success.—<i>Ca-ro, - ca-a-ro, ca-a-a-ro, non du-bi-ta-re</i>,” sang the Countess. - </p> - <p> - Eugene had a second time waved a magic wand when he uttered Goriot’s name, - but the effect seemed to be entirely opposite to that produced by the - formula “related to Mme. de Beauseant.” His position was not unlike that - of some visitor permitted as a favor to inspect a private collection of - curiosities, when by inadvertence he comes into collision with a glass - case full of sculptured figures, and three or four heads, imperfectly - secured, fall at the shock. He wished the earth would open and swallow - him. Mme. de Restaud’s expression was reserved and chilly, her eyes had - grown indifferent, and sedulously avoided meeting those of the unlucky - student of law. - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” he said, “you wish to talk with M. de Restaud; permit me to wish - you good-day——” - </p> - <p> - The Countess interrupted him by a gesture, saying hastily, “Whenever you - come to see us, both M. de Restaud and I shall be delighted to see you.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene made a profound bow and took his leave, followed by M. de Restaud, - who insisted, in spite of his remonstrances, on accompanying him into the - hall. - </p> - <p> - “Neither your mistress nor I are at home to that gentleman when he calls,” - the Count said to Maurice. - </p> - <p> - As Eugene set foot on the steps, he saw that it was raining. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” said he to himself, “somehow I have just made a mess of it, I do - not know how. And now I am going to spoil my hat and coat into the - bargain. I ought to stop in my corner, grind away at law, and never look - to be anything but a boorish country magistrate. How can I go into - society, when to manage properly you want a lot of cabs, varnished boots, - gold watch chains, and all sorts of things; you have to wear white doeskin - gloves that cost six francs in the morning, and primrose kid gloves every - evening? A fig for that old humbug of a Goriot!” - </p> - <p> - When he reached the street door, the driver of a hackney coach, who had - probably just deposited a wedding party at their door, and asked nothing - better than a chance of making a little money for himself without his - employer’s knowledge, saw that Eugene had no umbrella, remarked his black - coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves, and varnished boots, and stopped and - looked at him inquiringly. Eugene, in the blind desperation that drives a - young man to plunge deeper and deeper into an abyss, as if he might hope - to find a fortunate issue in its lowest depths, nodded in reply to the - driver’s signal, and stepped into the cab; a few stray petals of orange - blossom and scraps of wire bore witness to its recent occupation by a - wedding party. - </p> - <p> - “Where am I to drive, sir?” demanded the man, who, by this time, had taken - off his white gloves. - </p> - <p> - “Confound it!” Eugene said to himself, “I am in for it now, and at least I - will not spend cab-hire for nothing!—Drive to the Hotel Beauseant,” - he said aloud. - </p> - <p> - “Which?” asked the man, a portentous word that reduced Eugene to - confusion. This young man of fashion, species incerta, did not know that - there were two Hotels Beauseant; he was not aware how rich he was in - relations who did not care about him. - </p> - <p> - “The Vicomte de Beauseant, Rue——” - </p> - <p> - “De Grenelle,” interrupted the driver, with a jerk of his head. “You see, - there are the hotels of the Marquis and Comte de Beauseant in the Rue - Saint-Dominique,” he added, drawing up the step. - </p> - <p> - “I know all about that,” said Eugene, severely.—“Everybody is - laughing at me to-day, it seems!” he said to himself, as he deposited his - hat on the opposite seat. “This escapade will cost me a king’s ransom, - but, at any rate, I shall call on my so-called cousin in a thoroughly - aristocratic fashion. Goriot has cost me ten francs already, the old - scoundrel. My word! I will tell Mme. de Beauseant about my adventure; - perhaps it may amuse her. Doubtless she will know the secret of the - criminal relation between that handsome woman and the old rat without a - tail. It would be better to find favor in my cousin’s eyes than to come in - contact with that shameless woman, who seems to me to have very expensive - tastes. Surely the beautiful Vicomtesse’s personal interest would turn the - scale for me, when the mere mention of her name produces such an effect. - Let us look higher. If you set yourself to carry the heights of heaven, - you must face God.” - </p> - <p> - The innumerable thoughts that surged through his brain might be summed up - in these phrases. He grew calmer, and recovered something of his assurance - as he watched the falling rain. He told himself that though he was about - to squander two of the precious five-franc pieces that remained to him, - the money was well laid out in preserving his coat, boots, and hat; and - his cabman’s cry of “Gate, if you please,” almost put him in spirits. A - Swiss, in scarlet and gold, appeared, the great door groaned on its - hinges, and Rastignac, with sweet satisfaction, beheld his equipage pass - under the archway and stop before the flight of steps beneath the awning. - The driver, in a blue-and-red greatcoat, dismounted and let down the step. - As Eugene stepped out of the cab, he heard smothered laughter from the - peristyle. Three or four lackeys were making merry over the festal - appearance of the vehicle. In another moment the law student was - enlightened as to the cause of their hilarity; he felt the full force of - the contrast between his equipage and one of the smartest broughams in - Paris; a coachman, with powdered hair, seemed to find it difficult to hold - a pair of spirited horses, who stood chafing the bit. In Mme. de Restaud’s - courtyard, in the Chaussee d’Antin, he had seen the neat turnout of a - young man of six-and-twenty; in the Faubourg Saint-Germain he found the - luxurious equipage of a man of rank; thirty thousand francs would not have - purchased it. - </p> - <p> - “Who can be here?” said Eugene to himself. He began to understand, though - somewhat tardily, that he must not expect to find many women in Paris who - were not already appropriated, and that the capture of one of these queens - would be likely to cost something more than bloodshed. “Confound it all! I - expect my cousin also has her Maxime.” - </p> - <p> - He went up the steps, feeling that he was a blighted being. The glass door - was opened for him; the servants were as solemn as jackasses under the - curry comb. So far, Eugene had only been in the ballroom on the ground - floor of the Hotel Beauseant; the fete had followed so closely on the - invitation, that he had not had time to call on his cousin, and had - therefore never seen Mme. de Beauseant’s apartments; he was about to - behold for the first time a great lady among the wonderful and elegant - surroundings that reveal her character and reflect her daily life. He was - the more curious, because Mme. de Restaud’s drawing-room had provided him - with a standard of comparison. - </p> - <p> - At half-past four the Vicomtesse de Beauseant was visible. Five minutes - earlier she would not have received her cousin, but Eugene knew nothing of - the recognized routine of various houses in Paris. He was conducted up the - wide, white-painted, crimson-carpeted staircase, between the gilded - balusters and masses of flowering plants, to Mme. de Beauseant’s - apartments. He did not know the rumor current about Mme. de Beauseant, one - of the biographies told, with variations, in whispers, every evening in - the salons of Paris. - </p> - <p> - For three years past her name had been spoken of in connection with that - of one of the most wealthy and distinguished Portuguese nobles, the - Marquis d’Ajuda-Pinto. It was one of those innocent <i>liaisons</i> which - possess so much charm for the two thus attached to each other that they - find the presence of a third person intolerable. The Vicomte de Beauseant, - therefore, had himself set an example to the rest of the world by - respecting, with as good a grace as might be, this morganatic union. Any - one who came to call on the Vicomtesse in the early days of this - friendship was sure to find the Marquis d’Ajuda-Pinto there. As, under the - circumstances, Mme. de Beauseant could not very well shut her door against - these visitors, she gave them such a cold reception, and showed so much - interest in the study of the ceiling, that no one could fail to understand - how much he bored her; and when it became known in Paris that Mme. de - Beauseant was bored by callers between two and four o’clock, she was left - in perfect solitude during that interval. She went to the Bouffons or to - the Opera with M. de Beauseant and M. d’Ajuda-Pinto; and M. de Beauseant, - like a well-bred man of the world, always left his wife and the Portuguese - as soon as he had installed them. But M. d’Ajuda-Pinto must marry, and a - Mlle. de Rochefide was the young lady. In the whole fashionable world - there was but one person who as yet knew nothing of the arrangement, and - that was Mme. de Beauseant. Some of her friends had hinted at the - possibility, and she had laughed at them, believing that envy had prompted - those ladies to try to make mischief. And now, though the bans were about - to be published, and although the handsome Portuguese had come that day to - break the news to the Vicomtesse, he had not found courage as yet to say - one word about his treachery. How was it? Nothing is doubtless more - difficult than the notification of an ultimatum of this kind. There are - men who feel more at their ease when they stand up before another man who - threatens their lives with sword or pistol than in the presence of a woman - who, after two hours of lamentations and reproaches, falls into a dead - swoon and requires salts. At this moment, therefore, M. d’Ajuda-Pinto was - on thorns, and anxious to take his leave. He told himself that in some way - or other the news would reach Mme. de Beauseant; he would write, it would - be much better to do it by letter, and not to utter the words that should - stab her to the heart. - </p> - <p> - So when the servant announced M. Eugene de Rastignac, the Marquis - d’Ajuda-Pinto trembled with joy. To be sure, a loving woman shows even - more ingenuity in inventing doubts of her lover than in varying the - monotony of his happiness; and when she is about to be forsaken, she - instinctively interprets every gesture as rapidly as Virgil’s courser - detected the presence of his companion by snuffing the breeze. It was - impossible, therefore, that Mme. de Beauseant should not detect that - involuntary thrill of satisfaction; slight though it was, it was appalling - in its artlessness. - </p> - <p> - Eugene had yet to learn that no one in Paris should present himself in any - house without first making himself acquainted with the whole history of - its owner, and of its owner’s wife and family, so that he may avoid making - any of the terrible blunders which in Poland draw forth the picturesque - exclamation, “Harness five bullocks to your cart!” probably because you - will need them all to pull you out of the quagmire into which a false step - has plunged you. If, down to the present day, our language has no name for - these conversational disasters, it is probably because they are believed - to be impossible, the publicity given in Paris to every scandal is so - prodigious. After the awkward incident at Mme. de Restaud’s, no one but - Eugene could have reappeared in his character of bullock-driver in Mme. de - Beauseant’s drawing-room. But if Mme. de Restaud and M. de Trailles had - found him horribly in the way, M. d’Ajuda hailed his coming with relief. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye,” said the Portuguese, hurrying to the door, as Eugene made his - entrance into a dainty little pink-and-gray drawing-room, where luxury - seemed nothing more than good taste. - </p> - <p> - “Until this evening,” said Mme. de Beauseant, turning her head to give the - Marquis a glance. “We are going to the Bouffons, are we not?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot go,” he said, with his fingers on the door handle. - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Beauseant rose and beckoned to him to return. She did not pay the - slightest attention to Eugene, who stood there dazzled by the sparkling - marvels around him; he began to think that this was some story out of the - Arabian Nights made real, and did not know where to hide himself, when the - woman before him seemed to be unconscious of his existence. The Vicomtesse - had raised the forefinger of her right hand, and gracefully signed to the - Marquis to seat himself beside her. The Marquis felt the imperious sway of - passion in her gesture; he came back towards her. Eugene watched him, not - without a feeling of envy. - </p> - <p> - “That is the owner of the brougham!” he said to himself. “But is it - necessary to have a pair of spirited horses, servants in livery, and - torrents of gold to draw a glance from a woman here in Paris?” - </p> - <p> - The demon of luxury gnawed at his heart, greed burned in his veins, his - throat was parched with the thirst of gold. - </p> - <p> - He had a hundred and thirty francs every quarter. His father, mother, - brothers, sisters, and aunt did not spend two hundred francs a month among - them. This swift comparison between his present condition and the aims he - had in view helped to benumb his faculties. - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” the Vicomtesse was saying, as she smiled at the Portuguese. - “Why cannot you come to the Italiens?” - </p> - <p> - “Affairs! I am to dine with the English Ambassador.” - </p> - <p> - “Throw him over.” - </p> - <p> - When a man once enters on a course of deception, he is compelled to add - lie to lie. M. d’Ajuda therefore said, smiling, “Do you lay your commands - on me?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, certainly.” - </p> - <p> - “That was what I wanted to have you say to me,” he answered, dissembling - his feelings in a glance which would have reassured any other woman. - </p> - <p> - He took the Vicomtesse’s hand, kissed it, and went. - </p> - <p> - Eugene ran his fingers through his hair, and constrained himself to bow. - He thought that now Mme. de Beauseant would give him her attention; but - suddenly she sprang forward, rushed to a window in the gallery, and - watched M. d’Ajuda step into his carriage; she listened to the order that - he gave, and heard the Swiss repeat it to the coachman: - </p> - <p> - “To M. de Rochefide’s house.” - </p> - <p> - Those words, and the way in which M. d’Ajuda flung himself back in the - carriage, were like a lightning flash and a thunderbolt for her; she - walked back again with a deadly fear gnawing at her heart. The most - terrible catastrophes only happen among the heights. The Vicomtesse went - to her own room, sat down at a table, and took up a sheet of dainty - notepaper. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “When, instead of dining with the English Ambassador,” - she wrote, “you go to the Rochefides, you owe me an - explanation, which I am waiting to hear.” - </pre> - <p> - She retraced several of the letters, for her hand was trembling so that - they were indistinct; then she signed the note with an initial C for - “Claire de Bourgogne,” and rang the bell. - </p> - <p> - “Jacques,” she said to the servant, who appeared immediately, “take this - note to M. de Rochefide’s house at half-past seven and ask for the Marquis - d’Ajuda. If M. d’Ajuda is there, leave the note without waiting for an - answer; if he is not there, bring the note back to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Madame la Vicomtess, there is a visitor in the drawing-room.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! yes, of course,” she said, opening the door. - </p> - <p> - Eugene was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, but at last the - Vicomtesse appeared; she spoke to him, and the tremulous tones of her - voice vibrated through his heart. - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me, monsieur,” she said; “I had a letter to write. Now I am quite - at liberty.” - </p> - <p> - She scarcely knew what she was saying, for even as she spoke she thought, - “Ah! he means to marry Mlle. de Rochefide? But is he still free? This - evening the marriage shall be broken off, or else... But before to-morrow - I shall know.” - </p> - <p> - “Cousin...” the student replied. - </p> - <p> - “Eh?” said the Countess, with an insolent glance that sent a cold shudder - through Eugene; he understood what that “Eh?” meant; he had learned a - great deal in three hours, and his wits were on the alert. He reddened: - </p> - <p> - “Madame...” he began; he hesitated a moment, and then went on. “Pardon me; - I am in such need of protection that the nearest scrap of relationship - could do me no harm.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Beauseant smiled but there was sadness in her smile; even now she - felt forebodings of the coming pain, the air she breathed was heavy with - the storm that was about to burst. - </p> - <p> - “If you knew how my family are situated,” he went on, “you would love to - play the part of a beneficent fairy godmother who graciously clears the - obstacles from the path of her protege.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, cousin,” she said, laughing, “and how can I be of service to you?” - </p> - <p> - “But do I know even that? I am distantly related to you, and this obscure - and remote relationship is even now a perfect godsend to me. You have - confused my ideas; I cannot remember the things that I meant to say to - you. I know no one else here in Paris.... Ah! if I could only ask you to - counsel me, ask you to look upon me as a poor child who would fain cling - to the hem of your dress, who would lay down his life for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Would you kill a man for me?” - </p> - <p> - “Two,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “You, child. Yes, you are a child,” she said, keeping back the tears that - came to her eyes; “you would love sincerely.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” he cried, flinging up his head. - </p> - <p> - The audacity of the student’s answer interested the Vicomtesse in him. The - southern brain was beginning to scheme for the first time. Between Mme. de - Restaud’s blue boudoir and Mme. de Beauseant’s rose-colored drawing-room - he had made a three years’ advance in a kind of law which is not a - recognized study in Paris, although it is a sort of higher jurisprudence, - and, when well understood, is a highroad to success of every kind. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! that is what I meant to say!” said Eugene. “I met Mme. de Restaud at - your ball, and this morning I went to see her. - </p> - <p> - “You must have been very much in the way,” said Mme. de Beauseant, smiling - as she spoke. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, indeed. I am a novice, and my blunders will set every one against - me, if you do not give me your counsel. I believe that in Paris it is very - difficult to meet with a young, beautiful, and wealthy woman of fashion - who would be willing to teach me, what you women can explain so well—life. - I shall find a M. de Trailles everywhere. So I have come to you to ask you - to give me a key to a puzzle, to entreat you to tell me what sort of - blunder I made this morning. I mentioned an old man——” - </p> - <p> - “Madame la Duchess de Langeais,” Jacques cut the student short; Eugene - gave expression to his intense annoyance by a gesture. - </p> - <p> - “If you mean to succeed,” said the Vicomtesse in a low voice, “in the - first place you must not be so demonstrative.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! good morning, dear,” she continued, and rising and crossing the room, - she grasped the Duchess’ hands as affectionately as if they had been - sisters; the Duchess responded in the prettiest and most gracious way. - </p> - <p> - “Two intimate friends!” said Rastignac to himself. “Henceforward I shall - have two protectresses; those two women are great friends, no doubt, and - this newcomer will doubtless interest herself in her friend’s cousin.” - </p> - <p> - “To what happy inspiration do I owe this piece of good fortune, dear - Antoinette?” asked Mme. de Beauseant. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I saw M. d’Ajuda-Pinto at M. de Rochefide’s door, so I thought that - if I came I should find you alone.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Beauseant’s mouth did not tighten, her color did not rise, her - expression did not alter, or rather, her brow seemed to clear as the - Duchess uttered those deadly words. - </p> - <p> - “If I had known that you were engaged——” the speaker added, - glancing at Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “This gentleman is M. Eugene de Rastignac, one of my cousins,” said the - Vicomtesse. “Have you any news of General de Montriveau?” she continued. - “Serizy told me yesterday that he never goes anywhere now; has he been to - see you to-day?” - </p> - <p> - It was believed that the Duchess was desperately in love with M. de - Montriveau, and that he was a faithless lover; she felt the question in - her very heart, and her face flushed as she answered: - </p> - <p> - “He was at the Elysee yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “In attendance?” - </p> - <p> - “Claire,” returned the Duchess, and hatred overflowed in the glances she - threw at Mme. de Beauseant; “of course you know that M. d’Ajuda-Pinto is - going to marry Mlle. de Rochefide; the bans will be published to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - This thrust was too cruel; the Vicomtesse’s face grew white, but she - answered, laughing, “One of those rumors that fools amuse themselves with. - What should induce M. d’Ajuda to take one of the noblest names in Portugal - to the Rochefides? The Rochefides were only ennobled yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “But Bertha will have two hundred thousand livres a year, they say.” - </p> - <p> - “M. d’Ajuda is too wealthy to marry for money.” - </p> - <p> - “But, my dear, Mlle. de Rochefide is a charming girl.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed?” - </p> - <p> - “And, as a matter of fact, he is dining with them to-day; the thing is - settled. It is very surprising to me that you should know so little about - it.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Beauseant turned to Rastignac. “What was the blunder that you - made, monsieur?” she asked. “The poor boy is only just launched into the - world, Antoinette, so that he understands nothing of all this that we are - speaking of. Be merciful to him, and let us finish our talk to-morrow. - Everything will be announced to-morrow, you know, and your kind informal - communication can be accompanied by official confirmation.” - </p> - <p> - The Duchess gave Eugene one of those insolent glances that measure a man - from head to foot, and leave him crushed and annihilated. - </p> - <p> - “Madame, I have unwittingly plunged a dagger into Mme. de Restaud’s heart; - unwittingly—therein lies my offence,” said the student of law, whose - keen brain had served him sufficiently well, for he had detected the - biting epigrams that lurked beneath this friendly talk. “You continue to - receive, possibly you fear, those who know the amount of pain that they - deliberately inflict; but a clumsy blunderer who has no idea how deeply he - wounds is looked upon as a fool who does not know how to make use of his - opportunities, and every one despises him.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Beauseant gave the student a glance, one of those glances in which - a great soul can mingle dignity and gratitude. It was like balm to the law - student, who was still smarting under the Duchess’ insolent scrutiny; she - had looked at him as an auctioneer might look at some article to appraise - its value. - </p> - <p> - “Imagine, too, that I had just made some progress with the Comte de - Restaud; for I should tell you, madame,” he went on, turning to the - Duchess with a mixture of humility and malice in his manner, “that as yet - I am only a poor devil of a student, very much alone in the world, and - very poor——” - </p> - <p> - “You should not tell us that, M. de Rastignac. We women never care about - anything that no one else will take.” - </p> - <p> - “Bah!” said Eugene. “I am only two-and-twenty, and I must make up my mind - to the drawbacks of my time of life. Besides, I am confessing my sins, and - it would be impossible to kneel in a more charming confessional; you - commit your sins in one drawing-room, and receive absolution for them in - another.” - </p> - <p> - The Duchess’ expression grew colder, she did not like the flippant tone of - these remarks, and showed that she considered them to be in bad taste by - turning to the Vicomtesse with—“This gentleman has only just come——” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Beauseant began to laugh outright at her cousin and at the Duchess - both. - </p> - <p> - “He has only just come to Paris, dear, and is in search of some one who - will give him lessons in good taste.” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. la Duchesse,” said Eugene, “is it not natural to wish to be - initiated into the mysteries which charm us?” (“Come, now,” he said to - himself, “my language is superfinely elegant, I’m sure.”) - </p> - <p> - “But Mme. de Restaud is herself, I believe, M. de Trailles’ pupil,” said - the Duchess. - </p> - <p> - “Of that I had no idea, madame,” answered the law student, “so I rashly - came between them. In fact, I got on very well with the lady’s husband, - and his wife tolerated me for a time until I took it into my head to tell - them that I knew some one of whom I had just caught a glimpse as he went - out by a back staircase, a man who had given the Countess a kiss at the - end of a passage.” - </p> - <p> - “Who was it?” both women asked together. - </p> - <p> - “An old man who lives at the rate of two louis a month in the Faubourg - Saint-Marceau, where I, a poor student, lodge likewise. He is a truly - unfortunate creature, everybody laughs at him—we all call him - ‘Father Goriot.’” - </p> - <p> - “Why, child that you are,” cried the Vicomtesse, “Mme. de Restaud was a - Mlle. Goriot!” - </p> - <p> - “The daughter of a vermicelli manufacturer,” the Duchess added; “and when - the little creature went to Court, the daughter of a pastry-cook was - presented on the same day. Do you remember, Claire? The King began to - laugh, and made some joke in Latin about flour. People—what was it?—people——” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Ejusdem farinoe</i>,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that was it,” said the Duchess. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! is that her father?” the law student continued, aghast. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, certainly; the old man had two daughters; he dotes on them, so to - speak, though they will scarcely acknowledge him.” - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t the second daughter marry a banker with a German name?” the - Vicomtesse asked, turning to Mme. de Langeais, “a Baron de Nucingen? And - her name is Delphine, is it not? Isn’t she a fair-haired woman who has a - side-box at the Opera? She comes sometimes to the Bouffons, and laughs - loudly to attract attention.” - </p> - <p> - The Duchess smiled and said: - </p> - <p> - “I wonder at you, dear. Why do you take so much interest in people of that - kind? One must have been as madly in love as Restaud was, to be infatuated - with Mlle. Anastasie and her flour sacks. Oh! he will not find her a good - bargain! She is in M. de Trailles’ hands, and he will ruin her.” - </p> - <p> - “And they do not acknowledge their father!” Eugene repeated. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! well, yes, their father, the father, a father,” replied the - Vicomtesse, “a kind father who gave them each five or six hundred thousand - francs, it is said, to secure their happiness by marrying them well; while - he only kept eight or ten thousand livres a year for himself, thinking - that his daughters would always be his daughters, thinking that in them he - would live his life twice over again, that in their houses he should find - two homes, where he would be loved and looked up to, and made much of. And - in two years’ time both his sons-in-law had turned him out of their houses - as if he were one of the lowest outcasts.” - </p> - <p> - Tears came into Eugene’s eyes. He was still under the spell of youthful - beliefs, he had just left home, pure and sacred feelings had been stirred - within him, and this was his first day on the battlefield of civilization - in Paris. Genuine feeling is so infectious that for a moment the three - looked at each other in silence. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Eh, mon Dieu!</i>” said Mme. de Langeais; “yes, it seems very - horrible, and yet we see such things every day. Is there not a reason for - it? Tell me, dear, have you ever really thought what a son-in-law is? A - son-in-law is the man for whom we bring up, you and I, a dear little one, - bound to us very closely in innumerable ways; for seventeen years she will - be the joy of her family, its ‘white soul,’ as Lamartine says, and - suddenly she will become its scourge. When HE comes and takes her from us, - his love from the very beginning is like an axe laid to the root of all - the old affection in our darling’s heart, and all the ties that bound her - to her family are severed. But yesterday our little daughter thought of no - one but her mother and father, as we had no thought that was not for her; - by to-morrow she will have become a hostile stranger. The tragedy is - always going on under our eyes. On the one hand you see a father who has - sacrificed himself to his son, and his daughter-in-law shows him the last - degree of insolence. On the other hand, it is the son-in-law who turns his - wife’s mother out of the house. I sometimes hear it said that there is - nothing dramatic about society in these days; but the Drama of the - Son-in-law is appalling, to say nothing of our marriages, which have come - to be very poor farces. I can explain how it all came about in the old - vermicelli maker’s case. I think I recollect that Foriot——” - </p> - <p> - “Goriot, madame.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that Moriot was once President of his Section during the Revolution. - He was in the secret of the famous scarcity of grain, and laid the - foundation of his fortune in those days by selling flour for ten times its - cost. He had as much flour as he wanted. My grandmother’s steward sold him - immense quantities. No doubt Noriot shared the plunder with the Committee - of Public Salvation, as that sort of person always did. I recollect the - steward telling my grandmother that she might live at Grandvilliers in - complete security, because her corn was as good as a certificate of - civism. Well, then, this Loriot, who sold corn to those butchers, has - never had but one passion, they say—he idolizes his daughters. He - settled one of them under Restaud’s roof, and grafted the other into the - Nucingen family tree, the Baron de Nucingen being a rich banker who had - turned Royalist. You can quite understand that so long as Bonaparte was - Emperor, the two sons-in-law could manage to put up with the old - Ninety-three; but after the restoration of the Bourbons, M. de Restaud - felt bored by the old man’s society, and the banker was still more tired - of it. His daughters were still fond of him; they wanted ‘to keep the goat - and the cabbage,’ so they used to see Joriot whenever there was no one - there, under pretence of affection. ‘Come to-day, papa, we shall have you - all to ourselves, and that will be much nicer!’ and all that sort of - thing. As for me, dear, I believe that love has second-sight: poor - Ninety-three; his heart must have bled. He saw that his daughters were - ashamed of him, that if they loved their husbands his visits must make - mischief. So he immolated himself. He made the sacrifice because he was a - father; he went into voluntary exile. His daughters were satisfied, so he - thought that he had done the best thing he could; but it was a family - crime, and father and daughters were accomplices. You see this sort of - thing everywhere. What could this old Doriot have been but a splash of mud - in his daughters’ drawing-rooms? He would only have been in the way, and - bored other people, besides being bored himself. And this that happened - between father and daughters may happen to the prettiest woman in Paris - and the man she loves the best; if her love grows tiresome, he will go; he - will descend to the basest trickery to leave her. It is the same with all - love and friendship. Our heart is a treasury; if you pour out all its - wealth at once, you are bankrupt. We show no more mercy to the affection - that reveals its utmost extent than we do to another kind of prodigal who - has not a penny left. Their father had given them all he had. For twenty - years he had given his whole heart to them; then, one day, he gave them - all his fortune too. The lemon was squeezed; the girls left the rest in - the gutter.” - </p> - <p> - “The world is very base,” said the Vicomtesse, plucking at the threads of - her shawl. She did not raise her head as she spoke; the words that Mme. de - Langeais had meant for her in the course of her story had cut her to the - quick. - </p> - <p> - “Base? Oh, no,” answered the Duchess; “the world goes its own way, that is - all. If I speak in this way, it is only to show that I am not duped by it. - I think as you do,” she said, pressing the Vicomtesse’s hand. “The world - is a slough; let us try to live on the heights above it.” - </p> - <p> - She rose to her feet and kissed Mme. de Beauseant on the forehead as she - said: “You look very charming to-day, dear. I have never seen such a - lovely color in your cheeks before.” - </p> - <p> - Then she went out with a slight inclination of the head to the cousin. - </p> - <p> - “Father Goriot is sublime!” said Eugene to himself, as he remembered how - he had watched his neighbor work the silver vessel into a shapeless mass - that night. - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Beauseant did not hear him; she was absorbed in her own thoughts. - For several minutes the silence remained unbroken till the law student - became almost paralyzed with embarrassment, and was equally afraid to go - or stay or speak a word. - </p> - <p> - “The world is basely ungrateful and ill-natured,” said the Vicomtesse at - last. “No sooner does a trouble befall you than a friend is ready to bring - the tidings and to probe your heart with the point of a dagger while - calling on you to admire the handle. Epigrams and sarcasms already! Ah! I - will defend myself!” - </p> - <p> - She raised her head like the great lady that she was, and lightnings - flashed from her proud eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” she said, as she saw Eugene, “are you there?” - </p> - <p> - “Still,” he said piteously. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, M. de Rastignac, deal with the world as it deserves. You are - determined to succeed? I will help you. You shall sound the depths of - corruption in woman; you shall measure the extent of man’s pitiful vanity. - Deeply as I am versed in such learning, there were pages in the book of - life that I had not read. Now I know all. The more cold-blooded your - calculations, the further you will go. Strike ruthlessly; you will be - feared. Men and women for you must be nothing more than post-horses; take - a fresh relay, and leave the last to drop by the roadside; in this way you - will reach the goal of your ambition. You will be nothing here, you see, - unless a woman interests herself in you; and she must be young and - wealthy, and a woman of the world. Yet, if you have a heart, lock it - carefully away like a treasure; do not let any one suspect it, or you will - be lost; you would cease to be the executioner, you would take the - victim’s place. And if ever you should love, never let your secret escape - you! Trust no one until you are very sure of the heart to which you open - your heart. Learn to mistrust every one; take every precaution for the - sake of the love which does not exist as yet. Listen, Miguel”—the - name slipped from her so naturally that she did not notice her mistake—“there - is something still more appalling than the ingratitude of daughters who - have cast off their old father and wish that he were dead, and that is a - rivalry between two sisters. Restaud comes of a good family, his wife has - been received into their circle; she has been presented at court; and her - sister, her wealthy sister, Mme. Delphine de Nucingen, the wife of a great - capitalist, is consumed with envy, and ready to die of spleen. There is - gulf set between the sisters—indeed, they are sisters no longer—the - two women who refuse to acknowledge their father do not acknowledge each - other. So Mme. de Nucingen would lap up all the mud that lies between the - Rue Saint-Lazare and the Rue de Grenelle to gain admittance to my salon. - She fancied that she should gain her end through de Marsay; she has made - herself de Marsay’s slave, and she bores him. De Marsay cares very little - about her. If you will introduce her to me, you will be her darling, her - Benjamin; she will idolize you. If, after that, you can love her, do so; - if not, make her useful. I will ask her to come once or twice to one of my - great crushes, but I will never receive her here in the morning. I will - bow to her when I see her, and that will be quite sufficient. You have - shut the Comtesse de Restaud’s door against you by mentioning Father - Goriot’s name. Yes, my good friend, you may call at her house twenty - times, and every time out of the twenty you will find that she is not at - home. The servants have their orders, and will not admit you. Very well, - then, now let Father Goriot gain the right of entry into her sister’s - house for you. The beautiful Mme. de Nucingen will give the signal for a - battle. As soon as she singles you out, other women will begin to lose - their heads about you, and her enemies and rivals and intimate friends - will all try to take you from her. There are women who will fall in love - with a man because another woman has chosen him; like the city madams, - poor things, who copy our millinery, and hope thereby to acquire our - manners. You will have a success, and in Paris success is everything; it - is the key of power. If the women credit you with wit and talent, the men - will follow suit so long as you do not undeceive them yourself. There will - be nothing you may not aspire to; you will go everywhere, and you will - find out what the world is—an assemblage of fools and knaves. But - you must be neither the one nor the other. I am giving you my name like - Ariadne’s clue of thread to take with you into the labyrinth; make no - unworthy use of it,” she said, with a queenly glance and curve of her - throat; “give it back to me unsullied. And now, go; leave me. We women - also have our battles to fight.” - </p> - <p> - “And if you should ever need some one who would gladly set a match to a - train for you——” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - He tapped his heart, smiled in answer to his cousin’s smile, and went. - </p> - <p> - It was five o’clock, and Eugene was hungry; he was afraid lest he should - not be in time for dinner, a misgiving which made him feel that it was - pleasant to be borne so quickly across Paris. This sensation of physical - comfort left his mind free to grapple with the thoughts that assailed him. - A mortification usually sends a young man of his age into a furious rage; - he shakes his fist at society, and vows vengeance when his belief in - himself is shaken. Just then Rastignac was overwhelmed by the words, “You - have shut the Countess’ door against you.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall call!” he said to himself, “and if Mme. de Beauseant is right, if - I never find her at home—I... well, Mme. de Restaud shall meet me in - every salon in Paris. I will learn to fence and have some pistol practice, - and kill that Maxime of hers!” - </p> - <p> - “And money?” cried an inward monitor. “How about money, where is that to - come from?” And all at once the wealth displayed in the Countess de - Restaud’s drawing-room rose before his eyes. That was the luxury which - Goriot’s daughter had loved too well, the gilding, the ostentatious - splendor, the unintelligent luxury of the parvenu, the riotous - extravagance of a courtesan. Then the attractive vision suddenly went - under an eclipse as he remembered the stately grandeur of the Hotel de - Beauseant. As his fancy wandered among these lofty regions in the great - world of Paris, innumerable dark thoughts gathered in his heart; his ideas - widened, and his conscience grew more elastic. He saw the world as it is; - saw how the rich lived beyond the jurisdiction of law and public opinion, - and found in success the <i>ultima ratio mundi</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Vautrin is right, success is virtue!” he said to himself. - </p> - <p> - Arrived in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, he rushed up to his room for - ten francs wherewith to satisfy the demands of the cabman, and went in to - dinner. He glanced round the squalid room, saw the eighteen - poverty-stricken creatures about to feed like cattle in their stalls, and - the sight filled him with loathing. The transition was too sudden, and the - contrast was so violent that it could not but act as a powerful stimulant; - his ambition developed and grew beyond all social bounds. On the one hand, - he beheld a vision of social life in its most charming and refined forms, - of quick-pulsed youth, of fair, impassioned faces invested with all the - charm of poetry, framed in a marvelous setting of luxury or art; and, on - the other hand, he saw a sombre picture, the miry verge beyond these - faces, in which passion was extinct and nothing was left of the drama but - the cords and pulleys and bare mechanism. Mme. de Beauseant’s counsels, - the words uttered in anger by the forsaken lady, her petulant offer, came - to his mind, and poverty was a ready expositor. Rastignac determined to - open two parallel trenches so as to insure success; he would be a learned - doctor of law and a man of fashion. Clearly he was still a child! Those - two lines are asymptotes, and will never meet. - </p> - <p> - “You are very dull, my lord Marquis,” said Vautrin, with one of the shrewd - glances that seem to read the innermost secrets of another mind. - </p> - <p> - “I am not in the humor to stand jokes from people who call me ‘my lord - Marquis,’” answered Eugene. “A marquis here in Paris, if he is not the - veriest sham, ought to have a hundred thousand livres a year at least; and - a lodger in the Maison Vauquer is not exactly Fortune’s favorite.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin’s glance at Rastignac was half-paternal, half-contemptuous. - “Puppy!” it seemed to say; “I should make one mouthful of him!” Then he - answered: - </p> - <p> - “You are in a bad humor; perhaps your visit to the beautiful Comtesse de - Restaud was not a success.” - </p> - <p> - “She has shut her door against me because I told her that her father dined - at our table,” cried Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - Glances were exchanged all round the room; Father Goriot looked down. - </p> - <p> - “You have sent some snuff into my eye,” he said to his neighbor, turning a - little aside to rub his hand over his face. - </p> - <p> - “Any one who molests Father Goriot will have henceforward to reckon with - me,” said Eugene, looking at the old man’s neighbor; “he is worth all the - rest of us put together.—I am not speaking of the ladies,” he added, - turning in the direction of Mlle. Taillefer. - </p> - <p> - Eugene’s remarks produced a sensation, and his tone silenced the - dinner-table. Vautrin alone spoke. “If you are going to champion Father - Goriot, and set up for his responsible editor into the bargain, you had - need be a crack shot and know how to handle the foils,” he said, - banteringly. - </p> - <p> - “So I intend,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Then you are taking the field to-day?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps,” Rastignac answered. “But I owe no account of myself to any one, - especially as I do not try to find out what other people do of a night.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin looked askance at Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “If you do not mean to be deceived by the puppets, my boy, you must go - behind and see the whole show, and not peep through holes in the curtain. - That is enough,” he added, seeing that Eugene was about to fly into a - passion. “We can have a little talk whenever you like.” - </p> - <p> - There was a general feeling of gloom and constraint. Father Goriot was so - deeply dejected by the student’s remark that he did not notice the change - in the disposition of his fellow-lodgers, nor know that he had met with a - champion capable of putting an end to the persecution. - </p> - <p> - “Then, M. Goriot sitting there is the father of a countess,” said Mme. - Vauquer in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - “And of a baroness,” answered Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “That is about all he is capable of,” said Bianchon to Rastignac; “I have - taken a look at his head; there is only one bump—the bump of - Paternity; he must be an <i>eternal father</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene was too intent on his thoughts to laugh at Bianchon’s joke. He - determined to profit by Mme. de Beauseant’s counsels, and was asking - himself how he could obtain the necessary money. He grew grave. The wide - savannas of the world stretched before his eyes; all things lay before - him, nothing was his. Dinner came to an end, the others went, and he was - left in the dining-room. - </p> - <p> - “So you have seen my daughter?” Goriot spoke tremulously, and the sound of - his voice broke in upon Eugene’s dreams. The young man took the elder’s - hand, and looked at him with something like kindness in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You are a good and noble man,” he said. “We will have some talk about - your daughters by and by.” - </p> - <p> - He rose without waiting for Goriot’s answer, and went to his room. There - he wrote the following letter to his mother:— - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “My Dear Mother,—Can you nourish your child from your breast - again? I am in a position to make a rapid fortune, but I want - twelve hundred francs—I must have them at all costs. Say nothing - about this to my father; perhaps he might make objections, and - unless I have the money, I may be led to put an end to myself, and - so escape the clutches of despair. I will tell you everything when - I see you. I will not begin to try to describe my present - situation; it would take volumes to put the whole story clearly - and fully. I have not been gambling, my kind mother, I owe no one - a penny; but if you would preserve the life that you gave me, you - must send me the sum I mention. As a matter of fact, I go to see - the Vicomtesse de Beauseant; she is using her influence for me; I - am obliged to go into society, and I have not a penny to lay out - on clean gloves. I can manage to exist on bread and water, or go - without food, if need be, but I cannot do without the tools with - which they cultivate the vineyards in this country. I must - resolutely make up my mind at once to make my way, or stick in the - mire for the rest of my days. I know that all your hopes are set - on me, and I want to realize them quickly. Sell some of your old - jewelry, my kind mother; I will give you other jewels very soon. I - know enough of our affairs at home to know all that such a - sacrifice means, and you must not think that I would lightly ask - you to make it; I should be a monster if I could. You must think - of my entreaty as a cry forced from me by imperative necessity. - Our whole future lies in the subsidy with which I must begin my - first campaign, for life in Paris is one continual battle. If you - cannot otherwise procure the whole of the money, and are forced to - sell our aunt’s lace, tell her that I will send her some still - handsomer,” and so forth. -</pre> - <p> - He wrote to ask each of his sisters for their savings—would they - despoil themselves for him, and keep the sacrifice a secret from the - family? To his request he knew that they would not fail to respond gladly, - and he added to it an appeal to their delicacy by touching the chord of - honor that vibrates so loudly in young and high-strung natures. - </p> - <p> - Yet when he had written the letters, he could not help feeling misgivings - in spite of his youthful ambition; his heart beat fast, and he trembled. - He knew the spotless nobleness of the lives buried away in the lonely - manor house; he knew what trouble and what joy his request would cause his - sisters, and how happy they would be as they talked at the bottom of the - orchard of that dear brother of theirs in Paris. Visions rose before his - eyes; a sudden strong light revealed his sisters secretly counting over - their little store, devising some girlish stratagem by which the money - could be sent to him <i>incognito</i>, essaying, for the first time in - their lives, a piece of deceit that reached the sublime in its - unselfishness. - </p> - <p> - “A sister’s heart is a diamond for purity, a deep sea of tenderness!” he - said to himself. He felt ashamed of those letters. - </p> - <p> - What power there must be in the petitions put up by such hearts; how pure - the fervor that bears their souls to Heaven in prayer! What exquisite joy - they would find in self-sacrifice! What a pang for his mother’s heart if - she could not send him all that he asked for! And this noble affection, - these sacrifices made at such terrible cost, were to serve as the ladder - by which he meant to climb to Delphine de Nucingen. A few tears, like the - last grains of incense flung upon the sacred alter fire of the hearth, - fell from his eyes. He walked up and down, and despair mingled with his - emotion. Father Goriot saw him through the half-open door. - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter, sir?” he asked from the threshold. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my good neighbor, I am as much a son and brother as you are a father. - You do well to fear for the Comtesse Anastasie; there is one M. Maxime de - Trailles, who will be her ruin.” - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot withdrew, stammering some words, but Eugene failed to catch - their meaning. - </p> - <p> - The next morning Rastignac went out to post his letters. Up to the last - moment he wavered and doubted, but he ended by flinging them into the box. - “I shall succeed!” he said to himself. So says the gambler; so says the - great captain; but the three words that have been the salvation of some - few, have been the ruin of many more. - </p> - <p> - A few days after this Eugene called at Mme. de Restaud’s house; she was - not at home. Three times he tried the experiment, and three times he found - her doors closed against him, though he was careful to choose an hour when - M. de Trailles was not there. The Vicomtesse was right. - </p> - <p> - The student studied no longer. He put in an appearance at lectures simply - to answer to his name, and after thus attesting his presence, departed - forthwith. He had been through a reasoning process familiar to most - students. He had seen the advisability of deferring his studies to the - last moment before going up for his examinations; he made up his mind to - cram his second and third years’ work into the third year, when he meant - to begin to work in earnest, and to complete his studies in law with one - great effort. In the meantime he had fifteen months in which to navigate - the ocean of Paris, to spread the nets and set the lines that would bring - him a protectress and a fortune. Twice during that week he saw Mme. de - Beauseant; he did not go to her house until he had seen the Marquis - d’Ajuda drive away. - </p> - <p> - Victory for yet a few more days was with the great lady, the most poetic - figure in the Faubourg Saint-Germain; and the marriage of the Marquis - d’Ajuda-Pinto with Mlle. de Rochefide was postponed. The dread of losing - her happiness filled those days with a fever of joy unknown before, but - the end was only so much the nearer. The Marquis d’Ajuda and the - Rochefides agreed that this quarrel and reconciliation was a very - fortunate thing; Mme. de Beauseant (so they hoped) would gradually become - reconciled to the idea of the marriage, and in the end would be brought to - sacrifice d’Ajuda’s morning visits to the exigencies of a man’s career, - exigencies which she must have foreseen. In spite of the most solemn - promises, daily renewed, M. d’Ajuda was playing a part, and the Vicomtesse - was eager to be deceived. “Instead of taking a leap heroically from the - window, she is falling headlong down the staircase,” said her most - intimate friend, the Duchesse de Langeais. Yet this after-glow of - happiness lasted long enough for the Vicomtesse to be of service to her - young cousin. She had a half-superstitious affection for him. Eugene had - shown her sympathy and devotion at a crisis when a woman sees no pity, no - real comfort in any eyes; when if a man is ready with soothing flatteries, - it is because he has an interested motive. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac made up his mind that he must learn the whole of Goriot’s - previous history; he would come to his bearings before attempting to board - the Maison de Nucingen. The results of his inquiries may be given briefly - as follows:— - </p> - <p> - In the days before the Revolution, Jean-Joachim Goriot was simply a - workman in the employ of a vermicelli maker. He was a skilful, thrifty - workman, sufficiently enterprising to buy his master’s business when the - latter fell a chance victim to the disturbances of 1789. Goriot - established himself in the Rue de la Jussienne, close to the Corn - Exchange. His plain good sense led him to accept the position of President - of the Section, so as to secure for his business the protection of those - in power at that dangerous epoch. This prudent step had led to success; - the foundations of his fortune were laid in the time of the Scarcity (real - or artificial), when the price of grain of all kinds rose enormously in - Paris. People used to fight for bread at the bakers’ doors; while other - persons went to the grocers’ shops and bought Italian paste foods without - brawling over it. It was during this year that Goriot made the money, - which, at a later time, was to give him all the advantage of the great - capitalist over the small buyer; he had, moreover, the usual luck of - average ability; his mediocrity was the salvation of him. He excited no - one’s envy, it was not even suspected that he was rich till the peril of - being rich was over, and all his intelligence was concentrated, not on - political, but on commercial speculations. Goriot was an authority second - to none on all questions relating to corn, flour, and “middlings”; and the - production, storage, and quality of grain. He could estimate the yield of - the harvest, and foresee market prices; he bought his cereals in Sicily, - and imported Russian wheat. Any one who had heard him hold forth on the - regulations that control the importation and exportation of grain, who had - seen his grasp of the subject, his clear insight into the principles - involved, his appreciation of weak points in the way that the system - worked, would have thought that here was the stuff of which a minister is - made. Patient, active, and persevering, energetic and prompt in action, he - surveyed his business horizon with an eagle eye. Nothing there took him by - surprise; he foresaw all things, knew all that was happening, and kept his - own counsel; he was a diplomatist in his quick comprehension of a - situation; and in the routine of business he was as patient and plodding - as a soldier on the march. But beyond this business horizon he could not - see. He used to spend his hours of leisure on the threshold of his shop, - leaning against the framework of the door. Take him from his dark little - counting-house, and he became once more the rough, slow-witted workman, a - man who cannot understand a piece of reasoning, who is indifferent to all - intellectual pleasures, and falls asleep at the play, a Parisian Dolibom - in short, against whose stupidity other minds are powerless. - </p> - <p> - Natures of this kind are nearly all alike; in almost all of them you will - find some hidden depth of sublime affection. Two all-absorbing affections - filled the vermicelli maker’s heart to the exclusion of every other - feeling; into them he seemed to put all the forces of his nature, as he - put the whole power of his brain into the corn trade. He had regarded his - wife, the only daughter of a rich farmer of La Brie, with a devout - admiration; his love for her had been boundless. Goriot had felt the charm - of a lovely and sensitive nature, which, in its delicate strength, was the - very opposite of his own. Is there any instinct more deeply implanted in - the heart of man than the pride of protection, a protection which is - constantly exerted for a fragile and defenceless creature? Join love - thereto, the warmth of gratitude that all generous souls feel for the - source of their pleasures, and you have the explanation of many strange - incongruities in human nature. - </p> - <p> - After seven years of unclouded happiness, Goriot lost his wife. It was - very unfortunate for him. She was beginning to gain an ascendency over him - in other ways; possibly she might have brought that barren soil under - cultivation, she might have widened his ideas and given other directions - to his thoughts. But when she was dead, the instinct of fatherhood - developed in him till it almost became a mania. All the affection balked - by death seemed to turn to his daughters, and he found full satisfaction - for his heart in loving them. More or less brilliant proposals were made - to him from time to time; wealthy merchants or farmers with daughters vied - with each other in offering inducements to him to marry again; but he - determined to remain a widower. His father-in-law, the only man for whom - he felt a decided friendship, gave out that Goriot had made a vow to be - faithful to his wife’s memory. The frequenters of the Corn Exchange, who - could not comprehend this sublime piece of folly, joked about it among - themselves, and found a ridiculous nickname for him. One of them ventured - (after a glass over a bargain) to call him by it, and a blow from the - vermicelli maker’s fist sent him headlong into a gutter in the Rue Oblin. - He could think of nothing else when his children were concerned; his love - for them made him fidgety and anxious; and this was so well known, that - one day a competitor, who wished to get rid of him to secure the field to - himself, told Goriot that Delphine had just been knocked down by a cab. - The vermicelli maker turned ghastly pale, left the Exchange at once, and - did not return for several days afterwards; he was ill in consequence of - the shock and the subsequent relief on discovering that it was a false - alarm. This time, however, the offender did not escape with a bruised - shoulder; at a critical moment in the man’s affairs, Goriot drove him into - bankruptcy, and forced him to disappear from the Corn Exchange. - </p> - <p> - As might have been expected, the two girls were spoiled. With an income of - sixty thousand francs, Goriot scarcely spent twelve hundred on himself, - and found all his happiness in satisfying the whims of the two girls. The - best masters were engaged, that Anastasie and Delphine might be endowed - with all the accomplishments which distinguish a good education. They had - a chaperon—luckily for them, she was a woman who had good sense and - good taste;—they learned to ride; they had a carriage for their use; - they lived as the mistress of a rich old lord might live; they had only to - express a wish, their father would hasten to give them their most - extravagant desires, and asked nothing of them in return but a kiss. - Goriot had raised the two girls to the level of the angels; and, quite - naturally, he himself was left beneath them. Poor man! he loved them even - for the pain that they gave him. - </p> - <p> - When the girls were old enough to be married, they were left free to - choose for themselves. Each had half her father’s fortune as her dowry; - and when the Comte de Restaud came to woo Anastasie for her beauty, her - social aspirations led her to leave her father’s house for a more exalted - sphere. Delphine wished for money; she married Nucingen, a banker of - German extraction, who became a Baron of the Holy Roman Empire. Goriot - remained a vermicelli maker as before. His daughters and his sons-in-law - began to demur; they did not like to see him still engaged in trade, - though his whole life was bound up with his business. For five years he - stood out against their entreaties, then he yielded, and consented to - retire on the amount realized by the sale of his business and the savings - of the last few years. It was this capital that Mme. Vauquer, in the early - days of his residence with her, had calculated would bring in eight or ten - thousand livres in a year. He had taken refuge in her lodging-house, - driven there by despair when he knew that his daughters were compelled by - their husbands not only to refuse to receive him as an inmate in their - houses, but even to see him no more except in private. - </p> - <p> - This was all the information which Rastignac gained from a M. Muret who - had purchased Goriot’s business, information which confirmed the Duchesse - de Langeais’ suppositions, and herewith the preliminary explanation of - this obscure but terrible Parisian tragedy comes to an end. - </p> - <p> - Towards the end of the first week in December Rastignac received two - letters—one from his mother, and one from his eldest sister. His - heart beat fast, half with happiness, half with fear, at the sight of the - familiar handwriting. Those two little scraps of paper contained life or - death for his hopes. But while he felt a shiver of dread as he remembered - their dire poverty at home, he knew their love for him so well that he - could not help fearing that he was draining their very life-blood. His - mother’s letter ran as follows:— - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “MY DEAR CHILD,—I am sending you the money that you asked for. - Make a good use of it. Even to save your life I could not raise so - large a sum a second time without your father’s knowledge, and - there would be trouble about it. We should be obliged to mortgage - the land. It is impossible to judge of the merits of schemes of - which I am ignorant; but what sort of schemes can they be, that - you should fear to tell me about them? Volumes of explanation - would not have been needed; we mothers can understand at a word, - and that word would have spared me the anguish of uncertainty. I - do not know how to hide the painful impression that your letter - has made upon me, my dear son. What can you have felt when you - were moved to send this chill of dread through my heart? It must - have been very painful to you to write the letter that gave me so - much pain as I read it. To what courses are you committed? You are - going to appear to be something that you are not, and your whole - life and success depends upon this? You are about to see a society - into which you cannot enter without rushing into expense that you - cannot afford, without losing precious time that is needed for - your studies. Ah! my dear Eugene, believe your mother, crooked - ways cannot lead to great ends. Patience and endurance are the two - qualities most needed in your position. I am not scolding you; I - do not want any tinge of bitterness to spoil our offering. I am - only talking like a mother whose trust in you is as great as her - foresight for you. You know the steps that you must take, and I, - for my part, know the purity of heart, and how good your - intentions are; so I can say to you without a doubt, ‘Go forward, - beloved!’ If I tremble, it is because I am a mother, but my - prayers and blessings will be with you at every step. Be very - careful, dear boy. You must have a man’s prudence, for it lies - with you to shape the destinies of five others who are dear to - you, and must look to you. Yes, our fortunes depend upon you, and - your success is ours. We all pray to God to be with you in all - that you do. Your aunt Marcillac has been most generous beyond - words in this matter; she saw at once how it was, even down to - your gloves. ‘But I have a weakness for the eldest!’ she said - gaily. You must love your aunt very much, dear Eugene. I shall - wait till you have succeeded before telling you all that she has - done for you, or her money would burn your fingers. You, who are - young, do not know what it is to part with something that is a - piece of your past! But what would we not sacrifice for your - sakes? Your aunt says that I am to send you a kiss on the forehead - from her, and that kiss is to bring you luck again and again, she - says. She would have written you herself, the dear kind-hearted - woman, but she is troubled with the gout in her fingers just now. - Your father is very well. The vintage of 1819 has turned out - better than we expected. Good-bye, dear boy; I will say nothing - about your sisters, because Laure is writing to you, and I must - let her have the pleasure of giving you all the home news. Heaven - send that you may succeed! Oh! yes, dear Eugene, you must succeed. - I have come, through you, to a knowledge of a pain so sharp that I - do not think I could endure it a second time. I have come to know - what it is to be poor, and to long for money for my children’s - sake. There, good-bye! Do not leave us for long without news of - you; and here, at the last, take a kiss from your mother.” - </pre> - <p> - By the time Eugene had finished the letter he was in tears. He thought of - Father Goriot crushing his silver keepsake into a shapeless mass before he - sold it to meet his daughter’s bill of exchange. - </p> - <p> - “Your mother has broken up her jewels for you,” he said to himself; “your - aunt shed tears over those relics of hers before she sold them for your - sake. What right have you to heap execrations on Anastasie? You have - followed her example; you have selfishly sacrificed others to your own - future, and she sacrifices her father to her lover; and of you two, which - is the worse?” - </p> - <p> - He was ready to renounce his attempts; he could not bear to take that - money. The fires of remorse burned in his heart, and gave him intolerable - pain, the generous secret remorse which men seldom take into account when - they sit in judgment upon their fellow-men; but perhaps the angels in - heaven, beholding it, pardon the criminal whom our justice condemns. - Rastignac opened his sister’s letter; its simplicity and kindness revived - his heart. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Your letter came just at the right time, dear brother. Agathe and - I had thought of so many different ways of spending our money, - that we did not know what to buy with it; and now you have come - in, and, like the servant who upset all the watches that belonged - to the King of Spain, you have restored harmony; for, really and - truly, we did not know which of all the things we wanted we wanted - most, and we were always quarreling about it, never thinking, dear - Eugene, of a way of spending our money which would satisfy us - completely. Agathe jumped for you. Indeed, we have been like two - mad things all day, ‘to such a prodigious degree’ (as aunt would - say), that mother said, with her severe expression, ‘Whatever can - be the matter with you, mesdemoiselles?’ I think if we had been - scolded a little, we should have been still better pleased. A - woman ought to be very glad to suffer for one she loves! I, - however, in my inmost soul, was doleful and cross in the midst of - all my joy. I shall make a bad wife, I am afraid, I am too fond of - spending. I had bought two sashes and a nice little stiletto for - piercing eyelet-holes in my stays, trifles that I really did not - want, so that I have less than that slow-coach Agathe, who is so - economical, and hoards her money like a magpie. She had two - hundred francs! And I have only one hundred and fifty! I am nicely - punished; I could throw my sash down the well; it will be painful - to me to wear it now. Poor dear, I have robbed you. And Agathe was - so nice about it. She said, ‘Let us send the three hundred and - fifty francs in our two names!’ But I could not help telling you - everything just as it happened. - - “Do you know how we managed to keep your commandments? We took our - glittering hoard, we went out for a walk, and when once fairly on - the highway we ran all the way to Ruffec, where we handed over the - coin, without more ado, to M. Grimbert of the Messageries Royales. - We came back again like swallows on the wing. ‘Don’t you think - that happiness has made us lighter?’ Agathe said. We said all - sorts of things, which I shall not tell you, Monsieur le Parisien, - because they were all about you. Oh, we love you dearly, dear - brother; it was all summed up in those few words. As for keeping - the secret, little masqueraders like us are capable of anything - (according to our aunt), even of holding our tongues. Our mother - has been on a mysterious journey to Angouleme, and the aunt went - with her, not without solemn councils, from which we were shut - out, and M. le Baron likewise. They are silent as to the weighty - political considerations that prompted their mission, and - conjectures are rife in the State of Rastignac. The Infantas are - embroidering a muslin robe with open-work sprigs for her Majesty - the Queen; the work progresses in the most profound secrecy. There - be but two more breadths to finish. A decree has gone forth that - no wall shall be built on the side of Verteuil, but that a hedge - shall be planted instead thereof. Our subjects may sustain some - disappointment of fruit and espaliers, but strangers will enjoy - a fair prospect. Should the heir-presumptive lack - pocket-handkerchiefs, be it known unto him that the dowager Lady - of Marcillac, exploring the recesses of her drawers and boxes - (known respectively as Pompeii and Herculaneum), having brought to - light a fair piece of cambric whereof she wotted not, the Princesses - Agathe and Laure place at their brother’s disposal their thread, - their needles, and hands somewhat of the reddest. The two young - Princes, Don Henri and Don Gabriel, retain their fatal habits of - stuffing themselves with grape-jelly, of teasing their sisters, of - taking their pleasure by going a-bird-nesting, and of cutting - switches for themselves from the osier-beds, maugre the laws of - the realm. Moreover, they list not to learn naught, wherefore the - Papal Nuncio (called of the commonalty, M. le Cure) threateneth - them with excommunication, since that they neglect the sacred - canons of grammatical construction for the construction of other - canon, deadly engines made of the stems of elder. - - “Farewell, dear brother, never did letter carry so many wishes for - your success, so much love fully satisfied. You will have a great - deal to tell us when you come home! You will tell me everything, - won’t you? I am the oldest. From something the aunt let fall, we - think you must have had some success. - - “Something was said of a lady, but nothing more was said... - - “Of course not, in our family! Oh, by-the-by, Eugene, would you - rather that we made that piece of cambric into shirts for you - instead of pocket-handkerchiefs? If you want some really nice - shirts at once, we ought to lose no time in beginning upon them; - and if the fashion is different now in Paris, send us one for a - pattern; we want more particularly to know about the cuffs. Good- - bye! Good-bye! Take my kiss on the left side of your forehead, on - the temple that belongs to me, and to no one else in the world. I - am leaving the other side of the sheet for Agathe, who has - solemnly promised not to read a word that I have written; but, all - the same, I mean to sit by her side while she writes, so as to be - quite sure that she keeps her word.—Your loving sister, - - “LAURE DE RASTIGNAC.” - </pre> - <p> - “Yes!” said Eugene to himself. “Yes! Success at all costs now! Riches - could not repay such devotion as this. I wish I could give them every sort - of happiness! Fifteen hundred and fifty francs,” he went on after a pause. - “Every shot must go to the mark! Laure is right. Trust a woman! I have - only calico shirts. Where some one else’s welfare is concerned, a young - girl becomes as ingenious as a thief. Guileless where she herself is in - question, and full of foresight for me,—she is like a heavenly angel - forgiving the strange incomprehensible sins of earth.” - </p> - <p> - The world lay before him. His tailor had been summoned and sounded, and - had finally surrendered. When Rastignac met M. de Trailles, he had seen at - once how great a part the tailor plays in a young man’s career; a tailor - is either a deadly enemy or a staunch friend, with an invoice for a bond - of friendship; between these two extremes there is, alack! no middle term. - In this representative of his craft Eugene discovered a man who understood - that his was a sort of paternal function for young men at their entrance - into life, who regarded himself as a stepping-stone between a young man’s - present and future. And Rastignac in gratitude made the man’s fortune by - an epigram of a kind in which he excelled at a later period of his life. - </p> - <p> - “I have twice known a pair of trousers turned out by him make a match of - twenty thousand livres a year!” - </p> - <p> - Fifteen hundred francs, and as many suits of clothes as he chose to order! - At that moment the poor child of the South felt no more doubts of any - kind. The young man went down to breakfast with the indefinable air which - the consciousness of the possession of money gives to youth. No sooner are - the coins slipped into a student’s pocket than his wealth, in imagination - at least, is piled into a fantastic column, which affords him a moral - support. He begins to hold up his head as he walks; he is conscious that - he has a means of bringing his powers to bear on a given point; he looks - you straight in the face; his gestures are quick and decided; only - yesterday he was diffident and shy, any one might have pushed him aside; - to-morrow, he will take the wall of a prime minister. A miracle has been - wrought in him. Nothing is beyond the reach of his ambition, and his - ambition soars at random; he is light-hearted, generous, and enthusiastic; - in short, the fledgling bird has discovered that he has wings. A poor - student snatches at every chance pleasure much as a dog runs all sorts of - risks to steal a bone, cracking it and sucking the marrow as he flies from - pursuit; but a young man who can rattle a few runaway gold coins in his - pocket can take his pleasure deliberately, can taste the whole of the - sweets of secure possession; he soars far above earth; he has forgotten - what the word <i>poverty</i> means; all Paris is his. Those are days when - the whole world shines radiant with light, when everything glows and - sparkles before the eyes of youth, days that bring joyous energy that is - never brought into harness, days of debts and of painful fears that go - hand in hand with every delight. Those who do not know the left bank of - the Seine between the Rue Saint-Jacques and the Rue des Saints-Peres know - nothing of life. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! if the women of Paris but knew,” said Rastignac, as he devoured Mme. - Vauquer’s stewed pears (at five for a penny), “they would come here in - search of a lover.” - </p> - <p> - Just then a porter from the Messageries Royales appeared at the door of - the room; they had previously heard the bell ring as the wicket opened to - admit him. The man asked for M. Eugene de Rastignac, holding out two bags - for him to take, and a form of receipt for his signature. Vautrin’s keen - glance cut Eugene like a lash. - </p> - <p> - “Now you will be able to pay for those fencing lessons and go to the - shooting gallery,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Your ship has come in,” said Mme. Vauquer, eyeing the bags. - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Michonneau did not dare to look at the money, for fear her eyes - should betray her cupidity. - </p> - <p> - “You have a kind mother,” said Mme. Couture. - </p> - <p> - “You have a kind mother, sir,” echoed Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, mamma has been drained dry,” said Vautrin, “and now you can have - your fling, go into society, and fish for heiresses, and dance with - countesses who have peach blossom in their hair. But take my advice, young - man, and don’t neglect your pistol practice.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin struck an attitude, as if he were facing an antagonist. Rastignac, - meaning to give the porter a tip, felt in his pockets and found nothing. - Vautrin flung down a franc piece on the table. - </p> - <p> - “Your credit is good,” he remarked, eyeing the student, and Rastignac was - forced to thank him, though, since the sharp encounter of wits at dinner - that day, after Eugene came in from calling on Mme. de Beauseant, he had - made up his mind that Vautrin was insufferable. For a week, in fact, they - had both kept silence in each other’s presence, and watched each other. - The student tried in vain to account to himself for this attitude. - </p> - <p> - An idea, of course, gains in force by the energy with which it is - expressed; it strikes where the brain sends it, by a law as mathematically - exact as the law that determines the course of a shell from a mortar. The - amount of impression it makes is not to be determined so exactly. - Sometimes, in an impressible nature, the idea works havoc, but there are, - no less, natures so robustly protected, that this sort of projectile falls - flat and harmless on skulls of triple brass, as cannon-shot against solid - masonry; then there are flaccid and spongy-fibred natures into which ideas - from without sink like spent bullets into the earthworks of a redoubt. - Rastignac’s head was something of the powder-magazine order; the least - shock sufficed to bring about an explosion. He was too quick, too young, - not to be readily accessible to ideas; and open to that subtle influence - of thought and feeling in others which causes so many strange phenomena - that make an impression upon us of which we are all unconscious at the - time. Nothing escaped his mental vision; he was lynx-eyed; in him the - mental powers of perception, which seem like duplicates of the senses, had - the mysterious power of swift projection that astonishes us in intellects - of a high order—slingers who are quick to detect the weak spot in - any armor. - </p> - <p> - In the past month Eugene’s good qualities and defects had rapidly - developed with his character. Intercourse with the world and the endeavor - to satisfy his growing desires had brought out his defects. But Rastignac - came from the South side of the Loire, and had the good qualities of his - countrymen. He had the impetuous courage of the South, that rushes to the - attack of a difficulty, as well as the southern impatience of delay or - suspense. These traits are held to be defects in the North; they made the - fortune of Murat, but they likewise cut short his career. The moral would - appear to be that when the dash and boldness of the South side of the - Loire meets, in a southern temperament, with the guile of the North, the - character is complete, and such a man will gain (and keep) the crown of - Sweden. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac, therefore, could not stand the fire from Vautrin’s batteries - for long without discovering whether this was a friend or a foe. He felt - as if this strange being was reading his inmost soul, and dissecting his - feelings, while Vautrin himself was so close and secretive that he seemed - to have something of the profound and unmoved serenity of a sphinx, seeing - and hearing all things and saying nothing. Eugene, conscious of that money - in his pocket, grew rebellious. - </p> - <p> - “Be so good as to wait a moment,” he said to Vautrin, as the latter rose, - after slowly emptying his coffee-cup, sip by sip. - </p> - <p> - “What for?” inquired the older man, as he put on his large-brimmed hat and - took up the sword-cane that he was wont to twirl like a man who will face - three or four footpads without flinching. - </p> - <p> - “I will repay you in a minute,” returned Eugene. He unsealed one of the - bags as he spoke, counted out a hundred and forty francs, and pushed them - towards Mme. Vauquer. “Short reckonings make good friends” he added, - turning to the widow; “that clears our accounts till the end of the year. - Can you give me change for a five-franc piece?” - </p> - <p> - “Good friends make short reckonings,” echoed Poiret, with a glance at - Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “Here is your franc,” said Rastignac, holding out the coin to the sphinx - in the black wig. - </p> - <p> - “Any one might think that you were afraid to owe me a trifle,” exclaimed - this latter, with a searching glance that seemed to read the young man’s - inmost thoughts; there was a satirical and cynical smile on Vautrin’s face - such as Eugene had seen scores of times already; every time he saw it, it - exasperated him almost beyond endurance. - </p> - <p> - “Well... so I am,” he answered. He held both the bags in his hand, and had - risen to go up to his room. - </p> - <p> - Vautrin made as if he were going out through the sitting-room, and the - student turned to go through the second door that opened into the square - lobby at the foot of the staircase. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know, Monsieur le Marquis de Rastignacorama, that what you were - saying just now was not exactly polite?” Vautrin remarked, as he rattled - his sword-cane across the panels of the sitting-room door, and came up to - the student. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac looked coolly at Vautrin, drew him to the foot of the staircase, - and shut the dining-room door. They were standing in the little square - lobby between the kitchen and the dining-room; the place was lighted by an - iron-barred fanlight above a door that gave access into the garden. Sylvie - came out of her kitchen, and Eugene chose that moment to say: - </p> - <p> - “<i>Monsieur</i> Vautrin, I am not a marquis, and my name is not - Rastignacorama.” - </p> - <p> - “They will fight,” said Mlle. Michonneau, in an indifferent tone. - </p> - <p> - “Fight!” echoed Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Not they,” replied Mme. Vauquer, lovingly fingering her pile of coins. - </p> - <p> - “But there they are under the lime-trees,” cried Mlle. Victorine, who had - risen so that she might see out into the garden. “Poor young man! he was - in the right, after all.” - </p> - <p> - “We must go upstairs, my pet,” said Mme. Couture; “it is no business of - ours.” - </p> - <p> - At the door, however, Mme. Couture and Victorine found their progress - barred by the portly form of Sylvie the cook. - </p> - <p> - “What ever can have happened?” she said. “M. Vautrin said to M. Eugene, - ‘Let us have an explanation!’ then he took him by the arm, and there they - are, out among the artichokes.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin came in while she was speaking. “Mamma Vauquer,” he said smiling, - “don’t frighten yourself at all. I am only going to try my pistols under - the lime-trees.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! monsieur,” cried Victorine, clasping her hands as she spoke, “why do - you want to kill M. Eugene?” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin stepped back a pace or two, and gazed at Victorine. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! this is something fresh!” he exclaimed in a bantering tone, that - brought the color into the poor girl’s face. “That young fellow yonder is - very nice, isn’t he?” he went on. “You have given me a notion, my pretty - child; I will make you both happy.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Couture laid her hand on the arm of her ward, and drew the girl away, - as she said in her ear: - </p> - <p> - “Why, Victorine, I cannot imagine what has come over you this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want any shots fired in my garden,” said Mme. Vauquer. “You will - frighten the neighborhood and bring the police up here all in a moment.” - </p> - <p> - “Come, keep cool, Mamma Vauquer,” answered Vautrin. “There, there; it’s - all right; we will go to the shooting-gallery.” - </p> - <p> - He went back to Rastignac, laying his hand familiarly on the young man’s - arm. - </p> - <p> - “When I have given you ocular demonstration of the fact that I can put a - bullet through the ace on a card five times running at thirty-five paces,” - he said, “that won’t take away your appetite, I suppose? You look to me to - be inclined to be a trifle quarrelsome this morning, and as if you would - rush on your death like a blockhead.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you draw back?” asked Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t try to raise my temperature,” answered Vautrin, “it is not cold - this morning. Let us go and sit over there,” he added, pointing to the - green-painted garden seats; “no one can overhear us. I want a little talk - with you. You are not a bad sort of youngster, and I have no quarrel with - you. I like you, take Trump—(confound it!)—take Vautrin’s word - for it. What makes me like you? I will tell you by-and-by. Meantime, I can - tell you that I know you as well as if I had made you myself, as I will - prove to you in a minute. Put down your bags,” he continued, pointing to - the round table. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac deposited his money on the table, and sat down. He was consumed - with curiosity, which the sudden change in the manner of the man before - him had excited to the highest pitch. Here was a strange being who, a - moment ago, had talked of killing him, and now posed as his protector. - </p> - <p> - “You would like to know who I really am, what I was, and what I do now,” - Vautrin went on. “You want to know too much, youngster. Come! come! keep - cool! You will hear more astonishing things than that. I have had my - misfortunes. Just hear me out first, and you shall have your turn - afterwards. Here is my past in three words. Who am I? Vautrin. What do I - do? Just what I please. Let us change the subject. You want to know my - character. I am good-natured to those who do me a good turn, or to those - whose hearts speak to mine. These last may do anything they like with me; - they may bruise my shins, and I shall not tell them to ‘mind what they are - about’; but, <i>nom d’une pipe</i>, the devil himself is not an uglier - customer than I can be if people annoy me, or if I don’t happen to take to - them; and you may just as well know at once that I think no more of - killing a man than of that,” and he spat before him as he spoke. “Only - when it is absolutely necessary to do so, I do my best to kill him - properly. I am what you call an artist. I have read Benvenuto Cellini’s <i>Memoirs</i>, - such as you see me; and, what is more, in Italian: A fine-spirited fellow - he was! From him I learned to follow the example set us by Providence, who - strikes us down at random, and to admire the beautiful whenever and - wherever it is found. And, setting other questions aside, is it not a - glorious part to play, when you pit yourself against mankind, and the luck - is on your side? I have thought a good deal about the constitution of your - present social Dis-order. A duel is downright childish, my boy! utter - nonsense and folly! When one of two living men must be got out of the way, - none but an idiot would leave chance to decide which it is to be; and in a - duel it is a toss-up—heads or tails—and there you are! Now I, - for instance, can hit the ace in the middle of a card five times running, - send one bullet after another through the same hole, and at thirty-five - paces, moreover! With that little accomplishment you might think yourself - certain of killing your man, mightn’t you. Well, I have fired, at twenty - paces, and missed, and the rogue who had never handled a pistol in his - life—look here!”—(he unbuttoned his waistcoat and exposed his - chest, covered, like a bear’s back, with a shaggy fell; the student gave a - startled shudder)—“he was a raw lad, but he made his mark on me,” - the extraordinary man went on, drawing Rastignac’s fingers over a deep - scar on his breast. “But that happened when I myself was a mere boy; I was - one-and-twenty then (your age), and I had some beliefs left—in a - woman’s love, and in a pack of rubbish that you will be over head and ears - in directly. You and I were to have fought just now, weren’t we? You might - have killed me. Suppose that I were put under the earth, where would you - be? You would have to clear out of this, go to Switzerland, draw on papa’s - purse—and he has none too much in it as it is. I mean to open your - eyes to your real position, that is what I am going to do: but I shall do - it from the point of view of a man who, after studying the world very - closely, sees that there are but two alternatives—stupid obedience - or revolt. I obey nobody; is that clear? Now, do you know how much you - will want at the pace you are going? A million; and promptly, too, or that - little head of ours will be swaying to and fro in the drag-nets at - Saint-Cloud, while we are gone to find out whether or no there is a - Supreme Being. I will put you in the way of that million.” - </p> - <p> - He stopped for a moment and looked at Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Aha! you do not look so sourly at papa Vautrin now! At the mention of the - million you look like a young girl when somebody has said, ‘I will come - for you this evening!’ and she betakes herself to her toilette as a cat - licks its whiskers over a saucer of milk. All right. Come, now, let us go - into the question, young man; all between ourselves, you know. We have a - papa and mamma down yonder, a great-aunt, two sisters (aged eighteen and - seventeen), two young brothers (one fifteen, and the other ten), that is - about the roll-call of the crew. The aunt brings up the two sisters; the - cure comes and teaches the boys Latin. Boiled chestnuts are oftener on the - table than white bread. Papa makes a suit of clothes last a long while; if - mamma has a different dress winter and summer, it is about as much as she - has; the sisters manage as best they can. I know all about it; I have - lived in the south. - </p> - <p> - “That is how things are at home. They send you twelve hundred francs a - year, and the whole property only brings in three thousand francs all - told. We have a cook and a manservant; papa is a baron, and we must keep - up appearances. Then we have our ambitions; we are connected with the - Beauseants, and we go afoot through the streets; we want to be rich, and - we have not a penny; we eat Mme. Vauquer’s messes, and we like grand - dinners in the Faubourg Saint-Germain; we sleep on a truckle-bed, and - dream of a mansion! I do not blame you for wanting these things. What sort - of men do the women run after? Men of ambition. Men of ambition have - stronger frames, their blood is richer in iron, their hearts are warmer - than those of ordinary men. Women feel that when their power is greatest, - they look their best, and that those are their happiest hours; they like - power in men, and prefer the strongest even if it is a power that may be - their own destruction. I am going to make an inventory of your desires in - order to put the question at issue before you. Here it is:— - </p> - <p> - “We are as hungry as a wolf, and those newly-cut teeth of ours are sharp; - what are we to do to keep the pot boiling? In the first place, we have the - Code to browse upon; it is not amusing, and we are none the wiser for it, - but that cannot be helped. So far so good. We mean to make an advocate of - ourselves with a prospect of one day being made President of a Court of - Assize, when we shall send poor devils, our betters, to the galleys with a - T.F.[*] on their shoulders, so that the rich may be convinced that they - can sleep in peace. There is no fun in that; and you are a long while - coming to it; for, to begin with, there are two years of nauseous drudgery - in Paris, we see all the lollipops that we long for out of our reach. It - is tiresome to want things and never to have them. If you were a pallid - creature of the mollusk order, you would have nothing to fear, but it is - different when you have the hot blood of a lion and are ready to get into - a score of scrapes every day of your life. This is the ghastliest form of - torture known in this inferno of God’s making, and you will give in to it. - Or suppose that you are a good boy, drink nothing stronger than milk, and - bemoan your hard lot; you, with your generous nature, will endure - hardships that would drive a dog mad, and make a start, after long - waiting, as deputy to some rascal or other in a hole of a place where the - Government will fling you a thousand francs a year like the scraps that - are thrown to the butcher’s dog. Bark at thieves, plead the cause of the - rich, send men of heart to the guillotine, that is your work! Many thanks! - If you have no influence, you may rot in your provincial tribunal. At - thirty you will be a Justice with twelve hundred francs a year (if you - have not flung off the gown for good before then). By the time you are - forty you may look to marry a miller’s daughter, an heiress with some six - thousand livres a year. Much obliged! If you have influence, you may - possibly be a Public Prosecutor by the time you are thirty; with a salary - of a thousand crowns, you could look to marry the mayor’s daughter. Some - petty piece of political trickery, such as mistaking Villele for Manuel in - a bulletin (the names rhyme, and that quiets your conscience), and you - will probably be a Procureur General by the time you are forty, with a - chance of becoming a deputy. Please to observe, my dear boy, that our - conscience will have been a little damaged in the process, and that we - shall endure twenty years of drudgery and hidden poverty, and that our - sisters are wearing Dian’s livery. I have the honor to call your attention - to another fact: to wit, that there are but twenty Procureurs Generaux at - a time in all France, while there are some twenty thousand of you young - men who aspire to that elevated position; that there are some mountebanks - among you who would sell their family to screw their fortunes a peg - higher. If this sort of thing sickens you, try another course. The Baron - de Rastignac thinks of becoming an advocate, does he? There’s a nice - prospect for you! Ten years of drudgery straight away. You are obliged to - live at the rate of a thousand francs a month; you must have a library of - law books, live in chambers, go into society, go down on your knees to ask - a solicitor for briefs, lick the dust off the floor of the Palais de - Justice. If this kind of business led to anything, I should not say no; - but just give me the names of five advocates here in Paris who by the time - that they are fifty are making fifty thousand francs a year! Bah! I would - sooner turn pirate on the high seas than have my soul shrivel up inside me - like that. How will you find the capital? There is but one way, marry a - woman who has money. There is no fun in it. Have you a mind to marry? You - hang a stone around your neck; for if you marry for money, what becomes of - our exalted notions of honor and so forth? You might as well fly in the - face of social conventions at once. Is it nothing to crawl like a serpent - before your wife, to lick her mother’s feet, to descend to dirty actions - that would sicken swine—faugh!—never mind if you at least make - your fortune. But you will be as doleful as a dripstone if you marry for - money. It is better to wrestle with men than to wrangle at home with your - wife. You are at the crossway of the roads of life, my boy; choose your - way. - </p> - <p> - [*] Travaux forces, forced labour. - </p> - <p> - “But you have chosen already. You have gone to see your cousin of - Beauseant, and you have had an inkling of luxury; you have been to Mme. de - Restaud’s house, and in Father Goriot’s daughter you have seen a glimpse - of the Parisienne for the first time. That day you came back with a word - written on your forehead. I knew it, I could read it—‘<i>Success</i>!’ - Yes, success at any price. ‘Bravo,’ said I to myself, ‘here is the sort of - fellow for me.’ You wanted money. Where was it all to come from? You have - drained your sisters’ little hoard (all brothers sponge more or less on - their sisters). Those fifteen hundred francs of yours (got together, God - knows how! in a country where there are more chestnuts than five-franc - pieces) will slip away like soldiers after pillage. And, then, what will - you do? Shall you begin to work? Work, or what you understand by work at - this moment, means, for a man of Poiret’s calibre, an old age in Mamma - Vauquer’s lodging-house. There are fifty thousand young men in your - position at this moment, all bent as you are on solving one and the same - problem—how to acquire a fortune rapidly. You are but a unit in that - aggregate. You can guess, therefore, what efforts you must make, how - desperate the struggle is. There are not fifty thousand good positions for - you; you must fight and devour one another like spiders in a pot. Do you - know how a man makes his way here? By brilliant genius or by skilful - corruption. You must either cut your way through these masses of men like - a cannon ball, or steal among them like a plague. Honesty is nothing to - the purpose. Men bow before the power of genius; they hate it, and try to - slander it, because genius does not divide the spoil; but if genius - persists, they bow before it. To sum it all up in a phrase, if they fail - to smother genius in the mud, they fall on their knees and worship it. - Corruption is a great power in the world, and talent is scarce. So - corruption is the weapon of superfluous mediocrity; you will be made to - feel the point of it everywhere. You will see women who spend more than - ten thousand francs a year on dress, while their husband’s salary (his - whole income) is six thousand francs. You will see officials buying - estates on twelve thousand francs a year. You will see women who sell - themselves body and soul to drive in a carriage belonging to the son of a - peer of France, who has a right to drive in the middle rank at Longchamp. - You have seen that poor simpleton of a Goriot obliged to meet a bill with - his daughter’s name at the back of it, though her husband has fifty - thousand francs a year. I defy you to walk a couple of yards anywhere in - Paris without stumbling on some infernal complication. I’ll bet my head to - a head of that salad that you will stir up a hornet’s nest by taking a - fancy to the first young, rich, and pretty woman you meet. They are all - dodging the law, all at loggerheads with their husbands. If I were to - begin to tell you all that vanity or necessity (virtue is not often mixed - up in it, you may be sure), all that vanity and necessity drive them to do - for lovers, finery, housekeeping, or children, I should never come to an - end. So an honest man is the common enemy. - </p> - <p> - “But do you know what an honest man is? Here, in Paris, an honest man is - the man who keeps his own counsel, and will not divide the plunder. I am - not speaking now of those poor bond-slaves who do the work of the world - without a reward for their toil—God Almighty’s outcasts, I call - them. Among them, I grant you, is virtue in all the flower of its - stupidity, but poverty is no less their portion. At this moment, I think I - see the long faces those good folk would pull if God played a practical - joke on them and stayed away at the Last Judgment. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, if you mean to make a fortune quickly, you must either be - rich to begin with, or make people believe that you are rich. It is no use - playing here except for high stakes; once take to low play, it is all up - with you. If in the scores of professions that are open to you, there are - ten men who rise very rapidly, people are sure to call them thieves. You - can draw your own conclusions. Such is life. It is no cleaner than a - kitchen; it reeks like a kitchen; and if you mean to cook your dinner, you - must expect to soil your hands; the real art is in getting them clean - again, and therein lies the whole morality of our epoch. If I take this - tone in speaking of the world to you, I have the right to do so; I know it - well. Do you think that I am blaming it? Far from it; the world has always - been as it is now. Moralists’ strictures will never change it. Mankind are - not perfect, but one age is more or less hypocritical than another, and - then simpletons say that its morality is high or low. I do not think that - the rich are any worse than the poor; man is much the same, high or low, - or wherever he is. In a million of these human cattle there may be half a - score of bold spirits who rise above the rest, above the laws; I am one of - them. And you, if you are cleverer than your fellows, make straight to - your end, and hold your head high. But you must lay your account with envy - and slander and mediocrity, and every man’s hand will be against you. - Napoleon met with a Minister of War, Aubry by name, who all but sent him - to the colonies. - </p> - <p> - “Feel your pulse. Think whether you can get up morning after morning, - strengthened in yesterday’s purpose. In that case I will make you an offer - that no one would decline. Listen attentively. You see, I have an idea of - my own. My idea is to live a patriarchal life on a vast estate, say a - hundred thousand acres, somewhere in the Southern States of America. I - mean to be a planter, to have slaves, to make a few snug millions by - selling my cattle, timber, and tobacco; I want to live an absolute - monarch, and to do just as I please; to lead such a life as no one here in - these squalid dens of lath and plaster ever imagines. I am a great poet; I - do not write my poems, I feel them, and act them. At this moment I have - fifty thousand francs, which might possibly buy forty negroes. I want two - hundred thousand francs, because I want to have two hundred negroes to - carry out my notions of the patriarachal life properly. Negroes, you see, - are like a sort of family ready grown, and there are no inquisitive public - prosecutors out there to interfere with you. That investment in ebony - ought to mean three or four million francs in ten years’ time. If I am - successful, no one will ask me who I am. I shall be Mr. Four Millions, an - American citizen. I shall be fifty years old by then, and sound and hearty - still; I shall enjoy life after my own fashion. In two words, if I find - you an heiress with a million, will you give me two hundred thousand - francs? Twenty per cent commission, eh? Is that too much? Your little wife - will be very much in love with you. Once married, you will show signs of - uneasiness and remorse; for a couple of weeks you will be depressed. Then, - some night after sundry grimacings, comes the confession, between two - kisses, ‘Two hundred thousand francs of debts, my darling!’ This sort of - farce is played every day in Paris, and by young men of the highest - fashion. When a young wife has given her heart, she will not refuse her - purse. Perhaps you are thinking that you will lose the money for good? Not - you. You will make two hundred thousand francs again by some stroke of - business. With your capital and your brains you should be able to - accumulate as large a fortune as you could wish. <i>Ergo</i>, in six - months you will have made your own fortune, and our old friend Vautrin’s, - and made an amiable woman very happy, to say nothing of your people at - home, who must blow on their fingers to warm them, in the winter, for lack - of firewood. You need not be surprised at my proposal, nor at the demand I - make. Forty-seven out of every sixty great matches here in Paris are made - after just such a bargain as this. The Chamber of Notaries compels my - gentleman to——” - </p> - <p> - “What must I do?” said Rastignac, eagerly interrupting Vautrin’s speech. - </p> - <p> - “Next to nothing,” returned the other, with a slight involuntary movement, - the suppressed exultation of the angler when he feels a bite at the end of - his line. “Follow me carefully! The heart of a girl whose life is wretched - and unhappy is a sponge that will thirstily absorb love; a dry sponge that - swells at the first drop of sentiment. If you pay court to a young girl - whose existence is a compound of loneliness, despair, and poverty, and who - has no suspicion that she will come into a fortune, good Lord! it is quint - and quatorze at piquet; it is knowing the numbers of the lottery - before-hand; it is speculating in the funds when you have news from a sure - source; it is building up a marriage on an indestructible foundation. The - girl may come in for millions, and she will fling them, as if they were so - many pebbles, at your feet. ‘Take it, my beloved! Take it, Alfred, - Adolphe, Eugene!’ or whoever it was that showed his sense by sacrificing - himself for her. And as for sacrificing himself, this is how I understand - it. You sell a coat that is getting shabby, so that you can take her to - the <i>Cadran bleu</i>, treat her to mushrooms on toast, and then go to - the Ambigu-Comique in the evening; you pawn your watch to buy her a shawl. - I need not remind you of the fiddle-faddle sentimentality that goes down - so well with all women; you spill a few drops of water on your stationery, - for instance; those are the tears you shed while far away from her. You - look to me as if you were perfectly acquainted with the argot of the - heart. Paris, you see, is like a forest in the New World, where you have - to deal with a score of varieties of savages—Illinois and Hurons, - who live on the proceed of their social hunting. You are a hunter of - millions; you set your snares; you use lures and nets; there are many ways - of hunting. Some hunt heiresses, others a legacy; some fish for souls, yet - others sell their clients, bound hand and foot. Every one who comes back - from the chase with his game-bag well filled meets with a warm welcome in - good society. In justice to this hospitable part of the world, it must be - said that you have to do with the most easy and good-natured of great - cities. If the proud aristocracies of the rest of Europe refuse admittance - among their ranks to a disreputable millionaire, Paris stretches out a - hand to him, goes to his banquets, eats his dinners, and hobnobs with his - infamy.” - </p> - <p> - “But where is such a girl to be found?” asked Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Under your eyes; she is yours already.” - </p> - <p> - “Mlle. Victorine?” - </p> - <p> - “Precisely.” - </p> - <p> - “And what was that you said?” - </p> - <p> - “She is in love with you already, your little Baronne de Rastignac!” - </p> - <p> - “She has not a penny,” Eugene continued, much mystified. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! now we are coming to it! Just another word or two, and it will all be - clear enough. Her father, Taillefer, is an old scoundrel; it is said that - he murdered one of his friends at the time of the Revolution. He is one of - your comedians that sets up to have opinions of his own. He is a banker—senior - partner in the house of Frederic Taillefer and Company. He has one son, - and means to leave all he has to the boy, to the prejudice of Victorine. - For my part, I don’t like to see injustice of this sort. I am like Don - Quixote, I have a fancy for defending the weak against the strong. If it - should please God to take that youth away from him, Taillefer would have - only his daughter left; he would want to leave his money to some one or - other; an absurd notion, but it is only human nature, and he is not likely - to have any more children, as I know. Victorine is gentle and amiable; she - will soon twist her father round her fingers, and set his head spinning - like a German top by plying him with sentiment! She will be too much - touched by your devotion to forget you; you will marry her. I mean to play - Providence for you, and Providence is to do my will. I have a friend whom - I have attached closely to myself, a colonel in the Army of the Loire, who - has just been transferred into the <i>garde royale</i>. He has taken my - advice and turned ultra-royalist; he is not one of those fools who never - change their opinions. Of all pieces of advice, my cherub, I would give - you this—don’t stick to your opinions any more than to your words. - If any one asks you for them, let him have them—at a price. A man - who prides himself on going in a straight line through life is an idiot - who believes in infallibility. There are no such things as principles; - there are only events, and there are no laws but those of expediency: a - man of talent accepts events and the circumstances in which he finds - himself, and turns everything to his own ends. If laws and principles were - fixed and invariable, nations would not change them as readily as we - change our shirts. The individual is not obliged to be more particular - than the nation. A man whose services to France have been of the very - slightest is a fetich looked on with superstitious awe because he has - always seen everything in red; but he is good, at the most, to be put into - the Museum of Arts and Crafts, among the automatic machines, and labeled - La Fayette; while the prince at whom everybody flings a stone, the man who - despises humanity so much that he spits as many oaths as he is asked for - in the face of humanity, saved France from being torn in pieces at the - Congress of Vienna; and they who should have given him laurels fling mud - at him. Oh! I know something of affairs, I can tell you; I have the - secrets of many men! Enough. When I find three minds in agreement as to - the application of a principle, I shall have a fixed and immovable opinion—I - shall have to wait a long while first. In the Tribunals you will not find - three judges of the same opinion on a single point of law. To return to - the man I was telling you of. He would crucify Jesus Christ again, if I - bade him. At a word from his old chum Vautrin he will pick a quarrel with - a scamp that will not send so much as five francs to his sister, poor - girl, and” (here Vautrin rose to his feet and stood like a fencing-master - about to lunge)—“turn him off into the dark!” he added. - </p> - <p> - “How frightful!” said Eugene. “You do not really mean it? M. Vautrin, you - are joking!” - </p> - <p> - “There! there! Keep cool!” said the other. “Don’t behave like a baby. But - if you find any amusement in it, be indignant, flare up! Say that I am a - scoundrel, a rascal, a rogue, a bandit; but do not call me a blackleg nor - a spy! There, out with it, fire away! I forgive you; it is quite natural - at your age. I was like that myself once. Only remember this, you will do - worse things yourself some day. You will flirt with some pretty woman and - take her money. You have thought of that, of course,” said Vautrin, “for - how are you to succeed unless love is laid under contribution? There are - no two ways about virtue, my dear student; it either is, or it is not. - Talk of doing penance for your sins! It is a nice system of business, when - you pay for your crime by an act of contrition! You seduce a woman that - you may set your foot on such and such a rung of the social ladder; you - sow dissension among the children of a family; you descend, in short, to - every base action that can be committed at home or abroad, to gain your - own ends for your own pleasure or your profit; and can you imagine that - these are acts of faith, hope, or charity? How is it that a dandy, who in - a night has robbed a boy of half his fortune, gets only a couple of months - in prison; while a poor devil who steals a banknote for a thousand francs, - with aggravating circumstances, is condemned to penal servitude? Those are - your laws. Not a single provision but lands you in some absurdity. That - man with yellow gloves and a golden tongue commits many a murder; he sheds - no blood, but he drains his victim’s veins as surely; a desperado forces - open a door with a crowbar, dark deeds both of them! You yourself will do - every one of those things that I suggest to you to-day, bar the bloodshed. - Do you believe that there is any absolute standard in this world? Despise - mankind and find out the meshes that you can slip through in the net of - the Code. The secret of a great success for which you are at a loss to - account is a crime that has never been found out, because it was properly - executed.” - </p> - <p> - “Silence, sir! I will not hear any more; you make me doubt myself. At this - moment my sentiments are all my science.” - </p> - <p> - “Just as you please, my fine fellow; I did think you were so weak-minded,” - said Vautrin, “I shall say no more about it. One last word, however,” and - he looked hard at the student—“you have my secret,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “A young man who refuses your offer knows that he must forget it.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite right, quite right; I am glad to hear you say so. Somebody else - might not be so scrupulous, you see. Keep in mind what I want to do for - you. I will give you a fortnight. The offer is still open.” - </p> - <p> - “What a head of iron the man has!” said Eugene to himself, as he watched - Vautrin walk unconcernedly away with his cane under his arm. “Yet Mme. de - Beauseant said as much more gracefully; he has only stated the case in - cruder language. He would tear my heart with claws of steel. What made me - think of going to Mme. de Nucingen? He guessed my motives before I knew - them myself. To sum it up, that outlaw has told me more about virtue than - all I have learned from men and books. If virtue admits of no compromises, - I have certainly robbed my sisters,” he said, throwing down the bags on - the table. - </p> - <p> - He sat down again and fell, unconscious of his surroundings, into deep - thought. - </p> - <p> - “To be faithful to an ideal of virtue! A heroic martyrdom! Pshaw! every - one believes in virtue, but who is virtuous? Nations have made an idol of - Liberty, but what nation on the face of the earth is free? My youth is - still like a blue and cloudless sky. If I set myself to obtain wealth or - power, does it mean that I must make up my mind to lie, and fawn, and - cringe, and swagger, and flatter, and dissemble? To consent to be the - servant of others who have likewise fawned, and lied, and flattered? Must - I cringe to them before I can hope to be their accomplice? Well, then, I - decline. I mean to work nobly and with a single heart. I will work day and - night; I will owe my fortune to nothing but my own exertions. It may be - the slowest of all roads to success, but I shall lay my head on the pillow - at night untroubled by evil thoughts. Is there a greater thing than this—to - look back over your life and know that it is stainless as a lily? I and my - life are like a young man and his betrothed. Vautrin has put before me all - that comes after ten years of marriage. The devil! my head is swimming. I - do not want to think at all; the heart is a sure guide.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene was roused from his musings by the voice of the stout Sylvie, who - announced that the tailor had come, and Eugene therefore made his - appearance before the man with the two money bags, and was not ill pleased - that it should be so. When he had tried on his dress suit, he put on his - new morning costume, which completely metamorphosed him. - </p> - <p> - “I am quite equal to M. de Trailles,” he said to himself. “In short, I - look like a gentleman.” - </p> - <p> - “You asked me, sir, if I knew the houses where Mme. de Nucingen goes,” - Father Goriot’s voice spoke from the doorway of Eugene’s room. - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well then, she is going to the Marechale Carigliano’s ball on - Monday. If you can manage to be there, I shall hear from you whether my - two girls enjoyed themselves, and how they were dressed, and all about it - in fact.” - </p> - <p> - “How did you find that out, my good Goriot?” said Eugene, putting a chair - by the fire for his visitor. - </p> - <p> - “Her maid told me. I hear all about their doings from Therese and - Constance,” he added gleefully. - </p> - <p> - The old man looked like a lover who is still young enough to be made happy - by the discovery of some little stratagem which brings him information of - his lady-love without her knowledge. - </p> - <p> - “<i>You</i> will see them both!” he said, giving artless expression to a - pang of jealousy. - </p> - <p> - “I do not know,” answered Eugene. “I will go to Mme. de Beauseant and ask - her for an introduction to the Marechale.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought of appearing before the - Vicomtesse, dressed as henceforward he always meant to be. The “abysses of - the human heart,” in the moralists’ phrase, are only insidious thoughts, - involuntary promptings of personal interest. The instinct of enjoyment - turns the scale; those rapid changes of purpose which have furnished the - text for so much rhetoric are calculations prompted by the hope of - pleasure. Rastignac beholding himself well dressed and impeccable as to - gloves and boots, forgot his virtuous resolutions. Youth, moreover, when - bent upon wrongdoing does not dare to behold himself in the mirror of - consciousness; mature age has seen itself; and therein lies the whole - difference between these two phases of life. - </p> - <p> - A friendship between Eugene and his neighbor, Father Goriot, had been - growing up for several days past. This secret friendship and the antipathy - that the student had begun to entertain for Vautrin arose from the same - psychological causes. The bold philosopher who shall investigate the - effects of mental action upon the physical world will doubtless find more - than one proof of the material nature of our sentiments in other animals. - What physiognomist is as quick to discern character as a dog is to - discover from a stranger’s face whether this is a friend or no? Those - by-words—“atoms,” “affinities”—are facts surviving in modern - languages for the confusion of philosophic wiseacres who amuse themselves - by winnowing the chaff of language to find its grammatical roots. We <i>feel</i> - that we are loved. Our sentiments make themselves felt in everything, even - at a great distance. A letter is a living soul, and so faithful an echo of - the voice that speaks in it, that finer natures look upon a letter as one - of love’s most precious treasures. Father Goriot’s affection was of the - instinctive order, a canine affection raised to a sublime pitch; he had - scented compassion in the air, and the kindly respect and youthful - sympathy in the student’s heart. This friendship had, however, scarcely - reached the stage at which confidences are made. Though Eugene had spoken - of his wish to meet Mme. de Nucingen, it was not because he counted on the - old man to introduce him to her house, for he hoped that his own audacity - might stand him in good stead. All that Father Goriot had said as yet - about his daughters had referred to the remarks that the student had made - so freely in public on that day of the two visits. - </p> - <p> - “How could you think that Mme. de Restaud bore you a grudge for mentioning - my name?” he had said on the day following that scene at dinner. “My - daughters are very fond of me; I am a happy father; but my sons-in-law - have behaved badly to me, and rather than make trouble between my darlings - and their husbands, I choose to see my daughters secretly. Fathers who can - see their daughters at any time have no idea of all the pleasure that all - this mystery gives me; I cannot always see mine when I wish, do you - understand? So when it is fine I walk out in the Champs-Elysees, after - finding out from their waiting-maids whether my daughters mean to go out. - I wait near the entrance; my heart beats fast when the carriages begin to - come; I admire them in their dresses, and as they pass they give me a - little smile, and it seems as if everything was lighted up for me by a ray - of bright sunlight. I wait, for they always go back the same way, and then - I see them again; the fresh air has done them good and brought color into - their cheeks; all about me people say, ‘What a beautiful woman that is!’ - and it does my heart good to hear them. - </p> - <p> - “Are they not my own flesh and blood? I love the very horses that draw - them; I envy the little lap-dog on their knees. Their happiness is my - life. Every one loves after his own fashion, and mine does no one any - harm; why should people trouble their heads about me? I am happy in my own - way. Is there any law against going to see my girls in the evening when - they are going out to a ball? And what a disappointment it is when I get - there too late, and am told that ‘Madame has gone out!’ Once I waited till - three o’clock in the morning for Nasie; I had not seen her for two whole - days. I was so pleased, that it was almost too much for me! Please do not - speak of me unless it is to say how good my daughters are to me. They are - always wanting to heap presents upon me, but I will not have it. ‘Just - keep your money,’ I tell them. ‘What should I do with it? I want nothing.’ - And what am I, sir, after all? An old carcase, whose soul is always where - my daughters are. When you have seen Mme. de Nucingen, tell me which you - like the most,” said the old man after a moment’s pause, while Eugene put - the last touches to his toilette. The student was about to go out to walk - in the Garden of the Tuileries until the hour when he could venture to - appear in Mme. de Beauseant’s drawing-room. - </p> - <p> - That walk was a turning-point in Eugene’s career. Several women noticed - him; he looked so handsome, so young, and so well dressed. This almost - admiring attention gave a new turn to his thoughts. He forgot his sisters - and the aunt who had robbed herself for him; he no longer remembered his - own virtuous scruples. He had seen hovering above his head the fiend so - easy to mistake for an angel, the Devil with rainbow wings, who scatters - rubies, and aims his golden shafts at palace fronts, who invests women - with purple, and thrones with a glory that dazzles the eyes of fools till - they forget the simple origins of royal dominion; he had heard the rustle - of that Vanity whose tinsel seems to us to be the symbol of power. However - cynical Vautrin’s words had been, they had made an impression on his mind, - as the sordid features of the old crone who whispers, “A lover, and gold - in torrents,” remain engraven on a young girl’s memory. - </p> - <p> - Eugene lounged about the walks till it was nearly five o’clock, then he - went to Mme. de Beauseant, and received one of the terrible blows against - which young hearts are defenceless. Hitherto the Vicomtesse had received - him with the kindly urbanity, the bland grace of manner that is the result - of fine breeding, but is only complete when it comes from the heart. - </p> - <p> - To-day Mme. de Beauseant bowed constrainedly, and spoke curtly: - </p> - <p> - “M. de Rastignac, I cannot possibly see you, at least not at this moment. - I am engaged...” - </p> - <p> - An observer, and Rastignac instantly became an observer, could read the - whole history, the character and customs of caste, in the phrase, in the - tones of her voice, in her glance and bearing. He caught a glimpse of the - iron hand beneath the velvet glove—the personality, the egoism - beneath the manner, the wood beneath the varnish. In short, he heard that - unmistakable I THE KING that issues from the plumed canopy of the throne, - and finds its last echo under the crest of the simplest gentleman. - </p> - <p> - Eugene had trusted too implicitly to the generosity of a woman; he could - not believe in her haughtiness. Like all the unfortunate, he had - subscribed, in all good faith, the generous compact which should bind the - benefactor to the recipient, and the first article in that bond, between - two large-hearted natures, is a perfect equality. The kindness which knits - two souls together is as rare, as divine, and as little understood as the - passion of love, for both love and kindness are the lavish generosity of - noble natures. Rastignac was set upon going to the Duchesse de - Carigliano’s ball, so he swallowed down this rebuff. - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” he faltered out, “I would not have come to trouble you about a - trifling matter; be so kind as to permit me to see you later, I can wait.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, come and dine with me,” she said, a little confused by the - harsh way in which she had spoken, for this lady was as genuinely - kind-hearted as she was high-born. - </p> - <p> - Eugene was touched by this sudden relenting, but none the less he said to - himself as he went away, “Crawl in the dust, put up with every kind of - treatment. What must the rest of the world be like when one of the kindest - of women forgets all her promises of befriending me in a moment, and - tosses me aside like an old shoe? So it is every one for himself? It is - true that her house is not a shop, and I have put myself in the wrong by - needing her help. You should cut your way through the world like a cannon - ball, as Vautrin said.” - </p> - <p> - But the student’s bitter thoughts were soon dissipated by the pleasure - which he promised himself in this dinner with the Vicomtesse. Fate seemed - to determine that the smallest accidents in his life should combine to - urge him into a career, which the terrible sphinx of the Maison Vauquer - had described as a field of battle where you must either slay or be slain, - and cheat to avoid being cheated. You leave your conscience and your heart - at the barriers, and wear a mask on entering into this game of grim - earnest, where, as in ancient Sparta, you must snatch your prize without - being detected if you would deserve the crown. - </p> - <p> - On his return he found the Vicomtesse gracious and kindly, as she had - always been to him. They went together to the dining-room, where the - Vicomte was waiting for his wife. In the time of the Restoration the - luxury of the table was carried, as is well known, to the highest degree, - and M. de Beauseant, like many jaded men of the world, had few pleasures - left but those of good cheer; in this matter, in fact, he was a gourmand - of the schools of Louis XVIII. and of the Duc d’Escars, and luxury was - supplemented by splendor. Eugene, dining for the first time in a house - where the traditions of grandeur had descended through many generations, - had never seen any spectacle like this that now met his eyes. In the time - of the Empire, balls had always ended with a supper, because the officers - who took part in them must be fortified for immediate service, and even in - Paris might be called upon to leave the ballroom for the battlefield. This - arrangement had gone out of fashion under the Monarchy, and Eugene had so - far only been asked to dances. The self-possession which pre-eminently - distinguished him in later life already stood him in good stead, and he - did not betray his amazement. Yet as he saw for the first time the finely - wrought silver plate, the completeness of every detail, the sumptuous - dinner, noiselessly served, it was difficult for such an ardent - imagination not to prefer this life of studied and refined luxury to the - hardships of the life which he had chosen only that morning. - </p> - <p> - His thoughts went back for a moment to the lodging-house, and with a - feeling of profound loathing, he vowed to himself that at New Year he - would go; prompted at least as much by a desire to live among cleaner - surroundings as by a wish to shake off Vautrin, whose huge hand he seemed - to feel on his shoulder at that moment. When you consider the numberless - forms, clamorous or mute, that corruption takes in Paris, common-sense - begins to wonder what mental aberration prompted the State to establish - great colleges and schools there, and assemble young men in the capital; - how it is that pretty women are respected, or that the gold coin displayed - in the money-changer’s wooden saucers does not take to itself wings in the - twinkling of an eye; and when you come to think further, how comparatively - few cases of crime there are, and to count up the misdemeanors committed - by youth, is there not a certain amount of respect due to these patient - Tantaluses who wrestle with themselves and nearly always come off - victorious? The struggles of the poor student in Paris, if skilfully - drawn, would furnish a most dramatic picture of modern civilization. - </p> - <p> - In vain Mme. de Beauseant looked at Eugene as if asking him to speak; the - student was tongue-tied in the Vicomte’s presence. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going to take me to the Italiens this evening?” the Vicomtesse - asked her husband. - </p> - <p> - “You cannot doubt that I should obey you with pleasure,” he answered, and - there was a sarcastic tinge in his politeness which Eugene did not detect, - “but I ought to go to meet some one at the Varietes.” - </p> - <p> - “His mistress,” said she to herself. - </p> - <p> - “Then, is not Ajuda coming for you this evening?” inquired the Vicomte. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she answered, petulantly. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, then, if you really must have an arm, take that of M. de - Rastignac.” - </p> - <p> - The Vicomtess turned to Eugene with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “That would be a very compromising step for you,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “‘A Frenchman loves danger, because in danger there is glory,’ to quote M. - de Chateaubriand,” said Rastignac, with a bow. - </p> - <p> - A few moments later he was sitting beside Mme. de Beauseant in a brougham, - that whirled them through the streets of Paris to a fashionable theatre. - It seemed to him that some fairy magic had suddenly transported him into a - box facing the stage. All the lorgnettes of the house were pointed at him - as he entered, and at the Vicomtesse in her charming toilette. He went - from enchantment to enchantment. - </p> - <p> - “You must talk to me, you know,” said Mme. de Beauseant. “Ah! look! There - is Mme. de Nucingen in the third box from ours. Her sister and M. de - Trailles are on the other side.” - </p> - <p> - The Vicomtesse glanced as she spoke at the box where Mlle. de Rochefide - should have been; M. d’Ajuda was not there, and Mme. de Beauseant’s face - lighted up in a marvelous way. - </p> - <p> - “She is charming,” said Eugene, after looking at Mme. de Nucingen. - </p> - <p> - “She has white eyelashes.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but she has such a pretty slender figure!” - </p> - <p> - “Her hands are large.” - </p> - <p> - “Such beautiful eyes!” - </p> - <p> - “Her face is long.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but length gives distinction.” - </p> - <p> - “It is lucky for her that she has some distinction in her face. Just see - how she fidgets with her opera-glass! The Goriot blood shows itself in - every movement,” said the Vicomtesse, much to Eugene’s astonishment. - </p> - <p> - Indeed, Mme. de Beauseant seemed to be engaged in making a survey of the - house, and to be unconscious of Mme. Nucingen’s existence; but no movement - made by the latter was lost upon the Vicomtesse. The house was full of the - loveliest women in Paris, so that Delphine de Nucingen was not a little - flattered to receive the undivided attention of Mme. de Beauseant’s young, - handsome, and well-dressed cousin, who seemed to have no eyes for any one - else. - </p> - <p> - “If you look at her so persistently, you will make people talk, M. de - Rastignac. You will never succeed if you fling yourself at any one’s head - like that.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear cousin,” said Eugene, “you have protected me indeed so far, and - now if you would complete your work, I only ask of you a favor which will - cost you but little, and be of very great service to me. I have lost my - heart.” - </p> - <p> - “Already!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “And to that woman!” - </p> - <p> - “How could I aspire to find any one else to listen to me?” he asked, with - a keen glance at his cousin. “Her Grace the Duchesse de Carigliano is a - friend of the Duchesse de Berri,” he went on, after a pause; “you are sure - to see her, will you be so kind as to present me to her, and to take me to - her ball on Monday? I shall meet Mme. de Nucingen there, and enter into my - first skirmish.” - </p> - <p> - “Willingly,” she said. “If you have a liking for her already, your affairs - of the heart are like to prosper. That is de Marsay over there in the - Princesse Galathionne’s box. Mme. de Nucingen is racked with jealousy. - There is no better time for approaching a woman, especially if she happens - to be a banker’s wife. All those ladies of the Chaussee-d’Antin love - revenge.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, what would you do yourself in such a case?” - </p> - <p> - “I should suffer in silence.” - </p> - <p> - At this point the Marquis d’Ajuda appeared in Mme. de Beauseant’s box. - </p> - <p> - “I have made a muddle of my affairs to come to you,” he said, “and I am - telling you about it, so that it may not be a sacrifice.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene saw the glow of joy on the Vicomtesse’s face, and knew that this - was love, and learned the difference between love and the affectations of - Parisian coquetry. He admired his cousin, grew mute, and yielded his place - to M. d’Ajuda with a sigh. - </p> - <p> - “How noble, how sublime a woman is when she loves like that!” he said to - himself. “And <i>he</i> could forsake her for a doll! Oh! how could any - one forsake her?” - </p> - <p> - There was a boy’s passionate indignation in his heart. He could have flung - himself at Mme. de Beauseant’s feet; he longed for the power of the devil - if he could snatch her away and hide her in his heart, as an eagle - snatches up some white yearling from the plains and bears it to its eyrie. - It was humiliating to him to think that in all this gallery of fair - pictures he had not one picture of his own. “To have a mistress and an - almost royal position is a sign of power,” he said to himself. And he - looked at Mme. de Nucingen as a man measures another who has insulted him. - </p> - <p> - The Vicomtesse turned to him, and the expression of her eyes thanked him a - thousand times for his discretion. The first act came to an end just then. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know Mme. de Nucingen well enough to present M. de Rastignac to - her?” she asked of the Marquis d’Ajuda. - </p> - <p> - “She will be delighted,” said the Marquis. The handsome Portuguese rose as - he spoke and took the student’s arm, and in another moment Eugene found - himself in Mme. de Nucingen’s box. - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” said the Marquis, “I have the honor of presenting to you the - Chevalier Eugene de Rastignac; he is a cousin of Mme. de Beauseant’s. You - have made so deep an impression upon him, that I thought I would fill up - the measure of his happiness by bringing him nearer to his divinity.” - </p> - <p> - Words spoken half jestingly to cover their somewhat disrespectful import; - but such an implication, if carefully disguised, never gives offence to a - woman. Mme. de Nucingen smiled, and offered Eugene the place which her - husband had just left. - </p> - <p> - “I do not venture to suggest that you should stay with me, monsieur,” she - said. “Those who are so fortunate as to be in Mme. de Beauseant’s company - do not desire to leave it.” - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” Eugene said, lowering his voice, “I think that to please my - cousin I should remain with you. Before my lord Marquis came we were - speaking of you and of your exceedingly distinguished appearance,” he - added aloud. - </p> - <p> - M. d’Ajuda turned and left them. - </p> - <p> - “Are you really going to stay with me, monsieur?” asked the Baroness. - “Then we shall make each other’s acquaintance. Mme. de Restaud told me - about you, and has made me anxious to meet you.” - </p> - <p> - “She must be very insincere, then, for she has shut her door on me.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” - </p> - <p> - “Madame, I will tell you honestly the reason why; but I must crave your - indulgence before confiding such a secret to you. I am your father’s - neighbor; I had no idea that Mme. de Restaud was his daughter. I was rash - enough to mention his name; I meant no harm, but I annoyed your sister and - her husband very much. You cannot think how severely the Duchesse de - Langeais and my cousin blamed this apostasy on a daughter’s part, as a - piece of bad taste. I told them all about it, and they both burst out - laughing. Then Mme. de Beauseant made some comparison between you and your - sister, speaking in high terms of you, and saying how very fond you were - of my neighbor, M. Goriot. And, indeed, how could you help loving him? He - adores you so passionately that I am jealous already. We talked about you - this morning for two hours. So this evening I was quite full of all that - your father had told me, and while I was dining with my cousin I said that - you could not be as beautiful as affectionate. Mme. de Beauseant meant to - gratify such warm admiration, I think, when she brought me here, telling - me, in her gracious way, that I should see you.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, even now, I owe you a debt of gratitude, monsieur,” said the - banker’s wife. “We shall be quite old friends in a little while.” - </p> - <p> - “Although a friendship with you could not be like an ordinary friendship,” - said Rastignac; “I should never wish to be your friend.” - </p> - <p> - Such stereotyped phrases as these, in the mouths of beginners, possess an - unfailing charm for women, and are insipid only when read coldly; for a - young man’s tone, glance and attitude give a surpassing eloquence to the - banal phrases. Mme. de Nucingen thought that Rastignac was adorable. Then, - woman-like, being at a loss how to reply to the student’s outspoken - admiration, she answered a previous remark. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it is very wrong of my sister to treat our poor father as she does,” - she said; “he has been a Providence to us. It was not until M. de Nucingen - positively ordered me only to receive him in the mornings that I yielded - the point. But I have been unhappy about it for a long while; I have shed - many tears over it. This violence to my feelings, with my husband’s brutal - treatment, have been two causes of my unhappy married life. There is - certainly no woman in Paris whose lot seems more enviable than mine, and - yet, in reality, there is not one so much to be pitied. You will think I - must be out of my senses to talk to you like this; but you know my father, - and I cannot regard you as a stranger.” - </p> - <p> - “You will find no one,” said Eugene, “who longs as eagerly as I do to be - yours. What do all women seek? Happiness.” (He answered his own question - in low, vibrating tones.) “And if happiness for a woman means that she is - to be loved and adored, to have a friend to whom she can pour out her - wishes, her fancies, her sorrows and joys; to whom she can lay bare her - heart and soul, and all her fair defects and her gracious virtues, without - fear of a betrayal; believe me, the devotion and the warmth that never - fails can only be found in the heart of a young man who, at a bare sign - from you, would go to his death, who neither knows nor cares to know - anything as yet of the world, because you will be all the world to him. I - myself, you see (you will laugh at my simplicity), have just come from a - remote country district; I am quite new to this world of Paris; I have - only known true and loving hearts; and I made up my mind that here I - should find no love. Then I chanced to meet my cousin, and to see my - cousin’s heart from very near; I have divined the inexhaustible treasures - of passion, and, like Cherubino, I am the lover of all women, until the - day comes when I find <i>the</i> woman to whom I may devote myself. As - soon as I saw you, as soon as I came into the theatre this evening, I felt - myself borne towards you as if by the current of a stream. I had so often - thought of you already, but I had never dreamed that you would be so - beautiful! Mme. de Beauseant told me that I must not look so much at you. - She does not know the charm of your red lips, your fair face, nor see how - soft your eyes are.... I also am beginning to talk nonsense; but let me - talk.” - </p> - <p> - Nothing pleases a woman better than to listen to such whispered words as - these; the most puritanical among them listens even when she ought not to - reply to them; and Rastignac, having once begun, continued to pour out his - story, dropping his voice, that she might lean and listen; and Mme. de - Nucingen, smiling, glanced from time to time at de Marsay, who still sat - in the Princesse Galathionne’s box. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac did not leave Mme. de Nucingen till her husband came to take her - home. - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” Eugene said, “I shall have the pleasure of calling upon you - before the Duchesse de Carigliano’s ball.” - </p> - <p> - “If Matame infites you to come,” said the Baron, a thickset Alsatian, with - indications of a sinister cunning in his full-moon countenance, “you are - quide sure of being well receifed.” - </p> - <p> - “My affairs seem to be in a promising way,” said Eugene to himself.— - “‘Can you love me?’ I asked her, and she did not resent it. “The bit is in - the horse’s mouth, and I have only to mount and ride;” and with that he - went to pay his respects to Mme. de Beauseant, who was leaving the theatre - on d’Ajuda’s arm. - </p> - <p> - The student did not know that the Baroness’ thoughts had been wandering; - that she was even then expecting a letter from de Marsay, one of those - letters that bring about a rupture that rends the soul; so, happy in his - delusion, Eugene went with the Vicomtesse to the peristyle, where people - were waiting till their carriages were announced. - </p> - <p> - “That cousin of yours is hardly recognizable for the same man,” said the - Portuguese laughingly to the Vicomtesse, when Eugene had taken leave of - them. “He will break the bank. He is as supple as an eel; he will go a - long way, of that I am sure. Who else could have picked out a woman for - him, as you did, just when she needed consolation?” - </p> - <p> - “But it is not certain that she does not still love the faithless lover,” - said Mme. de Beauseant. - </p> - <p> - The student meanwhile walked back from the Theatre-Italien to the Rue - Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, making the most delightful plans as he went. He - had noticed how closely Mme. de Restaud had scrutinized him when he sat - beside Mme. de Nucingen, and inferred that the Countess’ doors would not - be closed in the future. Four important houses were now open to him—for - he meant to stand well with the Marechale; he had four supporters in the - inmost circle of society in Paris. Even now it was clear to him that, once - involved in this intricate social machinery, he must attach himself to a - spoke of the wheel that was to turn and raise his fortunes; he would not - examine himself too curiously as to the methods, but he was certain of the - end, and conscious of the power to gain and keep his hold. - </p> - <p> - “If Mme. de Nucingen takes an interest in me, I will teach her how to - manage her husband. That husband of hers is a great speculator; he might - put me in the way of making a fortune by a single stroke.” - </p> - <p> - He did not say this bluntly in so many words; as yet, indeed, he was not - sufficient of a diplomatist to sum up a situation, to see its - possibilities at a glance, and calculate the chances in his favor. These - were nothing but hazy ideas that floated over his mental horizon; they - were less cynical than Vautrin’s notions; but if they had been tried in - the crucible of conscience, no very pure result would have issued from the - test. It is by a succession of such like transactions that men sink at - last to the level of the relaxed morality of this epoch, when there have - never been so few of those who square their courses with their theories, - so few of those noble characters who do not yield to temptation, for whom - the slightest deviation from the line of rectitude is a crime. To these - magnificent types of uncompromising Right we owe two masterpieces—the - Alceste of Moliere, and, in our own day, the characters of Jeanie Deans - and her father in Sir Walter Scott’s novel. Perhaps a work which should - chronicle the opposite course, which should trace out all the devious - courses through which a man of the world, a man of ambitions, drags his - conscience, just steering clear of crime that he may gain his end and yet - save appearances, such a chronicle would be no less edifying and no less - dramatic. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac went home. He was fascinated by Mme. de Nucingen; he seemed to - see her before him, slender and graceful as a swallow. He recalled the - intoxicating sweetness of her eyes, her fair hair, the delicate silken - tissue of the skin, beneath which it almost seemed to him that he could - see the blood coursing; the tones of her voice still exerted a spell over - him; he had forgotten nothing; his walk perhaps heated his imagination by - sending a glow of warmth through his veins. He knocked unceremoniously at - Goriot’s door. - </p> - <p> - “I have seen Mme. Delphine, neighbor,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Where?” - </p> - <p> - “At the Italiens.” - </p> - <p> - “Did she enjoy it?.... Just come inside,” and the old man left his bed, - unlocked the door, and promptly returned again. - </p> - <p> - It was the first time that Eugene had been in Father Goriot’s room, and he - could not control his feeling of amazement at the contrast between the den - in which the father lived and the costume of the daughter whom he had just - beheld. The window was curtainless, the walls were damp, in places the - varnished wall-paper had come away and gave glimpses of the grimy yellow - plaster beneath. The wretched bed on which the old man lay boasted but one - thin blanket, and a wadded quilt made out of large pieces of Mme. - Vauquer’s old dresses. The floor was damp and gritty. Opposite the window - stood a chest of drawers made of rosewood, one of the old-fashioned kind - with a curving front and brass handles, shaped like rings of twisted vine - stems covered with flowers and leaves. On a venerable piece of furniture - with a wooden shelf stood a ewer and basin and shaving apparatus. A pair - of shoes stood in one corner; a night-table by the bed had neither a door - nor marble slab. There was not a trace of a fire in the empty grate; the - square walnut table with the crossbar against which Father Goriot had - crushed and twisted his posset-dish stood near the hearth. The old man’s - hat was lying on a broken-down bureau. An armchair stuffed with straw and - a couple of chairs completed the list of ramshackle furniture. From the - tester of the bed, tied to the ceiling by a piece of rag, hung a strip of - some cheap material in large red and black checks. No poor drudge in a - garret could be worse lodged than Father Goriot in Mme. Vauquer’s - lodging-house. The mere sight of the room sent a chill through you and a - sense of oppression; it was like the worst cell in a prison. Luckily, - Goriot could not see the effect that his surroundings produced on Eugene - as the latter deposited his candle on the night-table. The old man turned - round, keeping the bedclothes huddled up to his chin. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he said, “and which do you like the best, Mme. de Restaud or Mme. - de Nucingen?” - </p> - <p> - “I like Mme. Delphine the best,” said the law student, “because she loves - you the best.” - </p> - <p> - At the words so heartily spoken the old man’s hand slipped out from under - the bedclothes and grasped Eugene’s. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, thank you,” he said, gratefully. “Then what did she say about - me?” - </p> - <p> - The student repeated the Baroness’ remarks with some embellishments of his - own, the old man listening the while as though he heard a voice from - Heaven. - </p> - <p> - “Dear child!” he said. “Yes, yes, she is very fond of me. But you must not - believe all that she tells you about Anastasie. The two sisters are - jealous of each other, you see, another proof of their affection. Mme. de - Restaud is very fond of me too. I know she is. A father sees his children - as God sees all of us; he looks into the very depths of their hearts; he - knows their intentions; and both of them are so loving. Oh! if I only had - good sons-in-law, I should be too happy, and I dare say there is no - perfect happiness here below. If I might live with them—simply hear - their voices, know that they are there, see them go and come as I used to - do at home when they were still with me; why, my heart bounds at the - thought.... Were they nicely dressed?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Eugene. “But, M. Goriot, how is it that your daughters have - such fine houses, while you live in such a den as this?” - </p> - <p> - “Dear me, why should I want anything better?” he replied, with seeming - carelessness. “I can’t quite explain to you how it is; I am not used to - stringing words together properly, but it all lies there——” he - said, tapping his heart. “My real life is in my two girls, you see; and so - long as they are happy, and smartly dressed, and have soft carpets under - their feet, what does it matter what clothes I wear or where I lie down of - a night? I shall never feel cold so long as they are warm; I shall never - feel dull if they are laughing. I have no troubles but theirs. When you, - too, are a father, and you hear your children’s little voices, you will - say to yourself, ‘That has all come from me.’ You will feel that those - little ones are akin to every drop in your veins, that they are the very - flower of your life (and what else are they?); you will cleave so closely - to them that you seem to feel every movement that they make. Everywhere I - hear their voices sounding in my ears. If they are sad, the look in their - eyes freezes my blood. Some day you will find out that there is far more - happiness in another’s happiness than in your own. It is something that I - cannot explain, something within that sends a glow of warmth all through - you. In short, I live my life three times over. Shall I tell you something - funny? Well, then, since I have been a father, I have come to understand - God. He is everywhere in the world, because the whole world comes from - Him. And it is just the same with my children, monsieur. Only, I love my - daughters better than God loves the world, for the world is not so - beautiful as God Himself is, but my children are more beautiful than I am. - Their lives are so bound up with mine that I felt somehow that you would - see them this evening. Great Heaven! If any man would make my little - Delphine as happy as a wife is when she is loved, I would black his boots - and run on his errands. That miserable M. de Marsay is a cur; I know all - about him from her maid. A longing to wring his neck comes over me now and - then. He does not love her! does not love a pearl of a woman, with a voice - like a nightingale and shaped like a model. Where can her eyes have been - when she married that great lump of an Alsatian? They ought both of them - to have married young men, good-looking and good-tempered—but, after - all, they had their own way.” - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot was sublime. Eugene had never yet seen his face light up as - it did now with the passionate fervor of a father’s love. It is worthy of - remark that strong feeling has a very subtle and pervasive power; the - roughest nature, in the endeavor to express a deep and sincere affection, - communicates to others the influence that has put resonance into the - voice, and eloquence into every gesture, wrought a change in the very - features of the speaker; for under the inspiration of passion the - stupidest human being attains to the highest eloquence of ideas, if not of - language, and seems to move in some sphere of light. In the old man’s - tones and gesture there was something just then of the same spell that a - great actor exerts over his audience. But does not the poet in us find - expression in our affections? - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Eugene, “perhaps you will not be sorry to hear that she is - pretty sure to break with de Marsay before long. That sprig of fashion has - left her for the Princesse Galathionne. For my part, I fell in love with - Mme. Delphine this evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Stuff!” said Father Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “I did indeed, and she did not regard me with aversion. For a whole hour - we talked of love, and I am to go to call on her on Saturday, the day - after to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! how I should love you, if she should like you. You are kind-hearted; - you would never make her miserable. If you were to forsake her, I would - cut your throat at once. A woman does not love twice, you see! Good - heavens! what nonsense I am talking, M. Eugene! It is cold; you ought not - to stay here. <i>Mon Dieu!</i> so you have heard her speak? What message - did she give you for me?” - </p> - <p> - “None at all,” said Eugene to himself; aloud he answered, “She told me to - tell you that your daughter sends you a good kiss.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-night, neighbor! Sleep well, and pleasant dreams to you! I have mine - already made for me by that message from her. May God grant you all your - desires! You have come in like a good angel on me to-night, and brought - with you the air that my daughter breathes.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor old fellow!” said Eugene as he lay down. “It is enough to melt a - heart of stone. His daughter no more thought of him than of the Grand - Turk.” - </p> - <p> - Ever after this conference Goriot looked upon his neighbor as a friend, a - confidant such as he had never hoped to find; and there was established - between the two the only relationship that could attach this old man to - another man. The passions never miscalculate. Father Goriot felt that this - friendship brought him closer to his daughter Delphine; he thought that he - should find a warmer welcome for himself if the Baroness should care for - Eugene. Moreover, he had confided one of his troubles to the younger man. - Mme. de Nucingen, for whose happiness he prayed a thousand times daily, - had never known the joys of love. Eugene was certainly (to make use of his - own expression) one of the nicest young men that he had ever seen, and - some prophetic instinct seemed to tell him that Eugene was to give her the - happiness which had not been hers. These were the beginnings of a - friendship that grew up between the old man and his neighbor; but for this - friendship the catastrophe of the drama must have remained a mystery. - </p> - <p> - The affection with which Father Goriot regarded Eugene, by whom he seated - himself at breakfast, the change in Goriot’s face, which as a rule, looked - as expressionless as a plaster cast, and a few words that passed between - the two, surprised the other lodgers. Vautrin, who saw Eugene for the - first time since their interview, seemed as if he would fain read the - student’s very soul. During the night Eugene had had some time in which to - scan the vast field which lay before him; and now, as he remembered - yesterday’s proposal, the thought of Mlle. Taillefer’s dowry came, of - course, to his mind, and he could not help thinking of Victorine as the - most exemplary youth may think of an heiress. It chanced that their eyes - met. The poor girl did not fail to see that Eugene looked very handsome in - his new clothes. So much was said in the glance, thus exchanged, that - Eugene could not doubt but that he was associated in her mind with the - vague hopes that lie dormant in a girl’s heart and gather round the first - attractive newcomer. “Eight hundred thousand francs!” a voice cried in his - ears, but suddenly he took refuge in the memories of yesterday evening, - thinking that his extemporized passion for Mme. de Nucingen was a talisman - that would preserve him from this temptation. - </p> - <p> - “They gave Rossini’s <i>Barber of Seville</i> at the Italiens yesterday - evening,” he remarked. “I never heard such delicious music. Good gracious! - how lucky people are to have a box at the Italiens!” - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot drank in every word that Eugene let fall, and watched him as - a dog watches his master’s slightest movement. - </p> - <p> - “You men are like fighting cocks,” said Mme. Vauquer; “you do what you - like.” - </p> - <p> - “How did you get back?” inquired Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “I walked,” answered Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “For my own part,” remarked the tempter, “I do not care about doing things - by halves. If I want to enjoy myself that way, I should prefer to go in my - carriage, sit in my own box, and do the thing comfortably. Everything or - nothing; that is my motto.” - </p> - <p> - “And a good one, too,” commented Mme. Vauquer. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you will see Mme. de Nucingen to-day,” said Eugene, addressing - Goriot in an undertone. “She will welcome you with open arms, I am sure; - she would want to ask you for all sorts of little details about me. I have - found out that she will do anything in the world to be known by my cousin - Mme. de Beauseant; don’t forget to tell her that I love her too well not - to think of trying to arrange this.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac went at once to the Ecole de Droit. He had no mind to stay a - moment longer than was necessary in that odious house. He wasted his time - that day; he had fallen a victim to that fever of the brain that - accompanies the too vivid hopes of youth. Vautrin’s arguments had set him - meditating on social life, and he was deep in these reflections when he - happened on his friend Bianchon in the Jardin du Luxembourg. - </p> - <p> - “What makes you look so solemn?” said the medical student, putting an arm - through Eugene’s as they went towards the Palais. - </p> - <p> - “I am tormented by temptations.” - </p> - <p> - “What kind? There is a cure for temptation.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” - </p> - <p> - “Yielding to it.” - </p> - <p> - “You laugh, but you don’t know what it is all about. Have you read - Rousseau?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you remember that he asks the reader somewhere what he would do if he - could make a fortune by killing an old mandarin somewhere in China by mere - force of wishing it, and without stirring from Paris?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then?” - </p> - <p> - “Pshaw! I am at my thirty-third mandarin.” - </p> - <p> - “Seriously, though. Look here, suppose you were sure that you could do it, - and had only to give a nod. Would you do it?” - </p> - <p> - “Is he well stricken in years, this mandarin of yours? Pshaw! after all, - young or old, paralytic, or well and sound, my word for it. ... Well, - then. Hang it, no!” - </p> - <p> - “You are a good fellow, Bianchon. But suppose you loved a woman well - enough to lose your soul in hell for her, and that she wanted money for - dresses and a carriage, and all her whims, in fact?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, here you are taking away my reason, and want me to reason!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, Bianchon, I am mad; bring me to my senses. I have two sisters - as beautiful and innocent as angels, and I want them to be happy. How am I - to find two hundred thousand francs apiece for them in the next five - years? Now and then in life, you see, you must play for heavy stakes, and - it is no use wasting your luck on low play.” - </p> - <p> - “But you are only stating the problem that lies before every one at the - outset of his life, and you want to cut the Gordian knot with a sword. If - that is the way of it, dear boy, you must be an Alexander, or to the hulks - you go. For my own part, I am quite contented with the little lot I mean - to make for myself somewhere in the country, when I mean to step into my - father’s shoes and plod along. A man’s affections are just as fully - satisfied by the smallest circle as they can be by a vast circumference. - Napoleon himself could only dine once, and he could not have more - mistresses than a house student at the Capuchins. Happiness, old man, - depends on what lies between the sole of your foot and the crown of your - head; and whether it costs a million or a hundred louis, the actual amount - of pleasure that you receive rests entirely with you, and is just exactly - the same in any case. I am for letting that Chinaman live.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, Bianchon; you have done me good. We will always be friends.” - </p> - <p> - “I say,” remarked the medical student, as they came to the end of a broad - walk in the Jardin des Plantes, “I saw the Michonneau and Poiret a few - minutes ago on a bench chatting with a gentleman whom I used to see in - last year’s troubles hanging about the Chamber of Deputies; he seems to - me, in fact, to be a detective dressed up like a decent retired tradesman. - Let us keep an eye on that couple; I will tell you why some time. - Good-bye; it is nearly four o’clock, and I must be in to answer to my - name.” - </p> - <p> - When Eugene reached the lodging-house, he found Father Goriot waiting for - him. - </p> - <p> - “Here,” cried the old man, “here is a letter from her. Pretty handwriting, - eh?” - </p> - <p> - Eugene broke the seal and read:— - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Sir,—I have heard from my father that you are fond of Italian - music. I shall be delighted if you will do me the pleasure of - accepting a seat in my box. La Fodor and Pellegrini will sing on - Saturday, so I am sure that you will not refuse me. M. de Nucingen - and I shall be pleased if you will dine with us; we shall be quite - by ourselves. If you will come and be my escort, my husband will - be glad to be relieved from his conjugal duties. Do not answer, - but simply come.—Yours sincerely, D. DE N.” - </pre> - <p> - “Let me see it,” said Father Goriot, when Eugene had read the letter. “You - are going, aren’t you?” he added, when he had smelled the writing-paper. - “How nice it smells! Her fingers have touched it, that is certain.” - </p> - <p> - “A woman does not fling herself at a man’s head in this way,” the student - was thinking. “She wants to use me to bring back de Marsay; nothing but - pique makes a woman do a thing like this.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Father Goriot, “what are you thinking about?” - </p> - <p> - Eugene did not know the fever or vanity that possessed some women in those - days; how should he imagine that to open a door in the Faubourg - Saint-Germain a banker’s wife would go to almost any length. For the - coterie of the Faubourg Saint-Germain was a charmed circle, and the women - who moved in it were at that time the queens of society; and among the - greatest of these <i>Dames du Petit-Chateau</i>, as they were called, were - Mme. de Beauseant and her friends the Duchesse de Langeais and the - Duchesse de Maufrigneause. Rastignac was alone in his ignorance of the - frantic efforts made by women who lived in the Chausee-d’Antin to enter - this seventh heaven and shine among the brightest constellations of their - sex. But his cautious disposition stood him in good stead, and kept his - judgment cool, and the not altogether enviable power of imposing instead - of accepting conditions. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am going,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - So it was curiosity that drew him to Mme. de Nucingen; while, if she had - treated him disdainfully, passion perhaps might have brought him to her - feet. Still he waited almost impatiently for to-morrow, and the hour when - he could go to her. There is almost as much charm for a young man in a - first flirtation as there is in first love. The certainty of success is a - source of happiness to which men do not confess, and all the charm of - certain women lies in this. The desire of conquest springs no less from - the easiness than from the difficulty of triumph, and every passion is - excited or sustained by one or the other of these two motives which divide - the empire of love. Perhaps this division is one result of the great - question of temperaments; which, after all, dominates social life. The - melancholic temperament may stand in need of the tonic of coquetry, while - those of nervous or sanguine complexion withdraw if they meet with a too - stubborn resistance. In other words, the lymphatic temperament is - essentially despondent, and the rhapsodic is bilious. - </p> - <p> - Eugene lingered over his toilette with an enjoyment of all its little - details that is grateful to a young man’s self-love, though he will not - own to it for fear of being laughed at. He thought, as he arranged his - hair, that a pretty woman’s glances would wander through the dark curls. - He indulged in childish tricks like any young girl dressing for a dance, - and gazed complacently at his graceful figure while he smoothed out the - creases of his coat. - </p> - <p> - “There are worse figures, that is certain,” he said to himself. - </p> - <p> - Then he went downstairs, just as the rest of the household were sitting - down to dinner, and took with good humor the boisterous applause excited - by his elegant appearance. The amazement with which any attention to dress - is regarded in a lodging-house is a very characteristic trait. No one can - put on a new coat but every one else must say his say about it. - </p> - <p> - “Clk! clk! clk!” cried Bianchon, making the sound with his tongue against - the roof of his mouth, like a driver urging on a horse. - </p> - <p> - “He holds himself like a duke and a peer of France,” said Mme. Vauquer. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going a-courting?” inquired Mlle. Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” cried the artist. - </p> - <p> - “My compliments to my lady your wife,” from the <i>employe</i> at the - Museum. - </p> - <p> - “Your wife; have you a wife?” asked Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, in compartments, water-tight and floats, guaranteed fast color, all - prices from twenty-five to forty sous, neat check patterns in the latest - fashion and best taste, will wash, half-linen, half-cotton, half-wool; a - certain cure for toothache and other complaints under the patronage of the - Royal College of Physicians! children like it! a remedy for headache, - indigestion, and all other diseases affecting the throat, eyes, and ears!” - cried Vautrin, with a comical imitation of the volubility of a quack at a - fair. “And how much shall we say for this marvel, gentlemen? Twopence? No. - Nothing of the sort. All that is left in stock after supplying the Great - Mogul. All the crowned heads of Europe, including the Gr-r-rand Duke of - Baden, have been anxious to get a sight of it. Walk up! walk up! - gentlemen! Pay at the desk as you go in! Strike up the music there! - Brooum, la, la, trinn! la, la, boum! boum! Mister Clarinette, there you - are out of tune!” he added gruffly; “I will rap your knuckles for you!” - </p> - <p> - “Goodness! what an amusing man!” said Mme. Vauquer to Mme. Couture; “I - should never feel dull with him in the house.” - </p> - <p> - This burlesque of Vautrin’s was the signal for an outburst of merriment, - and under cover of jokes and laughter Eugene caught a glance from Mlle. - Taillefer; she had leaned over to say a few words in Mme. Couture’s ear. - </p> - <p> - “The cab is at the door,” announced Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “But where is he going to dine?” asked Bianchon. - </p> - <p> - “With Madame la Baronne de Nucingen.” - </p> - <p> - “M. Goriot’s daughter,” said the law student. - </p> - <p> - At this, all eyes turned to the old vermicelli maker; he was gazing at - Eugene with something like envy in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac reached the house in the Rue Saint-Lazare, one of those - many-windowed houses with a mean-looking portico and slender columns, - which are considered the thing in Paris, a typical banker’s house, - decorated in the most ostentatious fashion; the walls lined with stucco, - the landings of marble mosaic. Mme. de Nucingen was sitting in a little - drawing-room; the room was painted in the Italian fashion, and decorated - like a restaurant. The Baroness seemed depressed. The effort that she made - to hide her feelings aroused Eugene’s interest; it was plain that she was - not playing a part. He had expected a little flutter of excitement at his - coming, and he found her dispirited and sad. The disappointment piqued his - vanity. - </p> - <p> - “My claim to your confidence is very small, madame,” he said, after - rallying her on her abstracted mood; “but if I am in the way, please tell - me so frankly; I count on your good faith.” - </p> - <p> - “No, stay with me,” she said; “I shall be all alone if you go. Nucingen is - dining in town, and I do not want to be alone; I want to be taken out of - myself.” - </p> - <p> - “But what is the matter?” - </p> - <p> - “You are the very last person whom I should tell,” she exclaimed. - </p> - <p> - “Then I am connected in some way in this secret. I wonder what it is?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps. Yet, no,” she went on; “it is a domestic quarrel, which ought to - be buried in the depths of the heart. I am very unhappy; did I not tell - you so the day before yesterday? Golden chains are the heaviest of all - fetters.” - </p> - <p> - When a woman tells a young man that she is very unhappy, and when the - young man is clever, and well dressed, and has fifteen hundred francs - lying idle in his pocket, he is sure to think as Eugene said, and he - becomes a coxcomb. - </p> - <p> - “What can you have left to wish for?” he answered. “You are young, - beautiful, beloved, and rich.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not let us talk of my affairs,” she said shaking her head mournfully. - “We will dine together <i>tete-a-tete</i>, and afterwards we will go to - hear the most exquisite music. Am I to your taste?” she went on, rising - and displaying her gown of white cashmere, covered with Persian designs in - the most superb taste. - </p> - <p> - “I wish that you were altogether mine,” said Eugene; “you are charming.” - </p> - <p> - “You would have a forlorn piece of property,” she said, smiling bitterly. - “There is nothing about me that betrays my wretchedness; and yet, in spite - of appearances, I am in despair. I cannot sleep; my troubles have broken - my night’s rest; I shall grow ugly.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! that is impossible,” cried the law student; “but I am curious to know - what these troubles can be that a devoted love cannot efface.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! if I were to tell you about them, you would shun me,” she said. “Your - love for me is as yet only the conventional gallantry that men use to - masquerade in; and, if you really loved me, you would be driven to - despair. I must keep silence, you see. Let us talk of something else, for - pity’s sake,” she added. “Let me show you my rooms.” - </p> - <p> - “No; let us stay here,” answered Eugene; he sat down on the sofa before - the fire, and boldly took Mme. de Nucingen’s hand in his. She surrendered - it to him; he even felt the pressure of her fingers in one of the - spasmodic clutches that betray terrible agitation. - </p> - <p> - “Listen,” said Rastignac; “if you are in trouble, you ought to tell me - about it. I want to prove to you that I love you for yourself alone. You - must speak to me frankly about your troubles, so that I can put an end to - them, even if I have to kill half-a-dozen men; or I shall go, never to - return.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” she cried, putting her hand to her forehead in an agony of - despair, “I will put you to the proof, and this very moment. Yes,” she - said to herself, “I have no other resource left.” - </p> - <p> - She rang the bell. - </p> - <p> - “Are the horses put in for the master?” she asked of the servant. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, madame.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall take his carriage myself. He can have mine and my horses. Serve - dinner at seven o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, come with me,” she said to Eugene, who thought as he sat in the - banker’s carriage beside Mme. de Nucingen that he must surely be dreaming. - </p> - <p> - “To the Palais-Royal,” she said to the coachman; “stop near the - Theatre-Francais.” - </p> - <p> - She seemed to be too troubled and excited to answer the innumerable - questions that Eugene put to her. He was at a loss what to think of her - mute resistance, her obstinate silence. - </p> - <p> - “Another moment and she will escape me,” he said to himself. - </p> - <p> - When the carriage stopped at last, the Baroness gave the law student a - glance that silenced his wild words, for he was almost beside himself. - </p> - <p> - “Is it true that you love me?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he answered, and in his manner and tone there was no trace of the - uneasiness that he felt. - </p> - <p> - “You will not think ill of me, will you, whatever I may ask of you?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you ready to do my bidding?” - </p> - <p> - “Blindly.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever been to a gaming-house?” she asked in a tremulous voice. - </p> - <p> - “Never.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! now I can breathe. You will have luck. Here is my purse,” she said. - “Take it! there are a hundred francs in it, all that such a fortunate - woman as I can call her own. Go up into one of the gaming-houses—I - do not know where they are, but there are some near the Palais-Royal. Try - your luck with the hundred francs at a game they call roulette; lose it - all or bring me back six thousand francs. I will tell you about my - troubles when you come back.” - </p> - <p> - “Devil take me, I’m sure, if I have a glimmer of a notion of what I am - about, but I will obey you,” he added, with inward exultation, as he - thought, “She has gone too far to draw back—she can refuse me - nothing now!” - </p> - <p> - Eugene took the dainty little purse, inquired the way of a second-hand - clothes-dealer, and hurried to number 9, which happened to be the nearest - gaming-house. He mounted the staircase, surrendered his hat, and asked the - way to the roulette-table, whither the attendant took him, not a little to - the astonishment of the regular comers. All eyes were fixed on Eugene as - he asked, without bashfulness, where he was to deposit his stakes. - </p> - <p> - “If you put a louis on one only of those thirty-six numbers, and it turns - up, you will win thirty-six louis,” said a respectable-looking, - white-haired old man in answer to his inquiry. - </p> - <p> - Eugene staked the whole of his money on the number 21 (his own age). There - was a cry of surprise; before he knew what he had done, he had won. - </p> - <p> - “Take your money off, sir,” said the old gentleman; “you don’t often win - twice running by that system.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene took the rake that the old man handed to him, and drew in his three - thousand six hundred francs, and, still perfectly ignorant of what he was - about, staked again on the red. The bystanders watched him enviously as - they saw him continue to play. The disc turned, and again he won; the - banker threw him three thousand six hundred francs once more. - </p> - <p> - “You have seven thousand, two hundred francs of your own,” the old - gentleman said in his ear. “Take my advice and go away with your winnings; - red has turned up eight times already. If you are charitable, you will - show your gratitude for sound counsel by giving a trifle to an old prefect - of Napoleon who is down on his luck.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac’s head was swimming; he saw ten of his louis pass into the - white-haired man’s possession, and went down-stairs with his seven - thousand francs; he was still ignorant of the game, and stupefied by his - luck. - </p> - <p> - “So, that is over; and now where will you take me?” he asked, as soon as - the door was closed, and he showed the seven thousand francs to Mme. de - Nucingen. - </p> - <p> - Delphine flung her arms about him, but there was no passion in that wild - embrace. - </p> - <p> - “You have saved me!” she cried, and tears of joy flowed fast. - </p> - <p> - “I will tell you everything, my friend. For you will be my friend, will - you not? I am rich, you think, very rich; I have everything I want, or I - seem as if I had everything. Very well, you must know that M. de Nucingen - does not allow me the control of a single penny; he pays all the bills for - the house expenses; he pays for my carriages and opera box; he does not - give me enough to pay for my dress, and he reduces me to poverty in secret - on purpose. I am too proud to beg from him. I should be the vilest of - women if I could take his money at the price at which he offers it. Do you - ask how I, with seven hundred thousand francs of my own, could let myself - be robbed? It is because I was proud, and scorned to speak. We are so - young, so artless when our married life begins! I never could bring myself - to ask my husband for money; the words would have made my lips bleed, I - did not dare to ask; I spent my savings first, and then the money that my - poor father gave me, then I ran into debt. Marriage for me is a hideous - farce; I cannot talk about it, let it suffice to say that Nucingen and I - have separate rooms, and that I would fling myself out of the window - sooner than consent to any other manner of life. I suffered agonies when I - had to confess to my girlish extravagance, my debts for jewelry and - trifles (for our poor father had never refused us anything, and spoiled - us), but at last I found courage to tell him about them. After all, I had - a fortune of my own. Nucingen flew into a rage; he said that I should be - the ruin of him, and used frightful language! I wished myself a hundred - feet down in the earth. He had my dowry, so he paid my debts, but he - stipulated at the same time that my expenses in future must not exceed a - certain fixed sum, and I gave way for the sake of peace. And then,” she - went on, “I wanted to gratify the self-love of some one whom you know. He - may have deceived me, but I should do him the justice to say that there - was nothing petty in his character. But, after all, he threw me over - disgracefully. If, at a woman’s utmost need, <i>somebody</i> heaps gold - upon her, he ought never to forsake her; that love should last for ever! - But you, at one-and-twenty, you, the soul of honor, with the unsullied - conscience of youth, will ask me how a woman can bring herself to accept - money in such a way? <i>Mon Dieu</i>! is it not natural to share - everything with the one to whom we owe our happiness? When all has been - given, why should we pause and hesitate over a part? Money is as nothing - between us until the moment when the sentiment that bound us together - ceases to exist. Were we not bound to each other for life? Who that - believes in love foresees such an end to love? You swear to love us - eternally; how, then, can our interests be separate? - </p> - <p> - “You do not know how I suffered to-day when Nucingen refused to give me - six thousand francs; he spends as much as that every month on his - mistress, an opera dancer! I thought of killing myself. The wildest - thoughts came into my head. There have been moments in my life when I have - envied my servants, and would have changed places with my maid. It was - madness to think of going to our father, Anastasie and I have bled him - dry; our poor father would have sold himself if he could have raised six - thousand francs that way. I should have driven him frantic to no purpose. - You have saved me from shame and death; I was beside myself with anguish. - Ah! monsieur, I owed you this explanation after my mad ravings. When you - left me just now, as soon as you were out of sight, I longed to escape, to - run away... where, I did not know. Half the women in Paris lead such lives - as mine; they live in apparent luxury, and in their souls are tormented by - anxiety. I know of poor creatures even more miserable than I; there are - women who are driven to ask their tradespeople to make out false bills, - women who rob their husbands. Some men believe that an Indian shawl worth - a thousand louis only cost five hundred francs, others that a shawl - costing five hundred francs is worth a hundred louis. There are women, - too, with narrow incomes, who scrape and save and starve their children to - pay for a dress. I am innocent of these base meannesses. But this is the - last extremity of my torture. Some women will sell themselves to their - husbands, and so obtain their way, but I, at any rate, am free. If I - chose, Nucingen would cover me with gold, but I would rather weep on the - breast of a man whom I can respect. Ah! tonight, M. de Marsay will no - longer have a right to think of me as a woman whom he has paid.” She tried - to conceal her tears from him, hiding her face in her hands; Eugene drew - them away and looked at her; she seemed to him sublime at that moment. - </p> - <p> - “It is hideous, is it not,” she cried, “to speak in a breath of money and - affection. You cannot love me after this,” she added. - </p> - <p> - The incongruity between the ideas of honor which make women so great, and - the errors in conduct which are forced upon them by the constitution of - society, had thrown Eugene’s thoughts into confusion; he uttered soothing - and consoling words, and wondered at the beautiful woman before him, and - at the artless imprudence of her cry of pain. - </p> - <p> - “You will not remember this against me?” she asked; “promise me that you - will not.