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La Comedie Humaine 
 
 of 
 
 Honore de Balzac 
 
 I. 
 
 Scenes From Private Life 
 Volume L 
 
 n 
 
} Guess what / bring you,’ said Eugene, sitting down 
 bhside her and lifting her arm that he might kiss 
 
 Fk;jtE GO^ZIOT 
 
 MARRI AGE 
 CQNTRAC 
 
 ua TLE : 
 
 I\ND'COn?:V- -v 
 
 ^ B05T0N / 
 
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Copyright^ 1885^ 1895, 1896, 
 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 /ill rights reserved. 
 
52 ,! 
 
 LWSl 
 
 PREFACE.* 
 
 In giving to a work, begun nearly thirteen years ago, the 
 title of “ The Comedy of Human Life,’’ it is necessary that 
 I should state its purpose, relate its origin, and give some 
 explanation of its plan ; endeavoring to do so as if I had no 
 personal interest in the matter. This is not as difficult as the 
 public might imagine. The writing of a few books makes a 
 man self-sufficient; but much labor and hard toil bring hu- 
 mility. This reflection explains the survey which Corneille, 
 Moliere, and other great authors made of their writings. If 
 it is impossible to equal them in the grandeur of their con- 
 ceptions, at least we may share the spirit with which they 
 examined them. 
 
 The leading idea of this human comedy came to me at 
 first like a dream ; like one of those impossible visions which 
 we try to clasp as they elude us ; a smiling fancy showing for 
 a moment a woman’s face, as it spreads its wings and rises 
 . to the ideal heavens. But soon this vision, this chimera, 
 changed, after the fashion of chimeras, into a living shape 
 with compelling will and tyrannous power, to which I yielded 
 ( myself up. The idea came from the study of human life in 
 comparison with the life of animals. 
 
 1 This preface, written forty-three years ago, is placed here to give 
 Balzac’s own interpretation of his books. Without it they will not be 
 is , fully understood. His letters, published after his death, reveal in like 
 manner the man himself, his wonderful method of work, and the sin 
 cerity of this preface. 
 
VI 
 
 Preface. 
 
 It is a mistake to suppose that the controversy which in 
 these latter days has arisen between Cuvier and Geoftroy 
 Saint-Hilaire rests upon a scientific innovation. Synthetic 
 unity filled, under various definitions, the greatest minds of 
 the two preceding centuries. In reading the strange books 
 of those mystical writers who drew science into their concep- 
 tions of the infinite, —such as Swedenborg, Saint-Martin, 
 and others; also the writings of the great naturalists, Leib- 
 nitz, Bufion, Charles Bonnet, etc., — we find in the monads of 
 Leibnitz, in the organic molecules of Buffon, in the vegetative 
 force of Needham, in the encasement of germs of Charles 
 Bonnet, who was bold enough to write in 1760, “ animal life 
 vegetates like plant life,” — we find, I say, the rudiments of 
 that sjrong^l^QiseH-jpi’eservation^on_\^^ 
 
 ^qry of synthetic unity. There is but one animal. The Cre- 
 fatofliseTone a^^ same principle for all organized being, 
 i An animal is an essence which takes external form, or, to 
 speak more correctly, takes the differences of its form from 
 • the centres or conditions in which it comes to its develop- 
 I ment. All zoological species grow out of these differences. 
 
 I The announcement and pursuit of this theory, keeping it^ as 
 \ he did in harmony with preconceived ideas of the Divine 
 ' power, will be the lasting glory of ^eoffroy Saint-Hila ire, the 
 Conqueror of Cuvier in this particuto BrancTors^ence, — 
 a fact recognized by the great Goethe in the last words which 
 came from his pen. 
 
 Filled with these ideas, I had perceived, long before this 
 discussion arose, that Society in these respects is like Natuie. 
 Society makesjlmiiian; he das£lops_acc^ingJp the_^^ 
 ^ghtres''1ffwhich^^ is placed: there are as many different 
 meiraFth'^^re^ecre^ The differences between 
 
 a soldier, a workman, a governor, a lawyer, a man of leisure, a 
 scholar, a statesman, a merchant, a sailor, a poet, a beggar, a 
 priest, though more difficult to decipher, are at least as marked 
 as those which separate the wolf, the lion, the ass, the ciow, 
 
Preface, 
 
 vii 
 
 the shark, the seal, the lamb, etc. There have always been, 
 and always will be, social species just as there are zoological 
 species. If Bufton achieved a great work when he put together 
 in one book the whole scheme of zoology, is there not a work 
 of the same kind to be done for Society ? Nature imposes 
 upon the animal kingdom limitations which do not bind the 
 social realm. When Button had described a lion, he could dis- 
 miss the lioness with a word ; but in the world of men, woman 
 is far from being the fe male of the male., ^ Two species of man- 
 kind may exist in one household: the wife of a shopkeeper 
 is sometimes fit to be the wife of a prince ; often the wife of 
 a prince is unworthy to be the companion of the meanest 
 laborer. The Social kingdom has uncertainties and acci- 
 dents which are not to be found in the natural world, for it 
 is itself Nature j)lus Society. Any description of the social 
 species, consequently, doubles all description oLihe^animal 
 species in the matter 
 
 Moreover, among animals there is no drama, no current of 
 events to excite and move them; the circumstances of their 
 life are not confusing; they attack each other, and that is all. 
 Men attack each other in like manner, but their greater or 
 lesser intelligence renders the struggle far more complicated. 
 If some scientific men do not yet admit that the animal world 
 is transfused into the human world by the current of the 
 original principle of life, it is at least certain that a grocer 
 can become peer of France, and a noble may fall to the lowest 
 social stratum. Further than this: Buffon found the life of 
 animals extremely simple. They have no belongings, neither 
 arts nor sciences ^while man, by a law still unexplained, feels 
 the need to set the stamp of his habits, his thoughts, his be- 
 ing, upon all that he collects to meet his wants, j Though 
 Leuwenhoec, Swammerdam, Spallanzani, Reaumur, Charles 
 Bonnet, Muller, Haller, and other patient zoologists proclaim 
 the interest which attaches to the habits of animals, yet to 
 our eyes at least they remain perpetually the same; whereas 
 
Vlll 
 
 Preface, 
 
 the habits, clothing, methods of speech, the abodes of princes, 
 bankers, artists, citizens, priests, and paupers, are all widely 
 dissimilar, and change with the whims of civilization. 
 
 For these reasons my ideal woi^ook on a triple fo rm, — 
 men, w omen , and things’; that is to say, persons and the 
 m^aterial representation which they gave to their being: in 
 short, man and his life. 
 
 In reading the dry and sapless dictionaries of facts which 
 are called history, who does not feel that the writers of all 
 epochs — Egyptian, Persian, Grecian, Roman — have for- 
 gotten to give us the vital history of manners and customs? 
 That fragment of Petronius upon the private life of Rome 
 provokes more curiosity than it satisfies. It was a sense of 
 this enormous void in the history of the world that led the 
 Abbe Barthelemy to spend his life in reproducing Grecian 
 manners by his “ Anacharsis.” 
 
 But how was it possible to bring within the compass of a 
 reader’s interest the three or four thousand personages who 
 form Society? How could I satisfy at one and the same 
 time the poets, the philosophers, and the multitude who must 
 have their poetry and their philosophy presented to them 
 under salient forms? However just my conception of the 
 dignity ^and the poetry of this history of the human heart 
 might be, I could see no way to put it into execution. Up 
 to our own time all celebrated tellers of tales had spent 
 their talent on creating two or three typical characters, or 
 in painting some one limited aspect of human life. 
 
 Thus thinking, I turned to the works of Walter Scott. 
 Walter Scott, the troubadour of modern times, had then just 
 placed the imprint of his wondrous method upon a species of 
 composition hitherto unjustly rated as secondary. Is it not 
 far more difficult to enter the lists against ordinary life with 
 Daphne and Chloe, Roland, Amadis, Panurge, Don Quixote, 
 Manon Lescaut, Clarissa Harlowe, Lovelace, Robinson Crusoe, 
 Gil Bias, Ossian, Julie d’Etanges, My Uncle Toby, Werther, 
 
Preface. 
 
 • 
 
 Rene, Corinne, Paul and Virginia, Jeanie Deans, Claver- 
 house, Ivanhoe, Manfred, Mignon, than to put in order his- 
 torical facts which are much the same in all nations, or search 
 out the meaning of laws long fallen into disuse ; to revive for- 
 gotten theories that once led nations astray, or explain, like 
 certain metaphysicians, the secret of the things that be? In 
 the first place, nearly all these characters, whose lives are 
 longer and far more vital than those of the generation in 
 which they were born, live only so far as they are allied to 
 the life of the present day. Conceived in the womb of their 
 century, the human heart within them beats for all time, and 
 holds in many instances the germ of a philosophy. Walter 
 Scott raised to the philosophical value of history that form of 
 literature which from age to age has starred with immortal 
 gems the poetic crown of nations where letters and the arts 
 are cultivated. He put into it the mind of the days of old; 
 he brought together drama, dialogue, portraiture, description, 
 scenery, the. supernatural with the natural, — two elements 
 of his epoch; and side by side with poesy and majesty he 
 placed the familiarities of the humblest speech. Yet with all 
 this he did not so much conceive a system, as find a method 
 in the inspiration of his work, or in the logic of it; and thus 
 he never dreamed of binding his compositions one to another 
 as a complete history, of which each chapter should be a ro- 
 mance, and each romance an epoch. 
 
 In perceiving this lack of unity, which nevertheless does 
 not render the great Scotchman less great, I came to see the 
 system under which I ought to execute my idea, and also the 
 possibility of executing it. Though dazzled, so to speak, by 
 the amazing fecundity of Walter Scott, who is always in har- 
 mony with himself and always original, I was not disheart- 
 ened; for I knew that this faculty grew out of the infinite va- 
 riety of human life. Chance is the great romance-maker of 
 the ages : we have only to study it if we seek to be fertile in 
 representation. 
 
X 
 
 Preface. 
 
 Society as it exists in France was therefore to be the his- 
 torian ; I was to be its secretary. In drawing up the inven- 
 tory of its virtues and its vices, in collecting the facts of its 
 manifold passions, in picturing its characters, in choosing 
 its leading events, in constructing types by putting together 
 traits of homogeneous natures, I might perhaps attain to the 
 writing of that history forgotten by historians, — the history 
 of manners and the ways of life. By the exercise of much 
 patience and much courage I might hope to accomplish for 
 France of the nineteenth century what Rome, Athens, Tyre, 
 Memphis, Persia, India, had unhappily failed to bestow upon 
 their civilizations, — a work such as the patient and cour- 
 ageous Monteil, following the example of the Abbe Barthe- 
 lemy, had endeavored, but with little attraction, to accomplish 
 for the Middle Ages. 
 
 This, however, was not all. A writer who placed before 
 his mind the duty of exact reproduction might become a 
 painter of human types more or less faithful, successful, 
 courageous, and patient; he might be the annalist of the 
 dramas of private life, the archaeologist of the social fabric, 
 the sponsor of trades and professions, the registrar of good 
 and evil. . And yet, to merit the applause at which all artists 
 should aim, ought he not also to study the reasons — or the 
 reason — of the conditions of social life ; ought he not to seize 
 the hidden meaning of this vast accretion of beings, of pas- 
 sions, of events ? Finally, having sought — I will not say 
 found — this reason, this social mainspring, was he not bound 
 to study natural law, and discover why and when Society ap- 
 proached or swerved away from the eternal principles of 
 truth and beauty ? Notwithstanding the range of these 
 premises, which in themselves would fill a volume, the work 
 in its entirety should be shown to have a final meaning. 
 Thus depicted. Society might be made to wear upon its brow 
 the reasons of its being. 
 
 The law of the writer, — that which makes him a teacher 
 
Preface. 
 
 XI 
 
 of men; that which, I presume to say, renders him the equal 
 and even the superior of the statesman, — is to pass judg- 
 ment upon human affairs with a single eye to their originat- 
 ing causes. Machiavelli, Hobbes, Bossuet, Leibnitz, Kant, 
 Montesquieu, divulge the science which statesmen apply. 
 
 “ A writer should have fixed opinions in ethics and in 
 politics ; he should regard himself as an instructor : and 
 mankind does not need to be instructed how to doubt,’’ 
 said Boriald. I took these noble words early to heart as the 
 rule of my work : they are the law of all monarchical writers. 
 Therefore when my critics quote me against myself, it will be 
 found that they have misunderstood some irony, or distorted 
 to my injury some saying of my personages, — a trick not 
 uncommon among calumniators. As for the inward meaning, 
 the soul of my work, the following principles are the founda- 
 tion on which it rests : — ^ 
 
 Man is neither good nor bad; he is born with instincts and , 
 capacities. Society, far from depraving him, as Rousseau 
 asserts, perfects and lifts him higher; but self-interest in- 
 terposes, and develops his evil tendencies. Christianity, 
 and especially Catholicism, being, as I have said in “The 
 Country Doctor,” a complete system for the repression of J 
 the selfish instincts of mankind, is the strongest element 
 of the social order. 
 
 If we study carefully a representation of Society moulded 
 as it were upon the living form, with all its good and all its 
 evil, we shall find that while thought, — or rather passion, 
 which is thought and feeling combined, — is the social ele- 
 ment and bond, it is also an element of destruction. In this 
 respect the social life is like the physical life: races and men 
 attain longevity only by the non-exhaustion of the vital force. 
 Consequently instruction — or, to speak more correctly, reli-. 
 gious education- — is the great principle of the life of Society, 
 the only means of diminishing the total of evil and augment- 
 ing the total of good in human life. Thought, the fountain 
 
Preface. 
 
 xii 
 
 of all good and of all evil, cannot be trained, mastered, and 
 directed except by religion ; and the only possible religion is 
 Christianity, which created the modern world and will pre- 
 serve it.i From it sprang the need of the monarchical prin- 
 ciple ; in fact, Christianity and monarchy are twin principles. 
 As to the limits within which both should be held and regu- 
 lated lest they develop to their inherent conclusions, my 
 readers will agree with me that this brief preface is not the 
 place for such discussion. Neither can I enter upon the 
 religious and political dissensions of the present day. I 
 write by the light of two eternal truths, — religion and mon- 
 archy : two necessities proclaimed by contemporaneous events, 
 and towards which every writer of sound judgment will en- 
 deavor to bring back this nation. Though I am not an 
 enemy to election, which is a sound principle in the consti- 
 tution of law, I reject it when taken as the sole expression of 
 the social will, and especially when organized as it is at this 
 moment. The sulfrage, if granted to all, will give us govern- 
 ment by the masses, — the only government that is irrespon- 
 sible, and whose tyranny will be without check because 
 exercised under the name of law. For myself, I regard the 
 family and not the individual as the true essence of social 
 life. In this respect, and at the risk of being thought retro- 
 grade, I stand by Bossuet and Bonald, instead of advancing 
 with modern innovators. 
 
 There are persons to whom these remarks will seem arro- 
 gant and presumptuous ; they will quarrel with a novelist who 
 assumes to be an historian, and ask why he thus promulgates 
 his theories. My sole reply is, that I obey a sense of duty. 
 The work I have undertaken will spread to the proportions 
 of history, and it is due to my readers that I should state its 
 
 1 See a letter written from Paris in “Louis Lambert,” in which the 
 mystical young philosopher shows, apropos of the doctrine of Swe- 
 denborg, that there has been but one religion since the creation of the 
 world. 
 
Preface. 
 
 xiii 
 
 purpose, hitherto unexplained, together with its principles 
 and ethics. 
 
 Having withdrawn various prefaces which were published 
 in reply to criticisms essentially ephemeral, 1 shall here 
 recall only one of the observations which I have heretofore 
 made upon my books. 
 
 Writers who have an end in view, be it even a return to 
 the principles of the past for the reason that they contain 
 truths which, are eternal, should be careful to clear their way 
 of all difficulties. Now, whoever attacks the realm of pre- 
 conceived ideas, whoever points out an abuse, or sets a mark 
 on evils that they may be checked and curtailed, is held, 
 almost invariably, to be unprincipled. The reproach of 
 immorality has never failed to pursue a courageous writer, 
 and is often the only arrow in the quiver of those who can 
 say nothing else against a poet. If a man is faithful in his 
 portraiture 5 if, toiling night and day, he attains at last to a 
 full expression of that life and language which of all others 
 is the most difficult to render, — the stigma of immorality 
 is flung upon him. Thus Socrates was immoral; so was 
 Christ : both were pursued in the name of that social order 
 which they overthrew or reformed. When a man is to be 
 destroyed, this charge is brought against him; but the trick, 
 practised by partisans of all conditions, recoils with shame 
 upon the heads of those who employ it. 
 
 In copying the whole of Society, and in trying to seize its 
 likeness from the midst of the seething struggle, it necessarily 
 happens that more of evil than of good is shown. Thus 
 some portion of the fresco representing a guilty group excites 
 the cry of immorality, while the critic fails to point out a 
 corresponding part which was intended to show a moral con- 
 trast. As such critics were ignorant of my general plan I 
 readily pardon their mistake, for an author can no more 
 hinder criticism than he can hinder the use of sight or hear- 
 ing or language. Besides, the day of impartial judgment 
 
xiv 
 
 Preface. 
 
 has not yet dawned for me ; and I may add that the writer 
 who cannot stand the fire of criticism is no more fit to start 
 upon the career of authorship than a traveller is fit to under- 
 take a journey if he is prepared only for fine weather. I 
 shall merely remark, that although the most scrupulous mor- 
 alists have doubted whether Society is able to show as much 
 good as it shows evil, yet in the pictures which I have made 
 of it virtuous characters outnumber the bad. Blameworthy 
 conduct, faults, and crimes have invariably received their 
 punishment, human or divine, startling or secret. In this 
 I have done better than the historian, for I have been free to 
 do so. Cromwell here below received no other chastisement 
 than that inflicted by the thoughts of men; and even those 
 were vacillating, for Bossuet himself dealt charitably with 
 the great regicide. William of Orange the usurper, and 
 Hugh Capet that other usurper, died full of days, without 
 more to suffer or to fear than Henry TV. or Charles I. The 
 lives of Catherine of Russia and Frederick the Great were at 
 war with every species of morality, even if judged from the 
 double point of view of the virtue which regulates men at 
 large, and of that other virtue reserved for crowned heads, I 
 which claims, with Napoleon, that for kings and statesmen 
 there are two moralities, — a greater and a lesser. My 
 “ Scenes from Political Life ” are based on this reflection. 
 History does not, like the novel, hold up the law of a higher 
 ideal. History is, or should be, the world as it has been ; the 
 novel — to use a saying of Madame Necker, one of the ]*emark- 
 able minds of the last century — should paint a possible better 
 world. 
 
 Yet even so, the novel would be worth little if it pictured 
 only such august fiction, and failed in truth of detail. 
 Here it is that Walter Scott, forced to conform to the ideas 
 of a public essentially hypocritical, was false to humanity in 
 his delineation of women: he drew them from the point of 
 view of a schismatic. The woman of Protestant nations is 
 
Preface. 
 
 XV 
 
 without idsal. She is chaste, pure^ virtuous 5 but her love, 
 without flow of thought or emotion, remains calm, like a 
 duty fulfilled. It would seem as if the loss of the Virgin 
 Mary had chilled the hearts of the sophists who banished her 
 from heaven, with all her treasures of mercy and of pity. 
 Under the Protestant system there is nothing left for a wo- 
 man who has once fallen j but in the Catholic Church the 
 hope of pardon still ennobles her life. Thus there is but 
 one woman for the Protestant writer, while for the Catholic 
 there is an ever new woman in all her varying situations. 
 If Walter Scott had been a Catholic, and if he had placed 
 before his mind the task of describing truthfully those phases 
 of Society through which Scotland has passed, perhaps the 
 painter of Eflie and Alice (two characters which in his latter 
 days he reproached himself for having drawn) would have 
 admitted into his work the history of passions, with their 
 faults, their punishments, and the virtues which repentance 
 brings. Passion is humanity; without it religion, history, 
 romance, art, would not exist. 
 
 In seeing me collect this mass of facts and paint them as 
 they are, in their element of passionate emotion, some per- 
 sons have imagined, very erroneously, that I belong to the 
 school of materialists and sensualists, — two aspects of Pan- 
 theism. They are mistaken. I put no faith in any indefi- 
 nite advancement of Society; I believe in the progress and 
 development of the individual man. Those who find in me 
 a disposition to look on man as a completed being are 
 strangely deceived. Seraphita,” which gives what I may 
 call the doctrine of the Christian Buddha, is my answer to 
 this accusation . 
 
 In certain parts of my long work I have tried to popularize 
 those amazing facts, those prodigies of electricity, which pro- 
 duce within a man some unexplained magnetic power. Bufc 
 how, let me ask, can any such phenomena of the brain and 
 nerves, even though they denote the existence of a new moral 
 
XVI 
 
 Preface. 
 
 world, affect or change the known and necessary relations 
 between mankind and God? In what way can they shake 
 Catholic dogma? If incontestable facts hereafter prove that 
 thought must be classed among the fluids which are known 
 only by their effects, and of which the substance escapes our 
 human perceptions, aided though they be by all mechanical 
 facilities, still this would be no more amazing than the cir- 
 cumference of the globe perceived by Columbus, or its rota- 
 tory motion revealed through Galileo. Our future will remain 
 the same. Animal magnetism, with whose miracles I have 
 been familiar since 1820; the phrenological researches of 
 Gall, successor to Lavater; in fact the works of all those who 
 for fifty years have studied thought as opticians have studied 
 light, — two things not dissimilar, — give evidence both for 
 the mystics and the disciples of St. John the Apostle, and also 
 for those great thinkers who have endeavored to think out a 
 spiritual world, a new sphere, in which shall be revealed the 
 relations between man and God. 
 
 If the meaning of my work is understood, my readers will 
 see that I give to the recurring events of daily life, — secret or 
 manifest, — and to the actions of individuals, with their hid- 
 den springs and motives, as much importance as the historian 
 bestows on the public life of a nation. The obscure battle 
 fought in the valley of the Indre between Madame de Mort- 
 sauf and her temptation (“The Lily of the Valley’’) was 
 perhaps as great a struggle as the most illustrious combat 
 ever related in history. In the latter, fame was the conquer- 
 or’s guerdon; in hers, the peace of heaven. The misfoi tunes 
 of the Birotteaus, the priest and the perfumer, are to me the 
 woes of humanity. La Fosseuse in “ The Country Doctor,” 
 and Madame Graslin in “ The Village Rector,” reveal nearly 
 the whole of woman’s life. We suffer day by day all that 
 these people suffered. I have had to do a hundred times 
 what Richardson did once. Lovelace presents himself under 
 a thousand shapes, for social corruption takes the color of 
 
Preface. 
 
 xvii 
 
 the centres in which it develops. On the other hand Clarissa, 
 that lovely image of passionate virtue, has lines of purity that 
 fill me with despair. To create many virgins one needs to be 
 a Raphael, for literature in this respect falls below art. Nev- 
 ertheless, I here call my readers’ attention to the large num- 
 ber of virtuous and irreproachable characters which may be 
 found in my works, — Pierrette Lorrain, Ursule Mirouet, 
 Constance Birotteau, La Fosseuse, Eugenie Grandet, Mar- 
 guerite Claes, Pauline de Villenoix, Madame Jules, Madame 
 de la Chanterie, live Chardon, Mademoiselle d’Esgrignon, 
 Madame Firmiani, Agathe Rouget, Renee de Maucombe; 
 together with many characters on the second plane, which, 
 though less important to the story, keep before the reader’s 
 mind the simple practical virtues of domestic life, — such 
 for instance as Joseph Lebas, Genestas, Benassis, the rector 
 Bonnet, the doctor Minoret, Pillerault, David Sechard, the 
 two Birotteaus, the curate Chaperon, the judge Popinot, 
 Bourgeat, Sauviat, the Tascherons, and many others; have 
 they not solved the difficult literary problem of making virtue 
 interesting? 
 
 It has been no light task to paint the three or four thou- 
 sand salient figures of an epoch, — for that is about the num- 
 ber of types presented by the generation of which this human 
 comedy is the contemporary and the exponent. This number 
 of figures, of characters, this multitude of portraits needed 
 frames, permit me even to say galleries. Out of this neces- 
 sity grew the classification of my work into Scenes, — scenes 
 from private^ provincial^ Parisian^ political^ military^ and coun- 
 try life. Under these heads I have classed all those studies 
 of manners and morals which form the general history of 
 Society and of its “ conduct of life and noble deeds ” fails 
 et gestes)j to use the language of our ancestors. These six 
 divisions follow a general idea ; each has its meaning and 
 signification, and represents a distinct phase in human life. 
 The “ Scenes from private life ” are those of childhood and of 
 
 P' 
 
xviii 
 
 Preface. 
 
 youth, just as the “ Scenes from provincial life ’’ represent the 
 age of passions, calculations, self-interest, and ambition. 
 The “ Scenes from Parisian life ’’ draw the picture of tastes, 
 fashions, sentiments, vices, and all those unbridled extrava- 
 gances excited by the life of great cities, where meet together 
 the extremes of good and the extremes of evil. Each of 
 these three divisions has its local color. Paris and the pro- 
 vinces — that social antithesis — furnished the data. Not 
 only men but events may be formulated by types ; and there 
 are situations in the lives of all, typical phases, which I have 
 sought out and studied carefully. I have also tried to give 
 an idea of the different regions of our beautiful land. My 
 work thus has its geography as it has its genealogy, its fami- 
 lies, its centres, persons, actions; its armorial history, its 
 nobles, artisans, citizens, peasants; its politics, its men of 
 fashion, its army, — in short, its world of men and things. 
 
 After drawing these three sections of Society, I wished to 
 show certain other phases of life which unite the interests 
 of some or of all, and yet are partly aloof from the common 
 order. Out of this desire came the “ Scenes from political 
 life,’’ also the ‘‘ Scenes from military life; ” in the latter I 
 have sought to show Society in convulsion, carried out of itself 
 either for conquest or for defence. Finally, the “ Scenes 
 from country life ” are, as it were, the evening of my long 
 day’s-work, if I may so call this social drama. In this 
 division will be found my purest characters ; also the appli- 
 cation of the great principles of order, of patriotism, and of 
 morality. 
 
 Such is the structure, teeming with life, full of comedy 
 and of tragedy, on which I base the “ Philosophical Studies ” 
 which form the second part of my work. In these I have 
 shown the keynote of that vast assemblage of all that strikes 
 the eye, that captivates the mind or touches the heart; I 
 have shown the havoc that has followed thought, step by 
 
Preface. 
 
 XIX 
 
 step, from emotion to emotion. The first of these volumes, 
 “The Magic Skin,” unites the philosophical study to a pic- 
 ture of manners and morals by means of a fantasy, partly 
 Oriental, which shows the principle of life itself in a struggle 
 ^ith the principle of all passion. 
 
 Above these again will be found the “ Analytical Studies,” 
 of which I shall say nothing, as only one of them has been 
 published. Later, I hope to give other works of the same 
 class, — the “ Pathology of Social life,” the “Anatomy of 
 Educating bodies,” the “ Monograph of Virtue,” etc. 
 
 Looking at the work still to be done, perhaps my readers 
 will join my publishers in saying, “ May your life be pro- 
 longed! ” My own prayer is that I may not be so tortured 
 by men and events as I have been in the past, since the be- 
 ginning of my great and terrible labor. Yet I have had one 
 support, for which I return thanks to God. The highest 
 talent of our day, the noblest characters, the truest friends, 
 have clasped my hand and said to me, “Take courage!” 
 Why should I not own that such proofs of affection, such 
 testimonials given now and then by strangers, have upheld 
 me in my career in spite of myself, in spite of unjust attacks, 
 in spite of calumnies that have pursued me, — upheld me 
 against disheartenment, and also against that too-vivid hope, 
 the expression of which has been mistaken for excessive 
 conceit. 
 
 The extent of a plan which embraces both the history and 
 the criticism of Society, which analyzes its evils and lays 
 bare its hidden springs, justifies me, I think, in giving to my 
 work the title under which it now appears, — “ The Comedy 
 of Human Life.” Is it ambitious ? Is it not just and legiti- 
 mate ? The public, when my work is done, will decide „ 
 
 Paris, July^ 1842. 
 
SCENES FROM PRIYATE LIFE. 
 
 Pi:EE GORIOT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Madame Vauquer, nee de Conflans, is an old lady 
 who for forty years has kept a second-class boarding- 
 house in Paris, — a pension bourgeoises — in the Rue 
 Neuve Sainte-Genevieve, between the Latin quarter 
 and the faubourg Saint-Marceau. This pension^ known 
 as the Maison Vauquer, is for both sexes and all ages; 
 and up to the time of which we write, scandal had 
 found nothing to say against the manners or the morals 
 of so respectable an establishment. It must be admit- 
 ted, however, that for more than thirty years no young 
 woman had ever lived in the house, and it is certain that 
 any young man who may have done so received but a 
 slender allowance from his family. Nevertheless, in 
 1819, the date of the opening of this drama, we shall 
 find a poor young girl living there. 
 
 Though the word drama has been recklessly ill-used 
 and misapplied in our degenerate modern literature, 
 it is necessary to employ it here ; not that this story is 
 dramatic in the true sense of the word, but that when 
 it ends some reader may perchance have dropped a 
 
 1 
 
2 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 tear intra muros et extra. Will it be comprebended 
 beyond the walls of Paris? I doubt it. Its minute 
 points of personal observation and local color can be 
 caught only by the inhabitants of that valley which lies 
 between the hills of Montmartre and the higher ele- 
 vations of Montrouge, — a valley full of plastered archi- 
 tecture crumbling to swift decay, its gutters black with 
 foulest mud ; a valley teeming with sufferings cruelly 
 real, and with joys often as cruelly false ; a place so 
 full of terrible agitation that only some abnormal event 
 occurring there can give rise to more than a passing 
 sensation. And yet, here and there, even in Paris, we 
 encounter griefs to which attendant circumstances of 
 vice or virtue lend a solemn dignity. In their presence 
 self and self-interest pause, checked by a momentary 
 pity. But the impression made is like that of a tooth- 
 some fruit, forgotten as soon as eaten. The car ol 
 civilization, like that of Juggernaut, is hardly stayed a 
 moment by the resistance of some heart less easily 
 ground to atoms than its fellows : the wheels roll on, 
 the heart is crushed, the car advances on its glorious 
 way. You will do the same, — you my reader, now 
 holding this book in your white hand, and saying to 
 yourself in the depths of your easy-chair : “I wonder 
 if it will amuse me ! ” When you have read the sorrows 
 of Pere Goriot you will lay the book aside and eat your 
 dinner with an appetite, and excuse your own callous- 
 ness by taxing the author with exaggeration and poetic 
 license. Ah ! believe me, this drama is no fiction, no 
 romance. All is true^ — so true that you may recog- 
 nize its elements in your experience, and even find its 
 seeds within your souL 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 8 
 
 The house in which the pension is carried on belongs 
 to Madame Vauquer. It is situated at the lower end 
 of the Rue Neuve Sainte-Genevieve, where the ground 
 slopes toward the Rue Arbalete so steeply and abruptly 
 that horses rarely come up or down. This contributes 
 to the silence which reigns in the nest of little streets 
 crowded together between the dome of the Val-de- 
 Grace and that of the Pantheon, — two buildings which 
 change the very color of the atmosphere in their neigh- 
 borhood, throwing into it a yellow tone, and darken- 
 ing all by the shadows flung from their cupolas. The 
 pavements of these streets are dry, unless it rains ; the 
 gutters are free from mud and water ; grass grows in 
 tufts along the walls. The most light-hearted of men 
 catches something as he passes of the common sadness 
 of a place where the houses resemble prisons and the 
 roll of a carriage is an event. A Parisian, wandering 
 into it by chance, will find there only these gray pen- 
 sions and charitable institutions, sombre with the gloom 
 of poverty and ennui^ — the gloom of old age slowly 
 passing through the shadow of death ; of youth, whose 
 youthfulness is crushed out of it by the necessities of 
 toil. 
 
 No part of Paris is so depressing, nor, we may add, 
 so little known. The Rue Neuve Sainte-Genevieve, 
 above all, may be likened to an iron frame, — the only 
 frame fit to hold the coming narrative, to which the 
 reader’s mind must be led by sombre colors and sol- 
 emn thoughts; just as, step by step, when the traveller 
 descends into the catacombs, the light fades and the 
 song of the guide is hushed. An apt comparison ! 
 Who shall say which is the more awful, — to watch 
 
4 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 the withering of a living heart, or to gaze upon the 
 mouldering of skulls and bones? 
 
 The front of Madame Vauquer’s house looks out 
 upon a tiny garden, so that the building runs at right 
 angles from the Rue Neuve Sainte-Genevieve at its 
 steepest part. Along this front, between the house 
 and garden, is a gutter-like piece of paved work six 
 feet wide ; in front of this runs a gravel walk bordered 
 by geraniums, lauristinus, and pomegranates growing 
 in large vases of blue and white pottery. The street 
 gate opens on this path, and is surmounted by the 
 inscription, ‘‘Maison Vauquer,” in large letters : under- 
 neath appears, “ Pension Bourgeoise for both sexes, and 
 others.” During the day this gate, with an open iron 
 lattice, fitted also with a shrill bell, permits those who 
 pass the house to look into the garden^ There, at 
 the end of the pavement and opposite to the street, 
 the wall has been painted by some artist of the neigh- 
 borhood to resemble an alcove of green marble. Be- 
 fore this fictitious depression of the wall is a statue 
 of Cupid ; a half-effaced inscription on the pedestal 
 indicating that the age of this ornament is coeval with 
 the popular enthusiasm for Voltaire on his return to 
 Paris in 1778 : — 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, thy master see ! 
 
 He is, he was, or he will be.^ 
 
 At dusk this gate with its barred openings gives 
 place to a stout wooden door. The garden, wide as 
 thefagade of the house, is inclosed by the street wall 
 
 1 Qui que tu sois, voici ton maitre ! 
 
 II Test, le £ut. ou le doit etre. 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 5 
 
 and by the wall which divides it from the garden of 
 the next house. From these fall a drapery of ivy 
 which conceals them, and which attracts attention by 
 a picturesque effect not common in a city. On both 
 walls fruit-trees have been trained and grape-vines, 
 whose sickly, dusty products are every year the objects 
 of Madame Vauquer’s solicitude, and afford a topic of 
 conversation between herself and her guests. Under 
 each wall runs a narrow path leading to a spot shaded 
 by lindens, — tilleuls. The word tilleuls Madame Vau- 
 quer, though presumably of good family, being nee de 
 Conflans, persists in pronouncing tieuilles, although 
 she has often been corrected for it by her more 
 grammatical Parisians. Between these paths is a bed 
 of artichokes, flanked by a row of fruit-trees trained 
 as standards ; and the whole is bordered by pot- 
 herbs, sorrel, lettuce, and parsley. Under the lindens 
 stands a round table^ painted green and surrounded by 
 benches. Here, during the dog-days, those guests who 
 can afford to take coffee come forth to enjoy it in heat 
 sufficient to hatch out a brood of chickens. 
 
 The house is of three storeys, with attic chambers. 
 It is built of rough blocks of stone, plastered with the 
 yellow wash that gives so contemptible a character to 
 half the houses of Paris. The five windows of each 
 storey of the fagade have small panes and are pro- 
 vided with green blinds, none of which correspond in 
 height, giving to the outside of the house an aspect of 
 uncomfortable irregularity. At the narrow or street 
 end, the house has two windows on each storey; those 
 on the ground-floor have no blinds, and are protected 
 by iron gratings. Behind the house is a court-yard 
 
6 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 twenty feet square, where dwells a “happy family of 
 pigs, rabbits, and fowls. At the far end is a wood-shed. 
 Between this shed and the kitchen window the meat- 
 safe is hung up directly over the spot where the greasy 
 water from the sink runs into the ground. The court 
 has a small door opening on the Rue Neuve Sainte- 
 Genevieve, through which the cook sweeps the garbage 
 of the house into the street gutters when she washes 
 out the drain with great sluicings of water, a needful 
 precaution against pestilence. 
 
 The ground-floor, necessarily the part of the house 
 where the aflairs of such an establishment are carried 
 on, consists, first, of a parlor lighted by two windows 
 looking upon the street, which is entered through a 
 glass door. This, the common sitting-room, leads into 
 the dining-room, which is separated from the kitchen 
 by the well of the staircase, the steps of which are of 
 wood, laid in squares and polished. Nothing can be 
 niore dismal than this sitting-room, furnished with 
 chairs and armchairs covered with a species of striped 
 horsehair. In the centre stands a round table with a 
 marble top, and upon it one of those white porcelain 
 tea-sets with gilt edges half effaced, which now-a-days 
 may be seen everywhere. The . room has a shabby 
 ceiling, and is wainscoted a third of the way up ; the 
 rest of the wall being covered by varnished paper rep- 
 resenting the adventures of Telemachus, the princi- 
 pal classic personages being clad in color. The space 
 between the barred windows offers to the guests at 
 Madame Vauquer’s table a view of the feast prepared 
 by Calypso for the son of Ulysses. For forty years this 
 feast has served the younger members of the household 
 
Pere Q-oriot. 
 
 7 
 
 lyith a theme for jests, and enables them to feel supe- 
 rior to their position by making fun of the wretched 
 fare to which for lack of means they are condemned. 
 The mantel is of marble, and the hearth, always clean, 
 gives evidence that a fire is never kindled there except 
 on great occasions. The mantel-shelf is adorned by 
 two vases, filled with old and faded artificial flowei s 
 under glass cases, which fiank a clock of blueish marble 
 of the worst taste. This room is pervaded by a smell 
 for which there is no name in any language. We must 
 call it an odeur de pension, Vodeur du renferme, — 
 the odor of the shut-in. It suggests used air, rancid 
 grease, and mildew. It strikes a chill as of malaria to 
 the bones ; it penetrates the clothes with fetid moisture ; 
 it tastes in the mouth like the stale fumes of a dinner ; 
 it fills the nostrils with the mingled odors of a scullery 
 and a hospital. Possibly it might be described if we 
 could invent a process for analyzing the nauseous ca- 
 tarrhal elements thrown oflf by the physical conditions 
 and idiosyncrasies of a long procession of inmates, 
 young and old. And yet, in spite of these horrors, 
 compare the salon with the dining-room, and you will 
 end by thinking it as elegant and as fragrant as a lady’s 
 boudoir. 
 
 The dining-room, with panelled walls, was once 
 painted of a color no longer discernible, which now 
 forms a background on which layers of dii't, more or 
 less thick, have made a variety of curious patterns. 
 The room is surrounded by shelves serving as side- 
 boards, upon which stand chipped water-bottles, cloudy 
 and dim, round mats of zinc metal, and piles of plates 
 made of thick stone-ware with blue edges, from the 
 
8 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 manufactory at Tournai. In one corner is a box with 
 pigeon-holes, in which are placed, according to number, 
 the wine-stained and greasy napkins of the various 
 guests. The whole room is a depository of worthless 
 furniture, rejected elsewhere and gathered here, as the 
 battered relics of humanity are gathered in hospitals 
 for the incurable. Here may be seen a barometer with 
 a hooded monk, who steps out when it rains; exe- 
 crable engravings that turn the stomach, framed in 
 varnished black wood with a thread of gilding; a 
 clock-case of tortoise-shell inlaid with copper ; a green 
 porcelain stove; lamps with dust floating on the oil; a 
 long table covered with oilcloth, so greasy that a face- 
 tious guest has been seen to scratch his name upon it 
 with his flnger-nail ; wretched little mats made of 
 broom-straw, slipping from the feet yet always in the 
 way ; dilapidated foot- warmers, with their internal a?'- 
 rangements so worn out that the wood is beginning to 
 be charred. To describe how old, how ragged, rotten, 
 rusty, moth-eaten, maimed, shabby, and infirm these 
 remnants are would delay too long the current of this 
 story, and readers in haste to follow it might complain. 
 The red-tiled floor is uneven, worn in places either 
 by hard rubbing or by the crumbling action of the 
 color. In a word, here is poverty without relieving 
 sentiment; hard, bitter, rasping poverty. If filth is 
 not yet seen, foul stains are there; rags and tatters 
 may not appear, but rottenness has eaten into warp 
 and woof with a sure decay. 
 
 The room appears in full perfection when at seven 
 o’clock in the morning Madame Vauquer’s tom-cat 
 walks in, preceding the arrival of his mistress. He 
 
Pere Croriot. 
 
 11 
 
 occupied by an old maid named Mademoiselle Michon- 
 neau ; and another by an aged manufacturer of vermi- 
 celli and other Italian pastes, who allowed himself to 
 be called Pere Goriot. The two remaining chambers 
 were kept for birds of passage, who, like Pere Goriot 
 and Mademoiselle Michonnean, could only afford to 
 pay forty-five francs a month for board and lodging. 
 But Madame Vauquer was not desirous of such guests, 
 and only took them when she could do no better ; for, 
 to tell the truth, their appetites made them unprofit- 
 able. At this time one of these rooms was occupied 
 by a young man who had come to Paris to study law 
 from the neighborhood of Angouleme, where his family 
 were practising the strictest economy to provide him 
 with the twelve hundred francs a year which enabled 
 him to live. 
 
 Eugene de Rastignac — - such was his name — was 
 one of that large class of young men taught to work by 
 sheer necessity ; men who understand from infancy 
 the hopes their parents place upon them, and who pro 
 pare for success in life by directing all their studies to 
 fit them to take advantage of the future set of the cur- 
 rent, and thus be among the first to profit by any on- 
 ward movement of society. Unless we were aided by 
 this young man’s powers of observation, and by the 
 address which enabled him to make his way in the 
 gieat world, this story could not have been colored to 
 the life, as we now hope it may be, owing to his saga- 
 city, !iis perseverance in penetrating, and also his good- 
 will in conveying to us for the purposes of this narrative 
 (without which we might have been unable to compile 
 
12 
 
 P^re Goriot. 
 
 4- nf a terrible situation, — mysteries 
 
 it) the ""y^tenes of a teri 
 
 carefully concealed both by those w 
 
 and by him who was their vie ™ ^tjere clothes were 
 Above the third storey was 
 dried, and two attic rooms, in one of wbic J 
 
 of all workname.^2™^'’^ ^lar house-lodgers, 
 
 the fat cook. Besides h g 
 
 Madame Vauquer usually ha , y and two or 
 
 about eight students 
 
 three ^ dining-room could seat eighteen 
 
 to dinner only, ihe mning ^ In the 
 
 persons comfortably, and sque breakfast, 
 
 mornings, however, there were bu ^ve 
 _ a circumstance which made 
 
 affair. Every one came ^own “ JP , 
 
 X. Jnts were n.ade 
 
 nmnners of ^ evening with all the free- 
 
 r flnti^acY The seven lodgers were supposed 
 dom of intimacy. Madame Vauquer, who 
 
 to be in especial fav ^gi^n of an astronomer 
 
 meted out to them wi si deration, based on the 
 
 their just dues of oare an co standard 
 
 arithmetic of their 3 ^ith each other, 
 
 governed the intercourse of the guest ^ 
 although mere chance, poor wai , 
 
 here together. ^^pond floor paid seventy- 
 
 The two lodgers »n ^ 1 ,,.^ hoard, 
 
 two francs a month. Faubourg 
 
 which could have een ^ ^ Salp^triere, 
 
 3.i„hMarc,l.betwee„La Bo b an 
 
 „d to which Madame „t that 
 
 tion. gave sufficient proof that eveiy 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 18 
 
 i house was weighted with the cares of poverty. In fact, 
 the wretchedness of the whole place was reflected in 
 the shabby dress of its inmates. All the men wore 
 frock-coats of an uncertain color, frayed linen, thread- 
 bare trousers, and boots or shoes which would have 
 been flung away in the more prosperous parts of the 
 city. The gowns of the women were shabby, dyed, 
 and faded, their lace darned, their gloves shiny from 
 long service, their collars soiled, and their frayed 
 
 at the edges. Such were the clothes they wore, and 
 yet the wearer§ themselves looked sound ; their consti- 
 |tutions appeared to have resisted the storms of life ; 
 (their cold, hard, washed-out countenances resembled 
 (the effigy on a well-worn silver coin ; their withered 
 lips covered teeth still keen. They gave the impres- 
 sion of having had, or having still, a share in some life- 
 drama 5 not a drama acted before the foot-lights amid 
 painted scenery, but a drama of life itself, dumb, icy, 
 yet living, and acted with throbbing hearts, — a drama 
 going on, and on, without conclusion. 
 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau was in the habit of wear- 
 ing a dingy green-silk shade over her weak eyes, — a 
 shade stiffened by a wire rim, which must have scared 
 the very Angel of Pity. Her shawl, with its melan- 
 choly mangy fringes, seemed wrapped about a skeleton. 
 What drop of acid in her cup of life had deprived this 
 forlorn creature of all feminine lines of grace ? She 
 must have had them once. Had she lost them through 
 her faults, her sorrows, her cupidity ? Had she once 
 loved,— not wisely? Was she expiating the insolent 
 triumphs of her youth by a despised old age? Her 
 blank gaze chilled you j her sapless features made yon 
 
 L 
 
14 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 shudder; her voice was like that of a cricket in the 
 bushes, lamenting shrilly the approach of winter She 
 said that she had once taken care of an old gentleman 
 alSicted with an incurable disease, who had been cast 
 off by his children under the belief that he had no 
 property. The old man, however, had saved money, 
 and left her an annuity of a thousand francs, whmh 
 his heirs-at-law disputed at every payment, reviving 
 scandals of which she was the object. Though the 
 play of passions had seared her face, she retained some 
 slight traces of past beauty, and also a certain delicacy 
 of complexion which allowed it to be supposed that her 
 form still kept a fragment of its charm. 
 
 Monsieur Poiret was a species of automaton. Had 
 you seen him flitting like a gray ghost through the 
 alleys of the Jardin des Plantes, a shapeless cap on 
 his head, his cane with its discolored ivory knob 
 dangling from his limp hand, his faded coat 
 loose, disclosing to view breeches which seemed well- 
 nigh empty, lank legs in blue stockings which quav- 
 ered like those of a drunkard, a dirty white waistcoat 
 and a crumpled shirt-front of coarse cotton which 
 barely met the old cravat twisted about a neck as ong 
 and wrinkled as a turkey’s, — you might indeed have 
 asked if this spectral figure could belong to the gay 
 race of those sons of Japhet who sunned tkem^lves 
 like butterflies on the Boulevard des Italiens. What 
 occupation in life could have shrunk the makings of a 
 man to this? What passions had blotched that bul- 
 bous face which caricature itself could not exaggerate: 
 What had he been ? Well, possibly a clerk of the De- 
 partment of Justice, - in that oflice where they keep 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 15 
 
 the record of moneys spent on the black veils of par- 
 ricides, or bran for the baskets of the guillotine, and 
 count the cost of pack-thread to hold the blades in 
 place. Could he have been the receiver of beasts at a 
 slaughterhouse; or a sub-inspector of public health and 
 sewers ? Whatever his occupation, he was surely one 
 of the asses which are used to turn the mill of our sys- 
 tem of civilization ; a pivot round which had once re- 
 volved the misfortunes and impurities of society; a 
 being of whom we say, in vulgar formula, “ It takes all 
 soits to make a world. ^^y Paris has no eye for faces 
 pale through physical or moral wretchedness. But 
 Paris is an ocean ; heave your lead, and you will never 
 find the bottom. Fathom it, describe it, — yet how- 
 ever carefully you search, however minutely you de- 
 scribe, however numerous may be your explorations, 
 there will remain some virgin region, some unsuspected 
 cavern in the depths, where flowers or pearls or hid. 
 eous sea-monsters still lie safe, undiscovered by the 
 divers of literature. The Maison Vauquer is one of 
 these hidden monsters. 
 