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! madame, I am incapable of doing so,” he said. She took his hand and - held it to her heart, a movement full of grace that expressed her deep - gratitude. - </p> - <p> - “I am free and happy once more, thanks to you,” she said. “Oh! I have felt - lately as if I were in the grasp of an iron hand. But after this I mean to - live simply and to spend nothing. You will think me just as pretty, will - you not, my friend? Keep this,” she went on, as she took only six of the - banknotes. “In conscience I owe you a thousand crowns, for I really ought - to go halves with you.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene’s maiden conscience resisted; but when the Baroness said, “I am - bound to look on you as an accomplice or as an enemy,” he took the money. - </p> - <p> - “It shall be a last stake in reserve,” he said, “in case of misfortune.” - </p> - <p> - “That was what I was dreading to hear,” she cried, turning pale. “Oh, if - you would that I should be anything to you, swear to me that you will - never re-enter a gaming-house. Great Heaven! that I should corrupt you! I - should die of sorrow!” - </p> - <p> - They had reached the Rue Saint-Lazare by this time. The contrast between - the ostentation of wealth in the house, and the wretched condition of its - mistress, dazed the student; and Vautrin’s cynical words began to ring in - his ears. - </p> - <p> - “Seat yourself there,” said the Baroness, pointing to a low chair beside - the fire. “I have a difficult letter to write,” she added. “Tell me what - to say.” - </p> - <p> - “Say nothing,” Eugene answered her. “Put the bills in an envelope, direct - it, and send it by your maid.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, you are a love of a man,” she said. “Ah! see what it is to have been - well brought up. That is the Beauseant through and through,” she went on, - smiling at him. - </p> - <p> - “She is charming,” thought Eugene, more and more in love. He looked round - him at the room; there was an ostentatious character about the luxury, a - meretricious taste in the splendor. - </p> - <p> - “Do you like it?” she asked, as she rang for the maid. - </p> - <p> - “Therese, take this to M. de Marsay, and give it into his hands yourself. - If he is not at home, bring the letter back to me.” - </p> - <p> - Therese went, but not before she had given Eugene a spiteful glance. - </p> - <p> - Dinner was announced. Rastignac gave his arm to Mme. de Nucingen, she led - the way into a pretty dining-room, and again he saw the luxury of the - table which he had admired in his cousin’s house. - </p> - <p> - “Come and dine with me on opera evenings, and we will go to the Italiens - afterwards,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I should soon grow used to the pleasant life if it could last, but I am a - poor student, and I have my way to make.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you will succeed,” she said laughing. “You will see. All that you - wish will come to pass. <i>I</i> did not expect to be so happy.” - </p> - <p> - It is the wont of women to prove the impossible by the possible, and to - annihilate facts by presentiments. When Mme. de Nucingen and Rastignac - took their places in her box at the Bouffons, her face wore a look of - happiness that made her so lovely that every one indulged in those small - slanders against which women are defenceless; for the scandal that is - uttered lightly is often seriously believed. Those who know Paris, believe - nothing that is said, and say nothing of what is done there. - </p> - <p> - Eugene took the Baroness’ hand in his, and by some light pressure of the - fingers, or a closer grasp of the hand, they found a language in which to - express the sensations which the music gave them. It was an evening of - intoxicating delight for both; and when it ended, and they went out - together, Mme. de Nucingen insisted on taking Eugene with her as far as - the Pont Neuf, he disputing with her the whole of the way for a single - kiss after all those that she had showered upon him so passionately at the - Palais-Royal; Eugene reproached her with inconsistency. - </p> - <p> - “That was gratitude,” she said, “for devotion that I did not dare to hope - for, but now it would be a promise.” - </p> - <p> - “And will you give me no promise, ingrate?” - </p> - <p> - He grew vexed. Then, with one of those impatient gestures that fill a - lover with ecstasy, she gave him her hand to kiss, and he took it with a - discontented air that delighted her. - </p> - <p> - “I shall see you at the ball on Monday,” she said. - </p> - <p> - As Eugene went home in the moonlight, he fell to serious reflections. He - was satisfied, and yet dissatisfied. He was pleased with an adventure - which would probably give him his desire, for in the end one of the - prettiest and best-dressed women in Paris would be his; but, as a set-off, - he saw his hopes of fortune brought to nothing; and as soon as he realized - this fact, the vague thoughts of yesterday evening began to take a more - decided shape in his mind. A check is sure to reveal to us the strength of - our hopes. The more Eugene learned of the pleasures of life in Paris, the - more impatient he felt of poverty and obscurity. He crumpled the banknote - in his pocket, and found any quantity of plausible excuses for - appropriating it. - </p> - <p> - He reached the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve at last, and from the stairhead - he saw a light in Goriot’s room; the old man had lighted a candle, and set - the door ajar, lest the student should pass him by, and go to his room - without “telling him all about his daughter,” to use his own expression. - Eugene, accordingly, told him everything without reserve. - </p> - <p> - “Then they think that I am ruined!” cried Father Goriot, in an agony of - jealousy and desperation. “Why, I have still thirteen hundred livres a - year! <i>Mon Dieu!</i> Poor little girl! why did she not come to me? I - would have sold my rentes; she should have had some of the principal, and - I would have bought a life-annuity with the rest. My good neighbor, why - did not <i>you</i> come to tell me of her difficulty? How had you the - heart to go and risk her poor little hundred francs at play? This is - heart-breaking work. You see what it is to have sons-in-law. Oh! if I had - hold of them, I would wring their necks. <i>Mon Dieu! crying!</i> Did you - say she was crying?” - </p> - <p> - “With her head on my waistcoat,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! give it to me,” said Father Goriot. “What! my daughter’s tears have - fallen there—my darling Delphine, who never used to cry when she was - a little girl! Oh! I will buy you another; do not wear it again; let me - have it. By the terms of her marriage-contract, she ought to have the use - of her property. To-morrow morning I will go and see Derville; he is an - attorney. I will demand that her money should be invested in her own name. - I know the law. I am an old wolf, I will show my teeth.” - </p> - <p> - “Here, father; this is a banknote for a thousand francs that she wanted me - to keep out of our winnings. Keep them for her, in the pocket of the - waistcoat.” - </p> - <p> - Goriot looked hard at Eugene, reached out and took the law student’s hand, - and Eugene felt a tear fall on it. - </p> - <p> - “You will succeed,” the old man said. “God is just, you see. I know an - honest man when I see him, and I can tell you, there are not many men like - you. I am to have another dear child in you, am I? There, go to sleep; you - can sleep; you are not yet a father. She was crying! and I have to be told - about it!—and I was quietly eating my dinner, like an idiot, all the - time—I, who would sell the Father, Son and Holy Ghost to save one - tear to either of them.” - </p> - <p> - “An honest man!” said Eugene to himself as he lay down. “Upon my word, I - think I will be an honest man all my life; it is so pleasant to obey the - voice of conscience.” Perhaps none but believers in God do good in secret; - and Eugene believed in a God. - </p> - <p> - The next day Rastignac went at the appointed time to Mme. de Beauseant, - who took him with her to the Duchesse de Carigliano’s ball. The Marechale - received Eugene most graciously. Mme. de Nucingen was there. Delphine’s - dress seemed to suggest that she wished for the admiration of others, so - that she might shine the more in Eugene’s eyes; she was eagerly expecting - a glance from him, hiding, as she thought, this eagerness from all - beholders. This moment is full of charm for one who can guess all that - passes in a woman’s mind. Who has not refrained from giving his opinion, - to prolong her suspense, concealing his pleasure from a desire to - tantalize, seeking a confession of love in her uneasiness, enjoying the - fears that he can dissipate by a smile? In the course of the evening the - law student suddenly comprehended his position; he saw that, as the cousin - of Mme. de Beauseant, he was a personage in this world. He was already - credited with the conquest of Mme. de Nucingen, and for this reason was a - conspicuous figure; he caught the envious glances of other young men, and - experienced the earliest pleasures of coxcombry. People wondered at his - luck, and scraps of these conversations came to his ears as he went from - room to room; all the women prophesied his success; and Delphine, in her - dread of losing him, promised that this evening she would not refuse the - kiss that all his entreaties could scarcely win yesterday. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac received several invitations. His cousin presented him to other - women who were present; women who could claim to be of the highest - fashion; whose houses were looked upon as pleasant; and this was the - loftiest and most fashionable society in Paris into which he was launched. - So this evening had all the charm of a brilliant debut; it was an evening - that he was to remember even in old age, as a woman looks back upon her - first ball and the memories of her girlish triumphs. - </p> - <p> - The next morning, at breakfast, he related the story of his success for - the benefit of Father Goriot and the lodgers. Vautrin began to smile in a - diabolical fashion. - </p> - <p> - “And do you suppose,” cried that cold-blooded logician, “that a young man - of fashion can live here in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, in the Maison - Vauquer—an exceedingly respectable boarding-house in every way, I - grant you, but an establishment that, none the less, falls short of being - fashionable? The house is comfortable, it is lordly in its abundance; it - is proud to be the temporary abode of a Rastignac; but, after all, it is - in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, and luxury would be out of place here, - where we only aim at the purely <i>patriarchalorama</i>. If you mean to - cut a figure in Paris, my young friend,” Vautrin continued, with - half-paternal jocularity, “you must have three horses, a tilbury for the - mornings, and a closed carriage for the evening; you should spend - altogether about nine thousand francs on your stables. You would show - yourself unworthy of your destiny if you spent no more than three thousand - francs with your tailor, six hundred in perfumery, a hundred crowns to - your shoemaker, and a hundred more to your hatter. As for your laundress, - there goes another thousand francs; a young man of fashion must of - necessity make a great point of his linen; if your linen comes up to the - required standard, people often do not look any further. Love and the - Church demand a fair altar-cloth. That is fourteen thousand francs. I am - saying nothing of losses at play, bets, and presents; it is impossible to - allow less than two thousand francs for pocket money. I have led that sort - of life, and I know all about these expenses. Add the cost of necessaries - next; three hundred louis for provender, a thousand francs for a place to - roost in. Well, my boy, for all these little wants of ours we had need to - have twenty-five thousand francs every year in our purse, or we shall find - ourselves in the kennel, and people laughing at us, and our career is cut - short, good-bye to success, and good-bye to your mistress! I am forgetting - your valet and your groom! Is Christophe going to carry your <i>billets-doux</i> - for you? Do you mean to employ the stationery you use at present? Suicidal - policy! Hearken to the wisdom of your elders!” he went on, his bass voice - growing louder at each syllable. “Either take up your quarters in a - garret, live virtuously, and wed your work, or set about the thing in a - different way.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin winked and leered in the direction of Mlle. Taillefer to enforce - his remarks by a look which recalled the late tempting proposals by which - he had sought to corrupt the student’s mind. - </p> - <p> - Several days went by, and Rastignac lived in a whirl of gaiety. He dined - almost every day with Mme. de Nucingen, and went wherever she went, only - returning to the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve in the small hours. He rose at - mid-day, and dressed to go into the Bois with Delphine if the day was - fine, squandering in this way time that was worth far more than he knew. - He turned as eagerly to learn the lessons of luxury, and was as quick to - feel its fascination, as the flowers of the date palm to receive the - fertilizing pollen. He played high, lost and won large sums of money, and - at last became accustomed to the extravagant life that young men lead in - Paris. He sent fifteen hundred francs out of his first winnings to his - mother and sisters, sending handsome presents as well as the money. He had - given out that he meant to leave the Maison Vauquer; but January came and - went, and he was still there, still unprepared to go. - </p> - <p> - One rule holds good of most young men—whether rich or poor. They - never have money for the necessaries of life, but they have always money - to spare for their caprices—an anomaly which finds its explanation - in their youth and in the almost frantic eagerness with which youth grasps - at pleasure. They are reckless with anything obtained on credit, while - everything for which they must pay in ready money is made to last as long - as possible; if they cannot have all that they want, they make up for it, - it would seem, by squandering what they have. To state the matter simply—a - student is far more careful of his hat than of his coat, because the - latter being a comparatively costly article of dress, it is in the nature - of things that a tailor should be a creditor; but it is otherwise with the - hatter; the sums of money spent with him are so modest, that he is the - most independent and unmanageable of his tribe, and it is almost - impossible to bring him to terms. The young man in the balcony of a - theatre who displays a gorgeous waistcoat for the benefit of the fair - owners of opera glasses, has very probably no socks in his wardrobe, for - the hosier is another of the genus of weevils that nibble at the purse. - This was Rastignac’s condition. His purse was always empty for Mme. - Vauquer, always full at the demand of vanity; there was a periodical ebb - and flow in his fortunes, which was seldom favorable to the payment of - just debts. If he was to leave that unsavory and mean abode, where from - time to time his pretensions met with humiliation, the first step was to - pay his hostess for a month’s board and lodging, and the second to - purchase furniture worthy of the new lodgings he must take in his quality - of dandy, a course that remained impossible. Rastignac, out of his - winnings at cards, would pay his jeweler exorbitant prices for gold - watches and chains, and then, to meet the exigencies of play, would carry - them to the pawnbroker, that discreet and forbidding-looking friend of - youth; but when it was a question of paying for board or lodging, or for - the necessary implements for the cultivation of his Elysian fields, his - imagination and pluck alike deserted him. There was no inspiration to be - found in vulgar necessity, in debts contracted for past requirements. Like - most of those who trust to their luck, he put off till the last moment the - payment of debts that among the bourgeoisie are regarded as sacred - engagements, acting on the plan of Mirabeau, who never settled his baker’s - bill until it underwent a formidable transformation into a bill of - exchange. - </p> - <p> - It was about this time when Rastignac was down on his luck and fell into - debt, that it became clear to the law student’s mind that he must have - some more certain source of income if he meant to live as he had been - doing. But while he groaned over the thorny problems of his precarious - situation, he felt that he could not bring himself to renounce the - pleasures of this extravagant life, and decided that he must continue it - at all costs. His dreams of obtaining a fortune appeared more and more - chimerical, and the real obstacles grew more formidable. His initiation - into the secrets of the Nucingen household had revealed to him that if he - were to attempt to use this love affair as a means of mending his - fortunes, he must swallow down all sense of decency, and renounce all the - generous ideas which redeem the sins of youth. He had chosen this life of - apparent splendor, but secretly gnawed by the canker worm of remorse, a - life of fleeting pleasure dearly paid for by persistent pain; like <i>Le - Distrait</i> of La Bruyere, he had descended so far as to make his bed in - a ditch; but (also like <i>Le Distrait</i>) he himself was uncontaminated - as yet by the mire that stained his garments. - </p> - <p> - “So we have killed our mandarin, have we?” said Bianchon one day as they - left the dinner table. - </p> - <p> - “Not yet,” he answered, “but he is at his last gasp.” - </p> - <p> - The medical student took this for a joke, but it was not a jest. Eugene - had dined in the house that night for the first time for a long while, and - had looked thoughtful during the meal. He had taken his place beside Mlle. - Taillefer, and stayed through the dessert, giving his neighbor an - expressive glance from time to time. A few of the boarders discussed the - walnuts at the table, and others walked about the room, still taking part - in the conversation which had begun among them. People usually went when - they chose; the amount of time that they lingered being determined by the - amount of interest that the conversation possessed for them, or by the - difficulty of the process of digestion. In winter-time the room was seldom - empty before eight o’clock, when the four women had it all to themselves, - and made up for the silence previously imposed upon them by the - preponderating masculine element. This evening Vautrin had noticed - Eugene’s abstractedness, and stayed in the room, though he had seemed to - be in a hurry to finish his dinner and go. All through the talk afterwards - he had kept out of the sight of the law student, who quite believed that - Vautrin had left the room. He now took up his position cunningly in the - sitting-room instead of going when the last boarders went. He had fathomed - the young man’s thoughts, and felt that a crisis was at hand. Rastignac - was, in fact, in a dilemma, which many another young man must have known. - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Nucingen might love him, or might merely be playing with him, but - in either case Rastignac had been made to experience all the alternations - of hope and despair of genuine passion, and all the diplomatic arts of a - Parisienne had been employed on him. After compromising herself by - continually appearing in public with Mme. de Beauseant’s cousin she still - hesitated, and would not give him the lover’s privileges which he appeared - to enjoy. For a whole month she had so wrought on his senses, that at last - she had made an impression on his heart. If in the earliest days the - student had fancied himself to be master, Mme. de Nucingen had since - become the stronger of the two, for she had skilfully roused and played - upon every instinct, good or bad, in the two or three men comprised in a - young student in Paris. This was not the result of deep design on her - part, nor was she playing a part, for women are in a manner true to - themselves even through their grossest deceit, because their actions are - prompted by a natural impulse. It may have been that Delphine, who had - allowed this young man to gain such an ascendency over her, conscious that - she had been too demonstrative, was obeying a sentiment of dignity, and - either repented of her concessions, or it pleased her to suspend them. It - is so natural to a Parisienne, even when passion has almost mastered her, - to hesitate and pause before taking the plunge; to probe the heart of him - to whom she intrusts her future. And once already Mme. de Nucingen’s hopes - had been betrayed, and her loyalty to a selfish young lover had been - despised. She had good reason to be suspicious. Or it may have been that - something in Eugene’s manner (for his rapid success was making a coxcomb - of him) had warned her that the grotesque nature of their position had - lowered her somewhat in his eyes. She doubtless wished to assert her - dignity; he was young, and she would be great in his eyes; for the lover - who had forsaken her had held her so cheap that she was determined that - Eugene should not think her an easy conquest, and for this very reason—he - knew that de Marsay had been his predecessor. Finally, after the - degradation of submission to the pleasure of a heartless young rake, it - was so sweet to her to wander in the flower-strewn realms of love, that it - was not wonderful that she should wish to dwell a while on the prospect, - to tremble with the vibrations of love, to feel the freshness of the - breath of its dawn. The true lover was suffering for the sins of the - false. This inconsistency is unfortunately only to be expected so long as - men do not know how many flowers are mown down in a young woman’s soul by - the first stroke of treachery. - </p> - <p> - Whatever her reasons may have been, Delphine was playing with Rastignac, - and took pleasure in playing with him, doubtless because she felt sure of - his love, and confident that she could put an end to the torture as soon - as it was her royal pleasure to do so. Eugene’s self-love was engaged; he - could not suffer his first passage of love to end in a defeat, and - persisted in his suit like a sportsman determined to bring down at least - one partridge to celebrate his first Feast of Saint-Hubert. The pressure - of anxiety, his wounded self-love, his despair, real or feigned, drew him - nearer and nearer to this woman. All Paris credited him with this - conquest, and yet he was conscious that he had made no progress since the - day when he saw Mme. de Nucingen for the first time. He did not know as - yet that a woman’s coquetry is sometimes more delightful than the pleasure - of secure possession of her love, and was possessed with helpless rage. - If, at this time, while she denied herself to love, Eugene gathered the - springtide spoils of his life, the fruit, somewhat sharp and green, and - dearly bought, was no less delicious to the taste. There were moments when - he had not a sou in his pockets, and at such times he thought in spite of - his conscience of Vautrin’s offer and the possibility of fortune by a - marriage with Mlle. Taillefer. Poverty would clamor so loudly that more - than once he was on the point of yielding to the cunning temptations of - the terrible sphinx, whose glance had so often exerted a strange spell - over him. - </p> - <p> - Poiret and Mlle. Michonneau went up to their rooms; and Rastignac, - thinking that he was alone with the women in the dining-room, sat between - Mme. Vauquer and Mme. Couture, who was nodding over the woolen cuffs that - she was knitting by the stove, and looked at Mlle. Taillefer so tenderly - that she lowered her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Can you be in trouble, M. Eugene?” Victorine said after a pause. - </p> - <p> - “Who has not his troubles?” answered Rastignac. “If we men were sure of - being loved, sure of a devotion which would be our reward for the - sacrifices which we are always ready to make, then perhaps we should have - no troubles.” - </p> - <p> - For answer Mlle. Taillefer only gave him a glance but it was impossible to - mistake its meaning. - </p> - <p> - “You, for instance, mademoiselle; you feel sure of your heart to-day, but - are you sure that it will never change?” - </p> - <p> - A smile flitted over the poor girl’s lips; it seemed as if a ray of light - from her soul had lighted up her face. Eugene was dismayed at the sudden - explosion of feeling caused by his words. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! but suppose,” he said, “that you should be rich and happy to-morrow, - suppose that a vast fortune dropped down from the clouds for you, would - you still love the man whom you loved in your days of poverty?” - </p> - <p> - A charming movement of the head was her only answer. - </p> - <p> - “Even if he were very poor?” - </p> - <p> - Again the same mute answer. - </p> - <p> - “What nonsense are you talking, you two?” exclaimed Mme. Vauquer. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind,” answered Eugene; “we understand each other.” - </p> - <p> - “So there is to be an engagement of marriage between M. le Chevalier - Eugene de Rastignac and Mlle. Victorine Taillefer, is there?” The words - were uttered in Vautrin’s deep voice, and Vautrin appeared at the door as - he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! how you startled me!” Mme. Couture and Mme. Vauquer exclaimed - together. - </p> - <p> - “I might make a worse choice,” said Rastignac, laughing. Vautrin’s voice - had thrown him into the most painful agitation that he had yet known. - </p> - <p> - “No bad jokes, gentlemen!” said Mme. Couture. “My dear, let us go - upstairs.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Vauquer followed the two ladies, meaning to pass the evening in their - room, an arrangement that economized fire and candlelight. Eugene and - Vautrin were left alone. - </p> - <p> - “I felt sure you would come round to it,” said the elder man with the - coolness that nothing seemed to shake. “But stay a moment! I have as much - delicacy as anybody else. Don’t make up your mind on the spur of the - moment; you are a little thrown off your balance just now. You are in - debt, and I want you to come over to my way of thinking after sober - reflection, and not in a fit of passion or desperation. Perhaps you want a - thousand crowns. There, you can have them if you like.” - </p> - <p> - The tempter took out a pocketbook, and drew thence three banknotes, which - he fluttered before the student’s eyes. Eugene was in a most painful - dilemma. He had debts, debts of honor. He owed a hundred louis to the - Marquis d’Ajuda and to the Count de Trailles; he had not the money, and - for this reason had not dared to go to Mme. de Restaud’s house, where he - was expected that evening. It was one of those informal gatherings where - tea and little cakes are handed round, but where it is possible to lose - six thousand francs at whist in the course of a night. - </p> - <p> - “You must see,” said Eugene, struggling to hide a convulsive tremor, “that - after what has passed between us, I cannot possibly lay myself under any - obligation to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite right; I should be sorry to hear you speak otherwise,” answered the - tempter. “You are a fine young fellow, honorable, brave as a lion, and as - gentle as a young girl. You would be a fine haul for the devil! I like - youngsters of your sort. Get rid of one or two more prejudices, and you - will see the world as it is. Make a little scene now and then, and act a - virtuous part in it, and a man with a head on his shoulders can do exactly - as he likes amid deafening applause from the fools in the gallery. Ah! a - few days yet, and you will be with us; and if you would only be tutored by - me, I would put you in the way of achieving all your ambitions. You should - no sooner form a wish than it should be realized to the full; you should - have all your desires—honors, wealth, or women. Civilization should - flow with milk and honey for you. You should be our pet and favorite, our - Benjamin. We would all work ourselves to death for you with pleasure; - every obstacle should be removed from your path. You have a few prejudices - left; so you think that I am a scoundrel, do you? Well, M. de Turenne, - quite as honorable a man as you take yourself to be, had some little - private transactions with bandits, and did not feel that his honor was - tarnished. You would rather not lie under any obligation to me, eh? You - need not draw back on that account,” Vautrin went on, and a smile stole - over his lips. “Take these bits of paper and write across this,” he added, - producing a piece of stamped paper, “<i>Accepted the sum of three thousand - five hundred francs due this day twelvemonth</i>, and fill in the date. - The rate of interest is stiff enough to silence any scruples on your part; - it gives you the right to call me a Jew. You can call quits with me on the - score of gratitude. I am quite willing that you should despise me to-day, - because I am sure that you will have a kindlier feeling towards me later - on. You will find out fathomless depths in my nature, enormous and - concentrated forces that weaklings call vices, but you will never find me - base or ungrateful. In short, I am neither a pawn nor a bishop, but a - castle, a tower of strength, my boy.” - </p> - <p> - “What manner of man are you?” cried Eugene. “Were you created to torment - me?” - </p> - <p> - “Why no; I am a good-natured fellow, who is willing to do a dirty piece of - work to put you high and dry above the mire for the rest of your days. Do - you ask the reason of this devotion? All right; I will tell you that some - of these days. A word or two in your ear will explain it. I have begun by - shocking you, by showing you the way to ring the changes, and giving you a - sight of the mechanism of the social machine; but your first fright will - go off like a conscript’s terror on the battlefield. You will grow used to - regarding men as common soldiers who have made up their minds to lose - their lives for some self-constituted king. Times have altered strangely. - Once you could say to a bravo, ‘Here are a hundred crowns; go and kill - Monsieur So-and-so for me,’ and you could sup quietly after turning some - one off into the dark for the least thing in the world. But nowadays I - propose to put you in the way of a handsome fortune; you have only to nod - your head, it won’t compromise you in any way, and you hesitate. ‘Tis an - effeminate age.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene accepted the draft, and received the banknotes in exchange for it. - </p> - <p> - “Well, well. Come, now, let us talk rationally,” Vautrin continued. “I - mean to leave this country in a few months’ time for America, and set - about planting tobacco. I will send you the cigars of friendship. If I - make money at it, I will help you in your career. If I have no children—which - will probably be the case, for I have no anxiety to raise slips of myself - here—you shall inherit my fortune. That is what you may call - standing by a man; but I myself have a liking for you. I have a mania, - too, for devoting myself to some one else. I have done it before. You see, - my boy, I live in a loftier sphere than other men do; I look on all - actions as means to an end, and the end is all that I look at. What is a - man’s life to me? Not <i>that</i>,” he said, and he snapped his thumb-nail - against his teeth. “A man, in short, is everything to me, or just nothing - at all. Less than nothing if his name happens to be Poiret; you can crush - him like a bug, he is flat and he is offensive. But a man is a god when he - is like you; he is not a machine covered with a skin, but a theatre in - which the greatest sentiments are displayed—great thoughts and - feelings—and for these, and these only, I live. A sentiment—what - is that but the whole world in a thought? Look at Father Goriot. For him, - his two girls are the whole universe; they are the clue by which he finds - his way through creation. Well, for my own part, I have fathomed the - depths of life, there is only one real sentiment—comradeship between - man and man. Pierre and Jaffier, that is my passion. I knew <i>Venice - Preserved</i> by heart. Have you met many men plucky enough when a comrade - says, ‘Let us bury a dead body!’ to go and do it without a word or - plaguing him by taking a high moral tone? I have done it myself. I should - not talk like this to just everybody, but you are not like an ordinary - man; one can talk to you, you can understand things. You will not dabble - about much longer among the tadpoles in these swamps. Well, then, it is - all settled. You will marry. Both of us carry our point. Mine is made of - iron, and will never soften, he! he!” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin went out. He would not wait to hear the student’s repudiation, he - wished to put Eugene at his ease. He seemed to understand the secret - springs of the faint resistance still made by the younger man; the - struggles in which men seek to preserve their self-respect by justifying - their blameworthy actions to themselves. - </p> - <p> - “He may do as he likes; I shall not marry Mlle. Taillefer, that is - certain,” said Eugene to himself. - </p> - <p> - He regarded this man with abhorrence, and yet the very cynicism of - Vautrin’s ideas, and the audacious way in which he used other men for his - own ends, raised him in the student’s eyes; but the thought of a compact - threw Eugene into a fever of apprehension, and not until he had recovered - somewhat did he dress, call for a cab, and go to Mme. de Restaud’s. - </p> - <p> - For some days the Countess had paid more and more attention to a young man - whose every step seemed a triumphal progress in the great world; it seemed - to her that he might be a formidable power before long. He paid Messieurs - de Trailles and d’Ajuda, played at whist for part of the evening, and made - good his losses. Most men who have their way to make are more or less of - fatalists, and Eugene was superstitious; he chose to consider that his - luck was heaven’s reward for his perseverance in the right way. As soon as - possible on the following morning he asked Vautrin whether the bill he had - given was still in the other’s possession; and on receiving a reply in the - affirmative, he repaid the three thousand francs with a not unnatural - relief. - </p> - <p> - “Everything is going on well,” said Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “But I am not your accomplice,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “I know, I know,” Vautrin broke in. “You are still acting like a child. - You are making mountains out of molehills at the outset.” - </p> - <p> - Two days later, Poiret and Mlle. Michonneau were sitting together on a - bench in the sun. They had chosen a little frequented alley in the Jardin - des Plantes, and a gentleman was chatting with them, the same person, as a - matter of fact, about whom the medical student had, not without good - reason, his own suspicions. - </p> - <p> - “Mademoiselle,” this M. Gondureau was saying, “I do not see any cause for - your scruples. His Excellency, Monseigneur the Minister of Police——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, his Excellency is taking a personal interest in the matter,” said - Gondureau. - </p> - <p> - Who would think it probable that Poiret, a retired clerk, doubtless - possessed of some notions of civic virtue, though there might be nothing - else in his head—who would think it likely that such a man would - continue to lend an ear to this supposed independent gentleman of the Rue - de Buffon, when the latter dropped the mask of a decent citizen by that - word “police,” and gave a glimpse of the features of a detective from the - Rue de Jerusalem? And yet nothing was more natural. Perhaps the following - remarks from the hitherto unpublished records made by certain observers - will throw a light on the particular species to which Poiret belonged in - the great family of fools. There is a race of quill-drivers, confined in - the columns of the budget between the first degree of latitude (a kind of - administrative Greenland where the salaries begin at twelve hundred - francs) to the third degree, a more temperate zone, where incomes grow - from three to six thousand francs, a climate where the <i>bonus</i> - flourishes like a half-hardy annual in spite of some difficulties of - culture. A characteristic trait that best reveals the feeble - narrow-mindedness of these inhabitants of petty officialdom is a kind of - involuntary, mechanical, and instinctive reverence for the Grand Lama of - every Ministry, known to the rank and file only by his signature (an - illegible scrawl) and by his title—“His Excellency Monseigneur le - Ministre,” five words which produce as much effect as the <i>il Bondo Cani</i> - of the <i>Calife de Bagdad</i>, five words which in the eyes of this low - order of intelligence represent a sacred power from which there is no - appeal. The Minister is administratively infallible for the clerks in the - employ of the Government, as the Pope is infallible for good Catholics. - Something of this peculiar radiance invests everything he does or says, or - that is said or done in his name; the robe of office covers everything and - legalizes everything done by his orders; does not his very title—His - Excellency—vouch for the purity of his intentions and the - righteousness of his will, and serve as a sort of passport and - introduction to ideas that otherwise would not be entertained for a - moment? Pronounce the words “His Excellency,” and these poor folk will - forthwith proceed to do what they would not do for their own interests. - Passive obedience is as well known in a Government department as in the - army itself; and the administrative system silences consciences, - annihilates the individual, and ends (give it time enough) by fashioning a - man into a vise or a thumbscrew, and he becomes part of the machinery of - Government. Wherefore, M. Gondureau, who seemed to know something of human - nature, recognized Poiret at once as one of those dupes of officialdom, - and brought out for his benefit, at the proper moment, the <i>deus ex - machina</i>, the magical words “His Excellency,” so as to dazzle Poiret - just as he himself unmasked his batteries, for he took Poiret and the - Michonneau for the male and female of the same species. - </p> - <p> - “If his Excellency himself, his Excellency the Minister... Ah! that is - quite another thing,” said Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “You seem to be guided by this gentleman’s opinion, and you hear what he - says,” said the man of independent means, addressing Mlle. Michonneau. - “Very well, his Excellency is at this moment absolutely certain that the - so-called Vautrin, who lodges at the Maison Vauquer, is a convict who - escaped from penal servitude at Toulon, where he is known by the nickname - <i>Trompe-la-Mort</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Trompe-la-Mort?” said Pioret. “Dear me, he is very lucky if he deserves - that nickname.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes,” said the detective. “They call him so because he has been so - lucky as not to lose his life in the very risky businesses that he has - carried through. He is a dangerous man, you see! He has qualities that are - out of the common; the thing he is wanted for, in fact, was a matter which - gained him no end of credit with his own set——” - </p> - <p> - “Then is he a man of honor?” asked Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, according to his notions. He agreed to take another man’s crime upon - himself—a forgery committed by a very handsome young fellow that he - had taken a great fancy to, a young Italian, a bit of a gambler, who has - since gone into the army, where his conduct has been unexceptionable.” - </p> - <p> - “But if his Excellency the Minister of Police is certain that M. Vautrin - is this <i>Trompe-la-Mort</i>, why should he want me?” asked Mlle. - Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes,” said Poiret, “if the Minister, as you have been so obliging as - to tell us, really knows for a certainty——” - </p> - <p> - “Certainty is not the word; he only suspects. You will soon understand how - things are. Jacques Collin, nicknamed <i>Trompe-la-Mort</i>, is in the - confidence of every convict in the three prisons; he is their man of - business and their banker. He makes a very good thing out of managing - their affairs, which want a <i>man of mark</i> to see about them.” - </p> - <p> - “Ha! ha! do you see the pun, mademoiselle?” asked Poiret. “This gentleman - calls himself a <i>man of mark</i> because he is a <i>marked man</i>—branded, - you know.” - </p> - <p> - “This so-called Vautrin,” said the detective, “receives the money - belonging to my lords the convicts, invests it for them, and holds it at - the disposal of those who escape, or hands it over to their families if - they leave a will, or to their mistresses when they draw upon him for - their benefit.” - </p> - <p> - “Their mistresses! You mean their wives,” remarked Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir. A convict’s wife is usually an illegitimate connection. We call - them concubines.” - </p> - <p> - “Then they all live in a state of concubinage?” - </p> - <p> - “Naturally.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, these are abominations that his Excellency ought not to allow. Since - you have the honor of seeing his Excellency, you, who seem to have - philanthropic ideas, ought really to enlighten him as to their immoral - conduct—they are setting a shocking example to the rest of society.” - </p> - <p> - “But the Government does not hold them up as models of all the virtues, my - dear sir——” - </p> - <p> - “Of course not, sir; but still——” - </p> - <p> - “Just let the gentleman say what he has to say, dearie,” said Mlle. - Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “You see how it is, mademoiselle,” Gondureau continued. “The Government - may have the strongest reasons for getting this illicit hoard into its - hands; it mounts up to something considerable, by all that we can make - out. Trompe-la-Mort not only holds large sums for his friends the - convicts, but he has other amounts which are paid over to him by the - Society of the Ten Thousand——” - </p> - <p> - “Ten Thousand Thieves!” cried Pioret in alarm. - </p> - <p> - “No. The Society of the Ten Thousand is not an association of petty - offenders, but of people who set about their work on a large scale—they - won’t touch a matter unless there are ten thousand francs in it. It is - composed of the most distinguished of the men who are sent straight to the - Assize Courts when they come up for trial. They know the Code too well to - risk their necks when they are nabbed. Collin is their confidential agent - and legal adviser. By means of the large sums of money at his disposal he - has established a sort of detective system of his own; it is widespread - and mysterious in its workings. We have had spies all about him for a - twelvemonth, and yet we could not manage to fathom his games. His capital - and his cleverness are at the service of vice and crime; this money - furnishes the necessary funds for a regular army of blackguards in his pay - who wage incessant war against society. If we can catch Trompe-la-Mort, - and take possession of his funds, we should strike at the root of this - evil. So this job is a kind of Government affair—a State secret—and - likely to redound to the honor of those who bring the thing to a - successful conclusion. You, sir, for instance, might very well be taken - into a Government department again; they might make you secretary to a - Commissary of Police; you could accept that post without prejudice to your - retiring pension.” - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Michonneau interposed at this point with, “What is there to hinder - Trompe-la-Mort from making off with the money?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” said the detective, “a man is told off to follow him everywhere he - goes, with orders to kill him if he were to rob the convicts. Then it is - not quite as easy to make off with a lot of money as it is to run away - with a young lady of family. Besides, Collin is not the sort of fellow to - play such a trick; he would be disgraced, according to his notions.” - </p> - <p> - “You are quite right, sir,” said Poiret, “utterly disgraced he would be.” - </p> - <p> - “But none of all this explains why you do not come and take him without - more ado,” remarked Mlle. Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, mademoiselle, I will explain—but,” he added in her ear, - “keep your companion quiet, or I shall never have done. The old boy ought - to pay people handsomely for listening to him.—Trompe-la-Mort, when - he came back here,” he went on aloud “slipped into the skin of an honest - man; he turned up disguised as a decent Parisian citizen, and took up his - quarters in an unpretending lodging-house. He is cunning, that he is! You - don’t catch him napping. Then M. Vautrin is a man of consequence, who - transacts a good deal of business.” - </p> - <p> - “Naturally,” said Poiret to himself. - </p> - <p> - “And suppose that the Minister were to make a mistake and get hold of the - real Vautrin, he would put every one’s back up among the business men in - Paris, and public opinion would be against him. M. le Prefet de Police is - on slippery ground; he has enemies. They would take advantage of any - mistake. There would be a fine outcry and fuss made by the Opposition, and - he would be sent packing. We must set about this just as we did about the - Coignard affair, the sham Comte de Sainte-Helene; if he had been the real - Comte de Sainte-Helene, we should have been in the wrong box. We want to - be quite sure what we are about.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but what you want is a pretty woman,” said Mlle. Michonneau briskly. - </p> - <p> - “Trompe-la-Mort would not let a woman come near him,” said the detective. - “I will tell you a secret—he does not like them.” - </p> - <p> - “Still, I do not see what I can do, supposing that I did agree to identify - him for two thousand francs.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing simpler,” said the stranger. “I will send you a little bottle - containing a dose that will send a rush of blood to the head; it will do - him no harm whatever, but he will fall down as if he were in a fit. The - drug can be put into wine or coffee; either will do equally well. You - carry your man to bed at once, and undress him to see that he is not - dying. As soon as you are alone, you give him a slap on the shoulder, and - <i>presto!</i> the letters will appear.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, that is just nothing at all,” said Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Well, do you agree?” said Gondureau, addressing the old maid. - </p> - <p> - “But, my dear sir, suppose there are no letters at all,” said Mlle. - Michonneau; “am I to have the two thousand francs all the same?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “What will you give me then?” - </p> - <p> - “Five hundred francs.” - </p> - <p> - “It is such a thing to do for so little! It lies on your conscience just - the same, and I must quiet my conscience, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I assure you,” said Poiret, “that mademoiselle has a great deal of - conscience, and not only so, she is a very amiable person, and very - intelligent.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, now,” Mlle. Michonneau went on, “make it three thousand francs if - he is Trompe-la-Mort, and nothing at all if he is an ordinary man.” - </p> - <p> - “Done!” said Gondureau, “but on the condition that the thing is settled - to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Not quite so soon, my dear sir; I must consult my confessor first.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a sly one,” said the detective as he rose to his feet. “Good-bye - till to-morrow, then. And if you should want to see me in a hurry, go to - the Petite Rue Saint-Anne at the bottom of the Cour de la Sainte-Chapelle. - There is one door under the archway. Ask there for M. Gondureau.” - </p> - <p> - Bianchon, on his way back from Cuvier’s lecture, overheard the - sufficiently striking nickname of <i>Trompe-la-Mort</i>, and caught the - celebrated chief detective’s “<i>Done!</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Why didn’t you close with him? It would be three hundred francs a year,” - said Poiret to Mlle. Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “Why didn’t I?” she asked. “Why, it wants thinking over. Suppose that M. - Vautrin is this Trompe-la-Mort, perhaps we might do better for ourselves - with him. Still, on the other hand, if you ask him for money, it would put - him on his guard, and he is just the man to clear out without paying, and - that would be an abominable sell.” - </p> - <p> - “And suppose you did warn him,” Poiret went on, “didn’t that gentleman say - that he was closely watched? You would spoil everything.” - </p> - <p> - “Anyhow,” thought Mlle. Michonneau, “I can’t abide him. He says nothing - but disagreeable things to me.” - </p> - <p> - “But you can do better than that,” Poiret resumed. “As that gentleman said - (and he seemed to me to be a very good sort of man, besides being very - well got up), it is an act of obedience to the laws to rid society of a - criminal, however virtuous he may be. Once a thief, always a thief. - Suppose he were to take it into his head to murder us all? The deuce! We - should be guilty of manslaughter, and be the first to fall victims into - the bargain!” - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Michonneau’s musings did not permit her to listen very closely to - the remarks that fell one by one from Poiret’s lips like water dripping - from a leaky tap. When once this elderly babbler began to talk, he would - go on like clockwork unless Mlle. Michonneau stopped him. He started on - some subject or other, and wandered on through parenthesis after - parenthesis, till he came to regions as remote as possible from his - premises without coming to any conclusions by the way. - </p> - <p> - By the time they reached the Maison Vauquer he had tacked together a whole - string of examples and quotations more or less irrelevant to the subject - in hand, which led him to give a full account of his own deposition in the - case of the Sieur Ragoulleau <i>versus</i> Dame Morin, when he had been - summoned as a witness for the defence. - </p> - <p> - As they entered the dining-room, Eugene de Rastignac was talking apart - with Mlle. Taillefer; the conversation appeared to be of such thrilling - interest that the pair never noticed the two older lodgers as they passed - through the room. None of this was thrown away on Mlle. Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “I knew how it would end,” remarked that lady, addressing Poiret. “They - have been making eyes at each other in a heartrending way for a week - past.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he answered. “So she was found guilty.” - </p> - <p> - “Who?” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. Morin.” - </p> - <p> - “I am talking about Mlle. Victorine,” said Mlle, Michonneau, as she - entered Poiret’s room with an absent air, “and you answer, ‘Mme. Morin.’ - Who may Mme. Morin be?” - </p> - <p> - “What can Mlle. Victorine be guilty of?” demanded Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Guilty of falling in love with M. Eugene de Rastignac and going further - and further without knowing exactly where she is going, poor innocent!” - </p> - <p> - That morning Mme. de Nucingen had driven Eugene to despair. In his own - mind he had completely surrendered himself to Vautrin, and deliberately - shut his eyes to the motive for the friendship which that extraordinary - man professed for him, nor would he look to the consequences of such an - alliance. Nothing short of a miracle could extricate him now out of the - gulf into which he had walked an hour ago, when he exchanged vows in the - softest whispers with Mlle. Taillefer. To Victorine it seemed as if she - heard an angel’s voice, that heaven was opening above her; the Maison - Vauquer took strange and wonderful hues, like a stage fairy-palace. She - loved and she was loved; at any rate, she believed that she was loved; and - what woman would not likewise have believed after seeing Rastignac’s face - and listening to the tones of his voice during that hour snatched under - the Argus eyes of the Maison Vauquer? He had trampled on his conscience; - he knew that he was doing wrong, and did it deliberately; he had said to - himself that a woman’s happiness should atone for this venial sin. The - energy of desperation had lent new beauty to his face; the lurid fire that - burned in his heart shone from his eyes. Luckily for him, the miracle took - place. Vautrin came in in high spirits, and at once read the hearts of - these two young creatures whom he had brought together by the combinations - of his infernal genius, but his deep voice broke in upon their bliss. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “A charming girl is my Fanchette - In her simplicity,” - </pre> - <p> - he sang mockingly. - </p> - <p> - Victorine fled. Her heart was more full than it had ever been, but it was - full of joy, and not of sorrow. Poor child! A pressure of the hand, the - light touch of Rastignac’s hair against her cheek, a word whispered in her - ear so closely that she felt the student’s warm breath on her, the - pressure of a trembling arm about her waist, a kiss upon her throat—such - had been her betrothal. The near neighborhood of the stout Sylvie, who - might invade that glorified room at any moment, only made these first - tokens of love more ardent, more eloquent, more entrancing than the - noblest deeds done for love’s sake in the most famous romances. This <i>plain-song</i> - of love, to use the pretty expression of our forefathers, seemed almost - criminal to the devout young girl who went to confession every fortnight. - In that one hour she had poured out more of the treasures of her soul than - she could give in later days of wealth and happiness, when her whole self - followed the gift. - </p> - <p> - “The thing is arranged,” Vautrin said to Eugene, who remained. “Our two - dandies have fallen out. Everything was done in proper form. It is a - matter of opinion. Our pigeon has insulted my hawk. They will meet - to-morrow in the redoubt at Clignancourt. By half-past eight in the - morning Mlle. Taillefer, calmly dipping her bread and butter in her coffee - cup, will be sole heiress of her father’s fortune and affections. A funny - way of putting it, isn’t it? Taillefer’s youngster is an expert swordsman, - and quite cocksure about it, but he will be bled; I have just invented a - thrust for his benefit, a way of raising your sword point and driving it - at the forehead. I must show you that thrust; it is an uncommonly handy - thing to know.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac heard him in dazed bewilderment; he could not find a word in - reply. Just then Goriot came in, and Bianchon and a few of the boarders - likewise appeared. - </p> - <p> - “That is just as I intended.” Vautrin said. “You know quite well what you - are about. Good, my little eaglet! You are born to command, you are - strong, you stand firm on your feet, you are game! I respect you.” - </p> - <p> - He made as though he would take Eugene’s hand, but Rastignac hastily - withdrew it, sank into a chair, and turned ghastly pale; it seemed to him - that there was a sea of blood before his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! so we still have a few dubious tatters of the swaddling clothes of - virtue about us!” murmured Vautrin. “But Papa Doliban has three millions; - I know the amount of his fortune. Once have her dowry in your hands, and - your character will be as white as the bride’s white dress, even in your - own eyes.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac hesitated no longer. He made up his mind that he would go that - evening to warn the Taillefers, father and son. But just as Vautrin left - him, Father Goriot came up and said in his ear, “You look melancholy, my - boy; I will cheer you up. Come with me.” - </p> - <p> - The old vermicelli dealer lighted his dip at one of the lamps as he spoke. - Eugene went with him, his curiosity had been aroused. - </p> - <p> - “Let us go up to your room,” the worthy soul remarked, when he had asked - Sylvie for the law student’s key. “This morning,” he resumed, “you thought - that <i>she</i> did not care about you, did you not? Eh? She would have - nothing to say to you, and you went away out of humor and out of heart. - Stuff and rubbish! She wanted you to go because she was expecting <i>me</i>! - Now do you understand? We were to complete the arrangements for taking - some chambers for you, a jewel of a place, you are to move into it in - three days’ time. Don’t split upon me. She wants it to be a surprise; but - I couldn’t bear to keep the secret from you. You will be in the Rue - d’Artois, only a step or two from the Rue Saint-Lazare, and you are to be - housed like a prince! Any one might have thought we were furnishing the - house for a bride. Oh! we have done a lot of things in the last month, and - you knew nothing about it. My attorney has appeared on the scene, and my - daughter is to have thirty-six thousand francs a year, the interest on her - money, and I shall insist on having her eight hundred thousand invested in - sound securities, landed property that won’t run away.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene was dumb. He folded his arms and paced up and down in his - cheerless, untidy room. Father Goriot waited till the student’s back was - turned, and seized the opportunity to go to the chimney-piece and set upon - it a little red morocco case with Rastignac’s arms stamped in gold on the - leather. - </p> - <p> - “My dear boy,” said the kind soul, “I have been up to the eyes in this - business. You see, there was plenty of selfishness on my part; I have an - interested motive in helping you to change lodgings. You will not refuse - me if I ask you something; will you, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” - </p> - <p> - “There is a room on the fifth floor, up above your rooms, that is to let - along with them; that is where I am going to live, isn’t that so? I am - getting old: I am too far from my girls. I shall not be in the way, but I - shall be there, that is all. You will come and talk to me about her every - evening. It will not put you about, will it? I shall have gone to bed - before you come in, but I shall hear you come up, and I shall say to - myself, ‘He has just seen my little Delphine. He has been to a dance with - her, and she is happy, thanks to him.’ If I were ill, it would do my heart - good to hear you moving about below, to know when you leave the house and - when you come in. It is only a step to the Champs-Elysees, where they go - every day, so I shall be sure of seeing them, whereas now I am sometimes - too late. And then—perhaps she may come to see you! I shall hear - her, I shall see her in her soft quilted pelisse tripping about as - daintily as a kitten. In this one month she has become my little girl - again, so light-hearted and gay. Her soul is recovering, and her happiness - is owing to you! Oh! I would do impossibilities for you. Only just now she - said to me, ‘I am very happy, papa!’ When they say ‘father’ stiffly, it - sends a chill through me; but when they call me ‘papa,’ it brings all the - old memories back. I feel most their father then; I even believe that they - belong to me, and to no one else.” - </p> - <p> - The good man wiped his eyes, he was crying. - </p> - <p> - “It is a long while since I have heard them talk like that, a long, long - time since she took my arm as she did to-day. Yes, indeed, it must be - quite ten years since I walked side by side with one of my girls. How - pleasant it was to keep step with her, to feel the touch of her gown, the - warmth of her arm! Well, I took Delphine everywhere this morning; I went - shopping with her, and I brought her home again. Oh! you must let me live - near you. You may want some one to do you a service some of these days, - and I shall be on the spot to do it. Oh! if only that great dolt of an - Alsatian would die, if his gout would have the sense to attack his - stomach, how happy my poor child would be! You would be my son-in-law; you - would be her husband in the eyes of the world. Bah! she has known no - happiness, that excuses everything. Our Father in heaven is surely on the - side of fathers on earth who love their children. How fond of you she is!” - he said, raising his head after a pause. “All the time we were going about - together she chatted away about you. ‘He is so nice-looking, papa; isn’t - he? He is kind-hearted! Does he talk to you about me?’ Pshaw! she said - enough about you to fill whole volumes; between the Rue d’Artois and the - Passage des Panoramas she poured her heart out into mine. I did not feel - old once during that delightful morning; I felt as light as a feather. I - told her how you had given the banknote to me; it moved my darling to - tears. But what can this be on your chimney-piece?” said Father Goriot at - last. Rastignac had showed no sign, and he was dying of impatience. - </p> - <p> - Eugene stared at his neighbor in dumb and dazed bewilderment. He thought - of Vautrin, of that duel to be fought to-morrow morning, and of this - realization of his dearest hopes, and the violent contrast between the two - sets of ideas gave him all the sensations of nightmare. He went to the - chimney-piece, saw the little square case, opened it, and found a watch of - Breguet’s make wrapped in paper, on which these words were written: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “I want you to think of me every hour, <i>because</i>... - - “DELPHINE.” - </pre> - <p> - That last word doubtless contained an allusion to some scene that had - taken place between them. Eugene felt touched. Inside the gold watch-case - his arms had been wrought in enamel. The chain, the key, the workmanship - and design of the trinket were all such as he had imagined, for he had - long coveted such a possession. Father Goriot was radiant. Of course he - had promised to tell his daughter every little detail of the scene and of - the effect produced upon Eugene by her present; he shared in the pleasure - and excitement of the young people, and seemed to be not the least happy - of the three. He loved Rastignac already for his own as well as for his - daughter’s sake. - </p> - <p> - “You must go and see her; she is expecting you this evening. That great - lout of an Alsatian is going to have supper with his opera-dancer. Aha! he - looked very foolish when my attorney let him know where he was. He says he - idolizes my daughter, does he? He had better let her alone, or I will kill - him. To think that my Delphine is his”—he heaved a sigh—“it is - enough to make me murder him, but it would not be manslaughter to kill - that animal; he is a pig with a calf’s brains.—You will take me with - you, will you not?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, dear Father Goriot; you know very well how fond I am of you——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I do know very well. You are not ashamed of me, are you? Not you! - Let me embrace you,” and he flung his arms around the student’s neck. - </p> - <p> - “You will make her very happy; promise me that you will! You will go to - her this evening, will you not?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! yes. I must go out; I have some urgent business on hand.” - </p> - <p> - “Can I be of any use?” - </p> - <p> - “My word, yes! Will you go to old Taillefer’s while I go to Mme. de - Nucingen? Ask him to make an appointment with me some time this evening; - it is a matter of life and death.” - </p> - <p> - “Really, young man!” cried Father Goriot, with a change of countenance; - “are you really paying court to his daughter, as those simpletons were - saying down below?... <i>Tonnerre de dieu!</i> you have no notion what a - tap <i>a la Goriot</i> is like, and if you are playing a double game, I - shall put a stop to it by one blow of the fist... Oh! the thing is - impossible!” - </p> - <p> - “I swear to you that I love but one woman in the world,” said the student. - “I only knew it a moment ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! what happiness!” cried Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “But young Taillefer has been called out; the duel comes off to-morrow - morning, and I have heard it said that he may lose his life in it.” - </p> - <p> - “But what business is it of yours?” said Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “Why, I ought to tell him so, that he may prevent his son from putting in - an appearance——” - </p> - <p> - Just at that moment Vautrin’s voice broke in upon them; he was standing at - the threshold of his door and singing: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Oh! Richard, oh my king! - All the world abandons thee! - Broum! broum! broum! broum! broum! - - The same old story everywhere, - A roving heart and a... tra la la.” - </pre> - <p> - “Gentlemen!” shouted Christophe, “the soup is ready, and every one is - waiting for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Here,” Vautrin called down to him, “come and take a bottle of my - Bordeaux.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think your watch is pretty?” asked Goriot. “She has good taste, - hasn’t she? Eh?” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin, Father Goriot, and Rastignac came downstairs in company, and, all - three of them being late, were obliged to sit together. - </p> - <p> - Eugene was as distant as possible in his manner to Vautrin during dinner; - but the other, so charming in Mme. Vauquer’s opinion, had never been so - witty. His lively sallies and sparkling talk put the whole table in good - humor. His assurance and coolness filled Eugene with consternation. - </p> - <p> - “Why, what has come to you to-day?” inquired Mme. Vauquer. “You are as - merry as a skylark.” - </p> - <p> - “I am always in spirits after I have made a good bargain.” - </p> - <p> - “Bargain?” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, bargain. I have just delivered a lot of goods, and I shall be - paid a handsome commission on them—Mlle. Michonneau,” he went on, - seeing that the elderly spinster was scrutinizing him intently, “have you - any objection to some feature in my face, that you are making those lynx - eyes at me? Just let me know, and I will have it changed to oblige you... - We shall not fall out about it, Poiret, I dare say?” he added, winking at - the superannuated clerk. - </p> - <p> - “Bless my soul, you ought to stand as model for a burlesque Hercules,” - said the young painter. - </p> - <p> - “I will, upon my word! if Mlle. Michonneau will consent to sit as the - Venus of Pere-Lachaise,” replied Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “There’s Poiret,” suggested Bianchon. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Poiret shall pose as Poiret. He can be a garden god!” cried Vautrin; - “his name means a pear——” - </p> - <p> - “A sleepy pear!” Bianchon put in. “You will come in between the pear and - the cheese.” - </p> - <p> - “What stuff are you all talking!” said Mme. Vauquer; “you would do better - to treat us to your Bordeaux; I see a glimpse of a bottle there. It would - keep us all in a good humor, and it is good for the stomach besides.” - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” said Vautrin, “the Lady President calls us to order. Mme. - Couture and Mlle. Victorine will take your jokes in good part, but respect - the innocence of the aged Goriot. I propose a glass or two of - Bordeauxrama, rendered twice illustrious by the name of Laffite, no - political allusions intended.—Come, you Turk!” he added, looking at - Christophe, who did not offer to stir. “Christophe! Here! What, you don’t - answer to your own name? Bring us some liquor, Turk!” - </p> - <p> - “Here it is, sir,” said Christophe, holding out the bottle. - </p> - <p> - Vautrin filled Eugene’s glass and Goriot’s likewise, then he deliberately - poured out a few drops into his own glass, and sipped it while his two - neighbors drank their wine. All at once he made a grimace. - </p> - <p> - “Corked!” he cried. “The devil! You can drink the rest of this, - Christophe, and go and find another bottle; take from the right-hand side, - you know. There are sixteen of us; take down eight bottles.” - </p> - <p> - “If you are going to stand treat,” said the painter, “I will pay for a - hundred chestnuts.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! oh!” - </p> - <p> - “Booououh!” - </p> - <p> - “Prrr!” - </p> - <p> - These exclamations came from all parts of the table like squibs from a set - firework. - </p> - <p> - “Come, now, Mama Vauquer, a couple of bottles of champagne,” called - Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Quien!</i> just like you! Why not ask for the whole house at once. A - couple of bottles of champagne; that means twelve francs! I shall never - see the money back again, I know! But if M. Eugene has a mind to pay for - it, I have some currant cordial.” - </p> - <p> - “That currant cordial of hers is as bad as a black draught,” muttered the - medical student. - </p> - <p> - “Shut up, Bianchon,” exclaimed Rastignac; “the very mention of black - draught makes me feel——. Yes, champagne, by all means; I will - pay for it,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “Sylvie,” called Mme. Vauquer, “bring in some biscuits, and the little - cakes.” - </p> - <p> - “Those little cakes are mouldy graybeards,” said Vautrin. “But trot out - the biscuits.” - </p> - <p> - The Bordeaux wine circulated; the dinner table became a livelier scene - than ever, and the fun grew fast and furious. Imitations of the cries of - various animals mingled with the loud laughter; the Museum official having - taken it into his head to mimic a cat-call rather like the caterwauling of - the animal in question, eight voices simultaneously struck up with the - following variations: - </p> - <p> - “Scissors to grind!” - </p> - <p> - “Chick-weeds for singing bir-ds!” - </p> - <p> - “Brandy-snaps, ladies!” - </p> - <p> - “China to mend!” - </p> - <p> - “Boat ahoy!” - </p> - <p> - “Sticks to beat your wives or your clothes!” - </p> - <p> - “Old clo’!” - </p> - <p> - “Cherries all ripe!” - </p> - <p> - But the palm was awarded to Bianchon for the nasal accent with which he - rendered the cry of “Umbrellas to me-end!” - </p> - <p> - A few seconds later, and there was a head-splitting racket in the room, a - storm of tomfoolery, a sort of cats’ concert, with Vautrin as conductor of - the orchestra, the latter keeping an eye the while on Eugene and Father - Goriot. The wine seemed to have gone to their heads already. They leaned - back in their chairs, looking at the general confusion with an air of - gravity, and drank but little; both of them were absorbed in the thought - of what lay before them to do that evening, and yet neither of them felt - able to rise and go. Vautrin gave a side glance at them from time to time, - and watched the change that came over their faces, choosing the moment - when their eyes drooped and seemed about to close, to bend over Rastignac - and to say in his ear:— - </p> - <p> - “My little lad, you are not quite shrewd enough to outwit Papa Vautrin - yet, and he is too fond of you to let you make a mess of your affairs. - When I have made up my mind to do a thing, no one short of Providence can - put me off. Aha! we were for going round to warn old Taillefer, telling - tales out of school! The oven is hot, the dough is kneaded, the bread is - ready for the oven; to-morrow we will eat it up and whisk away the crumbs; - and we are not going to spoil the baking? ... No, no, it is all as good as - done! We may suffer from a few conscientious scruples, but they will be - digested along with the bread. While we are having our forty winks, - Colonel Count Franchessini will clear the way to Michel Taillefer’s - inheritance with the point of his sword. Victorine will come in for her - brother’s money, a snug fifteen thousand francs a year. I have made - inquiries already, and I know that her late mother’s property amounts to - more than three hundred thousand——” - </p> - <p> - Eugene heard all this, and could not answer a word; his tongue seemed to - be glued to the roof of his mouth, an irresistible drowsiness was creeping - over him. He still saw the table and the faces round it, but it was - through a bright mist. Soon the noise began to subside, one by one the - boarders went. At last, when their numbers had so dwindled that the party - consisted of Mme. Vauquer, Mme. Couture, Mlle. Victorine, Vautrin, and - Father Goriot, Rastignac watched as though in a dream how Mme. Vauquer - busied herself by collecting the bottles, and drained the remainder of the - wine out of each to fill others. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! how uproarious they are! what a thing it is to be young!” said the - widow. - </p> - <p> - These were the last words that Eugene heard and understood. - </p> - <p> - “There is no one like M. Vautrin for a bit of fun like this,” said Sylvie. - “There, just hark at Christophe, he is snoring like a top.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, mamma,” said Vautrin; “I am going to a theatre on the boulevard - to see M. Marty in <i>Le Mont Sauvage</i>, a fine play taken from <i>Le - Solitaire</i>.... If you like, I will take you and these two ladies——” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you; I must decline,” said Mme. Couture. - </p> - <p> - “What! my good lady!” cried Mme. Vauquer, “decline to see a play founded - on the <i>Le Solitaire</i>, a work by Atala de Chateaubriand? We were so - fond of that book that we cried over it like Magdalens under the <i>line-trees</i> - last summer, and then it is an improving work that might edify your young - lady.” - </p> - <p> - “We are forbidden to go to the play,” answered Victorine. - </p> - <p> - “Just look, those two yonder have dropped off where they sit,” said - Vautrin, shaking the heads of the two sleepers in a comical way. - </p> - <p> - He altered the sleeping student’s position, settled his head more - comfortably on the back of his chair, kissed him warmly on the forehead, - and began to sing: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Sleep, little darlings; - I watch while you slumber.” - </pre> - <p> - “I am afraid he may be ill,” said Victorine. - </p> - <p> - “Then stop and take care of him,” returned Vautrin. “‘Tis your duty as a - meek and obedient wife,” he whispered in her ear. “The young fellow - worships you, and you will be his little wife—there’s your fortune - for you. In short,” he added aloud, “they lived happily ever afterwards, - were much looked up to in all the countryside, and had a numerous family. - That is how all the romances end.—Now, mamma,” he went on, as he - turned to Madame Vauquer and put his arm round her waist, “put on your - bonnet, your best flowered silk, and the countess’ scarf, while I go out - and call a cab—all my own self.” - </p> - <p> - And he started out, singing as he went: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Oh! sun! divine sun! - Ripening the pumpkins every one.” - </pre> - <p> - “My goodness! Well, I’m sure! Mme. Couture, I could live happily in a - garret with a man like that.—There, now!” she added, looking round - for the old vermicelli maker, “there is that Father Goriot half seas over. - <i>He</i> never thought of taking me anywhere, the old skinflint. But he - will measure his length somewhere. My word! it is disgraceful to lose his - senses like that, at his age! You will be telling me that he couldn’t lose - what he hadn’t got—Sylvie, just take him up to his room!” - </p> - <p> - Sylvie took him by the arm, supported him upstairs, and flung him just as - he was, like a package, across the bed. - </p> - <p> - “Poor young fellow!” said Mme. Couture, putting back Eugene’s hair that - had fallen over his eyes; “he is like a young girl, he does not know what - dissipation is.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I can tell you this, I know,” said Mme. Vauquer, “I have taken - lodgers these thirty years, and a good many have passed through my hands, - as the saying is, but I have never seen a nicer nor a more aristocratic - looking young man than M. Eugene. How handsome he looks sleeping! Just let - his head rest on your shoulder, Mme. Couture. Pshaw! he falls over towards - Mlle. Victorine. There’s a special providence for young things. A little - more, and he would have broken his head against the knob of the chair. - They’d make a pretty pair those two would!” - </p> - <p> - “Hush, my good neighbor,” cried Mme. Couture, “you are saying such things——” - </p> - <p> - “Pooh!” put in Mme. Vauquer, “he does not hear.—Here, Sylvie! come - and help me to dress. I shall put on my best stays.” - </p> - <p> - “What! your best stays just after dinner, madame?” said Sylvie. “No, you - can get some one else to lace you. I am not going to be your murderer. - It’s a rash thing to do, and might cost you your life.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care, I must do honor to M. Vautrin.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you so fond of your heirs as all that?” - </p> - <p> - “Come, Sylvie, don’t argue,” said the widow, as she left the room. - </p> - <p> - “At her age, too!” said the cook to Victorine, pointing to her mistress as - she spoke. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Couture and her ward were left in the dining-room, and Eugene slept - on Victorine’s shoulder. The sound of Christophe’s snoring echoed through - the silent house; Eugene’s quiet breathing seemed all the quieter by force - of contrast, he was sleeping as peacefully as a child. Victorine was very - happy; she was free to perform one of those acts of charity which form an - innocent outlet for all the overflowing sentiments of a woman’s nature; he - was so close to her that she could feel the throbbing of his heart; there - was a look of almost maternal protection and conscious pride in - Victorine’s face. Among the countless thoughts that crowded up in her - young innocent heart, there was a wild flutter of joy at this close - contact. - </p> - <p> - “Poor, dear child!” said Mme. Couture, squeezing her hand. - </p> - <p> - The old lady looked at the girl. Victorine’s innocent, pathetic face, so - radiant with the new happiness that had befallen her, called to mind some - naive work of mediaeval art, when the painter neglected the accessories, - reserving all the magic of his brush for the quiet, austere outlines and - ivory tints of the face, which seems to have caught something of the - golden glory of heaven. - </p> - <p> - “After all, he only took two glasses, mamma,” said Victorine, passing her - fingers through Eugene’s hair. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, if he had been a dissipated young man, child, he would have - carried his wine like the rest of them. His drowsiness does him credit.” - </p> - <p> - There was a sound of wheels outside in the street. - </p> - <p> - “There is M. Vautrin, mamma,” said the girl. “Just take M. Eugene. I would - rather not have that man see me like this; there are some ways of looking - at you that seem to sully your soul and make you feel as though you had - nothing on.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, you are wrong!” said Mme. Couture. “M. Vautrin is a worthy man; - he reminds me a little of my late husband, poor dear M. Couture, rough but - kind-hearted; his bark is worse than his bite.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin came in while she was speaking; he did not make a sound, but - looked for a while at the picture of the two young faces—the - lamplight falling full upon them seemed to caress them. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he remarked, folding his arms, “here is a picture! It would have - suggested some pleasing pages to Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (good soul), - who wrote <i>Paul et Virginie</i>. Youth is very charming, Mme. Couture!—Sleep - on, poor boy,” he added, looking at Eugene, “luck sometimes comes while - you are sleeping.—There is something touching and attractive to me - about this young man, madame,” he continued; “I know that his nature is in - harmony with his face. Just look, the head of a cherub on an angel’s - shoulder! He deserves to be loved. If I were a woman, I would die (no—not - such a fool), I would live for him.” He bent lower and spoke in the - widow’s ear. “When I see those two together, madame, I cannot help - thinking that Providence meant them for each other; He works by secret - ways, and tries the reins and the heart,” he said in a loud voice. “And - when I see you, my children, thus united by a like purity and by all human - affections, I say to myself that it is quite impossible that the future - should separate you. God is just.”—He turned to Victorine. “It seems - to me,” he said, “that I have seen the line of success in your hand. Let - me look at it, Mlle. Victorine; I am well up in palmistry, and I have told - fortunes many a time. Come, now, don’t be frightened. Ah! what do I see? - Upon my word, you will be one of the richest heiresses in Paris before - very long. You will heap riches on the man who loves you. Your father will - want you to go and live with him. You will marry a young and handsome man - with a title, and he will idolize you.” - </p> - <p> - The heavy footsteps of the coquettish widow, who was coming down the - stairs, interrupted Vautrin’s fortune-telling. “Here is Mamma Vauquerre, - fair as a starr-r-r, dressed within an inch of her life.—Aren’t we a - trifle pinched for room?” he inquired, with his arm round the lady; “we - are screwed up very tightly about the bust, mamma! If we are much - agitated, there may be an explosion; but I will pick up the fragments with - all the care of an antiquary.” - </p> - <p> - “There is a man who can talk the language of French gallantry!” said the - widow, bending to speak in Mme. Couture’s ear. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, little ones!” said Vautrin, turning to Eugene and Victorine. - “Bless you both!” and he laid a hand on either head. “Take my word for it, - young lady, an honest man’s prayers are worth something; they should bring - you happiness, for God hears them.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, dear,” said Mme. Vauquer to her lodger. “Do you think that M. - Vautrin means to run away with me?” she added, lowering her voice. - </p> - <p> - “Lack-a-day!” said the widow. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! mamma dear, suppose it should really happen as that kind M. Vautrin - said!” said Victorine with a sigh as she looked at her hands. The two - women were alone together. - </p> - <p> - “Why, it wouldn’t take much to bring it to pass,” said the elderly lady; - “just a fall from his horse, and your monster of a brother——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! mamma.” - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord! Well, perhaps it is a sin to wish bad luck to an enemy,” the - widow remarked. “I will do penance for it. Still, I would strew flowers on - his grave with the greatest pleasure, and that is the truth. - Black-hearted, that he is! The coward couldn’t speak up for his own - mother, and cheats you out of your share by deceit and trickery. My cousin - had a pretty fortune of her own, but unluckily for you, nothing was said - in the marriage-contract about anything that she might come in for.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be very hard if my fortune is to cost some one else his life,” - said Victorine. “If I cannot be happy unless my brother is to be taken out - of the world, I would rather stay here all my life.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> it is just as that good M. Vautrin says, and he is full - of piety, you see,” Mme. Couture remarked. “I am very glad to find that he - is not an unbeliever like the rest of them that talk of the Almighty with - less respect than they do of the Devil. Well, as he was saying, who can - know the ways by which it may please Providence to lead us?” - </p> - <p> - With Sylvie’s help the two women at last succeeded in getting Eugene up to - his room; they laid him on the bed, and the cook unfastened his clothes to - make him more comfortable. Before they left the room, Victorine snatched - an opportunity when her guardian’s back was turned, and pressed a kiss on - Eugene’s forehead, feeling all the joy that this stolen pleasure could - give her. Then she looked round the room, and gathering up, as it were, - into one single thought all the untold bliss of that day, she made a - picture of her memories, and dwelt upon it until she slept, the happiest - creature in Paris. - </p> - <p> - That evening’s merry-making, in the course of which Vautrin had given the - drugged wine to Eugene and Father Goriot, was his own ruin. Bianchon, - flustered with wine, forgot to open the subject of Trompe-la-Mort with - Mlle. Michonneau. The mere mention of the name would have set Vautrin on - his guard; for Vautrin, or, to give him his real name, Jacques Collin, was - in fact the notorious escaped convict. - </p> - <p> - But it was the joke about the Venus of Pere-Lachaise that finally decided - his fate. Mlle. Michonneau had very nearly made up her mind to warn the - convict and to throw herself on his generosity, with the idea of making a - better bargain for herself by helping him to escape that night; but as it - was, she went out escorted by Poiret in search of the famous chief of - detectives in the Petite Rue Saint-Anne, still thinking that it was the - district superintendent—one Gondureau—with whom she had to do. - The head of the department received his visitors courteously. There was a - little talk, and the details were definitely arranged. Mlle. Michonneau - asked for the draught that she was to administer in order to set about her - investigation. But the great man’s evident satisfaction set Mlle. - Michonneau thinking; and she began to see that this business involved - something more than the mere capture of a runaway convict. She racked her - brains while he looked in a drawer in his desk for the little phial, and - it dawned upon her that in consequence of treacherous revelations made by - the prisoners the police were hoping to lay their hands on a considerable - sum of money. But on hinting her suspicions to the old fox of the Petite - Rue Saint-Anne, that officer began to smile, and tried to put her off the - scent. - </p> - <p> - “A delusion,” he said. “Collin’s <i>sorbonne</i> is the most dangerous - that has yet been found among the dangerous classes. That is all, and the - rascals are quite aware of it. They rally round him; he is the backbone of - the federation, its Bonaparte, in short; he is very popular with them all. - The rogue will never leave his <i>chump</i> in the Place de Greve.” - </p> - <p> - As Mlle. Michonneau seemed mystified, Gondureau explained the two slang - words for her benefit. <i>Sorbonne</i> and <i>chump</i> are two forcible - expressions borrowed from thieves’ Latin, thieves, of all people, being - compelled to consider the human head in its two aspects. A sorbonne is the - head of a living man, his faculty of thinking—his council; a chump - is a contemptuous epithet that implies how little a human head is worth - after the axe has done its work. - </p> - <p> - “Collin is playing us off,” he continued. “When we come across a man like - a bar of steel tempered in the English fashion, there is always one - resource left—we can kill him if he takes it into his head to make - the least resistance. We are reckoning on several methods of killing - Collin to-morrow morning. It saves a trial, and society is rid of him - without all the expense of guarding and feeding him. What with getting up - the case, summoning witnesses, paying their expenses, and carrying out the - sentence, it costs a lot to go through all the proper formalities before - you can get quit of one of these good-for-nothings, over and above the - three thousand francs that you are going to have. There is a saving in - time as well. One good thrust of the bayonet into Trompe-la-Mort’s paunch - will prevent scores of crimes, and save fifty scoundrels from following - his example; they will be very careful to keep themselves out of the - police courts. That is doing the work of the police thoroughly, and true - philanthropists will tell you that it is better to prevent crime than to - punish it.” - </p> - <p> - “And you do a service to our country,” said Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Really, you are talking in a very sensible manner tonight, that you are,” - said the head of the department. “Yes, of course, we are serving our - country, and we are very hardly used too. We do society very great - services that are not recognized. In fact, a superior man must rise above - vulgar prejudices, and a Christian must resign himself to the mishaps that - doing right entails, when right is done in an out-of-the-way style. Paris - is Paris, you see! That is the explanation of my life.—I have the - honor to wish you a good-evening, mademoiselle. I shall bring my men to - the Jardin du Roi in the morning. Send Christophe to the Rue du Buffon, - tell him to ask for M. Gondureau in the house where you saw me before.—Your - servant, sir. If you should ever have anything stolen from you, come to - me, and I will do my best to get it back for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, now,” Poiret remarked to Mlle. Michonneau, “there are idiots who - are scared out of their wits by the word police. That was a very - pleasant-spoken gentleman, and what he wants you to do is as easy as - saying ‘Good-day.’” - </p> - <p> - The next day was destined to be one of the most extraordinary in the - annals of the Maison Vauquer. Hitherto the most startling occurrence in - its tranquil existence had been the portentous, meteor-like apparition of - the sham Comtesse de l’Ambermesnil. But the catastrophes of this great day - were to cast all previous events into the shade, and supply an - inexhaustible topic of conversation for Mme. Vauquer and her boarders so - long as she lived. - </p> - <p> - In the first place, Goriot and Eugene de Rastignac both slept till close - upon eleven o’clock. Mme. Vauquer, who came home about midnight from the - Gaite, lay a-bed till half-past ten. Christophe, after a prolonged slumber - (he had finished Vautrin’s first bottle of wine), was behindhand with his - work, but Poiret and Mlle. Michonneau uttered no complaint, though - breakfast was delayed. As for Victorine and Mme. Couture, they also lay - late. Vautrin went out before eight o’clock, and only came back just as - breakfast was ready. Nobody protested, therefore, when Sylvie and - Christophe went up at a quarter past eleven, knocked at all the doors, and - announced that breakfast was waiting. While Sylvie and the man were - upstairs, Mlle. Michonneau, who came down first, poured the contents of - the phial into the silver cup belonging to Vautrin—it was standing - with the others in the bain-marie that kept the cream hot for the morning - coffee. The spinster had reckoned on this custom of the house to do her - stroke of business. The seven lodgers were at last collected together, not - without some difficulty. Just as Eugene came downstairs, stretching - himself and yawning, a commissionaire handed him a letter from Mme. de - Nucingen. It ran thus:— - </p> - <p> - “I feel neither false vanity nor anger where you are concerned, my friend. - Till two o’clock this morning I waited for you. Oh, that waiting for one - whom you love! No one that had passed through that torture could inflict - it on another. I know now that you have never loved before. What can have - happened? Anxiety has taken hold of me. I would have come myself to find - out what had happened, if I had not feared to betray the secrets of my - heart. How can I walk out or drive out at this time of day? Would it not - be ruin? I have felt to the full how wretched it is to be a woman. Send a - word to reassure me, and explain how it is that you have not come after - what my father told you. I shall be angry, but I will forgive you. One - word, for pity’s sake. You will come to me soon, will you not? If you are - busy, a line will be enough. Say, ‘I will hasten to you,’ or else, ‘I am - ill.’ But if you were ill my father would have come to tell me so. What - can have happened?...” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, indeed, what has happened?” exclaimed Eugene, and, hurrying down to - the dining-room, he crumpled up the letter without reading any more. “What - time is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Half-past eleven,” said Vautrin, dropping a lump of sugar into his - coffee. - </p> - <p> - The escaped convict cast a glance at Eugene, a cold and fascinating - glance; men gifted with this magnetic power can quell furious lunatics in - a madhouse by such a glance, it is said. Eugene shook in every limb. There - was the sound of wheels in the street, and in another moment a man with a - scared face rushed into the room. It was one of M. Taillefer’s servants; - Mme. Couture recognized the livery at once. - </p> - <p> - “Mademoiselle,” he cried, “your father is asking for you—something - terrible has happened! M. Frederic has had a sword thrust in the forehead - in a duel, and the doctors have given him up. You will scarcely be in time - to say good-bye to him! he is unconscious.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor young fellow!” exclaimed Vautrin. “How can people brawl when they - have a certain income of thirty thousand livres? Young people have bad - manners, and that is a fact.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir!” cried Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Well, what then, you big baby!” said Vautrin, swallowing down his coffee - imperturbably, an operation which Mlle. Michonneau watched with such close - attention that she had no emotion to spare for the amazing news that had - struck the others dumb with amazement. “Are there not duels every morning - in Paris?” added Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “I will go with you, Victorine,” said Mme. Couture, and the two women - hurried away at once without either hats or shawls. But before she went, - Victorine, with her eyes full of tears, gave Eugene a glance that said—“How - little I thought that our happiness should cost me tears!” - </p> - <p> - “Dear me, you are a prophet, M. Vautrin,” said Mme. Vauquer. - </p> - <p> - “I am all sorts of things,” said Vautrin. - </p> - <p> - “Queer, isn’t it?” said Mme. Vauquer, stringing together a succession of - commonplaces suited to the occasion. “Death takes us off without asking us - about it. The young often go before the old. It is a lucky thing for us - women that we are not liable to fight duels, but we have other complaints - that men don’t suffer from. We bear children, and it takes a long time to - get over it. What a windfall for Victorine! Her father will have to - acknowledge her now!” - </p> - <p> - “There!” said Vautrin, looking at Eugene, “yesterday she had not a penny; - this morning she has several millions to her fortune.” - </p> - <p> - “I say, M. Eugene!” cried Mme. Vauquer, “you have landed on your feet!” - </p> - <p> - At this exclamation, Father Goriot looked at the student, and saw the - crumpled letter still in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “You have not read it through! What does this mean? Are you going to be - like the rest of them?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Madame, I shall never marry Mlle. Victorine,” said Eugene, turning to - Mme. Vauquer with an expression of terror and loathing that surprised the - onlookers at this scene. - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot caught the student’s hand and grasped it warmly. He could - have kissed it. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, ho!” said Vautrin, “the Italians have a good proverb—<i>Col - tempo</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Is there any answer?” said Mme. de Nucingen’s messenger, addressing - Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Say that I will come directly.” - </p> - <p> - The man went. Eugene was in a state of such violent excitement that he - could not be prudent. - </p> - <p> - “What is to be done?” he exclaimed aloud. “There are no proofs!” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin began to smile. Though the drug he had taken was doing its work, - the convict was so vigorous that he rose to his feet, gave Rastignac a - look, and said in hollow tones, “Luck comes to us while we sleep, young - man,” and fell stiff and stark, as if he were struck dead. - </p> - <p> - “So there is a Divine Justice!” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Well, if ever! What has come to that poor dear M. Vautrin?” - </p> - <p> - “A stroke!” cried Mlle. Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “Here, Sylvie! girl, run for the doctor,” called the widow. “Oh, M. - Rastignac, just go for M. Bianchon, and be as quick as you can; Sylvie - might not be in time to catch our doctor, M. Grimprel.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac was glad of an excuse to leave that den of horrors, his hurry - for the doctor was nothing but a flight. - </p> - <p> - “Here, Christophe, go round to the chemist’s and ask for something that’s - good for the apoplexy.” - </p> - <p> - Christophe likewise went. - </p> - <p> - “Father Goriot, just help us to get him upstairs.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin was taken up among them, carried carefully up the narrow - staircase, and laid upon his bed. - </p> - <p> - “I can do no good here, so I shall go to see my daughter,” said M. Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “Selfish old thing!” cried Mme. Vauquer. “Yes, go; I wish you may die like - a dog.” - </p> - <p> - “Just go and see if you can find some ether,” said Mlle. Michonneau to - Mme. Vauquer; the former, with some help from Poiret, had unfastened the - sick man’s clothes. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Vauquer went down to her room, and left Mlle. Michonneau mistress of - the situation. - </p> - <p> - “Now! just pull down his shirt and turn him over, quick! You might be of - some use in sparing my modesty,” she said to Poiret, “instead of standing - there like a stock.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin was turned over; Mlle. Michonneau gave his shoulder a sharp slap, - and the two portentous letters appeared, white against the red. - </p> - <p> - “There, you have earned your three thousand francs very easily,” exclaimed - Poiret, supporting Vautrin while Mlle. Michonneau slipped on the shirt - again.—“Ouf! How heavy he is,” he added, as he laid the convict - down. - </p> - <p> - “Hush! Suppose there is a strong-box here!” said the old maid briskly; her - glances seemed to pierce the walls, she scrutinized every article of the - furniture with greedy eyes. “Could we find some excuse for opening that - desk?” - </p> - <p> - “It mightn’t be quite right,” responded Poiret to this. - </p> - <p> - “Where is the harm? It is money stolen from all sorts of people, so it - doesn’t belong to any one now. But we haven’t time, there is the Vauquer.” - </p> - <p> - “Here is the ether,” said that lady. “I must say that this is an eventful - day. Lord! that man can’t have had a stroke; he is as white as curds.” - </p> - <p> - “White as curds?” echoed Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “And his pulse is steady,” said the widow, laying her hand on his breast. - </p> - <p> - “Steady?” said the astonished Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “He is all right.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think so?” asked Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Lord! Yes, he looks as if he were sleeping. Sylvie has gone for a doctor. - I say, Mlle. Michonneau, he is sniffing the ether. Pooh! it is only a - spasm. His pulse is good. He is as strong as a Turk. Just look, - mademoiselle, what a fur tippet he has on his chest; that is the sort of - man to live till he is a hundred. His wig holds on tightly, however. Dear - me! it is glued on, and his own hair is red; that is why he wears a wig. - They say that red-haired people are either the worst or the best. Is he - one of the good ones, I wonder?” - </p> - <p> - “Good to hang,” said Poiret. - </p> - <p> - “Round a pretty woman’s neck, you mean,” said Mlle Michonneau, hastily. - “Just go away, M. Poiret. It is a woman’s duty to nurse you men when you - are ill. Besides, for all the good you are doing, you may as well take - yourself off,” she added. “Mme. Vauquer and I will take great care of dear - M. Vautrin.” - </p> - <p> - Poiret went out on tiptoe without a murmur, like a dog kicked out of the - room by his master. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac had gone out for the sake of physical exertion; he wanted to - breathe the air, he felt stifled. Yesterday evening he had meant to - prevent the murder arranged for half-past eight that morning. What had - happened? What ought he to do now? He trembled to think that he himself - might be implicated. Vautrin’s coolness still further dismayed him. - </p> - <p> - “Yet, how if Vautrin should die without saying a word?” Rastignac asked - himself. - </p> - <p> - He hurried along the alleys of the Luxembourg Gardens as if the hounds of - justice were after him, and he already heard the baying of the pack. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” shouted Bianchon, “you have seen the <i>Pilote</i>?” - </p> - <p> - The <i>Pilote</i> was a Radical sheet, edited by M. Tissot. It came out - several hours later than the morning papers, and was meant for the benefit - of country subscribers; for it brought the morning news into provincial - districts twenty-four hours sooner than the ordinary local journals. - </p> - <p> - “There is a wonderful history in it,” said the house student of the - Hopital Cochin. “Young Taillefer called out Count Franchessini, of the Old - Guard, and the Count put a couple of inches of steel into his forehead. - And here is little Victorine one of the richest heiresses in Paris! If we - had known that, eh? What a game of chance death is! They say Victorine was - sweet on you; was there any truth in it?” - </p> - <p> - “Shut up, Bianchon; I shall never marry her. I am in love with a charming - woman, and she is in love with me, so——” - </p> - <p> - “You said that as if you were screwing yourself up to be faithful to her. - I should like to see the woman worth the sacrifice of Master Taillefer’s - money!” - </p> - <p> - “Are all the devils of hell at my heels?” cried Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter with you? Are you mad? Give us your hand,” said - Bianchon, “and let me feel your pulse. You are feverish.” - </p> - <p> - “Just go to Mother Vauquer’s,” said Rastignac; “that scoundrel Vautrin has - dropped down like one dead.” - </p> - <p> - “Aha!” said Bianchon, leaving Rastignac to his reflections, “you confirm - my suspicions, and now I mean to make sure for myself.” - </p> - <p> - The law student’s long walk was a memorable one for him. He made in some - sort a survey of his conscience. After a close scrutiny, after hesitation - and self-examination, his honor at any rate came out scatheless from this - sharp and terrible ordeal, like a bar of iron tested in the English - fashion. He remembered Father Goriot’s confidences of the evening before; - he recollected the rooms taken for him in the Rue d’Artois, so that he - might be near Delphine; and then he thought of his letter, and read it - again and kissed it. - </p> - <p> - “Such a love is my anchor of safety,” he said to himself. “How the old - man’s heart must have been wrung! He says nothing about all that he has - been through; but who could not guess? Well, then, I will be like a son to - him; his life shall be made happy. If she cares for me, she will often - come to spend the day with him. That grand Comtesse de Restaud is a - heartless thing; she would make her father into her hall porter. Dear - Delphine! she is kinder to the old man; she is worthy to be loved. Ah! - this evening I shall be very happy!” - </p> - <p> - He took out his watch and admired it. - </p> - <p> - “I have had nothing but success! If two people mean to love each other for - ever, they may help each other, and I can take this. Besides, I shall - succeed, and I will pay her a hundredfold. There is nothing criminal in - this <i>liaison</i>; nothing that could cause the most austere moralist to - frown. How many respectable people contract similar unions! We deceive - nobody; it is deception that makes a position humiliating. If you lie, you - lower yourself at once. She and her husband have lived apart for a long - while. Besides, how if I called upon that Alsatian to resign a wife whom - he cannot make happy?” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac’s battle with himself went on for a long while; and though the - scruples of youth inevitably gained the day, an irresistible curiosity led - him, about half-past four, to return to the Maison Vauquer through the - gathering dusk. - </p> - <p> - Bianchon had given Vautrin an emetic, reserving the contents of the - stomach for chemical analysis at the hospital. Mlle. Michonneau’s - officious alacrity had still further strengthened his suspicions of her. - Vautrin, moreover, had recovered so quickly that it was impossible not to - suspect some plot against the leader of all frolics at the lodging-house. - Vautrin was standing in front of the stove in the dining-room when - Rastignac came in. All the lodgers were assembled sooner than usual by the - news of young Taillefer’s duel. They were anxious to hear any detail about - the affair, and to talk over the probable change in Victorine’s prospects. - Father Goriot alone was absent, but the rest were chatting. No sooner did - Eugene come into the room, than his eyes met the inscrutable gaze of - Vautrin. It was the same look that had read his thoughts before—the - look that had such power to waken evil thoughts in his heart. He - shuddered. - </p> - <p> - “Well, dear boy,” said the escaped convict, “I am likely to cheat death - for a good while yet. According to these ladies, I have had a stroke that - would have felled an ox, and come off with flying colors.” - </p> - <p> - “A bull you might say,” cried the widow. - </p> - <p> - “You really might be sorry to see me still alive,” said Vautrin in - Rastignac’s ear, thinking that he guessed the student’s thoughts. “You - must be mighty sure of yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “Mlle. Michonneau was talking the day before yesterday about a gentleman - named <i>Trompe-la-Mort</i>,” said Bianchon; “and, upon my word, that name - would do very well for you.” - </p> - <p> - Vautrin seemed thunderstruck. He turned pale, and staggered back. He - turned his magnetic glance, like a ray of vivid light, on Mlle. - Michonneau; the old maid shrank and trembled under the influence of that - strong will, and collapsed into a chair. The mask of good-nature had - dropped from the convict’s face; from the unmistakable ferocity of that - sinister look, Poiret felt that the old maid was in danger, and hastily - stepped between them. None of the lodgers understood this scene in the - least, they looked on in mute amazement. There was a pause. Just then - there was a sound of tramping feet outside; there were soldiers there, it - seemed, for there was a ring of several rifles on the pavement of the - street. Collin was mechanically looking round the walls for a way of - escape, when four men entered by way of the sitting-room. - </p> - <p> - “In the name of the King and the Law!” said an officer, but the words were - almost lost in a murmur of astonishment. - </p> - <p> - Silence fell on the room. The lodgers made way for three of the men, who - had each a hand on a cocked pistol in a side pocket. Two policemen, who - followed the detectives, kept the entrance to the sitting-room, and two - more men appeared in the doorway that gave access to the staircase. A - sound of footsteps came from the garden, and again the rifles of several - soldiers rang on the cobblestones under the window. All chance of - salvation by flight was cut off for Trompe-la-Mort, to whom all eyes - instinctively turned. The chief walked straight up to him, and commenced - operations by giving him a sharp blow on the head, so that the wig fell - off, and Collin’s face was revealed in all its ugliness. There was a - terrible suggestion of strength mingled with cunning in the short, - brick-red crop of hair, the whole head was in harmony with his powerful - frame, and at that moment the fires of hell seemed to gleam from his eyes. - In that flash the real Vautrin shone forth, revealed at once before them - all; they understood his past, his present, and future, his pitiless - doctrines, his actions, the religion of his own good pleasure, the majesty - with which his cynicism and contempt for mankind invested him, the - physical strength of an organization proof against all trials. The blood - flew to his face, and his eyes glared like the eyes of a wild cat. He - started back with savage energy and a fierce growl that drew exclamations - of alarm from the lodgers. At that leonine start the police caught at - their pistols under cover of the general clamor. Collin saw the gleaming - muzzles of the weapons, saw his danger, and instantly gave proof of a - power of the highest order. There was something horrible and majestic in - the spectacle of the sudden transformation in his face; he could only be - compared to a cauldron full of the steam that can send mountains flying, a - terrific force dispelled in a moment by a drop of cold water. The drop of - water that cooled his wrathful fury was a reflection that flashed across - his brain like lightning. He began to smile, and looked down at his wig. - </p> - <p> - “You are not in the politest of humors to-day,” he remarked to the chief, - and he held out his hands to the policemen with a jerk of his head. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” he said, “put on the bracelets or the handcuffs. I call on - those present to witness that I make no resistance.” - </p> - <p> - A murmur of admiration ran through the room at the sudden outpouring like - fire and lava flood from this human volcano, and its equally sudden - cessation. - </p> - <p> - “There’s a sell for you, master crusher,” the convict added, looking at - the famous director of police. - </p> - <p> - “Come, strip!” said he of the Petite Rue Saint-Anne, contemptuously. - </p> - <p> - “Why?” asked Collin. “There are ladies present; I deny nothing, and - surrender.” - </p> - <p> - He paused, and looked round the room like an orator who is about to - overwhelm his audience. - </p> - <p> - “Take this down, Daddy Lachapelle,” he went on, addressing a little, - white-haired old man who had seated himself at the end of the table; and - after drawing a printed form from the portfolio, was proceeding to draw up - a document. “I acknowledge myself to be Jacques Collin, otherwise known as - Trompe-la-Mort, condemned to twenty years’ penal servitude, and I have - just proved that I have come fairly by my nickname.—If I had as much - as raised my hand,” he went on, addressing the other lodgers, “those three - sneaking wretches yonder would have drawn claret on Mamma Vauquer’s - domestic hearth. The rogues have laid their heads together to set a trap - for me.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Vauquer felt sick and faint at these words. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord!” she cried, “this does give one a turn; and me at the Gaite - with him only last night!” she said to Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “Summon your philosophy, mamma,” Collin resumed. “Is it a misfortune to - have sat in my box at the Gaite yesterday evening? After all, are you - better than we are? The brand upon our shoulders is less shameful than the - brand set on your hearts, you flabby members of a society rotten to the - core. Not the best man among you could stand up to me.” His eyes rested - upon Rastignac, to whom he spoke with a pleasant smile that seemed - strangely at variance with the savage expression in his eyes.—“Our - little bargain still holds good, dear boy; you can accept any time you - like! Do you understand?” And he sang: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “A charming girl is my Fanchette - In her simplicity.” - </pre> - <p> - “Don’t you trouble yourself,” he went on; “I can get in my money. They are - too much afraid of me to swindle me.” - </p> - <p> - The convicts’ prison, its language and customs, its sudden sharp - transitions from the humorous to the horrible, its appalling grandeur, its - triviality and its dark depths, were all revealed in turn by the speaker’s - discourse; he seemed to be no longer a man, but the type and mouthpiece of - a degenerate race, a brutal, supple, clear-headed race of savages. In one - moment Collin became the poet of an inferno, wherein all thoughts and - passions that move human nature (save repentance) find a place. He looked - about him like a fallen archangel who is for war to the end. Rastignac - lowered his eyes, and acknowledged this kinship claimed by crime as an - expiation of his own evil thoughts. - </p> - <p> - “Who betrayed me?” said Collin, and his terrible eyes traveled round the - room. Suddenly they rested on Mlle. Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “It was you, old cat!” he said. “That sham stroke of apoplexy was your - doing, lynx eyes!... Two words from me, and your throat would be cut in - less than a week, but I forgive you, I am a Christian. You did not sell me - either. But who did?——Aha! you may rummage upstairs,” he - shouted, hearing the police officers opening his cupboards and taking - possession of his effects. “The nest is empty, the birds flew away - yesterday, and you will be none the wiser. My ledgers are here,” he said - tapping his forehead. “Now I know who sold me! It could only be that - blackguard Fil-de-Soie. That is who it was, old catchpoll, eh?” he said, - turning to the chief. “It was timed so neatly to get the banknotes up - above there. There is nothing left for you—spies! As for - Fil-de-Soie, he will be under the daisies in less than a fortnight, even - if you were to tell off the whole force to protect him. How much did you - give the Michonnette?” he asked of the police officers. “A thousand - crowns? Oh you Ninon in decay, Pompadour in tatters, Venus of the - graveyard, I was worth more than that! If you had given me warning, you - should have had six thousand francs. Ah! you had no suspicion of that, old - trafficker in flesh and blood, or I should have had the preference. Yes, I - would have given six thousand francs to save myself an inconvenient - journey and some loss of money,” he said, as they fastened the handcuffs - on his wrists. “These folks will amuse themselves by dragging out this - business till the end of time to keep me idle. If they were to send me - straight to jail, I should soon be back at my old tricks in spite of the - duffers at the Quai des Orfevres. Down yonder they will all turn - themselves inside out to help their general—their good - Trompe-la-Mort—to get clear away. Is there a single one among you - that can say, as I can, that he has ten thousand brothers ready to do - anything for him?” he asked proudly. “There is some good there,” he said - tapping his heart; “I have never betrayed any one!—Look you here, - you slut,” he said to the old maid, “they are all afraid of me, do you - see? but the sight of you turns them sick. Rake in your gains.” - </p> - <p> - He was silent for a moment, and looked round at the lodgers’ faces. - </p> - <p> - “What dolts you are, all of you! Have you never seen a convict before? A - convict of Collin’s stamp, whom you see before you, is a man less - weak-kneed than others; he lifts up his voice against the colossal fraud - of the Social Contract, as Jean Jacques did, whose pupil he is proud to - declare himself. In short, I stand here single-handed against a Government - and a whole subsidized machinery of tribunals and police, and I am a match - for them all.” - </p> - <p> - “Ye gods!” cried the painter, “what a magnificent sketch one might make of - him!” - </p> - <p> - “Look here, you gentlemen-in-waiting to his highness the gibbet, master of - ceremonies to the widow” (a nickname full of sombre poetry, given by - prisoners to the guillotine), “be a good fellow, and tell me if it really - was Fil-de-Soie who sold me. I don’t want him to suffer for some one else, - that would not be fair.” - </p> - <p> - But before the chief had time to answer, the rest of the party returned - from making their investigations upstairs. Everything had been opened and - inventoried. A few words passed between them and the chief, and the - official preliminaries were complete. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” said Collin, addressing the lodgers, “they will take me away - directly. You have all made my stay among you very agreeable, and I shall - look back upon it with gratitude. Receive my adieux, and permit me to send - you figs from Provence.” - </p> - <p> - He advanced a step or two, and then turned to look once more at Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, Eugene,” he said, in a sad and gentle tone, a strange - transition from his previous rough and stern manner. “If you should be - hard up, I have left you a devoted friend,” and, in spite of his shackles, - he managed to assume a posture of defence, called, “One, two!” like a - fencing-master, and lunged. “If anything goes wrong, apply in that - quarter. Man and money, all at your service.” - </p> - <p> - The strange speaker’s manner was sufficiently burlesque, so that no one - but Rastignac knew that there was a serious meaning underlying the - pantomime. - </p> - <p> - As soon as the police, soldiers, and detectives had left the house, - Sylvie, who was rubbing her mistress’ temples with vinegar, looked round - at the bewildered lodgers. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said she, “he was a man, he was, for all that.” - </p> - <p> - Her words broke the spell. Every one had been too much excited, too much - moved by very various feelings to speak. But now the lodgers began to look - at each other, and then all eyes were turned at once on Mlle. Michonneau, - a thin, shriveled, dead-alive, mummy-like figure, crouching by the stove; - her eyes were downcast, as if she feared that the green eye-shade could - not shut out the expression of those faces from her. This figure and the - feeling of repulsion she had so long excited were explained all at once. A - smothered murmur filled the room; it was so unanimous, that it seemed as - if the same feeling of loathing had pitched all the voices in one key. - Mlle. Michonneau heard it, and did not stir. It was Bianchon who was the - first to move; he bent over his neighbor, and said in a low voice, “If - that creature is going to stop here, and have dinner with us, I shall - clear out.” - </p> - <p> - In the twinkling of an eye it was clear that every one in the room, save - Poiret, was of the medical student’s opinion, so that the latter, strong - in the support of the majority, went up to that elderly person. - </p> - <p> - “You are more intimate with Mlle. Michonneau than the rest of us,” he - said; “speak to her, make her understand that she must go, and go at - once.” - </p> - <p> - “At once!” echoed Poiret in amazement. - </p> - <p> - Then he went across to the crouching figure, and spoke a few words in her - ear. - </p> - <p> - “I have paid beforehand for the quarter; I have as much right to be here - as any one else,” she said, with a viperous look at the boarders. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind that! we will club together and pay you the money back,” said - Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur is taking Collin’s part” she said, with a questioning, malignant - glance at the law student; “it is not difficult to guess why.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene started forward at the words, as if he meant to spring upon her and - wring her neck. That glance, and the depths of treachery that it revealed, - had been a hideous enlightenment. - </p> - <p> - “Let her alone!” cried the boarders. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac folded his arms and was silent. - </p> - <p> - “Let us have no more of Mlle. Judas,” said the painter, turning to Mme. - Vauquer. “If you don’t show the Michonneau the door, madame, we shall all - leave your shop, and wherever we go we shall say that there are only - convicts and spies left there. If you do the other thing, we will hold our - tongues about the business; for when all is said and done, it might happen - in the best society until they brand them on the forehead, when they send - them to the hulks. They ought not to let convicts go about Paris disguised - like decent citizens, so as to carry on their antics like a set of - rascally humbugs, which they are.” - </p> - <p> - At this Mme. Vauquer recovered miraculously. She sat up and folded her - arms; her eyes were wide open now, and there was no sign of tears in them. - </p> - <p> - “Why, do you really mean to be the ruin of my establishment, my dear sir? - There is M. Vautrin——Goodness,” she cried, interrupting - herself, “I can’t help calling him by the name he passed himself off by - for an honest man! There is one room to let already, and you want me to - turn out two more lodgers in the middle of the season, when no one is - moving——” - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen, let us take our hats and go and dine at Flicoteaux’s in the - Place Sorbonne,” cried Bianchon. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Vauquer glanced round, and saw in a moment on which side her interest - lay. She waddled across to Mlle. Michonneau. - </p> - <p> - “Come, now,” she said; “you would not be the ruin of my establishment, - would you, eh? There’s a dear, kind soul. You see what a pass these - gentlemen have brought me to; just go up to your room for this evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Never a bit of it!” cried the boarders. “She must go, and go this - minute!” - </p> - <p> - “But the poor lady has had no dinner,” said Poiret, with piteous entreaty. - </p> - <p> - “She can go and dine where she likes,” shouted several voices. - </p> - <p> - “Turn her out, the spy!” - </p> - <p> - “Turn them both out! Spies!” - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” cried Poiret, his heart swelling with the courage that love - gives to the ovine male, “respect the weaker sex.” - </p> - <p> - “Spies are of no sex!” said the painter. - </p> - <p> - “A precious sexorama!” - </p> - <p> - “Turn her into the streetorama!” - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen, this is not manners! If you turn people out of the house, it - ought not to be done so unceremoniously and with no notice at all. We have - paid our money, and we are not going,” said Poiret, putting on his cap, - and taking a chair beside Mlle. Michonneau, with whom Mme. Vauquer was - remonstrating. - </p> - <p> - “Naughty boy!” said the painter, with a comical look; “run away, naughty - little boy!” - </p> - <p> - “Look here,” said Bianchon; “if you do not go, all the rest of us will,” - and the boarders, to a man, made for the sitting-room-door. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! mademoiselle, what is to be done?” cried Mme. Vauquer. “I am a ruined - woman. You can’t stay here; they will go further, do something violent.” - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Michonneau rose to her feet. - </p> - <p> - “She is going!—She is not going!—She is going!—No, she - isn’t.” - </p> - <p> - These alternate exclamations, and a suggestion of hostile intentions, - borne out by the behavior of the insurgents, compelled Mlle. Michonneau to - take her departure. She made some stipulations, speaking in a low voice in - her hostess’ ear, and then—“I shall go to Mme. Buneaud’s,” she said, - with a threatening look. - </p> - <p> - “Go where you please, mademoiselle,” said Mme. Vauquer, who regarded this - choice of an opposition establishment as an atrocious insult. “Go and - lodge with the Buneaud; the wine would give a cat the colic, and the food - is cheap and nasty.” - </p> - <p> - The boarders stood aside in two rows to let her pass; not a word was - spoken. Poiret looked so wistfully after Mlle. Michonneau, and so - artlessly revealed that he was in two minds whether to go or stay, that - the boarders, in their joy at being quit of Mlle. Michonneau, burst out - laughing at the sight of him. - </p> - <p> - “Hist!—st!—st! Poiret,” shouted the painter. “Hallo! I say, - Poiret, hallo!” The <i>employe</i> from the Museum began to sing: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Partant pour la Syrie, - Le jeune et beau Dunois...” - </pre> - <p> - “Get along with you; you must be dying to go, <i>trahit sua quemque - voluptas!</i>” said Bianchon. - </p> - <p> - “Every one to his taste—free rendering from Virgil,” said the tutor. - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Michonneau made a movement as if to take Poiret’s arm, with an - appealing glance that he could not resist. The two went out together, the - old maid leaning upon him, and there was a burst of applause, followed by - peals of laughter. - </p> - <p> - “Bravo, Poiret!” - </p> - <p> - “Who would have thought it of old Poiret!” - </p> - <p> - “Apollo Poiret!” - </p> - <p> - “Mars Poiret!” - </p> - <p> - “Intrepid Poiret!” - </p> - <p> - A messenger came in at that moment with a letter for Mme. Vauquer, who - read it through, and collapsed in her chair. - </p> - <p> - “The house might as well be burned down at once,” cried she, “if there are - to be any more of these thunderbolts! Young Taillefer died at three - o’clock this afternoon. It serves me right for wishing well to those - ladies at that poor man’s expense. Mme. Couture and Victorine want me to - send their things, because they are going to live with her father. M. - Taillefer allows his daughter to keep old Mme. Couture as her lady - companion. Four rooms to let! and five lodgers gone!...” - </p> - <p> - She sat up, and seemed about to burst into tears. - </p> - <p> - “Bad luck has come to lodge here, I think,” she cried. - </p> - <p> - Once more there came a sound of wheels from the street outside. - </p> - <p> - “What! another windfall for somebody!” was Sylvie’s comment. - </p> - <p> - But it was Goriot who came in, looking so radiant, so flushed with - happiness, that he seemed to have grown young again. - </p> - <p> - “Goriot in a cab!” cried the boarders; “the world is coming to an end.” - </p> - <p> - The good soul made straight for Eugene, who was standing wrapped in - thought in a corner, and laid a hand on the young man’s arm. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” he said, with gladness in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Then you haven’t heard the news?” said Eugene. “Vautrin was an escaped - convict; they have just arrested him; and young Taillefer is dead.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, but what business is it of ours?” replied Father Goriot. “I am - going to dine with my daughter in <i>your house</i>, do you understand? - She is expecting you. Come!” - </p> - <p> - He carried off Rastignac with him by main force, and they departed in as - great a hurry as a pair of eloping lovers. - </p> - <p> - “Now, let us have dinner,” cried the painter, and every one drew his chair - to the table. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I never,” said the portly Sylvie. “Nothing goes right to-day! The - haricot mutton has caught! Bah! you will have to eat it, burned as it is, - more’s the pity!” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Vauquer was so dispirited that she could not say a word as she looked - round the table and saw only ten people where eighteen should be; but - every one tried to comfort and cheer her. At first the dinner contingent, - as was natural, talked about Vautrin and the day’s events; but the - conversation wound round to such topics of interest as duels, jails, - justice, prison life, and alterations that ought to be made in the laws. - They soon wandered miles away from Jacques Collin and Victorine and her - brother. There might be only ten of them, but they made noise enough for - twenty; indeed, there seemed to be more of them than usual; that was the - only difference between yesterday and to-day. Indifference to the fate of - others is a matter of course in this selfish world, which, on the morrow - of tragedy, seeks among the events of Paris for a fresh sensation for its - daily renewed appetite, and this indifference soon gained the upper hand. - Mme. Vauquer herself grew calmer under the soothing influence of hope, and - the mouthpiece of hope was the portly Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - That day had gone by like a dream for Eugene, and the sense of unreality - lasted into the evening; so that, in spite of his energetic character and - clear-headedness, his ideas were a chaos as he sat beside Goriot in the - cab. The old man’s voice was full of unwonted happiness, but Eugene had - been shaken by so many emotions that the words sounded in his ears like - words spoken in a dream. - </p> - <p> - “It was finished this morning! All three of us are going to dine there - together, together! Do you understand? I have not dined with my Delphine, - my little Delphine, these four years, and I shall have her for a whole - evening! We have been at your lodging the whole time since morning. I have - been working like a porter in my shirt sleeves, helping to carry in the - furniture. Aha! you don’t know what pretty ways she has; at table she will - look after me, ‘Here, papa, just try this, it is nice.’ And I shall not be - able to eat. Oh, it is a long while since I have been with her in quiet - every-day life as we shall have her.” - </p> - <p> - “It really seems as if the world has been turned upside down.” - </p> - <p> - “Upside down?” repeated Father Goriot. “Why, the world has never been so - right-side up. I see none but smiling faces in the streets, people who - shake hands cordially and embrace each other, people who all look as happy - as if they were going to dine with their daughter, and gobble down a nice - little dinner that she went with me to order of the chef at the Cafe des - Anglais. But, pshaw! with her beside you gall and wormwood would be as - sweet as honey.” - </p> - <p> - “I feel as if I were coming back to life again,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Why, hurry up there!” cried Father Goriot, letting down the window in - front. “Get on faster; I will give you five francs if you get to the place - I told you of in ten minutes time.” - </p> - <p> - With this prospect before him the cabman crossed Paris with miraculous - celerity. - </p> - <p> - “How that fellow crawls!” said Father Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “But where are you taking me?” Eugene asked him. - </p> - <p> - “To your own house,” said Goriot. - </p> - <p> - The cab stopped in the Rue d’Artois. Father Goriot stepped out first and - flung ten francs to the man with the recklessness of a widower returning - to bachelor ways. - </p> - <p> - “Come along upstairs,” he said to Rastignac. They crossed a courtyard, and - climbed up to the third floor of a new and handsome house. There they - stopped before a door; but before Goriot could ring, it was opened by - Therese, Mme. de Nucingen’s maid. Eugene found himself in a charming set - of chambers; an ante-room, a little drawing-room, a bedroom, and a study, - looking out upon a garden. The furniture and the decorations of the little - drawing-room were of the most daintily charming description, the room was - full of soft light, and Delphine rose up from a low chair by the fire and - stood before him. She set her fire-screen down on the chimney-piece, and - spoke with tenderness in every tone of her voice. - </p> - <p> - “So we had to go in search of you, sir, you who are so slow to - understand!” - </p> - <p> - Therese left the room. The student took Delphine in his arms and held her - in a tight clasp, his eyes filled with tears of joy. This last contrast - between his present surroundings and the scenes he had just witnessed was - too much for Rastignac’s over-wrought nerves, after the day’s strain and - excitement that had wearied heart and brain; he was almost overcome by it. - </p> - <p> - “I felt sure myself that he loved you,” murmured Father Goriot, while - Eugene lay back bewildered on the sofa, utterly unable to speak a word or - to reason out how and why the magic wand had been waved to bring about - this final transformation scene. - </p> - <p> - “But you must see your rooms,” said Mme. de Nucingen. She took his hand - and led him into a room carpeted and furnished like her own; indeed, down - to the smallest details, it was a reproduction in miniature of Delphine’s - apartment. - </p> - <p> - “There is no bed,” said Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “No, monsieur,” she answered, reddening, and pressing his hand. Eugene, - looking at her, understood, young though he yet was, how deeply modesty is - implanted in the heart of a woman who loves. - </p> - <p> - “You are one of those beings whom we cannot choose but to adore for ever,” - he said in her ear. “Yes, the deeper and truer love is, the more - mysterious and closely veiled it should be; I can dare to say so, since we - understand each other so well. No one shall learn our secret.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! so I am nobody, I suppose,” growled the father. - </p> - <p> - “You know quite well that ‘we’ means you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! that is what I wanted. You will not mind me, will you? I shall go and - come like a good fairy who makes himself felt everywhere without being - seen, shall I not? Eh, Delphinette, Ninette, Dedel—was it not a good - idea of mine to say to you, ‘There are some nice rooms to let in the Rue - d’Artois; let us furnish them for him?’ And she would not hear of it! Ah! - your happiness has been all my doing. I am the author of your happiness - and of your existence. Fathers must always be giving if they would be - happy themselves; always giving—they would not be fathers else.” - </p> - <p> - “Was that how it happened?” asked Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. She would not listen to me. She was afraid that people would talk, - as if the rubbish that they say about you were to be compared with - happiness! Why, all women dream of doing what she has done——” - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot found himself without an audience, for Mme. de Nucingen had - led Rastignac into the study; he heard a kiss given and taken, low though - the sound was. - </p> - <p> - The study was furnished as elegantly as the other rooms, and nothing was - wanting there. - </p> - <p> - “Have we guessed your wishes rightly?” she asked, as they returned to the - drawing-room for dinner. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, “only too well, alas! For all this luxury so well carried - out, this realization of pleasant dreams, the elegance that satisfies all - the romantic fancies of youth, appeals to me so strongly that I cannot but - feel that it is my rightful possession, but I cannot accept it from you, - and I am too poor as yet to——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! ah! you say me nay already,” she said with arch imperiousness, and a - charming little pout of the lips, a woman’s way of laughing away scruples. - </p> - <p> - But Eugene had submitted so lately to that solemn self-questioning, and - Vautrin’s arrest had so plainly shown him the depths of the pit that lay - ready to his feet, that the instincts of generosity and honor had been - strengthened in him, and he could not allow himself to be coaxed into - abandoning his high-minded determinations. Profound melancholy filled his - mind. - </p> - <p> - “Do you really mean to refuse?” said Mme. de Nucingen. “And do you know - what such a refusal means? That you are not sure of yourself, that you do - not dare to bind yourself to me. Are you really afraid of betraying my - affection? If you love me, if I—love you, why should you shrink back - from such a slight obligation? If you but knew what a pleasure it has been - to see after all the arrangements of this bachelor establishment, you - would not hesitate any longer, you would ask me to forgive you for your - hesitation. I had some money that belonged to you, and I have made good - use of it, that is all. You mean this for magnanimity, but it is very - little of you. You are asking me for far more than this.... Ah!” she - cried, as Eugene’s passionate glance was turned on her, “and you are - making difficulties about the merest trifles. Of, if you feel no love - whatever for me, refuse, by all means. My fate hangs on a word from you. - Speak!—Father,” she said after a pause, “make him listen to reason. - Can he imagine that I am less nice than he is on the point of honor?” - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot was looking on and listening to this pretty quarrel with a - placid smile, as if he had found some balm for all the sorrows of life. - </p> - <p> - “Child that you are!” she cried again, catching Eugene’s hand. “You are - just beginning life; you find barriers at the outset that many a man finds - insurmountable; a woman’s hand opens the way and you shrink back! Why, you - are sure to succeed! You will have a brilliant future. Success is written - on that broad forehead of yours, and will you not be able to repay me my - loan of to-day? Did not a lady in olden times arm her knight with sword - and helmet and coat of mail, and find him a charger, so that he might - fight for her in the tournament? Well, then, Eugene, these things that I - offer you are the weapons of this age; every one who means to be something - must have such tools as these. A pretty place your garret must be if it is - like papa’s room! See, dinner is waiting all this time. Do you want to - make me unhappy?—Why don’t you answer?” she said, shaking his hand. - “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> papa, make up his mind for him, or I will go away and - never see him any more.” - </p> - <p> - “I will make up your mind,” said Goriot, coming down from the clouds. - “Now, my dear M. Eugene, the next thing is to borrow money of the Jews, - isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “There is positively no help for it,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “All right, I will give you credit,” said the other, drawing out a cheap - leather pocket-book, much the worse for wear. “I have turned Jew myself; I - paid for everything; here are the invoices. You do not owe a penny for - anything here. It did not come to very much—five thousand francs at - most, and I am going to lend you the money myself. I am not a woman—you - can refuse me. You shall give me a receipt on a scrap of paper, and you - can return it some time or other.” - </p> - <p> - Delphine and Eugene looked at each other in amazement, tears sprang to - their eyes. Rastignac held out his hand and grasped Goriot’s warmly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, what is all this about? Are you not my children?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! my poor father,” said Mme. de Nucingen, “how did you do it?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! now you ask me. When I made up my mind to move him nearer to you, and - saw you buying things as if they were wedding presents, I said to myself, - ‘She will never be able to pay for them.’ The attorney says that those law - proceedings will last quite six months before your husband can be made to - disgorge your fortune. Well and good. I sold out my property in the funds - that brought in thirteen hundred and fifty livres a year, and bought a - safe annuity of twelve hundred francs a year for fifteen thousand francs. - Then I paid your tradesmen out of the rest of the capital. As for me, - children, I have a room upstairs for which I pay fifty crowns a year; I - can live like a prince on two francs a day, and still have something left - over. I shall not have to spend anything much on clothes, for I never wear - anything out. This fortnight past I have been laughing in my sleeve, - thinking to myself, ‘How happy they are going to be!’ and—well, now, - are you not happy?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh papa! papa!” cried Mme. de Nucingen, springing to her father, who took - her on his knee. She covered him with kisses, her fair hair brushed his - cheek, her tears fell on the withered face that had grown so bright and - radiant. - </p> - <p> - “Dear father, what a father you are! No, there is not another father like - you under the sun. If Eugene loved you before, what must he feel for you - now?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, children, why Delphinette!” cried Goriot, who had not felt his - daughter’s heart beat against his breast for ten years, “do you want me to - die of joy? My poor heart will break! Come, Monsieur Eugene, we are quits - already.” And the old man strained her to his breast with such fierce and - passionate force that she cried out. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you are hurting me!” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I am hurting you!” He grew pale at the words. The pain expressed in his - face seemed greater than it is given to humanity to know. The agony of - this Christ of paternity can only be compared with the masterpieces of - those princes of the palette who have left for us the record of their - visions of an agony suffered for a whole world by the Saviour of men. - Father Goriot pressed his lips very gently against the waist than his - fingers had grasped too roughly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! no, no,” he cried. “I have not hurt you, have I?” and his smile - seemed to repeat the question. “YOU have hurt me with that cry just now.—The - things cost rather more than that,” he said in her ear, with another - gentle kiss, “but I had to deceive him about it, or he would have been - angry.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene sat dumb with amazement in the presence of this inexhaustible love; - he gazed at Goriot, and his face betrayed the artless admiration which - shapes the beliefs of youth. - </p> - <p> - “I will be worthy of all this,” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! my Eugene, that is nobly said,” and Mme. de Nucingen kissed the law - student on the forehead. - </p> - <p> - “He gave up Mlle. Taillefer and her millions for you,” said Father Goriot. - “Yes, the little thing was in love with you, and now that her brother is - dead she is as rich as Croesus.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! why did you tell her?” cried Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “Eugene,” Delphine said in his ear, “I have one regret now this evening. - Ah! how I will love you! and for ever!” - </p> - <p> - “This is the happiest day I have had since you two were married!” cried - Goriot. “God may send me any suffering, so long as I do not suffer through - you, and I can still say, ‘In this short month of February I had more - happiness than other men have in their whole lives.’—Look at me, - Fifine!” he said to his daughter. “She is very beautiful, is she not? Tell - me, now, have you seen many women with that pretty soft color—that - little dimple of hers? No, I thought not. Ah, well, and but for me this - lovely woman would never have been. And very soon happiness will make her - a thousand times lovelier, happiness through you. I could give up my place - in heaven to you, neighbor, if needs be, and go down to hell instead. - Come, let us have dinner,” he added, scarcely knowing what he said, - “everything is ours.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor dear father!” - </p> - <p> - He rose and went over to her, and took her face in his hands, and set a - kiss on the plaits of hair. “If you only knew, little one, how happy you - can make me—how little it takes to make me happy! Will you come and - see me sometimes? I shall be just above, so it is only a step. Promise me, - say that you will!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, dear father.” - </p> - <p> - “Say it again.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will, my kind father.” - </p> - <p> - “Hush! hush! I should make you say it a hundred times over if I followed - my own wishes. Let us have dinner.” - </p> - <p> - The three behaved like children that evening, and Father Goriot’s spirits - were certainly not the least wild. He lay at his daughter’s feet, kissed - them, gazed into her eyes, rubbed his head against her dress; in short, no - young lover could have been more extravagant or more tender. - </p> - <p> - “You see!” Delphine said with a look at Eugene, “so long as my father is - with us, he monopolizes me. He will be rather in the way sometimes.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene had himself already felt certain twinges of jealousy, and could not - blame this speech that contained the germ of all ingratitude. - </p> - <p> - “And when will the rooms be ready?” asked Eugene, looking round. “We must - all leave them this evening, I suppose.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but to-morrow you must come and dine with me,” she answered, with an - eloquent glance. “It is our night at the Italiens.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall go to the pit,” said her father. - </p> - <p> - It was midnight. Mme. de Nucingen’s carriage was waiting for her, and - Father Goriot and the student walked back to the Maison Vauquer, talking - of Delphine, and warming over their talk till there grew up a curious - rivalry between the two violent passions. Eugene could not help seeing - that the father’s self-less love was deeper and more steadfast than his - own. For this worshiper Delphine was always pure and fair, and her - father’s adoration drew its fervor from a whole past as well as a future - of love. - </p> - <p> - They found Mme. Vauquer by the stove, with Sylvie and Christophe to keep - her company; the old landlady, sitting like Marius among the ruins of - Carthage, was waiting for the two lodgers that yet remained to her, and - bemoaning her lot with the sympathetic Sylvie. Tasso’s lamentations as - recorded in Byron’s poem are undoubtedly eloquent, but for sheer force of - truth they fall far short of the widow’s cry from the depths. - </p> - <p> - “Only three cups of coffee in the morning, Sylvie! Oh dear! to have your - house emptied in this way is enough to break your heart. What is life, now - my lodgers are gone? Nothing at all. Just think of it! It is just as if - all the furniture had been taken out of the house, and your furniture is - your life. How have I offended heaven to draw down all this trouble upon - me? And haricot beans and potatoes laid in for twenty people! The police - in my house too! We shall have to live on potatoes now, and Christophe - will have to go!” - </p> - <p> - The Savoyard, who was fast asleep, suddenly woke up at this, and said, - “Madame,” questioningly. - </p> - <p> - “Poor fellow!” said Sylvie, “he is like a dog.” - </p> - <p> - “In the dead season, too! Nobody is moving now. I would like to know where - the lodgers are to drop down from. It drives me distracted. And that old - witch of a Michonneau goes and takes Poiret with her! What can she have - done to make him so fond of her? He runs about after her like a little - dog.” - </p> - <p> - “Lord!” said Sylvie, flinging up her head, “those old maids are up to all - sorts of tricks.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s that poor M. Vautrin that they made out to be a convict,” the - widow went on. “Well, you know that is too much for me, Sylvie; I can’t - bring myself to believe it. Such a lively man as he was, and paid fifteen - francs a month for his coffee of an evening, paid you very penny on the - nail too.” - </p> - <p> - “And open-handed he was!” said Christophe. - </p> - <p> - “There is some mistake,” said Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “Why, no there isn’t! he said so himself!” said Mme. Vauquer. “And to - think that all these things have happened in my house, and in a quarter - where you never see a cat go by. On my word as an honest woman, it’s like - a dream. For, look here, we saw Louis XVI. meet with his mishap; we saw - the fall of the Emperor; and we saw him come back and fall again; there - was nothing out of the way in all that, but lodging-houses are not liable - to revolutions. You can do without a king, but you must eat all the same; - and so long as a decent woman, a de Conflans born and bred, will give you - all sorts of good things for dinner, nothing short of the end of the world - ought to—but there, it is the end of the world, that is just what it - is!” - </p> - <p> - “And to think that Mlle. Michonneau who made all this mischief is to have - a thousand crowns a year for it, so I hear,” cried Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t speak of her, she is a wicked woman!” said Mme. Vauquer. “She is - going to the Buneaud, who charges less than cost. But the Buneaud is - capable of anything; she must have done frightful things, robbed and - murdered people in her time. <i>She</i> ought to be put in jail for life - instead of that poor dear——” - </p> - <p> - Eugene and Goriot rang the door-bell at that moment. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! here are my two faithful lodgers,” said the widow, sighing. - </p> - <p> - But the two faithful lodgers, who retained but shadowy recollections of - the misfortunes of their lodging-house, announced to their hostess without - more ado that they were about to remove to the Chaussee d’Antin. - </p> - <p> - “Sylvie!” cried the widow, “this is the last straw.—Gentlemen, this - will be the death of me! It has quite upset me! There’s a weight on my - chest! I am ten years older for this day! Upon my word, I shall go out of - my senses! And what is to be done with the haricots!—Oh, well, if I - am to be left here all by myself, you shall go to-morrow, Christophe.—Good-night, - gentlemen,” and she went. - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter now?” Eugene inquired of Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “Lord! everybody is going about his business, and that has addled her - wits. There! she is crying upstairs. It will do her good to snivel a bit. - It’s the first time she has cried since I’ve been with her.” - </p> - <p> - By the morning, Mme. Vauquer, to use her own expression, had “made up her - mind to it.” True, she still wore a doleful countenance, as might be - expected of a woman who had lost all her lodgers, and whose manner of life - had been suddenly revolutionized, but she had all her wits about her. Her - grief was genuine and profound; it was real pain of mind, for her purse - had suffered, the routine of her existence had been broken. A lover’s - farewell glance at his lady-love’s window is not more mournful than Mme. - Vauquer’s survey of the empty places round her table. Eugene administered - comfort, telling the widow that Bianchon, whose term of residence at the - hospital was about to expire, would doubtless take his (Rastignac’s) - place; that the official from the Museum had often expressed a desire to - have Mme. Couture’s rooms; and that in a very few days her household would - be on the old footing. - </p> - <p> - “God send it may, my dear sir! but bad luck has come to lodge here. - There’ll be a death in the house before ten days are out, you’ll see,” and - she gave a lugubrious look round the dining-room. “Whose turn will it be, - I wonder?” - </p> - <p> - “It is just as well that we are moving out,” said Eugene to Father Goriot - in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” said Sylvie, running in with a scared face, “I have not seen - Mistigris these three days.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! well, if my cat is dead, if <i>he</i> has gone and left us, I——” - </p> - <p> - The poor woman could not finish her sentence; she clasped her hands and - hid her face on the back of her armchair, quite overcome by this dreadful - portent. - </p> - <p> - By twelve o’clock, when the postman reaches that quarter, Eugene received - a letter. The dainty envelope bore the Beauseant arms on the seal, and - contained an invitation to the Vicomtesse’s great ball, which had been - talked of in Paris for a month. A little note for Eugene was slipped in - with the card. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “I think, monsieur, that you will undertake with pleasure to - interpret my sentiments to Mme. de Nucingen, so I am sending the - card for which you asked me to you. I shall be delighted to make - the acquaintance of Mme. de Restaud’s sister. Pray introduce that - charming lady to me, and do not let her monopolize all your - affection, for you owe me not a little in return for mine. - - “VICOMTESSE DE BEAUSEANT.” - </pre> - <p> - “Well,” said Eugene to himself, as he read the note a second time, “Mme. - de Beauseant says pretty plainly that she does not want the Baron de - Nucingen.” - </p> - <p> - He went to Delphine at once in his joy. He had procured this pleasure for - her, and doubtless he would receive the price of it. Mme. de Nucingen was - dressing. Rastignac waited in her boudoir, enduring as best he might the - natural impatience of an eager temperament for the reward desired and - withheld for a year. Such sensations are only known once in a life. The - first woman to whom a man is drawn, if she is really a woman—that is - to say, if she appears to him amid the splendid accessories that form a - necessary background to life in the world of Paris—will never have a - rival. - </p> - <p> - Love in Paris is a thing distinct and apart; for in Paris neither men nor - women are the dupes of the commonplaces by which people seek to throw a - veil over their motives, or to parade a fine affectation of - disinterestedness in their sentiments. In this country within a country, - it is not merely required of a woman that she should satisfy the senses - and the soul; she knows perfectly well that she has still greater - obligations to discharge, that she must fulfil the countless demands of a - vanity that enters into every fibre of that living organism called - society. Love, for her, is above all things, and by its very nature, a - vainglorious, brazen-fronted, ostentatious, thriftless charlatan. If at - the Court of Louis XIV. there was not a woman but envied Mlle. de la - Valliere the reckless devotion of passion that led the grand monarch to - tear the priceless ruffles at his wrists in order to assist the entry of a - Duc de Vermandois into the world—what can you expect of the rest of - society? You must have youth and wealth and rank; nay, you must, if - possible, have more than these, for the more incense you bring with you to - burn at the shrine of the god, the more favorably will he regard the - worshiper. Love is a religion, and his cult must in the nature of things - be more costly than those of all other deities; Love the Spoiler stays for - a moment, and then passes on; like the urchin of the streets, his course - may be traced by the ravages that he has made. The wealth of feeling and - imagination is the poetry of the garret; how should love exist there - without that wealth? - </p> - <p> - If there are exceptions who do not subscribe to these Draconian laws of - the Parisian code, they are solitary examples. Such souls live so far out - of the main current that they are not borne away by the doctrines of - society; they dwell beside some clear spring of everflowing water, without - seeking to leave the green shade; happy to listen to the echoes of the - infinite in everything around them and in their own souls, waiting in - patience to take their flight for heaven, while they look with pity upon - those of earth. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac, like most young men who have been early impressed by the - circumstances of power and grandeur, meant to enter the lists fully armed; - the burning ambition of conquest possessed him already; perhaps he was - conscious of his powers, but as yet he knew neither the end to which his - ambition was to be directed, nor the means of attaining it. In default of - the pure and sacred love that fills a life, ambition may become something - very noble, subduing to itself every thought of personal interest, and - setting as the end—the greatness, not of one man, but of a whole - nation. - </p> - <p> - But the student had not yet reached the time of life when a man surveys - the whole course of existence and judges it soberly. Hitherto he had - scarcely so much as shaken off the spell of the fresh and gracious - influences that envelop a childhood in the country, like green leaves and - grass. He had hesitated on the brink of the Parisian Rubicon, and in spite - of the prickings of ambition, he still clung to a lingering tradition of - an old ideal—the peaceful life of the noble in his chateau. But - yesterday evening, at the sight of his rooms, those scruples had vanished. - He had learned what it was to enjoy the material advantages of fortune, as - he had already enjoyed the social advantages of birth; he ceased to be a - provincial from that moment, and slipped naturally and easily into a - position which opened up a prospect of a brilliant future. - </p> - <p> - So, as he waited for Delphine, in the pretty boudoir, where he felt that - he had a certain right to be, he felt himself so far away from the - Rastignac who came back to Paris a year ago, that, turning some power of - inner vision upon this latter, he asked himself whether that past self - bore any resemblance to the Rastignac of that moment. - </p> - <p> - “Madame is in her room,” Therese came to tell him. The woman’s voice made - him start. - </p> - <p> - He found Delphine lying back in her low chair by the fireside, looking - fresh and bright. The sight of her among the flowing draperies of muslin - suggested some beautiful tropical flower, where the fruit is set amid the - blossom. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” she said, with a tremor in her voice, “here you are.” - </p> - <p> - “Guess what I bring for you,” said Eugene, sitting down beside her. He - took possession of her arm to kiss her hand. - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Nucingen gave a joyful start as she saw the card. She turned to - Eugene; there were tears in her eyes as she flung her arms about his neck, - and drew him towards her in a frenzy of gratified vanity. - </p> - <p> - “And I owe this happiness to you—to <i>thee</i>” (she whispered the - more intimate word in his ear); “but Therese is in my dressing-room, let - us be prudent.—This happiness—yes, for I may call it so, when - it comes to me through <i>you</i>—is surely more than a triumph for - self-love? No one has been willing to introduce me into that set. Perhaps - just now I may seem to you to be frivolous, petty, shallow, like a - Parisienne, but remember, my friend, that I am ready to give up all for - you; and that if I long more than ever for an entrance into the Faubourg - Saint-Germain, it is because I shall meet you there.” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. de Beauseant’s note seems to say very plainly that she does not - expect to see the <i>Baron</i> de Nucingen at her ball; don’t you think - so?” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes,” said the Baroness as she returned the letter. “Those women - have a talent for insolence. But it is of no consequence, I shall go. My - sister is sure to be there, and sure to be very beautifully dressed.—Eugene,” - she went on, lowering her voice, “she will go to dispel ugly suspicions. - You do not know the things that people are saying about her. Only this - morning Nucingen came to tell me that they had been discussing her at the - club. Great heavens! on what does a woman’s character and the honor of a - whole family depend! I feel that I am nearly touched and wounded in my - poor sister. According to some people, M. de Trailles must have put his - name to bills for a hundred thousand francs, nearly all of them are - overdue, and proceedings are threatened. In this predicament, it seems - that my sister sold her diamonds to a Jew—the beautiful diamonds - that belonged to her husband’s mother, Mme. de Restaud the elder,—you - have seen her wearing them. In fact, nothing else has been talked about - for the last two days. So I can see that Anastasie is sure to come to Mme. - de Beauseant’s ball in tissue of gold, and ablaze with diamonds, to draw - all eyes upon her; and I will not be outshone. She has tried to eclipse me - all her life, she has never been kind to me, and I have helped her so - often, and always had money for her when she had none.—But never - mind other people now, to-day I mean to be perfectly happy.” - </p> - <p> - At one o’clock that morning Eugene was still with Mme. de Nucingen. In the - midst of their lovers’ farewell, a farewell full of hope of bliss to come, - she said in a troubled voice, “I am very fearful, superstitious. Give what - name you like to my presentiments, but I am afraid that my happiness will - be paid for by some horrible catastrophe.” - </p> - <p> - “Child!” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! have we changed places, and am I the child to-night?” she asked, - laughingly. - </p> - <p> - Eugene went back to the Maison Vauquer, never doubting but that he should - leave it for good on the morrow; and on the way he fell to dreaming the - bright dreams of youth, when the cup of happiness has left its sweetness - on the lips. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” cried Goriot, as Rastignac passed by his door. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Eugene; “I will tell you everything to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Everything, will you not?” cried the old man. “Go to bed. To-morrow our - happy life will begin.” - </p> - <p> - Next day, Goriot and Rastignac were ready to leave the lodging-house, and - only awaited the good pleasure of a porter to move out of it; but towards - noon there was a sound of wheels in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, and a - carriage stopped before the door of the Maison Vauquer. Mme. de Nucingen - alighted, and asked if her father was still in the house, and, receiving - an affirmative reply from Sylvie, ran lightly upstairs. - </p> - <p> - It so happened that Eugene was at home all unknown to his neighbor. At - breakfast time he had asked Goriot to superintend the removal of his - goods, saying that he would meet him in the Rue d’Artois at four o’clock; - but Rastignac’s name had been called early on the list at the Ecole de - Droit, and he had gone back at once to the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve. No - one had seen him come in, for Goriot had gone to find a porter, and the - mistress of the house was likewise out. Eugene had thought to pay her - himself, for it struck him that if he left this, Goriot in his zeal would - probably pay for him. As it was, Eugene went up to his room to see that - nothing had been forgotten, and blessed his foresight when he saw the - blank bill bearing Vautrin’s signature lying in the drawer where he had - carelessly thrown it on the day when he had repaid the amount. There was - no fire in the grate, so he was about to tear it into little pieces, when - he heard a voice speaking in Goriot’s room, and the speaker was Delphine! - He made no more noise, and stood still to listen, thinking that she should - have no secrets from him; but after the first few words, the conversation - between the father and daughter was so strange and interesting that it - absorbed all his attention. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! thank heaven that you thought of asking him to give an account of the - money settled on me before I was utterly ruined, father. Is it safe to - talk?” she added. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, there is no one in the house,” said her father faintly. - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter with you?” asked Mme. de Nucingen. - </p> - <p> - “God forgive you! you have just dealt me a staggering blow, child!” said - the old man. “You cannot know how much I love you, or you would not have - burst in upon me like this, with such news, especially if all is not lost. - Has something so important happened that you must come here about it? In a - few minutes we should have been in the Rue d’Artois.” - </p> - <p> - “Eh! does one think what one is doing after a catastrophe? It has turned - my head. Your attorney has found out the state of things now, but it was - bound to come out sooner or later. We shall want your long business - experience; and I come to you like a drowning man who catches at a branch. - When M. Derville found that Nucingen was throwing all sorts of - difficulties in his way, he threatened him with proceedings, and told him - plainly that he would soon obtain an order from the President of the - Tribunal. So Nucingen came to my room this morning, and asked if I meant - to ruin us both. I told him that I knew nothing whatever about it, that I - had a fortune, and ought to be put into possession of my fortune, and that - my attorney was acting for me in the matter; I said again that I knew - absolutely nothing about it, and could not possibly go into the subject - with him. Wasn’t that what you told me to tell him?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, quite right,” answered Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” Delphine continued, “he told me all about his affairs. He - had just invested all his capital and mine in business speculations; they - have only just been started, and very large sums of money are locked up. - If I were to compel him to refund my dowry now, he would be forced to file - his petition; but if I will wait a year, he undertakes, on his honor, to - double or treble my fortune, by investing it in building land, and I shall - be mistress at last of the whole of my property. He was speaking the - truth, father dear; he frightened me! He asked my pardon for his conduct; - he has given me my liberty; I am free to act as I please on condition that - I leave him to carry on my business in my name. To prove his sincerity, he - promised that M. Derville might inspect the accounts as often as I - pleased, so that I might be assured that everything was being conducted - properly. In short, he put himself in my power, bound hand and foot. He - wishes the present arrangements as to the expenses of housekeeping to - continue for two more years, and entreated me not to exceed my allowance. - He showed me plainly that it was all that he could do to keep up - appearances; he has broken with his opera dancer; he will be compelled to - practise the most strict economy (in secret) if he is to bide his time - with unshaken credit. I scolded, I did all I could to drive him to - desperation, so as to find out more. He showed me his ledgers—he - broke down and cried at last. I never saw a man in such a state. He lost - his head completely, talked of killing himself, and raved till I felt - quite sorry for him.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you really believe that silly rubbish?”... cried her father. “It was - all got up for your benefit! I have had to do with Germans in the way of - business, honest and straightforward they are pretty sure to be, but when - with their simplicity and frankness they are sharpers and humbugs as well, - they are the worst rogues of all. Your husband is taking advantage of you. - As soon as pressure is brought to bear on him he shams dead; he means to - be more the master under your name than in his own. He will take advantage - of the position to secure himself against the risks of business. He is as - sharp as he is treacherous; he is a bad lot! No, no; I am not going to - leave my girls behind me without a penny when I go to Pere-Lachaise. I - know something about business still. He has sunk his money in speculation, - he says; very well then, there is something to show for it—bills, - receipts, papers of some sort. Let him produce them, and come to an - arrangement with you. We will choose the most promising of his - speculations, take them over at our own risk, and have the securities - transferred into your name; they shall represent the separate estate of - Delphine Goriot, wife of the Baron de Nucingen. Does that fellow really - take us for idiots? Does he imagine that I could stand the idea of your - being without fortune, without bread, for forty-eight hours? I would not - stand it a day—no, not a night, not a couple of hours! If there had - been any foundation for the idea, I should never get over it. What! I have - worked hard for forty years, carried sacks on my back, and sweated and - pinched and saved all my life for you, my darlings, for you who made the - toil and every burden borne for you seem light; and now, my fortune, my - whole life, is to vanish in smoke! I should die raving mad if I believed a - word of it. By all that’s holiest in heaven and earth, we will have this - cleared up at once; go through the books, have the whole business looked - thoroughly into! I will not sleep, nor rest, nor eat until I have - satisfied myself that all your fortune is in existence. Your money is - settled upon you, God be thanked! and, luckily, your attorney, Maitre - Derville, is an honest man. Good Lord! you shall have your snug little - million, your fifty thousand francs a year, as long as you live, or I will - raise a racket in Paris, I will so! If the Tribunals put upon us, I will - appeal to the Chambers. If I knew that you were well and comfortably off - as far as money is concerned, that thought would keep me easy in spite of - bad health and troubles. Money? why, it is life! Money does everything. - That great dolt of an Alsatian shall sing to another tune! Look here, - Delphine, don’t give way, don’t make a concession of half a quarter of a - farthing to that fathead, who has ground you down and made you miserable. - If he can’t do without you, we will give him a good cudgeling, and keep - him in order. Great heavens! my brain is on fire; it is as if there were - something redhot inside my head. My Delphine lying on straw! You! my - Fifine! Good gracious! Where are my gloves? Come, let us go at once; I - mean to see everything with my own eyes—books, cash, and - correspondence, the whole business. I shall have no peace until I know for - certain that your fortune is secure.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! father dear, be careful how you set about it! If there is the least - hint of vengeance in the business, if you show yourself openly hostile, it - will be all over with me. He knows whom he has to deal with; he thinks it - quite natural that if you put the idea into my head, I should be uneasy - about my money; but I swear to you that he has it in his own hands, and - that he had meant to keep it. He is just the man to abscond with all the - money and leave us in the lurch, the scoundrel! He knows quite well that I - will not dishonor the name I bear by bringing him into a court of law. His - position is strong and weak at the same time. If we drive him to despair, - I am lost.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, then, the man is a rogue?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, father,” she said, flinging herself into a chair, “I wanted to - keep it from you to spare your feelings,” and she burst into tears; “I did - not want you to know that you had married me to such a man as he is. He is - just the same in private life—body and soul and conscience—the - same through and through—hideous! I hate him; I despise him! Yes, - after all that that despicable Nucingen has told me, I cannot respect him - any longer. A man capable of mixing himself up in such affairs, and of - talking about them to me as he did, without the slightest scruple,—it - is because I have read him through and through that I am afraid of him. - He, my husband, frankly proposed to give me my liberty, and do you know - what that means? It means that if things turn out badly for him, I am to - play into his hands, and be his stalking-horse.” - </p> - <p> - “But there is law to be had! There is a Place de Greve for sons-in-law of - that sort,” cried her father; “why, I would guillotine him myself if there - was no headsman to do it.” - </p> - <p> - “No, father, the law cannot touch him. Listen, this is what he says, - stripped of all his circumlocutions—‘Take your choice, you and no - one else can be my accomplice; either everything is lost, you are ruined - and have not a farthing, or you will let me carry this business through - myself.’ Is that plain speaking? He <i>must</i> have my assistance. He is - assured that his wife will deal fairly by him; he knows that I shall leave - his money to him and be content with my own. It is an unholy and dishonest - compact, and he holds out threats of ruin to compel me to consent to it. - He is buying my conscience, and the price is liberty to be Eugene’s wife - in all but name. ‘I connive at your errors, and you allow me to commit - crimes and ruin poor families!’ Is that sufficiently explicit? Do you know - what he means by speculations? He buys up land in his own name, then he - finds men of straw to run up houses upon it. These men make a bargain with - a contractor to build the houses, paying them by bills at long dates; then - in consideration of a small sum they leave my husband in possession of the - houses, and finally slip through the fingers of the deluded contractors by - going into bankruptcy. The name of the firm of Nucingen has been used to - dazzle the poor contractors. I saw that. I noticed, too, that Nucingen had - sent bills for large amounts to Amsterdam, London, Naples, and Vienna, in - order to prove if necessary that large sums had been paid away by the - firm. How could we get possession of those bills?” - </p> - <p> - Eugene heard a dull thud on the floor; Father Goriot must have fallen on - his knees. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! what have I done to you? Bound my daughter to this - scoundrel who does as he likes with her!—Oh! my child, my child! - forgive me!” cried the old man. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, if I am in the depths of despair, perhaps you are to blame,” said - Delphine. “We have so little sense when we marry! What do we know of the - world, of business, or men, or life? Our fathers should think for us! - Father dear, I am not blaming you in the least, forgive me for what I - said. This is all my own fault. Nay, do not cry, papa,” she said, kissing - him. - </p> - <p> - “Do not cry either, my little Delphine. Look up and let me kiss away the - tears. There! I shall find my wits and unravel this skein of your - husband’s winding.” - </p> - <p> - “No, let me do that; I shall be able to manage him. He is fond of me, well - and good; I shall use my influence to make him invest my money as soon as - possible in landed property in my own name. Very likely I could get him to - buy back Nucingen in Alsace in my name; that has always been a pet idea of - his. Still, come to-morrow and go through the books, and look into the - business. M. Derville knows little of mercantile matters. No, not - to-morrow though. I do not want to be upset. Mme. de Beauseant’s ball will - be the day after to-morrow, and I must keep quiet, so as to look my best - and freshest, and do honor to my dear Eugene!... Come, let us see his - room.” - </p> - <p> - But as she spoke a carriage stopped in the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve, and - the sound of Mme. de Restaud’s voice came from the staircase. “Is my - father in?” she asked of Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - This accident was luckily timed for Eugene, whose one idea had been to - throw himself down on the bed and pretend to be asleep. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, father, have you heard about Anastasie?” said Delphine, when she - heard her sister speak. “It looks as though some strange things had - happened in that family.” - </p> - <p> - “What sort of things?” asked Goriot. “This is like to be the death of me. - My poor head will not stand a double misfortune.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-morning, father,” said the Countess from the threshold. “Oh! - Delphine, are you here?” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Restaud seemed taken aback by her sister’s presence. - </p> - <p> - “Good-morning, Nasie,” said the Baroness. “What is there so extraordinary - in my being here? <i>I</i> see our father every day.” - </p> - <p> - “Since when?” - </p> - <p> - “If you came yourself you would know.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t tease, Delphine,” said the Countess fretfully. “I am very - miserable, I am lost. Oh! my poor father, it is hopeless this time!” - </p> - <p> - “What is it, Nasie?” cried Goriot. “Tell us all about it, child! How white - she is! Quick, do something, Delphine; be kind to her, and I will love you - even better, if that were possible.