 Two figures stand out in striking contrast to the 
 rest of the household. Though Mademoiselle Victor- 
 ine Taillefer was of a sickly paleness like a girl in 
 feeble health, and though this paleness, joined to an 
 habitual expression of sadness and self-restraint, linked 
 her with the general misery which formed the back- 
 ground of the life about her, yet her face was not an 
 old face, and her movements and her voice were young 
 and sprightly. She seemed like a sickly shrub trans- 
 planted into uncongenial soil. Her fair complexion, 
 her auburn hair, her too-slender figure, gave her the 
 
16 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 grace which modern critics find in the art of the Mid 
 die Ages. Her eyes, which were gray with a radiation 
 of dark streaks, expressed the sweetness and resigna- 
 tion of a Christian. Her dress was simple and cheap, 
 but it revealed a youthful shape. She was pretty by 
 juxtaposition. [Had she been happy she might have 
 been lovely ; for happiness lends poetic charm to 
 women, and dress adorns them like a delicate tinge of 
 rouge. If the pleasures of a ball had called out the 
 rose-tints on her pallid face ; if the comforts and elegan- 
 cies of life had filled out and remodelled her cheeks, 
 already, alas ! too hollow ; if love had ever brightened 
 her sad eyes, — then Victorine might have held her own 
 among the fairest of her sex and age. She needed 
 two things, — two things which are the second birth of 
 women, — the pretty trifies of her sex, and the shy 
 delight of love-letters. The poor girl’s story told at 
 length would fill a volume. Her father believed that 
 he had reasons for not acknowledging her ; he refused 
 to let her live with him, and only gave her six hundred 
 francs a year for her support ; moreover he had arranged 
 to leave his fortune wholly to his son. Madame Couture 
 was a distant relative of Victorine’s mother, who had 
 died of sorrow in her arms ; and she had brought up 
 the little orphan as her own. Unfortunately, the 
 widow of a paymaster in the army of the French 
 Republic had nothing but her dower and her pension. 
 The time might come when she would have to leave 
 the poor girl, without money or experience, to the 
 tender mercies of a cruel world. The good woman 
 took Victorine to mass every Sunday, and to confession 
 twice a month, hoping to prepare her for the chances 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 11 
 
 of her fate by making her a pious woman. She was 
 right ; this cast-off daughter might come to find in her 
 religion a refuge and a home. Meantime poor Victor- 
 ine loved her father, and once a year she went to his 
 house to assure him of the dying forgiveness of her 
 mother. In vain she knocked at that closed door ; it 
 was inexorably shut. Her brother, who alone could 
 have interceded in her behalf, neglected her, and gave 
 her neither sympathy nor succor. She prayed to 
 God to enlighten the eyes of her father and to soften 
 the heart of her brother ; but her prayers conveyed 
 no reproach. When Madame Couture and Madame 
 Vauquer strove for words to characterize this barbar- 
 ous conduct, and loaded the millionaire with abuse, 
 Victorine interposed her gentle remonstrance like the 
 cry of the wounded wood-pigeon, whose note of suffer- 
 ing is still the note of love. 
 
 Eugene de Rastignac had a face altogether of the 
 sunny south, — a pure skin, black hair, and blue eyes. 
 His bearing, his manners, his habitual attitudes, marked 
 him as belonging to a good family, where his earliest 
 training must have been in accordance with the tradi- 
 tions of high birth. If ordinarily he was careful of his 
 clothes, wearing on working-days coats of a past fashion, 
 he always dressed with care and elegance when he 
 went into the world. At other times he appeared 
 in an old frock-coat, an old waistcoat, a shabby black 
 cravat tied in a wisp after the manner of students, 
 trousers out of shape, and boots resoled. 
 
 Between these two young people and the rest of the 
 household Vautrin — the man of forty, with dyed whis- 
 kers — formed a connecting link. He was one of those 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 whom people choose to call “ a jolly fellow ! ” He had 
 broad shoulders, a deep chest, muscles well developed, 
 and strong square hands, the knuckles marked by tufts 
 of red hair. His face, prematurely furrowed, showed 
 signs of a hard nature not in keeping with his com- 
 pliant and cordial manners; but his strong barytone 
 voice, which harmonized with his boisterous gayety, was 
 not unpleasing. He was obliging and always cheerful. 
 If a lock were out of order he would unscrew it, mend 
 it, oil it, file it, and put it on again, saying, “ Oh, I know 
 how ! ” In fact he knew something about many things ; 
 about ships, the sea; France, foreign countries, business, 
 public events, men, laws, hotels, pidsons. If any one 
 complained of hard luck, Vautrin offered his services. 
 Several times he had lent money to Madame Vauquer, 
 and even to her guests ; and these creditors would have 
 died sooner than not repay him, for in spite of his ap- 
 parent good temper there was a keen and resolute ex- 
 pression in his eye which inspired them with fear. His 
 very method of spitting marked his imperturbable sang- 
 froid, — the sang-froid which shrinks from no crime to 
 escape personal difficulty or danger. A stern judge, 
 his keen eye pierced to the core of all questions, into 
 all consciences, and even into the depths of all feelings. 
 His custom was to go out after breakfast, to come 
 home to dinner, to be off again for the whole evening, 
 and to get in late at night with a latch-key which 
 Madame Vauquer intrusted to him alone. He was on 
 the best terms with his landlady, calling her “ Mamma 
 Vauquer,” and catching her affectionately round the 
 waist, — a flattery not understood on its real merits, for 
 the widow believed it an easy feat, whereas Vautrin 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 19 
 
 was the only man in the house whose arms were long 
 enough to encircle that solid circumference. One trait 
 of his character was to pay lavishly fifteen francs a 
 month for the gloria (coffee with brandy in it) which 
 he took at dessert. People less superficial than those 
 about him, who were chiefly young men carried away by 
 the whirl of life in the great city, or old men indifferent 
 to all that did not touch them personally, would have 
 examined into the doubts with which Vautrin inspired 
 them. He knew, or guessed, the private affairs of every 
 one about him ; yet no one knew anything of his, nor 
 of his thoughts and occupations. He set up his good 
 humor, his obligingness, and his unfailing gayety as a 
 barrier between himself and others ; but through it 
 gleamed from time to time alarming flashes of his hid- 
 den nature. Sometimes a saying worthy of J uvenal es- 
 caped his lips, as if it gave him pleasure to scout at law, 
 to lash society, or drag to light its inconsistencies ; as 
 if he cherished some grudge against the cause of order, 
 or hid some mystery in the dark recesses of his life. 
 
 Attracted, unconsciously, by the strength of one man 
 and the beauty of the other. Mademoiselle Taillefer 
 divided her shy glances and her secret thoughts between 
 the man of forty and the law student. Neither of 
 them appeared to take notice of her, although her posi- 
 tion might at any time undergo a change which would 
 make her a match worth looking aftei*. None of 
 Madame Vauquer’s guests were at much pains to in- 
 quire into the misfortunes which their co-inmates 
 claimed to have suffered. Profound indifference, min- 
 gled with distrust, was the upshot of their relations to 
 each other. They knew they had no help to offer; 
 
*20 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 each had heard the tale of sorrows till their cup of con- 
 solation held nothing but the dregs. Like old married 
 couples, they had nothing more to say to one another ; 
 their daily intercourse was now mechanical ; the fric- 
 tion of machinery unoiled. All could pass a blind man 
 in the street without looking at him, or listen, un- 
 touched, to a tale of woe ; death was for them the solu- 
 tion of the problem of poverty, and they stood coldly 
 beside its bitterest agony. The happiest among these 
 hapless beings was Madame Vauquer herself, the ruler 
 of this asylum for broken lives. To her the little garden, 
 arid as a steppe^ chill, silent, dusty, humid, was a smiling 
 pleasure-ground. To her the dismal yellow house, which 
 smelt of the corrosions of life, had its delights. Its 
 dungeon cells belonged to her. She fed the prisoners 
 who lived in them, — prisoners sentenced to hard 
 labor for life, — and she knew how to make her au- 
 thority respected. Indeed, as she said to herself, where 
 could these people find elsewhere in Paris, at so low a 
 price, food that was as wholesome and as plentiful as 
 that which she gave them ? Each had his own room 
 which he was free to keep sweet and clean, if he could 
 not make it elegant or comfortable. They knew this 
 well themselves, and had she been guilty of even cry- 
 ing injustice her victims would have borne it without 
 complaint. 
 
 Such a household might be expected to offer, and 
 did offer, in miniature, the elements of a complete so- 
 ciety. Among the eighteen inmates, there was, as may 
 be seen in schools or in the great world, one repulsed 
 and rejected creature, — a souffre-clouleur, the butt of 
 jests and ridicule. At the beginning of his second 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 21 
 
 tfear, this figure became to Eugene de Eastignac the 
 most prominent of those among whom necessity com- 
 pelled him to live. This pariah of the household was 
 the old paste-maker, Pere Goriot, upon whose head a 
 painter would have cast, as the historian casts, all the 
 light of the picture. How came this scorn dashed 
 with a tinge of hate, this persecution mixed with a 
 passing pity, this insolence towards misfortune, to fall 
 upon the oldest member of the pension ? Had he pro- 
 voked such treatment by oddities and absurdities less 
 easily forgiven by his fellows than actual vice ? These 
 are questions which bear closely on many an instance 
 of social injustice. Human nature is hard on those 
 who suffer humbly from a consciousness that they are 
 too feeble to resist, or wearily indifferent to their fate. 
 Do we not all like to test our power by working our 
 will on something or on somebody ? The weakest of 
 beings, the ragged street-boy, rings our door-bell and 
 runs away, or climbs some monument to scratch his 
 name upon the unsullied marble. 
 
22 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 II. 
 
 In 1813, Pere Goriot, then about sixty-two years 
 of age, came to live at Madame Vauquer’s, having, 
 as he said, given up business. He took the apart- 
 ment afterwards occupied by Madame Couture, paying 
 twelve hundred francs a year, like a man to whom five 
 louis more or less was of little consequence. Madame 
 V^auquer fitted up at his expense the three rooms of 
 this suite for a sum which just repaid her, she said, for 
 the outlay. They were miserably furnished with yel- 
 low cotton curtains, chairs of painted pine covered with 
 worsted velvet, and a few worthless colored prints upon 
 the walls, which were hung with papers rejected, one 
 might suppose, by the wineshops of the suburbs. Per- 
 haps the careless liberality shown in this transaction 
 by Pere Goriot, who at that period was respectfully 
 called Monsieur Goriot, caused his landlady to consider 
 him as a simpleton who knew little of business. 
 
 Goriot brought with him a well-furnished wardrobe, 
 suitable for a rich tradesman who on retiring from 
 business could afford to make himself comfortable. 
 Madame Vauquer especially admired eighteen linen 
 shirts of the best quality, to which attention was at- 1 
 tracted by two pins worn on his shirt-frill and united 
 by a chain, in each of which shone a large diamond. 
 The old man usually wore a light-blue coat, and he 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 23 
 
 put on a clean white waistcoat every day, beneath 
 which rose and fell his portly stomach, upheaving as 
 he breathed a thick gold chain adorned with seals and 
 charms. His snufF-box was of gold, with a medallion 
 on the cover containing hair, which created a suspicion 
 of bonnes fortunes; and when Madame Vauquer ac- 
 cused him of gallantry, the complacent smile of a man 
 whose vanity is tickled flickered on his lips. His 
 closets, ses armoires (he pi-onounced the word ormoires 
 after the manner of common people), were full of sil- 
 ver plate, the relics of his housekeeping. The widow’s 
 eyes sparkled when she helped him to unpack and 
 arrange these treasures, — ladles, forks, and spoons; 
 castors, sauce-boats, dishes, and a breakfast service in 
 silver gilt, the various pieces weighing many ounces, 
 all of which he had been unwilling to part with on 
 breaking up his home, many of them recalling events 
 which were sacred in his family history. “ This,” he 
 said to Madame Vauquer as he put away a dish and 
 porringer, on the cover of which were two turtle-doves 
 fondling each other with their beaks, “ was the first 
 gift my wife made me. She gave it to me on the an- 
 niversary of our wedding-day. Poor dear ! it cost her 
 all the little money she had saved up before our mar- 
 riage. Ah! Madame, I would rather scratch a living 
 with my nails out of the ground than part with that 
 porringer ; but, thank God ! I can drink my coffee out 
 of it as long as I live. I am not badly off: I have 
 plenty of bread baked, as they say, for some time to 
 come.” 
 
 In addition to this, Madame Vauquer’s prying eyes 
 had seen a certain entry in what is called the great 
 
24 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 b6ok, le grand Iwre, — that is, the list of those who 
 have money in the state funds, — from which, roughly 
 calculated, it was evident that the worthy Goriot had 
 an income of eight to ten thousand francs. From that 
 moment Madame Vauquer, nee de Conflans, who was 
 then forty-eight years old, and owned to thirty-nine, 
 nourished a dream of ambition. Though Monsieur 
 Goriot’s eyelids were swollen, and an obstruction of 
 the tear-passage caused him to wipe his eyes fre- 
 quently, she thought his person agreeable and his 
 manners comme-il-faut. Moreover, the stout calves of 
 his legs, and even his long square nose, seemed to her 
 to denote points of character which suited her inten- 
 tions ; and this opinion was confirmed by the round- 
 ness of his face and the silliness of its expression. 
 She put him down for a sturdy fool, whose mind ran 
 to sentiment, and who could be led by his feelings 
 in any direction. His hair, which he wore in “ pigeon- 
 wings,” ailes de pigeon^ — that is to say, drawn low 
 over the ears and tied behind in a queue, — was dressed 
 and powdered daily by the hair-dresser of the Ecole 
 Polytechnique, who arranged five points on his low 
 forehead, which she thought very becoming. Though 
 somewhat uncouth in manner, he was always spick and 
 span in his dress, and took snuff with so opulent an 
 air, scattering it liberally as if confident the box would 
 be always full of the very best, that the night after his 
 arrival Madame Vauquer went to bed turning over in 
 her mind a project for shuffling ofl the shroud of Vau- 
 quer and coming to life again as Madame Goriot. To 
 be married ; to get rid of \\^x pension ; to have the arm 
 of this high flower of bourgeoisie ; to become a nota- 
 
Pere CrorioU 
 
 25 
 
 bility in her own quarter; to quUer once a month for 
 the poor; to make up little parties for Sunday jaunts 
 to Choisy, Soissy, or Gentilly ; to go to the play when 
 she liked, and sit in a box she should pay for, instead 
 of waiting for free passes given to her occasionally and 
 only in July, — in short, all the Eldorado of Parisian 
 lower-class middle-life seemed possible for her if she 
 married Monsieur Goriot. She had never told any one 
 that she had forty thousand francs laid by, scraped 
 together sou by sou. Thus she was an equal match 
 for the worthy man in point of fortune ; and as 
 to everything else, I am quite as good as he,” she 
 reflected, turning over in her bed, where the fat 
 Sylvie found every morning the impress of her fair 
 form. 
 
 From that day, and for about three months, Madame 
 Vauquer employed the hair-dresser of Monsieur Goriot 
 and made some improvements in her toilette, which 
 she explained by the necessity of keeping the decorum 
 of her house on a level with the distinguished people 
 who frequented it. She did her best to make the 
 sion select, by giving out that henceforth she would 
 admit no one who had not some special pretentions to 
 gentility. If a stranger came to inspect the rooms, he 
 was made aware of the preference which Monsieur 
 Goriot — ‘^one of the most distinguished and respect- 
 able men of business in Paris ” — had given to the es- 
 tablishment. She sent out a prospectus headed Maison^ 
 Vauquer. ‘‘ It was,” she stated, one of the oldest 
 and best patronized pensions bourgeoises in the Latin 
 quarter. It commanded a fine view of the valley of 
 the Gobelins ” (seen from one window in the third 
 
26 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 storey), and had a lovely garden, at the end of which 
 stretched an Avenue of Lindens.” She concluded by 
 extolling its pure air and the quiet of its retired situa- 
 tion. This prospectus brought her Madame la Com- 
 tesse de I’Ambermesnil, a woman thirty-six years of 
 age, who was expecting the final settlement of the af- 
 fairs of her late husband and the payments due to her 
 as the widow of a general officer who had died, as she 
 phrased it, upon fields of battle. Madame Vauquer 
 now took pains with her table, made fires in the salon 
 and the dining-room, and justified her jprospectus so 
 well that she was actually out of pocket by her liber- 
 ality. The countess was so pleased that she promised 
 Madame Vauquer, whom she called her “dearest 
 friend,” to bring to the house the Baronne de Vau- 
 merland and the widow of Colonel Piqueoiseau, two 
 of her acquaintances then living at a pension in the 
 Marais, — an establishment more expensive than the 
 Maison Vauquer. All these ladies expected to be in 
 easy circumstances when the War Office made up its 
 accounts. “But,” as they said, “government offices 
 keep you waiting so long ! ” 
 
 Madame de PAmbermesnil used to join Madame 
 Vauquer in her private room after dinner, where they 
 gossipped over small glasses of ratifia and tit-bits from 
 the table, set aside for the mistress of the house. The 
 countess much approved the views of her hostess as to 
 the alliance with Monsieur Goriot. The idea, she said, 
 was excellent ; she had planned it from the moment of 
 her arrival. 
 
 “ Ah ! my dear lady, he is all a man ought to be,” 
 said the widow ; “ a man thoroughly well preserved^ 
 
Fere Gonot. 27 
 
 He might make a woman very happy for several years 
 to come.” 
 
 The countess was not chary of her criticisms on 
 Madame Vauquer’s dress, which harmonized ill with 
 her intentions. “You must put yourself on a war- 
 footing,” she said. 
 
 After much consultation the two widows repaired to 
 the Palais Royal, where, in the Galeries de Bois, they 
 bought a hat, and a bonnet with many feathers. Then 
 the countess enticed her friend to the famous shop 
 called La Petite Jeannette, where they chose a dress 
 and mantle. When these preparations were made, and 
 the widow was fairly under arms, she looked a good 
 deal like the figure on a sign-board of the Boeuf a la 
 Mode. However, she thought herself so changed for 
 the better, and so much indebted to her friend, that, 
 though naturally stingy, she begged her acceptance of 
 a hat costing twenty francs. It is true she expected 
 in return her good offices with Monsieur Goriot, and 
 asked her to sound him as to his views. Madame de 
 I’Ambermesnil was quite ready to undertake the nego- 
 tiation, and got round the old gentleman so far as to 
 bring him to a conference ; from which, however, find- 
 ing him shy — not to say refractory — when she made 
 advances to him (on her own account), she came away 
 disgusted, and pronounced him a mere boor. 
 
 “ My angel,” she said to her dear friend, you will 
 never make anything of that man. He is a miser, a 
 fool, a perfect wretch, who will give you nothing but 
 annoyance.” 
 
 Whatever may have taken place between Madam^e 
 de I’Ambermesnil and Monsieur Goriot, the result of 
 
28 
 
 Fere Groriot, 
 
 the interview was that the former declared she would 
 not remain in the house with him. The next morning 
 she went off, forgetting to pay her bill, and leaving 
 nothing behind her but a parcel of old clothes to the 
 value of five francs; and although Madame Vauquer 
 did her best to get upon her traces, she could never 
 discover in all Paris the smallest sign of Madame la 
 Comtesse de I’Ambermesnil. 
 
 She often alluded to this trying affair, and invariably 
 blamed herself for her rash confidence in human nature, 
 though she was in reality more distrustful than a cat 
 in her dealings with her fellow-men. But like many 
 other people, while suspecting those about her, she fell 
 an easy prey to persons she did not know, — a curious 
 and contradictory fact ; but the root of its paradox 
 will be found in the human heart. There are people 
 who come at last to perceive that they have nothing 
 more 4:o gain from those who know them well. To 
 such they have shown the hollowness of their natures ; 
 they know themselves judged and severely judged ; yet 
 so insatiable is their craving for flattery, so devouring 
 their desire to assume in the eyes of others the virtues 
 which they have not got, that they court the esteem 
 and affection of strangers who do not know them and 
 therefore cannot judge them, taking the risk of losing 
 all such credit eventually. There is also another class 
 of minds born selfish, who will not do good to friends 
 or neighbors because it is their duty to do it, while by 
 paying attentions to strangers they secure a return 
 of thanks and praise which feeds their self-love. Tlie 
 nearer people stand to them the less they will do for 
 them; widen the circle, and they are more ready to 
 
Pere Goriot^. 
 
 29 
 
 lend a helping hand. Madame Vauqiier’s nature was 
 allied to both classes ; it was essentially mean, false, 
 
 and sordid. 
 
 “If I had been here,” Vautrin used to say to her, 
 
 “ this would never have happened. I ’d have unmasked 
 the woman fast enough. I know their tricks. 
 
 Like all narrow-minded people, Madame Vauquer 
 never looked beyond the limits of the events around 
 her, nor troubled herself about their hidden causes. 
 She liked to blame others for her own mistakes. en 
 this disaster happened, she chose to consider the old 
 vermicelli maker as the author of her woe, and began 
 from that time to get sober, as she phrased it to se 
 degriser-^honX, him. No sooner did she recognize 
 the inutility of her advances and of her outlay upon 
 allurements, than she set up a theory to account tor it. 
 The old man must, she said, have liaisons elsewhere. 
 She admitted that the hopes she had nursed were built 
 upon imaginary foundations; that the countess, who 
 appeared to know what she was talking about, was 
 right in saying that nothing could be made of sue a 
 man. Of course she went further in hate than she had 
 gone in friendship, her hatred not being the child ot 
 fove, but of hopes disappointed. If the human heart 
 pauses to rest by the wayside, as it mounts to the sum- 
 mits of affection, it finds no stopping-place when i 
 
 starts on the down-incline. 
 
 Monsieur Goriot, however, was her lodger, and the 
 widow was obliged to repress all outward expression of 
 her wounded feelings, to smother the sighs caused by 
 her self-deception, and to choke down her desires for 
 vengeance, like a monk taunted by his superior. Little 
 
30 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 minds vent their feelings, bad or good, in little ways. 
 The widow used her woman’s wit to invent subtle per- 
 secutions for her victim. She began by cutting off the 
 superfluities of her housekeeping. No more pickles, 
 no more anchovies,” she said to Sylvie the morning she 
 went back to the old programme ; “ pickles and ancho- 
 vies are delusions.” Monsieur Goriot, however, was a 
 frugal man, habitually parsimonious, as most men are 
 who have saved up their fortunes : soup, bouilU, and 
 one dish of vegetables was, and always had been, the 
 dinner he liked best ; so that it was difticult for Madame 
 Vauquer to annoy him by offending his tastes in this 
 line. Disheartened by her failure, she now began to 
 treat him with contempt, and to snub him before the 
 other guests, who, chiefly for amusement, joined in the 
 persecution, and thus assisted her revenge. At the end 
 of a year she had pushed her ill opinion of him so far 
 as to ask herself why a man with eight to ten thousand 
 francs a year, and superb plate and jewelry, should live 
 in her house and pay a price so small in proportion to 
 his fortune ? 
 
 During the greater part of his first year Goriot had 
 dined out once or twice a week ; then by degrees, only 
 once in two weeks. His absence had suited Madame 
 Vauquer so well that she was displeased at the i-egie 
 larity with which he now came to his meals. This 
 change she attributed to a falling off in his means ; also 
 to a wish to disoblige her. One of the despicable 
 i traits in lilliputian natures is their habit of attributing 
 their own meannesses to others. Unfortunately, at the 
 end of his second year Monsieur Goriot confirmed some 
 of the gossip in circulation by asking Madame Vauquer 
 
Pere CrorioU 
 
 31 
 
 if he could take rooms on the second storey and pay 
 only nine hundred francs a year; and he became so 
 economical that he went without a fire in his room 
 all winter. The widow, under this new arrangement, 
 demanded payment in advance, to which Monsieur 
 Goriot consented ; and from that day forth she called 
 him Pere Goriot. It now became a question with 
 the whole household, why was he going down in the 
 world? Difficult to answer. As the false countess 
 had said, Pere Goriot was reticent and sly. Accord- 
 ing to the logic of empty heads who tattle because 
 they have brains for nothing else, people who keep 
 their own counsel must have something suspicious to 
 conceal The late distinguished man of business now 
 sank into a cheat; the elderly gallant became a dissi- 
 pated rogue. Some, following Vautrin (who by this 
 time was living at Madame Vaiiquer’s), thought he 
 dabbled at the Bourse, where, having ruined himsel 
 by speculations, he now picked up a few francs by 
 fleecing others. Some said he was a petty gambler 
 playing for ten francs a night; others that he was a 
 spy of the police, though Vautrin declared him “not 
 deep enough for that:’’ Then he became a usurer, 
 lending money by the week in small sums at extor- 
 tionate interest; finally a speculator in lotteries. In 
 turn, they guessed him to be all that vice, impotence, 
 and trickery made most shameful and mysterious. 
 Yet, however low his conduct or his vices, the aver- 
 sion he inspired never went so far as to propose that 
 he should leave the house. He paid his board regu- 
 larly^ Besides, in a way they found him useful. On 
 him they could vent their good and evil humors by 
 
32 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 jests or stinging sarcasms. The opinion generally 
 adopted among them was Madame Vauquer’s. Ac- 
 cording to her, the man she had lately pronounced 
 all that he ought to be ; a man who might make a 
 woman happy for years to come,” was a libertine 
 with extraordinary tastes. 
 
 Here are the facts on which the widow based her 
 calumnies. Some months after the departure of the 
 disastrous countess who had lived six months at her 
 expense, she was awakened early one morning by the 
 rustle of a silk dress and the light foot-fall of a young 
 woman going up to Goriot’s apartment, the outer 
 door of which was left conveniently ajar. A few 
 moments later, Sylvie came to tell her that a creature 
 much too pretty to be what she ought to be,” dressed 
 like a goddess^ wearing prunella slippers ‘‘ not even 
 muddy,” had glided like an eel from the street to the 
 kitchen, and had asked her the way to Monsieur Gori- 
 ot’s apartment. Mistress and maid listened, and 
 caught several words pronounced in tender tones. 
 The visit lasted some time. When Monsieur Goriot 
 conducted hvs lady downstairs, Sylvie picked up her 
 basket and pretended to be going to market as an 
 excuse for following them. 
 
 ‘‘ Madame,” she said to her mistress when she re- 
 turned, ‘‘Monsieur Goriot must be deucedly rich to 
 carry matters in that way. Would you believe it? at 
 the corner of the Estrapade there was a splendid car- 
 nage waiting, and he put her into it ! ” 
 
 That day at dinner Madame Vauquer drew down a 
 curtain to shade the old man’s eyes into which the sun 
 was shining. 
 
Fere Ooriot, 
 
 33 
 
 I 86G that you know how to attract pretty women, 
 Monsieur Goriot,” she said as she did so; “the sun 
 follows you,” alluding by means of the proverb to his 
 visitor. “Well, you have good taste; she is very 
 pretty.” 
 
 “ That was my daughter,” he said, with a gleam of 
 pride, which those present mistook for the conceit of 
 an old man pretending to save appearances. 
 
 A month after this visit Monsieur Goriot received 
 another. His daughter, who came the first time in 
 morning dress, now came after dinner in full evening 
 toilette. The company, who were all sitting in the 
 salon, saw, as she passed, that she was a lovely blonde, 
 slender, graceful, and far too distinguished looking to 
 be the daughter of a Pere Goriot. 
 
 “Why, he’s got two!” cried Sylvie, who did not 
 
 recognize her. 
 
 A few days later another daughter came, — tall, dark, 
 with black hair and brilliant eyes ; she too asked for 
 Monsieur Goriot. 
 
 “ Three ! ” said Sylvie. 
 
 This lady, who came early in the morning at her 
 first visit, came again a few days later in a carriage 
 and dressed for a ball. 
 
 ‘‘That makes four! ” exclaimed Madame Vauquer 
 and Sylvie, who did not recognize in the fine lady of 
 the evening the simply dressed young woman who 
 paid her first visit on foot at an early hour. 
 
 Goriot was still paying twelve hundred francs a 
 year when this took place ; and Madame V auquer was 
 indulgent, nay, even amused at what she thought his 
 adroitness in passing these ladies off as his daughters 
 
34 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 Still, as the visits explained his indifference to her own 
 attractions, she permitted herself to call him an old 
 scamp ; and when, soon after, he suddenly fell to pay- 
 ing nine hundred francs a year, she fiercely asked what 
 business he had to receive people of that kind in her 
 house. Pere Goriot answered that the lady she alluded 
 to was his eldest daughter. 
 
 “ I suppose you will tell me next that you have 
 thirty-six daughters,” she said sharply. 
 
 I have only two,” he replied, with the gentleness of 
 a broken spirit beaten down to the docility of misery. 
 
 Towards the end of the third year, Pere Goriot re- 
 duced his expenses still further, by going up to the 
 third storey and paying only forty-five francs a month. 
 He gave up snuff, dismissed his barber, and ceased to 
 wear powder. When he appeared for the first time 
 without it, his landlady uttered an exclamation of sur- 
 prise on seeing the color of his hair. It was a dirty, 
 greenish gray. His face, which had grown sadder day 
 by day under the infiuence of some secret sorrow, was 
 now the most desolate of all those that met around 
 that dismal dinner-table. The widow had no longer 
 any doubt. Here was a miserable wretch who had 
 worn himself out by his excesses. 
 
 When his stock of linen was exhausted, he replaced 
 it by cotton at fourteen sous a yard. - His diamonds, 
 his gold snuff-box, his chain, his jewels, disappeared 
 one after the other. The light-blue coat was given up 
 with the rest of his comfortable clothing, and he now 
 wore, summer and winter, a frock-coat of coarse brown 
 doth, a waistcoat of cheap cotton and woollen stuff, 
 and trousers of gray twill. He grew thinner and thin- 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 36 
 
 tier ; the calves of his legs shrank ; his face, which 
 once had the beaming roundness of a well-to-do bour- 
 geois^ was now furrowed with wrinkles, the lines on 
 his forehead deepened, and his jaws grew gaunt and 
 sharp. At the end of his fourth year in the Rue Neuve 
 Sainte-Genevieve he bore no likeness to his former self. 
 The sound old paste-maker of sixty-two, who might 
 have passed for forty ; the jolly, fat bourgeois, foolish 
 and simple-minded, whose jaunty bearing amused even 
 those who passed him on the street, and whose smile 
 had something of the gayety of youth, — seemed now a 
 worn-out septuagenarian, stupid, vacillating, wan. His 
 lively blue eyes had tarnished into a dull steel-gray. / 
 They never watered now ; but the red rims still en- 
 circled them, and seemed to weep tears of blood. Some 
 people regarded him with horror, others pitied him. 
 The young medical students, who observed the drop of 
 his under lip and took note of his facial angle, said to 
 each other, after teasing and tormenting him and get- 
 ting no reply, that he was falling into imbecility. 
 
 One day, after dinner, Madame V auquer said to him, 
 
 “ So your daughters don’t come to see you any more ? ” 
 in a tone as though she doubted the relationship. He 
 started as if she had pricked him with a dagger. 
 
 They do come — sometimes,” he said sadly. 
 
 ‘‘Ah, ah! so you still see them sometimes — somo 
 limes ? ” cried the students. “ Bravo, Pere Goriot ! ” 
 
 But the old man did not hear the jests that followed 
 his simple answer. He had fallen back into that pas- 
 sive state which those who observed him superficially 
 took for senile indifference. If they had really known 
 what was passing before their eyes, they might have 
 
36 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 felt an interest in his state as a moral and physical ' 
 problem. But they did not know, nor would it have \ 
 been easy to know, the old man’s real life. The elderly ■ 
 people of the pension, who alone felt any interest in , 
 it, never went out of the neighborhood, — they lived 
 like oysters in a bed ; and as for the young men, the 
 excitements of their Pai*isian life put the poor old man 
 at whom they gibed out of their heads as soon as they 
 turned the corner of the Rue Neuve Sainte-Genevieve. 
 To narrow minds, like those of these thoughtless stu- 
 dents, the blank misery of Pere Goriot and his dull 
 stupidity were incompatible with the possession of any 
 means or indeed of any capacity whatever. As to the 
 women whom he called his daughters, every one shared 
 the opinion of Madame Vauquer, who argued — with 
 that severity of logic which the habit of attributing low 
 motives cultivates in old women given over to gossip- 
 ping — that “if Pere Goriot had daughters as rich as j 
 these women seemed to be, he would not be living in 
 my house, paying forty-five francs a month, and dress- 
 ing like a beggar.” These inductions could not be 
 gainsaid ; so that by the end of the month of Novem- 
 ber, 1819, the time of the opening of this drama, every 
 one in the house had made up his or her mind concern- 
 ing the unhappy old man. He had never had, they 
 declared, either wife or daughter ; he was a snail, a 
 mollusk, “ to be classed with the shell-fish,” said one of 
 them, an employe at a neighboring museum. Poiret 
 was an eagle, a gentleman of fashion, beside Goriot. 
 Poiret could talk, argue, and answer. To be sure he 
 said nothing, for his talking, arguing, and reasoning 
 were only the repetition in his own words of the last 
 
Fere (Joriot. 
 
 37 
 
 thi'ng said by other people. But at least he took a 
 share in the common talk, he was alive, he seemed to 
 have his faculties ; while Pere Goriot, as another em- 
 ploye at the museum remarked, was ‘‘always below 
 zero.” 
 
38 
 
 Fere Groriot 
 
 EuGi:NE DE Rastignac had returned from his vaca® 
 tion in a state of mind not uncommon in young men of 
 talent, or in those to whom circumstances of difficulty 
 impart for a time the qualities of picked men. During 
 his first year in Paris the slight application required to 
 pass through the first stages of his profession had left 
 him free to enjoy the external charms of the capital. 
 
 A student finds his time well filled up if he wishes to 
 study the windings of the Parisian labyrinth, to see all 
 that is worth seeing at the theatres, to know the cus- 
 toms, to learn the language, to get used to the special 
 pleasures of the great capital, to ransack all its corners 
 good and bad, to attend those lectures that may amuse 
 him, and make a mental catalogue of the treasures 
 collected in the museums. He begins by an enthusi- 
 asm for some foolery that he thinks grandiose. He 
 chooses a hero, — possibly a professor who is paid to 
 keep himself above the level of his audience ; or he 
 pulls up his cravat and assumes an attitude at the 
 Opera-Comique, glancing at some lady in the first tier 
 of boxes. But after these initiations he usually peels 
 ofi* his husk, enlarges the horizon of his life, and ends 
 by getting an idea of the various human strata which 
 make society. If he begins by admiring the carriages 
 on a fine day in the Champs-Elysees, he ends by envy- I 
 ing those who own them. 
 
Pere Groriot, 
 
 39 
 
 Eugene had unconsciously gone through much of all 
 this before his vacation, when he went back to his 
 father’s house with his bachelor’s degree in Law and 
 Letters. The faith of his childhood, his idees de prov- 
 ince^ gradually outgrown, had left him. His enlarged 
 intelligence, his excited ambition, made him now see 
 the true condition of things in his old home. His father, 
 mother, two brothers, two sisters, and an aunt who had 
 only a life income, lived on the little estate of Rastig- 
 nac. This p rojDgrty^at no time brought in more than 
 .three thousand francs a year, which was subject to the 
 uncertainties attendant upon grape culture; and yet 
 out of that limited revenue twelve hundred francs 
 were subtracted for Eugene’s expenses. The sight of 
 their perpetual pinching, which they tried generously 
 to conceal from him ; the comparison he was forced to 
 make between his sisters, whom he once thought pretty 
 girls, and the Parisian women who realized the loveli- 
 ness of his boyish dreams; the uncertain prospects of 
 the large family dependent on his success ; the frugality 
 with which everything was cared for ; the wine squeezed 
 for family use out of the last strainings of the press ; 
 together with innumerable shifts that need not be told 
 here, — increased ten-fold his desires for success, and 
 made him thirst for the distinctions of the world. At 
 first he felt, as high-strung spirits do feel, that he 
 would owe nothing except to his own merits. But 
 his nature was eminently southern ; when the time 
 for action came, he was liable to be assailed by hesita- 
 tions such as seize men in mid-ocean when they have 
 lost their reckoning and know not how to lay their 
 course, nor at what angle to set their sails. At first 
 
40 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 he had been eager to fling himself body and soul into 
 the work of his profession ; then he was led away by 
 the importance of forming social ties. He observed 
 the influence which women exert upon society ; and 
 he suddenly resolved to try for success in the great 
 world, and to win the help and protection of women 
 of social standing. Surely, they might be won by a 
 young man, ardent and intelligent, whose mental gifts 
 were aided by the personal charm of elegance, and 
 who possessed the beauty which eminently attracts 
 women, — the beauty of strength.* 
 
 These ideas worked within him as he walked about 
 the fields listening to the merry chatter of his sisters, 
 who thought him greatly changed. His aunt, Madame 
 de Marcillac, had been at court in the days before the 
 French Revolution, and her associates were among 
 the greatest people of that time. All at once it oc- 
 curred to him, as he pondered his ambitious designs, 
 that among the recollections of her past life, with 
 which she had amused his boyhood, were the elements 
 of a social success more brilliant than any he could 
 hope to attain by the study of law. He questioned 
 her as to family ties, which she might renew on his 
 behalf. After shaking the branches of her genealogi- 
 cal tree, the old lady came to the conclusion, that, of 
 all the persons who might be useful to him among the 
 careless multitude of her great relatives, Madame la 
 Vicomtesse de Beaus^ant was likely to prove the most 
 available. She therefore w’rote to this young woman 
 an old-fashioned letter of introduction, and told 
 Eugene that if he pleased Madame de Beauseant 
 she would undoubtedly present him to the rest of his 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 41 
 
 relatives. A few days after his return to Paris, 
 Rastignac sent his aunt’s letter to the viscountess, 
 who replied by an invitation to a ball for the next 
 evening. 
 
 Such, then, was the general situation of affairs in 
 the Maison Vauquer at the end of November, 1819. 
 Two days later, Eugene, having been to Madame de 
 Beaus4ant’s ball, came home about two o’clock in the 
 morning. That he might redeem the time lost in 
 gayety, he had made a vow, in the middle of a dance, to 
 sit up and read law till daylight. It was the first time 
 he had stayed awake in that still and silent quarter of 
 Paris, but he was prepared for it by the strong excite- 
 ment of his introduction to the splendors of the great 
 world. Eugene had not dined that day at the Maison 
 Vauquer, and the household were left to suppose that 
 he would not return before daylight, as had sometimes 
 happened after a f4te at the Prado, or a ball at the 
 Odeon, to the detriment of his silk-stockings and the 
 stretching of his dancing-shoes. Before slipping the 
 bolts of the front door for the night, Christophe had 
 opened it and stood looking down the street. At 
 that moment Rastignac came in and went up to his 
 room without making any noise, followed by Chris- 
 tophe who made a great deal. Eugene took off his 
 evening coat, put on his slippers, and an old dressmg- 
 gown, lit his fire of fnottes, — little blocks of refuse bark 
 prepared as a cheap fuel,— and sat down so quickly 
 ■ to his work that the noise of Christophe’s heavy foot- 
 steps drowned the lesser sound of his own movements. 
 He stood thinking a few moments before he opened 
 his books. 
 
42 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 He had found Madame de Beauseant one of the 
 queens of Parisian society, and her house considered 
 the most agreeable in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. 
 She was by birth and fortune an acknowledged leader 
 in the fashionable world. Thanks to his aunt de Mar- 
 oillac, the poor student had been welcomed in this brik 
 liant house ; though as yet he did not realize the extent 
 of the favor. To be admitted into those gilded salons 
 was equivalent to a patent of nobility. Once launched 
 in the society he met there, the most exclusive of al’ 
 societies, he had obtained the right to go everywhere. 
 Dazzled by the brilliancy that surrounded him, Eugene, 
 after exchanging a few words with his hostess, had 
 given all his attention to one lady in that circle of 
 Parisian goddesses, — a lady whose beauty was of a 
 type that attracts at first sight the admiration of young 
 men. Countess Anastasie de Re staud , tall and well- 
 made, was thought to have one of the finest figures in 
 Paris. With large dark eyes, beautiful hands, a well- 
 turned foot, vivacity and grace in all her movements, 
 she was a woman whom such an authority as the Mar- 
 quis de Ronquerolles declared to be thoroughbred.” 
 Her high-strung, nervous temperament had not im- 
 p.aired her beauty. The lines of her figure were full 
 and rounded, though not at all inclining to embonpoint. 
 
 Thoroughbred,” pure-blooded,” — these expressions 
 were beginning to take the place of the old forms 
 of approval, — “angels of heaven,” hyperboles from 
 Ossian, and all the mythological vocabulary rejected 
 by modern dandyism. To Rastignac, Madame de 
 Restaud seemed the woman who might serve his pur- 
 pose. He secured two dances in the list written 
 
Pere G-oriot, 43 
 
 upon her fan, and talked to her during the pauses of 
 a quadrille. 
 
 “ Where may I hope to meet you again, Madame?” 
 he said, with that insistent admiration which has so 
 much charm for women. 
 
 " Oh,” she said, ‘‘ in the Bois, at the opera, at home, 
 — everywhere.” 
 
 And this bold son of the south pressed his way with 
 the charming countess as far as a man could go in the 
 intervals of a waltz and a quadrille. When he told 
 her that he was cousin to Madame de Beauseant, the 
 countess, whom he took for a great lady, invited him 
 to visit her. From the smile she gave him at parting, 
 Rastignac judged that the invitation was one he might 
 accept immediately. He had the good fortune, in the 
 course of the evening, to make the acquaintance of a 
 man too noble to ridicule his ignorance, — a vice in the 
 eyes of the impertinent young dandies of the period, 
 gifted themselves with the vice of superciliousness. 
 They were all there in full force : the Maulincourts, 
 the Ronquerolles, the Maxime de Trailles, the de Mar- 
 says, the Adjuda-Pintos, in the glory of their self- 
 conceit, and dancing attendance on the most elegant 
 women of Paris, — Lady Brandon, the Duchesse de 
 Langeais, the Comtesse de Kergarouet, Madame de 
 Serizy, the Duchesse de Carigliano, Comtesse Ferraud, 
 Madame de Lanty, the Marquise d’Aiglemont, Ma- 
 dame Firmiani, the Marquise de Listomere and the 
 Marquise d’Espard, the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, 
 and the de Grandlieus.i Happily, therefore, for the 
 
44 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 inexperienced student, he stumbled upon the Marquis 
 de Montriveau, who was present in attendance on the 
 Duchesse de Langeais, — a general, a brave soldier, 
 and simple-hearted as a child. From him Eugene 
 learned that Madame de Restaud lived in the Rue du r 
 Helder. 
 
 To be young, to thirst for distinction, to hunger for 
 the smiles of a woman, to see unclosing before him the 
 doors of these great mansions, to plant his foot in the 
 Faubourg at Madame de Beauseant’s, to bend the knee 
 in the Chaussee d’ Antin at Madame de Restaud’s, to 
 glance through the long vista of Parisian salons and 
 know himself attractive and fit to win help and protec- 
 tion from a woman, to feel that he could tread firmly 
 the social tight-rope, where safety depends upon nerve 
 and self-confidence, and to have found already in one 
 of these rare women the balance-pole of his ambition, 
 
 — with such thoughts, with visions of this woman rising 
 in the smoke of his bark fire. Law on the one hand. 
 Poverty on the other, what wonder that Eugene pierced 
 ^ the future in a waking dream, and attained in fancy to 
 \his goal, — success ? His vagrant thoughts were in 
 full career, and he was picturing himself by the side of 
 Madame de Restaud, when a sigh broke the silence of 
 the night, — a sigh so deep and piteous that it echoed 
 in the heart of the young man as though it had been 
 a death-rattle. 
 
 He opened his door softly, and slipping into the 
 corridor, saw a line of light along Pere Goriot’s thresh- 
 old. Fearing that his neighbor was ill, he stooped 
 and looked through the key-hole. The old man was 
 at work in a way so apparently criminal that Rastignac 
 
P^re Cforiot. 
 
 45 
 
 thought the interests of society required him to watch 
 and see what came of it. Pere Goriot had fastened 
 two pieces of plate, a bowl of some kind with the dish 
 belonging to it, to the leg of his table. He had twisted 
 a piece of rope round these objects, which were richly 
 embossed, and was pulling upon it with all his strength, 
 evidently trying to reduce them to a mer© lump of 
 silver. 
 
 « The devil ! What a fellow ! ’’ cried Rastignac to 
 himself, as he saw the strong arms of the old man 
 kneading up the silver as if it had been dough. ‘‘ Can 
 he be a robber; or a receiver of stolen goods? Does 
 he make believe to be a fool, that he may carry on his 
 iniquities in secret? Is this what makes him live heie 
 like a beggar?” added Eugene, taking his eye from 
 the key-hole. 
 
 He looked again. Pere Goriot had unwound his 
 rope. He took the lump of silver and laid it on the 
 table, where he had spread a cloth, and rolled it into a 
 — an operation he performed with the utmost ease. 
 
 “ Why, he must have arms like Augustus the Strong, 
 King of Poland!” cried Eugene, when the bar was 
 nearly fashioned. 
 
 ' Pere Goriot looked sadly at his work, and his tears 
 fell fast upon the silver. He then blew out the rushlight 
 I by whose glimmer he had done the deed, and Eugene 
 : heard him lie down upon his bed with a heavy sigh. 
 
 He must be mad 1 ” thought the student. 
 
 ‘‘ Poor child 1 ” groaned Pere Goriot. 
 
 On hearing these words Rastignac suddenly resolved 
 I to say nothing about what he had seen, and not to 
 condemn his neighbor too hastily. He was about to 
 
P^re Groriot. 
 
 16 
 
 return to his room when he became aware of another 
 noise, and one difficult to define, as if men in felt shoes 
 were treading softly on the stairs. Eugene listened, 
 and was sure that he heard the breathing of two men. 
 No door creaked, and no distinct steps were heard, but 
 he caught a sudden gleam of light on the second storey 
 shining through the chinks of Vautrin’s door. 
 
 ‘‘ Mysteries enough for one night in a pension hour- 
 geoise^"* he said to himself. He went down a few stairs 
 and listened intently. The chink of gold coin struck 
 his ear. In a few moments the light was extinguished, 
 the breathing of two men was again heard, but again 
 no door creaked. The men were going softly down the 
 stairs, and the slight noise of their steps died away. 
 
 Who is there ? ” cried Madame Vauquer, opening 
 a window in her apartment which looked on the stairs. 
 
 “ I have just come in. Mamma Vauquer,” replied the 
 strong voice of Vautrin. 
 
 “ That ’s odd ” said Eugene returning to his chamber, 
 “for I am certain I saw Christophe slip the bolts! 
 They say you must sit up all night in Paris if you want 
 to know what your neighbors do.” 
 
 His dreams of amorous ambition being dispelled by 
 these interruptions, Eugene now began to study ; but 
 with little profit. His mind wandered to the suspicions 
 roused by Pere Goriot, then to the face of Madame de 
 Restaud rising before him as the pharos of a brilliant 
 destiny ; and before long he went to bed and to sleep 
 I with his hands clinched. Out of every ten nights which 
 I young people vow to study seven are spent in sleep. 
 Ah ! we must be more than twenty to stay awake all 
 night. 
 
Pere GorioU 
 
 47 
 
 IV. 
 