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor Nasie!” said Mme. de Nucingen, drawing her sister to a chair. “We - are the only two people in the world whose love is always sufficient to - forgive you everything. Family affection is the surest, you see.” - </p> - <p> - The Countess inhaled the salts and revived. - </p> - <p> - “This will kill me!” said their father. “There,” he went on, stirring the - smouldering fire, “come nearer, both of you. It is cold. What is it, - Nasie? Be quick and tell me, this is enough to——” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, my husband knows everything,” said the Countess. “Just - imagine it; do you remember, father, that bill of Maxime’s some time ago? - Well, that was not the first. I had paid ever so many before that. About - the beginning of January M. de Trailles seemed very much troubled. He said - nothing to me; but it is so easy to read the hearts of those you love, a - mere trifle is enough; and then you feel things instinctively. Indeed, he - was more tender and affectionate than ever, and I was happier than I had - ever been before. Poor Maxime! in himself he was really saying good-bye to - me, so he has told me since; he meant to blow his brains out! At last I - worried him so, and begged and implored so hard; for two hours I knelt at - his knees and prayed and entreated, and at last he told me—that he - owed a hundred thousand francs. Oh! papa! a hundred thousand francs! I was - beside myself! You had not the money, I knew, I had eaten up all that you - had——” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Goriot; “I could not have got it for you unless I had stolen - it. But I would have done that for you, Nasie! I will do it yet.” - </p> - <p> - The words came from him like a sob, a hoarse sound like the death rattle - of a dying man; it seemed indeed like the agony of death when the father’s - love was powerless. There was a pause, and neither of the sisters spoke. - It must have been selfishness indeed that could hear unmoved that cry of - anguish that, like a pebble thrown over a precipice, revealed the depths - of his despair. - </p> - <p> - “I found the money, father, by selling what was not mine to sell,” and the - Countess burst into tears. - </p> - <p> - Delphine was touched; she laid her head on her sister’s shoulder, and - cried too. - </p> - <p> - “Then it is all true,” she said. - </p> - <p> - Anastasie bowed her head, Mme. de Nucingen flung her arms about her, - kissed her tenderly, and held her sister to her heart. - </p> - <p> - “I shall always love you and never judge you, Nasie,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “My angels,” murmured Goriot faintly. “Oh, why should it be trouble that - draws you together?” - </p> - <p> - This warm and palpitating affection seemed to give the Countess courage. - </p> - <p> - “To save Maxime’s life,” she said, “to save all my own happiness, I went - to the money-lender you know of, a man of iron forged in hell-fire; - nothing can melt him; I took all the family diamonds that M. de Restaud is - so proud of—his and mine too—and sold them to that M. Gobseck. - <i>Sold them!</i> Do you understand? I saved Maxime, but I am lost. - Restaud found it all out.” - </p> - <p> - “How? Who told him? I will kill him,” cried Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “Yesterday he sent to tell me to come to his room. I went. ... - ‘Anastasie,’ he said in a voice—oh! such a voice; that was enough, - it told me everything—‘where are your diamonds?’—‘In my room——’—‘No,’ - he said, looking straight at me, ‘there they are on that chest of drawers——’ - and he lifted his handkerchief and showed me the casket. ‘Do you know - where they came from?’ he said. I fell at his feet.... I cried; I besought - him to tell me the death he wished to see me die.” - </p> - <p> - “You said that!” cried Goriot. “By God in heaven, whoever lays a hand on - either of you so long as I am alive may reckon on being roasted by slow - fires! Yes, I will cut him in pieces like...” - </p> - <p> - Goriot stopped; the words died away in his throat. - </p> - <p> - “And then, dear, he asked something worse than death of me. Oh! heaven - preserve all other women from hearing such words as I heard then!” - </p> - <p> - “I will murder that man,” said Goriot quietly. “But he has only one life, - and he deserves to die twice.—And then, what next?” he added, - looking at Anastasie. - </p> - <p> - “Then,” the Countess resumed, “there was a pause, and he looked at me. - ‘Anastasie,’ he said, ‘I will bury this in silence; there shall be no - separation; there are the children. I will not kill M. de Trailles. I - might miss him if we fought, and as for other ways of getting rid of him, - I should come into collision with the law. If I killed him in your arms, - it would bring dishonor on <i>those</i> children. But if you do not want - to see your children perish, nor their father nor me, you must first of - all submit to two conditions. Answer me. Have I a child of my own?’ I - answered, ‘Yes,’—‘Which?’—‘Ernest, our eldest boy.’—‘Very - well,’ he said, ‘and now swear to obey me in this particular from this - time forward.’ I swore. ‘You will make over your property to me when I - require you to do so.’” - </p> - <p> - “Do nothing of the kind!” cried Goriot. “Aha! M. de Restaud, you could not - make your wife happy; she has looked for happiness and found it elsewhere, - and you make her suffer for your own ineptitude? He will have to reckon - with me. Make yourself easy, Nasie. Aha! he cares about his heir! Good, - very good. I will get hold of the boy; isn’t he my grandson? What the - blazes! I can surely go to see the brat! I will stow him away somewhere; I - will take care of him, you may be quite easy. I will bring Restaud to - terms, the monster! I shall say to him, ‘A word or two with you! If you - want your son back again, give my daughter her property, and leave her to - do as she pleases.’” - </p> - <p> - “Father!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I am your father, Nasie, a father indeed! That rogue of a great lord - had better not ill-treat my daughter. <i>Tonnerre!</i> What is it in my - veins? There is the blood of a tiger in me; I could tear those two men to - pieces! Oh! children, children! so this is what your lives are! Why, it is - death!... What will become of you when I shall be here no longer? Fathers - ought to live as long as their children. Ah! Lord God in heaven! how ill - Thy world is ordered! Thou hast a Son, if what they tell us is true, and - yet Thou leavest us to suffer so through our children. My darlings, my - darlings! to think that trouble only should bring you to me, that I should - only see you with tears on your faces! Ah! yes, yes, you love me, I see - that you love me. Come to me and pour out your griefs to me; my heart is - large enough to hold them all. Oh! you might rend my heart in pieces, and - every fragment would make a father’s heart. If only I could bear all your - sorrows for you! ... Ah! you were so happy when you were little and still - with me....” - </p> - <p> - “We have never been happy since,” said Delphine. “Where are the old days - when we slid down the sacks in the great granary?” - </p> - <p> - “That is not all, father,” said Anastasie in Goriot’s ear. The old man - gave a startled shudder. “The diamonds only sold for a hundred thousand - francs. Maxime is hard pressed. There are twelve thousand francs still to - pay. He has given me his word that he will be steady and give up play in - future. His love is all that I have left in the world. I have paid such a - fearful price for it that I should die if I lose him now. I have - sacrificed my fortune, my honor, my peace of mind, and my children for - him. Oh! do something, so that at the least Maxime may be at large and - live undisgraced in the world, where he will assuredly make a career for - himself. Something more than my happiness is at stake; the children have - nothing, and if he is sent to Sainte-Pelagie all his prospects will be - ruined.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t the money, Nasie. I have <i>nothing</i>—nothing left. - This is the end of everything. Yes, the world is crumbling into ruin, I am - sure. Fly! Save yourselves! Ah!—I have still my silver buckles left, - and half-a-dozen silver spoons and forks, the first I ever had in my life. - But I have nothing else except my life annuity, twelve hundred francs...” - </p> - <p> - “Then what has become of your money in the funds?” - </p> - <p> - “I sold out, and only kept a trifle for my wants. I wanted twelve thousand - francs to furnish some rooms for Delphine.” - </p> - <p> - “In your own house?” asked Mme. de Restaud, looking at her sister. - </p> - <p> - “What does it matter where they were?” asked Goriot. “The money is spent - now.” - </p> - <p> - “I see how it is,” said the Countess. “Rooms for M. de Rastignac. Poor - Delphine, take warning by me!” - </p> - <p> - “M. de Rastignac is incapable of ruining the woman he loves, dear.” - </p> - <p> - “Thanks! Delphine. I thought you would have been kinder to me in my - troubles, but you never did love me.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes, she loves you, Nasie,” cried Goriot; “she was saying so only - just now. We were talking about you, and she insisted that you were - beautiful, and that she herself was only pretty!” - </p> - <p> - “Pretty!” said the Countess. “She is as hard as a marble statue.” - </p> - <p> - “And if I am?” cried Delphine, flushing up, “how have you treated me? You - would not recognize me; you closed the doors of every house against me; - you have never let an opportunity of mortifying me slip by. And when did I - come, as you were always doing, to drain our poor father, a thousand - francs at a time, till he is left as you see him now? That is all your - doing, sister! I myself have seen my father as often as I could. I have - not turned him out of the house, and then come and fawned upon him when I - wanted money. I did not so much as know that he had spent those twelve - thousand francs on me. I am economical, as you know; and when papa has - made me presents, it has never been because I came and begged for them.” - </p> - <p> - “You were better off than I. M. de Marsay was rich, as you have reason to - know. You always were as slippery as gold. Good-bye; I have neither sister - nor——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! hush, hush, Nasie!” cried her father. - </p> - <p> - “Nobody else would repeat what everybody has ceased to believe. You are an - unnatural sister!” cried Delphine. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, children, children! hush! hush! or I will kill myself before your - eyes.” - </p> - <p> - “There, Nasie, I forgive you,” said Mme. de Nucingen; “you are very - unhappy. But I am kinder than you are. How could you say <i>that</i> just - when I was ready to do anything in the world to help you, even to be - reconciled with my husband, which for my own sake I——Oh! it is - just like you; you have behaved cruelly to me all through these nine - years.” - </p> - <p> - “Children, children, kiss each other!” cried the father. “You are angels, - both of you.” - </p> - <p> - “No. Let me alone,” cried the Countess shaking off the hand that her - father had laid on her arm. “She is more merciless than my husband. Any - one might think she was a model of all the virtues herself!” - </p> - <p> - “I would rather have people think that I owed money to M. de Marsay than - own that M. de Trailles had cost me more than two hundred thousand - francs,” retorted Mme. de Nucingen. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Delphine!</i>” cried the Countess, stepping towards her sister. - </p> - <p> - “I shall tell you the truth about yourself if you begin to slander me,” - said the Baroness coldly. - </p> - <p> - “Delphine! you are a ——” - </p> - <p> - Father Goriot sprang between them, grasped the Countess’ hand, and laid - his own over her mouth. - </p> - <p> - “Good heavens, father! What have you been handling this morning?” said - Anastasie. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! well, yes, I ought not to have touched you,” said the poor father, - wiping his hands on his trousers, “but I have been packing up my things; I - did not know that you were coming to see me.” - </p> - <p> - He was glad that he had drawn down her wrath upon himself. - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” he sighed, as he sat down, “you children have broken my heart - between you. This is killing me. My head feels as if it were on fire. Be - good to each other and love each other! This will be the death of me! - Delphine! Nasie! come, be sensible; you are both in the wrong. Come, - Dedel,” he added, looking through his tears at the Baroness, “she must - have twelve thousand francs, you see; let us see if we can find them for - her. Oh, my girls, do not look at each other like that!” and he sank on - his knees beside Delphine. “Ask her to forgive you—just to please - me,” he said in her ear. “She is more miserable than you are. Come now, - Dedel.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor Nasie!” said Delphine, alarmed at the wild extravagant grief in her - father’s face, “I was in the wrong, kiss me——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! that is like balm to my heart,” cried Father Goriot. “But how are we - to find twelve thousand francs? I might offer myself as a substitute in - the army——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! father dear!” they both cried, flinging their arms about him. “No, - no!” - </p> - <p> - “God reward you for the thought. We are not worth it, are we, Nasie?” - asked Delphine. - </p> - <p> - “And besides, father dear, it would only be a drop in the bucket,” - observed the Countess. - </p> - <p> - “But is flesh and blood worth nothing?” cried the old man in his despair. - “I would give body and soul to save you, Nasie. I would do a murder for - the man who would rescue you. I would do, as Vautrin did, go to the hulks, - go——” he stopped as if struck by a thunderbolt, and put both - hands to his head. “Nothing left!” he cried, tearing his hair. “If I only - knew of a way to steal money, but it is so hard to do it, and then you - can’t set to work by yourself, and it takes time to rob a bank. Yes, it is - time I was dead; there is nothing left me to do but to die. I am no good - in the world; I am no longer a father! No. She has come to me in her - extremity, and, wretch that I am, I have nothing to give her. Ah! you put - your money into a life annuity, old scoundrel; and had you not daughters? - You did not love them. Die, die in a ditch, like the dog that you are! - Yes, I am worse than a dog; a beast would not have done as I have done! - Oh! my head... it throbs as if it would burst.” - </p> - <p> - “Papa!” cried both the young women at once, “do, pray, be reasonable!” and - they clung to him to prevent him from dashing his head against the wall. - There was a sound of sobbing. - </p> - <p> - Eugene, greatly alarmed, took the bill that bore Vautrin’s signature, saw - that the stamp would suffice for a larger sum, altered the figures, made - it into a regular bill for twelve thousand francs, payable to Goriot’s - order, and went to his neighbor’s room. - </p> - <p> - “Here is the money, madame,” he said, handing the piece of paper to her. - “I was asleep; your conversation awoke me, and by this means I learned all - that I owed to M. Goriot. This bill can be discounted, and I shall meet it - punctually at the due date.” - </p> - <p> - The Countess stood motionless and speechless, but she held the bill in her - fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Delphine,” she said, with a white face, and her whole frame quivering - with indignation, anger, and rage, “I forgave you everything; God is my - witness that I forgave you, but I cannot forgive this! So this gentleman - was there all the time, and you knew it! Your petty spite has let you to - wreak your vengeance on me by betraying my secrets, my life, my children’s - lives, my shame, my honor! There, you are nothing to me any longer. I hate - you. I will do all that I can to injure you. I will...” - </p> - <p> - Anger paralyzed her; the words died in her dry parched throat. - </p> - <p> - “Why, he is my son, my child; he is your brother, your preserver!” cried - Goriot. “Kiss his hand, Nasie! Stay, I will embrace him myself,” he said, - straining Eugene to his breast in a frenzied clasp. “Oh my boy! I will be - more than a father to you; if I had God’s power, I would fling worlds at - your feet. Why don’t you kiss him, Nasie? He is not a man, but an angel, a - angel out of heaven.” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind her, father; she is mad just now.” - </p> - <p> - “Mad! am I? And what are you?” cried Mme. de Restaud. - </p> - <p> - “Children, children, I shall die if you go on like this,” cried the old - man, and he staggered and fell on the bed as if a bullet had struck him.—“They - are killing me between them,” he said to himself. - </p> - <p> - The Countess fixed her eyes on Eugene, who stood stock still; all his - faculties were numbed by this violent scene. - </p> - <p> - “Sir?...” she said, doubt and inquiry in her face, tone, and bearing; she - took no notice now of her father nor of Delphine, who was hastily - unfastening his waistcoat. - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” said Eugene, answering the question before it was asked, “I will - meet the bill, and keep silence about it.” - </p> - <p> - “You have killed our father, Nasie!” said Delphine, pointing to Goriot, - who lay unconscious on the bed. The Countess fled. - </p> - <p> - “I freely forgive her,” said the old man, opening his eyes; “her position - is horrible; it would turn an older head than hers. Comfort Nasie, and be - nice to her, Delphine; promise it to your poor father before he dies,” he - asked, holding Delphine’s hand in a convulsive clasp. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! what ails you, father?” she cried in real alarm. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing, nothing,” said Goriot; “it will go off. There is something heavy - pressing on my forehead, a little headache.... Ah! poor Nasie, what a life - lies before her!” - </p> - <p> - Just as he spoke, the Countess came back again and flung herself on her - knees before him. “Forgive me!” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” said her father, “you are hurting me still more.” - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur,” the Countess said, turning to Rastignac, “misery made me - unjust to you. You will be a brother to me, will you not?” and she held - out her hand. Her eyes were full of tears as she spoke. - </p> - <p> - “Nasie,” cried Delphine, flinging her arms round her sister, “my little - Nasie, let us forget and forgive.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” cried Nasie; “I shall never forget!” - </p> - <p> - “Dear angels,” cried Goriot, “it is as if a dark curtain over my eyes had - been raised; your voices have called me back to life. Kiss each other once - more. Well, now, Nasie, that bill will save you, won’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “I hope so. I say, papa, will you write your name on it?” - </p> - <p> - “There! how stupid of me to forget that! But I am not feeling at all well, - Nasie, so you must not remember it against me. Send and let me know as - soon as you are out of your strait. No, I will go to you. No, after all, I - will not go; I might meet your husband, and I should kill him on the spot. - And as for signing away your property, I shall have a word to say about - that. Quick, my child, and keep Maxime in order in future.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene was too bewildered to speak. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Anastasie, she always had a violent temper,” said Mme. de Nucingen, - “but she has a good heart.” - </p> - <p> - “She came back for the endorsement,” said Eugene in Delphine’s ear. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think so?” - </p> - <p> - “I only wish I could think otherwise. Do not trust her,” he answered, - raising his eyes as if he confided to heaven the thoughts that he did not - venture to express. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. She is always acting a part to some extent.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you feel now, dear Father Goriot?” asked Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “I should like to go to sleep,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - Eugene helped him to bed, and Delphine sat by the bedside, holding his - hand until he fell asleep. Then she went. - </p> - <p> - “This evening at the Italiens,” she said to Eugene, “and you can let me - know how he is. To-morrow you will leave this place, monsieur. Let us go - into your room.—Oh! how frightful!” she cried on the threshold. - “Why, you are even worse lodged than our father. Eugene, you have behaved - well. I would love you more if that were possible; but, dear boy, if you - are to succeed in life, you must not begin by flinging twelve thousand - francs out of the windows like that. The Comte de Trailles is a confirmed - gambler. My sister shuts her eyes to it. He would have made the twelve - thousand francs in the same way that he wins and loses heaps of gold.” - </p> - <p> - A groan from the next room brought them back to Goriot’s bedside; to all - appearances he was asleep, but the two lovers caught the words, “They are - not happy!” Whether he was awake or sleeping, the tone in which they were - spoken went to his daughter’s heart. She stole up to the pallet-bed on - which her father lay, and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! Delphine!” he said. - </p> - <p> - “How are you now?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Quite comfortable. Do not worry about me; I shall get up presently. Don’t - stay with me, children; go, go and be happy.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene went back with Delphine as far as her door; but he was not easy - about Goriot, and would not stay to dinner, as she proposed. He wanted to - be back at the Maison Vauquer. Father Goriot had left his room, and was - just sitting down to dinner as he came in. Bianchon had placed himself - where he could watch the old man carefully; and when the old vermicelli - maker took up his square of bread and smelled it to find out the quality - of the flour, the medical student, studying him closely, saw that the - action was purely mechanical, and shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Just come and sit over here, hospitaller of Cochin,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - Bianchon went the more willingly because his change of place brought him - next to the old lodger. - </p> - <p> - “What is wrong with him?” asked Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “It is all up with him, or I am much mistaken! Something very - extraordinary must have taken place; he looks to me as if he were in - imminent danger of serous apoplexy. The lower part of his face is composed - enough, but the upper part is drawn and distorted. Then there is that - peculiar look about the eyes that indicates an effusion of serum in the - brain; they look as though they were covered with a film of fine dust, do - you notice? I shall know more about it by to-morrow morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Is there any cure for it?” - </p> - <p> - “None. It might be possible to stave death off for a time if a way could - be found of setting up a reaction in the lower extremities; but if the - symptoms do not abate by to-morrow evening, it will be all over with him, - poor old fellow! Do you know what has happened to bring this on? There - must have been some violent shock, and his mind has given way.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, there was,” said Rastignac, remembering how the two daughters had - struck blow on blow at their father’s heart. - </p> - <p> - “But Delphine at any rate loves her father,” he said to himself. - </p> - <p> - That evening at the opera Rastignac chose his words carefully, lest he - should give Mme. de Nucingen needless alarm. - </p> - <p> - “Do not be anxious about him,” she said, however, as soon as Eugene began, - “our father has really a strong constitution, but this morning we gave him - a shock. Our whole fortunes were in peril, so the thing was serious, you - see. I could not live if your affection did not make me insensible to - troubles that I should once have thought too hard to bear. At this moment - I have but one fear left, but one misery to dread—to lose the love - that has made me feel glad to live. Everything else is as nothing to me - compared with our love; I care for nothing else, for you are all the world - to me. If I feel glad to be rich, it is for your sake. To my shame be it - said, I think of my lover before my father. Do you ask why? I cannot tell - you, but all my life is in you. My father gave me a heart, but you have - taught it to beat. The whole world may condemn me; what does it matter if - I stand acquitted in your eyes, for you have no right to think ill of me - for the faults which a tyrannous love has forced me to commit for you! Do - you think me an unnatural daughter? Oh! no, no one could help loving such - a dear kind father as ours. But how could I hide the inevitable - consequences of our miserable marriages from him? Why did he allow us to - marry when we did? Was it not his duty to think for us and foresee for us? - To-day I know he suffers as much as we do, but how can it be helped? And - as for comforting him, we could not comfort him in the least. Our - resignation would give him more pain and hurt him far more than complaints - and upbraidings. There are times in life when everything turns to - bitterness.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene was silent, the artless and sincere outpouring made an impression - on him. - </p> - <p> - Parisian women are often false, intoxicated with vanity, selfish and - self-absorbed, frivolous and shallow; yet of all women, when they love, - they sacrifice their personal feelings to their passion; they rise but so - much the higher for all the pettiness overcome in their nature, and become - sublime. Then Eugene was struck by the profound discernment and insight - displayed by this woman in judging of natural affection, when a privileged - affection had separated and set her at a distance apart. Mme. de Nucingen - was piqued by the silence, - </p> - <p> - “What are you thinking about?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “I am thinking about what you said just now. Hitherto I have always felt - sure that I cared far more for you than you did for me.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled, and would not give way to the happiness she felt, lest their - talk should exceed the conventional limits of propriety. She had never - heard the vibrating tones of a sincere and youthful love; a few more - words, and she feared for her self-control. - </p> - <p> - “Eugene,” she said, changing the conversation, “I wonder whether you know - what has been happening? All Paris will go to Mme. de Beauseant’s - to-morrow. The Rochefides and the Marquis d’Ajuda have agreed to keep the - matter a profound secret, but to-morrow the king will sign the - marriage-contract, and your poor cousin the Vicomtesse knows nothing of it - as yet. She cannot put off her ball, and the Marquis will not be there. - People are wondering what will happen?” - </p> - <p> - “The world laughs at baseness and connives at it. But this will kill Mme. - de Beauseant.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no,” said Delphine, smiling, “you do not know that kind of woman. - Why, all Paris will be there, and so shall I; I ought to go there for your - sake.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps, after all, it is one of those absurd reports that people set in - circulation here.” - </p> - <p> - “We shall know the truth to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene did not return to the Maison Vauquer. He could not forego the - pleasure of occupying his new rooms in the Rue d’Artois. Yesterday evening - he had been obliged to leave Delphine soon after midnight, but that night - it was Delphine who stayed with him until two o’clock in the morning. He - rose late, and waited for Mme. de Nucingen, who came about noon to - breakfast with him. Youth snatches eagerly at these rosy moments of - happiness, and Eugene had almost forgotten Goriot’s existence. The pretty - things that surrounded him were growing familiar; this domestication in - itself was one long festival for him, and Mme. de Nucingen was there to - glorify it all by her presence. It was four o’clock before they thought of - Goriot, and of how he had looked forward to the new life in that house. - Eugene said that the old man ought to be moved at once, lest he should - grow too ill to move. He left Delphine and hurried back to the - lodging-house. Neither Father Goriot nor young Bianchon was in the - dining-room with the others. - </p> - <p> - “Aha!” said the painter as Eugene came in, “Father Goriot has broken down - at last. Bianchon is upstairs with him. One of his daughters—the - Comtesse de Restaurama—came to see the old gentleman, and he would - get up and go out, and made himself worse. Society is about to lose one of - its brightest ornaments.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac sprang to the staircase. - </p> - <p> - “Hey! Monsieur Eugene!” - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur Eugene, the mistress is calling you,” shouted Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “It is this, sir,” said the widow. “You and M. Goriot should by rights - have moved out on the 15th of February. That was three days ago; to-day is - the 18th, I ought really to be paid a month in advance; but if you will - engage to pay for both, I shall be quite satisfied.” - </p> - <p> - “Why can’t you trust him?” - </p> - <p> - “Trust him, indeed! If the old gentleman went off his head and died, those - daughters of his would not pay me a farthing, and his things won’t fetch - ten francs. This morning he went out with all the spoons and forks he has - left, I don’t know why. He had got himself up to look quite young, and—Lord, - forgive me—but I thought he had rouge on his cheeks; he looked quite - young again.” - </p> - <p> - “I will be responsible,” said Eugene, shuddering with horror, for he - foresaw the end. - </p> - <p> - He climbed the stairs and reached Father Goriot’s room. The old man was - tossing on his bed. Bianchon was with him. - </p> - <p> - “Good-evening, father,” said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - The old man turned his glassy eyes on him, smiled gently, and said: - </p> - <p> - “How is <i>she</i>?” - </p> - <p> - “She is quite well. But how are you?” - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing much the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t tire him,” said Bianchon, drawing Eugene into a corner of the room. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” asked Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing but a miracle can save him now. Serous congestion has set in; I - have put on mustard plasters, and luckily he can feel them, they are - acting.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible to move him?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite out of the question. He must stay where he is, and be kept as quiet - as possible——” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Bianchon,” said Eugene, “we will nurse him between us.” - </p> - <p> - “I have had the head physician round from my hospital to see him.” - </p> - <p> - “And what did he say?” - </p> - <p> - “He will give no opinion till to-morrow evening. He promised to look in - again at the end of the day. Unluckily, the preposterous creature must - needs go and do something foolish this morning; he will not say what it - was. He is as obstinate as a mule. As soon as I begin to talk to him he - pretends not to hear, and lies as if he were asleep instead of answering, - or if he opens his eyes he begins to groan. Some time this morning he went - out on foot in the streets, nobody knows where he went, and he took - everything that he had of any value with him. He has been driving some - confounded bargain, and it has been too much for his strength. One of his - daughters has been here.” - </p> - <p> - “Was it the Countess?” asked Eugene. “A tall, dark-haired woman, with - large bright eyes, slender figure, and little feet?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Leave him to me for a bit,” said Rastignac. “I will make him confess; he - will tell me all about it.” - </p> - <p> - “And meanwhile I will get my dinner. But try not to excite him; there is - still some hope left.” - </p> - <p> - “All right.” - </p> - <p> - “How they will enjoy themselves to-morrow,” said Father Goriot when they - were alone. “They are going to a grand ball.” - </p> - <p> - “What were you doing this morning, papa, to make yourself so poorly this - evening that you have to stop in bed?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “Did not Anastasie come to see you?” demanded Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Father Goriot. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, don’t keep anything from me. What more did she want of you?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she was very miserable,” he answered, gathering up all his strength - to speak. “It was this way, my boy. Since that affair of the diamonds, - Nasie has not had a penny of her own. For this ball she had ordered a - golden gown like a setting for a jewel. Her mantuamaker, a woman without a - conscience, would not give her credit, so Nasie’s waiting-woman advanced a - thousand francs on account. Poor Nasie! reduced to such shifts! It cut me - to the heart to think of it! But when Nasie’s maid saw how things were - between her master and mistress, she was afraid of losing her money, and - came to an understanding with the dressmaker, and the woman refuses to - send the ball-dress until the money is paid. The gown is ready, and the - ball is to-morrow night! Nasie was in despair. She wanted to borrow my - forks and spoons to pawn them. Her husband is determined that she shall go - and wear the diamonds, so as to contradict the stories that are told all - over Paris. How can she go to that heartless scoundrel and say, ‘I owe a - thousand francs to my dressmaker; pay her for me!’ She cannot. I saw that - myself. Delphine will be there too in a superb toilette, and Anastasie - ought not to be outshone by her younger sister. And then—she was - drowned in tears, poor girl! I felt so humbled yesterday when I had not - the twelve thousand francs, that I would have given the rest of my - miserable life to wipe out that wrong. You see, I could have borne - anything once, but latterly this want of money has broken my heart. Oh! I - did not do it by halves; I titivated myself up a bit, and went out and - sold my spoons and forks and buckles for six hundred francs; then I went - to old Daddy Gobseck, and sold a year’s interest on my annuity for four - hundred francs down. Pshaw! I can live on dry bread, as I did when I was a - young man; if I have done it before, I can do it again. My Nasie shall - have one happy evening, at any rate. She shall be smart. The banknote for - a thousand francs is under my pillow; it warms me to have it lying there - under my head, for it is going to make my poor Nasie happy. She can turn - that bad girl Victoire out of the house. A servant that cannot trust her - mistress, did any one ever hear the like! I shall be quite well to-morrow. - Nasie is coming at ten o’clock. They must not think that I am ill, or they - will not go to the ball; they will stop and take care of me. To-morrow - Nasie will come and hold me in her arms as if I were one of her children; - her kisses will make me well again. After all, I might have spent the - thousand francs on physic; I would far rather give them to my little - Nasie, who can charm all the pain away. At any rate, I am some comfort to - her in her misery; and that makes up for my unkindness in buying an - annuity. She is in the depths, and I cannot draw her out of them now. Oh! - I will go into business again, I will buy wheat in Odessa; out there, - wheat fetches a quarter of the price it sells for here. There is a law - against the importation of grain, but the good folk who made the law - forgot to prohibit the introduction of wheat products and food stuffs made - from corn. Hey! hey!... That struck me this morning. There is a fine trade - to be done in starch.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene, watching the old man’s face, thought that his friend was - light-headed. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” he said, “do not talk any more, you must rest——” Just - then Bianchon came up, and Eugene went down to dinner. - </p> - <p> - The two students sat up with him that night, relieving each other in turn. - Bianchon brought up his medical books and studied; Eugene wrote letters - home to his mother and sisters. Next morning Bianchon thought the symptoms - more hopeful, but the patient’s condition demanded continual attention, - which the two students alone were willing to give—a task impossible - to describe in the squeamish phraseology of the epoch. Leeches must be - applied to the wasted body, the poultices and hot foot-baths, and other - details of the treatment required the physical strength and devotion of - the two young men. Mme. de Restaud did not come; but she sent a messenger - for the money. - </p> - <p> - “I expected she would come herself; but it would have been a pity for her - to come, she would have been anxious about me,” said the father, and to - all appearances he was well content. - </p> - <p> - At seven o’clock that evening Therese came with a letter from Delphine. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “What are you doing, dear friend? I have been loved for a very - little while, and I am neglected already? In the confidences of - heart and heart, I have learned to know your soul—you are too - noble not to be faithful for ever, for you know that love with all - its infinite subtle changes of feeling is never the same. Once you - said, as we were listening to the Prayer in <i>Mose in Egitto</i>, ‘For - some it is the monotony of a single note; for others, it is the - infinite of sound.’ Remember that I am expecting you this evening - to take me to Mme. de Beauseant’s ball. Every one knows now that - the King signed M. d’Ajuda’s marriage-contract this morning, and - the poor Vicomtesse knew nothing of it until two o’clock this - afternoon. All Paris will flock to her house, of course, just as a - crowd fills the Place de Greve to see an execution. It is - horrible, is it not, to go out of curiosity to see if she will - hide her anguish, and whether she will die courageously? I - certainly should not go, my friend, if I had been at her house - before; but, of course, she will not receive society any more - after this, and all my efforts would be in vain. My position is a - very unusual one, and besides, I am going there partly on your - account. I am waiting for you. If you are not beside me in less - than two hours, I do not know whether I could forgive such - treason.” - </pre> - <p> - Rastignac took up a pen and wrote: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “I am waiting till the doctor comes to know if there is any hope of - your father’s life. He is lying dangerously ill. I will come and - bring you the news, but I am afraid it may be a sentence of death. - When I come you can decide whether you can go to the ball.—Yours - a thousand times.” - </pre> - <p> - At half-past eight the doctor arrived. He did not take a very hopeful view - of the case, but thought that there was no immediate danger. Improvements - and relapses might be expected, and the good man’s life and reason hung in - the balance. - </p> - <p> - “It would be better for him to die at once,” the doctor said as he took - leave. - </p> - <p> - Eugene left Goriot to Bianchon’s care, and went to carry the sad news to - Mme. de Nucingen. Family feeling lingered in her, and this must put an end - for the present to her plans of amusement. - </p> - <p> - “Tell her to enjoy her evening as if nothing had happened,” cried Goriot. - He had been lying in a sort of stupor, but he suddenly sat upright as - Eugene went out. - </p> - <p> - Eugene, half heartbroken, entered Delphine’s. Her hair had been dressed; - she wore her dancing slippers; she had only to put on her ball-dress; but - when the artist is giving the finishing stroke to his creation, the last - touches require more time than the whole groundwork of the picture. - </p> - <p> - “Why, you are not dressed!” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “Madame, your father——” - </p> - <p> - “My father again!” she exclaimed, breaking in upon him. “You need not - teach me what is due to my father, I have known my father this long while. - Not a word, Eugene. I will hear what you have to say when you are dressed. - My carriage is waiting, take it, go round to your rooms and dress, Therese - has put out everything in readiness for you. Come back as soon as you can; - we will talk about my father on the way to Mme. de Beauseant’s. We must go - early; if we have to wait our turn in a row of carriages, we shall be - lucky if we get there by eleven o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - “Madame——” - </p> - <p> - “Quick! not a word!” she cried, darting into her dressing-room for a - necklace. - </p> - <p> - “Do go, Monsieur Eugene, or you will vex madame,” said Therese, hurrying - him away; and Eugene was too horror-stricken by this elegant parricide to - resist. - </p> - <p> - He went to his rooms and dressed, sad, thoughtful, and dispirited. The - world of Paris was like an ocean of mud for him just then; and it seemed - that whoever set foot in that black mire must needs sink into it up to the - chin. - </p> - <p> - “Their crimes are paltry,” said Eugene to himself. “Vautrin was greater.” - </p> - <p> - He had seen society in its three great phases—Obedience, Struggle, - and Revolt; the Family, the World, and Vautrin; and he hesitated in his - choice. Obedience was dull, Revolt impossible, Struggle hazardous. His - thoughts wandered back to the home circle. He thought of the quiet - uneventful life, the pure happiness of the days spent among those who - loved him there. Those loving and beloved beings passed their lives in - obedience to the natural laws of the hearth, and in that obedience found a - deep and constant serenity, unvexed by torments such as these. Yet, for - all his good impulses, he could not bring himself to make profession of - the religion of pure souls to Delphine, nor to prescribe the duties of - piety to her in the name of love. His education had begun to bear its - fruits; he loved selfishly already. Besides, his tact had discovered to - him the real nature of Delphine; he divined instinctively that she was - capable of stepping over her father’s corpse to go to the ball; and within - himself he felt that he had neither the strength of mind to play the part - of mentor, nor the strength of character to vex her, nor the courage to - leave her to go alone. - </p> - <p> - “She would never forgive me for putting her in the wrong over it,” he said - to himself. Then he turned the doctor’s dictum over in his mind; he tried - to believe that Goriot was not so dangerously ill as he had imagined, and - ended by collecting together a sufficient quantity of traitorous excuses - for Delphine’s conduct. She did not know how ill her father was; the kind - old man himself would have made her go to the ball if she had gone to see - him. So often it happens that this one or that stands condemned by the - social laws that govern family relations; and yet there are peculiar - circumstances in the case, differences of temperament, divergent - interests, innumerable complications of family life that excuse the - apparent offence. - </p> - <p> - Eugene did not wish to see too clearly; he was ready to sacrifice his - conscience to his mistress. Within the last few days his whole life had - undergone a change. Woman had entered into his world and thrown it into - chaos, family claims dwindled away before her; she had appropriated all - his being to her uses. Rastignac and Delphine found each other at a crisis - in their lives when their union gave them the most poignant bliss. Their - passion, so long proved, had only gained in strength by the gratified - desire that often extinguishes passion. This woman was his, and Eugene - recognized that not until then had he loved her; perhaps love is only - gratitude for pleasure. This woman, vile or sublime, he adored for the - pleasure she had brought as her dower; and Delphine loved Rastignac as - Tantalus would have loved some angel who had satisfied his hunger and - quenched the burning thirst in his parched throat. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Mme. de Nucingen when he came back in evening dress, “how is - my father?” - </p> - <p> - “Very dangerously ill,” he answered; “if you will grant me a proof of your - affections, we will just go in to see him on the way.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” she said. “Yes, but afterwards. Dear Eugene, do be nice, and - don’t preach to me. Come.” - </p> - <p> - They set out. Eugene said nothing for a while. - </p> - <p> - “What is it now?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “I can hear the death-rattle in your father’s throat,” he said almost - angrily. And with the hot indignation of youth, he told the story of Mme. - de Restaud’s vanity and cruelty, of her father’s final act of - self-sacrifice, that had brought about this struggle between life and - death, of the price that had been paid for Anastasie’s golden - embroideries. Delphine cried. - </p> - <p> - “I shall look frightful,” she thought. She dried her tears. - </p> - <p> - “I will nurse my father; I will not leave his bedside,” she said aloud. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! now you are as I would have you,” exclaimed Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - The lamps of five hundred carriages lit up the darkness about the Hotel de - Beauseant. A gendarme in all the glory of his uniform stood on either side - of the brightly lighted gateway. The great world was flocking thither that - night in its eager curiosity to see the great lady at the moment of her - fall, and the rooms on the ground floor were already full to overflowing, - when Mme. de Nucingen and Rastignac appeared. Never since Louis XIV. tore - her lover away from La grand Mademoiselle, and the whole court hastened to - visit that unfortunate princess, had a disastrous love affair made such a - sensation in Paris. But the youngest daughter of the almost royal house of - Burgundy had risen proudly above her pain, and moved till the last moment - like a queen in this world—its vanities had always been valueless - for her, save in so far as they contributed to the triumph of her passion. - The salons were filled with the most beautiful women in Paris, resplendent - in their toilettes, and radiant with smiles. Ministers and ambassadors, - the most distinguished men at court, men bedizened with decorations, - stars, and ribbons, men who bore the most illustrious names in France, had - gathered about the Vicomtesse. - </p> - <p> - The music of the orchestra vibrated in wave after wave of sound from the - golden ceiling of the palace, now made desolate for its queen. - </p> - <p> - Madame de Beauseant stood at the door of the first salon to receive the - guests who were styled her friends. She was dressed in white, and wore no - ornament in the plaits of hair braided about her head; her face was calm; - there was no sign there of pride, nor of pain, nor of joy that she did not - feel. No one could read her soul; she stood there like some Niobe carved - in marble. For a few intimate friends there was a tinge of satire in her - smile; but no scrutiny saw any change in her, nor had she looked otherwise - in the days of the glory of her happiness. The most callous of her guests - admired her as young Rome applauded some gladiator who could die smiling. - It seemed as if society had adorned itself for a last audience of one of - its sovereigns. - </p> - <p> - “I was afraid that you would not come,” she said to Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” he said, in an unsteady voice, taking her speech as a reproach, - “I shall be the last to go, that is why I am here.” - </p> - <p> - “Good,” she said, and she took his hand. “You are perhaps the only one I - can trust here among all these. Oh, my friend, when you love, love a woman - whom you are sure that you can love always. Never forsake a woman.” - </p> - <p> - She took Rastignac’s arm, and went towards a sofa in the card-room. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to go to the Marquis,” she said. “Jacques, my footman, will go - with you; he has a letter that you will take. I am asking the Marquis to - give my letters back to me. He will give them all up, I like to think - that. When you have my letters, go up to my room with them. Some one shall - bring me word.” - </p> - <p> - She rose to go to meet the Duchesse de Langeais, her most intimate friend, - who had come like the rest of the world. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac went. He asked for the Marquis d’Ajuda at the Hotel Rochefide, - feeling certain that the latter would be spending his evening there, and - so it proved. The Marquis went to his own house with Rastignac, and gave a - casket to the student, saying as he did so, “They are all there.” - </p> - <p> - He seemed as if he was about to say something to Eugene, to ask about the - ball, or the Vicomtesse; perhaps he was on the brink of the confession - that, even then, he was in despair, and knew that his marriage had been a - fatal mistake; but a proud gleam shone in his eyes, and with deplorable - courage he kept his noblest feelings a secret. - </p> - <p> - “Do not even mention my name to her, my dear Eugene.” He grasped - Rastignac’s hand sadly and affectionately, and turned away from him. - Eugene went back to the Hotel Beauseant, the servant took him to the - Vicomtesse’s room. There were signs there of preparations for a journey. - He sat down by the fire, fixed his eyes on the cedar wood casket, and fell - into deep mournful musings. Mme. de Beauseant loomed large in these - imaginings, like a goddess in the Iliad. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my friend!...” said the Vicomtesse; she crossed the room and laid her - hand on Rastignac’s shoulder. He saw the tears in his cousin’s uplifted - eyes, saw that one hand was raised to take the casket, and that the - fingers of the other trembled. Suddenly she took the casket, put it in the - fire, and watched it burn. - </p> - <p> - “They are dancing,” she said. “They all came very early; but death will be - long in coming. Hush! my friend,” and she laid a finger on Rastignac’s - lips, seeing that he was about to speak. “I shall never see Paris again. I - am taking my leave of the world. At five o’clock this morning I shall set - out on my journey; I mean to bury myself in the remotest part of Normandy. - I have had very little time to make my arrangements; since three o’clock - this afternoon I have been busy signing documents, setting my affairs in - order; there was no one whom I could send to...” - </p> - <p> - She broke off. - </p> - <p> - “He was sure to be...” - </p> - <p> - Again she broke off; the weight of her sorrow was more than she could - bear. In such moments as these everything is agony, and some words are - impossible to utter. - </p> - <p> - “And so I counted upon you to do me this last piece of service this - evening,” she said. “I should like to give you some pledge of friendship. - I shall often think of you. You have seemed to me to be kind and noble, - fresh-hearted and true, in this world where such qualities are seldom - found. I should like you to think sometimes of me. Stay,” she said, - glancing about her, “there is this box that has held my gloves. Every time - I opened it before going to a ball or to the theatre, I used to feel that - I must be beautiful, because I was so happy; and I never touched it except - to lay some gracious memory in it: there is so much of my old self in it, - of a Madame de Beauseant who now lives no longer. Will you take it? I will - leave directions that it is to be sent to you in the Rue d’Artois.—Mme. - de Nucingen looked very charming this evening. Eugene, you must love her. - Perhaps we may never see each other again, my friend; but be sure of this, - that I shall pray for you who have been kind to me.—Now, let us go - downstairs. People shall not think that I am weeping. I have all time and - eternity before me, and where I am going I shall be alone, and no one will - ask me the reason of my tears. One last look round first.” - </p> - <p> - She stood for a moment. Then she covered her eyes with her hands for an - instant, dashed away the tears, bathed her face with cold water, and took - the student’s arm. - </p> - <p> - “Let us go!” she said. - </p> - <p> - This suffering, endured with such noble fortitude, shook Eugene with a - more violent emotion than he had felt before. They went back to the - ballroom, and Mme. de Beauseant went through the rooms on Eugene’s arm—the - last delicately gracious act of a gracious woman. In another moment he saw - the sisters, Mme. de Restaud and Mme. de Nucingen. The Countess shone in - all the glory of her magnificent diamonds; every stone must have scorched - like fire, she was never to wear them again. Strong as love and pride - might be in her, she found it difficult to meet her husband’s eyes. The - sight of her was scarcely calculated to lighten Rastignac’s sad thoughts; - through the blaze of those diamonds he seemed to see the wretched - pallet-bed on which Father Goriot was lying. The Vicomtesse misread his - melancholy; she withdrew her hand from his arm. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” she said, “I must not deprive you of a pleasure.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene was soon claimed by Delphine. She was delighted by the impression - that she had made, and eager to lay at her lover’s feet the homage she had - received in this new world in which she hoped to live and move henceforth. - </p> - <p> - “What do you think of Nasie?” she asked him. - </p> - <p> - “She has discounted everything, even her own father’s death,” said - Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - Towards four o’clock in the morning the rooms began to empty. A little - later the music ceased, and the Duchesse de Langeais and Rastignac were - left in the great ballroom. The Vicomtesse, who thought to find the - student there alone, came back there at last. She had taken leave of M. de - Beauseant, who had gone off to bed, saying again as he went, “It is a - great pity, my dear, to shut yourself up at your age! Pray stay among us.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Beauseant saw the Duchesse, and, in spite of herself, an - exclamation broke from her. - </p> - <p> - “I saw how it was, Clara,” said Mme. de Langeais. “You are going from - among us, and you will never come back. But you must not go until you have - heard me, until we have understood each other.” - </p> - <p> - She took her friend’s arm, and they went together into the next room. - There the Duchess looked at her with tears in her eyes; she held her - friend in close embrace and kissed her cheek. - </p> - <p> - “I could not let you go without a word, dearest; the remorse would have - been too hard to bear. You can count upon me as surely as upon yourself. - You have shown yourself great this evening; I feel that I am worthy of our - friendship, and I mean to prove myself worthy of it. I have not always - been kind; I was in the wrong; forgive me, dearest; I wish I could unsay - anything that may have hurt you; I take back those words. One common - sorrow has brought us together again, for I do not know which of us is the - more miserable. M. de Montriveau was not here to-night; do you understand - what that means?—None of those who saw you to-night, Clara, will - ever forget you. I mean to make one last effort. If I fail, I shall go - into a convent. Clara, where are you going?” - </p> - <p> - “Into Normandy, to Courcelles. I shall love and pray there until the day - when God shall take me from this world.—M. de Rastignac!” called the - Vicomtesse, in a tremulous voice, remembering that the young man was - waiting there. - </p> - <p> - The student knelt to kiss his cousin’s hand. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, Antoinette!” said Mme. de Beauseant. “May you be happy.”—She - turned to the student. “You are young,” she said; “you have some beliefs - still left. I have been privileged, like some dying people, to find - sincere and reverent feeling in those about me as I take my leave of this - world.” - </p> - <p> - It was nearly five o’clock that morning when Rastignac came away. He had - put Mme. de Beauseant into her traveling carriage, and received her last - farewells, spoken amid fast-falling tears; for no greatness is so great - that it can rise above the laws of human affection, or live beyond the - jurisdiction of pain, as certain demagogues would have the people believe. - Eugene returned on foot to the Maison Vauquer through the cold and - darkness. His education was nearly complete. - </p> - <p> - “There is no hope for poor Father Goriot,” said Bianchon, as Rastignac - came into the room. Eugene looked for a while at the sleeping man, then he - turned to his friend. “Dear fellow, you are content with the modest career - you have marked out for yourself; keep to it. I am in hell, and I must - stay there. Believe everything that you hear said of the world, nothing is - too impossibly bad. No Juvenal could paint the horrors hidden away under - the covering of gems and gold.” - </p> - <p> - At two o’clock in the afternoon Bianchon came to wake Rastignac, and - begged him to take charge of Goriot, who had grown worse as the day wore - on. The medical student was obliged to go out. - </p> - <p> - “Poor old man, he has not two days to live, maybe not many hours,” he - said; “but we must do our utmost, all the same, to fight the disease. It - will be a very troublesome case, and we shall want money. We can nurse him - between us, of course, but, for my own part, I have not a penny. I have - turned out his pockets, and rummaged through his drawers—result, - nix. I asked him about it while his mind was clear, and he told me he had - not a farthing of his own. What have you?” - </p> - <p> - “I have twenty francs left,” said Rastignac; “but I will take them to the - roulette table, I shall be sure to win.” - </p> - <p> - “And if you lose?” - </p> - <p> - “Then I shall go to his sons-in-law and his daughters and ask them for - money.” - </p> - <p> - “And suppose they refuse?” Bianchon retorted. “The most pressing thing - just now is not really money; we must put mustard poultices, as hot as - they can be made, on his feet and legs. If he calls out, there is still - some hope for him. You know how to set about doing it, and besides, - Christophe will help you. I am going round to the dispensary to persuade - them to let us have the things we want on credit. It is a pity that we - could not move him to the hospital; poor fellow, he would be better there. - Well, come along, I leave you in charge; you must stay with him till I - come back.” - </p> - <p> - The two young men went back to the room where the old man was lying. - Eugene was startled at the change in Goriot’s face, so livid, distorted, - and feeble. - </p> - <p> - “How are you, papa?” he said, bending over the pallet-bed. Goriot turned - his dull eyes upon Eugene, looked at him attentively, and did not - recognize him. It was more than the student could bear; the tears came - into his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Bianchon, ought we to have the curtains put up in the windows?” - </p> - <p> - “No, the temperature and the light do not affect him now. It would be a - good thing for him if he felt heat or cold; but we must have a fire in any - case to make tisanes and heat the other things. I will send round a few - sticks; they will last till we can have in some firewood. I burned all the - bark fuel you had left, as well as his, poor man, yesterday and during the - night. The place is so damp that the water stood in drops on the walls; I - could hardly get the room dry. Christophe came in and swept the floor, but - the place is like a stable; I had to burn juniper, the smell was something - horrible. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” said Rastignac. “To think of those daughters of his.” - </p> - <p> - “One moment, if he asks for something to drink, give him this,” said the - house student, pointing to a large white jar. “If he begins to groan, and - the belly feels hot and hard to the touch, you know what to do; get - Christophe to help you. If he should happen to grow much excited, and - begin to talk a good deal and even to ramble in his talk, do not be - alarmed. It would not be a bad symptom. But send Christophe to the Hospice - Cochin. Our doctor, my chum, or I will come and apply moxas. We had a - great consultation this morning while you were asleep. A surgeon, a pupil - of Gall’s came, and our house surgeon, and the head physician from the - Hotel-Dieu. Those gentlemen considered that the symptoms were very unusual - and interesting; the case must be carefully watched, for it throws a light - on several obscure and rather important scientific problems. One of the - authorities says that if there is more pressure of serum on one or other - portion of the brain, it should affect his mental capacities in such and - such directions. So if he should talk, notice very carefully what kind of - ideas his mind seems to run on; whether memory, or penetration, or the - reasoning faculties are exercised; whether sentiments or practical - questions fill his thoughts; whether he makes forecasts or dwells on the - past; in fact; you must be prepared to give an accurate report of him. It - is quite likely that the extravasation fills the whole brain, in which - case he will die in the imbecile state in which he is lying now. You - cannot tell anything about these mysterious nervous diseases. Suppose the - crash came here,” said Bianchon, touching the back of the head, “very - strange things have been known to happen; the brain sometimes partially - recovers, and death is delayed. Or the congested matter may pass out of - the brain altogether through channels which can only be determined by a - post-mortem examination. There is an old man at the Hospital for - Incurables, an imbecile patient, in his case the effusion has followed the - direction of the spinal cord; he suffers horrid agonies, but he lives.” - </p> - <p> - “Did they enjoy themselves?” It was Father Goriot who spoke. He had - recognized Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! he thinks of nothing but his daughters,” said Bianchon. “Scores of - times last night he said to me, ‘They are dancing now! She has her dress.’ - He called them by their names. He made me cry, the devil take it, calling - with that tone in his voice, for ‘Delphine! my little Delphine! and - Nasie!’ Upon my word,” said the medical student, “it was enough to make - any one burst out crying.” - </p> - <p> - “Delphine,” said the old man, “she is there, isn’t she? I knew she was - there,” and his eyes sought the door. - </p> - <p> - “I am going down now to tell Sylvie to get the poultices ready,” said - Bianchon. “They ought to go on at once.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac was left alone with the old man. He sat at the foot of the bed, - and gazed at the face before him, so horribly changed that it was shocking - to see. - </p> - <p> - “Noble natures cannot dwell in this world,” he said; “Mme de Beauseant has - fled from it, and there he lies dying. What place indeed is there in the - shallow petty frivolous thing called society for noble thoughts and - feelings?” - </p> - <p> - Pictures of yesterday’s ball rose up in his memory, in strange contrast to - the deathbed before him. Bianchon suddenly appeared. - </p> - <p> - “I say, Eugene, I have just seen our head surgeon at the hospital, and I - ran all the way back here. If the old man shows any signs of reason, if he - begins to talk, cover him with a mustard poultice from the neck to the - base of the spine, and send round for us.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Bianchon,” exclaimed Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! it is an interesting case from a scientific point of view,” said the - medical student, with all the enthusiasm of a neophyte. - </p> - <p> - “So!” said Eugene. “Am I really the only one who cares for the poor old - man for his own sake?” - </p> - <p> - “You would not have said so if you had seen me this morning,” returned - Bianchon, who did not take offence at this speech. “Doctors who have seen - a good deal of practice never see anything but the disease, but, my dear - fellow, I can see the patient still.” - </p> - <p> - He went. Eugene was left alone with the old man, and with an apprehension - of a crisis that set in, in fact, before very long. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! dear boy, is that you?” said Father Goriot, recognizing Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “Do you feel better?” asked the law student, taking his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. My head felt as if it were being screwed up in a vise, but now it is - set free again. Did you see my girls? They will be here directly; as soon - as they know that I am ill they will hurry here at once; they used to take - such care of me in the Rue de la Jussienne! Great Heavens! if only my room - was fit for them to come into! There has been a young man here, who has - burned up all my bark fuel.” - </p> - <p> - “I can hear Christophe coming upstairs,” Eugene answered. “He is bringing - up some firewood that that young man has sent you.” - </p> - <p> - “Good, but how am I to pay for the wood. I have not a penny left, dear - boy. I have given everything, everything. I am a pauper now. Well, at - least the golden gown was grand, was it not? (Ah! what pain this is!) - Thanks, Christophe! God will reward you, my boy; I have nothing left now.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene went over to Christophe and whispered in the man’s ear, “I will pay - you well, and Sylvie too, for your trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “My daughters told you that they were coming, didn’t they, Christophe? Go - again to them, and I will give you five francs. Tell them that I am not - feeling well, that I should like to kiss them both and see them once again - before I die. Tell them that, but don’t alarm them more than you can - help.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac signed to Christophe to go, and the man went. - </p> - <p> - “They will come before long,” the old man went on. “I know them so well. - My tender-hearted Delphine! If I am going to die, she will feel it so - much! And so will Nasie. I do not want to die; they will cry if I die; and - if I die, dear Eugene, I shall not see them any more. It will be very - dreary there where I am going. For a father it is hell to be without your - children; I have served my apprenticeship already since they married. My - heaven was in the Rue de la Jussienne. Eugene, do you think that if I go - to heaven I can come back to earth, and be near them in spirit? I have - heard some such things said. It is true? It is as if I could see them at - this moment as they used to be when we all lived in the Rue de la - Jussienne. They used to come downstairs of a morning. ‘Good-morning, - papa!’ they used to say, and I would take them on my knees; we had all - sorts of little games of play together, and they had such pretty coaxing - ways. We always had breakfast together, too, every morning, and they had - dinner with me—in fact, I was a father then. I enjoyed my children. - They did not think for themselves so long as they lived in the Rue de la - Jussienne; they knew nothing of the world; they loved me with all their - hearts. <i>Mon Dieu!</i> why could they not always be little girls? (Oh! - my head! this racking pain in my head!) Ah! ah! forgive me, children, this - pain is fearful; it must be agony indeed, for you have used me to endure - pain. <i>Mon Dieu!</i> if only I held their hands in mine, I should not - feel it at all.—Do you think that they are on the way? Christophe is - so stupid; I ought to have gone myself. <i>He</i> will see them. But you - went to the ball yesterday; just tell me how they looked. They did not - know that I was ill, did they, or they would not have been dancing, poor - little things? Oh! I must not be ill any longer. They stand too much in - need of me; their fortunes are in danger. And such husbands as they are - bound to! I must get well! (Oh! what pain this is! what pain this is! ... - ah! ah!)—I must get well, you see; for they <i>must</i> have money, - and I know how to set about making some. I will go to Odessa and - manufacture starch there. I am an old hand, I will make millions. (Oh! - this is agony!)” - </p> - <p> - Goriot was silent for a moment; it seemed to require his whole strength to - endure the pain. - </p> - <p> - “If they were here, I should not complain,” he said. “So why should I - complain now?” - </p> - <p> - He seemed to grow drowsy with exhaustion, and lay quietly for a long time. - Christophe came back; and Rastignac, thinking that Goriot was asleep, - allowed the man to give his story aloud. - </p> - <p> - “First of all, sir, I went to Madame la Comtesse,” he said; “but she and - her husband were so busy that I couldn’t get to speak to her. When I - insisted that I must see her, M. de Restaud came out to me himself, and - went on like this: ‘M. Goriot is dying, is he? Very well, it is the best - thing he can do. I want Mme. de Restaud to transact some important - business, when it is all finished she can go.’ The gentleman looked angry, - I thought. I was just going away when Mme. de Restaud came out into an - ante-chamber through a door that I did not notice, and said, ‘Christophe, - tell my father that my husband wants me to discuss some matters with him, - and I cannot leave the house, the life or death of my children is at - stake; but as soon as it is over, I will come.’ As for Madame la Baronne, - that is another story! I could not speak to her either, and I did not even - see her. Her waiting-woman said, ‘Ah yes, but madame only came back from a - ball at a quarter to five this morning; she is asleep now, and if I wake - her before mid-day she will be cross. As soon as she rings, I will go and - tell her that her father is worse. It will be time enough then to tell her - bad news!’ I begged and I prayed, but, there! it was no good. Then I asked - for M. le Baron, but he was out.” - </p> - <p> - “To think that neither of his daughters should come!” exclaimed Rastignac. - “I will write to them both.” - </p> - <p> - “Neither of them!” cried the old man, sitting upright in bed. “They are - busy, they are asleep, they will not come! I knew that they would not. Not - until you are dying do you know your children.... Oh! my friend, do not - marry; do not have children! You give them life; they give you your - deathblow. You bring them into the world, and they send you out of it. No, - they will not come. I have known that these ten years. Sometimes I have - told myself so, but I did not dare to believe it.” - </p> - <p> - The tears gathered and stood without overflowing the red sockets. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! if I were rich still, if I had kept my money, if I had not given all - to them, they would be with me now; they would fawn on me and cover my - cheeks with their kisses! I should be living in a great mansion; I should - have grand apartments and servants and a fire in my room; and <i>they</i> - would be about me all in tears, and their husbands and their children. I - should have had all that; now—I have nothing. Money brings - everything to you; even your daughters. My money. Oh! where is my money? - If I had plenty of money to leave behind me, they would nurse me and tend - me; I should hear their voices, I should see their faces. Ah, God! who - knows? They both of them have hearts of stone. I loved them too much; it - was not likely that they should love me. A father ought always to be rich; - he ought to keep his children well in hand, like unruly horses. I have - gone down on my knees to them. Wretches! this is the crowning act that - brings the last ten years to a proper close. If you but knew how much they - made of me just after they were married. (Oh! this is cruel torture!) I - had just given them each eight hundred thousand francs; they were bound to - be civil to me after that, and their husbands too were civil. I used to go - to their houses: it was ‘My kind father’ here, ‘My dear father’ there. - There was always a place for me at their tables. I used to dine with their - husbands now and then, and they were very respectful to me. I was still - worth something, they thought. How should they know? I had not said - anything about my affairs. It is worth while to be civil to a man who has - given his daughters eight hundred thousand francs apiece; and they showed - me every attention then—but it was all for my money. Grand people - are not great. I found that out by experience! I went to the theatre with - them in their carriage; I might stay as long as I cared to stay at their - evening parties. In fact, they acknowledged me their father; publicly they - owned that they were my daughters. But I was always a shrewd one, you see, - and nothing was lost upon me. Everything went straight to the mark and - pierced my heart. I saw quite well that it was all sham and pretence, but - there is no help for such things as these. I felt less at my ease at their - dinner-table than I did downstairs here. I had nothing to say for myself. - So these grand folks would ask in my son-in-law’s ear, ‘Who may that - gentleman be?’—‘The father-in-law with the money bags; he is very - rich.’—‘The devil, he is!’ they would say, and look again at me with - the respect due to my money. Well, if I was in the way sometimes, I paid - dearly for my mistakes. And besides, who is perfect? (My head is one - sore!) Dear Monsieur Eugene, I am suffering so now, that a man might die - of the pain; but it is nothing to be compared with the pain I endured when - Anastasie made me feel, for the first time, that I had said something - stupid. She looked at me, and that glance of hers opened all my veins. I - used to want to know everything, to be learned; and one thing I did learn - thoroughly—I knew that I was not wanted here on earth. - </p> - <p> - “The next day I went to Delphine for comfort, and what should I do there - but make some stupid blunder that made her angry with me. I was like one - driven out of his senses. For a week I did not know what to do; I did not - dare to go to see them for fear they should reproach me. And that was how - they both turned me out of the house. - </p> - <p> - “Oh God! Thou knowest all the misery and anguish that I have endured; Thou - hast counted all the wounds that have been dealt to me in these years that - have aged and changed me and whitened my hair and drained my life; why - dost Thou make me to suffer so to-day? Have I not more than expiated the - sin of loving them too much? They themselves have been the instruments of - vengeance; they have tortured me for my sin of affection. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, well! fathers know no better; I loved them so; I went back to them as - a gambler goes to the gaming table. This love was my vice, you see, my - mistress—they were everything in the world to me. They were always - wanting something or other, dresses and ornaments, and what not; their - maids used to tell me what they wanted, and I used to give them the things - for the sake of the welcome that they bought for me. But, at the same - time, they used to give me little lectures on my behavior in society; they - began about it at once. Then they began to feel ashamed of me. That is - what comes of having your children well brought up. I could not go to - school again at my time of life. (This pain is fearful! <i>Mon Dieu!</i> - These doctors! these doctors! If they would open my head, it would give me - some relief!) Oh, my daughters, my daughters! Anastasie! Delphine! If I - could only see them! Send for the police, and make them come to me! - Justice is on my side, the whole world is on my side, I have natural - rights, and the law with me. I protest! The country will go to ruin if a - father’s rights are trampled under foot. That is easy to see. The whole - world turns on fatherly love; fatherly love is the foundation of society; - it will crumble into ruin when children do not love their fathers. Oh! if - I could only see them, and hear them, no matter what they said; if I could - simply hear their voices, it would soothe the pain. Delphine! Delphine - most of all. But tell them when they come not to look so coldly at me as - they do. Oh! my friend, my good Monsieur Eugene, you do not know that it - is when all the golden light in a glance suddenly turns to a leaden gray. - It has been one long winter here since the light in their eyes shone no - more for me. I have had nothing but disappointments to devour. - Disappointment has been my daily bread; I have lived on humiliation and - insults. I have swallowed down all the affronts for which they sold me my - poor stealthy little moments of joy; for I love them so! Think of it! a - father hiding himself to get a glimpse of his children! I have given all - my life to them, and to-day they will not give me one hour! I am hungering - and thirsting for them, my heart is burning in me, but they will not come - to bring relief in the agony, for I am dying now, I feel that this is - death. Do they not know what it means to trample on a father’s corpse? - There is a God in heaven who avenges us fathers whether we will or no. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! they will come! Come to me, darlings, and give me one more kiss; one - last kiss, the Viaticum for your father, who will pray God for you in - heaven. I will tell Him that you have been good children to your father, - and plead your cause with God! After all, it is not their fault. I tell - you they are innocent, my friend. Tell every one that it is not their - fault, and no one need be distressed on my account. It is all my own - fault, I taught them to trample upon me. I loved to have it so. It is no - one’s affair but mine; man’s justice and God’s justice have nothing to do - in it. God would be unjust if He condemned them for anything they may have - done to me. I did not behave to them properly; I was stupid enough to - resign my rights. I would have humbled myself in the dust for them. What - could you expect? The most beautiful nature, the noblest soul, would have - been spoiled by such indulgence. I am a wretch, I am justly punished. I, - and I only, am to blame for all their sins; I spoiled them. To-day they - are as eager for pleasure as they used to be for sugar-plums. When they - were little girls I indulged them in every whim. They had a carriage of - their own when they were fifteen. They have never been crossed. I am - guilty, and not they—but I sinned through love. - </p> - <p> - “My heart would open at the sound of their voices. I can hear them; they - are coming. Yes! yes! they are coming. The law demands that they should be - present at their father’s deathbed; the law is on my side. It would only - cost them the hire of a cab. I would pay that. Write to them, tell them - that I have millions to leave to them! On my word of honor, yes. I am - going to manufacture Italian paste foods at Odessa. I understand the - trade. There are millions to be made in it. Nobody has thought of the - scheme as yet. You see, there will be no waste, no damage in transit, as - there always is with wheat and flour. Hey! hey! and starch too; there are - millions to be made in the starch trade! You will not be telling a lie. - Millions, tell them; and even if they really come because they covet the - money, I would rather let them deceive me; and I shall see them in any - case. I want my children! I gave them life; they are mine, mine!” and he - sat upright. The head thus raised, with its scanty white hair, seemed to - Eugene like a threat; every line that could still speak spoke of menace. - </p> - <p> - “There, there, dear father,” said Eugene, “lie down again; I will write to - them at once. As soon as Bianchon comes back I will go for them myself, if - they do not come before.” - </p> - <p> - “If they do not come?” repeated the old man, sobbing. “Why, I shall be - dead before then; I shall die in a fit of rage, of rage! Anger is getting - the better of me. I can see my whole life at this minute. I have been - cheated! They do not love me—they have never loved me all their - lives! It is all clear to me. They have not come, and they will not come. - The longer they put off their coming, the less they are likely to give me - this joy. I know them. They have never cared to guess my disappointments, - my sorrows, my wants; they never cared to know my life; they will have no - presentiment of my death; they do not even know the secret of my - tenderness for them. Yes, I see it all now. I have laid my heart open so - often, that they take everything I do for them as a matter of course. They - might have asked me for the very eyes out of my head and I would have - bidden them to pluck them out. They think that all fathers are like - theirs. You should always make your value felt. Their own children will - avenge me. Why, for their own sakes they should come to me! Make them - understand that they are laying up retribution for their own deathbeds. - All crimes are summed up in this one.... Go to them; just tell them that - if they stay away it will be parricide! There is enough laid to their - charge already without adding that to the list. Cry aloud as I do now, - ‘Nasie! Delphine! here! Come to your father; the father who has been so - kind to you is lying ill!’—Not a sound; no one comes! Then am I to - die like a dog? This is to be my reward—I am forsaken at the last. - They are wicked, heartless women; curses on them, I loathe them. I shall - rise at night from my grave to curse them again; for, after all, my - friends, have I done wrong? They are behaving very badly to me, eh? ... - What am I saying? Did you not tell me just now that Delphine is in the - room? She is more tender-hearted than her sister.... Eugene, you are my - son, you know. You will love her; be a father to her! Her sister is very - unhappy. And there are their fortunes! Ah, God! I am dying, this anguish - is almost more than I can bear! Cut off my head; leave me nothing but my - heart.” - </p> - <p> - “Christophe!” shouted Eugene, alarmed by the way in which the old man - moaned, and by his cries, “go for M. Bianchon, and send a cab here for me.—I - am going to fetch them, dear father; I will bring them back to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Make them come! Compel them to come! Call out the Guard, the military, - anything and everything, but make them come!” He looked at Eugene, and a - last gleam of intelligence shone in his eyes. “Go to the authorities, to - the Public Prosecutor, let them bring them here; come they shall!” - </p> - <p> - “But you have cursed them.” - </p> - <p> - “Who said that!” said the old man in dull amazement. “You know quite well - that I love them, I adore them! I shall be quite well again if I can see - them.... Go for them, my good neighbor, my dear boy, you are kind-hearted; - I wish I could repay you for your kindness, but I have nothing to give you - now, save the blessing of a dying man. Ah! if I could only see Delphine, - to tell her to pay my debt to you. If the other cannot come, bring - Delphine to me at any rate. Tell her that unless she comes, you will not - love her any more. She is so fond of you that she will come to me then. - Give me something to drink! There is a fire in my bowels. Press something - against my forehead! If my daughters would lay their hands there, I think - I should get better. ... <i>Mon Dieu!</i> who will recover their money for - them when I am gone?... I will manufacture vermicelli out in Odessa; I - will go to Odessa for their sakes.” - </p> - <p> - “Here is something to drink,” said Eugene, supporting the dying man on his - left arm, while he held a cup of tisane to Goriot’s lips. - </p> - <p> - “How you must love your own father and mother!” said the old man, and - grasped the student’s hand in both of his. It was a feeble, trembling - grasp. “I am going to die; I shall die without seeing my daughters; do you - understand? To be always thirsting, and never to drink; that has been my - life for the last ten years.... I have no daughters, my sons-in-law killed - them. No, since their marriages they have been dead to me. Fathers should - petition the Chambers to pass a law against marriage. If you love your - daughters, do not let them marry. A son-in-law is a rascal who poisons a - girl’s mind and contaminates her whole nature. Let us have no more - marriages! It robs us of our daughters; we are left alone upon our - deathbeds, and they are not with us then. They ought to pass a law for - dying fathers. This is awful! It cries for vengeance! They cannot come, - because my sons-in-law forbid them!... Kill them!... Restaud and the - Alsatian, kill them both! They have murdered me between them!... Death or - my daughters!... Ah! it is too late, I am dying, and they are not here!... - Dying without them!... Nasie! Fifine! Why do you not come to me? Your papa - is going——” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Father Goriot, calm yourself. There, there, lie quietly and rest; - don’t worry yourself, don’t think.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall not see them. Oh! the agony of it!” - </p> - <p> - “You <i>shall</i> see them.” - </p> - <p> - “Really?” cried the old man, still wandering. “Oh! shall I see them; I - shall see them and hear their voices. I shall die happy. Ah! well, after - all, I do not wish to live; I cannot stand this much longer; this pain - that grows worse and worse. But, oh! to see them, to touch their dresses—ah! - nothing but their dresses, that is very little; still, to feel something - that belongs to them. Let me touch their hair with my fingers... their - hair...” - </p> - <p> - His head fell back on the pillow, as if a sudden heavy blow had struck him - down, but his hands groped feebly over the quilt, as if to find his - daughters’ hair. - </p> - <p> - “My blessing on them...” he said, making an effort, “my blessing...” - </p> - <p> - His voice died away. Just at that moment Bianchon came into the room. - </p> - <p> - “I met Christophe,” he said; “he is gone for your cab.” - </p> - <p> - Then he looked at the patient, and raised the closed eyelids with his - fingers. The two students saw how dead and lustreless the eyes beneath had - grown. - </p> - <p> - “He will not get over this, I am sure,” said Bianchon. He felt the old - man’s pulse, and laid a hand over his heart. - </p> - <p> - “The machinery works still; more is the pity, in his state it would be - better for him to die.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my word, it would!” - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter with you? You are as pale as death.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear fellow, the moans and cries that I have just heard.... There is a - God! Ah! yes, yes, there is a God, and He has made a better world for us, - or this world of ours would be a nightmare. I could have cried like a - child; but this is too tragical, and I am sick at heart. - </p> - <p> - “We want a lot of things, you know; and where is the money to come from?” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac took out his watch. - </p> - <p> - “There, be quick and pawn it. I do not want to stop on the way to the Rue - du Helder; there is not a moment to lose, I am afraid, and I must wait - here till Christophe comes back. I have not a farthing; I shall have to - pay the cabman when I get home again.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac rushed down the stairs, and drove off to the Rue du Helder. The - awful scene through which he had just passed quickened his imagination, - and he grew fiercely indignant. He reached Mme. de Restaud’s house only to - be told by the servant that his mistress could see no one. - </p> - <p> - “But I have brought a message from her father, who is dying,” Rastignac - told the man. - </p> - <p> - “The Count has given us the strictest orders, sir——” - </p> - <p> - “If it is M. de Restaud who has given the orders, tell him that his - father-in-law is dying, and that I am here, and must speak with him at - once.” - </p> - <p> - The man went out. - </p> - <p> - Eugene waited for a long while. “Perhaps her father is dying at this - moment,” he thought. - </p> - <p> - Then the man came back, and Eugene followed him to the little - drawing-room. M. de Restaud was standing before the fireless grate, and - did not ask his visitor to seat himself. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur le Comte,” said Rastignac, “M. Goriot, your father-in-law, is - lying at the point of death in a squalid den in the Latin Quarter. He has - not a penny to pay for firewood; he is expected to die at any moment, and - keeps calling for his daughter——” - </p> - <p> - “I feel very little affection for M. Goriot, sir, as you probably are - aware,” the Count answered coolly. “His character has been compromised in - connection with Mme. de Restaud; he is the author of the misfortunes that - have embittered my life and troubled my peace of mind. It is a matter of - perfect indifference to me if he lives or dies. Now you know my feelings - with regard to him. Public opinion may blame me, but I care nothing for - public opinion. Just now I have other and much more important matters to - think about than the things that fools and chatterers may say about me. As - for Mme. de Restaud, she cannot leave the house; she is in no condition to - do so. And, besides, I shall not allow her to leave it. Tell her father - that as soon as she has done her duty by her husband and child she shall - go to see him. If she has any love for her father, she can be free to go - to him, if she chooses, in a few seconds; it lies entirely with her——” - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur le Comte, it is no business of mine to criticise your conduct; - you can do as you please with your wife, but may I count upon your keeping - your word with me? Well, then, promise me to tell her that her father has - not twenty-four hours to live; that he looks in vain for her, and has - cursed her already as he lies on his deathbed,—that is all I ask.” - </p> - <p> - “You can tell her yourself,” the Count answered, impressed by the thrill - of indignation in Eugene’s voice. - </p> - <p> - The Count led the way to the room where his wife usually sat. She was - drowned in tears, and lay crouching in the depths of an armchair, as if - she were tired of life and longed to die. It was piteous to see her. - Before venturing to look at Rastignac, she glanced at her husband in - evident and abject terror that spoke of complete prostration of body and - mind; she seemed crushed by a tyranny both mental and physical. The Count - jerked his head towards her; she construed this as a permission to speak. - </p> - <p> - “I heard all that you said, monsieur. Tell my father that if he knew all - he would forgive me.... I did not think there was such torture in the - world as this; it is more than I can endure, monsieur!—But I will - not give way as long as I live,” she said, turning to her husband. “I am a - mother.—Tell my father that I have never sinned against him in spite - of appearances!” she cried aloud in her despair. - </p> - <p> - Eugene bowed to the husband and wife; he guessed the meaning of the scene, - and that this was a terrible crisis in the Countess’ life. M. de Restaud’s - manner had told him that his errand was a fruitless one; he saw that - Anastasie had no longer any liberty of action. He came away mazed and - bewildered, and hurried to Mme. de Nucingen. Delphine was in bed. - </p> - <p> - “Poor dear Eugene, I am ill,” she said. “I caught cold after the ball, and - I am afraid of pneumonia. I am waiting for the doctor to come.” - </p> - <p> - “If you were at death’s door,” Eugene broke in, “you must be carried - somehow to your father. He is calling for you. If you could hear the - faintest of those cries, you would not feel ill any longer.” - </p> - <p> - “Eugene, I dare say my father is not quite so ill as you say; but I cannot - bear to do anything that you do not approve, so I will do just as you - wish. As for <i>him</i>, he would die of grief I know if I went out to see - him and brought on a dangerous illness. Well, I will go as soon as I have - seen the doctor.—Ah!” she cried out, “you are not wearing your - watch, how is that?” - </p> - <p> - Eugene reddened. - </p> - <p> - “Eugene, Eugene! if you have sold it already or lost it.... Oh! it would - be very wrong of you!” - </p> - <p> - The student bent over Delphine and said in her ear, “Do you want to know? - Very well, then, you shall know. Your father has nothing left to pay for - the shroud that they will lay him in this evening. Your watch has been - pawned, for I had nothing either.” - </p> - <p> - Delphine sprang out of bed, ran to her desk, and took out her purse. She - gave it to Eugene, and rang the bell, crying: - </p> - <p> - “I will go, I will go at once, Eugene. Leave me, I will dress. Why, I - should be an unnatural daughter! Go back; I will be there before you.—Therese,” - she called to the waiting-woman, “ask M. de Nucingen to come upstairs at - once and speak to me.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene was almost happy when he reached the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve; he - was so glad to bring the news to the dying man that one of his daughters - was coming. He fumbled in Delphine’s purse for money, so as to dismiss the - cab at once; and discovered that the young, beautiful, and wealthy woman - of fashion had only seventy francs in her private purse. He climbed the - stairs and found Bianchon supporting Goriot, while the house surgeon from - the hospital was applying moxas to the patient’s back—under the - direction of the physician, it was the last expedient of science, and it - was tried in vain. - </p> - <p> - “Can you feel them?” asked the physician. But Goriot had caught sight of - Rastignac, and answered, “They are coming, are they not?” - </p> - <p> - “There is hope yet,” said the surgeon; “he can speak.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Eugene, “Delphine is coming.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! that is nothing!” said Bianchon; “he has been talking about his - daughters all the time. He calls for them as a man impaled calls for - water, they say——” - </p> - <p> - “We may as well give up,” said the physician, addressing the surgeon. - “Nothing more can be done now; the case is hopeless.” - </p> - <p> - Bianchon and the house surgeon stretched the dying man out again on his - loathsome bed. - </p> - <p> - “But the sheets ought to be changed,” added the physician. “Even if there - is no hope left, something is due to human nature. I shall come back - again, Bianchon,” he said, turning to the medical student. “If he - complains again, rub some laudanum over the diaphragm.” - </p> - <p> - He went, and the house surgeon went with him. - </p> - <p> - “Come, Eugene, pluck up heart, my boy,” said Bianchon, as soon as they - were alone; “we must set about changing his sheets, and put him into a - clean shirt. Go and tell Sylvie to bring some sheets and come and help us - to make the bed.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene went downstairs, and found Mme. Vauquer engaged in setting the - table; Sylvie was helping her. Eugene had scarcely opened his mouth before - the widow walked up to him with the acidulous sweet smile of a cautious - shopkeeper who is anxious neither to lose money nor to offend a customer. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Monsieur Eugene,” she said, when he had spoken, “you know quite - as well as I do that Father Goriot has not a brass farthing left. If you - give out clean linen for a man who is just going to turn up his eyes, you - are not likely to see your sheets again, for one is sure to be wanted to - wrap him in. Now, you owe me a hundred and forty-four francs as it is, add - forty francs for the pair of sheets, and then there are several little - things, besides the candle that Sylvie will give you; altogether it will - all mount up to at least two hundred francs, which is more than a poor - widow like me can afford to lose. Lord! now, Monsieur Eugene, look at it - fairly. I have lost quite enough in these five days since this run of - ill-luck set in for me. I would rather than ten crowns that the old - gentlemen had moved out as you said. It sets the other lodgers against the - house. It would not take much to make me send him to the workhouse. In - short, just put yourself in my place. I have to think of my establishment - first, for I have my own living to make.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene hurried up to Goriot’s room. - </p> - <p> - “Bianchon,” he cried, “the money for the watch?” - </p> - <p> - “There it is on the table, or the three hundred and sixty odd francs that - are left of it. I paid up all the old scores out of it before they let me - have the things. The pawn ticket lies there under the money.” - </p> - <p> - Rastignac hurried downstairs. - </p> - <p> - “Here, madame” he said in disgust, “let us square accounts. M. Goriot will - not stay much longer in your house, nor shall I——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he will go out feet foremost, poor old gentleman,” she said, - counting the francs with a half-facetious, half-lugubrious expression. - </p> - <p> - “Let us get this over,” said Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - “Sylvie, look out some sheets, and go upstairs to help the gentlemen.” - </p> - <p> - “You won’t forget Sylvie,” said Mme. Vauquer in Eugene’s ear; “she has - been sitting up these two nights.” - </p> - <p> - As soon as Eugene’s back was turned, the old woman hurried after her - handmaid. - </p> - <p> - “Take the sheets that have had the sides turned into the middle, number 7. - Lord! they are plenty good enough for a corpse,” she said in Sylvie’s ear. - </p> - <p> - Eugene, by this time, was part of the way upstairs, and did not overhear - the elderly economist. - </p> - <p> - “Quick,” said Bianchon, “let us change his shirt. Hold him upright.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene went to the head of the bed and supported the dying man, while - Bianchon drew off his shirt; and then Goriot made a movement as if he - tried to clutch something to his breast, uttering a low inarticulate - moaning the while, like some dumb animal in mortal pain. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! yes!” cried Bianchon. “It is the little locket and the chain made of - hair that he wants; we took it off a while ago when we put the blisters on - him. Poor fellow! he must have it again. There it lies on the - chimney-piece.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene went to the chimney-piece and found the little plait of faded - golden hair—Mme. Goriot’s hair, no doubt. He read the name on the - little round locket, ANASTASIE on the one side, DELPHINE on the other. It - was the symbol of his own heart that the father always wore on his breast. - The curls of hair inside the locket were so fine and soft that is was - plain they had been taken from two childish heads. When the old man felt - the locket once more, his chest heaved with a long deep sigh of - satisfaction, like a groan. It was something terrible to see, for it - seemed as if the last quiver of the nerves were laid bare to their eyes, - the last communication of sense to the mysterious point within whence our - sympathies come and whither they go. A delirious joy lighted up the - distorted face. The terrific and vivid force of the feeling that had - survived the power of thought made such an impression on the students, - that the dying man felt their hot tears falling on him, and gave a shrill - cry of delight. - </p> - <p> - “Nasie! Fifine!” - </p> - <p> - “There is life in him yet,” said Bianchon. - </p> - <p> - “What does he go on living for?” said Sylvie. - </p> - <p> - “To suffer,” answered Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - Bianchon made a sign to his friend to follow his example, knelt down and - pressed his arms under the sick man, and Rastignac on the other side did - the same, so that Sylvie, standing in readiness, might draw the sheet from - beneath and replace it with the one that she had brought. Those tears, no - doubt, had misled Goriot; for he gathered up all his remaining strength in - a last effort, stretched out his hands, groped for the students’ heads, - and as his fingers caught convulsively at their hair, they heard a faint - whisper: - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my angels!” - </p> - <p> - Two words, two inarticulate murmurs, shaped into words by the soul which - fled forth with them as they left his lips. - </p> - <p> - “Poor dear!” cried Sylvie, melted by that exclamation; the expression of - the great love raised for the last time to a sublime height by that most - ghastly and involuntary of lies. - </p> - <p> - The father’s last breath must have been a sigh of joy, and in that sigh - his whole life was summed up; he was cheated even at the last. They laid - Father Goriot upon his wretched bed with reverent hands. Thenceforward - there was no expression on his face, only the painful traces of the - struggle between life and death that was going on in the machine; for that - kind of cerebral consciousness that distinguishes between pleasure and - pain in a human being was extinguished; it was only a question of time—and - the mechanism itself would be destroyed. - </p> - <p> - “He will lie like this for several hours, and die so quietly at last, that - we shall not know when he goes; there will be no rattle in the throat. The - brain must be completely suffused.” - </p> - <p> - As he spoke there was a footstep on the staircase, and a young woman - hastened up, panting for breath. - </p> - <p> - “She has come too late,” said Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - But it was not Delphine; it was Therese, her waiting-woman, who stood in - the doorway. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur Eugene,” she said, “monsieur and madame have had a terrible - scene about some money that Madame (poor thing!) wanted for her father. - She fainted, and the doctor came, and she had to be bled, calling out all - the while, ‘My father is dying; I want to see papa!’ It was heartbreaking - to hear her——” - </p> - <p> - “That will do, Therese. If she came now, it would be trouble thrown away. - M. Goriot cannot recognize any one now.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor, dear gentleman, is he as bad at that?” said Therese. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t want me now, I must go and look after my dinner; it is - half-past four,” remarked Sylvie. The next instant she all but collided - with Mme. de Restaud on the landing outside. - </p> - <p> - There was something awful and appalling in the sudden apparition of the - Countess. She saw the bed of death by the dim light of the single candle, - and her tears flowed at the sight of her father’s passive features, from - which the life had almost ebbed. Bianchon with thoughtful tact left the - room. - </p> - <p> - “I could not escape soon enough,” she said to Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - The student bowed sadly in reply. Mme. de Restaud took her father’s hand - and kissed it. - </p> - <p> - “Forgive me, father! You used to say that my voice would call you back - from the grave; ah! come back for one moment to bless your penitent - daughter. Do you hear me? Oh! this is fearful! No one on earth will ever - bless me henceforth; every one hates me; no one loves me but you in all - the world. My own children will hate me. Take me with you, father; I will - love you, I will take care of you. He does not hear me ... I am mad...” - </p> - <p> - She fell on her knees, and gazed wildly at the human wreck before her. - </p> - <p> - “My cup of misery is full,” she said, turning her eyes upon Eugene. “M. de - Trailles has fled, leaving enormous debts behind him, and I have found out - that he was deceiving me. My husband will never forgive me, and I have - left my fortune in his hands. I have lost all my illusions. Alas! I have - forsaken the one heart that loved me (she pointed to her father as she - spoke), and for whom? I have held his kindness cheap, and slighted his - affection; many and many a time I have given him pain, ungrateful wretch - that I am!” - </p> - <p> - “He knew it,” said Rastignac. - </p> - <p> - Just then Goriot’s eyelids unclosed; it was only a muscular contraction, - but the Countess’ sudden start of reviving hope was no less dreadful than - the dying eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible that he can hear me?” cried the Countess. “No,” she - answered herself, and sat down beside the bed. As Mme. de Restaud seemed - to wish to sit by her father, Eugene went down to take a little food. The - boarders were already assembled. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” remarked the painter, as he joined them, “it seems that there is - to be a death-orama upstairs.” - </p> - <p> - “Charles, I think you might find something less painful to joke about,” - said Eugene. - </p> - <p> - “So we may not laugh here?” returned the painter. “What harm does it do? - Bianchon said that the old man was quite insensible.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” said the <i>employe</i> from the Museum, “he will die as he - has lived.” - </p> - <p> - “My father is dead!” shrieked the Countess. - </p> - <p> - The terrible cry brought Sylvie, Rastignac, and Bianchon; Mme. de Restaud - had fainted away. When she recovered they carried her downstairs, and put - her into the cab that stood waiting at the door. Eugene sent Therese with - her, and bade the maid take the Countess to Mme. de Nucingen. - </p> - <p> - Bianchon came down to them. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he is dead,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Come, sit down to dinner, gentlemen,” said Mme. Vauquer, “or the soup - will be cold.” - </p> - <p> - The two students sat down together. - </p> - <p> - “What is the next thing to be done?” Eugene asked of Bianchon. - </p> - <p> - “I have closed his eyes and composed his limbs,” said Bianchon. “When the - certificate has been officially registered at the Mayor’s office, we will - sew him in his winding sheet and bury him somewhere. What do you think we - ought to do?” - </p> - <p> - “He will not smell at his bread like this any more,” said the painter, - mimicking the old man’s little trick. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hang it all!” cried the tutor, “let Father Goriot drop, and let us - have something else for a change. He is a standing dish, and we have had - him with every sauce this hour or more. It is one of the privileges of the - good city of Paris that anybody may be born, or live, or die there without - attracting any attention whatsoever. Let us profit by the advantages of - civilization. There are fifty or sixty deaths every day; if you have a - mind to do it, you can sit down at any time and wail over whole hecatombs - of dead in Paris. Father Goriot has gone off the hooks, has he? So much - the better for him. If you venerate his memory, keep it to yourselves, and - let the rest of us feed in peace.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, to be sure,” said the widow, “it is all the better for him that he is - dead. It looks as though he had had trouble enough, poor soul, while he - was alive.” - </p> - <p> - And this was all the funeral oration delivered over him who had been for - Eugene the type and embodiment of Fatherhood. - </p> - <p> - The fifteen lodgers began to talk as usual. When Bianchon and Eugene had - satisfied their hunger, the rattle of spoons and forks, the boisterous - conversation, the expressions on the faces that bespoke various degrees of - want of feeling, gluttony, or indifference, everything about them made - them shiver with loathing. They went out to find a priest to watch that - night with the dead. It was necessary to measure their last pious cares by - the scanty sum of money that remained. Before nine o’clock that evening - the body was laid out on the bare sacking of the bedstead in the desolate - room; a lighted candle stood on either side, and the priest watched at the - foot. Rastignac made inquiries of this latter as to the expenses of the - funeral, and wrote to the Baron de Nucingen and the Comte de Restaud, - entreating both gentlemen to authorize their man of business to defray the - charges of laying their father-in-law in the grave. He sent Christophe - with the letters; then he went to bed, tired out, and slept. - </p> - <p> - Next day Bianchon and Rastignac were obliged to take the certificate to - the registrar themselves, and by twelve o’clock the formalities were - completed. Two hours went by, no word came from the Count nor from the - Baron; nobody appeared to act for them, and Rastignac had already been - obliged to pay the priest. Sylvie asked ten francs for sewing the old man - in his winding-sheet and making him ready for the grave, and Eugene and - Bianchon calculated that they had scarcely sufficient to pay for the - funeral, if nothing was forthcoming from the dead man’s family. So it was - the medical student who laid him in a pauper’s coffin, despatched from - Bianchon’s hospital, whence he obtained it at a cheaper rate. - </p> - <p> - “Let us play those wretches a trick,” said he. “Go to the cemetery, buy a - grave for five years at Pere-Lachaise, and arrange with the Church and the - undertaker to have a third-class funeral. If the daughters and their - husbands decline to repay you, you can carve this on the headstone—‘<i>Here - lies M. Goriot, father of the Comtesse de Restaud and the Baronne de - Nucingen, interred at the expense of two students</i>.’” - </p> - <p> - Eugene took part of his friend’s advice, but only after he had gone in - person first to M. and Mme. de Nucingen, and then to M. and Mme. de - Restaud—a fruitless errand. He went no further than the doorstep in - either house. The servants had received strict orders to admit no one. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur and Madame can see no visitors. They have just lost their - father, and are in deep grief over their loss.” - </p> - <p> - Eugene’s Parisian experience told him that it was idle to press the point. - Something clutched strangely at his heart when he saw that it was - impossible to reach Delphine. - </p> - <p> - “Sell some of your ornaments,” he wrote hastily in the porter’s room, “so - that your father may be decently laid in his last resting-place.” - </p> - <p> - He sealed the note, and begged the porter to give it to Therese for her - mistress; but the man took it to the Baron de Nucingen, who flung the note - into the fire. Eugene, having finished his errands, returned to the - lodging-house about three o’clock. In spite of himself, the tears came - into his eyes. The coffin, in its scanty covering of black cloth, was - standing there on the pavement before the gate, on two chairs. A withered - sprig of hyssop was soaking in the holy water bowl of silver-plated - copper; there was not a soul in the street, not a passer-by had stopped to - sprinkle the coffin; there was not even an attempt at a black drapery over - the wicket. It was a pauper who lay there; no one made a pretence of - mourning for him; he had neither friends nor kindred—there was no - one to follow him to the grave. - </p> - <p> - Bianchon’s duties compelled him to be at the hospital, but he had left a - few lines for Eugene, telling his friend about the arrangements he had - made for the burial service. The house student’s note told Rastignac that - a mass was beyond their means, that the ordinary office for the dead was - cheaper, and must suffice, and that he had sent word to the undertaker by - Christophe. Eugene had scarcely finished reading Bianchon’s scrawl, when - he looked up and saw the little circular gold locket that contained the - hair of Goriot’s two daughters in Mme. Vauquer’s hands. - </p> - <p> - “How dared you take it?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord! is that to be buried along with him?” retorted Sylvie. “It is - gold.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course it shall!” Eugene answered indignantly; “he shall at any rate - take one thing that may represent his daughters into the grave with him.” - </p> - <p> - When the hearse came, Eugene had the coffin carried into the house again, - unscrewed the lid, and reverently laid on the old man’s breast the token - that recalled the days when Delphine and Anastasie were innocent little - maidens, before they began “to think for themselves,” as he had moaned out - in his agony. - </p> - <p> - Rastignac and Christophe and the two undertaker’s men were the only - followers of the funeral. The Church of Saint-Etienne du Mont was only a - little distance from the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve. When the coffin had - been deposited in a low, dark, little chapel, the law student looked round - in vain for Goriot’s two daughters or their husbands. Christophe was his - only fellow-mourner; Christophe, who appeared to think it was his duty to - attend the funeral of the man who had put him in the way of such handsome - tips. As they waited there in the chapel for the two priests, the - chorister, and the beadle, Rastignac grasped Christophe’s hand. He could - not utter a word just then. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Monsieur Eugene,” said Christophe, “he was a good and worthy man, - who never said one word louder than another; he never did any one any - harm, and gave nobody any trouble.” - </p> - <p> - The two priests, the chorister, and the beadle came, and said and did as - much as could be expected for seventy francs in an age when religion - cannot afford to say prayers for nothing. - </p> - <p> - The ecclesiatics chanted a psalm, the <i>Libera nos</i> and the <i>De - profundis</i>. The whole service lasted about twenty minutes. There was - but one mourning coach, which the priest and chorister agreed to share - with Eugene and Christophe. - </p> - <p> - “There is no one else to follow us,” remarked the priest, “so we may as - well go quickly, and so save time; it is half-past five.” - </p> - <p> - But just as the coffin was put in the hearse, two empty carriages, with - the armorial bearings of the Comte de Restaud and the Baron de Nucingen, - arrived and followed in the procession to Pere-Lachaise. At six o’clock - Goriot’s coffin was lowered into the grave, his daughters’ servants - standing round the while. The ecclesiastic recited the short prayer that - the students could afford to pay for, and then both priest and lackeys - disappeared at once. The two grave diggers flung in several spadefuls of - earth, and then stopped and asked Rastignac for their fee. Eugene felt in - vain in his pocket, and was obliged to borrow five francs of Christophe. - This thing, so trifling in itself, gave Rastignac a terrible pang of - distress. It was growing dusk, the damp twilight fretted his nerves; he - gazed down into the grave and the tears he shed were drawn from him by the - sacred emotion, a single-hearted sorrow. When such tears fall on earth, - their radiance reaches heaven. And with that tear that fell on Father - Goriot’s grave, Eugene Rastignac’s youth ended. He folded his arms and - gazed at the clouded sky; and Christophe, after a glance at him, turned - and went—Rastignac was left alone. - </p> - <p> - He went a few paces further, to the highest point of the cemetery, and - looked out over Paris and the windings of the Seine; the lamps were - beginning to shine on either side of the river. His eyes turned almost - eagerly to the space between the column of the Place Vendome and the - cupola of the Invalides; there lay the shining world that he had wished to - reach. He glanced over that humming hive, seeming to draw a foretaste of - its honey, and said magniloquently: - </p> - <p> - “Henceforth there is war between us.” - </p> - <p> - And by way of throwing down the glove to Society, Rastignac went to dine - with Mme. de Nucingen. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ADDENDUM - </h2> - <h3> - The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. - </h3> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - Ajuda-Pinto, Marquis Miguel d’ - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - The Secrets of a Princess - Beatrix - - Beauseant, Marquis - An Episode under the Terror - - Beauseant, Vicomte de - The Deserted Woman - - Beauseant, Vicomtesse de - The Deserted Woman - Albert Savarus - - Bianchon, Horace - The Atheist’s Mass - Cesar Birotteau - The Commission in Lunacy - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Secrets of a Princess - The Government Clerks - Pierrette - A Study of Woman - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - Honorine - The Seamy Side of History - The Magic Skin - A Second Home - A Prince of Bohemia - Letters of Two Brides - The Muse of the Department - The Imaginary Mistress - The Middle Classes - Cousin Betty - The Country Parson - In addition, M. Bianchon narrated the following: - Another Study of Woman - La Grande Breteche - - Bibi-Lupin (chief of secret police, called himself Gondureau) - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Carigliano, Marechal, Duc de - Sarrasine - - Collin, Jacques - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - The Member for Arcis - - Derville - Gobseck - A Start in Life - The Gondreville Mystery - Colonel Chabert - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Franchessini, Colonel - The Member for Arcis - - Galathionne, Princess - A Daughter of Eve - - Gobseck, Jean-Esther Van - Gobseck - Cesar Birotteau - The Government Clerks - The Unconscious Humorists - - Jacques (M. de Beauseant’s butler) - The Deserted Woman - - Langeais, Duchesse Antoinette de - The Thirteen - - Marsay, Henri de - The Thirteen - The Unconscious Humorists - Another Study of Woman - The Lily of the Valley - Jealousies of a Country Town - Ursule Mirouet - A Marriage Settlement - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Letters of Two Brides - The Ball at Sceaux - Modest Mignon - The Secrets of a Princess - The Gondreville Mystery - A Daughter of Eve - - Maurice (de Restaud’s valet) - Gobseck - - Montriveau, General Marquis Armand de - The Thirteen - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Another Study of Woman - Pierrette - The Member for Arcis - - Nucingen, Baron Frederic de - The Firm of Nucingen - Pierrette - Cesar Birotteau - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - Another Study of Woman - The Secrets of a Princess - A Man of Business - Cousin Betty - The Muse of the Department - The Unconscious Humorists - - Nucingen, Baronne Delphine de - The Thirteen - Eugenie Grandet - Cesar Birotteau - Melmoth Reconciled - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - The Commission in Lunacy - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - Modeste Mignon - The Firm of Nucingen - Another Study of Woman - A Daughter of Eve - The Member for Arcis - - Poiret - The Government Clerks - A Start in Life - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - The Middle Classes - - Poiret, Madame (nee Christine-Michelle Michonneau) - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - The Middle Classes - - Rastignac, Baron and Baronne de (Eugene’s parents) - Lost Illusions - - Rastignac, Eugene de - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - The Ball at Sceaux - The Interdiction - A Study of Woman - Another Study of Woman - The Magic Skin - The Secrets of a Princess - A Daughter of Eve - The Gondreville Mystery - The Firm of Nucingen - Cousin Betty - The Member for Arcis - The Unconscious Humorists - - Rastignac, Laure-Rose and Agathe de - Lost Illusions - The Member for Arcis - - Rastignac, Monseigneur Gabriel de - The Country Parson - A Daughter of Eve - - Restaud, Comte de - Gobseck - - Restaud, Comtesse Anastasie de - Gobseck - - Selerier - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Taillefer, Jean-Frederic - The Firm of Nucingen - The Magic Skin - The Red Inn - - Taillefer, Victorine - The Red Inn - - Therese - A Daughter of Eve - - Tissot, Pierre-Francois - A Prince of Bohemia - - Trailles, Comte Maxime de - Cesar Birotteau - Gobseck - Ursule Mirouet - A Man of Business - The Member for Arcis - The Secrets of a Princess - Cousin Betty - The Member for Arcis - Beatrix - The Unconscious Humorists -</pre> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Father Goriot, by Honore de Balzac - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FATHER GORIOT *** - -***** This file should be named 1237-h.htm or 1237-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/1237/ - -Produced by Dagny, and David Widger - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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