 The next morning Paris was enveloped in a dense 
 ’og; one of those fogs that wrap themselves about the 
 3ity and make the atmosphere so dark that even punc- 
 ual people lose note of time. Business engagements 
 ire not kept, and many think it eight o’clock when it 
 s nearly midday. It was half-past nine, and Madame 
 t^auquer was not out of bed. Christophe and Sylvie, 
 vho were both behindhand, were taking their coffee, — 
 nade with the top skimmings of the milk, the rest of 
 v^hich Sylvie boiled a long time to thicken it, so that 
 Vladame Vauquer might not discover the tithe thus 
 llegally levied. 
 
 Sylvie,” said Christophe, soaking his first bit of 
 oast, “ Monsieur Vautrin — a good fellow all the same 
 — had two more men to see him last night. If Madame 
 isks about it, you need n^t say much.” 
 
 Did he give jou anything? ” 
 
 “ Paid me five francs for his month ; that ’s as much 
 IS to say, ‘ Hold your tongue.’ ” 
 
 “ He and Madame Couture,” said Sylvie, are not 
 nean ; all the rest would like to take back with their 
 eft hands what their right hands give us on New 
 fear’s Day.” 
 
 ‘‘ And what ’s that^ anyhow ? ” cried Christophe. A 
 niserable five-franc piece, — that ’s all ! There ’s Pere 
 
48 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 Goriot, who has blacked his own boots these two 
 months. That old miser, Poiret, won’t use blacking ; 
 he’d drink it sooner than put it on his broken old 
 shoes. As to that slip of a student, he only gives me 
 forty sous a month. Forty sous doesn’t pay for my 
 brushes ; and he sells his old clothes into the bargain 
 What a hovel, to be sure ! ” 
 
 “Bah !” said Sylvie, slowly sipping her coffee, “ oui 
 places are the best in the quarter. We do very well 
 But as to that big Vautrin — Christophe, did anybody 
 ever ask you about him ? ” 
 
 “Yes, I met a gentleman a few days ago in tht 
 street, and said he, ‘ Have n’t you got at your house a 
 stout gentleman who dyes his whiskers ? ’ I said, ‘No 
 our stout gentleman’s whiskers are not dyed ; a man 
 who goes the pace he does has n’t the time to dye hh 
 whiskers.’ I told Monsieur Vautrin about it, and he 
 said, ‘ Quite right, my boy ; always answer such ques- 
 tions like that. There ’s nothing more disagreeable 
 than to have people finding out your little infirmities 
 Marriages can be balked that way.’ ” | 
 
 “Weil, in the market the other day,” said Sylvie 
 “ they tried to lime me too. A man asked if I hac 
 "ever seen him putting on his shirt. Think of that 
 now! — Goodness!” she cried, interrupting herself 
 “ there ’s a quarter to ten striking on the Val de Grace 
 and everybody in bed ! ” 
 
 “ Pooh ! they are all out. Madame Couture and hei 
 young person went to mass at Saint-Etienne’s at eight ^ 
 o’clock. Pfere Goriot was off early with a bundle ; the : 
 student won’t be back till after lecture. I saw them 
 all go out as I was cleaning my stairs. Pere Goriot^ 
 
Pere Croriot, 
 
 49 
 
 knocked me as he passed with the thing he was carry- 
 ing ; it was as hard as iron. What on earth is he 
 about, that old fellow ? All the rest of them spin him 
 round like a top. But he ’s a good man, I can tell you ; 
 worth more than the whole of them put together. He 
 does not give me a great deal, but the ladies where he 
 sends me give famously. They are finely dressed out, 
 I can tell you.” 
 
 ‘^'Them that he calls his daughters, — hein ? Why, 
 there ’s a dozen of them ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ I only go to two, — the two that came here.” 
 
 “ There ! I hear Madame getting up. She ’ll make 
 an uproar about it ’s being late. I must go. Look 
 after the milk, Christophe, and see that the cat does n’t 
 get it.” 
 
 So saying, Sylvie went upstairs to Madame Vauquer. 
 
 “ Why, Sylvie, how is this ? A quarter to ten, and 
 ^you have let me sleep so late. I have slept like a 
 dormouse. Such a thing never happened to me 
 before.” 
 
 ^‘It’s the fog; you could cut it with a knife.” 
 
 “ But about breakfast — ” 
 
 Bah ! the devil got into the lodgers, and they 
 turned out dQ8 le patron-jaquet ” (at daybreak). 
 
 Sylvie, do speak properly, and say le pair 
 
 ‘‘ Well, Madame, any way you like. But you fil all 
 breakfast to-day at ten o’clock. Old Michonneau and 
 Poiret are not out of their beds. There ’s no one else 
 in the house, and those two sleep like logs — as they 
 are.” 
 
 “ But, Sylvie, why do you always mention them tO' 
 gether, as if — ” 
 
50 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 ‘^As if what?” said Sylvie, with her horse-laugh, 
 
 “ why not ? Two make a pair.” 
 
 Something happened — very odd — last night, Syl- 
 vie. How did Monsieur Vautrin get in after Chris- 
 tophe had bolted the front door?” 
 
 “ Oh ! it was this way, Madame. Christophe heard 
 Monsieur Vautrin, and he came down and unfastened 
 the door. That ’s why you thought — ” 
 
 “ Give me my wrapper, and go and see about break- 
 fast. You can hash up the remains of that mutton 
 with potatoes ; and give us some baked pears, — those 
 that cost three sous a dozen.” 
 
 A few minutes later, Madame Vauquer came into the 
 dining-room just as her cat had knocked off a plate 
 which covered a bowl of milk, and was lapping the 
 contents. 
 
 “ Mistigris ! ” she cried. The cat scampered off, but 
 soon returned and rubbed up against her legs. “Yes, 
 yes, you old hypocrite ! you can coax when you ’ve ^ 
 been stealing. Sylvie ! Sylvie ! ” 
 
 “Yes, what is it, Madame ?” 
 
 Just see how much the cat has stolen ! ” 
 
 “ That animal of a Christophe ! it ’s his fault. I told 
 him to watch the cat, and set the table. Where has ! 
 he gone to, I wonder ? Nevermind, Madame, I ’ll keep 
 that niilk for Pere Goriot. I ’ll put some water to it, | 
 and he ’ll never know. He takes no notice of what he 
 puts in his mouth.” 
 
 “ What took him out early this morning, the old 
 heathen ? ” said Madame Vauquer, as she put the plateg 
 round the table. 
 
 “ Who knows? He trades with all the five hundred 
 devils.” 
 
Pere Groriot, 
 
 51 
 
 “I believe I slept too long,” said Madame Vauquer. 
 “But the sleep has made Madame as fresh as a 
 rose.” 
 
 At this moment the door-bell rang, and V autrin came 
 into the salon^ singing in his strong voice, 
 
 ‘"‘Long have I wandered here and there, 
 
 And wherever by chance 
 I cast my glance — ’ 
 
 ‘‘Oh! Oh I good morning, Mamma Vauquer,” he 
 cried, as soon as he perceived his landlady, gallantly 
 catching her round the waist. 
 
 “ Come, come — don’t 1 ” she said. 
 
 “ Say, ‘ Don’t, you impertinent rascal ! ’ Ah ! do as I 
 tell you ; say so ! Now I’ll help you to set the table. 
 
 I ’m a pretty good fellow, am I not ? 
 
 ‘ I courted the brown, and I courted the fair — ' 
 
 I saw something odd just now — 
 
 ‘‘ ‘ When I happened by chance 
 To cast my glance — ' ” 
 
 “ What was it ? ” exclaimed the widow. 
 
 « Pere Goriot, at half-past eight o’clock, in the gold- 
 smith’s shop in the Rue Dauphine, — the fellow, you 
 know, who buys old spoons and gold lace. Pere Goriot 
 sold him, for a good round sum, some sort of utensil in 
 silver-gilt quite skilfully twisted out of shape, con- 
 sidering he has never followed the profession. 
 
 “ Bah ! really ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, truly. I was coming back that way after see- 
 ing off a friend by the Messageries Royales. I followed 
 Goriot to see what he would do next — just for fun. 
 He turned into the Rue des Gres, where he went to the 
 
 0. F ILL UB. 
 
52 
 
 Pere (roriot. 
 
 house of an old usurer whom everybody knows, named 
 Gobseck, — a thorough rascal, capable of turning his 
 father’s bones into dominos ; a Jew, an Arab, a Greek, 
 a Bohemian, a fellow confoundedly hard for a man to 
 rob ; puts all his money into the bank ” 
 
 But what does this old Goriot really do ? ” 
 
 “ He does nothing,” said Vautrin ; ‘‘ he undoes. He 
 is fool enough to ruin himself for worthless women, 
 who — ” 
 
 ‘‘ He ’s coming in,” said Sylvie. 
 
 Christophe ! ” called Pere Goriot from without, 
 come up to my room.” 
 
 Christophe did as he was bid, and came back for his 
 hat in a few moments. 
 
 Where are you going ?” said Madame Vauquer. 
 
 “ On a message for Monsieur Goriot.” 
 
 What have you got there? ” cried Vautrin, snatch- 
 ing a letter out of Christophe’s hand and reading the 
 address, — To Madame la Comtesse Anastasie de 
 Pestaud. 
 
 “ Where are you going to take it ? ” he continued, 
 giving the letter back to Christophe. 
 
 “ Rue du Helder. I was told to give it into the 
 hands of Madame la comtesse herself.” 
 
 “ I wonder what ^s inside of it ? ” said Vautrin, tak- 
 ing it back again, and holding it up to the light; “a 
 bank-note ? ISTo — ” he peeped into the envelope — 
 it ’s a cancelled note ! ” he cried. “ What a gal- 
 lant old rascal ! Be off, my boy ! ” he added, putting 
 the palm of his big hand on Christophe’s head, and 
 spinning him round like a thimble. “You ought U 
 get a good pour-hoireP 
 
Fere Goriot. 
 
 53 
 
 The table being set, Sylvie proceeded to boil the 
 milk ; Madame Vauquer lit the dining-room stove, and 
 Vautrin helped her, still humming, — 
 
 “ Long liave I wandered here and there.” 
 
 By the time all was ready, Madame Couture and 
 Mademoiselle Taillefer came in. 
 
 “ Where have you been so early, my dear lady ?” 
 said Madame Vauquer to Madame Couture. 
 
 “ We have been to pray at Saint-Etienne du Mont. 
 This is the day, you know, we are to go to Monsieur 
 Taillefer. Victorine, poor little thing, is trembling like 
 a leaf,” said Madame Couture, sitting down before the 
 stove, and putting up her damp feet, which began to 
 smoke. 
 
 “ Pray warm yourself, Victorine,” said Madame 
 V auquer. 
 
 “ It is all very right. Mademoiselle, to pray to the 
 good God to soften your father’s heart,” said Vautrin 
 to the young lady ; “but that ’s not enough. You need 
 a friend who will speak his mind to the fierce old fel- 
 low, — a savage, they say, who has three millions of 
 francs, and actually won’t give you a dot. Every 
 pretty girl needs a dot in times like these.” 
 
 “Poor darling!” said Madame Vauquer, “ your 
 monster of a father will bring punishment on his own 
 head.” 
 
 At these words tears started in the eyes of the poor 
 girl, and Madame Vauquer stopped, restrained by a 
 sign from Madame Couture. 
 
 “ If we could only see him, — if I might speak to 
 him and give him the last letter of his poor wife,” said 
 
64 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 the paymaster’s widow. “ I have never dared to send 
 it to him by post ; he knows my writing.” 
 
 “ ‘ O woman ! innocent, unhappy, persecuted,’ as the 
 poet says,” cried Vautrin, “ see what you have come 
 to! In a few days I shall interfere in your affairs, 
 and then things will go better.” 
 
 “ Ah, Monsieur ! ” said Victorine, casting a look at 
 once tearful and eager upon Vautrin, who seemed quite 
 unmoved by it ; “ if you know any way of communi- 
 cating with my father, tell him that his love and the 
 honor of my mother are dearer to me than all the 
 riches of the world. If you could succeed in making 
 him less harsh to me, I would pray God for you. Be 
 sure that my gratitude — ” 
 
 “ Long have I wandered here and there,” 
 
 sang Vautrin, in a tone of irony. 
 
 At that moment Goriot, Mademoiselle Michonneau, 
 and Poiret came down, attracted probably by the sa- 
 vory smell of Sylvie’s mutton. Just as the seven sat 
 down to table and exchanged good mornings, half-past 
 ten struck, and the step of the student was heard on 
 the gravel. 
 
 “Well, Monsieur Eugene,” said Sylvie, “to-day you 
 will get your breakfast with the others.” 
 
 The young man bowed to the company, and took his 
 seat by Pere Goriot. 
 
 “ I have just had a strange adventure,” he said, 
 helping himself liberally to the mutton, and cutting a 
 slice of bread which Madame Vauquer measured with 
 her eye. 
 
 “ An adventure ! ” repeated Poiret. 
 
Pere Gioriot. 
 
 65 
 
 “Well, old fellow, why should that astonish you?” 
 said Vautrin. “ Monsieur looks as if he were made 
 for adventures.” 
 
 Mademoiselle Taillefer glanced timidly at the young 
 man. 
 
 “ Come, tell us ! ” said Madame Vauquer. 
 
 “ Last night I was at a ball at the house of my cou- 
 sin, Madame la Vicomtesse de Beauseant. She has a 
 splendid house, — rooms hung with silk ; in short, she 
 gave us a magnificent fete, where I amused myself as 
 much as a king — ” 
 
 “ Fisher,” interpolated Vautrin. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Eugene angrily, “ what do you 
 mean ? ” 
 
 “I fisher^ because kingfishers amuse themselves 
 a great deal better than kings.” 
 
 “Yes, indeed; I’d rather be a little bird that has 
 no cares, than a king ; because — because — ” said 
 Poiret, man of echoes. 
 
 “Well, anyway,” continued the student, “I danced 
 with one of the loveliest women at the ball, — a 
 charming countess, the most delightful creature I have 
 ever seen. She wore peach-blossoms in her hair, and 
 flowers at her waist, — natural flowers of delicious fra- 
 grance. Pshaw ! you ought to have seen her ; it is 
 impossible to describe a lovely woman animated by 
 dancing. Well, this morning I met this same divine 
 countess about nine o’clock, on foot, in the Rue des 
 Gres. Oh! my heart jumped! I fancied for a 
 moment — ” 
 
 “ That she was coming here,” said Vautrin, looking 
 the young man through and through. “She was 
 
56 
 
 Fere Groriot. 
 
 probably going to look up Papa Gobseck, the money 
 lender. Young man, if you ever get an insight into 
 the hearts of Parisian women, you will find money 
 more potent there than love. Your countess’s name 
 was Anastasie de Restai^ and she lives in the Rue 
 du Helder.” 
 
 At this the student turned and stared at Vautrin. 
 Pere Goriot raised his head quickly and shot at the 
 two speakers a glance so keen and anxious that he 
 astonished the other guests who noticed him. “ Chris- 
 tophe will get there too late ; she will have gone,” he 
 murmured sadly. 
 
 ‘‘I guessed right, you see,” said Vautrin, leaning 
 over and whispering to Madame Vauquer. 
 
 Goriot went on eating his breakfast without know- 
 ing what he was doing; he sank back into himself, 
 and never looked more stupid and self-absorbed than 
 at this moment. 
 
 Who the devil. Monsieur Vautrin,” cried Eugene de 
 Rastignac, “could have told you that lady’s name?” 
 
 “Ha, ha!” laughed Vautrin. “Pere Goriot knew 
 it, — why should n’t I ? ” 
 
 “ Monsieur Goriot ! ” cried the student. 
 
 “What did you say?” asked the poor old man. 
 “Was she very beautiful last night!” 
 
 “ Who?” 
 
 “ Madame de Restaud.” 
 
 “ Look at the old wretch ; how his eyes sparkle ! ” 
 whispered Madame Vauquer to her neighbor. 
 
 “Yes, she was marvellously beautiful,” replied 
 Eugene, at whom Pere Goriot was now looking 
 eagerly. “If Madame de Beausdant had been absent, 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 57 
 
 my divine countess would have been queen of the ball 
 The young men had no eyes but for her. I was the 
 twelfth written on her list ; she danced all the eve- 
 ning. The other women were jealous of her. If any 
 creature was happy last night, it was she. The old 
 saying is true, — the three most beautiful things in 
 motion are a frigate under sail, a horse at full speed, 
 and a woman dancing.’’ 
 
 Last night at the top of the wheel, at the ball of a 
 duchess ; this morning down in the mud in the shop 
 of a money-lender,” said Vautrin. ‘‘If their husbands 
 cannot pay for their unbridled extravagance, they will 
 get the money in other ways. They would rip open 
 their mother’s breasts to get the means of outshining 
 their rivals at a ball.” 
 
 Pere Goriot’s face, which at the praise of Madame de 
 Restaud had lighted up like a landscape when the sun 
 falls upon it, clouded over as he listened to these words. 
 
 “Well,” said Madame Vauquer, “how about your 
 adventure. Monsieur Eugene ? Did you speak to her? 
 Did you ask her if she was coming into this neighbor- 
 hood to study law?” 
 
 “She did not see me,” said Eugene ; “but to meet 
 such a lady in the Rue des Gres at nine o’clock in the 
 morning, — a woman who could not have got home 
 from the ball for some hours after midnight, — does 
 seem to me very singular. Paris is the only place for 
 such strange things.” 
 
 “ Bah ! there are many far more strange,” said 
 Vautrin. 
 
 Mademoiselle Taillefer had scarcely listened, so pre- 
 occupied was she by the fresh effort she was about to 
 
68 Pere Goriot. 
 
 make to see her father. Madame Couture made hei 
 a sign to leave the room, and Pere Groriot left also. 
 
 “ Did you notice him ? ” said Madame V auquer to 
 Vautrin and the rest. I am convinced those women 
 are his ruin.” 
 
 You will never make me believe,” cried the stu- 
 dent, “that the beautiful Comtesse de Restaud has 
 anything to do with Pere Goriot — ” 
 
 “Who wants you to believe it?” said Vautrin, in- 
 terrupting him. “You don’t know Paris yet, — you 
 are too young. You’ll find out later that there are 
 men absorbed by passions, — a passion.” At these 
 words Mademoiselle Michonneau raised her head, like 
 a war-horse that hears the sound of a trumpet. “Ah !” 
 said Vautrin, checking himself to send her a pierc- 
 ing glance ; “ we ’ve had our little passions, have 
 we ? ” (The old maid lowered her eyes like a nun who 
 sees statues.) “ Yes,” he resumed, “ such men pursue 
 one idea, one passion, and never relinquish it. They 
 thirst for one water, from one fountain, — often stag- 
 nant. To gain it they will sell wife and children, — 
 they will sell their own souls. For some this fountain 
 is play, or stocks, collections of pictures, — even in- 
 sects, music. For others it is a woman who ministers 
 to some taste; to these you may offer every other 
 woman upon earth, — they will not look at them. 
 They will have the woman who satisfies their want, 
 whatever it is. Often this woman does not love them, 
 — nay, will ill-treat them, and despoil them, and make 
 them pay dearly for small shreds of sath "iction. No 
 matter, — the fools will not let go ; they .. ill pawn their 
 last blanket for her sake, and bring her their last sou 
 
Pere Groriot, 
 
 59 
 
 Pere Goriot is one of these men. Your countess gets 
 all she can out of him, — he is safe and silent. The 
 poor fellow has no thought except for her. Watch 
 him : outside of this passion he is little more than a 
 dumb animal ; rouse him about her, and his eyes spar- 
 kle like diamonds. It is easy enough to guess his 
 secret. He carried his bit of plate this morning to be 
 melted ; I saw him afterwards going into Gobseck’s, in 
 the Rue des Gres. Now, mark! as soon as he got 
 home he sent that simpleton Christophe to Madame 
 de Restaud with a letter containing a cancelled note. 
 Christophe showed us the address. It is clear that 
 the matter was pressing, for the countess went herself 
 to the old money-lender. Pere Goriot has been rais- 
 ing money for her. It does n’t take much cleverness 
 to put two and two together here. And this shows 
 you, my young student, that last night, when your 
 countess was laughing and dancing and playing her 
 tricks, and fluttering her peach-blossoms and shaking 
 out her gown, her heart was down in the soles of her 
 little satin slippers, thinking of some note of hers that 
 was going to protest — or, of her lover’s.” 
 
 ‘‘You make me savage to know the truth,” cried 
 Eugene; ‘‘I will go to-morrow and call on Madame 
 de Restaud.” 
 
 “Yes, to-morrow,” said Poiret ; “better call to- 
 morrow on Madame de Restaud.” 
 
 “But, Paris!” said Eugene, in a tone of disgust, 
 “ what a sink of iniquity your Paris must be.” 
 
 “ Yes,” ^.rgplied Vautrin, “and a queer sink, too. 
 Those who ^,y^t muddy in their carriages are virtuous; 
 those who get muddy afoot are knaves. Hook a trifle 
 
80 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 that is not your own, and they show you up on the 
 Place du Palais de Justice as a public curiosity ; steal 
 a million, and you are received in good society and 
 called ‘ a clever fellow.’ And you pay thirty millions 
 annually to the law courts and the police to keep up 
 that sort of morality ! Pah ! ” 
 
 “ Do you mean to say,” said Madame Vauquer, “ that 
 Pere Goriot has melted up his silver-gilt porringer?” 
 
 a Were there two turtle-doves on the cover ?” asked 
 Eugene. 
 
 “ Yes, there were.” 
 
 He must have cared for it. He wept when he 
 broke it up. I happened to see him — by chance,” 
 said Eugene. 
 
 “ He did care for it, as for his life,” answered Madame 
 Vauquer. 
 
 “ Now see the force of passion ! ” said Vautrin. “ That 
 woman can wring his very soul.” 
 
 Eugene went up to his own chamber. Vautrin went 
 out. A few minutes later Madame Couture and Victo- 
 rine got into a hackney coach which Sylvie had called. 
 Poiret gave his arm to Mademoiselle Michonneau, and 
 they walked off together to wander in the Jardin des 
 Plantes during the fine part of the day. 
 
 Don’t they look almost married ? ” said Sylvie. 
 “ They are so dried up that if they knock together, 
 they’ll make sparks like flint and steel.” 
 
 ‘^Look out, then, for Mademoiselle Michonneau’s 
 shawl, — it will catch like tinder,” observed Madame 
 Vauquer. 
 
I*ere Goriot. 
 
 61 
 
 V. 
 
 At four o’clock, when Pere Goriot returned, he saw 
 by the dim light of two smoky lamps Victorine Taille- 
 fer sitting silent with red eyes, while Madame Couture 
 was volubly relating the result of the visit made to the 
 father. Tired of refusing to see his daughter and her 
 old friend, Taillefer had granted them an interview. 
 
 “My dear lady,” Madame Couture was saying to 
 Madame Vauquer, “would you believe me, he did not 
 so much as ask Victorine to sit down ; she stood all the 
 time that we were there. He told me, without any 
 anger, but sternly, that we might for the future spare 
 ourselves the trouble of coming; that mademoiselle 
 (he did not say daughter) only injured herself by per- 
 sisting in coming after him — once a year ! the mon- 
 ster ! He said that as Victorine’s mother had brought 
 him no fortune, her daughter was not entitled to ex- 
 pect any ; in short, he said all kinds of cruel things 
 which made the poor dear cry. She flung herself at 
 her father’s feet, and found courage to tell him that she 
 only pressed her case for her mother’s sake ; that she 
 would obey him without a murmur if he would only 
 read the last words of his wife. She offered him the 
 letter, saying the most touching things you ever heard. 
 I don’t know where she got them ; God must have in- 
 spired them, for the poor child was so carried away that 
 
62 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 I, as I listened to her, wept like a fool. What do yon 
 suppose that brutal man did while she was speaking ? 
 He pared his nails ! He took the letter which his poor 
 wife had written with so many tears, and flung it into 
 the fire, saying, ‘That’s enough.’ He tried to make his 
 daughter get up from her knees : she wanted to kiss his 
 hand, but he would not let her. Wasn’t it atrocious? 
 His great booby of a son came in while we were there, 
 but he would not take any notice of his sister.” 
 
 “ Can such monsters be ? ” said Pere Goriot. 
 
 “ And then,” continued Madame Couture, paying no 
 attention to this interruption, “ father and son walked 
 off together, begging me to excuse them, and saying 
 they had pressing business. So ended our visit. Well ! 
 at any rate he has seen his daughter. I don’t know how 
 he can refuse to acknowledge her, for they are as like 
 as two raindrops.” 
 
 All the guests now came in, one after another, wish- 
 ing each other good day, and interchanging a style of 
 jest by which certain classes of the Parisian world keep 
 up a spirit of drollery of which sheer nonsense is the 
 principal ingredient, the fun being chiefly confined to 
 gesture and pronunciation. This sort of argot varies 
 continually. The best joke never lasts over a month. 
 An event in politics, a trial in the criminal courts, a 
 street ballad, or an actor’s jest, sets the fun afloat and 
 keeps it going ; the amusement consisting, above all, 
 in treating ideas and words like shuttlecocks, and ban- 
 dying them to and fro with the utmost rapidity. 
 
 Just at this time the invention of the diorama, an ex- 
 hibition which carried optical illusion beyond that of 
 the panorama, had set the artists in their studios to 
 
Ph^e Qoriot, 
 
 63 
 
 ending all their words in “rama.” The fashion had 
 been introduced into the Maison Vauquer by a young 
 painter, one of the dinner guests. 
 
 ‘‘Well, Monsieur-re Poiret,” said the employe at 
 the Museum, “ how goes your healthorama ? ” Then 
 not waiting for a reply, Ladies,” he said to Madame 
 Couture and Victorine, I regret to see that some- 
 thing has gone wrong with you to-day,” 
 
 “Are we going to Jfmare ” cried Horace Bianchon, 
 a medical student and a friend of Rastignac; “my 
 little stomach has gone down usque ad talones^ 
 
 “ It is a regular frostinorama^'' said V autrin. “ Draw 
 back a little, Pere Goriot; your foot takes up the 
 whole front of the stove.” 
 
 “Illustrious Vautrin,” cried Bianchon, “why do you 
 say frostinorama? That’s wrong; you should say 
 frostorama.^'^ 
 
 “ No ! ” cried the employe at the Museum, “ it frost- 
 inorama, I have frost in my toes.” 
 
 “Ha! Ha!” 
 
 “ Here comes his excellency the Marquis de Ras- 
 tignac, Doctor of Laws,” cried Bianchon, catching 
 Eugene round the neck and hugging him till he 
 was nearly strangled. 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! Help, all of you ! Help ! Oh ! ” 
 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau here entered stealthily, 
 bowed silently to the guests, and took her place among 
 the ladies. 
 
 “ That old bat of a woman makes me shiver,” 
 whispered Bianchon to Vautrin. “I am studying 
 phrenology, and I tell you she has the bumps of 
 Judas.” 
 
64 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 “ Do you know anything about her?” asked Vautrin. 
 
 “Nothing but what I see. I give you my word 
 of honor that her lanky whiteness puts me in mind 
 of those long worms that eat their way through 
 beams.” 
 
 “ I ’ll tell you what she is, young man ” said the 
 man of forty, pulling his whiskers : — 
 
 ‘‘ ‘ Rose, she has lived the life of a rose, — 
 
 The space of a summer’s day ’ 
 
 “ Here comes a famous souporama^'* cried Poiret, as 
 Christophe entered respectfully bearing the tureen. 
 
 “Pardon me. Monsieur,” said Madame Vauquer ; 
 “it is soupe aux chouxP 
 
 All the young men burst out laughing, 
 
 “ Beaten, Poiret ! ” 
 
 “ Poir-r-r-rette is done for ! ” 
 
 “Score two for^Mamrna Vauquer,” cried Vautrin. 
 
 “ Did any one notice the fog this morning?” asked 
 the employ^. 
 
 “ It was a fog out of all reason,” cried Bianchon ; 
 “ a fog without a parallel ; a dismal, melancholy, green, 
 stupid kind of a fog, — a fog Goriot.” 
 
 “ Goriorama^* cried the painter ; “ because it is no 
 go when you want to see through it.” 
 
 “ Ha ! my lord Goriot ; they are talking of you.” 
 
 Sitting at the lower end of the table, near the door 
 opening on the pantry, Pere Goriot looked up at this, 
 smelling, as he did so, at the piece of bread placed 
 under his napkin, — according to an old habit in sam- 
 pling flour, which mechanically reappeared when he 
 forgot himself at table. 
 
Pere GrorioU 
 
 65 
 
 « Well! ” cried Madame Vauquer sharply, in a voice 
 that rose above the general clatter ; ‘‘ don’t you find 
 the bread good enough for you?” 
 
 It is very good, Madame,” he replied ; it is made 
 of Etampes flour, first quality.” 
 
 « How do you know that?” asked Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘ By it’s taste ; by it’s color.” 
 
 “ By the taste of the nose, you mean ; for you have 
 done nothing but smell it,” said Madame Vauquer. 
 
 You are getting so economical that by and by you 
 will be trying to get your meals by sniffing the smells 
 of the kitchen.” 
 
 Take out a patent for the process,” cried the em- 
 ploye ; ‘‘ you will make your fortune.” 
 
 “ Let him alone; he does it to make us believe he real- 
 ly has been engaged in selling flour,” said the painter. 
 
 ‘^Is your nose a corn-chandler?” asked the young 
 man from the Museum. 
 
 ‘‘ Corn-what?” said Bianchon. 
 
 “ Corn-market.” 
 
 ‘‘ Corn-stalk.” 
 
 Corn-starch.” 
 
 “ Corn-et.” 
 
 ‘‘ Corn-er.” 
 
 ‘‘ Corn-elian.” 
 
 ‘‘ Corn-ucopia.” 
 
 Corn-orama.” 
 
 These eight answers rattled from all parts of the 
 table like a volley of musketry, and made everybody 
 laugh, — all the more when poor Pere Goriot looked 
 round with an air of utter bewilderment, like a man 
 trying to make out some meatiing in a foreign tongueo 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 Cor ? ” he said to Vautrin, who sat next to him. 
 
 “ Corn, — corns on your toes, old gentleman,” said 
 Vautrin, patting him on the head in such a way as to 
 drive his hat down over his eyes. 
 
 The poor old man, stupefied by this brusque attack, 
 remained motionless for a moment, during which 
 Christoph e carried away his soup ; so that when Pere 
 Goriot, having taken off his hat, picked up his spoon 
 to begin his dinner, it tapped upon the table instead 
 of a plate. All present burst out laughing. 
 
 “Monsieur,” said the old man, “that was a poor 
 joke; and if you give me any more such — ” 
 
 “Well, what then, papa?” said Vautrin, interrupt- 
 ing him. 
 
 “Well, you shall pay dearly for it some day — ” 
 
 “Ah ! in the infernal regions, — that ’s it,” said the 
 painter ; “ in the little black hole where they put 
 naughty children.” 
 
 “Well, Mademoiselle!” said Vautrin, addressing 
 Victorine; “you seem to eat nothing. Was your 
 papa refractory to-day?” 
 
 “ He was horrible ! ” said Madame Couture. 
 
 “Ah!” cried Vautrin; “we must bring him to 
 reason.” 
 
 Rastignac, who was sitting next to Bianchon, said 
 to him : — 
 
 “Mademoiselle can’t bring an action for alimony, 
 for she eats nothing. Eh ! eh ! just see how Pere 
 Goriot is looking at her.” 
 
 The old man had stopped eating to gaze at the 
 young girl, whose face was convulsed with grief, — 
 the grief of a child repulsed by the father she loves. 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 67 
 
 “ My dear fellow,” said Rastignac in a whisper, “ we 
 are all astray about Pere Goriot. He is neither weak 
 nor imbecile. Just turn a phrenological eye on him, 
 and tell me how he strikes you. I saw him last night 
 twist up a silver dish as if it had been wax j and at 
 this very moment his face shows that his mind is full 
 of strange emotions. His life seems to me so myste- 
 rious that it might be worth some pains to study him. 
 Oh, very well, Bianchon ; you may laugh, but I m not 
 joking.” 
 
 “ I grant you the man has a medical interest ; he is 
 a case,” said Bianchon. “ If he ’ll let me, I ’ll dissect 
 him.” 
 
 “ No, — just feel his head.” 
 
 “I don’t know about that; his stupidity might be 
 catching.” 
 
68 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The next day Rastignac, elegantly dressed, started 
 about three o’clock in the afternoon to call upon Ma- 
 dame de Restaud, indulging as he went along in those 
 adventurous hopes which fill the lives of young men 
 with varying emotions. In moods like these they take 
 no account of obstacles or dangers ; success is their only 
 vista ; life is made poetic by the play of imagination, 
 and they are saddened or unhappy by the overthrow 
 of projects that exist only in their unbridled fancy. If 
 they were not handicapped by their ignorance and 
 their timidity this social world of ours would be an 
 impossibility. Eugene went along the muddy streets, 
 taking every precaution to keep his boots clean ; and 
 as he walked he turned over in his mind what he 
 should say to Madame de Restaud, — providing him- 
 self with the repartees and witty sayings of an imagi- 
 nary conversation, rehearsing phrases a la Talleyrand, 
 and inventing tender scenes favorable to his project of 
 pushing his future in society. He did get his boots 
 muddy, however, and had to have them blacked and 
 his trousers brushed in the Palais-Royal. ^^If I were 
 rich,” he said to himself as he changed a five-franc 
 piece which he had put into his pocket (^^in case of 
 accident”), ^^I should have driven in a carriage to make 
 
Pere Groriot, 69 
 
 my call, and could have thought things over at my 
 ease.” 
 
 At last he reached the Rue du Helder, and asked for 
 Madame de Restaud. With the silent wrath of a man 
 certain of future triumph, he noticed the impertinent 
 looks of the lacqueys, who saw him crossing the court- 
 yard on foot heralded by no sound of carriage wheels 
 at the gate. Those looks were the more galling be- 
 cause already he had been smitten by a sense of social 
 inferiority on seeing, as he entered the courtyard, a 
 fine horse in glittering harness attached to one of those 
 exquisite cabriolets, which evince the luxury of extra- 
 vagant existence and the habit of taking part in the 
 pleasures of Parisian life. Eugene grew out of temper 
 with himself. His brains, which he had stored with 
 clever sayings, refused to work ; he became stupid. 
 While waiting to know if the countess would receive 
 him, he stood by a window in the antechamber, leaning 
 his arm on the knob of its fastening and looking down 
 mechanically into the courtyard. He thought he was 
 kept waiting a long time, and would have gone away 
 in displeasure had he not been gifted with that southern 
 tenacity which works wonders if kept to a straight 
 line. 
 
 Monsieur,” said the footman, ‘‘Madame is in her 
 boudoir, and is very much occupied ; she did not an- 
 swer me. But if Monsieur will go into the salon^ he 
 will find some one there who is also waiting.” 
 
 Wondering within himself at the power possessed 
 by servants to judge and to betray their masters by a 
 word, Rastignac deliberately opened the door through 
 which the man had just passed, wishing, perhaps, tc 
 
70 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 prove to the lacqueys in attendance that he knew the 
 ways of the house. But he brought up like a fool in a 
 press-room, full of lamps and wardrobes, and an appa- 
 ratus for warming bath-towels, which led to a dark 
 passage and some back stairs. Smothered sounds of 
 laughter in the antechamber behind him put the finish- 
 ing stroke to his confusion. 
 
 “ Monsieur, the salon is this way,” said the footman, 
 with that false respect w^hich is the last touch of 
 impertinence. 
 
 Eugene stepped back with such precipitation that 
 he knocked against a bath-tub, but happily held fast to 
 his hat so that it did not fall into the water. At this 
 moment a door opened at the end of the dark passage 
 (which was lighted by a lamp), and Rastignac heard 
 Madame de Restaud’s voice, Pere Goriot’s voice, and 
 the sound of kisses. He went back into the ante- 
 chamber, crossed it, followed the servant, and entered 
 the first salon^ where he took his station at a window 
 which he saw at once must command the courtyard. 
 He wanted to see if Pere Goriot could really be Pere 
 Goriot. His heart beat violently as he remembered 
 the horrible insinuations of Vautrin. The footman 
 stood waiting to usher him through the door of an 
 inner drawing-room, when out of it came an elegant 
 young man, who said to the servant, crossly, — 
 
 ‘‘ I am going, Maurice ; you can tell Madame la 
 comtesse that I waited for her more than half an 
 hour.” 
 
 This gay young man of fashion, who evidently had 
 the right of entrance, walked on, humming an Italian 
 melody, until he came near the window at which 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 71 
 
 Eugene was standing. He tried to see the face of the 
 student, and he also wished to get a glimpse into the 
 courtyard. 
 
 JMonsieur le comte had better stay a moment 
 longer; Madame is now at liberty,” said Maurice, go- 
 ing back into the antechamber. 
 
 At this moment Pere Goriot came out of the house 
 near the porte-cochere^ through a door that opened from 
 the back stair-case. The old man raised his umbrella, 
 and was about to open it without noticing that the 
 gates had been thrown back to admit a young man 
 wearing the ribbon of the Legion of Honor, who was 
 driving himself in a tilbury. Pere Goriot had only 
 time to step backward ; a moment more and he would 
 have been run over. The opening of the umbrella had 
 frightened the horse, which shied, and then dashed for- 
 ward to the steps of the portico. The young man 
 looked round angrily, saw Pere Goriot, and bowed to 
 him with the constrained civility often bestowed upon 
 a money-lender whom it is advisable to propitiate, or 
 vouchsafed to some smirched man reluctantly, and with 
 an after sense of shame. Pere Goriot returned it with 
 a little friendly nod, full of kindness. These things 
 passed like a flash. Too absorbed to notice that he 
 was not alone, Eugene suddenly heard the voice of 
 Madame de Restaud. 
 
 “ Maxime, are you going?” she cried in a tone of 
 reproach, not unmingled with vexation. 
 
 The countess had not noticed the arrival of the til- 
 bury. Rastignac turned and saw her, dressed coquet- 
 tishly in a breakfast gown of white cashmere with pink 
 ribbons, her hair put up with the simplicity which is 
 
72 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 the morning fashion of Parisian women. A fragrance 
 diffused about her seemed to suggest that she had just 
 taken her bath ; her eyes were limpid, and her beauty 
 was softened by an air of indolence and languor. Young 
 men have the eyes to see these things ; their minds 
 open to all the rays of a woman’s charm as plants as- 
 similate from the air they breathe the substances which 
 give them life. Eugene felt the soft freshness of her 
 hands without touching them ; he saw through the 
 folds of her cashmere the lines of her beautiful figure. 
 She needed no steels or lacings, — a belt alone held in 
 her flexible and rounded waist'; her feet were pretty 
 even in their slippers. 
 
 When Maxime raised her beautiful hand to his lips 
 Eugene for the first time perceived Maxime, and 
 Madame de Restaud perceived Eugene. 
 
 ^ “ Ah ! is that you. Monsieur de Rastignac ? I am 
 very glad to see you,” she said in a tone which a man 
 of the world would have accepted as a dismissal. 
 
 Maxime looked first at Eugene and then at the 
 countess with an expression which might well have ex- 
 pelled the intruder. What impertinence ! ” it seemed 
 to say ; my dear, I hope you are going to show that 
 [)uppy the door.” 
 
 Rastignac took a violent aversion to this man. In 
 the first place, the blond and well-trirnmed head o^ 
 Maxime made him ashamed of his own hair ; then 
 Maxime’s boots were elegant and spotless, while on 
 his, in spite of all his care, there were spots of mud. 
 Maxime wore a frock-coat, which fitted him round the 
 waist like the corset of a pretty woman ; Eugene, on 
 the contrary, was wearing a black coat in the middle 
 
Fere Groriot, 
 
 73 
 
 of the afternoon. The clever son of the Charente felt 
 the advantages dress gave to this supercilious dandy 
 with his tall slender figure, light eyes, and pale skin, — 
 a man, he thought to himself, capable of bringing ruin 
 on the fatherless. 
 
 Meantime Madame de Restaud, without waiting for 
 any reply, flitted back into the great salon, the lappets 
 of her dress floating backward as she went, in a way 
 that ^ave her the appearance of a butterfly on the 
 wing. Maxime followed her 5 Eugene, in a savage 
 mood, followed Maxime ; and all three stood before 
 the fireplace in the great salon. The student knew 
 well enough that he was in the way of that odious 
 Maxime ; but even at the risk of displeasing Madame 
 de Restaud, he was determined to annoy him. Sud- 
 denly he remembered seeing the young man at Madame 
 de Beauseant’s ball, and guessed what might be his rela- 
 tions to Madame de Restaud ; but with that youthful 
 audacity which makes a man commit great follies or 
 secures him great successes, he said to himself, That 
 man is my rival. I will put him out of my way.” 
 Imprudent youth ! He did not know that Count 
 Maxime de Trailles was a dead shot, always ready to 
 take up an insult and kill his man. Eugene was a good 
 sportsman, but he could not hit the mark nineteen 
 times out of twenty in a shooting-gallery. The young 
 count threw himself into an easy-chair by the fire, 
 picked up the tongs, and tossed the wood about in so 
 violent and savage a manner that the fair face of An- 
 astasie clouded over with distress. She turned to 
 Eugene and gave him one of those chill interrogative 
 looks which plainly say, ‘‘ Why don’t you go away ? 
 
74 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 to which well-bred people at once reply by what we 
 may call the phrases of leave-taking. 
 
 Eugene, however, put on an agreeable manner, and 
 said, ‘‘ Madame, I was in haste to see you, because — ” 
 He stopped short, for a door opened, and the gentle- 
 man who had driven into the courtyard entered the 
 room. He was without a hat, and did not bow to the 
 countess, but looked attentively at Rastignac, and held 
 out his hand to Maxime saying, “ Good morning,^” with 
 an air of intimacy which greatly surprised Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘Monsieur de Restaud, ” said the countess to the 
 student, motioning towards her husband. “ Monsieur,” 
 she said, presenting Eugene to the Comte de Restaud, 
 “ is Monsieur de Rastignac, a relative of Madame de 
 Beauseant, through the Marcillacs. I had the pleasure 
 of meeting him at her ballT’ ^ 
 
 “ A relatAve of Madame de Beauseant^ through the 
 Mareillaes^’^ — these words, uttered by the countess 
 with a certain emphasis (for a lady likes to make known 
 that she receives only those who are people of dis- 
 tinction), had an almost magical effect. The count 
 lost his coldly ceremonious air, and bowed to the 
 student. 
 
 “ Delighted, Monsieur, to be able to make your ac- 
 quaintance,” he said courteously. 
 
 Even Count Maxime de Trailles, casting an uneasy 
 look at de Rastignac, abandoned his impertinent man- 
 ner. This touch of a fairy wand, the magic of an aris- 
 tocratic name, let a flood of light into the brain of the 
 young southerner and gave him back his premeditated 
 cleverness. He suddenly caught a glimpse into the 
 great world of Paris, hitherto only cloud-land for him, 
 
Pere Groriot. 75 
 
 and the Maison Vauquer and Pere Goriot vanished 
 from his thoughts. 
 
 ‘‘I thought the Marcillacs were extinct?” said Mon- 
 sieur de Restaud to Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘ You are right, Monsieur,” he replied ; ‘‘ my great' 
 uncle, the Chevalier de Rastignac, married the heiress 
 of the house of Marcillac. They had only one daughter, 
 who married the Marechal de Clarimbault, Madame de 
 Beauseant’s grandfather on the mother’s side. We are 
 the younger branch ; all tlie poorer for the fact that my 
 great uncle, the Vice- Admiral, lost his fortune in the 
 service of the King. The Revolutionary government 
 would not admit our claims when it wound up the 
 affairs of the India Company.” 
 
 Did not Monsieur, your great-uncle, command the 
 ‘ Vengeur ’ previous to 1789 ? ” 
 
 Precisely.” 
 
 Then he must have known my grandfather, at that 
 time commanding the ‘Warwick.’ ” 
 
 Here Maxime shrugged his shoulders slightly with a 
 glance at Madame de Restaud, which meant, “ If they 
 begin to talk of naval affairs we shall not get a word 
 with each other.” 
 
 Anastasie understood the look, and with the ease of 
 a practised woman she smiled and said, “ Come this 
 way, Maxime ; I will show you what I want you to do 
 for me. Gentlemen, we will leave you to sail in com- 
 pany with the ‘Warwick’ and the ‘Vengeur.’” 
 
 She rose as she spoke, making a treacherous little 
 sign to Maxime, and the two turned to leave the room. 
 As this morganatic couple (morganatic is a pretty and 
 expressive German word, which as yet has no equiva^ 
 
76 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 lent in the French language) were leaving the room, 
 the count stopped shorC in his conversation with 
 Eugene. 
 
 “ Anastasie ” he said"^ sharply, ‘‘ don’t go, my dear ; 
 you know very well — ” 
 
 I shall be back in S moment,” she said, interrupt- 
 ing what he was about to say. It will only take me 
 a second to tell Maxime what I want him to do.” 
 
 And she did come back. Like all women who study 
 the character of their husbands that they may be able 
 themselves to live as they please, she knew just how 
 far she could go without straining his forbearance, and 
 was careful not to offend him in the lesser things of 
 daily life. She was now aware from the tone of his 
 voice that it would not be safe to prolong her absence. 
 These contretemps were due to Eugene. The countess 
 expressed this by a glance and a gesture of vexation di- 
 rected to Maxime, who said pointedly to the count, his 
 wife, and de Rastignac, I see you are all engaged. 
 I do not wish to be in your way. Adieu,” and he left 
 the salon. 
 
 “ Don’t go, Maxime,” cried the count. 
 
 “ Come to dinner,” said the countess, leaving Eugene 
 and the count together for the second time, and fol- 
 lowing Maxime into the outer salon^ where they re- 
 mained long enough, as they thought, for Monsieur de 
 Restaud to get rid of his visitor. 
 
 Eugene heard them laughing together, talking and 
 pausing at intervals ; but the perverse youth continued 
 his conversation with Monsieur de Restaud, flattering 
 him and drawing him into discussions solely that he 
 might see the countess again and find out the secret 
 
Pere G-orioU 
 
 77 
 
 of her relations to Pere Goriot. That this womanj 
 evidently in love with Maxime, yet all-powerful with 
 her husband, should be secretly connected in any way 
 vvith the old paste-maker, seemed to him a singular 
 mystery. He was resolved to penetrate it. It might 
 give him, he thought, some power over a woman so 
 eminently Parisian, that might serve the ends of his 
 ambition. 
 
 “ Anastasie,” said the count, again calling her. 
 
 ‘‘Well, Maxime,” she said to the young man, “we 
 must put up with it. This evening — ’’ 
 
 “I do hope, Nasie,” he whispered, “that you will 
 give orders never to admit that young fool, whose 
 eyes sparkle like live coals when he looks ^t you. He 
 will make love to you and compromise you, and I 
 shall have to kill him.” 
 
 “ Don’t be absurd, Maxime,” she said ; “ these little 
 students are, on the contrary, very useful — as light- 
 ning-rods. Restaud shall be the man to deal with 
 him.” 
 
 Maxime laughed, and left the. countess standing at 
 the window to see him get into his cabriolet and flour- 
 ish his whip over the champing steed. She did not 
 come back till the outer gates were closed. 
 
 “Just think, my dear,” said the count, as she en- 
 tered ; “ the country-seat of Monsieur’s family is not 
 far from Vertueil on the Charente. His great-uncle 
 and my grandfather used to know each other.” 
 
 “ Charmed to be so nearl y connect ed,” said the 
 countess, with 
 
78 
 
 Pare Goriot. 
 
 “ In what way ? ” she said quickly. 
 
 Why,” said the student, I have just seen leaving 
 your house some one whose room is next to mine in 
 our pension^ — Pere Goriot.” 
 
 At the jovial word ^^Pere,” so disrespectfully ap- 
 plied, the count, who was mending the fire, flung 
 down the tongs as if they burned his fingers, and 
 started from his chair. 
 
 Monsieur, you might at least say Monsieur 
 Goriot,” he cried. 
 
 The countess turned pale when she saw her hus- 
 band’s displeasure; then she blushed, and was evi- 
 dently embarrassed. She replied in a voice which she 
 strove to render natural, and with an air of assumed 
 ease : It is impossible to know any one whom we 
 love more.” Here she stopped ; and looking at her 
 pi^no as if struck by a sudden thought, she said : — 
 
 “ Do you like music. Monsieur ? ” 
 
 Very much,” said Eugene, flushing, and stupefied 
 by a confused sense that he must have committed 
 some enormous blunder. 
 
 Do you sing ? ” she said, going to the piano and 
 running a brilliant scale, from C in the bass to F in 
 the treble, — r-r-r-rah! 
 
 ^^No, Madame.” 
 
 Monsieur de Restaud was walking up and down the 
 room. 
 
 That ’s a pity ; you are cut off from one great 
 means of social success. Ca-ro^ ca-a-ro, ca-a-o^ro^ non 
 
Pere 
 
 effect was the opposite of that pj 
 ‘‘a relation of Madame de Beaiif 
 man introduced by favor into tf 
 tor of curios, who touching thoij 
 of sculptured figures, knocks 
 four heads which have been 
 like jumping into an abyss. 
 
 Restaud wore an expressionj 
 ference, and her eyes pointej 
 Madame/^ said he, I le| 
 
 Monsieur de Restaud. Be 
 age, and permit me — ’’ 
 
 Whenever you come to 
 quickly, cutting him short by a gestil 
 sure of giving Monsieur de Restaud 
 greatest pleasure.’’ 
 
 Eugene bowed low to husband and wife, 
 out, followed, in spite of his remonstrances, by Mon- 
 sieur de Restaud, who accompanied him through the 
 antechamber. * 
 
 Whenever that gentleman calls again,” said the 
 count to Maurice, remember that Madame and I are 
 not at home.” 
 
 When Eugene came out on the portico he found 
 that it was raining. 
 
 ‘^Well,” he said to himself, “I have made some 
 horrible blunder, — I don’t know what it is, nor what 
 it may lead to ; and now I am going to spoil my hat 
 and clothes ! I ’d better have stayed at home grub- 
 bing at law, and contented myself with being a coun- 
 try magistrate. How am I to go into the world, when 
 to get along with decency one must have lots of 
 
 and^ 
 
 
re Groriot. 
 
 is-boots, riggings that are al> 
 -old chains, buckskin gloves for 
 six francs, and kid gloves for 
 ue of a Pere Goriot, — va / ” 
 elf in the street the driver of a 
 obably just disposed of a brb 
 o pick up a fare on his own 
 to his stable, made a sign to 
 ut an umbrella, in a black 
 low gloves, and varnished 
 I of those blind rages which 
 lunge deeper into the gulf 
 funder the idea of finding some 
 .ting out. He signed to the coach- 
 into the carriage, where a few orange- 
 scraps of silver ribbon attested the recent 
 „ ence of a bridal party. 
 
 ‘ Where to, Monsieur ? ” said the man, who had taken ' 
 
 off his white gloves. 
 
 Hang it ! ” thought Eugene, “ since I am in for it 
 I may as well get something out of it. To the Hotel 
 Beaus^ant,” he said aloud. 
 
 Which one ? ” asked the coachman. 
 
 This question wholly confounded our embryo man 
 of fashion, who was not aware that there were two 
 Hotels Beauseants, and did not know how rich lie was 
 in grand relations to whom he was equally unknown. 
 
 “ Vicomte de Beauseant, Rue — ” 
 
 ‘‘ De Grenelle,” said the driver, nodding and inter- 
 rupting the direction. ‘‘You see there’s the hotel of 
 the Comte and the Marquis de Beauseant, Rue Saint 
 Dominique,” he added, putting up the steps. 
 
Pere Groriot, 
 
 81 
 
 « I am aware of it,” said Eugene dryly. Is every= 
 body laughing at me to-day ? ” he said to himself, an- 
 grily flinging his hat upon the seat before him. “ I ’m 
 launched on a prank which is going to cost me a king’s 
 ransom. But at least I’ll pay a visit to my so-called 
 cousin in a style that is solidly aristocratic. Pere 
 Goriot has cost me not less than ten francs — the old 
 scoundrel ! Confound it ! I ’ll tell the whole story 
 to Madame de Beauseant ; perhaps it will make her 
 laugh. She may know what bond of iniquity unites 
 that old rat without a tail to his beautiful countess. 
 I had better on the whole stick to ray cousin, and not 
 run after that shameless woman; besides, I foresee 
 it would be horribly expensive. If the very name 
 of the vicomtesse is so powerful, ot what weight must 
 her personal power be ! Aim high ! w hen we seek for 
 someth ing in the skies we must needs look to God ! ” 
 
 I These words contain the substance of the thousand 
 land one thoughts which floated through his mind. He 
 recovered some calmness and self-possession as he saw 
 !the rain falling, for he said to himself that if he was 
 forced to part with two of his precious five-franc pieces 
 they were well spent in saving his best coat and hat 
 iand boots. He heard, with a touch of hilarity, the 
 coachman call “Gate, if you please ! ” A Sicisse^ in red 
 livery and gold lace, made it swing on its hinges, and 
 Rastignac, with much complacency, saw his carriage 
 pass in under the archway, turn round in the courtyard, 
 and draw up under the roof of the portico. The coach- 
 man, in a big great-coat of blue with red facings, let 
 down the steps. As he got out of the carriage Eugene 
 heard sounds of stifled laughter proceeding from the 
 
 6 
 
82 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 men-servants, three or four of whom were watching 
 the bridal coach from the colonnade. Their mirth en- 
 lightened the student, who now compared his vulgar 
 equipage with one of the most elegant coupes in Paris, 
 drawn by a pair of bay horses with roses in their head- 
 stalls, that were champing their bits under the charge 
 of a powdered coachman who kept a tight hand on 
 his reins. In the Chaussee d’Antin the stylish cabrio- 
 let of a dandy of twenty-six stood in the courtyard of 
 Madame de Restaud, while in the Faubourg Saint- 
 Germain waited, in all the pomp of a grand-seigneur, 
 an equipage that thirty thousand francs would scarcely 
 have paid for. 
 
 “ Who can that be ?” thought Eugene, beginning to 
 be conscious that in Paris all women of fashion have 
 their private engagements ; and that the conquest of 
 one of these queens of society might cost more money 
 than blood. 
 
 ‘‘ The deuce ! my cousin too may have her Maxime.” 
 
 He went up the broad front steps with a sinking 
 heart. A glass door opened before him, and he found 
 the footmen within looking, by this time, as solemn as 
 donkeys under the curry-comb. The ball had been 
 given in the state apartments which were on the 
 ground-floor of the hotel. Having had no time to call 
 upon his cousin between the invitation and the ball, he 
 had not yet penetrated to her private apartments, and 
 he was now to see for the first time those marvels of 
 personal elegance which indicate the habits and the 
 tastes of a woman of distinction, — a study all the 
 more interesting because the salon of Madame de Res- 
 taud had given him a standard of comparison. At 
 
Pere Croriot. 
 
 83 
 
 half-past four the viscountess was visible; five minutes 
 earlier he would not have been admitted. Eugene, 
 who knew nothing of these various shades of Parisian 
 etiquette, was shown up the grand staircase, which was 
 banked with flowers and was white in tone, with gilt 
 balusters and a red carpet, to the rooms of Madame de 
 Beauseant. Although she was his cousin he knew 
 nothing of her biography, and was not aware that her 
 affairs were at this time passing from ear to ear in the 
 salons of Paris. 
 
84 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 VII. 
 
 For three years the Vicomtesse de Beauseant had 
 been on terms of great intimacy with a w^ealthy and 
 celebrated Portuguese nobleman, the Marquis d’Ad- 
 juda-Pinto. It was one of those innocent friendships 
 which have so great a charm for those who are thus 
 allied that they cannot endure to share the companion- 
 ship with others. The Vicomte de Beauseant himself 
 set the example of respecting, willingly or unwillingly, 
 this Platonic intimacy. Visitors who in the early days 
 of the alliance came to call upon the viscountess at two 
 o’clock always found the Marquis d’Adjuda-Pinto in 
 her salon. Madame de Beauseant was not a woman 
 to close her doors to society; but she received her 
 visitors so coldly, and her manner vv^as so preoccupied, 
 that they soon found out they were in her way at that 
 hour. When it was understood in Paris that Madame 
 de Beauseant preferred not to receive visitors between 
 two and four o’clock, she was left in peace at those 
 hours. She went to the Bouffons or the opera accom- 
 panied by Monsieur de Beauseant and Monsieur d’Ad- 
 juda-Pinto; but Monsieur de Beauseant had the tact to 
 leave his wife with her friend the Portuguese after he 
 had established her for the evening. Monsieur d’Ad- 
 juda was now about to be married. He was engaged 
 to a Mademoiselle de Rochefide ; and in all society 
 
85 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 there was but one person who knew nothing of this en- 
 gagement. That one was Madame de Beauseant. Some 
 
 of her friends had indeed vaguely alluded to the event 
 as possible ; but she had laughed, believing that they 
 wished to trouble a happiness of which they were jeal- 
 ous. The banns, however, were on the eve of being 
 published -, and the handsome Portuguese had come to 
 tell the viscountess on the day of which we write, but 
 bad not yet dared to put his treachery into words. 
 There is nothing a man dreads more than to break to 
 a woman the inevitable end of their relations. He 
 would rather defend himself against another mans 
 rapier pointed at his throat than meet the reproaches 
 of a woman, who, after bewailing her wrongs for hours, 
 faints at his feet, and asks for salts. At this moment 
 Monsieur d’Adjuda-Pinto sat on thorns and was thmk- 
 i itnr of taking leave, saying to himself that Madame 
 de°Beaus(iant would surely hear the news from othem; 
 that he would write to her ; and that it would be easier 
 to administer the fatal stab by letter. When, there- 
 fore the footman announced Monsieur de Rastignac, 
 Monsieur d’Adjuda-Pinto made a slight gesture of 
 relief. Alas! a loving woman is more ingenious in 
 perceiving her wrongs than in vaiying pleasuies fo 
 the man she loves. When > about to be forsaken, hm 
 instinct divines the meaning of a gesture as unerr- 
 ingly as Virgil’s courser divined in distant pastures 
 the presence of his mares. Therefore we may be sure 
 that Madame de Beauseant saw and understood that 
 shndit yet significant movement of relief. 
 
 Eugene had not yet learned that before entering 
 society in Paris a man should inform himself, through 
 
86 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 some friend of each family, about the history of hus 
 band, wife, and children, lest he commit any of those 
 gross blunders which require him, as they say in Po- 
 land, to ‘Uiarness oxen to his carriage,’^ — meaning, 
 doubtless, that the force of an ox-team alone can drag 
 the blunderer out of the mud-hole into which he has 
 plunged. If as yet there is no term in the French 
 language for such conversational mistakes, it is be- 
 cause they are practically impossible for Parisians by 
 reason of the publicity which all kinds of scandal in- 
 stantly obtain. ^ After having gone heels over head 
 into the mire at Madame de Restaud’s, where he had 
 no chance to harness his oxen, it seemed likely that 
 our provincial might yet need the services of a team- 
 ster by presenting himself at an equally inopportune 
 moment at Madame de Beauseant’s. However, if his 
 visit had been horribly annoying to Madame de Res- 
 taud and Monsieur de Trailles, he was now, on the 
 contrary, most welcome to Monsieur d’Adjuda. 
 
 ‘‘ Adieu, said this gentleman, making for the door 
 as Eugene was shown into the charming inner draw- 
 ing-room, all rose and gray, combining luxury with 
 elegance. 
 
 “But this evening ?’’ said Madame de Beauseant, 
 turning from Eugene and looking after Adjuda ; “ are 
 we not going to the Bonffons?’’ 
 
 “ I cannot,” he said, laying his hand on the door- 
 knob. 
 
 Madame de Beauseant rose and called him back, 
 without paying the least attention to Eugene, who 
 was left standing, bewildered by the sparkle of great 
 wealth, — the reality, to his mind, of the “Arabian 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 87 
 
 Nic^hts,^’ — and much embarrassed to know what to do 
 
 O ' 
 
 with himself in the presence of a woman who took no 
 notice of him. Madame de Beauseant lifted her right 
 forefinger, and by a graceful gesture signed to the 
 marquis to come back to her. There was something 
 so passionately imperative in her air that he let go the 
 handle of the door and came back into the salon. Eu- 
 gene looked at him with eyes of envy. 
 
 ‘‘ That ’s the man who owns the coupe,” he said to 
 himself. “Must one have blood horses, and liveries 
 all covered with gold lace, to make one’s way in Paris 
 with a fashionable woman ?” 
 
 The devil Belial bit into his mind; the fever of 
 money-getting was in his veins; the thirst for gold 
 parched his heart. He had one hundred and thirty 
 francs left, to last him three months. His father, 
 mother, brothers, sisters, and aunt had but two hun- 
 dred francs a month among them all. This rapid 
 I comparison of the realities of his position with the end 
 i that he was planning to attain, staggered him. 
 
 I “ Why cannot you go to the theatre ? ” said the vis- 
 I countess, smiling. 
 
 * “ I have business. I dine with the English ambas- 
 
 sador.” 
 
 j “ But you can come away early.” 
 
 When a man deceives, he is forced to prop one false- 
 hood by another. Monsieur d’Adjuda answered, 
 smiling, — 
 
 “ You insist, then ? ” “ 
 
 “ Of course I do.” 
 
 “Ah! that was just what I wanted to make you 
 say he replied, giving her a look suflEicient to reas 
 
88 Pere Goriot. 
 
 sure any other woman. He took her hand, kissed it, 
 and went out. 
 
 Eugene passed his fingers through his hair and 
 turned toward Madame de Beauseant to make his 
 bow, thinking she would now give her attention to 
 him. To his surprise, she sprang from her chair, ran 
 into the gallery, and looked out at Monsieur d’Adjuda 
 as he got into his carriage. She listened for his or- 
 ders, and heard the chasseur repeating to the coach- 
 man, ‘^To Monsieur de Rochefide’s.” 
 
 These words, and the way d’Adjuda plunged into 
 his coupe, were like a flash of lightning and a thunder- 
 clap to the poor woman. She drew back sick with 
 dread. The worst catastrophes in the great world 
 take place thus quietly and suddenly. The viscountess 
 turned aside into her bed-room, took a dainty sheet of 
 note-paper, and wrote as follows : When you have 
 dined at the Rochefide’s (and not at the English 
 ambassador’s), you owe me an explanation. I shall 
 expect you.” After straightening a few letters made 
 illegible by the trembling of her hand, she added a 
 C, which meant Claire de Bourgogne,” and rang the 
 bell. 
 
 Jacques,” she said to her footman, ‘'at half-past 
 seven take this note to Monsieur de Rochefide’s, and 
 ask for the Marquis d’Adjuda. If he is there, have 
 the note taken to him at once. There is no answer. 
 If he is not there, bring it back to me.” 
 
 “ Madame la vicorntesse has a visitor in the salon.'"* 
 
 “Yes, true,” she said, closing the door. 
 
 Eugene began to feel very ill at ease ; but Madame 
 de Beauseant at last came in and said in a voir*e 'vhose 
 
Pere Gioriot. 
 
 89 
 
 emotion thrilled him to the heart, I beg your pardon, 
 Monsieur; I had to write a few words. Now I am 
 quite at your service.” 
 
 She did not know what she was saying. She was 
 thinking, “Ah! he must be going to marry Mademoi- 
 selle de Rochefide. But will he? Can he? To-night 
 this marriage shall be broken off, or I — But, no ! it 
 shall he ! ” 
 
 “ Cousin,” said Eugene. 
 
 said the viscountess, giving him a look 
 whose cold displeasure froze his very blood. He under- 
 stood her exclamation, for he had learned much during 
 the last few hours, and his mind was on the alert. 
 
 “ Madame,” he resumed, coloring ; he stopped short, 
 and then continued, “forgive me; I need help so 
 much, — and this little shred of relationship would be 
 everything to me.” 
 
 Madame de Beauseant smiled, but the smile was sad. 
 
 “ If you knew the situation of my family,” he con- 
 tinued, “I think you would find pleasure in playing 
 the part of a fairy godmother who removes all difficul- 
 ties out of the way of her godchild.” 
 
 “Well, cousin,” she said laughing, “what can I do 
 for you ? ” 
 
 “ How can I tell you ? To be acknowledged as your 
 relative, though the link is so far back as to be scarcely 
 visible, is in itself a fortune. I am confused, — I don’t 
 know what I had to say to you. You are the only 
 person whom I know in Paris. Ah ! I ask your advice ; 
 look on me as you might on some poor child clinging 
 to your dress, — as one who would die for you.” 
 
 “ Would you kill a man for my sake ? ” 
 
90 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 I would kill two ! ” exclaimed Eugene. 
 
 “ Foolish boy ! — for boy you are,” she said, repress- 
 ing her tears. “ You could love truly, faithfully ? ” 
 
 “ Ah !” he replied, throwing back his head. 
 
 The viscountess felt a sudden interest in the youth, 
 and smiled at his answer. This son of the south was 
 at the dawn of his ambition. As he passed from the 
 blue boudoir of Madame de Restaud to the rose-colored 
 drawing-room of Madame de Beauseant he had taken 
 a three-years’ course in the social code of Paris, — a 
 code never formulated in words, but constituting a high 
 social jurisprudence, which, if well studied and well 
 applied, leads to fortune. 
 
 Already,” said Eugene, I was attracted at your 
 ball by Madame de Restaud, and this morning I went 
 to call upon her.” 
 
 You must have been very much in her way,” re- 
 marked Madame de Beauseant. 
 
 ‘‘Indeed I was. I am an ignoramus who will set 
 everybody against him if you refuse to help me. I 
 think it must be difficult in Paris to find a young, beau- 
 tiful, rich, and elegant woman who is not already occu- 
 pied by the attachment of some man. I need one who 
 will teach me what you women know far better than 
 we do, — life. Unless you guide me 1 shall be forever 
 stumbling on some Maxime de Trailles. I have come 
 to ask you in thb first place to solve a riddle and ex- 
 plain to me the nature of a blunder I have committed 
 at Madame de Restaud’s. I mentioned a Pere — ” 
 “Madame la Duchesse de Langeais,” said Jacques, 
 cutting short Eugene’s words. He made a gesture as 
 if greatly annoyed by the interruption. 
 
Pere Q-oriot, 
 
 91 
 
 « If you wish to succeed in society,” said Madame 
 de Beauseant, in a low voice, “ you must begin by be- 
 ing less demonstrative. — Ah, good morning, dear,” 
 she cried, rising and going to meet the duchess, whose 
 hands she pressed tenderly, while the duchess responded 
 by fond little caresses. 
 
 ‘‘ They are dear friends,” thought Rastignac ; “ heart 
 answers to heart. I shall have two protectoresses, both 
 taking interest in my future.” 
 
 “ To what happy thought do I owe the pleasure of 
 seeing you to-day, dear Antoinette ? ” said Madame de 
 Beauseant. 
 
 “I saw Monsieur d’Adjuda-Pinto going into Mon- 
 sieur de Rochefide’s, and I knew that I should find 
 you alone.” 
 
 Madame de Beauseant did not bite her lips, nor 
 blush, nor did the expression of her face change; on 
 the contrary her brow seemed to clear as Madame de 
 Langeais uttered the fatal words. 
 
 If I had known you were engaged — ” added the 
 duchess, glancing at Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘ Monsieur is Monsieur Eugene de Rastignac, one of 
 my cousins,” said Madame de Beauseant. “ Have you 
 heard,” she continued, ‘^of General Montriveau lately? 
 Serizy told me yesterday that no one sees him now. 
 Has he been with you to-day ? ” 
 
 People said that the Marquis de Montriveau had 
 broken with Madame de Langeais, who was deeply in 
 love with him. She felt the intended stab, and blushed 
 as she answered, “ He was at the Elysee yesterday. 
 
 ‘‘ On duty ? ” asked Madame de Beauseant. 
 
 ‘‘ Clara, of course you know,’* said the duchess, spite 
 
92 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 gleaming in her eyes, that to-morrow the banns are 
 to be published between Monsieur d’Adjuda-Pinto and 
 Mademoiselle de Rochefide.” 
 
 This blow struck home. The viscountess grew pale, 
 but she answered, laughing, — 
 
 “ That is merely a piece of gossip set afloat by 
 people who know nothing. Why should Monsieur 
 d’Adjuda-Pinto ally one of the noblest names in Por- 
 tugal with that of the Rochefides ? Their title dates 
 from yesterday.” 
 
 ‘‘ They say Berthe will have two hundred thousand 
 francs a year.” 
 
 ‘‘Monsieur d’Adjudais too rich to marry for money.” 
 
 “But, my dear Clara, Mademoiselle de Rochefide is 
 charming.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” 
 
 “ He dines there to-day ; the settlements are drawn 5 
 I am astonished that no one has told you.” 
 
 “ What was that blunder you were telling me about, 
 Monsieur?” said Madame de Beauseant, turning to 
 Eugene. “ Poor Monsieur de Rastignac has so re- 
 cently entered the gay world, dear Antoinette,” she 
 continued, “ that he cannot understand our conversa- 
 tion. Be good to him, and put off all you have to say 
 about this news until to-morrow. To-morrow we shall 
 know it ofliicially, and you can be just as officious then, 
 you know.” 
 
 The duchess gave Eugene one of those ineflTable 
 looks which envelop a man from head to foot, strike 
 him flat, and let him drop to zero. 
 
 “ Madame,” he said, “ without knowing what I was ! 
 about, I seem to have plunged a dagger into the heart 
 
Fere Croriot. 
 
 93 
 
 of Madame de Restaud. Had I done this on purpose 
 I might not have been in disgrace 5 niy fault lay in not 
 knowing what I was doing.” Eugene’s natural clever- 
 ness made him conscious of the bitterness underlying 
 the affectionate words of the two ladies. “ People, 
 he added, “ do not break with the friend who inten- 
 tionally wounds them, though they may fear him^ for 
 the future. But he who wounds unconsciously is a 
 poor fool, — “ a man of too little tact to turn anything 
 to profit, and every one despises him.” 
 
 Madame de Beauseant gave the student a look that 
 expressed her gratitude, and yet was full of dignity. 
 This glance was balm to the wound inflicted by the 
 duchess when she looked him over and over with the 
 sye of a detective. 
 
 ‘'About my blunder — you must know,” resumed 
 Eugene, “that I had succeeded in securing the good- 
 will of Monsieur de Restaud, for — ” turning to the 
 duchess with a manner partly humble, partly mischiev- 
 ous, “ I ought to inform you, Madame, that I am as 
 yet only a poor devil of a law -student, very lonely, 
 very poor — ” 
 
 “ Never say so. Monsieur de Rastignac ; we women 
 do not value that which is not valued by others.” 
 
 “ But,” said Eugene, “ I am only twenty-two, and I 
 must learn to put up with the natural misfortunes of 
 my age. Besides, I am making my confession : could 
 I kneel in a more charming confessional ? Here we 
 commit the sins for which we receive penance in 
 the other.” 
 
 The duchess listened to these irreligious remarks with 
 studied coldness, and marked her sense of their bad 
 
94 Pere Groriot, 
 
 taste by saying to the viscountess : Monsieur has 
 just arrived ? ” 
 
 Madame de Beauseant laughed heartily both at her 
 cousin and at the duchess. “ Yes,” she said, he has 
 Just arrived in Paris, my dear, in search of a precep- 
 tress to teach him taste and manners.” 
 
 “ Madame la duchesse,” said Eugene, “ is it not per- 
 missible to try to possess ourselves of the secrets of 
 those who charm us ? — There ! ” he said to himself ; 
 ‘‘now I am talking just like a hair-dresser — ” 
 
 “But I have heard that Madame de Restaud is a 
 pupil of Monsieur de Trailles,” said the duchess. 
 
 “ I did not know it, Madame,” resumed the student ; 
 “ and like a fool I broke in upon them. However, I 
 was getting on very well with the husband, and the 
 wife had apparently made up her mind to put up with 
 me, when I must needs tell them that I recognized a 
 man whom I had just seen leave their house by a back 
 door, and who kissed the countess at the end of the 
 passage — ” 
 
 “ Who was it ? ’’ exclaimed both ladies at once. 
 
 “ An old man, who lives for two louis a month in the 
 Faubourg Saint-Margeau, where I, a poor student, live 
 myself ; a forlorn old man, whom we all ridicule and 
 call Pere Goriot.” 
 
 “ Oh, child that you are ! ” exclaimed the viscount- 
 ess ; “ Madame de Restaud was a Mademoiselle 
 
 Goriot.” 
 
 “Daughter of a man who makes vermicelli,” said 
 the duchess; “a person who was presented at court 
 on the same day as a pastry-cook’s daughter. Don’t 
 you remember, Clara ? The king laughed, and said a 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 95 
 
 good thing in Latin about flour — people — how was 
 it ? People — ” 
 
 “ Mjusdem farince” suggested Eugene. 
 
 “ That was it ! ” said the duchess. 
 
 “And so he is really her father?” exclaimed the 
 student, with a gesture of disgust. 
 
 “Just so; the man had two daughters, and was 
 quite foolish about them. Both of them have since 
 cast him off.” 
 
 “The youngest,” said Madame de Beauseant, ad- 
 dressing Madame de Langeais, “ is married, is she not, 
 to a banker with a German name, — a Baron de Nu- 
 cingen? Is not her name Delphine, — a fair woman, 
 who has a side box at the opera, and who comes to 
 the Bouffons, and laughs a great deal to attract 
 attention ? ” 
 
 The duchess smiled as she answered, “My dear, 
 you astonish me. Why do you care to know about 
 such people ? A man must be madly in love, as they 
 say Restaud was with Mademoiselle Anastasie, to 
 powder himself with flour. Ah ! but he made a poor 
 bargain! She has fallen into Monsieur de Trailles’ 
 hands, and he will ruin her.” 
 
 “Did you say that they have cast off their father?” 
 asked Eugene. 
 
 “Yes, indeed; their father, the father, a father, 
 cried the viscountess ; “ a good father, who gave these 
 daughters all he had, — to each of them seven or 
 eight hundred thousand francs, — that he might secure 
 their happiness by great marriages, and kept for him- 
 self only eight or ten thousand francs a year ; thinking 
 that his daughters would remain his daughters, — that 
 
96 
 
 Pere Qoriot, 
 
 he would have two homes in his old age, two families 
 where he would be adored and taken care of. Before 
 three years were over, both sons-in-law cast him out 
 as if he had been the veriest wretch living — 
 
 Tears gathered in the eyes of Eugene de Rastignac, 
 who had recently renewed the pure and sacred ties of 
 home, and still clung to the beliefs of his boyhood. 
 He was making his first encounter with the world on 
 the battle-field of Parisian civilization. Real feeling 
 is contagious; and for a moment all three looked at 
 each other in silence. 
 
 “ Good heavens ! ” said Madame de Langeais ; it 
 seems horrible ; and yet we see the same thing every 
 day. And why? My dear Clara, have you never 
 thought what it would be to have a son-in-law ? A 
 son-in-law is a man for whom we may bring up — you 
 or I — a dear little creature to whom we should be 
 bound by a thousand tender ties ; who for seventeen 
 years would be the darling of the family, — ‘the white 
 soul of her home,’ as Lamartine says, - — and who might 
 end by becoming its curse. When the man for whom 
 we brought her up takes her away, he will use her love 
 for him as an axe to cut her free from every tie that 
 binds her to her family. Yesterday our little ^daugh- 
 ter was our own, and we were all in all to her; to- 
 morrow she will seem to be our enemy. Don’t we 
 see such tragedies around us every day? The daugh- 
 ter-in-law coolly impertinent to the father who has 
 sacrificed everything for her husband, the son-in-law 
 thrusting his wife’s mother out of doors ? I hear peo- 
 ple say that there is nothing dramatic now-a-days in I 
 society. Why, this drama of the son-in-law is horrible, | 
 
Fere Cforiot. 
 
 97 
 
 — not to speak of our marriages, which have become 
 sad follies, to say the least. I perfectly recollect the 
 history of that vermicelli man, Foriot — ” 
 
 “ Goriot, Madame.” 
 
 “Yes, true; Moriot was president of his section 
 during the Revolution; He was behind the scenes, 
 ami when the great scarcity was at hand he made his 
 fortune by selling flour for ten times what it cost him. 
 My grandmothei'’s bailiff sold him wheat to an im- 
 mense amount. Goriot no doubt divided his profits 
 as all those people did — with the Committee of Pub- 
 lic Safety. I recollect the bailiff saying to my grand- 
 mother that she might feel quite safe at Grand villiers, 
 because her crops were an excellent certificate of citi- 
 zenship. Well ! this Loriot, who sold flour to the men 
 who cut our heads off, had but one passion, — he adored 
 his daughters. He contrived to perch the eldest in 
 the Restaud family, and graft the other on the Baron 
 de Nucingen, — a rich banker who pretends to be a 
 Royalist. You understand that during the Empire 
 the sons-in-law did not so much mind having the old 
 Jacobin of ’93 under their roof: under Bonaparte 
 what did it signify ? But when the Bourbons came 
 back, the old man was a great annoyance to Monsieur 
 de Restaud, and still more so to the banker. The 
 daughters, who for aught I know may have been fond 
 of their father, tried to ‘ run with the hare and hold 
 with the hounds,’ as we say. They asked Goriot to 
 their houses when they had nobody there ; invented, 
 I have no doubt, pretty pretexts: ‘Oh, do come, 
 papa ! It will be so pleasant : we shall have you all 
 to ourselves,’ — and so on. My dear, I always main- 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 Pere Gioriot. 
 
 tain that real feeling is sharp-sighted ; if so^ poor old 
 '93’s heart must have bled. He saw that his daughters 
 were ashamed of him, and that if they loved their 
 husbands he was injuring them. He saw the sacrifice 
 which was required of him, and he made it, — made 
 it as only a father can. He sacrificed himself; he 
 banished himself from their homes ; and when he saw 
 his daughters happy he was satisfied. Father and 
 daughters were accomplices in this crime against pa- 
 ternity. We see this sort of thing every day. You 
 can well imagine Pere Doriot to have been like a spot 
 of cart-grease in his daughters’ drawing-rooms. He 
 would have felt it himself, and suffered from it. What 
 happened to him as a father, my dear, happens to the 
 prettiest woman in the world with the man she loves 
 best. If her love wearies him he will go elsewhere, 
 and will treat her like a coward to get away. That is 
 the upshot of all extravagant attachments. The heart 
 is a treasury : empty it all at once, and you will find 
 yourself ruined. We think just as little of those who 
 expend all their love as we do of a man who flings 
 away his last penny. This father gave his all. For 
 twenty years he had lavished his love, his life, on these 
 two girls ; his fortune he gave them in one day. The 
 lemon was squeezed, and the daughters flung the rind 
 into the gutter.” 
 
 The world is infamous ! ” said the viscountess, 
 fringing her ribbon and not looking up, for Madame 
 de Langeais’ allusions to herself as she told the story 
 cut her to the quick. 
 
 ‘‘Infamous? — No,” replied the duchess. “The 
 world goes on its own way, that is all. I only want 
 
P^re Cforiot. 
 
 99 
 
 to prove to you that I ani not its dupe. Yes, I think 
 as you do,” she added, taking the viscountess’s hand,— 
 “ if the world is a slough, let us stand upon high ground 
 and keep ourselves out of the slime.” 
 
 She rose and kissed Madame de Beauseant on the 
 forehead, saying, “You are lovely at this moment, 
 dear heart; you have the prettiest color I ever 
 saw,” and she left the room with a slight bow to the 
 student. 
 
 “Pere Goriot is sublime !” cried Eugene, remember- 
 ino' how he had seen him destroy his pieces of silver 
 in the night-time. 
 
 Madame de Beaus(iant did not hear him; she was 
 thinking deeply. A few moments passed in silence, 
 and our poor youth, in a stupor of shyness, dared 
 neither go nor stay, nor speak to her. 
 
 “ The world is wicked — it is cruel,” said the vis- 
 countess at last. “When misfortune overtakes us 
 there is never a friend wanting to tell it in our ear ; to 
 probe our heart with a dagger and ask us to admire 
 the hilt. Already sarcasm ! already the mocking 
 tongues! Ah! I will defend myself!” She lifted her 
 head proudly like the grande dame that she so truly 
 was, and her eyes flashed. “ Ah ! ” she exclaimed, sef ■ 
 ing Eugene, “ you here ? ” 
 
 “ Still here,” he answered humbly. 
 
 “ Monsieur de Rastignac,” she said, “ learn to treat 
 society as it deserves. Yon wish to succeed in it ; 1 
 will help you. You will find out how deep is the cor- 
 ruption among women ; how wide the range of the 
 contemptible vanity of men. I thought myself well 
 read in the book of the world ; I find pages hitherto 
 
100 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 I unknown to me. Now I know all. The more cold, 
 blooded your purpose the surer you will be of success. 
 
 I Strike without pity, and the world will fear you. Treat 
 men and women as post-horses : never mind if you 
 founder them, so long as they get you to the next relay. 
 In the first place, you will make no progress unless 
 you find some woman to take you up and be interested 
 in you. She must be young, rich, and elegant. But 
 if you really care for her, hide your feelings ; don’t let 
 her suspect them, or you are lost : instead of being the 
 executioner, you will be the victim. If you love, keep 
 your own secret. Never reveal it until you know well 
 the friend to whom you bare your heart. Learn to^ 
 mistrust the world. Let me tell you, Miguel [she did 
 not notice her mistake], there is something in those 
 Goriot sisters even more shocking than their neglect 
 of their father, whom they wish dead. I mean their 
 rivalry to each other. Restaud is of ancient family ; 
 his wife has been adopted by his relatives and pre- 
 sented at court. But her sister, her rich sister, the 
 beautiful Madame Delphine de Nucingen, though the 
 wife of a man made of money, is dying with envy, — 
 the victim of jealousy. She is a hundred leagues lower 
 in society than her sister. Her sister is no longer her 
 sister; they renounce each other as they both re- 
 nounced their father. Madame de Nucingen would 
 lap up all the mud between the Rue Saint-Lazare and 
 the Rue de Grenelle to gain admittance to my salo7i. 
 She thought deMarsay could arrange it for her, and she 
 has been the slave of de Marsay, and has simply bored 
 de Marsay. De Marsay cares very little for her. My 
 cousin, here is your opportunity. If you present her 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 101 
 
 to me she will adore you, and lavish everything upon 
 you. You may adore her if you can, but at any rate 
 make use of her. I will let her come here to two or 
 three balls, — but only to balls, with the crowd; I will 
 never receive her in the morning. I will bow to her, 
 and that will be quite enough. You have shut her 
 sister’s doors against you by pronouncing the name 
 of Pere Goriot. Yes, my dear cousin, you may call 
 twenty times at Madame de Eestaud’s, and twenty 
 times you will be told that she is out. Orders have 
 been given to refuse you admission. W ell, make Pere 
 Goriot introduce you to her sister ; wear the colors 
 of the handsome Madame Delphine de Nucingen ; let 
 it be known that you are the man she distinguishes, 
 and other women will go distracted about you. Her 
 rivals, her friends, — her dearest friends, — will try to 
 win you from her. Some women prefer a man who is 
 the property of another woman, — just as women of the 
 middle class think they acquire our manners when they 
 copy our millinery. You will succeed ; and in Paris 
 ,£uccess is everything, — it is the key to power. If wO' 
 men think you clever, men will believe you so unless 
 you undeceive them. From this point you may aim at 
 what you will, — you have your foot upon the ladder. 
 You will find out that society is a mixture of dupes 
 and cheats. Try to be neither the one nor the other. 
 My cousin, I give you toy name, like the clew of Ari- 
 adne, to lead you into the heart of the labyrinth. Do 
 not disgrace it,” she added, turning to him with the 
 glance of a queen ; “ give it back to me unsullied. Now 
 leave me.- Women have their battles to fight as well 
 as men.” 
 
102 Pere GrorioL 
 
 ‘‘ If you need a man ready to fire a mine for you — ” 
 began Eugene. 
 
 What if I should ? ” she cried. 
 
 He laid his hand upon his heart, smiled in answer to 
 her smile, and went out. 
 
 It was five o’clock; he was very hungry and half 
 afraid he should not get home in time for dinner. This 
 fear made him appreciate the advantages of whirl- 
 ing along in his glass coach. The fast motion made 
 his mind run on the new thoughts that assailed him. 
 When a youth of his age meets with a rebuff he loses 
 his temper, he grows furious, shakes his fist at socie- 
 ty, and vows to be revenged ; but at the same time 
 his confidence in himself is shaken. Rastignac was 
 overwhelmed by the words still ringing in his ears, — 
 You have closed the doors of the countess against 
 you.” 
 
 I will call there again and again,” he cried ; ‘‘and 
 if Madame de Beauseant is right, if she has given 
 orders not to admit me, — I — Madame de Restaud 
 shall meet me at every house she visits — I will make 
 myself a sure shot ; I will kill her Maxime.” 
 
 “ But how about money ? ” cried a voice within 
 him. “ Where will you get it ? You need money for 
 everything.” 
 
 At this thought, the wealth that shone round Ma- 
 dame de Restaud glittered before his eyes. He had 
 seen her lapped in luxury that was doubtless dear to 
 a demoiselle Goriot ; gilded and costly ornaments lay 
 strewn about her salons with the unmeaning profusion 
 that betrays the taste of a parvenue and her passion 
 for squandering money. The fascinations of mere 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 103 
 
 costliness had been effaced by the grandeur of the 
 Hotel Beauseant. His imagination now whirled him 
 to the summits of Parisian life, and suggested thoughts 
 which seared his heart, while they stimulated his in- 
 telligence and widened his perceptions. He saw the 
 world in its true colors. He saw wealth triumphant 
 over morality, — triumphant over law and order. He 
 saw in riches the tiltifyici Tcctio fyizc7io[i, ^~-3?!^au^tiin is 
 right,” he cried, “ luck makes the difference between 
 vice and wStoieJi 
 
 Having reached the Rue Neuve Sainte-Genevieve, 
 he ran rapidly to his room and returned bringing ten 
 francs for his coachman, and then entered the sicken- 
 ing dining-room where the eighteen guests sat eating 
 their food like animals at a manger. The sight of their 
 collective poverty and the dinginess of the place weie 
 horrible to him. The transition from the wealth and 
 grace and beauty he had left was too abrupt, too com- 
 plete, not to excite beyond all bounds his growing am- 
 bition. On the one hand fresh and lovely images of 
 all that was elegant in social life, framed in marvels of 
 art and luxury, and passionate with poetical emotion ; 
 on the other, a dark picture of degradation, — sinister 
 faces where passions had blighted all but the sinews 
 and the mere mechanism. The advice wrung from 
 Madame de Beauseant in her anguish, and her tempting 
 offers to his ambition came back to his memory, and the 
 misery about him was their commentary. He resolved 
 to open two parallel trenches, — law and love; and 
 to win fortune by his profession and as a man of the 
 world. Child that he was ! these lines are geometric 
 aliens, asymptotes that never touch. 
 
104 
 
 Pere Groriot 
 
 ‘‘ You are solemn, Monsieur le marquis,” said Vam 
 trin, giving him one of those keen glances by which 
 this singular man seemed to catch the hidden thoughts 
 of those around him. 
 
 “ I am not disposed to permit jokes from people who 
 call me Monsieur le marquis,” Eugene replied. To 
 be a marquis in Paris requires an income of a hundred 
 thousand francs, and those who live in the Maison 
 Vauquer are not exactly favorites of fortune.” 
 
 Vautrin looked at Rastignac with a patronizing air, 
 which seemed to say contemptuously, ‘‘ You young 
 brat ! I could gobble you up at a mouthful ; ” but he 
 answered, ‘‘ You are in a bad humor because you have 
 not succeeded with the beautiful countess.” 
 
 “ She has shut her doors against me for saying that 
 her father dined here with me at this table,” cried 
 Eugene angrily. 
 
 All present looked at one another. Pere Goriot 
 looked down and turned aside to wipe his eyes. 
 
 “ You have blown your snulF into my face,” he said 
 to his neighbor. 
 
 Whoever annoys Pere Goriot will answer for it to 
 me,” cried Eugene, looking at the man who sat next 
 to the old paste-maker. “He is better than any of 
 us. I don’t include the ladies,” he added, bowing to 
 Mademoiselle Taillefer. 
 
 This speech brought the matter to a conclusion, for 
 Eugene had uttered it in a way to silence all the others 
 except Vautrin, who said sarcastically, “If you are 
 going to take up Pere Goriot and make yourself re- 
 sponsible for all he says and does, you will have to 
 learn to use a sword and fire a pistol.” 
 
Pere Q-oriot. 
 
 105 
 
 « I mean to,” said Eugene. 
 
 “ You declare war then ?” 
 
 “ Perhaps I do,” replied Rastignac ; “ but I owe no 
 man an account of my conduct, especially as I don’t 
 try to find out what other people are doing in the 
 middle of the night.” 
 
 Vautrin shot a side-glance at him. 
 
 “ My young friend,” said he, “ those who don’t want 
 to be deceived at a puppet-show had better go into the 
 booth and not try to peep through holes in the curtain. 
 That ’s enough for the present,” he added, seeing that 
 Eugene was about to reply ; “ we will have a little talk 
 by ourselves whenever you like.” 
 
 The rest of the dinner passed in silence. Pere 
 Goriot, absorbed by the pang of hearing Eugene’s re- 
 mark about his daughter, was not conscious that a 
 change had taken place concerning him in the opinion 
 of others, and that a young man able to put his perse- 
 cutors to silence had taken up his defence. 
 
 “ Can it be possible,” said Madame V auquer, in a 
 whisper, “ that Pere Goriot is really the father of a 
 countess ? ” 
 
 “ And of a baroness, too,” said Eugene. 
 
 “ The father is all there is of him,” said Bianchon to 
 Rastignac. I have felt his head. It has run to one 
 bunip, — philoprogenitiveness, the bump of paternity. 
 He is all father — Eternal Father, I should say.” 
 
 Eugene was too preoccupied to laugh. He was con- 
 sidering how to profit by Madame de Beauseant s ad- 
 vice, and in what way he could provide himself with 
 money. He was silent and self-absorbed as he saw 
 the rich plains of high society stretching afar as in a 
 
106 Pere Goriot^ 
 
 vision. The others rose and left him alone when s 
 dinner was over. i 
 
 “You have seen my daughter?” said Goriot in a ^ 
 voice which betrayed emotion. 
 
 Startled from his meditation, Eugene took the old 
 man by the hand and said, as he looked at him almost 
 tenderly, — 
 
 “You are a good and honorable man. We will talk 
 by and by about your daughters,” and without allow- 
 ing Pere Goriot to say more he went to his room and 
 wrote the following letter to his mother : — 
 
 ■ ^ 
 
 My dear Mother, — See if you cannot provide for your 
 grown-up son out of your own breast as you did for him in 
 his infancy. I am in a position which may speedily lead to 
 fortune. I want twelve hundred francs, and 1 must have them 
 at any price. Do not speak of this to my father. He might ob- 
 ject ; and if I cannot get this money I shall be in such despair 
 as to be almost ready to blow my brains out. I will tell you all 
 about it when I see you, for I should have to write volumes 
 if I tried to explain to you the situation. I have not gambled, 
 dear mother, and I have no debts ; but if you want to preserve 
 the life you gave me, you must manage to find me this money. 
 
 I have been to visit the Vicomtesse de Beauseant, who takes 
 me under her protection. I have to go into society, and I have 
 not a sou to buy gloves to wear. I would willingly eat noth- 
 ing but bread, and drink nothing but water ; I could live on 
 almost nothing if necessary, but I cannot do without my tools 
 to work with, — tools which cultivate the vines in this part of 
 the world. I must either make my way or stay in a mud-hole. 
 
 I know what hopes you have placed on me ; and I want as 
 soon as possible to realize them. Dearest mother, sell some 
 of your old jewels ] before long I will give them back to you. 
 
 I know the situation of our family well enough to appreciate 
 
Pere G-oriot. 
 
 107 
 
 sucli sacrifices, and you may be sure that I would not ask you 
 to make them in vain, — if I did I should be a monster. I 
 beseech you to see in this request a cry of imperative necessity. 
 Our future depends on this loan, with which I can open my 
 campaign, — for this life of Paris is a ceaseless battle. If 
 to make up the sum there is no other resource than to sell my 
 aunt’s old lace, tell her I will hereafter send her some far more 
 beautiful, etc. 
 
 He wrote also to his sisters, begging them to send 
 him all their little savings ; and as it was necessary 
 that this sacrifice (which he knew they would make 
 gladly for his sake) should not come to the ears of his 
 parents, he enlisted their delicacy by touching those 
 chords of honor which ring so true in the hearts of 
 innocent young girls. 
 
 After writing these letters, he was assailed by doubts 
 and fears; he panted and trembled. His ambitious 
 young heart knew the pure nobleness of those tender 
 souls hidden away in the country solitudes ; he knew 
 what privations he was bringing on the sisters, yet 
 with what joy they would welcome his request. He 
 could hear them whispering in the distant fields of the 
 “ dear, dear brother he saw them counting over their 
 little hoard, inventing girlish devices to send it to him 
 secretly, — practising a first deception for his sake. 
 His conscience leapt to the light. “ A sister s heart is 
 like a diamond,” he said to himself; “ a running stream 
 of tenderness, clear and pure.” 
 
 He was ashamed of what he had written. How 
 they would pray for him ! How they would lift their 
 souls to Heaven for his success ! With what passion- 
 ate delight they would sacrifice themselves for his 
 
108 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 advantage ! How grieved his mother would be if she 
 could not send him the whole sum ! And all this good- 
 ness, all these sacrifices, were to serve him as a ladder 
 to mount into the favor of Delphine de Nucingen ! A 
 few tears — grains of incense flung for the last time 
 on the sacred altar of his home — dropped from his 
 eyes. He walked up and down the room in a state of 
 agitation and despair. Pere Goriot seeing him thus, 
 for the door of his room was left ajar, came in and 
 asked, — 
 
 ‘‘ Is anything the matter, Monsieur ? ” 
 
 ‘‘Ah! my good neighbor,” Eugene replied; “I am 
 a son and a brother, even as you are a father. You 
 may well tremble for the Countess Anastasie. She is 
 in the power of Monsieur de Trailles, and he will be 
 her ruin.” 
 
 Pere Goriot drew back to his own room, muttering 
 a few words whose meaning was not intelligible. 
 
 The next morning Rastignac went out and posted 
 his letters. He hesitated up to the last moment ; but 
 as he flung them into the box he cried, “I shall suc- 
 ceed ! ” So says the gambler; so says the great com- 
 mander. Superstitious words, that have ruined more 
 men than they have ever saved ! 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 108 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A FEW days later Eugene went again to call on 
 Madame de Restaud, and was not received. Three 
 times he tried her door, and three times he found it 
 closed against him, though he chose hours when he 
 knew Monsieur Maxime de Trailles was not there. 
 Madame de Beauseant was right : he was to visit her 
 no more. 
 
 Our student now ceased to study. He went to 
 the Law School merely to answer at roll-call ; when 
 that was over he decamped. He had persuaded him- 
 self, as students often do, that he might as well put 
 off study until it was time to prepare for the exam- 
 inations. He resolved to take his second and third 
 terms together, and to study law with all his might at 
 the last moment. He could thus count on fifteen 
 months of leisure in which to navigate the ocean of 
 Paris, to try what women’s influence might do for him, 
 and find the way to fish for fortune. 
 
 During this week he called twice on Madame de 
 Beauseant, taking care not to go till he had seen the 
 carriage of Monsieur d’Adjuda-Pinto driven out of the 
 courtyard. For a little while this distinguished woman, 
 the most poetic figure in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, 
 remained mistress of her field of battle. She broke 
 off for a time the engagement of Monsieur d’Adjuda- 
 
110 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 Pinto to Mademoiselle de Rochefide ; but these last 
 days of intimacy, made feverish by fears that she must 
 finally lose her friend, only served to precipitate the 
 catastrophe. Both the marquis and the Rochefidesf 
 looked on the estrangement and reconciliation as for- 
 tunate circumstances. They hoped that Madame de 
 Beauseant would gradually grow reconciled to the 
 marriage, and by saciificing the daily visits hitherto 
 so dear to her, permit the marquis to fulfil the destiny 
 that belongs to every man. He himself was playing a 
 part, notwithstanding his protestations to the contrary 
 made daily to Madame de Beauseant. She, meantime, 
 though not deceived, liked his efforts to deceive her. 
 “Instead of bravely jumping out of the window, she 
 has preferred to roll down stairs step by step/’ said 
 her best friend the Duchesse de Langeais. Still, these 
 final moments lasted long enough to let the viscountess 
 launch her young relative, to whom she had taken an 
 almost superstitious fancy, upon the Paris world. He 
 had shown himself full of feeling for her at a time 
 when women find small pity or sympathy from others ; 
 if a man utters tender words at such a time, he usually 
 does it on speculation. 
 
 For the purpose of knowing his ground before lay- 
 ing siege to Madame de Nucingen, Eugene tried to 
 learn all he could about the early history of P^re 
 Goriot ; and he gathered certain accurate information, 
 which may briefly be given here. 
 
 Jean Joachim Goriot had been, before the Revolu- 
 tion, a journeyman vermicelli-maker; skilful, frugal, 
 and sufficiently successful to buy up the business of his 
 master when the latter was killed by chance in the first 
 
Pere Goriot, 
 
 111 
 
 insurrection of 1789. His place of business was in 
 the Rue Jussienne, near the Halle aux Bles (Corn- 
 market) ; and he had the sound good sense to accept 
 the office of president of the section, and thus secure 
 for his business the protection of the persons who had 
 most influence in those dangerous times. This fore- 
 sight laid the foundation of his fortune, which began 
 in the time of the great scarcity, real or pretended, 
 in consequence of which flour went up to enormous 
 prices in Paris. People trampled each other to death 
 at the shops of the bakers, while others quietly bought 
 the Italian pastes without difficulty from the grocers. 
 That year Citizen Goriot acquired capital enough to 
 carry on his future business with all the advantages of 
 a man who has plenty of ready money. During the 
 worst days of the Revolution he escaped through a 
 circumstance which he shared with other men of lim- 
 ited capacity, — his mediocrity saved him. Moreover, 
 as he was not known to be rich until the danger of 
 being so was at an end, he excited no envy. The 
 flour market seemed to have absorbed all his faculties. 
 In any matter that had to do with wheat, flour, or 
 refuse grain, — whether it were to sample their various 
 qualities or know where they could best be bought ; to 
 keep them in good order or foresee the markets ; to 
 prophesy the results of a harvest, bad or bountiful, 
 and buy breadstuffs at the right moment or import 
 them from Sicily or southern Russia, — Pere Goriot 
 had not his equal. To see him at his desk explaining 
 the laws that regulate the importation of grain, ex- 
 posing their influence upon trade, and pointing out 
 their deficiencies, he might have been thought fit for 
 
112 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 a cabinet minister. Patient, active, energetic, always 
 on hand, quick to seize an advantage in business, he 
 had the eye of an eagle in his trade He foresaw 
 everything, provided for everything, knew everything, 
 and kept his own counsel. Diplomatist in laying his 
 plans, he was a general in executing them. But take 
 him away from his specialty, — from his little dark 
 shop, on the threshold of which he spent his leisure 
 moments leaning against the post of its street door, — 
 and he fell back into a mere journeyman, rough, stu- 
 pid, incapable of understanding an argument, insensi- 
 ble to mental enjoyment ; a man who would go to 
 sleep at the theatre, and whose only strong point was 
 his dense stupidity. 
 
 Men of this type are always much alike ; in nearly 
 all of them you will find one deep feeling hidden in 
 their souls. The heart of the old paste-maker held 
 two affections ; they absorbed its juices just as the 
 grain-market absorbed his brain. His wife, the only 
 daughter of a rich farmer at Brie, was the object of 
 his fervent admiration ; his love for her was unbounded. 
 In her nature, fragile yet firm, sensible and sweet, he 
 found a happy contrast to his own. If there is any 
 sentiment inborn in the heart of man, it is one of pride 
 in protecting a being weaker than himself. Add love 
 to this and the gratitude that simple natures feel to- 
 wards one who is the fount of all their happiness, and 
 you will comprehend various moral singularities other- 
 wise inexplicable. After seven years of married life 
 without a cloud, Goriot, unhappily for himself, lost his 
 wife. She was beginning to acquire a strong influence 
 over him beyond the simple range of his affections 
 
 1 ' 
 
Pere Goriot, 
 
 lib 
 
 Had she lived, she might have cultivated his sluggish 
 nature and roused it to some knowledge of life and the 
 world about him. Left to himself, fatherhood became 
 his absorbing passion, and it developed under his lonely 
 circumstances until it passed the bounds of reason. 
 His affections, balked by death, were now concentrated 
 on his daughters, who for a time satisfied to the full 
 his need of love. 
 
 Though many prosperous marriages were proposed 
 to him by merchants and farmers who would gladly 
 have given him their daughters, he persisted in remain- 
 ing a widower. His father-in-law, the only man for 
 whom he had ever felt a liking, declared that Goriot 
 had promised his wife never to be faithless even to her 
 memory. The frequenters of the Halle aux Bles, 
 incapable of understanding so refined a folly, jested 
 roughly on his fidelity. The first who did so in his 
 hearing received a sudden blow on the shoulder from 
 the paste-maker’s strong fist, which sent him head fore- 
 most on the curbstone of the Rue Oblin. The blind 
 devotion, the sensitive and nervous afiection which 
 Goriot gave to his daughters was so well known, that 
 one day at the Halle a rival in the market, wishing 
 to get him out of the way for a short time, told him 
 that his daughter Delphine had been run over by a 
 cabriolet. Pale as a ghost he left the Halle. On 
 reaching home he found the story false, but was ill 
 for several days from the agitation it had caused him. 
 This time he did not punish with a blow the man 
 who played the trick, but he hunted him from the 
 markets, and forced him ^t a critical moment into 
 bankruptcy. 
 
Pere (xoriot. 
 
 114 
 
 The education of his daughters was, naturally, inju* ^ 
 dicious. As he had sixty thousand francs a year, and 
 spent about twelve hundred francs upon himself, he; 
 had enough to satisfy every girlish caprice. The best 
 masters were employed to teach them those accomplish 
 ments which are thought to make a good education. 
 They had a dame de compagnie who, happily for them, 
 was a woman of sense and spirit. They rode on horse- 
 back ; they drove in carriages; they lived in luxury. 
 If they expressed a wish, no matter what the cost, 
 their father was eager to grant it ; all he asked in re- 
 turn was a caress. He ranked them with the angels, 
 far above himself in every way. Poor man, he loved 
 even the pain they caused him. When they were of 
 age to be married he permitted them to choose their 
 husbands. Each was to have for dowry half her 
 father’s fortune. Anastasie, the eldest, had aristoci atio 
 tastes, and was courted by the Comte de Restaud for 
 her beauty. She left her father’s house to enter an 
 exalted social sphere. Delphine loved money. She 
 married Nucingen, a banker of German origin and a 
 baron of the Holy Empire. Goriot remained a ver 
 micelli-maker. His daughters and sons-in-law were 
 ashamed that he continued this business, although the 
 occupation was life itself to him. After resisting theii 
 appeals for five years he consented to retire on the 
 profits of these last years. This capital, as Madame 
 Vauquer ascertained when he first went to live with 
 her, yielded an income of from eight to ten thousand 
 francs. It was despair that drove him to the Maisort 
 Vauquer; despair at the discovery that his daugh- 
 ters were forced by their husbands not only to refuse 
 
Pere Goriot, 115 
 
 him a home, but even to receive him openly in their 
 houses. 
 
 Such was the substance of the information given to 
 Rastignac by a Monsieur Muret, who had purchased 
 the business from Goriot. The account given by the 
 Duchesse de Langeais was thus confirmed, and here 
 ends the introduction to an obscure but terrible 
 Parisian tragedy. 
 
 Towards the end of the first week in December 
 Rastignac received letters from his mother and his eld- 
 est sister. Their well-known handwriting made his 
 heart beat fast, partly with relief and partly with appre- 
 hension. Those slender papers held the sentence of 
 life or death to his ambition. If he dreaded failure as 
 he thought of his parents’ poverty, he knew their love 
 for him too well not to tremble lest they might grant 
 his prayer at the cost of their life’s blood. His mother’s 
 letter was as follows : — 
 
 My dear Child, — I send you what you ask for. Make 
 good use of this money, for if your life depended on it I could 
 not raise so large a sum again without speaking to your 
 father, and that would cause trouble for our family. To get 
 it we should he obliged to mortgage our property. I cannot 
 judge of the value of plans that I know nothing, about; hut 
 what can they he if you are afraid to tell them to me % An 
 explanation would not require volumes ; we mothers under- 
 stand our children at a word, and that word would have saved 
 me some sharp pangs of doubt and anxiety. I cannot hide 
 from you the painful impression made upon me by your letter. 
 My dear son, what is it that has led you to make me so uneasy 
 You must have suffered in writing that letter, for I have suffered 
 so much in reading it. What project have you for the future 
 
116 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 Does your life, your happiness, — as you say, — depend upon 
 appearing what you are not; upon entering a world where you 
 cannot live without spending money which you cannot aflPord ; 
 nor without losing time most precious for your studies ? 
 
 My own Eugene, believe your mother when she tells you 
 that crooked paths cannot lead to noble ends. Patience and 
 self-sacrifice are the virtues which young men in your position 
 must cultivate. But I am not reproaching you ; I would not 
 mar our ofihring by a bitter word. I speak as a mother who 
 trusts her son, even though she cautions him. You know 
 your duty, and I know the purity of your heart and the loyalty 
 of your intentions. Therefore I do not fear to say, — If all be 
 right, my dearest, follow out your plans. I tremble because 
 I am your mother ; but every step you make in life will have 
 my prayers and blessing. You will need to be good and to 
 be wise, for the future of five beings near and dear to you is 
 in your hands. Yes, our prosperity is bound up in your pros- 
 perity, as your happiness is our joy. We pray God to be with 
 you in all your undertakings. 
 
 Your aunt Marcillac has been unspeakably kind in this 
 affair; she even understood and sympathized with what you 
 said of your gloves. But, then,^^ as she said laughing, 
 have always had a soft spot in my heart for the eldest son.^^ 
 My Eugene, be grateful to your aunt. I will not tell you what 
 she has done for you until you have succeeded ; if I did, the 
 money might scorch your fingers. Ah ! you children little 
 know what a pang it is to part with souvenirs ; but what would 
 we not do for you! She begs me to say that she sends a kiss, 
 and wishes her kiss could give you strength to prosper. Dear, 
 good woman ! she would have written herself but she has 
 gout in her fingers. Your father is well. The grape harvest 
 of 1819 proves better than we expected. Good-by, my dear 
 boy. I say nothing about the sisters, for Laure is writing to 
 you. I leave her the pleasure of telling all the little gossip of 
 the family. Heaven grant you may do weU I Ah, prosper, 
 
Pere G-oriot. 
 
 117 
 
 my Eugene ! Thou hast made me too anxious — I could not 
 bear it a second time. I know at last what it is to he poor, 
 and to long for money that I might give it to my child. 
 
 WrellJ — adieu. Write to us constantly ; and take the kiss 
 thy mother sends thee. 
 
 When Eugene had read this letter he was in tears. 
 He was thinking of Pere Goriot destroying his porrin- 
 ger and selling it to pay his daughter’s note of hand. 
 ‘^My mother has given her jewels,” he cried, turning 
 fiercely on himself. ‘‘ My aunt must have wept as she 
 sold her family relics. What right have I to con- 
 demn Anastasie ? I have done for self what she did 
 for her lover ! Which is the worst, — she or I ? ” His 
 whole being was wrung with intolerable remorse. He 
 would relinquish his ambition, — he would not touch 
 the money. He was seized by one of those noble 
 secret returns of conscience so little comprehended by 
 men as they jndge their fellows ; so often, we may 
 believe, taken into the great account when the angels 
 receive the sinners condemned by the justice of the 
 world. Rastignac opened his sister’s letter, and its 
 innocent, tender trustfulness fell like balm upon his 
 spirit : — 
 
 Your letter came just at the right moment, dear brother. 
 Agathe and I had debated so long what to do with our money, 
 and we had thought of so many ways of spending it, that we 
 could not decide upon anything. You are like the servant of the 
 King of Spain when he threw down all his master’s watches, 
 — vou have made us agree. Really and truly, we were always 
 disputing which of our fancies we should follow ] but, dear 
 Eugene, we never thought of this, which exactly suits us both. 
 Agathe jumped for joy. In fact, we were all day in such high 
 
118 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 spirits on sufficient grounds (aunt’s style) that mamma put 
 1 on her severe manner and said, Young ladies, what is the 
 matter with you ? ” If she had scolded us a little hit, I do be-, 
 lieve it would have made us happier still. Surely women must 
 enjoy making sacrifices for those they love. But I was sad in 
 the midst of my joy. I am afraid I shall make a bad wife, I 
 am so extravagant. I had just bought myself two sashes, and 
 a stiletto to punch eyelets in my corsets, — mere foolishness ! 
 — and so I had less money than that fat Agathe, who is 
 economical and hoards her five-franc pieces like a magpie. 
 She had two hundred francs; while I, O dear Eugene, had 
 only a hundred and fifty! I was well punished for my extrava- 
 gance. I wanted to fling my sash into the well. I know I 
 shall never have any pleasure in wearing it ; I shall feel as if 
 I had stolen it from you. Agathe was so kind: she said, 
 Let us send the three hundred and fifty all together.” But I 
 feel as if I must tell you just how it was. Do you want to 
 know how we managed so as not to let any one suspect what 
 we were doing I — as you said we must keep the secret. W e 
 took our precious money and went out for a walk. When we 
 got to the high-road we ran as fast as we could to Kufiec. 
 There we gave all the money to Monsieur Grriinbert at the 
 Messageries- Boy ales coach office. We flew home like swal- 
 lows, — so fast because we were so light-hearted, Agathe 
 said. We said lots of things to each other which I should not 
 like to repeat to you, Monsieur le Parisien. They were all 
 about you. Oh ! dear brother, we love you — there ! it is all 
 in those three words. 
 
 As for keeping the secret, naughty little girls, as aunt calk 
 us, can do anything, — even keep silent ! Mamma went to 
 Angouleme mysteriously with aunt the other day, and they 
 would not tell us a word about the high and mighty purposes 
 of the expedition. They have hold long private conferences ; ^ 
 but we are sent out of the room, and even Monsieur le baron 
 is not admitted. Great afiairs occupy all minds in tlie king- 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 119 
 
 doni of Kastignac. The muslin dress, embroidered in satin- 
 stitch by the infantas for the queen, her majesty, is getting on, 
 though they can only work at it in the utmost secresy. There 
 are now only two breadths to finish. It has been decided to 
 build no wall toward Yerteuil; there is to be a hedge. This 
 will deprive the natives of wall-fruit, but offers dMine view to 
 foreigners. If the heir-presumptive wants any handkerchiefs, 
 he is hereby informed that the dowager-countess de Marcillac, 
 turning over the treasures in her trunks (excavations in Her- 
 culaneum and Pompeii), came upon a lovely piece of linen cam- 
 bric, which she did not know she had. The princesses Laure 
 and Agathe put their thread, needles, and fingers — the latter, 
 alas! a little too red — at his highness’s orders. The two 
 young princes, Don Henri and Don Grabriel, keep at their old 
 tricks, gorging themselves with grapes, worrying their sisters, 
 learning nothing, bird’s-nesting, making a racket, and cut- 
 ting, in defiance of the laws of the State, willow twigs for 
 switches. The Pope’s nuncio, commonly called Monsieur le 
 cure, threatens to excommunicate them if the sacred canons 
 of grammar are neglected for popguns. 
 
 Adieu, dear brother. Never did a letter carry deeper wishes 
 for your happiness, nor so much grateful love. How many 
 things you will have to tell us when you come home I You 
 will tell me all, I know, — I am the eldest. Aunt threw out 
 a mysterious hint of success in the great world : 
 
 A lady's name she whispered, — but, hush ! for all the rest,” 
 a word to the wise, you know, — we understand each other ! 
 
 Tell me, Eugene, would you like shirts instead of hand- 
 kerchiefs? We can make them for you. Answer this at 
 once. If you want some fine shirts, very nicely made, we 
 must set to work immediately. And if there are any new 
 ways of making them in Paris which we do not know here, 
 send us a pattern, — particularly for the cuffs. Adieu, adieu. 
 I kiss you over your left eyebrow, for that spot belongs exclu- 
 sively to me. I leave the other page for Agathe, who has 
 
120 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 promised not to look at what I have written ; hut to make 
 sure, I shall stay behind her till she has finished. 
 
 Thy sister who loves thee, 
 
 Laure de Eastignac. 
 
 “ Oh, yes ! ’• cried Eugene : “ yes ! — fortune at any 
 price! No treasures could repay them for their devo- 
 tion. I will shower upon them every happiness. Fif- 
 teen hundred francs ! ’’ he added, after a pause. “ Every 
 five-franc piece must do its work. Laure is right ; my 
 shirts are all too coarse. A young girl becomes as cun- 
 ning as a thief when she plans for others. Innocent 
 herself, far-sighted for me! She is like the angels, 
 who forgive the human faults they cannot share.” 
 
 The world was all before him ! Already a tailor had 
 been called, sounded, and selected. When Eugene first 
 beheld Monsieur de Trailles, he became conscious of 
 the enormous infiuence tailors exert over the lives of 
 young men. A man’s tailor must be either his mortal 
 enemy or his trusted friend. Eugene’s choice fell upon 
 a man who took a fatherly position towards his patrons, 
 and considered himself a link between the present and 
 the future of young men who aspired to get on in the 
 world. Rastignac showed his gratitude, and made the 
 man’s fortune by one of those clever sayings for which 
 he became celebrated in after years. “ I have known 
 him make two pairs of trousers which made two mar 
 riages of forty thousand francs a year,” he said. 
 
Pere Groriot 
 
 121 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fifteen hundred francs and all the clothes he needed ! 
 Our ardent son of the south flung his hesitations to the 
 wind, and went down to breakfast with that indeflnable 
 air which a youth puts on when he is conscious of pos- 
 sessing money. The moment that a student jingles 
 coin in his pocket he feels that he is leaning on a pillar 
 of strength. His step becomes assured ; his lever has a 
 fulcrum to work on \ he looks ahead ; he sees his way ; 
 his very movements grow alert. Yesterday, timid and 
 despondent, he could hardly resent an injury; to-day 
 he is ready to offer one to the chief of state. A curi- 
 ous transformation is at work within him. He wants 
 all things, feels himself capable of all things ; his desires 
 rush forth at random ; he is gay, generous, and open- 
 hearted, — the fledgling has found his wings. As a 
 penniless student he had been content to snatch a scrap 
 of pleasure as a dog steals a bone, cracks it, sucks the 
 marrow furtively, and runs away. But the young man 
 who rattles money in his breeches pocket can afford to 
 linger over his enjoyments; he can suck their juice at 
 leisure; he floats in summer air; for him the harsh 
 word poverty no longer has a meaning, — all Paris be- 
 longs to him. In youth how these things glitter ! how 
 they sparkle and flame! Age of glad strength, by 
 which few profit, either men or women ; age of debts 
 
122 Pere G-oriot, 
 
 and anxieties which enhance the joys! He who has 
 never haunted .the left bank *of the Seine between the 
 Rue Saint-Jacques and the Rue des Saint-Peres knows 
 little of the comedy, or the tragedy, of human life. 
 
 ‘‘ Ah ! if the women of Paris did but know 1 
 thought Eugene, as he devoured Madame Vauquer’s 
 baked pears at a farthing apiece, ‘‘ they would want 
 me to love them.” 
 
 At this moment a messenger from the Messageries- 
 Royales came into the dining-room, having rung at 
 the gate-bell. He asked for Monsieur Eugene de Ras- 
 tignac, for whom he brought two bags of silver coin 
 and the register for signature. ' 
 
 Vautrin threw a glance round Rastignac as keen andj 
 sharp as the lash of a whip. 
 
 “You will be able to pay for your fencing lessons,” 
 he said, “ and your pistols too.” 
 
 “ The galleons have come in,” said Madame Vauquer, 
 glancing at the bags. 
 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau dared not cast her eyes 
 at them, fearing to show her covetousness. 
 
 “ You have a good mother,” said Madame Couture. 
 
 “ Monsieur has a good mother,” repeated Poiret. 
 
 “ Oh, yes ! Mamma has bled herself,” said Vautrin, 
 “ and now you may take your fling if you like ; gb into 
 the world and fish for dots, or dance with countesses 
 and peach-blossoms. But take my advice, young man, 
 ■ — stick to the pistol-gallery.” 
 
 Vautrin put himself in the attitude of taking aim at 
 an adversary. Rastignac felt in his pocket for a pour- 
 boire to the messenger, but found nothing; Vautrin 
 put his hand in his, and flung the man a franc. 
 
PeT6 Croviot. 123 
 
 Your credit is good,” he observed, looking at the 
 student. 
 
 Rastignac was forced to thank him, although since 
 the sharp words they had exchanged after his first visit 
 to Madame de Beauseant the man had become intoler- 
 able to him. For a week Eugene and Vautrin had not 
 spoken, and each had silently watched the other. The 
 student in vain asked himself the reason. There is no 
 doubt that ideas strike with a force proportionate to the 
 vigor of their conception ; they hit the mark at which 
 they are aimed by some such mathematical law as that 
 which guides the shell when it leaves the mouth of the 
 cannon. The effects are various. There are tender 
 natures which ideas penetrate and blast to ashes ; there 
 are vigorous natures, skulls of iron, from which the 
 thoughts and wills of other men glance off like bullets 
 flattened as they strike a wall ; others, again, are soft 
 and cottony, and into them ideas sink dead, like can- 
 non-balls that bury themselves in the earth-works of a 
 fortification. 
 
 Rastignac’s nature was a powder-flask ready to ex- 
 plode at a touch. He had too much youthful vitality 
 not to be open to this imposition of ideas, — this mag- 
 netism of mind upon mind, whose capricious phenomena 
 affect us on all sides without our being aware of it. 
 His moral perceptions were as clear as his eyes, keen 
 as those of a lynx. Mentally and physically he had i 
 that mysterious power to take and give impressions at 
 which we marvel in men of superior calibre : skilful 
 swordsmen quick to know the weak places in every 
 breastplate. During the past month Eugene’s finer 
 qualities had developed in common with his defects* 
 
124 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 His defects were nourished by his entrance into the 
 great world, and by some slight accomplishment of his 
 'ambitious dreams. Among his finer qualities may be 
 "counted that southern vivacity of spirit which compels 
 a man to go straight at a difficulty and master it, and 
 will not suffer him to be baffied by uncertainty. This 
 quality northern people regard as a defect. To their 
 minds, if it was the cause of Murat’s rise, it was also the 
 cause of his death : from which we may conclude that 
 when a man unites the trickery of the north to the au- 
 dacity of the region south of the Loire, he has reached 
 perfection and may aspire to be king of Sweden. Rns- 
 tignac could not, therefore, long remain passive under 
 Vautrin’s fire without making up his mind whether the 
 man was his friend or his enemy. From lime to time 
 he was certain that this strange being penetrated his 
 motives, divined his passions, and read his heart ; hold- 
 ing guard at the same time over his own secrets with 
 the impassiveness of the sphinx who sees and knowa 
 all, and reveals nothing. His pockets being now full 
 of money, Eugene mutiniedo 
 
 Do me the favor to wait,” ho said to Vautrin, who 
 had risen to leave the room after drinking the last 
 drops of his coffee. 
 
 “ Why ? ” asked the latter, putting on his broad- 
 brimmed hat, and picking up his cane. This cane was 
 loaded with iron, and he was fond of twirling it about 
 his head with the air of a man who thought himself a 
 match for half-a-dozen robbers. 
 
 “ I wish to return your money,” replied Rastignac, 
 unfastening one of his bags and counting out a hun- 
 dred and forty francs for Madame Vauquer. “Short 
 
Pere Goriot, 
 
 125 
 
 accounts make long friends,” he said to the widow. 
 ‘‘ Now I have paid up to the last day of December 
 Can you change me this five-franc piece ?” 
 
 Long friends make short accounts,” echoed Poiret, 
 looking at Vautrin. 
 
 Here are your twenty sous^^ said Rastignac, hold- 
 ing out a franc to the sphinx in a wig. 
 
 “ One would think you were afraid to owe me any. 
 thing,” cried Vautrin, plunging his divining glance into 
 the very soul of the young man, and giving him one of 
 those mocking Diogenistic smiles which Eugene had 
 again and again been on the point of resenting. 
 
 W ell — yes,” said the student, lifting his bags and 
 preparing to go upstairs. 
 
 Vautrin went out of the door that led into the salon / 
 the student passed through that leading to the staircase. 
 
 Do you know, Monsieur le Marquis de Rastignaco- 
 rama, that what you said to me just now was not ex- 
 actly polite?” said Vautrin, coming through the door 
 leading from the salon into the passage, and speaking 
 to the student, who looked at him coolly. 
 
 Rastignac shut the dining-room door,, and drew Vau- 
 trin to the foot of the staircase, in the little square 
 space that separated the dining-room from the kitchen. 
 In this passage there was a glass door opening upon 
 the garden, the glass of which was protected by iron 
 bars. There the student said, before Sylvie, who was 
 coming out of her kitchen, — 
 
 ^'‘Monsieur Vautrin, I am not a marquis, and my 
 name is not Rastignacorama.” 
 
 “ They are going to fight,” said Mademoiselle Mi 
 chonneau in a tone of indifference. 
 
126 
 
 P^re Goriot, 
 
 “ Fight a duel,” repeated Poiret. 
 
 “Oh, no,” said Madame Vauquer, fingering her pile j 
 of five-franc pieces. 
 
 “ Oh, see ! They have gone down under the lin- 1 
 dens,” cried Mademoiselle Victorine, getting up and 
 looking into the garden. And he was in the right — 
 that poor young man ! ” 
 
 “ Let us go to our rooms, my dearest,” said Madame 
 Couture, ‘Hhese things do not concern us.” 
 
 As Madame Couture and Victorine turned to leave 
 the room they met Sylvie in the doorway, who barred 
 their passage. 
 
 What ’s the matter ? ” she cried. “ Monsieur V autrin 
 said to Monsieur Eugene, ‘ Let us have an explanation,’ 
 and he took him by the arm, and there they are, tramp- 
 ling down our artichokes.” 
 
 At this moment Vautrin re-appeared. “Madame 
 Vauquer,” he said, smiling, “don’t be afraid; I am 
 going to try my pistols under the trees yonder.” 
 
 “ Oh ! Monsieur,” cried Victorine, clasping her hands, 
 “ why do you wish to kill Monsieur Eugene ?” 
 
 Vautrin made a step backward and looked at her. 
 
 “ Oh ! ho ! — a new story,” he cried, with an amused air 
 which brought a blush to her pale cheek. “ He is very 
 nice, is n’t he? A charming young man ! You have given 
 me an idea. I ’ll make you both happy, my little girl.” 
 
 Madame Couture had taken her charge by the arm 
 and now drew her away hastily, saying in an under- 
 tone, “ Victorine ! what has come over you to-day ? ” 
 
 “I beg you will fire no pistols in my garden,” said 
 Madame Vauquer. “ Don’t go and frighten the whole 
 neighborhood, and bring the police upon us.” 
 
Fere Groriot. 
 
 127 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, keep cairn, Mamma Vauquer,” replied Vautrin. 
 
 « There, there — it ’s all right. We will go to the 
 
 pistol-gallery.” _ ^ , 
 
 He went back to Rastignac and took him familiarly 
 by the arm : “ If I prove to you that at thirty-six paces 
 I can put a bullet five times through the ace of spades, 
 it won’t take away your courage. You look to me 
 like a man who would balk at nothing when his blood 
 was up, and get himself killed as soon as not — like a 
 simpleton.” 
 
 “ You wish to back out of it,” said Eugene. 
 
 “ Don’t provoke me,” replied V autrin. “ Come and 
 sit down yonder,” he added, pointing to the benches 
 painted green ; “ it is not cold, and nobody can over- 
 hear us there. You are a good fellow, to whom 1 wish 
 no harm. I like you, on the honor of Tromp — thunder . 
 — honor of Vautrin ; and I ’ll tell you why I like you. 
 In the first place, I know you inside and out, just as 
 well as if I had made you ; and I will prove it to you. 
 Put your bags down there,” he added, pointing to the 
 round table. 
 
 Rastignac put his money on the table and sat down, 
 devoured by curiosity as to this sudden change in a 
 man who having just proposed to kill him, now as- 
 
 sumed to be his protector. 
 
 “ You want to know who I am, what I have done, 
 and what I am doing,” resumed Vautrin. “ You are too 
 inquisitive, young man — stop, stop ! be calm ! you have 
 mord of that to hear. I have had misfortunes. Listen 
 to me first ; you can talk afterwards. Here is my past 
 life in three words : Who am I ? Vautrin. — What do 
 I do ? Just what I please — Pass on. Do you want to 
 
128 
 
 P^re GiorioL 
 
 know my character ? Good to those who are good to 
 me; whose heart answers to mine. From them I’ll 
 take anything. They may kick me on the shins if 
 they like, I won’t even say, ‘ Take care ! ’ But, nom 
 d'une pipe^ I ’m as wicked as the devil to those who 
 annoy me, or those I don’t like. It is as well to let 
 you know at once that I don’t mind killing a man any 
 more than — that ! [spitting before him.] Only, I en- 
 deavor to kill him properly, and when it can’t be helped. 
 I am what you may call an artist. I have read the 
 memoirs of Benvenuto Cellini, — and read them in 
 Italian too, which may surprise you. 1 learned from 
 that man — bold, determined fellow that he was ! — to 
 imitate the ways of Providence, who kills at random, 
 and to love the beautiful wherever I see it. And, after 
 all, is n’t it a fine thing to stand single-handed against ' 
 the world, with the luck on our side ? 
 
 I have reflected deeply on the forces that govern 
 your social order — or disorder. My lad, duels are 
 child’s play, — absurdities. When in the course of 
 human events one of two living men has to disappear, 
 they must be idiots to leave anything to chance. A 
 duel ! heads or tails ! — that ’s what it is. I can put 
 five balls running through the same hole in the ace of 
 spades, — and at thirty-six paces, to boot. When any 
 one is gifted with that little talent, he might be sup- 
 posed to be certain of killing his man. Well, for all 
 that, I ’ve fired at a man at twenty paces, and missed 
 him ; and the scoundrel had never pulled a trigger in 
 his life ! See,” he continued, opening his shirt and 
 showing a breast as shaggy as a bear’s back, with long 
 hair like the mane of a wild animal, which caused a 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 129 
 
 sickening sensation of fear and repulsion ; that green- 
 horn scorched me/’ he added, catching Rastignac’s 
 hand and putting his finger into the scar. 
 
 But in those days I was a youngster ] only twenty- 
 one, — just your age ; and I still believed in something, 
 — woman’s love, for instance, and a heap of nonsense 
 into which you are just plunging. We might have 
 fought, and you might have killed me, just now. 
 Suppose I was underground, where would you be? 
 Obliged to fly to Switzerland and live on papa’s 
 money, — only he hasn’t got any. Now, I am going 
 to put before you the position in which you stand ; 
 and I shall do it with the authority of a man who has 
 looked into things in this lower world, and knows that 
 there are but two paths open to us, — blind obedience 
 or revolt. I don’t obey, — take that for granted. Now, 
 do you know what you need, at the pace you are 
 going? A million of francs, immediately. If you 
 don’t get them, with your excitable temperament 
 you’ll be wandering with your feet in the nets at 
 Saint-Cloud and your head in the air looking for the 
 Supreme Being, before long. I ’ll give you your 
 million.” 
 
 He paused and looked at Eugene. 
 
 “Ha, ha! We are getting friendly to Papa Vau- 
 trin. When he offers us a million, we are like a young 
 girl to whom the lover says, ^ To-night,’ and she begins 
 to prink like a little cat licking her fur when she has 
 lapped her milk. All right! Well, then, between 
 ourselves, this is how it is with you, young man. 
 Down yonder in the country there ’s papa and mamma, 
 and our great-aunt, and two sisters (seventeen and 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 eighteen years of age), and two little brothers (ten 
 and fifteen). There ’s the whole ship’s company. The 
 aunt teaches the sisters, the cure imparts Latin to the 
 boys. The family eat more boiled chestnuts than 
 wheat bread ; papa tries not to wear out his breeches ; 
 mamma can hardly buy herself a new gown summer or 
 winter ; the sisters get along as they can. I know it 
 all, — I’ve lived in the south of France. Somehow 
 they manage to send you twelve hundred francs a I 
 year, though the property only brings in three thou- 
 sand. We keep a cook and a man-servant for the 
 sake of appearances : papa is a baron, you know. As 
 for ourself, we are ambitious. We have the Beauseants 
 for allies ; but we have to go afoot, which does not | 
 please us. We want a fortune, and we haven’t a souJ 
 We eat Mamma Vauquer’s messes, but we long foi*^ 
 the feasts in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. We sleep 
 on a pallet, but we dream of a mansion. I don’t blame 
 you. You are ambitious. It is not every one, my 
 brave boy, who is blessed with ambition. Ask women 
 what sort of men they like best, — ambitious men. 
 Their blood has more iron in it, their hearts are 
 warmer. 
 
 “ I ’ve summed up your wants as a preface to a 
 question. Here it is. We are as hungry as a wolf ; 
 our milk-teeth are very sharp ; how are we going to 
 fill the pot ? Shall we stay our appetite on law ? 
 Studying law is dull work ; and, besides, it teaches 
 nothing. However, call it the best we can do, — for 
 we must do something. So be it, then. Well, we 
 graduate ; and by and by we get an appointment as 
 judge in some petty criminal court, and send off poor 
 
Pire Q-oriot. 
 
 131 
 
 devils better than ourselves with T F branded on 
 their shoulders, that rich men may sleep in peace. 
 Small fun in that ! and besides, it is long in coming. 
 In the first place, two years of weary waiting, — look- 
 ing at the sugarplums we long for, but cannot have. 
 It is hard to be always craving, never getting what we 
 want. If you were a poor, pale mollusk of a man, 
 there would be nothing to fear ; but, no ! we have the 
 blood of a lion in our veins, and the capacity for com- 
 mitting twenty follies a day. You will never bear the 
 trial ; you will sink under it ; it is the worst torture 
 that we have yet heard of in the hell of a good God. 
 But suppose you are irreproachable, — that you drink 
 milk and write hymns. After all your privations, — 
 enough to drive a dog mad, not to speak of a geneious 
 young fellow like you, — you will have to begin by tak- 
 ing another man’s place in some hole of a town where 
 the Government will pay you a thousand francs a year, 
 just as they fling a bone to the watch-dog. Bark at 
 the robbers, win the cause of the rich, and send to the 
 guillotine men of heart and pluck ? — No, thank you ! 
 If you have no one to push your fortunes, you will rot 
 in your petty judgeship. When you are thirty you 
 will be promoted to twelve hundred francs per an- 
 num, — unless by that time you have flung your 
 gown to the nettles. At forty you will marry a mil- 
 ler’s daughter, with six thousand francs a year for 
 her portion. 
 
 “To all this you say. Never! Well, if you have 
 influence you may possibly at thirty get to be pro- 
 cureur du roi, with a beggarly stipend of five thousand 
 francs a year, and marry the mayor’s daughter. If 
 
132 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 you have the luck to do any little meanness for the 
 Government, — such as reading the name of VilMe 
 from the register, instead of Manuel, — you may at 
 forty become procureur-general^ and rise to be a dep- 
 uty. But take notice, my young friend, that by this 
 time we shall have torn some big rents in our con- 
 science ; we shall have had twenty years of weary 
 waiting and bitter poverty, and by that time the 
 sisters auront coijfe Saint- Catherine^ and will have 
 turned into old maids. I have also the honor to 
 point out to you that there are only twenty procu- 
 reurs-generaux in France ; and that twenty thou- 
 sand young aspirants are standing in line, among 
 whom you will find fellows who would sell their 
 own families to advance a step. 
 
 If this prospect seems unpleasant, let us turn to 
 something else. Would the Baron de Rastignac like 
 to become an avocat — a barrister? Deliofhtful ! In 
 that case he will earn nothing for ten yeai's, spend a 
 thousand francs a month, need a law-library and an 
 office, kiss the robe of an attorney to get briefs, and 
 lick up the law courts with his tongue. If all this 
 would lead to anything it might be very well. But 
 find me six barristers in Paris who at fifty years of 
 age earn fifty thousand francs a year. Bah! sooner 
 than belittle my soul like that I’d take to piracy. 
 Well, then, how else can we make money? These 
 prospects are certainly not brilliant. There ’s another 
 resource; and that’s a wife’s fortune. But if you 
 marry, you tie a stone round your neck for life ; and 
 if you marry for money, what becomes of our fine sen- 
 timents about noblesse and honor ? You might as well 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 133 
 
 not put off your revolt against the conventional ideas 
 of humanity. To make such a marriage you would 
 have to wriggle like a snake at some woman’s feet, and 
 lick her mother’s shoes, and humiliate yourself to things 
 that would disgust a pig — pah ! And, after all, you 
 need n’t expect happiness. You would wear out like 
 the stones of a drain through continual dropping, if you 
 married a wife in this way. Better fight with men 
 than try your strength against a woman. Here you 
 are, young man, at the cross-roads of your life. Choose 
 your path. You have chosen? You have been to see 
 our cousin de Beauseant, and you have breathed the 
 atmosphere of luxury. You have been to visit Madame 
 de Restaud, daughter of Pere Goriot, and you have 
 scented the Parisienne. You came home from those 
 visits with a word written on your forehead. I read 
 it, — it was success ! — success at any price. Bravo ! 
 I said, that ’s the fellow to suit me. You wanted 
 money. You cast about to see how you might get 
 it. You bled your sisters ; all brothers sponge more 
 or less upon their sisters. And now that you have 
 got your fifteen hundred francs, squeezed — Heaven 
 knows. how! — out of a land where chestnuts are more 
 plentiful than five-franc pieces, you will find them dis- 
 appear like soldiers on a forage. 
 
 “ What next ? Will you set to work again ? The 
 sort of work that you call work at present leads in old 
 age to a bed-room in a pension like Madame Vauquer’s, 
 fit for chaps like Poiret. At this very moment fifty 
 thousand young men, situated just as you are, are re- 
 volving in their minds how to make a rapid fortune. 
 You are a unit among fifty thousand. Make your 
 
134 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 estimate of the chances and the fierceness of the fight 
 before you. The fifty thousand will have to eat each 
 other up, like spiders in a jug; for of course there 
 are not fifty thousand good positions, — one apiece all 
 round ! Do you know how to win a first place in the 
 struggle ? I will tell you. By the highest genius, or 
 the lowest corruption. You must either rend a way 
 for yourself through the crowd like a cannon-ball, or 
 you must creep through it silently like a pestilence. 
 Honesty and uprightness won’t help you. People 
 bend beneath the power of genius, but they hate it. 
 Genius is c.alumniated because it takes what it can get 
 and never shares its takings ; but the world bows 
 before its strength. In other words, the world wor- 
 ships on its knees those whom it cannot smother in 
 the mud. Corruption is also strength. Genius is 
 rare. It follows that corruption is the resource__of 
 the great commonplace majority ; and you will find 
 it everywhere. You will see women whose husbands 
 pay is six thousand francs at most, spending ten thou- 
 sand upon their toilettes. You will see employes who 
 have a salary of twelve hundred francs acquiring 
 landed property. You will see women prostituting 
 themselves to drive to Longchamps in the carriage 
 of the son of a peer of France which has a right to 
 the middle highway. You have seen that poor fool 
 of a Pere Goriot obliged to pay the note indorsed 
 by his daughter, whose husband has sixty thousand 
 francs per annum. I defy you to walk two steps in 
 Paris without stumbling on some infernal perfidy. 
 I ’d bet my head to one of those old salad stumps 
 that you will stick your nose into a wasp’s-nest the 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 135 
 
 rst time you fall in love with any woman, no mat- 
 jr how wealthy, or young, or handsome she may be. 
 dl women of fashion walk in crooked ways ; all are 
 t variance with their husbands. If I were to tell 
 ou what things are done for lovers and for frippery, 
 )r children and for show, and above all for vanity, I 
 lould never have done. Not much that is virtuous 
 ou may be sure. An honest man is deemed a com- 
 ion enemy. But where can we find an honest man ? 
 n Paris, honor and honesty consist in refusing to go 
 tiares, and holding one’s tongue. I am not speaking 
 ow of those poor Helots who stick to honesty and 
 irtue without expecting any recompense for their 
 ibors in this world, — the Brotherhood of the Old 
 Ihoes of the Good Lord, I call them. Of course they 
 re the fiower of virtuous foolishness, but they are 
 Iways poor. I can imagine the blank faces of that 
 aintly crowd if Heaven were to play us such a joke 
 s to omit the Day of Judgment. 
 
 “ Now, it follows that if you wish to get on quickly 
 'OU must either be rich or make believe to be so. To 
 ;row rich you must play a strong game, — not a trum- 
 )ery cautious one ; no ! no ! If in the hundred profes- 
 ions a man can choose from he makes a rapid fortune, 
 he world says he must have done it dishonestly. 
 Draw your own conclusions. Such is life. It is no 
 letter than a kitchen full of bad smells. If you have 
 ish to fry, you must soil your hands in frying them ; 
 inly be sure to wash them when you have done your 
 lookery. That is the moral of the times we live in. 
 ’ own that in speaking to you thus I know myself to 
 lave wrongs to avenge upon society. Do you think I 
 
136 
 
 Pire Qoriot. 
 
 blame it for its enmity to me? Not at all; it is nat- 
 ural. Moralists will make no radical changes, depend 
 upon it, in the morality of the great world. Human 
 nature is imperfect. Every man is a hypocrite, and ac 
 cording as he is more or less of one fools will cry oul 
 that he is better or worse. I don’t say that the rich 
 are any worse than the poor. Man is the same at the 
 tcrp or at the bottom or in the middle of society. You ’1 
 find ten bold fellows in every million of such cattle whe 
 dare to set things at defiance — including your laws 
 I am one of them. If you feel yourself to be a man 
 superior to other men, you may walk a straight line 
 possibly and hold your head high. But you will have 
 to struggle with envy, calumny, and mediocrity, in 
 short, against the world. Napoleon came near being 
 sent off to the colonies by a minister of war named 
 Aubry. Put yourself to the proof, — -see if you car 
 get up every morning with more energy than you fell 
 the day before. There ’s a test. 
 
 “Now, in view of all these circumstances, I au 
 going to make you a proposition that I think no mar 
 in your position should refuse. Listen ! I mysel: 
 cherish an ideal. My ideal existence is that of a patri 
 arch dwelling upon a vast estate — say a hundrei 
 thousand acres — in one of the Southern States o 
 North America. I should like to be a planter, to owt 
 slaves, and amass a few millions by selling my cattle 
 my tobacco, and timber. There, living like a king 
 with every creature round me subject to my will, 1 
 should lead a sort of life not conceived of in this 
 country, where people crowd themselves in streets o: 
 stucco. I am a poet, — only my poems are not mad< 
 
P^re Groriot. 
 
 137 
 
 n verse; they have their rise in sentiment, and 1 
 ,urn them into action. I possess at this moment about 
 ifty thousand francs, which would barely buy me 
 orty negroes. I want two hundred thousand francs, 
 jecause I need two hundred negroes to cany out 
 ny dreams of patriarchal existence. You see, negroes 
 ire ready-made children ; you may do whatever you 
 Dlease with them, without any inquisitive procureur 
 lu roi pouncing down upon you with questions. 
 With this blank capital, in ten years I should make 
 jhree or four millions. If I succeed, no man will 
 isk ‘Who are you?’ I shall be Monsieur Quatre- 
 Millions, citizen of the United States. I shall be 
 Sfty by that time, — still in my prime, and eager to 
 imuse myself. In two words, — if I get you a dot 
 af a million, will you give me two hundred thousand 
 francs ? Twenty per cent commission, — hein f — is 
 that too dear? You will win the affection of your 
 little wife. When you have been married a few 
 weeks you can let her see that you have something 
 on your mind ; you can seem disquieted, uneasy. 
 Then, some night, between two kisses, you can own 
 that you are in debt, — --two hundred thousand fiancs 
 — in debt, darling! This farce is acted every day, by 
 young men of good family. No young wife will refuse 
 her money to the man she loves. Do you think you 
 will be the poorer? Not at all. You can easily get 
 back your two hundred thousand francs in a good 
 speculation. With your money and your enterprise, 
 you will make as large a fortune as heart could wish. 
 Ergo, in six months I shall have made your happiness 
 and that of a sweet little wife. And happiest of all 
 
138 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 will be Papa Vautrin; to say nothing of your own 
 family, who are now blowing their fingers to keep 
 warm, for lack of fire-wood. You need not be aston- 
 ished at what I ofier, nor at what I ask. Out of sixty 
 good matches made in Paris, forty-seven owe their 
 origin to a similar understanding. The Chambre des 
 Notaires obliged Monsieur — ” 
 
 ‘‘ But what is there to be done on my part ? ” asked 
 Eugene, eagerly interrupting Vautrin. 
 
 “ Almost nothing,” replied the other, letting a sound 
 escape him like the click of satisfaction given by an 
 angler when he feels the fish at the end of his line. 
 ‘‘ Listen. The heart of a young girl used to neglect 
 and poverty is a sponge ready to absorb any affection 
 offered to her, — a dry sponge, which begins to swell 
 as soon as a drop of love falls upon it. To make love 
 to a young girl under such circumstances, — a poor, 
 lonely, and dispirited girl, a girl who knows nothing of 
 the prospect of great wealth that is in store for her, — 
 damn it! it is like holding quinte and quatorze at 
 piquet ; it is like putting into a lottery when you know 
 the numbers ; it is like buying into the funds when 
 you ^^e found out the secrets of diplomacy. You are 
 building on a sure foundation. If the young girl 
 inherits millions, she will pour them at your feet as if 
 they were pebble-stones. She will say, ‘ Ah ! take 
 them, dearest ! Take them, Alfred, Adolphe, Eugene ! ’ 
 — especially if Adolphe, Alfred, or Eugene have had 
 the sense to make sacrifices for her. By sacrifices I 
 mean such as selling an old coat that he and she may 
 go together to the Cadran-Bleu and eat mushroom 
 toast, or to the Ambigu-Comique, — or else pawning 
 
Pere GrorioU 
 
 139 
 
 yoar watch to buy her a new shawl. I say nothing 
 about love-scribbling, and all the stuff and nonsense 
 Tvornen make so much of, — such as sprinkling water 
 on your letter to make it look like tears, when you are 
 parted from her. I fancy you know all that argot of 
 the heart well enough already. Paris is like a forest 
 peopled by twenty different tribes of red Indians, — 
 Iroquois, Hurons, and the like, — who all live by hunt- 
 ing the prosperous classes. You are bent on bagging 
 millions. Your trapping will require snares, decoys, 
 and bird-lime. There are many ways of going after 
 that kind of game. Some hunt for dots ; others grow 
 rich by bankruptcy ; others angle for consciences, and 
 sell their victims bound hand and foot. He who comes 
 home with a good bag is congratulated, feted, and re- 
 ceived in good society. Let us do justice to the hos- 
 pitality of Paris ; it is the easiest city to get on in in 
 the world. Though the proud aristocracy of every 
 other capital in Europe may decline to countenance a 
 rascally millionnaire, Paris will open her arms to him, 
 rush to his parties, eat his dinners, and hob-nob with 
 him and his infamy.’’ 
 
 But where can I find such a girl ? ” said Eugene. 
 
 “ She is here ; close at hand.” 
 
 Mademoiselle Victorine ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Precisely.” 
 
 “ But how can that be ? ” 
 
 She loves you already, — your little Baronne de 
 Rastignac.” 
 
 “ She has not a sou ! ” cried Eugene in amazement. 
 
 Ah ! now we are coming to the point. Two words 
 more,” said Vautrin, ‘‘and then you will understand 
 
140 
 
 PSre Goriot. 
 
 me. Papa Taillefer is an old rascal, who is said to 
 have murdered his best friend during the Revolution. 
 He is one of those fellows I spoke of, who are not tied 
 down by scruples or conventionalities. He is a banker, 
 — head of the house of Frederic Taillefer & Co. He 
 lias one son, to whom he intends to leave his whole 
 fortune and disinherit Victorine. I object to such in- 
 justice. I am like Don Quixote, — I delight in taking 
 the part of the weak against the strong. If it pleased] 
 a wise Providence to kill his son, old Taillefer would 
 take back his daughter. He would want some kind 
 of an heir, for that is a folly common to human nar 
 ture ; and he won’t have any more children, I know. 
 Victorine is pretty and amiable; she will soon work 
 her way into his favor, and spin him round like a 
 whipping top ; her whip will be the liking he will take 
 for her. She will be too grateful to you for loving her 
 when she was poor to throw you over when she is rich, 
 and you will marry her. Well, I take upon myself 
 the duty of a wise Providence, — I will play the part 
 of Destiny. I have a friend for whom I have done 
 ninch, very much, — a colonel in the army of the 
 Loire, who has lately come to Paris to enter the 
 Garde Royale. He has taken my advice and become 
 .‘ill ultra-royalist : he is not one of those fools who 
 stick to their opinions. I may as well give you an- 
 other bit of advice, my friend. Don’t keep your opin- 
 ions any more than your promises. When people 
 need them, sell them. When a man boasts that he 
 holds fast to one opinion, he pledges himself to walk a 
 straight line, and is one of those ninnies who believe 
 in infallibility. There are no such things as principles, 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 141 
 
 -there are events. Neither are there laws, — only 
 ircumstances. A wise man grasps circumstances and 
 vents, and guides them. If there were essential prin- 
 iples or fundamental laws, the populations could not 
 hange them, as they now change them, like a shirt. 
 
 , man is not bound to be wiser than his gener.ation. 
 'he man of all others whose political career has been 
 f least service to France is now an ancient fetich, 
 dored because he was a red republican. He is good 
 Dr nothing, now, but to be shelved in a IHuseum and 
 icketed La Fayette; while Talleyrand, at whom 
 verybody casts a stone, and who despises mankind so 
 ttei-ly that he will spit back into the world’s face any 
 romises it may require of him, hindered the dismem- 
 erment of France at the Congress of Vienna. He 
 ught to be honored with crowns ; but the world flings 
 lud at him. Oh, I know how things work ! I have 
 iiany a man’s secret in my keeping. Enough of this, 
 shall begin to hold flxed opinions on the day when 
 find any three men agreeing on the practical applica- 
 Lon of a principle. I expect to wait a good while, 
 fou can’t find three judges in accord on a question 
 f law. To come back to my man. He would sell 
 ,is soul — it belongs to me — if I asked him. If 
 hrpa Vautrin speaks the word, he will pick a quarrel 
 rith that young blackguard who never sends a five- 
 ranc piece to his poor sister, and then ■ ” 
 
 Here Vautrin rose, put himself on guard, and made 
 , pass as if with a sword — “ To the shades ! ” he 
 dded. 
 
 “ Monstrous ! ” cried Eugene ; “ you must be jokingi 
 lonsieur Vautrin.” 
 
142 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 There, there, keep calm ! ” replied the other, “ don’ 
 be a baby. Still, if it will do you any good, get angr|^ 
 furious ; tell me I am a wretch, a villain, a scoundrel 
 a robber, — anything you like, except cheat or spy 
 Go on ; speak ; fire your broadside, — I ’ll forgive you 
 It is natural at your age ; I did the same in my time 
 even I. But remember this^ — you will do worse thai 
 that some day. You will win some pretty womai 
 and accept her money. You have thought of it al 
 ready,” said Vautrin; ‘‘how else do you expect U 
 succeed if you don’t turn her to advantage ? Virtue 
 my dear student, is not a thing you can have by halves 
 It is — or it is not. We are told to repent of our sins, 
 Another pretty system, that lets a man get rid of hi^ 
 crimes by a mere act of contrition ! To plan a woman’^ 
 infamy that you may mount the social ladder ; to put a 
 strain of illegitimacy among the children ; to be guilty 
 of cruelties and wrongs for your own pleasure and ad- 
 vantage, — are those what you call works of faith, hope, 
 and charity ? Why should a man of fashion be lightly 
 dealt with for defrauding the rightful heir of half hig 
 fortune, while the poor devil who steals a thousand- 
 franc note goes to the galleys ? But such is law. 
 Every enactment may be stretched to an absurdity. 
 Between what I propose to you and what you will do 
 some day there is no difference. You believe that there 
 are certain principles as fixed as Fate in this world. 
 Study men, and see how many loop-holes there are 
 through which they set laws and principles at defiance. 
 The secret of a great fortune made without apparent 
 cause is soon forgotten, if the crime is committed in ^4 
 respectable way.” 
 
Pere Croriot. 
 
 143 
 
 " Silence, Monsieur ! I will hear no more. You will 
 lake me doubt myself, — and my only guide is the in- 
 duct of my own heart.” 
 
 “ As you please, bel enfant ! I thought you stronger 
 lan I find you,” said Vautrin. “ I will say no more — 
 es, a last word.” He looked steadily at the student. 
 You have my secret,” he said. 
 
 “A young man who declines your offer will know 
 ow to forget it.” 
 
 “ That is well said ; I am glad you have said it. 
 ■ome one, you know, may be less scrupulous. Think 
 ver what I have wished to do for you. I will give you 
 wo weeks. Take my offer or leave it — as you will.” 
 
 “ Man of iron ! ” thought Rastignac, as he watched 
 ^autrin walk leisurely away with his cane under his 
 rm. “ He told me bluntly what Madame de Beauseant 
 aid in more ambiguous words. He has torn my heart 
 dth his steel claws. Why am I going to Madame de 
 ^ucingen’s ? He guessed my motives, — guessed them 
 s soon as I conceived them. This brigand has told 
 ae in two words more about virtue than books or men 
 lave ever taught me. If there is no compromise with 
 'irtue, then I have robbed my sisters,” he cried, push- 
 ng the money-bags away from him and sitting down 
 it the table. His thoughts bewildered him. “ To be 
 aithful to vii'tue,” he said to himself, “ is it to suffer 
 nartyrdom? Bah! every one believes in virtue, but 
 vho is virtuous ? Nations take liberty for their idol, 
 rat is there upon earth one nation free? My youth 
 8 still unsullied as the blue of heaven. If I resolve to 
 he rich and great, must I bring myself to stooping, ly- 
 ng, grovelling, threatening, flattering, deceiving ? Shall 
 
144 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 I make myself the lacquey of those who lie and crawl 
 and deceive ? Before I become their accomplice shall 
 I be forced to do them service? No! I wall not! ] 
 will toil nobly in the fear of God ; I will labor night 
 and day. I will owe my fortune to myself, and my- 
 self only. It may be slow in coming, but each night 1 
 shall lay my head upon my pillow without a shameful 
 thought. What can be more blessed than to look back 
 upon one’s life, and see it pure and stainless as a lily r 
 My life and I are like a bride and her lover — Ah ! 
 Vautrin showed me what comes to pass after ten years 
 of marriage. God ! My head swims — I will not 
 reason ; the heart is my true guide — ” 
 
Pete G-oriot, 
 
 146 
 
 X. 
 
 Eugeiste was awakened from his reverie by the voice 
 sf Sylvie announcing the arrival of his tailor. He went 
 in to meet him, carrying his bags of money, a trifling 
 3ircumstance which gave him pleasure. After trying 
 311 his evening suit, he put on the morning one which 
 transformed him completely. “ I ani quite up to Mon- 
 sieur de Trailles,” he said to himself complacently. 
 “At last I look like a gentleman.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Here Goriot, coming into Eugene’s 
 chamber, “ you asked me if I knew to whose house 
 Madame de Nucingen was going.” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “Well, next Monday she is going to a ball at the 
 Mar4ohale Carigliano’s. If you are there you will tell 
 me how my daughters enjoyed themselves, how they 
 were dressed, and all about them?” 
 
 “How did you And it out, my good Here Goriot?” 
 said Eugene, making him sit down by the Are. 
 
 “ Her maid told me. I know all they do through 
 Therese and Constance,” he said gleefully. The old 
 man was like a lover, still boyish enough to be de- 
 lighted with a stratagem which put him in communi- 
 cation with the object of his adoration without her 
 knowing it. 
 
 “ And you will be there to see them ! ” he said in a 
 tone of mixed envy and suffering. 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 \ 
 
 am going 
 shall ask her 
 was thinking 
 
 I don’t know yet,” replied Eugene, 
 to call on Madame de Beauseant, and I 
 to introduce me to the Marechale.” He 
 with inward joy of showing himself to the viscountess 
 in his new clothes, and looking as he intended to look 
 for the rest of his days. What moralists call great 
 crises in the human heart are commonly the offspring 
 of deceptive and involuntary movements of self-interest. 
 Sudden changes of purpose hard to understand, unac- 
 countable reversals of a first desire, spring generally 
 from some calculation in favor of self-indulgence. 
 When Rastignac beheld himself well dressed, well 
 gloved, well booted, he forgot his virtuous resolutions. 
 The young dare not look at themselves in the glass of 
 conscience when it reveals them as they should be and 
 not as they would be ; older men have the nerve to 
 see themselves reflected undisguised. In this lies the 
 difference between the ages. 
 
 For some days past Eugene and Pere Goriot had be- 
 come close friends. Their intimacy had its origin in 
 the same psychological mystery which produced the 
 opposite effect upon the student in his relations with 
 Vautrin. The bold philosopher who seeks to show 
 the influence of mind upon our material being may ob- 
 tain many a proof by observing the relations between 
 man and animals. What physiognomist is so quick to 
 discern character as a dog is to know whether a stranger 
 likes or dislikes him ? Les atomes crochus (elective 
 affinities) is an expression which has passed into a pro- 
 verb, and contains one of those facts permanently im- 
 bedded in language as a protest against the stupidity 
 of those who make it their business to winnow out of 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 147 
 
 our speech its primitive words.^ We feel ourselves 
 beloved. The feeling stamps itself on everything, and 
 ignores space. A letter holds beneath its seal a human 
 soul. It is so faithful an echo of the voice that speaks 
 too far away for us to hear, that the heart prizes 
 written words as among the richest treasures in the 
 gift of love. Pere Goriot, raised by his instinctive sen- 
 timent to the sublimest heights attainable by canine 
 nature, had guessed intuitively the compassion, the 
 friendly admiration, and the fresh young sympathy 
 which moved the heart of the student towards him. 
 But this understanding had as yet led to no confidence 
 between them. Though Eugene had expressed a wish 
 to see Madame de Nucingen, it was not because he ex- 
 pected to be introduced to her by her father ; he merely 
 hoped that through him something might turn up to 
 aid his plans. Pere Goriot had said nothing to him 
 about his daughters, except in connection with what 
 had passed in public on the day of his visit to the 
 countess. 
 
 “ My dear Monsieur,” the old man had remarked the 
 next morning, ^^how could you think that Madame de 
 Restaud was displeased with you for mentioning my 
 name? My daughters both love me dearly. I am a 
 very happy father ; only my sons-in-law have not be- 
 haved well to me. I did not wish to make my two 
 dear children suffer because of my misunderstandings 
 with their husbands ; so I prefer to see them secretly. 
 This mystery gives me many enjoyments, such as fathers 
 
 1 Atomes crochus (hooked atoms), — atoms supposed to be 
 hooked, according to the system of Democritus and Epicurus, so 
 that they catch and hold each other when they meet. — Littr£ 
 
148 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 never feel who can see their daughters at any moment. 
 I cannot always — you understand. If I do not see 
 them at their homes I go to the Champs-Elysees, — 
 after finding out from their maids whether they are 
 going out that day. I wait to see them pass. How 
 my heart beats when I see their carriages ! When 
 they come near I admire their toilettes^ and they 
 give me a pretty laugh as they drive by, which gilds 
 the world around me like a ray of sunshine. Then I 
 stay about till they return. I see them again. The 
 fresh air has done them good ; they have a color in 
 their cheeks. I hear people saying, ‘There goes a 
 beautiful woman,’ and my heart leaps for joy. Are 
 they not mine? — my own fiesh and blood? I love 
 the very horses in their carriages. I should like to be 
 the lap-dog lying on their knees. I live in their happi- 
 ness. Everybody has his own way of loving, — mine 
 does no harm to any one. Why should people trouble 
 themselves about me? I am happy after my own 
 fashion. No law forbids my standing in the street to 
 see my daughters when they come out of their houses 
 to go to a ball. Ah ! what a disappointment if I get 
 there too late, and the porter says, ‘ Madame is gone.’ 
 Once I waited till three in the morning to see my 
 Nasie : I had not seen her for two days. Please never 
 speak as if my daughters were not kind to me. They 
 want to give me all manner of presents ; but I will 
 not let them. I always say, ‘ Keep your money ; what 
 could I do with it ? I don’t want for anything.’ In- 
 deed, my dear Monsieur, what am I but an old car- 
 cass whose soul is with his daughters all the time? 
 When you have seen Madame de Nucingen you must 
 
Peve Q'Oriot. 
 
 149 
 
 ell me which of the two you like better,” added the 
 )ld man after a moment’s silence, watching Eugene, 
 vho was making ready to go to the Tuileries and 
 ounge away the time until he could call on Madame 
 le Beauseant. 
 
 That lounge was fatal to our student. He was so 
 i^oung, so handsome, and so well dressed that several 
 vomen took notice of him. When he felt himself the 
 )bject of their admiring glances he forgot the sisters 
 md the aunt whom he had despoiled, and all his virtu- 
 ous repugnance to crooked paths. Satan, that fallen 
 ingel, _ still angelic to the eye, — passed in the air 
 about him floating on prismatic wing ; that fatal an- 
 gel who scatters rubies, wraps women in purple, wings 
 golden arrows at the gates of palaces, and sheds a false 
 radiance upon thrones once in their origin so simple. 
 He gave ear to this demon of vain glory, whose tinsel 
 is the symbol of its power. The words of Vautrm, 
 cynical as they were, had lodged in his heart and seared 
 their way. 
 
 After idling about till flve o’clock, Eugene presented 
 himself at Madame de Beauseant’s, and received one 
 of those sharp checks against which young hearts are 
 defenceless. Up to this time he had always found the 
 viscountess full of the gracious honeyed courtesy which 
 is attainable only through aristocratic training, though 
 it is never in perfection unless it springs from the 
 heart. 
 
 When he entered., Madame de Beauseant made a 
 chilling gostare, and said coldly, “ Monsieur de Ras- 
 tignac, 1 cannot possibly see you to-day ; certainly not 
 at this moment — I am occupied. 
 
160 
 
 Pere Gioriot, 
 
 Rastignac had now become a quick observer. Th^ 
 words, gesture, look, the tone of voice, were all sign^: 
 of the habits and character of her caste. He perceived 
 the iron hand within the velvet glove, the personality 
 and the egoism beneath the manner, the grain of the 
 wood below the polish. He heard the Moi^ le — 
 
 1, the King,” — which begins at the throne, but echoeg 
 from every well-born gentleman and gentlewoman. 
 Eugene had trusted too implicitly to the generous im- 
 pulses of women. He had signed in good faith the 
 charming covenant whose first article proclaims the 
 equality of all noble hearts. Kindness given and 
 received aright, and knitting two hearts into one, is 
 a thing of heaven, as rare in this world as a perfect 
 love ; both are the overflow of only very rare and 
 beautiful souls. 
 
 Rastignac was bent on going to the ball of the 
 Duchesse de Carigliano, and therefore he swallowed 
 his mortification. 
 
 Madame,” he said in a low voice, ‘‘ were it not that 
 I had something to ask I would not trouble you. Be 
 so gracious as to let me see you later. I will wait.” 
 
 ‘‘Well, come and dine,” she said, rather sorry for 
 the harshness with which she had treated him ; for at 
 heart she was kind as well as stately. 
 
 Though somewhat touched by this sudden relenting, 
 Rastignac said to himself as he left the courtyard, 
 
 “ Crawl, if you must ; bear everything. What can 
 other women be, if in a moment the best among them 
 forgets her promises of friendship and casts me aside 
 like an old shoe? Well, each man for himself! It is 
 true her house is not a shop where I have the right to 
 
Pere Croriot. 
 
 161 
 
 buy the things I want. I do wrong to have need of 
 her. As Vautrin says, one should be a cannon-ball, 
 and make one’s way accordingly.” 
 
 Thus, by a sort of fatality, even the trifling events 
 of his life conspired to push him into a career where, 
 as the terrible sphinx of the Maison Vauquer warned 
 him, he must slay to escape being slain, deceive lest 
 he should be deceived, lay down heart and conscience 
 at the threshold, put on a mask, use men for his pur- 
 poses without pity, and, like the Spartan boy, snatch 
 fortune unperceived, if he wished to wear the crown. 
 
 When he went back to dinner at the Hotel Beause- 
 ant he found its mistress full of the gracious kindness 
 she had hitherto shown him. They went together into 
 the dining-room, where Monsieur de Beauseant was 
 awaiting his wife, and where Eugene saw for the first 
 time all that table luxury which, as every one knows, 
 was carried under the Bestoration to the highest pitch 
 of perfection. Monsieur de Beauseant, like other men 
 wearied with the pleasures of the world, cared for lit- 
 tle now but good eating. His taste in cookery was 
 of the school of Louis XVIH. and the Due d’Escars. 
 His table ofiered a double luxury to his guests, in the 
 perfection of its service and the perfection of its menu. 
 Nothing of the kind had ever come into the experi- 
 ence of Eugene, who was dining for the first time in 
 one of those great houses where domestic splendor is 
 an hereditary tradition. Fashion had done away with 
 the suppers that formerly wound up the balls of the 
 Empire, and as yet Eugene had only been invited to 
 balls. The social assurance and self-possession for which 
 be subsequently became so distinguished, and which 
 
152 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 began to show itself even at this early stage of his can 
 reer, prevented him from betraying his wonder. Bui 
 the sight of all that glittering oilver and the thousand 
 refinements of a sumptuous table, the pleasure enjoyed 
 for the first time of being served noiselessly and with- 
 out confusion, made it natural for a youth of lively 
 imagination to contrast this elegance with the life of 
 privation he had declared himself willing to embrace 
 only a few hours before. His thoughts went back for 
 a moment to the pension ; and such horror of it filled 
 his mind that he swore under his breath to leave it on 
 the 1st of January, — ^ as much to find himself a better 
 lodging as to escape Vautrin, whose huge hand he 
 seemed always to feel upon his shoulder. 
 
 If we remember the thousand shapes that vice takes, 
 disguisedly or undisguisedly, in Paris, a man of sense 
 must wonder what aberration of mind has led the Gov- 
 ernment to place schools and colleges within the city, 
 and to collect in the very heart of it a vast assemblage 
 of young men. But when we come to discover how 
 seldom crimes, or even misdemeanors, are committed 
 by students, with what respect must we regard these 
 patient sons of Tantalus, who nearly always come off 
 conquei'ors in their combat with temptation. This 
 struggle of the student against the world of Paris, if 
 it could be painted by the hand of a great minster, 
 would be the most dramatic subject for art -in, our 
 modern civilization. 
 
 Madame de Beauseant now looked inquiringly at 
 Eugene, expecting him to explain what he had to 
 ask of her ; but Eugene would say nothing before the 
 viscount. 
 
Pere Groriot, 163 
 
 « Shall you take me to-night to the opera? ” asked 
 the viscountess of her husband. 
 
 You cannot doubt the pleasure it would give me 
 to be at your disposal,” he replied, with an elaborate 
 gallantry, of which the student was the dupe ; but I 
 have promised to join some one at the Variet^s.” 
 
 ‘‘ His mistress ! ” she said to herself. 
 
 Is not d’Adjuda coming this evening?” he asked, 
 
 “ No,” she replied shortly. 
 
 ‘‘ Well, if you are really in need of an escort, here is 
 Monsieur de Rastignac.” 
 
 The viscountess looked at Eugene with a smile. 
 
 ‘‘ It may seriously compromise you,” she said. 
 
 ‘‘‘A Frenchman courts danger, if it leads to glory,’ 
 as Monsieur de Chateaubriand says,” replied Eugene, 
 with a bow. 
 
 A few moments later he was driving rapidly with 
 Madame de Beauseant to the fashionable theatre, and 
 felt himself in fairy-land as he entered a box facing 
 the stage, and peiceived how many opera-glasses were 
 levelled at himself and the viscountess, whose toilette 
 that evening was particularly charming. Our poor 
 student passed from one enchantment to another. 
 
 “You had something to say to me.^ ” said Madame 
 de Beauseant. “Ah! stay, — there is Madame de 
 Nucingen, three boxes from ours. Her sister and 
 Monsieur de Trailles are on the other side of the 
 house.” 
 
 As she said this, the viscountess was looking at the 
 box where she expected to see Mademoiselle de 
 Rochefide ; not finding Monsieur d’Adjuda there, her 
 face brightened exceedingly. 
 
i54 
 
 Pere*Goriot, 
 
 “ She is pretty,” said Eugene, after having looked* 
 at Madame de Nucingen. 
 
 ‘‘ She has white eyebrows.” 
 
 “ But what a pretty waist ! ” 
 
 She has large hands.” 
 
 “ Fine eyes.” 
 
 “ Her face is too long.” 
 
 “ A long face is said to give distinction.” 
 
 “ That is lucky for her, then. See how she picks up 
 her opera-glass and puts it down ! You can see the 
 Goriot in every movement,” said the viscountess, much 
 to the amazement of Eugene. 
 
 The truth was, Madame de Beauseant, while appar- 
 ently looking over all parts of the house and paying 
 no attention to Madame de Nucingen, did not lose a 
 single one of her movements. The audience was re- 
 markably elegant that night, and Delphine de Nu- 
 cingen was not a little pleased to perceive that she 
 engrossed the attention of Madame de Beauseant’s 
 handsome cousin, who seemed to single her out for 
 observation. 
 
 “If you continue to look at her you will create a 
 scandal. Monsieur de Rastignac,” said the viscountess. 
 ‘^You will never succeed if you fling yourself head- 
 long at people in that way.” 
 
 “ My dear cousin,” said Eugene, “ you have already 
 taken me under your protection. If you would now 
 complete your work, I will only ask you to do me one 
 more favor. It will not hurt you, and it will be of the 
 greatest help to me. Do you know, I have taken a 
 fancy to her.” 
 
 “ Already ? ” 
 
Fere Goriot. 
 
 156 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ That woman ! ” 
 
 “Would my devotion be acceptable elsewhere?” he 
 asked, with a keen glance at his cousin. After a pause 
 he resumed, — 
 
 “ Madame la Duchesse de Carigliano is attached to 
 the household of Madame la Duchesse de Bern. You 
 know her, of course. Do me the kindness to introduce 
 me to her, and take me to her ball next Monday. I 
 shall meet Madame de Nucingen there, and make my 
 first essay.” 
 
 « Willingly,” she said ; “ if you really fancy her, you 
 will get on easily. There is de Marsay in Princess 
 Galathionne’s box. Madame de Nucingen can hardly 
 contain herself for spite. There could not be a better 
 moment for making your way with a woman, especially 
 a bankei-’s wife. Those Chaussee d’Antin ladies dearly 
 love revenge.” 
 
 “What would you do under similar circumstances ? ” 
 “ Suffer, and make no sign.” 
 
 At that moment the Marquis d’Adjuda came into 
 the box. “I have dispatched my business very badly 
 that I might be in time to join you,” he said. “ I tell 
 you this, because if it seems a sacrifice in your eyes 
 it is no longer one to me.” 
 
 The light that broke over her face taught Eugene 
 the difference between a real affection and the shams 
 of coquetry. He admired his cousin. He grew silent, 
 and yielded his place to Monsieur d’Adjuda with a 
 sigh. “What a noble creature such a woman is!” 
 he thought ; “ and this man gives her up for a wax 
 doll!” 
 
156 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 He felt as angry as a boy. He would have liked to 
 fall down at Madame de Beauseant’s feet and offer her 
 an unlimited devotion, and he looked at Madame de 
 Nucingen with a revulsion of feeling, as a man looks 
 at an adversary. 
 
 The viscountess turned her head and thanked him 
 for his consideration with a little motion of the eyelids. 
 The first act was now over. 
 
 Do you know Madame de Nucingen well enough 
 to introduce to her Monsieur de Rastignac ? ” she said 
 to the Marquis d’Adjuda. 
 
 She will be charmed to know Monsieur,” said the 
 marquis. 
 
 The handsome Portuguese rose, took the student by 
 the arm, and in a moment they were in the box of 
 Madame de Nucingen. 
 
 Madame la baronne,” said the marquis, ‘‘ I have 
 the honor to present to you the Chevalier Eugene de 
 Rastignac, a cousin of Madame de Beauseant. You 
 have made so great an impression on him that I am 
 delighted to complete his happiness by bringing him 
 into the presence of his divinity.” 
 
 These words were said with a slight tone of irony, 
 which made the speech a little impertinent. But this 
 tone skilfully applied is not altogether displeasing to 
 women. Madame de Nucingen smiled and offered 
 Eugene her husband’s seat, the baron having just left 
 the box. 
 
 “ I dare not propose to you to remain with me, Mon- 
 sieur,” she said ; when any one has the happiness to 
 be placed near Madame de Beauseant his first wish is 
 to remain there.” 
 
Pere GorioL 
 
 157 
 
 ‘‘ But, Madame/’ said Eugene, lowering his voice, 
 
 ‘ it seems to me that if I wish to please my cousin I 
 5hall stay here. Before Monsieur le marquis came into 
 her box we were talking of you,” he said aloud, ‘‘ and 
 
 your air of distinction.” 
 
 Monsieur d’Adjuda retired. 
 
 “ Are you really going to remain with me, Monsieur?” 
 said the baronne *, shall we at last make acquaintance 
 with one another ? Madame de Bestaud has given me 
 a great wish to know you.” 
 
 ‘‘ She is very insincere then. She has shut her doors 
 against me.” 
 
 How is that ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Madame, I will tell you plainly the reason j but I 
 must ask your indulgence if I do so. I am the neigh- 
 bor of Monsieur, your father, — our rooms adjoin. I 
 did not know that Madame de Restaud was his daugh- 
 ter. I had the want of tact to speak of him, most inno- 
 cently but in a way that offended Madame de Restaud 
 and her husband. You cannot imagine how much 
 Madame la Duchesse de Langeais and my cousin con- 
 demn the want of filial feeling on the part of your 
 sister. I told them the story, and they laughed at my 
 blunder. It was then that, comparing you with your 
 sister, Madame de Beauseant spoke most warmly of 
 you, and told me how kind you are to my neighbor 
 Monsieur Goriot. How indeed could you help loving 
 him ? He adores you so passionately that I feel jeah 
 ous already. We were talking of you two hours this 
 morning. This evening, as my mind dwelt on what 
 he had told me, I said to my cousin with whom I 
 was dining, that I did not believe you could be as 
 
158 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 beautiful in person as you were amiable in heart 
 Willing no doubt to favor my admiration, Madame de 
 Beauseant brought me with her this evening, telling 
 me, in her gracious way, that I should certainly see 
 you here.” 
 
 Ah ! Monsieur, do I owe you gratitude already ? ” 
 said the banker’s wife ; a little more and we shall be 
 old friends.” 
 
 ‘‘ Friendship must be a noble sentiment when in- 
 spired by you,” said Rastignac ; “ but I shall never ask 
 for your friendship.” 
 
 Such stereotyped nonsense in the mouths of debu- 
 tants seem to please women, and are only absurd when 
 written down in cold blood. The gesture, the tone, 
 and the glance of a young man lends to such speeches 
 a certain charm. Madame de Nucingen was delighted 
 with Eugene. Then, as she could say nothing in reply 
 to such sentiments, she responded to another part of 
 his speech : — 
 
 ‘‘Yes, my sister does herself harm by the way she 
 neglects our poor father, who has been a perfect Provi- 
 dence to both of us. Monsieur de Nucingen was 
 obliged to give me peremptory orders not to receive 
 my father among my other guests before I would yield 
 the point to him. It has made me very miserable ; 1 
 have wept over it. His violence on this subject, joined 
 to other conjugal unkindness, has greatly troubled my 
 domestic happiness. I may be a fortunate woman in 
 the eyes of Paris, but I consider myself one of the 
 most pitiable. You will think me mad to speak to you 
 in this way. But since you know my father I cannot 
 feel to you as a stranger.” 
 
Pere GorioL 
 
 159 
 
 Indeed you could meet no one,” cried Eugene, 
 ‘^more desirous of doing you service. What are ali 
 women striving for? Is it not happiness? And if 
 happiness for a woman is,” he added, in a low voice, 
 ‘‘ to be loved, adored ; to possess a friend in whom 
 she may unhesitatingly confide her desires, her fan- 
 cies, her griefs, her joys, — before whom she can lay 
 bare her heart with all its excellences and all its 
 weaknesses, and know that her confidence will never 
 be betrayed, — then, believe me, such a friend can 
 only be found in a young man full of illusions, who 
 knows nothing of the world, nor ever will know, 
 because you will be all the world to him. You will 
 laugh at my naivete when I tell you that I have just 
 come up from the country, that I am new to the world, 
 that I have never known any one who was not good 
 and true. I thought I should live without love here 
 in Paris; but I have been thrown with my cousin, who 
 has deeply touched my feelings ; she has let me see into 
 her heart, and I have guessed at treasures of affection. 
 Like Cherubin, I am the lover of all women until I 
 may devote myself to one. When I saw you to-night 
 for the first time, I felt as if I were floated towards 
 you by the force of a current. I had been thinking of 
 you so much ! But in ray dreams you were not as 
 beautiful as you are in reality. Madame de Beauseant 
 ordered me not to fix my eyes upon you. She could 
 not understand the attraction of your sweet lips, your 
 lovely color, your soft eyes. I, too, am talking madly, 
 but suffer me to say these things to you.” 
 
 Nothing pleases some women more than to hear 
 such honeyed words. The strictest among them wiU 
 
160 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 listen, even though she does not respond. Having 
 thus begun, Rastignac ran on with more of the same 
 kind, telling his beads of coquetry in a low and vi- 
 brant voice; while Madame de Nucingen encouraged 
 him by her smiles, all the while keeping an eye upon 
 de Marsay, who was still in the box of the Princess 
 Galathionne. 
 
 Rastignac stayed with Madame de Nucingen till her 
 husband came to take her home. 
 
 “ Madame,” said Eugene, “ I shall have the honor of 
 calling upon you before the ball of the Duchesse de 
 Carigliano.” 
 
 If Matame bresents you there,” said the baron, a 
 fat Alsatian, whose round face showed signs of danger- 
 ous cunning, so vill you be veil receifed.” 
 
 “ I am getting on apace,” thought Eugene. She 
 was not the least angry when I said, ‘ Could you love 
 me ?’ I have bridled my mare; now let me ride her.” 
 So thinking, he went to Madame de Beauseant’s box 
 to make his bow. She was leaving with Monsieur 
 d'Adjuda. Our inexperienced student little knew 
 that Madame de Nucingen had not listened to half 
 that he said to her. Her mind was occupied by a 
 letter she was expecting from de Marsay, that would 
 decide her fate. Charmed, however, with his im- 
 aginary success, Eugene accompanied the viscountess 
 to the vestibule, where all were waiting for their 
 carriages. 
 
 “ Your cousin does not seem like himself,” said the 
 Portuguese, laughing, when Eugene had quitted them. 
 ‘‘ He has the air of a fellow who means to break the 
 bank. He is as supple as an eel, and I think he will 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 161 
 
 et on. It was clever of you to pick out for him a 
 /Oman in need of consolation.” 
 
 ‘‘ Ah ! ” said Madame de Beauseant ; “ but all de- 
 lends, you know, on whether she loves the man who 
 5 forsaking her.” 
 
 Eugene walked back from the theatre to the Rue 
 ^euve Sainte-Genevieve with his head brimful of 
 dsions. He had noticed the attention with which 
 dadame de Restaud observed him when in the box 
 d the viscountess, and also in that of Madame de 
 !fucingen ; and he argued that her doors would not 
 ong be closed against him. Already he had made 
 bur important acquisitions in the great world of 
 Paris ] for he took it for granted that he should win 
 he good graces of the Marechale. W^ithout pre- 
 cisely settling how to carry out his plans, he was 
 ntuitively conscious that in the game he had to 
 Dlay among so many complicated interests, he would 
 Jo well to attach himself to some one chariot that 
 would whirl him onward, conscious that he was 
 strong enough, when his end was gained, to put on 
 the brakes. 
 
 “If Madame de Nucingen is interested in me,” he 
 thought, “ I will teach her to manage her husband. 
 The baron makes money hand over hand: he might 
 help me to some stroke of fortune. 
 
 He did not say this bluntly ; the notion was but a 
 light cloud floating above the verge of his horizon ; he 
 was not as yet sufficiently advanced to sum up possibili- 
 ties and make his calculations, — but his ideas, though 
 they had not the crude ugliness of Vautrin’s, would 
 scarcely, if tested in the crucible of conscience, have 
 
 11 
 
162 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 shown much that was pure. It is by a course ol 
 mental compromises of this kind that men reach the 
 stage of relaxed morality which characterizes our 
 epoch, — an epoch when it is rare, rarer than in any 
 other age of the world’s history, to find men of high 
 principle, men with a sturdy sense of right and wrong, 
 firm wills that never bow the knee to evil, natures to 
 whom the smallest deviation from the straight path 
 seems a sin. Such interpretation of virtue has given 
 to the world two masterpieces, — one, the Alceste of 
 Moli^re ; the other, Jeannie Deans and her father, by 
 Sir Walter Scott. Perhaps the same subject seen 
 from its other side — a picture of the shifts and wind- 
 ings of a man of the world ; an ambitious man, with 
 no fixed conscience, who seeks to pick his way along 
 the edge of wickedness, and yet save appearances 
 while he gains his end — may be neither less useful, 
 less moral, nor less dramatic. 
 
 By the time Rastignac reached his own door he had 
 worked himself into a sham passion for Madame de 
 Nucingen. He thought her graceful as a swallow ; he 
 admired the enchanting softness of her eyes, the deli- 
 cate and silky texture of her skin tinged with the 
 blood that fiowed beneath it, the music of her voice, 
 and her abundant fair hair, — he remembered every 
 particular ; and perhaps his walk, which had quickened 
 his pulses, added to the fascination. “He knocked 
 sharply at Pere Goriot’s door. 
 
 ‘‘My neighbor,” he said, “I have seen Madame 
 Delphine.” 
 
 “ Where ? ” 
 
 ‘‘At the opera.” 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 163 
 
 “Did she enjoy herself? Come in” said the old 
 nan^ who ^ot ont of bed in his shirt and opened his 
 loor, and then went back to bed again. “ Tell me all 
 ibout her,” he said. 
 
 Eugene, who found himself for the first time in 
 Pere Goriot’s chamber, could not repress a start of 
 imazement at the wretchedness in which the father 
 ived, — comparing it with what he knew of the luxury 
 )f his daughters. 
 
 The window had no curtain ; the paper had peeled 
 n strips from the damp wall, showing the plaster yel- 
 ow with smoke and age. The old man lay upon a 
 «rretched bed, with one thin blanket and a wadded 
 juilt made out of scraps of Madame Vauquer’s old 
 rowns. The tiles of the floor were damp, and their 
 crevices were filled with dust and dirt. Against the 
 wall, opposite to the window, stood an old bureau with 
 a swelled front and brass handles representing grape- 
 shoots intertwined with leaves and flowers, and a 
 wooden stand on which was a water-jug in its basin, 
 and a number of shaving utensils. In one corner of 
 the room a heap of shoes ; at the bed’s head a dilapi- 
 dated night-stand without a door. Beside the fire- 
 place, where there were no traces of fire, stood the 
 square walnut table which had enabled Pere Goriot to 
 destroy his porringer. A miserable writing-desk with 
 the old man’s hat upon it, an arm-chair stuffed with 
 straw, and two smaller chairs made up the wretched 
 furniture. The pole of the bedstead, fastened by a 
 rag to a hook in the ceiling, upheld a coarse curtain of 
 red checked gingham. The poorest errand-boy in a 
 garret was surely not so miserably lodged as Pere 
 
164 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 Goriot at Madame Vauqiier’s. The aspect of the 
 room chilled and wrung the heart ; it was desolate as 
 the condemned cell of a prison. 
 
 Fortunately, Pere Goriot could not see the expres- 
 sion on Eugene’s face as he put his candlestick on the 
 table at the head of the bed. The old man turned 
 towards him, and lay covered up to the chin. 
 
 “Well, which do you like better?” he asked, 
 “Madame de Restaud or Madame de Nucingen?” 
 
 “ I prefer Madame Delphine,” replied the student, 
 
 because she loves you best.” 
 
 As Eugene said these words warmly, Pere Goriot 
 put his arm out of bed and pressed his hand. 
 
 “ Thank you, thank you ! ” he cried eagerly. “ What 
 did she say about me ? ” 
 
 The student repeated the words of the baronne, 
 adding some affectionate touches of his own, the old 
 man listening as if to a voice from heaven. 
 
 “Dear child!” he said. “Yes, yes, she loves me 
 dearly. But you must not believe what she told you 
 of Anastasie. The sisters are a little jealous of each 
 other. It is another proof of their affection. Madame 
 de Restaud loves me dearly too ; I know it. A father 
 is to his daughters what the good God is to all. He 
 sees into their hearts, he knows their springs of action. 
 Both are affectionate. Oh ! if I had had good sons-in- 
 law I should have been a happy man! I suppose there 
 is no perfect happiness on earth. If I had been able 
 to live with them, to hear their voices, to know them 
 near me, to see them as they went out and came in, 
 as I did before they married, my heart might not have 
 borne such joy. Were they well-dressed ? ” 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 165 
 
 “ Yes,” said Eugene. “ But, Monsieur Goriot, how is 
 it that' with daughters so wealthy as yours, you live 
 in this wretched lodging?” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said the old man carelessly, “ what better do 
 I want ? I cannot explain everything to you ; I never 
 could put words together. It is all here ! ” he added, 
 striking his breast. “ My life is bound up in my daugh- 
 ters. Ifthey enjoy themselves, if they are well-dressed, 
 and have carpets under their feet, what matters it 
 what kind of coat I wear, or what sort of a place 
 I sleep in ? I am not cold if they are warm ; I am 
 not dull if I know they laugh ; I have no soitows but 
 theirs. "When you have children you will say, as you 
 watch the little creatures prattling round you, ‘ They 
 are part of myself, of my flesh and my blood, the 
 flower of my own being.’ Yes, I live anew in their 
 bodies ; I move with their limbs ; I hear their voices 
 answering to mine. One look of theirs, if they are sad, 
 chills my blood. Some day you will know that it 
 is better to be happy in our children’s happiness than 
 in our own. I cannot explain it. There are wells of 
 inward joy that nourish life. I live three lives, — my 
 own and theirs. Shall I tell you a strange thing? 
 When I became a father I comprehended God. He is 
 present in all things, because all Nature has proceeded 
 from him. Monsieur, I am so with my daughters; 
 only I sometimes think our world, such as it is, cannot 
 seem so beautiful to God as my girls are to me. My 
 heart has such strange connection with all concerning 
 them that I know what is happening to them. I knew 
 that you would see them this evening. Ah, me ! if any 
 one would make my little Delphine happy, I would 
 
166 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 black his boots and do his errands. How could she 
 have brought herself to marry that dull log of an 
 Alsatian ? They ought to have had noble young hus- 
 bands, manly and amiable and good, — but they chose 
 for themselves ! ” 
 
 Pere Goriot was stirred out of himself. Never till 
 now had Eugene seen him thus lighted up by the pas- 
 sion of paternity. We may here remark on the in- 
 filtrating, transforming power of an over-mastering 
 emotion. However coarse the fibre of the individual, 
 let him be held by a strong and genuine affection, and 
 he exhales, as it were, an essence which illuminates 
 his features, inspires his gestures, and gives cadence to 
 his voice. It happens sometimes that the dullest soul 
 under the lash of passion attains to such eloquence of 
 thought, if not of language, that it seems to move in lu- 
 minous air. As the old man spoke, his voice and man- 
 ner had the magnetic power of noble acting. Are not 
 our loftiest emotions the poetry of the human will ? 
 
 “I am to see Madame Delphine to-morrow,” said 
 Eugene, and I am to meet her at the ball of the 
 Duchesse de Carigliano on Monday.” 
 
 ‘‘ Ah ! how I should love you, my young friend, if 
 you could shed a ray of brightness on her life ! You 
 are good yourself, and kind. But I forget, — this room 
 is too cold for you. ]\fon Pieii^ you heard her voice ! 
 What message did she give you for me ? ” 
 
 None at all,” thought Eugene ; but he said aloud. 
 
 She told me to tell you that she sent you a daughter’s 
 kiss.” 
 
 “ Adieu, my friend. Sleep sound ; dream pleasant 
 dreams; mine will be perfect with that kiss to think 
 
Fere Qoriot. 
 
 167 
 
 f. You have been to me to-night like a blessed angel. 
 ;'he fragrance of my daughter hangs about you still.” 
 
 “Poor man!” sighed Eugene as he went to bed. 
 ■What he says would touch a heart of stone. His 
 laughter no more thought of him than she did of the 
 Jrand Turk.” 
 
 After this conversation, Pere Goriot and his young 
 leighbor became intimate friends. Between them ex- 
 sted the sole link that' could have bound the old man 
 pO a human being. Strong passions never miscalculate. 
 Pere Goriot saw in Rastignac a means of communica- 
 ion with his daughters and the possibility of drawing 
 learer to them if the student became intimate with 
 Ee baronne. Eugene was, to use his own expression, 
 lie most engaging young fellow he had ever seen ; 
 md the old man admitted him to his friendship and 
 encouraged an intercourse which alone has made it 
 possible for us to relate circumstantially the develop- 
 ment of this tale. 
 
168 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 
 XI. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast the interest with 
 which Pere Goriot looked at Eugene as he took his 
 place beside him at the breakfast table, the few words 
 that were exchanged between them, and the great 
 change in the old man’s face, usually as dull as a lump 
 of plaster, surprised the other guests. Vautrin, who 
 saw the student for the first time since their conference, 
 tried to read his soul. During the night-watches Eu- 
 gene, far too restless to sleep, had surveyed the field? 
 before him, and having naturally thought of Mademoi- 
 selle Taillefer and her dot^ now looked at her as the 
 most virtuous young man in the world looks at a rich 
 heiress. It happened that their eyes met. The poor 
 girl thought Eugene charming in his new clothes. 
 The glance they exchanged was significant enough to 
 show him that he was the object of those confused 
 desires which come into the hearts of all young gii-ls 
 and attach themselves to the first comer who proves 
 attractive. A voice within him cried, “Eight hun- 
 dred thousand francs ! ” Then, with a look at Vautrin, 
 he went back to recollections of the opera, and fancied 
 that his sham passion for Madame de Nucingen would 
 be the antidote to involuntary thoughts of evil. 
 
 “ They gave us Rossini’s ‘ Barber of Seville ’ last 
 nieht,” he said. “I never heard such delicious music. 
 
 O 7 
 
Fere Qoriot. 169 
 
 )ear me ! how delightful it must be to have a box at 
 he opera ! ” 
 
 Pdre Goriot snatched at this speech like a dog 
 napping At a morsel flung from his master’s hand. 
 
 “ Ah ! you men live in clover,” cried Madame 
 T'auquer ; “ you can have anything you wish for.” 
 
 “ How did you get home ? ” asked Vautrin. 
 
 “ On foot,” said EugSne. 
 
 “ For my part,” said the tempter, “ I don’t like half 
 deasures. I should prefer to drive to the opera in my 
 >wn carriage, sit in my own box, and come home 
 lomfortably. All or nothing, — that’s my motto.” 
 
 “And a very good one,” said Madame Vauquer. 
 
 “Perhaps you will see Madame de Nucingen to- 
 lay,” said Eugene in a low voice to P6re Goriot. 
 
 ‘ She will receive you with open arms ; she will like 
 ,0 hear some particulars about me. I have heard that 
 he wishes to be invited to my cousin’s, Madame de 
 Beauseant. Don’t forget to tell her how much I 
 idmire her, and that I hope to have the pleasure of 
 )rocuring her the invitation.” 
 
 Then Rastignac rose and went 00" to his lecture, 
 lot caring to spend a moment more than he could help 
 n that odious pension. He loitered about the streets 
 learly all day with the fever of youth and its first 
 lopes coursing through his veins. He was pondering 
 Fe conditions of social life as revealed by Vautrin’s 
 ihain of reasoning when he met Bianchon in the 
 gardens of the Luxembourg. 
 
 “ What makes you so grave, old fellow ? ” said the 
 medical student, taking his arm as they walked along 
 ihe front of the palace. 
 
17D 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 I am tormented by evil thoughts.” 
 
 “What sort of evil thoughts? Tell me; thoughts 
 can be cured.” 
 
 “ How?” 
 
 ‘‘ By giving in to them.” 
 
 “ You don’t know what you are laughing at. Did 
 you ever read Rousseau ? ” 
 
 Yes.” 
 
 “ Do you remember where he asks the reader what 
 he would do if he could make himself rich by killing 
 an old mandarin in China by simply willing it in 
 Paris?” 
 
 « Yes.” 
 
 “ W ell, I want your opinion. What would you do ? ” 
 
 “ Pooh ! I We got to my thirty-third mandarin.” 
 
 « Don’t joke ; be serious. Suppose it was proved to 
 you that such a thing was possible, and that it only 
 needed just a nod from you, — would you do it ? ” 
 
 “Is the mandarin very old? — But, bah! young 
 or old, well or paralyzed, — Heavens and earth ! — 
 the deuce ! Well, then — No ! ” 
 
 “ You are a good fellow, Bianchon. But suppose 
 you loved a woman well enough to turn your soul 
 wrong-side out for her; and if she wanted money, 
 lots of money, for her toilette^ her carriage, her 
 whims — ” 
 
 “ You bewilder my faculties, and then you want me 
 to reason ! ” 
 
 “Well, see here! Bianchon, I am mad. I want 
 you to cure me. I have two sisters who are angels of 
 beauty and goodness, and I want them to be happy. 
 How can I, between now and five years hence, get 
 
Pere Gioriot. 
 
 ITl 
 
 wo hundred thousand francs for their dotl There 
 re circumstances you know in which one must play 
 ligh and not waste one’s luck in winning pennies.” 
 
 “ But that ’s the very question that stands upon the 
 hreshold of every man’s life ; and you want to cut the 
 iordian knot with the sword ! To do this, my dear 
 ellow, one must be Alexander, — or else we commit 
 iome crime and are sent to the galleys. For my part, 
 ; am quite content with the life which I expect to lead 
 n the provinces, where I shall succeed my father in a 
 jommonplace way. After all, a man’s affections can 
 )e as fully satisfied in a little round as in a vast cir- 
 cumference. Napoleon could not eat two dinners a 
 lay. A man’s happiness lies between the soles of his 
 eet and the crown of his head. W^hether that happi- 
 less costs a million of francs a year, or a hundred louis^ 
 )ur intrinsic perception of it is the same. So I go in 
 ‘or letting the mandarin alone.” 
 
 ‘‘Thank you, you have done me good, Bianchon. 
 Let us always be friends.” 
 
 “Look here !” resumed the medical student, as they 
 eft the Cours de Cuvier in the Jardin des Plantes, 
 ‘ I have just seen old Michonneau and Poiret on a 
 Dench talking with a man whom I saw during the 
 .roubles of last year in the neighborhood of the 
 Chamber of Deputies. He looks to me like a police- 
 jpy disguised as a respectable bourgeois living on 
 lis income. Let us watch that couple. I will tell 
 l^ou why later. Adieu, I must be ofi* to the four- 
 fclock call.” 
 
 When Eugene returned to Madame Vauquer’s, he 
 found P^re Goriot waiting for him. 
 
172 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 “See,” said the old man, “here is a note from her, 
 Hein / what pretty writing ! ” 
 
 Eugene broke the seal and read : — 
 
 Monsieur, — My father tells me that you are fond oi 
 Italian music. I should be happy if you would do me the 
 pleasure to accept a seat in my box on Saturday next. We 
 shall have Fodor and Pellegrini ; I am sure therefore that 
 you will not refuse my invitation. Monsieur de Nucingen 
 joins me in begging you to dine with us on that day without 
 ceremony. If you accept, you will render him grateful to be 
 released from his conjugal duty of escorting me to the opera. 
 Do not reply, but come. Accept my compliments. 
 
 D. de N. 
 
 “Let me look at it,” said Pere Goriot to Eugene 
 when he had read the letter. “You will certainly go, 
 won’t you? ” he added, putting his cheek to the paper. 
 “ How good it smells ! Her fingers have touched it !” 
 
 “ A woman does not fling herself at a man without 
 some motive,” said the student to himself. “ She 
 must want to make use of me to get de Marsay back 
 again. Nothing but spite could account for her send- 
 ing me such a letter.” 
 
 “Well,” said Pere Goriot, “what are you thinking 
 of?” 
 
 Eugene knew nothing of a social delirium that 
 possessed the women of the Chaussee d’Antin at that 
 period. He was not aware that the wife of a banker 
 in that quarter would do almost anything that might 
 open her way into the salons of the Faubourg Saint- 
 Germain. At that period fashion was just beginning 
 to exalt above all other women those who composed 
 the society of the old nobility, known by the name of 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 173 
 
 Les Dames du petit Chateau, Among them Madame 
 le Beauseant, her friend the Duchesse de Langeais, and 
 he Duchesse de Maufrigneuse held the first rank. Ras- 
 ignac was the only man with an entree to these houses 
 vho was not aware of the eagerness of the Chaussee 
 I’Antin ladies to enter that superior sphere and shine 
 imong its constellations. But his mistrustfulness be- 
 riended him on this occasion. It made him receive the 
 nvitation very coldly, and gave him the poor power of 
 loing a favor instead of accepting bne. 
 
 Yes, I will go,’’ he said. 
 
 Thus the chief motive that took him to Madame de 
 [^u'SngenVwas curiosity ; had she shown indifference, 
 ie" might have been influenced by passion. Never- 
 Iieless, he looked forward to the meeting with some 
 mpatience, and enjoyed, as he dressed for dinner, 
 ill those little satisfactions which young people are 
 ishamed to speak of for fear of ridicule, but which 
 3leasantly stimulate their self-love. He thought as 
 le arranged his hair how the eyes of a pretty woman 
 would linger among the black curls; he played the 
 iittle tricks and vanities of a young girl dressing for 
 her first ball, and smiled at the reflection of his slim 
 igure as he smoothed out the folds of his new coat, 
 md turned himself about before the glass. 
 
 ‘‘ One thing is very certain,” he said complacently ; 
 
 it is not every man who is well-made.” 
 
 He went downstairs at the moment when the house- 
 hold were sitting down to dinner, and laughed as he 
 received a broadside of nonsensical remarks on his 
 lelegant appearance. The excitement produced by any 
 attention to the toilet is a trait of manners peculiar to 
 
174 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 pensions bourgeoises^ where every one has a word to 
 say on the unaccustomed appearance of a new dress or 
 a new coat. 
 
 ‘‘ Kt, kt, kt, kt ! ” cried Bianchon, clicking his tongue 
 as if exciting a horse. 
 
 Duke and peer of France!” said Madame Vauquer. 
 
 “ Monsieur is arrayed for conquest,” observed Ma- 
 demoiselle Michonneau. 
 
 Cock-a-doodle-doo ! ” crowed the painter. 
 
 My compliments to your wife,” said the employe 
 at the museum. 
 
 ‘‘ Has Monsieur a wife ?” asked Poiret. 
 
 ‘‘ A wife in compartments — that will go in the wa- 
 ter — warranted fast colors — at all prices from twenty- 
 five to forty — the most fashionable patterns in plaids — 
 sure to wash — very pretty wear — half thread, half 
 cotton, half wool — cures the toothache and all other 
 maladies under the patronage of the Academy of 
 Medicine — excellent for children — better still for 
 head-ache, plethora, and other affections of the stomach, 
 ears, and eyes! ” — cried Vautrin, with the intonation 
 and volubility of an auctioneer. '' How much do you 
 bid for this wonder, gentlemen? Two sous! What 
 did you say? Nothing? It is the last article made 
 for the Great Mogul, which all the Reigning Sov- 
 ereigns of Europe, including the Gr-r-r-r-r-rand Duke 
 of Baden, have been on the look-out for. W alk in ; 
 keep straight before you ; pass into the inner office. 
 Strike up the music! Brooum, la, la, trinn ! la, la, 
 bourn, bourn ! Monsieur the clarionet, you are out 
 of tune,” he went on in a hoarse voice ; ‘‘ I ’ll rap you 
 over the knuckles ! ” 
 
Pere Q-oriot. 
 
 176 
 
 “ Mon Dieu! how agreeable that man can make 
 limself!” said Madame Vauquer to Madame Couture, 
 I should never have a moment’s ennui if I lived with 
 lim.” 
 
 In the midst of the laughter and the jokes led off 
 ly this absurdity, Eugene intercepted a furtive glance 
 .f admiration from Mademoiselle Taillefer, who whis- 
 >ered a few words in her aunt’s ear. 
 
 “ The cabriolet is here,” announced Sylvie. 
 
 “Where does he dine?” asked Bianchon. 
 
 “ With Madame la Baronne de Nucingen.” 
 
 “ P^re Goriot’s daughter,” added the student. 
 
 At these words everybody looked at the old man, 
 vho was gazing at Eugene with envy in his eyes. 
 
 Rastignac found the house in the Rue Saint-Lazare 
 )ne of those flimsy buildings, with slim pillars and fan- 
 jiful porticos, which in Paris are classed as pretty; a 
 banker’s house, in short, — overloaded with costly orna- 
 ment and stucco, the halls and staircase-landings inlaid 
 vith marbles. Madame de Nucingen received him in 
 i small room filled with Italian pictures and decorated 
 n the style of a restaurant. She seemed to be in 
 .rouble, and the efforts which she made to conceal her 
 reelings afiected Eugene all the more because they 
 were evidently genuine. He came expecting to charm 
 tier by his presence ; he found her the image of des- 
 pair, and the disappointment piqued his self-love. 
 
 “ I have little claim to your confidence, Madame,” 
 he said, after bantering her slightly on her preoccupa- 
 tion, “and if I am in your way I count upon your 
 kindness to tell me so frankly.” 
 
176 
 
 Pere G-oriot. 
 
 No, stay,” she said ; “ I should be alone if you left 
 me. Nucingen dines out to-day, and I do not wish to 
 be alone. I need something to interest me.” 
 
 ‘‘ What troubles you ? ” 
 
 You are the last person I could tell it to,” she 
 cried. 
 
 “But you must tell me. Have I anything to do 
 with it?” 
 
 “ Perhaps — But, no !” she resumed, “it is one of 
 those family quarrels that ought to be hidden from 
 other eyes. Did I not tell you the other evening that 
 I am far from happy ? A chain of gold is the heaviest 
 to bear.” 
 
 When a woman tells a young man that she is not 
 happy, and when the young man is clever, handsome, 
 well-dressed, and has fifteen hundred francs worth of 
 leisure in his pocket, he will probably think all that 
 Rastignac now thought, and speak as he did, — like a 
 coxcomb. 
 
 “ What can you lack ?” he said. “ You are young, 
 beautiful, wealthy, and — beloved ! ” 
 
 “ Do not let us talk of myself,” she cried, arresting 
 him with a gesture. “We will dine together tete-a-tUe^ 
 and then go and hear some delicious music. Do you 
 like me in this dress ? ” she continued, rising and dis- 
 playing a robe of white cashmere embroidered with 
 Persian designs, very elegant and costly. 
 
 “ I would you were altogether mine ! ” cried Eugene. 
 “ You are lovely !” 
 
 “You would have a melancholy possession,” she said 
 with a bitter smile. “ Nothing about me indicates! 
 unhappiness, and yet in spite of appearances I ami 
 
Pere Goriot. 177 
 
 i^rretched. I cannot sleep for thinking of my troubles. 
 
 [ am growing ugly — ’’ 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, that can never be ! ’’ cried the student. Tell 
 ne, what troubles have you that my devotion cannot 
 3ure ? ” 
 
 “ Ah ! if I told you, you would turn and leave me,” 
 5 he said ; “ your love for me is only the conventional 
 gallantry that men affect towards women. If you 
 'eally loved me, and I were to tell you my troubles 
 ^ou would fall into despair. So you see I must not 
 :ell you. For pity’s sake,” she added, ‘4et us talk of 
 Dther things. Come and see my apartments.” 
 
 No, let us stay here,” said Eugkie, seating himself 
 m a low couch near the fire beside Madame de Nucin- 
 ^en, and taking her hand with assurance. She allowed 
 him to do so, and even pressed his fingers with the ner- 
 v^ous grasp that betrays strong emotion. 
 
 “ Listen ! ” said Rastignac, if you have griefs, con- 
 fide them to me. Let me prove how much I love you. 
 Either speak, and tell me these troubles and let me help 
 ^ou, — I am capable of killing six men for your sake, — > 
 or I will leave this house never to return.” 
 
 ‘‘ Well, then ! ” she exclaimed, moved by an impulse 
 which made her strike her forehead with her hand, I 
 will put you to the proof at once. Yes,” she added, 
 “ there is no other way.” 
 
 She rang the bell. 
 
 ‘‘ Is Monsieur’s carriage waiting ? ” she said to the 
 servant. 
 
 “ Yes, Madame.” 
 
 “ I will take it. You can give him mine and my 
 horses. You need not serve dinner till seven o’clock.” 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 Pere GorioL 
 
 ‘‘ Now, come,” she said to Eugene, who found himself 
 as in a dream sitting beside her in Monsieur de Nuein- 
 gen’s coupe. 
 
 “ To the Palais-Royal,” she said to the coachman, 
 and stop near the Theatre Frangais.” 
 
 As they drove on she seemed greatly agitated, and 
 would not answer Eugene, who knew not what to 
 think of the mute obtuse resistance she opposed to his 
 inquiries. 
 
 “ In another moment she may escape me,” he said to 
 himself. 
 
 When the carriage stopped, she looked at him with 
 an expression which silenced the foolish speeches he 
 was beginning to utter. 
 
 ‘‘ Do you love me then so very much ? ” she asked. 
 
 “ Yes,” he replied, concealing his uneasiness. 
 
 “You will think no evil of me whatever I ask of 
 you ? ” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “Will you obey me?” 
 
 “ Blindly.” 
 
 “ Did you ever go to a gambling-house ? ” and her 
 voice trembled. 
 
 “ Never.” 
 
 “Ah! then I breathe. You will have luck. Here 
 is my purse. Take it,” she said, “ yes, take it. There 
 are one hundred francs in it, — all the money owned 
 by this wealthy and fortunate woman ! Go into 
 some gambling-room. I do not know where they 
 are, but I know there are many in the Palais-Royal. 
 Stake these hundred francs at a game they call rou- 
 lette, and either lose them all or bring me back six 
 
179 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 thousand francs. I will tell you my troubles when 
 y^ou return.” 
 
 “ The devil take me if I understand what you wish 
 me to do, but I am ready to obey you,” he said, reflect- 
 ing with satisfaction that she was thus putting herself 
 in his power. 
 
 He took the pretty purse and hastened to Number 
 Nine, 'after obtaining from a neighboring shopkeeper 
 the direction of the nearest gambling-house. He went 
 upstairs, permitted an attendant to take his hat, and 
 entered the room, where he asked to be shown the 
 roulette. All present looked astonished as the man in 
 attendance took him to a long table. Eugene, who 
 was followed by the whole company, asked, without 
 the least embarrassment, where he was to place his 
 money. 
 
 If you put one louis on any of these thirty-six num- 
 bers and it comes up, you will win thirty-six louis^ said 
 a respectable-looking old man with white hair. 
 
 Eugene placed the whole hundred francs on the 
 number of his own age, — twenty-one. A cry of aston- 
 ishment broke from every one before he knew himself 
 what had happened. He had won. 
 
 “ Take up your money,” said the old gentleman ; 
 “ people do not win twice, in that way.” 
 
 Eugene took a rake which the speaker handed to 
 him, and drew in three thousand six hundred francs. 
 Once more, knowing nothing of the game, he placed 
 his money on the red. The bystanders looked at him 
 with envy, seeing that he played on. I he wheel turned, 
 — he won again ; and the croupier threw him another 
 three thousand six hundred francs. 
 
180 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 You have won seven thousand two hundred francs,” 
 whispered the old gentleman. “ Take my advice and 
 go away. The red has come up eight times. If you 
 are kind-hearted, you will acknowledge my good ad- 
 vice and have pity on the poverty of an old prefect 
 of Napoleon, who is penniless.” 
 
 Rastignac, bewildered, suffered the old man with the 
 snow-white hair to help himself to ten louis^ and then 
 went downstairs with his seven thousand francs, under- 
 standing nothing of the game, and stupefied by his 
 good fortune. 
 
 ga! where will you take me now?” he said, 
 showing the seven thousand francs to Madame de Nu- 
 cingen as soon as the carriage door was shut. 
 
 Delphine threw her arms about him and kissed him 
 effusively, but without passion. 
 
 You have saved me ! ” she cried. Tears fiowed 
 down her cheeks. I will tell you all, my friend, — 
 for you are my friend, are you not? You see me 
 rich and prosperous. I want for nothing — so it seems 
 to you? Well, then, 1 must tell you that Monsieur de 
 Nucingen does not give me a single penny to spend as 
 I choose. He pays for everything, — for the household, 
 for rny carriages, even my opera-box. He allows me 
 a sum insufficient for my toilette ; he has reduced me 
 to secret poverty. I am too proud to beg for money. 
 Do you ask why, when I brought him seven hundred 
 thousand francs, I have suffered myself to be thus 
 despoiled? Through pride, through indignation! A 
 girl is so young, so easily deceived, when she is first 
 married. To have asked my husband for money then 
 would have scorched my mouth ; I dared not. I lived 
 
P^re Croriot. 
 
 181 
 
 in what I had saved, and on what I could get from my 
 poor father. Then I ran in debt. My marriage from 
 Srst to last has been a horrible deception ; I cannot 
 speak of it. We live apart ; I would rather fling my- 
 self from a window than be reconciled to him. When 
 I was forced to tell him of my debts, for jewelry and 
 various whims and trifles (my poor father had accus- 
 tomed us to every indulgence), I sufiered martyrdom. 
 At last I took courage and made my confession — had 
 I not brought him a fortune? Nucingen was furi- 
 ous. He said I should ruin him — Oh ! he said such 
 horrible things! I wished myself a hundred feet 
 under ground. He paid my bills on that occasion be- 
 cause he had possession of my dot ; but he stipulated 
 that in future I should take a fixed annual allowance 
 for my personal expenses. I agreed, for the sake of 
 peace. Since then I have been anxious to do credit 
 to one whom you know of,” she continued. “ He has 
 not been true to me, but I must not cease to do justice 
 to the nobleness of his character. He has cruelly for- 
 saken me. Oh ! no one should forsake a woman, es- 
 pecially when they have flung her a pile of money in 
 the day of her distress— oh ! they ought to love her 
 always. You, with the nobility of youth, pure and 
 fresh, you may well ask me how a woman could take 
 gold from a man in that relation! But is it not natu- 
 ral to have all things in common with those to whom 
 we owe our happiness? Money has no importance 
 in itself, — none, until love grows cold. Do we not 
 fancy that love will last a lifetime ? Who calculates 
 on separation? Shall those who have vowed to be 
 true eternally set up divided interests? I can never 
 
182 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 tell what I suffered to-day when Nucingen refused to 
 give me six thousand francs, — less than he gives each 
 month to his mistress, a danseuse at the opel'a! I 
 longed to kill myself : I envied my own waiting-maid. 
 Ask my father for money ? — it would be madness. 
 Anastasie and I have ruined him. My poor father 
 would sell himself for either of us, if any one would 
 pay six thousand francs for him. I should drive him 
 to despair in vain. You have saved me from shame, 
 from death ! I was frantic in my wretchedness. Ah ! 
 Monsieur, I owe you this explanation. I have been 
 beside myself this evening, — let that be my excuse. 
 When you left me, when I lost sight of you, I had an 
 impulse to jump from the carriage and flee away on 
 foot, I knew not whither. Such is the life led by half 
 the women of Paris, — luxury without, and bitter cares 
 within. I know poor creatures more wretched than I 
 am. There are women who get their creditors to send 
 in false accounts, and rob their husbands. Some men 
 believe that cashmeres worth two thousand francs are 
 sold for five hundred ; others that a shawl worth five 
 hundred francs costs a thousand. There are women 
 who even starve their children ; women who will com- 
 mit any meanness to get enough to buy a gown. I 
 im pure at least from such deceptions. Ah ! to-night 
 Monsieur de Marsay will no longer have the right to 
 think of me as a woman he has paid ! ” She dropped 
 her face between her hands that Eugene might not 
 see her tears; but he drew them away and looked 
 at her. 
 
 ‘‘To mix up money with love ! — is it not horrible 
 yhe said. “ You can never think well of me !” 
 
Pere Groriot, 183 
 
 This union of good feelings and acquired faults, — 
 faults forced upon her by the corrupt society in which 
 she lived, — overcame Eugene, who said soft words of 
 consolation as he gazed at the beautiful creature so 
 naively imprudent in the excitement of her grief. 
 
 “ You will not turn this confession against me ? 
 Promise me that you never will,” she said. 
 
 Ah, Madame, I am incapable of doing so.” 
 
 She took his hand and placed it on her heart, with a 
 gesture full of grace and gratitude. Thanks to you 
 I am free and happy. I was pressed to earth by an 
 iron hand. I am free ; I will live simply from this 
 moment ; I will spend little. You will like me as I am, 
 will you not? — as I am, my friend. Keep this,” she 
 added, retaining six notes of a thousand francs, and 
 offering Rastignac the seventh. Tn strict justice I 
 owe you half, for I consider that we are partners.” 
 
 Eugene protested with a sense of shame, till Madame 
 de Nucingen exclaimed, shall regard you as my 
 enemy if you refuse to be my accomplice.” 
 
 Then I will hold it in reserve in case of future ill- 
 luck,” he said, as he took the note. 
 
 ‘‘ Ah ! that is what I feared,” she said, turning pale. 
 
 If you wish me to be your friend, promise me — 
 swear to me — that you will never return to the gam- 
 bling table. Alas, alas ! think of my corrupting you ! 
 I ought to perish sooner ! ” 
 
 Thus they reached the house in the Rue Saint-Lazare. 
 The contrast of its opulence with the poverty of its 
 mistress stunned the student, in whose ears the words 
 
184 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 a sofa near the fire, when they entered her room. 1 
 have to write a trying letter. Give me your advice.” 
 
 “ Do not write at all,” said Eugene. ‘‘ Put the notes 
 in an envelope, address it merely, and send the letter 
 by your waiting-maid.” 
 
 “Oh! you are too delightful!” she cried. “See, 
 Monsieur, what it is to have been brought up in the 
 traditions of good breeding. Ceci est du Peauseant 
 tout pur she added, smiling. 
 
 “She is charming,” thought Eugene, pleased with 
 the flattery. He looked round the room, which was 
 arranged with a meretricious taste better suited, he 
 thought, to the quartier Breda. 
 
 “Do you like it?” asked Madame de ISTucingen, 
 ringing for her maid. “ Therese, take this letter to 
 Monsieur de Marsay. Give it into his own hand. If 
 you do not find him, bring it back.” 
 
 As Therese left the room she threw an inquisitive 
 glance at Eugene. Dinner was now served, and 
 Rastignac gave his arm to Madame de Nucingen, who 
 led him into a gorgeous dining-room where he again 
 found all the table luxury he had admired at his 
 cousin’s. 
 
 “ On the nights of the Italian opera you must 
 always dine with me,” she said, “ and escort me to the 
 theatre.” 
 
 “ I could soon accustom myself to so delightful a 
 life if it would only last,” he answered ; “ but I am 
 a poor student, with my fortune to make,” 
 
 “It will make itself,” she said laughing; “you see 
 how things come to pass. I little expected to be so 
 happy.” 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 186 
 
 It is the nature of women to argue the impossible 
 Vom the possible, and to destroy facts by building on 
 )resentiments. 
 
 When Madame de Nucingen and Rastignac entered 
 beir box at the opera she was so beautiful in her 
 •ecovered peace of mind that people began to whisper 
 bose trifling calumnies against which women are 
 iefenceless, however false may be the premises on 
 vhich they are based. Those who know Paris well 
 ire careful to believe nothing that they hear, and also 
 :o tell nothing that they know. Eugene took the 
 land of his companion, and they silently communicated 
 :o each other by pressure the sensations with which 
 be music flooded their souls. The evening was full of 
 mchantment, and when they left the Opera House 
 Madame de Nucingen insisted on taking Eugene as 
 far as the Pont-Neuf, disputing with him on the way 
 mother of those kisses which she had given him of her 
 iwn accord in the Palais-Royal. Eugene reproached 
 fier for the inconsistency. 
 
 «No — she said, ‘‘it was gratitude for an 
 
 unexpected deliverance; now it would be a pledge — ” 
 
 “ And you will not grant me that pledge,” he said, 
 fialf angrily. She made a gesture of impatience and 
 ^ave him her hand to kiss, which he took with an ill 
 ^race that completely charmed her. 
 
 “ Monday — at the ball,” she said as they parted. 
 
 Eugene walked home in the brilliant moonlight 
 with his mind full of serious reflections. He was 
 pleased and yet dissatisfled : pleased at an adventure 
 which threw him into the closest intimacy with one of 
 the prettiest and most fashionable women of Paris | 
 
186 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 dissatisfied at seeing his projects for the future over-* 
 thrown, — for he now perceived how much he had 
 really built upon the vague visions of the day before. 
 Want of success increases rather than diminishes the 
 strength of our wishes. The more Eugene tasted the 
 pleasures of Parisian life, the less he liked the prospect 
 of toil and poverty. He fingered the bank-note in his 
 pocket, and thought of a hundred reasons to justify 
 him in keeping it. As he reached the Rue Neuve 
 Sainte-Genevieve and ran upstairs, he saw a light on 
 the landing. Pere Goriot had left his door ajar and 
 his rush-light burning, that the student might not 
 forget to come in and relate to him his daughter^ as he 
 expressed it. Eugene told him everything. 
 
 What ! ” cried Pere Goriot, in a transport of 
 jealous despair, ‘‘do they think me ruined? I have 
 still an income of thirteen hundred francs. Mon 
 Dieu ! my poor darling, why did she not come to me ? 
 I could have sold out my stocks. I could have given 
 her what she wanted from the capital, and bought an 
 annuity with the rest. Why did you not come and 
 tell me, my good neighbor ? How could you have had 
 the heart to risk her poor little hundred francs. It 
 breaks my heart — This is what it is to have sons- 
 in-law ! And she wept — you say she wept? — my 
 Delphine, who never wept before when she was my 
 own little one I By her marriage contract she is 
 entitled to her money. I shall see Derville the law- 
 yer, to-morrow. I shall insist on the separate invest- 
 ment of her fortune. I know the law. I am an old 
 wolf — yes ! and I shall get the use of my teeth 
 again ! ” 
 
Pere Goriot, 
 
 187 
 
 See, pere^ here are a thousand francs which she 
 insisted on giving me out of our winnings. Keep 
 them for her.” 
 
 Goriot looked at Eugene and grasped his hand, on 
 ^hich the old man dropped a tear. 
 
 ‘‘ You will succeed in life,” he said. ‘‘God is just, 
 ^ou know. I know what honesty is, and I tell you 
 tew men would have done as you have done. My son, 
 yo now; go — and sleep. You can sleep, for you are 
 [lot yet a father — Oh, she wept ! While I was 
 juietly eating my dinner, dull fool that I am, she was 
 offering! I — who would sell my soul to save them 
 trom unhappiness ! ” 
 
 “ On my honor,” said Eugene, as he laid his head 
 3 n his pillow, “ I will be an honest man as long as I 
 ive. There is great happiness in following the in- 
 spirations of one’s conscience.” 
 
 Perhaps none but those who believe in a good God 
 3an do good in secret. Eugene was a believer still. 
 
 On the evening of the ball Rastignac went to 
 Madame de Beauseant’s, who took him with her and 
 presented him to the Duchesse de Carigliano. He had 
 i gracious reception from the Marechale, and found 
 Madame de Nucingen already there. Delphine, who 
 lad dressed with the intention of pleasing others that 
 she might the better please Eugene, waited impatiently 
 jO catch his eye, though carefully concealing her im- 
 patience. For one who can read a woman’s heart 
 such a moment is full of charm. What man does not 
 lelight in making a woman wait eagerly for his 
 udgment, disguising his own pleasure that he may 
 
188 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 win this signal of her preference, enjoying her uneasi- 
 ness as he plays upon the fears he can set at rest by a 
 smile ? 
 
 As the evening advanced, Rastignac began to per- 
 ceive the full bearings of his position, and to under- 
 stand that he held rank among those around him as 
 the acknowledged cousin of Madame de Beauseant. 
 The conquest of Madame de Nucingen, with which he 
 was credited, placed him at once under observation ; 
 young men looked at him with envy, and as he caught 
 their glances he tasted the first sweets of gratified 
 social vanity. Passing from room to room and from 
 group to group, he heard his own praises ; ladies pre- 
 dicted his success ; and Delphine, afraid of losing him, 
 promised not to refuse the kiss she had denied him the 
 day before. He received several invitations during 
 the evening, and was presented by his cousin to a num- 
 ber of ladies noted for their elegance, whose houses 
 ranked among the most agreeable in the Faubourg. 
 Thus he found himself admitted into the inner circle 
 of the great world of Paris. This evening was for 
 him a brilliant dehu% remembered to the last hour of 
 his life, as a young girl remembers the ball where she 
 won her first triumphs. 
 
 The next morning, at the breakfast-table, when he 
 began to relate his successes to Pere Goriot in pre- 
 sence of the other guests, Vautrin listened with diabol- 
 ical amusement to the tale. 
 
 “Now, do you really think,” exclaimed that fierce 
 logician, “ that a young man of fashion can continue to 
 live in the Rue Neuve Sainte-Genevieve, in the Maisonj 
 Vauquer? — a pension infinitely respectable in every { 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 189 
 
 way, no doubt, but which assuredly is not fashiona- 
 ble. It is comfortable, it is cosey, delightful in its abun- 
 dance, proud of being temporarily the abode of a de 
 Rastignac; but after all it is in the Rue Neuve Sainte- 
 Genevieve, and it boasts no luxury, — being above all 
 things patriarchalorama. My young friend,” contin- 
 ued Vautrin, with paternal irony, ‘‘if you hope to 
 make a figure in Paris, you must have three horses 
 and a tilbury for the morning, and a coupe for the 
 evening : nine thousand francs for the equipages alone. 
 You will fall shamefully below the requirements of 
 your destiny if you spend less than three thousand 
 with your tailor, six hundred with your perfumer, 
 and six hundred more between your bootmaker and 
 your hatter. As for your washerwoman, she will 
 cost you a thousand francs. Young men of fash- 
 ion are above all things bound to be irreproachable 
 in the matter of washing. Love and the Church 
 alike demand fine linen. Now, we have got up to 
 fourteen thousand. I don’t count all that cards and 
 bets and presents will cost you, — you certainly can’t 
 do with less than two thousand francs a year for 
 pocket-money. I have led that life myself, and I 
 know how it goes. Now, add to these things — which 
 are indispensable, mind you — three hundred louis for 
 subsistence, and a thousand francs for rent. That 
 brings us up, my boy, to the pretty little sum of twen- 
 ty-five thousand francs a year, which we must have in 
 hand, or over we go into the mud, with people laugh- 
 ing at us, and our future lost, — including all our 
 youthful dreams of fortune and women ! Ah ! I forgot 
 the groom and the valet. Could Christophe carry 
 
190 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 your 'billets-doux'^ Shall you write them upon law- 
 paper? My dear boy, you would cut your throat. 
 Take the advice of an old man full of experience,” he 
 concluded ; ‘‘ either transport yourself into a virtuous 
 garret and wed toil, or — choose some other way to 
 reach your end.” 
 
 Here Vautrin glanced at Mademoiselle Taillefer, 
 with an eye that recalled and emphasized the seduc- 
 tive arguments he had already dropped into the stu« 
 dent’s heart to breed corruption. 
 
Pere Groriot, 
 
 193 
 
 XII. 
 
 Several days passed, and Rastignac led a dissipated 
 life. He dined constantly with Madame de Nu- 
 cingen, and accompanied her into the great woild, 
 getting home at three or four o’clock in the morning. 
 He usually rose at midday and made his toilet ; after 
 which, if it were fine, he drove to the Bois with Del- 
 phine, — idling away his days without thought of their 
 value, and assimilating the lessons and seductions of 
 luxury with the eagerness of the female date-tree as it 
 absorbs the fecundating pollen from the atmosphere, 
 He played high, lost and won heavily, and soon accus- 
 tomed himself to the extravagant habits of the young 
 men around him. Out of the first money which he 
 won he sent fifteen hundred francs to his mother and 
 sisters, accompanying the restitution with some pretty 
 presents. Although he had given out his intention to 
 quit the Maison V auquer, he was still there in the last 
 week of January, and did not well see how he could 
 get away. Young men are governed by a law that 
 seems at first sight inexplicable, but which springs 
 from their youth and from the species of madness with 
 which they fling themselves into the enjoyments of 
 life, (^e they rich or be they poor, they never have 
 money enough for the necessities of living, though 
 they always find the wherewithal to spend on their 
 caprices. ; Lavish when they can buy on credit, stingy 
 
192 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 as to all that they must pay for in hard cash, they 
 seem to indemnify themselves for the lack of what they 
 crave by squandering what they have. Thus, — by 
 way of illustration, — a student takes more care of his 
 hat than he does of his coat. The enormous profit of 
 the tailor makes it reasonable that he should wait for 
 his moneys; but the small gains of a hatter render him 
 impervious to the question of credit. Though the 
 young man sitting in the balcon of a theatre may dis- 
 play to the opera-glasses of pretty women the most 
 magnificent of waistcoats, no one can be certain that 
 his socks would bear inspection : the hosier is one of 
 those who must be paid in ready money. Rastignac 
 had reached this point in his career. His purse, always 
 empty for Madame Vauquer, always full for the needs 
 of vanity, had its ups and downs, its ebbs and flows, 
 which by no means agreed with the natural demands 
 upon it. Before quitting that abject and evil-smelling 
 abode, where his new pretensions were daily humili- 
 ated, must he not pay a month’s lodging to his land- 
 lady, and buy furniture fit for a man of fashion before 
 he could install himself in a new apartment? This 
 remained steadfastly the thing impossible. To get 
 money for the gambling-table, Rastignac had readily 
 found out how to buy watches and chains from his 
 jeweller at enormous prices, to be paid for out of his 
 winnings, and to be pawned as soon as bought with 
 that solemn and discreet friend of youth, the Mont-de- 
 Piete; but his ingenuity had failed to discover any 
 device whereby to pay Madame Vauquer, or to buy 
 the tools necessary to keep up his life of elegance and 
 fashion. Vulgar present necessity, or the debts con- 
 
Pire Q-oridt. 
 
 193 
 
 tracted for past pleasures, gave him no inspiration. 
 Like most of those who lead this life of chance, he put 
 oif as long as possible paying his current debts (which 
 are the most sacred in the eyes of plain people), after 
 the example of Mirabeau, who never paid his baker’s 
 bill till it took the compelling form of a promissory note. 
 At this special time — the last of J anuary — Rastignac 
 had been losing heavily, and was in debt. He was 
 beginning to see that he could not continue to lead 
 this kind of life without fixed resources. But sighing 
 over the difficulties of his precarious position did not 
 bring him to resign the pleasures bf the great world ; 
 on the contrary, he felt incapable of the sacrifice, and 
 resolute to push on at any price. The chances on 
 which at first he had built his hopes of fortune he 
 now saw to be chimerical, while his real difficulties 
 grew greater every day. As he became familiar with 
 the domestic secrets of Monsieur- and Madame de Ru- 
 cingen, he saw that to convert love into an instrument 
 of fortune it was necessary to drink the cup of shame 
 to the very dregs, and renounce forever all those noble 
 ideas which are the absolution of youthful errors. To 
 this life, outwardly splendid, inwardly gnawed by the 
 tcenias of remorse, and whose fugitive pleasures were 
 dearly paid for by persistent anguish, he was now 
 wedded. Like La Bruyk-e’s absent-minded man, he 
 had made his bed in the slime of the ditch ; but, like 
 him again, he had as yet only soiled his clothes. 
 
 “ Well ! have we killed the mandarin ? ” said Bian- 
 chon one day as they rose from table. 
 
 “ Not yet,” he answered, “ but he is at his death- 
 
 rattle.” 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 The medical student took this for a joke, but he was 
 mistaken. Eugene, who had dined that day at the 
 pension after a long absence, seemed thoughtful and 
 preoccupied. Instead of leaving after the dessert, he 
 remained in the dining-room sitting near Mademoiselle 
 Taillefer, on whom from time to time he threw reflect- 
 ing glances. Some of the guests still lingered at table 
 eating nuts ; others were walking up and down con 
 tinning their conversation. They left the room, as they 
 did every evening, each as he pleased, according to the 
 interest he took in the conversation or the amount of 
 rest required by his digestion. In winter the dining- 
 room was seldom empty before eight o’clock ; after 
 which hour the four women remained alone and made 
 up for the silence imposed upon them by the masculine 
 majority. Struck by Eugene’s preoccupation, Vautrin, 
 who at first had seemed in a hurry to get away, stayed 
 after the others had departed, and placed himself cau- 
 tiously just within the door of the salon, so that Eugene 
 could not see him, and might therefore believe him 
 gone. He read the mind of the student, and saw that 
 a crisis was at hand. 
 
 Rastignac was in fact in a difficult though perhaps 
 not uncommon position. Whether Madame de Nucin- 
 gen loved him or was trifling with him, she had made 
 him pass through the fluctuations of a real passion, 
 and had used against him all the resources at the 
 command of Parisian feminine dqflomacy. Having 
 compromised herself in the eyes of the world to se- 
 cure the devotion of a cousin of Madame de Beause- 
 ant, she now repelled his advances and would go no 
 further. For a month she had coquetted with his 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 195 
 
 feelings, and had ended by gaining some power over 
 his heart. If in the first hours of their intimacy the 
 student had been master of the situation, Madame de 
 Nucingen was now the stronger of the two. She had 
 contrived by skilful management to excite in Rastignac 
 the varied feelings, good and bad, of the two or three 
 men who exist in a young Parisian. Was this from 
 calculation? No, women are always true even in the 
 midst of their utmost falsity ; they are true, because 
 they are influenced by native feeling. Perhaps Del- 
 phine, alarmed at the power she had at first allowed 
 Eugene to assume over her, and at the unguarded con- 
 fidence she had shown him, was prompted by a feeling 
 of dignity to assume reserve. She may have hesitated 
 before her fall, and have sought to test the character 
 of the man to whom she was about to commit her 
 future, having already had good reason to distrust the 
 faith of lovers. Perhaps she had noticed in Eugene’s 
 manner — for his rapid success had greatly increased 
 his self-conceit — a certain disrespect caused by the 
 singularities of their situation. Be this as it may, 
 whatever were her reasons, Eugene had made no pro- 
 gress with her since the first days of their intercourse. 
 He grew irritable, his self-love was deeply wounded ; 
 he was like a sportsman jealous for the honor of Saint- 
 Hubert if a partridge is not killed on the first day of 
 the sport. His angry self-conceit, his futile hopes, 
 were they false or real, and his daily anxieties bound 
 him more and more to this woman. Yet sometimes 
 when he found himself penniless and without prospects, 
 his mind turned, in defiance of his conscience, to the 
 chance Vautrin had held out to him through a marriage 
 
196 
 
 Pere Croriot, 
 
 with Mademoiselle Taillefer. There were days when 
 his poverty was so importunate that he yielded almost 
 involuntarily to the snare of the terrible sphinx ^ whose 
 glance dominated him with a dangerous fascination. 
 
 When Poiret and Mademoiselle Michonneau had 
 gone up to their rooms, Rastignac, believing himself 
 alone between Madame Vauquer and Madame Couture, 
 the latter of whom was knitting herself a pair of muf. 
 fetees and dozing by the stove, turned to Mademoiselle 
 Taillefer with a glance sufficiently tender to make her 
 eyes droop. 
 
 Is anything troubling you. Monsieur Eugene ? ” she 
 said, after a slight pause, 
 
 ‘‘ Who is without trouble?” he replied. Yet per- 
 haps if we young men were sure of being truly loved, 
 with a devotion that would compensate us for the 
 sacrifices we are ready to make, we should have no 
 troubles.” 
 
 Mademoiselle Taillefer for all answer gave him a 
 look whose meaning was unmistakable. 
 
 “ Even you, Mademoiselle, who are so sure of your 
 heart to-day, can you be sure that you will never 
 change ? ” 
 
 A smile played about the lips of the poor girl ; a ray 
 of sunshine from her heart lighted up her face with so 
 bright a glow that Eugene was frightened at having 
 called forth such a manifestation of feeling. 
 
 “ What ! if to-morrow you were rich and happy, if 
 immense wealth came to you from the skies, would 
 you still love a poor young man who had pleased you 
 in the days of your own distress ? ” 
 
 She made a pretty motion of her head. 
 
Pere Goriot, 
 
 197 
 
 “ A very poor unhappy man ? ” 
 
 Another sign. 
 
 « What nonsense are you talking ? ” cried Madame 
 Vauquer. 
 
 “ Never mind,” said Eugene ; ‘‘ we understand each 
 other.” 
 
 « Ah ! an understanding ! — a promise of marriage 
 between the Chevalier Eugene de Rastignac and Made- 
 moiselle Victorine Taillefer ! ” said Vautrin in his bluff 
 voice, as he stood on the threshold of the dining-room. 
 
 “ How you frightened me ! ” cried Madame Vauquer 
 and Madame Couture together. 
 
 “I might make a far worse choice,” said Eugene, 
 laughing. 
 
 The voice of Vautrin at that moment caused him 
 the most painful emotion he had ever yet known. 
 
 “ No jests on that subject, if you please, gentlemen,” 
 said Madame Couture. “ My dear, let us go upstairs.” 
 
 Madame Vauquer followed the two ladies, that she 
 might economize fire and lights by spending the even- 
 ing in their room. Eugene found himself alone and 
 face to face with Vautrin. 
 
 f ‘‘ I knew you would come to it,” said the latter, with 
 his imperturbable sang-froid, But, stay ! I can be 
 delicate and considerate as well as others. Don’t make 
 up your mind at this moment ; you are not altogether 
 yourself ; you are in trouble, in debt. I don’t wish 
 it to be passion or despair but plain common-sense 
 which brings you to me. Perhaps you want a few 
 thousands ? Here, will you have them ? ” 
 
 The tempter.4:ook a purse from his pocket and drew 
 out three bank-notes of a thousand francs each^ which 
 
198 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 he fluttered before the eyes of the student. Eugene’s 
 situation at this time was very harassing. He owed 
 the Marquis d’Adjuda and the Comte de Trailles a 
 hundred louis lost at cards. He had no money to pay 
 the debt, and dared not go that evening to Madame de 
 Restaud’s where he was expected. It was one of those 
 informal parties where people drink tea and eat little 
 cakes, but lose their thousands at whist. 
 
 Monsieur,” said Eugene, striving to hide a convul- 
 sive shiver, “ after what you have confided to me, you 
 ought to know that I cannot put myself under obliga- 
 tions to you.” 
 
 ^ Well,” said Vautrin, “I should be sorry to have 
 you say otherwise. You are a handsome young fellow, 
 and sensitive ; proud as a lion and gentle as a little 
 girl. You would be a fine morsel for the Devil : I like 
 the strain. A little more study of men and morals, 
 and you will see the world in its true light. A man 
 of your stamp generally relieves his conscience by 
 playing a few scenes of virtuous indignation and self- 
 sacrifice, highly applauded by the fools in the pit. 
 In a few days you will be one of us. Ah ! if you be- 
 come my pupil, I will make you anything you please. 
 You could not form a wish but it should be gratified, 
 — were it for honor, fortune, or the love of women. 
 All civilization should be turned into ambrosia for 
 you. You should be our spoiled child, our Benjamin ; 
 we would lay down our lives for you with pleasure. 
 Every obstacle in your path should be swept away! 
 If you are still scrupulous, I suppose you take me for 
 a scoundrel ? Let me tell you that a man who was 
 quite as high-minded as you can pretend to be, Mon- 
 
Pere Groriot, 
 
 199 
 
 ieur de Turenne, had his little arrangements with 
 he brigands of his day without thinking himself at 
 ,11 compromised by it. You don’t want to be under 
 •bligations to me, hein ? That need not hinder,’ he 
 aid with a smile; “take the notes, and write across 
 his,” he added, pulling out a stamped paper, “ Ac- 
 epted for the sum of three thousand, five hundred 
 rancs, payable in twelve months ; sign it, and add the 
 [ate. The five hundred francs interest is enough to 
 elieve you of all scruples. You may call me a Jew if 
 ^ou like, and consider yourself entirely released from 
 p^atitude. I have no objection to your despising me 
 low, for I am certain you will come to me in the end. 
 fou will find in me the unfathomable depths and the 
 ^ast concentrated emotions which ninnies call vices; 
 )ut you will never find me false or ungrateful. I ’m 
 lot a pawn, nor a knight — I’m a castle, a tower 
 )f strength, my boy ! ” 
 
 “ Who are you ? ” cried Eugene. ^ W ere you created 
 ;0 torment me ? ” 
 
 , No, no; I am a kind man, willing to get splashed 
 jhat you may be kept out of the mud for the rest of 
 four life. I have startled you a little with the chimes 
 Df your Social Order, and by letting you see, perhaps 
 :;oo soon, how the peal is rung. But the first fright 
 will pass, like that of a recruit on the battlefield. You 
 will get accustomed to the idea of men as well as of 
 soldiers dying to promote the good of others who have 
 srowned themselves kings and emperors. How times 
 have changed ! Formerly we could say to a bravo, 
 Here are a hundred crowns ; go kill me So-and-so,’ 
 and eat our suppers tranquilly after sending a man 
 
200 " Pere Goriot. 
 
 to the shades by a yes or a no. To-day I propose to 
 give you a handsome fortune ; and yet you hesitate, 
 when all you have to do is to nod your head, — a thing 
 which cannot compromise you in any way. The age 
 is rotten ! ” 
 
 Eugene signed the paper, and exchanged it for the 
 bank-notes. 
 
 / ‘‘Come, let us talk sense,” resumed Vautrin. “I 
 want to start for America in a few months and plant 
 my tobacco. I will send you the cigars of friendship. 
 If I get rich I will help you. If I have no children 
 (and that is probable, for I am not anxious to propa- 
 gate myself), I will leave you all my fortune. Don’t 
 you call that being a friend ? Hut I have a passion 
 for devoting myself to others — I have sacrificed 
 myself before now in my life. I live in a sphere 
 above that of other men ] I look on actions as means 
 to ends, and I make straight for those ends. What is 
 the life of a man to me ? — not that ! ” he added, click- 
 ing his thumb-nail against a tooth. “ A man is all, 
 or nothing. Less than nothing when he is Poiret: 
 one may crush such a man as that like a bed-bug, — 
 he is flat and empty, and he stinks. But a man gifted 
 as you are is a god ^ he is not a machine in human 
 skin, but a theatre where noble sentiments are en- 
 acted. I live in sentiments ! )^A noble sentiment, 
 what is it? — the whole of life in a thought. Look 
 at Pere Goriot: his two daughters are his universe,— 
 they are the threads of fate that guide him throiigli 
 created things. I say again, I have dug deep into life, 
 and I know there is but one enduring sentiment, 
 man’s friendship for man. Pierre et Jaftier I know 
 
Pire Croriot. 
 
 201 
 
 Venice Preserved ’ by heart! Have you seen many 
 len. virile enough when a comrade said, ‘ Come, help 
 le bury a corpse,’ to follow without asking a question 
 r preaching a moral ? I have done that ! But you, 
 ou are superior to others ; to you I can speak out, 
 ou will comprehend me. You ’ll not paddle long in 
 le marsh with the dwarfs and the toads ! Well, 
 
 ^ is settled : you will marry her. Let us each carry 
 ur point. Mine is steel, and will never yield ! Ha ! 
 a! — ” 
 
 Vautrin walked away without listening to the nega- 
 ive reply of Rastignac. He seemed to know the 
 scret of those, feeble efforts at resistance, those in- 
 ffectual struggles with which men try to cheat them- 
 elves, and which serve to excuse their evil actions to 
 heir own minds. 
 
 “Let him do what he likes; I will never marry 
 lademoiselle Taillefer,” said Eugene. 
 
 The thought of a compact between himself and a 
 aan he held in abhorrence, yet who was fast assuming 
 ireat proportions in his eyes by the cynicism of his 
 deas and the boldness with which he clinched society, 
 hrew Rastignac into an inward fever, from which, 
 lowever, he rallied in time to dress and go to Madame 
 le Restaud’s. For some time past the. countess had 
 hown him much attention, as a young man whose 
 ivery step led him more and more into the heart of 
 he great world, and whose influence might eventually 
 )ecome formidable. He paid his debts to Messieurs 
 I’Adjuda and de Trailles, played whist far into the 
 light, and regained all he had lost. Being supersti- 
 ious, as most men are whose future lies before them to 
 
202 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 make or mar, and who are all more or less fatalists, he 
 ^chose to see the favor of Heaven in his run of luck, — a 
 recompense granted for his persistence in the path of 
 duty. ]The next morning he hastened to ask Vautrin 
 for the note of hand, and repaid the three thousand 
 francs with very natural satisfaction. 
 
 ‘‘ All goes well,” said V autrin. 
 
 ‘‘ But I am not your accomplice,” said Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘ I know, I know,” replied the other, interrupting 
 him ; you are still hampered with some childish non- 
 sense. Once across the threshold, and youHl be all 
 right.” 
 
 Two days later Poiret and Mademoiselle Michonneau 
 were sitting on a bench in the sun, in a quiet alley of 
 the Jardin des Plantes, talking with the gentleman who 
 had rightly enough been an object of suspicion to 
 Bianchon. 
 
 ‘‘ Mademoiselle,” said Monsieur Gondureau, “ I can- 
 not see why you should have any scruples. His Excel- 
 lency Monseigneur the Minister of Police of this king- 
 dom,—” 
 
 Ah ! His Excellency Monseigneur the Minister of 
 Police of this kingdom,” repeated Poiret. 
 
 ^'Yes; His Excellency is personally interested in 
 this affair,” said Gondureau. 
 
 / It seems at first sight improbable that Poiret, an old 
 government employe, who had presumably the virtues 
 of the bourgeois class though destitute of brains, should 
 have continued to listen to this man after he had plainly 
 acknowledged himself to be a police spy, an agent of the 
 Rue de Jerusalem disguised as an honest citizen. Yet 
 
203 
 
 ^ Pere Groriot. 
 
 the thing was really natural enough. The reader will 
 better understand the place that Poiret held in the 
 great family of fools after hearing some remarks made 
 ""nS long^Snce By certain keen observers of society, but 
 which have never yet appeared in print. ^There is a 
 nation of quill-drivers placed in the budget between 
 the Arctic zone of official life inhabited by clerks who 
 receive twelve hundred francs annually, — the Green- 
 land of our public offices, — and the temperate regions 
 where salaries rise from three to six thousand francs, 
 nay, even blossom in spite of the difficulties of cultiva- 
 tion. One of the characteristic traits of the tribe in- 
 haLiting the middle region — a narrow, down-trodden 
 class — is its involuntary, mechanical, instinctive respect 
 for that Grand Llama of office, known personally to the 
 petty employe only by an illegible signature, and spoken 
 of with reverence as His Excellency Monseigneur the 
 Minister ; five words equivalent to “ II Bondo Cani^'^ 
 of the Caliph of Bagdad, — words which to this hum 
 ble class represent a power sacred and beyond appeal. 
 What the Pope is among Christians, Monseigneur is to 
 the employe. /(Regarded as infallible in his adminis^ 
 trative capacity, the light that emanates from this 
 luminary is reflected in his acts and words, and in all 
 that he does by proxy. It covers with a mantle and 
 legalizes every act that he may ordain. His very title 
 of Excellency seems to attest the purity of his motives 
 ‘ and the sanctity of his intentions, and is a cloak to 
 ideas that would not otherwise be tolerated. Things 
 that these poor officials would never do to serve them- 
 selves, they do willingly in the great name of His Ex- 
 cellency. Public offices have their duty of passive 
 
204 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 obedience as well as the army ; they are controlled by 
 a system which stifles conscience, annihilates manliness, 
 and ends by making the human being a mere screw, 
 or nut, in the government machinery. Thus Monsieur 
 Gondureau, who appeared to have a knowledge of 
 men, soon discovered in Poiret the bureaucratic ninny, 
 and trotted out his Pens ex machind, the talismanic 
 words His Excellency,” at the moment when, un- 
 masking his batteries, it was desirable to dazzle the old 
 fellow, — whom he regarded as a male Michonneau, 
 just as the Michonneau appeared to him a female 
 Poiret. 
 
 ‘‘ Since His Excellency himself. His Excellency Mon- 
 seigneur — ah ! that alters the case,” said Poiret. 
 
 “You hear what Monsieur says, — a gentleman in 
 whose judgment you appear to place confidence,” said 
 the pretended bourgeois^ addressing Mademoiselle Mi- 
 chonneau. Well, His Excellency has now obtained 
 the most complete certainty that a man calling himself 
 Vautrin, who lives in the Maison Vauquer, is doubtless 
 an escaped convict from the Toulon galleys, where he 
 was known by the name of Trompe-la-Mort — ” 
 
 “ Ah ! Trompe-la-Mort, — one who cheats Death ! ” 
 interrupted Poiret. He is lucky if he has earned his 
 name.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said the agent, “ the nickname is due to the 
 luck he has had in never losing his life in any of the ex- 
 tremely audacious enterprises he has engaged in. The 
 man is dangerous ; he has qualities that make him very 
 remarkable. His condemnation itself was a thing that 
 did him infinite honor among his comrades.” 
 
 “ Is he a man of honor ? ” asked Poiret. 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 207 
 
 widely extended which he wraps in a mystery really 
 mpenetrable. For a year we have surrounded him 
 vith spieSj but we have not yet been able to fathom 
 lis game. His money and his ability are meantime 
 promoting vice, making a capital for crime, and sup- 
 porting a perfect army of bad men who are perpetually 
 making war upon society. To arrest Trompe-la-Mort 
 and seize his funds would pull the evil up by the roots. 
 The matter has thus become an affair of State and 
 of public policy, capable of doing honor to all who 
 engage in it. You, Monsieur, might perhaps be re- 
 employed by the Government, — as secretary, possibly, 
 of a police commissioner, which would not hinder you 
 from drawing your pension as a retired functionary.’’ 
 
 But,” said Mademoiselle Michonneau, ‘‘ why does 
 not Trompe-la-Mort run off with the money?” 
 
 Oh ! ” said Gondureau, ‘‘ wherever he went he 
 would be followed by a man with orders to kill him if 
 he stole from the Bagne. Money cannot be carried ofi 
 as quietly as a man can run away with a pretty girl. 
 Moreover, Collin is a fellow incapable of such an act. 
 He would feel himself dishonored.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Poiret, you are right ; he would 
 be altogether dishonored.” 
 
 All this does not explain why you do not simply 
 arrest him at once,” said Mademoiselle Michonneau. 
 
 ‘‘Well, Mademoiselle, I will tell you. But,” he 
 whispered in her ear, “ keep your gentleman from 
 interrupting me, or we shall never have done. He 
 ought to be very rich to get any one to sit and listen 
 to him. — Trompe-la-Mort when he came here put on 
 the skin of an honest man. He gave himself out as a 
 
208 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 plain citizen, and took lodgings in a commonplace j:)en- 
 sion. Oh ! he is very cunning, I can tell you. He is 
 not a fish to be caught without a worm ! So Monsieur 
 Vautrin is a man of consideration, who carries on im-. 
 portant business of some kind.” 
 
 “ Naturally,” said Poiret to himself. 
 
 “ The minister, if any mistake should be made, and 
 if we were to arrest a real Vautrin, would bring down 
 upon himself all the tradespeople of Paris, and have to 
 face public opinion. Monsieur the prefect of police 
 is not very sure of his place ; he has enemies ; and il 
 we were to make a mistake, those who want to step 
 into his shoes would profit by the yelpings and out- 
 cries of the liberals to get rid of him. We must act 
 now as we did in that affair of Coignard, the false 
 Comte de Sainte-Helene ; if he had been the real count 
 we should have been in the wrong box. So we are 
 careful to verify.” 
 
 Yes, but for that you want a pretty woman,” said 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau quickly. 
 
 Trompe-la-Mort will never put himself in the power 
 of any woman,” said the detective. He will have 
 nothing to do with them.” 
 
 Then I don’t see how I could help you to the veri- 
 fication, even supposing I were willing to undertake it 
 for two thousand francs.” 
 
 ‘‘Nothing easier. I will give you a phial containing 
 one dose of liquid which will produce a rush of blood 
 to the head, — not in the least dangerous, but with all 
 the symptoms of apoplexy. The drug may be put 
 either into his wine or his coffee. As soon as it has 
 had its effect, carry your man to his bed, undress him, 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 209 
 
 — to see if he is dying, or any other pretext, — con- 
 rive to be alone with him, and give him a smart slap 
 •n the shoulder, paf ! and you will see the letters re- 
 ppear.” 
 
 That’s not much to do,” said Poiret. 
 
 Well, do you agree?” said Gondureau to the old 
 aaid. 
 
 ^^But, my dear Monsieur,” said Mademoiselle Mi- 
 ihonneau, suppose there are no letters. Shall I have 
 he two thousand francs ? ” 
 
 No.” 
 
 What will you pay me in that case ?” 
 
 Five hundred francs.” 
 
 ‘‘ It is very little for doing such a thing as that. 
 Either way it is equally hard upon my conscience. I 
 lave my conscience to quiet, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ I assure you,” said Poiret, that Mademoiselle 
 las a great deal of conscience; and, besides, she is a 
 nost amiable person and well informed.” 
 
 “Well,” said Mademoiselle Michonneau, “give me 
 jhree thousand francs if it is Trompe-la-Mort, and 
 lothing at all if he proves to be an honest man.” 
 
 “Done!” said Gondureau, “ but on condition that 
 ^ou do it to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Not so fast, my dear Monsieur. I must consult 
 ny confessor.” 
 
 “You are a sly one!” said the detective rising. 
 ‘Well, I’ll see you to-morrow then ; and if you want 
 A before then, come to the Petite Rue Sainte-Anne, 
 
 the farther end of the Court of the Sainte-Chapelle. 
 There is only one door under the arch. Ask for 
 Monsieur Gondureau.” 
 
 14 
 
210 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 Bian chon, who was coming from the Coursde Cuvi 
 caught the singular name of Trompe-la-Mort, and hear^^ 
 the “ Done ! ” of the celebrated chief of the detect! 
 police. 
 
 Why did not you settle it at once ? ” said Poire 
 to Mademoiselle Michonneau. ‘‘ It would give yoi 
 three hundred francs annuity.” 
 
 « Why?” said she. ‘‘ Well, because I want to thinl 
 it over. If Monsieur V autrin is really Trompe-la-Mori 
 perhaps it would be better to make a bargain with him 
 Still, if I broached the subject I should give him warn 
 ing, and he is just the man to decamp gratis. It would 
 be an abominable cheat.” 
 
 Even if he did get away,” said Poiret, ‘‘ Monsieui 
 told us he was watched by the police. But you, — yor 
 will lose everything.” 
 
 There is this to be said,” thought Mademoiselle 
 Michonneau, I don’t like him. He is always saying 
 disagreeable things to me.” 
 
 “ Besides,” said Poiret, returning to the charge, 
 ‘‘ you will be acting for the Government. According 
 to what that gentleman told us (he seemed to me a 
 very nice man, and very well dressed too), it is an act 
 of obedience to the laws ; it rids the world of a crimi- 
 nal, however virtuous he may be. He who has drunk 
 will drink. Suppose he took a fancy to murder us in 
 our beds — devil take me ! — we should be guilty of his 
 homicides ; and be ourselves the first victims.” 
 
 The preoccupation of Mademoiselle Michonne^^g[ 
 prevented her from giving ear to these sentenc^i^^ 
 which dropped one by one from the lips of Poiret 
 like water trickling through a spigot carelessly closed. 
 
Pere Qoriot. 
 
 211 
 
 en once the old man was set going, and Mademoi- 
 le Michonneau did not stop him, he ticked on like 
 echanism wound up to go till it runs down. Hav- 
 g broached a subject, he was usually led by his par- 
 ntheses through a variety of irrelevant topics without 
 v^er coming to a conclusion. By the time they reached 
 le Maison Vauquer he had maundered through a 
 uantity of examples and quotations which led him 
 nally to relate his own deposition in the affair of the 
 ieur Ragoulleau and the Dame Morin, in which he had 
 gured as a witness for the defence. On entering the 
 ouse his companion observed that Eugene de Ras- 
 Lgnac was engaged in close conversation with Ma- 
 emoiselle Taillefer, and that their interest in each 
 ther was so absorbing that they paid no heed to the 
 air who passed them in crossing the dining-room. 
 
 “ I knew it would come to that,” said Mademoiselle 
 lichonneau to Poiret, “ they have been making eyes 
 t each other for the last week.” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes,” he replied, but after all, she was pronounced 
 ;uilty.” 
 
 ‘‘ Who?” 
 
 ‘‘ Madame Morin.” 
 
 I was talking of Mademoiselle Victorine,” said 
 'dichonneau, following Poiret into his chamber without 
 loticing where she was going, ‘‘ and you answer me 
 )y Madame Morin. Who is that woman ? ” 
 
 “ What has Mademoiselle Victorine been guilty of? ” 
 isked Poiret. 
 
 ‘‘ She is guilty of being in love with Monsieur 
 ^mgene de Rastignac, and running headlong without 
 mowing what she is coming to, poor innocent ! ” 
 
212 
 
 Pete Goriot, 
 
 \ 
 
 V 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Eugene had that morning been driven to despair bj 
 Madame de Nucingen. In his inmost soul be noTV 
 yielded himself up to Vautrin, not choosing to fathom 
 either the motives of that strange man in befriending 
 him, or the future of the alliance that would be riveted 
 between them. Nothing but a miracle could save him 
 now from the abyss, on the verge of which he stood ae 
 he exchanged with Mademoiselle Taillefer the sweetest 
 of all promises. Victorine listened as to the voice oi 
 angels ; the heavens opened for her, the Maison Vau- 
 qper shone with tints that artists lavish upon palaces : 
 she loved, and she was loved, — alas, she thought she 
 was! And what young girl would not have thought 
 so, as she looked at Rastignac and listened to him foi 
 that one sweet hour stolen from the argus eyes that 
 watched her ! While he fought his conscience, know 
 ing that he was doing evil and choosing to do evil, 
 saying to himself that he would atone for this sin 
 by giving lifelong happiness to his wife, the fires ol 
 the hell within him burned from the inner to the 
 outer, and the anguish of his soul heightened the 
 beauty of his face. Mercifully for him the miracle 
 took place. 
 
 Vautrin entered gaily, reading at a glance the souk 
 of the young pair whom he had married by the machi- 
 
PeTe Groriot. 
 
 213 
 
 lations of his infernal genius, and whose joy he killed 
 ,s he trolled forth in his strong mocking voice. — 
 
 , « jViy Fanny is charming 
 
 In her simplicity." 
 
 Victorine fled away, carrying with her more of joy 
 ,han she had yet known of sorrow. Poor child , a pres- 
 sure of the hands, the sweep of her lovers’ curls upon 
 ler cheek, a word whispered in her ear so close that she 
 ;elt the warm touch of his lips, an arm folded trembling 
 rbout her, a kiss taken from her white throat, these 
 were the troth-plights of her passion, which the near 
 presence of Sylvie, threatening to enter that radiant 
 dining-room, only rendered more ardent, more real, 
 more tender than the noblest pledges of devotion re- 
 lated in the love-tales of the knights of old. These 
 menus suffrages,— to borrow the pretty expression 
 of our ancestors — seemed almost crimes to the pure 
 heart that confessed itself weekly. In this short hour 
 she had lavished treasures of her soul more precious 
 far than hereafter, rich and happy, she could bestow 
 with the gift of her whole being. 
 
 “ The affair is arranged,” said V autrin to Eugene. 
 “ All passed very properly. Difference of opinion. 
 Our pigeon insulted my falcon. It is for to-morrow, 
 in the redoubt at Clignancourt. By half-past eight 
 o’clock Mademoiselle Taillefer will be heiress of all 
 the love and all the money of her father, while she 
 is quietly dipping her bits of toast into her coffee ! 
 Droll, isn’t it? It seems young Taillefer is a good 
 swordsman, and he feels as sure of having the best of 
 it as if be held all the trumps in his hand. But he ’ll 
 
214 
 
 Pere G or lot. 
 
 be bled by a trick of mine; a pass I invented, — rais- 
 ing the sword and giving a quick thrust through the 
 forehead. I’ll show it to you some day, for it is 
 immensely useful.” 
 
 Rastignac looked at him and listened in a stupid 
 manner, but said nothing. At this moment Pere 
 Goriot came in with Bianchon and some of the other 
 guests. 
 
 ‘‘ You are taking it just as I hoped,” said Vautrin. 
 “ You know what you are about. All right, my young 
 eaglet, — you will govern men. You are strong, firm, 
 virile. I respect you.” 
 
 He offered his hand, but Rastignac drew back 
 quickly and dropped into a chair, turning very pale ; a 
 sea of blood rolled at his feet. 
 
 ‘‘ Well, well ! we still have a rag of our swaddling- 
 clothes spotted with virtue,” said Vautrin in a whis- 
 per. The papa has three millions. I know his 
 fortune. The dot will make you white as the bridal 
 gown, — in your own eyes, too ; never fear.” 
 
 Rastignac hesitated no longer. He determined to 
 go that evening and warn the Taillefers, father and 
 son. At this moment, Vautrin having left him, Pere 
 Goriot said in his ear, — 
 
 ‘‘ You seem out of spirits, my dear boy ; but I can 
 make you merry. Come ! ” 
 
 The old man lit his rush-light at one of the lamps, 
 and went upstairs. Eugene followed him in silence. 
 
 Let us go to your room,” he said. “ You thought 
 this morning that she did not care for you, hein? She 
 sent you away peremptorily ; and you went off angry. 
 Oh, you simpleton! She was expecting me. We 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 215 
 
 w^ere going together, — yes, together ^ — to arrange a 
 ittle jewel of an appartement where you are to live 
 three days from now. Don't tell her that I told you. 
 [t was to be a surprise ; but I can ’t keep the secret 
 my longer. It is in the Rue d’ Artois, two steps 
 from the Rue Saint-Lazare. You will be lodged like 
 \ prince. We have been getting furniture fit for a 
 bride. We have been very busy together for the last 
 month, but I would not tell you anything about it. 
 My lawyer has taken the field. Delphine will have 
 ber thirty thousand francs a year, the interest of her 
 iot; and I shall insist on her eight hundred thousand 
 Francs being invested in good securities, — securities 
 in open day-light, you know.” 
 
 Eugene was silent. He walked up and down the 
 miserable, untidy room with folded arms. Pere Goriot 
 seized a moment when his back was turned to put upon 
 the chimney-piece a red morocco case, on which the 
 arms of Rastignac were stamped in gold. 
 
 My dear boy ! ” said the poor old man, “ I have 
 ^one into this thing up to my chin. To tell you the 
 truth, there is some selfishness in it. I have my own 
 interests to serve in your change of quarters. I have 
 something to ask of you.” 
 
 ‘‘What is it ? ” 
 
 “ There is a little room attached to the appartement 
 that will just suit me. I shall live there, shall I not ? 
 I am getting old — I live so far from my daughters. 
 I shall not be in your way ; but you will come and tell 
 me about them constantly, — every evening? That 
 will not trouble you, will it ? When you come in, and 
 I am in my bed, I shall hear you, and say to myself, 
 
216 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 ‘ He has seen my little Delphine ; he has taken her to 
 a ball ; she is happy with him.’ If I were ill, it would 
 be balm to my heart to hear you go out and come in. 
 It would bring me nearer to my daughters you belong 
 to their world, but you are my friend. It will be but 
 a step to the Champs Elysees, where they drive every 
 afternoon ; I could see them daily, whereas now I 
 often get there too late. Sometimes my little Del- 
 phine would come there, and then I should see her, 
 in her pretty wadded pelisse, trotting about as daintily 
 as a little cat. She has been so bright and merry for 
 a month past,' — just what she was as a girl at home, 
 with me. She said to me just now as we walked 
 together, ‘ Papa, I am so happy ! ’ When they say 
 ceremoniously, ^ My father,’ they freeze me ; but when 
 they call me ^ Papa,’ I seem to see my little ones again ; 
 the past comes back to me ; they are mine once 
 more.” 
 
 The old man wiped the tears from his eyes. “ I had 
 not heard her say ^Papa’ for so long! She had not 
 taken my arm for years : yes ! it is ten years since I 
 have walked beside either of my daughters. Oh ! it 
 was good to hear the flutter of her dress, to keep step 
 with her, to feel her so warm and soft beside me ! 
 This morning I went everywhere with Delphine ; she 
 took me into the shops ; I escorted her home. Ah ! 
 you and I will live together. If you have any want 
 I shall know it, — I shall be at hand. If that rough 
 log of an Alsatian would only die ! if his gout would fly 
 to his stomach ! then you could make my poor girl a 
 happy woman. She may have done wrong, but she 
 has been so wretched in her marriage that I excuse 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 217 
 
 ill. Surely the Father in Heaven is not less kind than 
 in earthly father! — She was praising you to me,” he 
 vent on after a pause. ‘‘ She talked of you as we 
 valked : ‘ Is he not handsome, Papa? Is he not kind 
 ind good ? Does he ever speak of me ? ’ From the 
 [lue d’ Artois to the Passage des Panoramas she talked 
 )f you. All this happy morning I was no longer old, 
 
 — I was light as a feather. I told her how you gave 
 ne the thousand-franc note. Oh! the darling! she 
 ;hed tears — Why ! what is that you have on your 
 ihimney-piece ? ” he said, impatient at Rastignac’s 
 mmobility. 
 
 Eugene, stunned and silent, looked at his neighbor 
 vith a bewildered air. The duel, with all its conse- 
 quences, announced by Vautrin for the morrow, pre- 
 sented such a frightful contrast to this fulfilment of 
 lis pleasant dreams that his mind struggled as it were 
 vith a nightmare. He turned to the fireplace and 
 jaw the little case, opened it, and found inside a scrap 
 )f paper, beneath which lay a Breguet watch. On the 
 Daper were written these words : — 
 
 I wish you to think of me every hour, because — 
 
 Delphine.’' 
 
 The last word no doubt alluded to something that 
 tiad passed between them. Eugene was much affected. 
 His arms were inlaid in gold inside the case. This bijou, 
 
 — a pretty thing he had long coveted, — the chain, 
 the key, the case, the chasing, were all exactly what 
 iae liked. Pere Goriot was delighted. He had doubt- 
 less promised to carry to his daughter an account of 
 iiow Eugene received her unexpected gift ; for he was 
 
218 Pere Groriot. 
 
 a third in their youthful pleasures, and not the least 
 happy of the three. 
 
 ‘‘You will go and see her this evening?” he said, 
 “ She expects you. That log of an Alsatian sups with 
 his danseuse. You will take me with you, will you 
 not ? ” 
 
 “Yes, my good Pere Goriot. You know that I love 
 you — ” 
 
 “ Ah ! you are not ashamed of me, — not you ! Let 
 me kiss you ; ” and he strained the student in his arms. 
 “ To-night ! — we will go and see her to-night.” 
 
 “ Yes ; but first I must go out on business which it 
 is impossible to postpone.” 
 
 “ Can I help you ? ” 
 
 “Why, yes, you can. While I go to Madame de 
 Nucingen’s, you might go to the house of Monsieur 
 Taillefer, the father, and beg him to give me an hour 
 this evening, to speak to him on a subject of the 
 utmost importance.” 
 
 “ Can it be possible, young man,” cried Pere Goriot, 
 whose whole aspect changed, — “ can it be true that 
 you are paying court to his daughter, as those fools say 
 downstairs ? Heavens and earth ! You don’t know 
 what it is to get a tap from Goriot. If you are playing 
 false, one blow of my fist — But it is not possible ! ” 
 
 “ I swear to you, I love but one woman in the 
 world,” cried the student ; “ and I did not know it till 
 a moment ago. But young Taillefer is to fight a duel, 
 and he is certain^to be killed.” 
 
 “ What is that to you ? ” asked Goriot. 
 
 “ I must tell the father to save his son ! ” cried 
 Eugene. 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 219 
 
 His words were interrupted by .the voice of Vautrin 
 landing on the threshold of his chamber, singing, — 
 
 ^ O Eichard, 6 mon roi ! 
 
 L^univers abandonne — ' 
 
 ‘^Broum! broum! broum! broum! broum! 
 
 ** * Long have I wandered here and there, 
 
 And wherever by chance — 
 
 Tra, la, la, la, la — ' ” 
 
 « Gentlemen,” said Christoph e, “the soup is waiting; 
 iverybody is at table.” 
 
 “Here, Christophe,” said Vautrin. “Come in and 
 ret a bottle of my claret.” 
 
 “Is the watch pretty?” whispered Pere Goriot. 
 
 ’ Is it in good taste, — /lem ? ” 
 
 Vautrin, Pere Goriot, and Rastignac went down to 
 linner, and by reason of their being late were placed to- 
 gether at the table. Eugene showed marked coldness 
 io Vautrin, though the man had never displayed greater 
 rifts of intellect ; he sparkled with wit, and even roused 
 something of it in the other guests. His sang froid 
 md assurance struck Eugene with consternation. 
 
 “ What herb have you trodden on to-day ? ” said Ma- 
 lame Vauquer to Vautrin ; “ you are as gay as a lark ” 
 
 “I am always gay when I have done a good stroke 
 af business.” 
 
 “ Business ! ” said Eugene. 
 
 “ Well, yes. I have delivered over some goods to- 
 day which will bring me in a handsome commission. 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau,” he continued, perceiving 
 that the old maid was looking at him attentively, “ is 
 there anything in my face which is not agreeable to 
 
220 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 you, that you stare at me like an American ? If so, 
 pray mention it, and it shall be changed to please you. 
 Ha ! Poiret, we won’t quarrel about that, will we ? ” 
 he added, winking at the employe. 
 
 ‘‘ /SaC’Ct-papier ! You ought to sit for the Joking 
 Hercules,” said the young painter to Vautrin. 
 
 Faith ! I’m willing, if Mile. Michonneau will pose 
 as the Venus of Pere-la-Chaise,” replied Vautrin. 
 
 ‘^And Poiret?” said Bianchon. 
 
 “ Oh, Poiret shall sit — as Poiret, god of gardens ! ” 
 cried Vautrin. ‘‘ He derives from poire [pear].” 
 
 ‘‘ All that is nonsense,” said Madame Vauquer. 
 
 You had better give us some of your claret. Monsieur 
 Vautrin ; I see the neck of a bottle. It will keep up 
 our spirits, and it is good for the stomach.” 
 
 ^‘Gentlemen,” said Vautrin, ‘‘Madame la presidente 
 calls us to order. Madame Couture and Mademoiselle 
 Victorine have not yet declared themselves shocked 
 by your jocular discourse, but.j^lease respect the inno- 
 cence of Pere Goriot. I propose to offer you a little 
 bottleorama of claret, which the name of Lafitte ren- 
 ders doubly illustrious : this remark, you will under- 
 stand, bears no allusion to politics. Come on, China- 
 man ! ” he added, looking at Christophe, who did not 
 stir. “ Here, Christophe ! don’t you know your name ? 
 Chinese ! bring forth the liquid ! ” 
 
 “ Here it is. Monsieur,” said Christophe, giving him 
 the bottle. 
 
 After filling Eugene’s glass and that of Pere Goriot,] 
 he poured out a few drops for himself and tasted them 
 slowly, while the other two drank theirs oflf. Suddenly 
 he made a grimace. 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 221 
 
 “The devil!” he cried; “this wine is corked. 
 Here, Christophe, you may have the rest of it; and 
 go and get some more. You know where it is, — right 
 hand side. Stay ! we are sixteen ; biing down eight 
 bottles.” 
 
 ‘‘ Regardless of cost,” said the painter. « I dl pay 
 for a hundred chestnuts.” 
 
 ‘^Ah! ah!” 
 
 ‘‘ Bra-vo ! Oh ! ” 
 
 Hur-rah 1 — rah I ” 
 
 Every one uttered an exclamation, popping, as usual, 
 like fireworks. 
 
 Come, Madame Vauquer, give us two bottles of 
 champagne,” cried Vautrin. 
 
 “ Listen to that 1 You might as well ask for the 
 house itself! Two bottles of champagne! Why, 
 they cost twelve francs ! I don’t make that in a 
 week. But if Monsieur Eugene will pay for the cham- 
 pagne, I ’ll give some currant wine.” 
 
 “ Pah ! That stuff of hers is as bad as a black dose,” 
 said the medical student in a whisper. 
 
 Will you hold your tongue, Bianchon ! ” said Ras- 
 tignac ; the very name of a black dose makes me sick 
 at — Yes, bring on your champagne ! I ’ll pay for 
 it,” he added. 
 
 “Sylvie,” said Madame Vauquer, “give us the bis- 
 cuits and some little cakes.” 
 
 “ Your little cakes are too old,” said Vautrin ; “they 
 have grown a beard. As for the biscuits, produce 
 them ! ” 
 
 In a few moments the claret circulated, the company 
 grew lively, the gayety redoubled. Above the din of 
 
222 
 
 Pere Goriot 
 
 laughter rose a variety of cat-calls and imitations o: 
 the noises of animals. The employe of the museum 
 reproduced a street-cry popularly supposed at that 
 time to resemble the amorous miaulings of the roof- 
 cats ; whereupon eight voices joined chorus in well- 
 known Paris cries : — 
 
 “ Knives to grind — grind !” 
 
 Chick — weed for your little birds ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ Plaisir! ladies — Plaisir! taste my sweet 
 ‘‘ China ! China to mend ! ” 
 
 ‘‘To the barge ! To the barge ! ” 
 
 “ Beat your wives — your coats ! Beat your coats ! ” 
 “ Old clo’es, gold lace, old hats to sell ! ” 
 
 “ Cherries ! cherries ! ripe cheriies ! ” 
 
 But the palm fell to Bianchon, as he miauled through 
 his nose, “Umbrellas! — Umbrellas to mend ! ” 
 
 The racket was ear-splitting, the talk sheer nonsense, 
 a veritable medley, which Vautrin conducted like the 
 leader of an orchestra, keeping an eye meanwhile on 
 Eugene and Pere Goriot, who both had the appearance 
 of being drunk already. Leaning back in their chairs, 
 they gazed stolidly at the extraordinary scene around 
 them, and drank little. Both were thinking of what 
 they had to do that evening, but neither felt able to 
 rise from his chair. Vautrin, who watched every 
 change in their faces out of the corner of his eye, 
 seized the moment when their heads were beginning 
 to droop, to lean over Rastignac, and whisper in his 
 ear, — 
 
 “ My lad, we are not clever enough to get the better 
 of Papa Vautrin. He loves you a great deal too well 
 to let you commit a folly. When I have made up my 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 223 
 
 bind, nothing but the hand of Providence can stop 
 me. Ha! ha! my little school-boy; we thought we 
 would go and tell Father Taillefer, did we ? Bah ! the 
 oven is hot, the dough is light, the bread is in the pan, 
 
 to-morrow we will eat it and brush off the crumbs. 
 
 So you thought you could keep it out of the oven ! 
 No! no! it is bound to bake. If any little bits of 
 remorse stick in our gullet, they will pass off with the 
 digestion. While we are sleeping our sound little 
 sleep. Colonel Count Franchessini will open us a way 
 to the money-bags of Michel Taillefer with the point 
 of his sword. Victorine as her brother’s heiress will 
 have fifteen thousand francs a year at once. I have 
 made the proper inquiries ; the mother left more than 
 three hundred thousand.” 
 
 Eugene heard, but he had no power to answer. His 
 tongue clove to the roof of his mouth ; he was over- 
 come with an unconquerable drowsiness. He saw the 
 table and the faces of the people through a luminous 
 haze. Presently the noise diminished, the guests were 
 leaving one by one. When Madame Vauquer, Madame 
 Couture, Victorine, Vautrin, and Pbe Goriot alone 
 were left, Rastignac saw, as in a dream, Madame Vau- 
 quer going round the table collecting the bottles and 
 emptying their contents together to make full bottles. 
 
 “Are they not foolish; are they not young?” she 
 said. Those were the last words Eugene understood. 
 
 “ There is nobody like Monsieur Vautrin for playing 
 such tricks,” said Sylvie. “Just listen to Christophe 
 snoring like a top ! ” 
 
 “ Good-by, Mamma,” said Vautrin. “ I am off to the 
 boulevard to admire Monsieur Marty in LeMont Sau 
 
224 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 vage^ a new play taken from ‘ Le Solitaire.’ If you 
 like, I will take you and these two ladies.” 
 
 I thank you, no,” said Madame Couture. 
 
 ‘‘ Oh ! my dear lady ! ” said Madame Vauquer, 
 “how can you refuse to see a play taken from ‘Le 
 Solitaire/ — a work by Atala de Chateaubriand, that 
 we all read and wept over under the tieuilles last sum- 
 mer ; a perfectly moral tale, which might edify your 
 young lady ? ” 
 
 “We are forbidden to go to theatres,” said Victorine. 
 
 “There! those two are off,” said Vautrin, looking 
 at Rastignac and Pm^e Goriot in a comical way, and 
 placing the student’s head back in his chair so that he 
 might rest more comfortably ; singing as he did so — 
 
 “ ‘ Sleep ! sleep ! for thy sweet sake, 
 
 I watch, I wake.’ ” 
 
 “ I am afraid he is ill,” said V'ictorine. 
 
 “Then stay and nurse him,” replied Vautrin. “It 
 is,” he whispered in her ear, “ a part of your submis- 
 sive duty as a woman. He adores you, that young 
 man ; and you will be his little wife. Remember, I 
 predict it. And then^'* he added aloud, “ they were 
 much esteemed throughout the neighborhood^ and had 
 a large family^ and lived happily ever after. That ’s 
 the ending of all love-stories. Come, Mamma,” he 
 continued, turning to Madame Vauquer, and putting 
 his arm round her. “ Put on your bonnet and the j 
 beautiful dress with the 'flowers all over it, and the 
 countess’s scarf, and let us be ofi*. I ’ll call a coach 
 myself,” and he departed, singing, — 
 
 ‘ Sun, Sun ! divinest Sun ! 
 
 That ripenest the lemons thou shinest on.' ” 
 
225 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 « Mon Bieu ! Madame Couture, I could live happy 
 in a garret with that man!” said Madame Vauquer. 
 
 “ Look at P6re Goriot ! that old miser never offered 
 to take me nowhere. He ’ll be on the floor presently. 
 Heavens ! it is n’t decent for a man of his age to lose 
 his senses in that way. I suppose you ’ll say he never 
 had any. Sylvie, get him upstairs. 
 
 Sylvie took the old man under the arms and made 
 him walk up to his room, where she threw him, dressed 
 as he was, across the bed. 
 
 “ Poor young man 1” said Madame Couture, putting 
 back Eugene’s hair which had fallen over his forehead ; 
 
 « he is like a young girl ; he did not know the wine 
 
 would be too much for him. 
 
 “I can tell you,” said Madame Vauquer, “that 
 though I have kept this pension forty years, and many 
 young men have passed in that time through my hands, 
 I never knew one as well behaved and gentlemanly as 
 Monsieur Eugene. Is n’t he handsome as he lies asleep ? 
 Let him rest his head upon your shoulder, Madame 
 Couture. Ah! he has turned it towards Mademoh 
 selle Victorine. Well, there ’s a Providence for chil 
 dren ; a little more, and he would have cracked his 
 skull against the back of the chair. Are not they a 
 pretty couple ? ” 
 
 Please be silent/’ cried Madame Couture, you are 
 saying things which — ” 
 
 ‘‘Bah!” said Madame Vauquer, ‘‘he can’t hear any- 
 thing. Come, Sylvie, and dress me. I am going to 
 put on my best corset.” 
 
 “Madame! your best corset after dinner! cried 
 Sylvie. “No, get somebody else to lace it. I wont 
 
 15 
 
226 Pere Goriot 
 
 be the death of you. You risk your life, I tell you 
 that ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ I don’t care ; I am going to do honor to Monsieur 
 Vautrin.” 
 
 You must be very fond of your heirs! ” 
 
 ‘‘ Come, Sylvie, no talking,” said the widow, leaving 
 the room. 
 
 “ At her age ! ” said Sylvie, pointing at her mistress 
 and looking at Victorine. 
 
 Madame Couture and her ward remained alone in 
 the dining-room, the head of Eugene resting against 
 Victorine’s shoulder. Christophe’s loud snoring echoed 
 through the house and made a contrast to the peaceful 
 slumbers of the student, who was sleeping as quietly 
 as an infant. Happy in allowing herself one of those 
 tender acts of charity so dear to womanhood, and in 
 feeling, without reproach, the heart of the young man 
 beating against her own, Victorine’s sweet face took 
 on a look of maternal pride and protection. Across 
 the thousand thoughts that stirred her heart there 
 came a tumultuous sense of her new joy, filling her 
 young veins with pure and sacred warmth. 
 
 “ Poor darling ! ” said Madame Couture, pressing her 
 hand. 
 
 The old lady gazed into the fair sad face, round 
 which for the first time shone the halo of human happi- 
 ness. Victorine resembled one of those quaint pictures 
 of the Middle Ages, where the accessories are meagre 
 or left to the imagination, while the artist spends the 
 magic of his calm and noble art upon the face of his 
 Madonna, yellow perhaps in tone, but reflecting from 
 the heaven above its golden tints of glory. 
 
Pere Croriot. 
 
 227 
 
 «He only drank two glasses, Mamma,” she said, 
 passing her fingers over his hair. 
 
 “ If he were a dissipated man, my dear, he could have 
 taken his wine like all the rest ; the fact that it ovei- 
 came him proves the contrary. 
 
 The sound of carriage wheels was heard. 
 
 “Mamma,” said the young girl hastily, “ here comes 
 Monsieur Vautrin ; take my place by Monsieur Eugene. 
 
 I would rather not be seen thus by that man. He^says 
 tilings that sully the soul, and his look abases me.” 
 
 “ No, no,” said Madame Couture, “ you do him in- 
 justice. Monsieur Vautrin is a worthy man, — some- 
 what in the style of the late Monsieur Couture, brusque 
 but kindly ; a benevolent bear.” 
 
 At this moment Vautrin came softly in and looked 
 at the young couple, on whom the light of a lamp fell 
 caressingly. 
 
 “ Well, well ! ” he said, folding his arms, “ there ’s a 
 scene that might have inspired some of the finest pages 
 of that good Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, author of ‘ Paul 
 and Virginia.’ Youth is very beautiful, Madame Cou- 
 ture. Sleep, my poor boy,” he added, looking down 
 on Eugene ; “ our blessings come to us sleeping. Ma- 
 dame,’’ he said presently, “ what attaches me to this 
 young man, and moves my heart as I gaze upon him, 
 is that I know the beauty of his soul to be in haimony 
 with the beauty of his face. See ! is it not the head of 
 a cherubim resting on the shoulder of an angel ? He is 
 worthy of a woman’s love. If I were a woman I would 
 be willing to die — no ! not such a fool — to live for 
 him. As I gaze upon those two, Madame, he whis- 
 pered, bending till he almost touched her ear, “I 
 
228 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 cannot help thinking that God has created them for one 
 another. The ways of Providence are full of mystery ; 
 they try the reins and the heart. Seeing you together, 
 my children,” he added aloud, “united by an equal 
 purity, and by every emotion of the human heart, I feel 
 it is impossible that anything should part you in the 
 future. -God is just. But,” he continued, addressing 
 the young girl, “I think I have noticed on your hand 
 the lines of prosperity. I know something of palra° 
 istry. I often tell fortunes. Let me take your hand, 
 Mademoiselle Victorine, — don’t be afraid. Oh ! what 
 do I see ? On the word of an honest man, it will not 
 be long before you are one of the richest heiresses 
 in Paris! You will make the man who loves you 
 supremely happy. Your father will call you to him. 
 You will marry a man of title, young, handsome, and 
 who adores you.” 
 
 At this moment the heavy steps of the coquettish 
 widow interrupted Vautrin’s prophecies. 
 
 “ Here is Mamma V auquer-r-re, as fair as a star-r-r, 
 and decked out like a carrot. Are we not just a little 
 bit uncomfortable,” he added, putting his hand on the 
 top of her busk. “ It strikes me we are squeezed a 
 shade too tight. Mamma. If the play should make us 
 cry, there would be an explosion : but I will pick up 
 the pieces with the care of an antiquary.” 
 
 “ He knows the language of French gallantry, 
 does n’t he ? ” whispered the widow in the ear of Ma- 
 dame Couture. 
 
 “ Farewell, my children ! ” said Vautrin, turning 
 towards Victorine and Eugene. “I bless you,” he i 
 added, laying his hands upon their heads. “ Believe 
 
Pere Qoriot. 
 
 229 
 
 me, Mademoiselle, there is value in the blessing of ^an 
 honest man ; it will bring you joy, for God hears it.” 
 
 “ Good-by, my dear friend,” said Madame Vauquer 
 to Madame Couture. “Do you think,” she added in 
 a whisper, “that Monsieur Vautrin has intentions 
 towards me ? ” 
 
 « Ah ! my dear mother,” said Victorine, looking at her 
 hands with a sigh after the others had departed, ‘‘ sup- 
 pose that good Monsieur V autrin spoke the truth ? 
 
 ‘‘ One thing could make it true,” replied the old 
 lady ; “ your monster of a brother need only be thrown 
 from his horse — ” 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, Mamma ! ” 
 
 « Mon Dieu, perhaps it is a sin to wish harm to one’s 
 enemy. Well, I will do penance for it. But, truly, I 
 should not be sorry to lay flowers on his grave. He 
 has a hard heart. He never defended his mother , he 
 took all her fortune, and cheated you out of your share 
 of it. My cousin had a great deal of money. Unfor- 
 tunately for you there was no mention of her dot in 
 her marriage contract.” 
 
 My prosperity would be hard to bear if it cost 
 any one his life,” said Victorine ; ‘‘ and if to make me 
 happy my brother had to die, I would rather be as I 
 am now.” 
 
 Well, well ! As that good Monsieur Vautrin says, 
 who, you see, is full of religious feeling,” said Madame 
 Couture, — I am glad to think he is not an unbe- 
 liever, like so many others, who talk of God with less 
 respect than they do of the Devil, — well, as he says, 
 who knows by what ways it will please Providence to 
 guide us ? ” 
 
230 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 Aided by Sylvie, the two women took Eugene tc 
 his chamber and placed him on his bed, Sylvie un- 
 fastening his clothes to make him more comfortable. 
 Before leaving him, and when Madame Couture had 
 turned to go, Victorine laid a little kiss upon his fore- 
 head, with a rapture of happiness naturally to be ex- 
 pected from so criminal an act! She looked round 
 the chamber, gathered up, as it were, in one thought 
 all the joys of this happy day, made a picture in her 
 memory that she treasured long, and fell asleep the 
 happiest creature in all Paris. 
 
 The gay frolic under cover of which Vautrin had 
 drugged the wine of Eugene and Pere Goriot decided 
 his own fate. Bianchon, half tipsy, forgot to question 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau concerning Trompe-la-Mort. 
 If he had uttered that name he would have put Vau- 
 trin on his guard, — or rather, to give him his true 
 name, Jacques Collin, one of the celebrities of the 
 galleys. Moreover, the nickname of Venus of Pere- 
 la-Chaise decided Mademoiselle Michonneau to give 
 him up at the very moment when, confident of his lib- 
 erality, she had calculated that it was better policy 
 to warn him and let him escape during the night. 
 Accompanied by Poiret, she went in search of the 
 famous chief of detectives in the Petite Rue fjainte- 
 Anne, under the impression that she was dealing with 
 an upper-class employe named Gondureau. The direc- 
 tor of the secret police received her graciously. Then, 
 after a conversation in which the preliminaries were 
 settled. Mademoiselle Michonneau asked for the dose 
 by the help of which she was to do her work. Th.^ 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 261 
 
 :esture of satisfaction made by the great man as he 
 earched for the phial in the drawer of his writing- 
 able, gave her a sudden conviction that there was 
 Qore in this capture than the mere arrest of an escaped 
 onvict. By dint of beating her brains and putting 
 wo and two together, she came to the conclusion that 
 he police hoped, through revelations made by con- 
 dcts won over at the galleys, to lay their hands upon 
 L large amount of money. When she expressed this 
 conjecture to the fox with whom she was dealing, he 
 imiled and tried to turn aside her suspicions. 
 
 ‘‘ You are mistaken,” he said. Collin is the most 
 langerous sorbonne ever known among our robbers, 
 rhat ’s the whole of it. The rascals know this. He 
 s their shield, their banner, — their Bonaparte, in 
 ihort. They all love him. That scoundrel will never 
 eave his tronche on the Place de Greve.” 
 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau did not understand him ; 
 but Gondureau explained to her the slang expressions 
 be had made use of. Sorbonne and tronche are two 
 energetic words of the thieves’ vocabulary, invented 
 because these gentry were the first to feel the need of 
 considering the human head from two standpoints. 
 SorbonmM the head of the living man, — his intellect 
 and wisdom. Tronche is a word of contempt, express- 
 ing the worthlessness of the head after it is cut off. 
 
 ‘‘Collin baffles us,” resumed the chief “When we 
 have to do with men of his stamp, of steel and iron, 
 the law allows us to kill them on the spot if, when ar- 
 rested, they make the slightest resistance. We expect 
 a struggle which will authorize us to shoot Collin to^ 
 morrow morning. AYe thus avoid a trial aiid the costs 
 
232 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 of imprisonment and subsistence, and society is quit 
 of him. The lawyers and the witnesses, their pay and 
 expenses, the execution, and all the rest that is re- 
 quired to rid us legally of such villains cost more 
 than the three thousand francs we are to pay you 
 Besides, it saves time. The thrust of a bayonet into 
 Troinpe-la-Mort’s paunch will prevent a hundred 
 crimes, and spare us the consequences of the corrupt 
 tion of fifty ill-disposed scoundrels, who are always 
 hovering on the verge of mischief. That’s the true 
 function of the police, — prevention of crime. Philan- 
 thropists will tell you so.” 
 
 “ It is serving one’s country,” cried Poiret. 
 
 ‘‘Yes,” replied the chief; “certainly we are serving 
 our country : you are talking some sense this morning. 
 People are very unjust to us in this respect. We ren- 
 der society great services, and society overlooks them. 
 It takes superior men to endure prejudice; only a 
 Christian can accept the reproach that doing good in- 
 curs when it is not done exactly in the line of received 
 traditions. Paris is Paris, you know. That saying 
 explains my life. — I have the honor to salute you, 
 Mademoiselle. I shall be with my men in the Jardin 
 du Roi to-morrow morning. Send Christophe to the 
 Rue de Bufibn aud ask for Monsieur Gondureau at the 
 house where I was staying. Monsieur, your servant. 
 If anybody ever robs you, let me know, and I will re- 
 cover what is lost for you. I am at your service.” 
 
 “Well,” said Poiret to Mile. Michonneau, “there are 
 fools in the world who are all upset by the word ‘ detec- 
 tive.’ That gentleman is very amiable ; and what he 
 asks of you is as easy as saying ‘ How do you do ? ’” i 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 233 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The next clay was one long remembered in the an- 
 nals of the Maison Vauquer. Hitherto the most re- 
 markable event in its history had been the meteoric 
 apparition of the fraudulent countess. But all was to 
 pale before the catastrophes of this great day, which 
 for the rest of her life supplied Madame Vauquer with 
 topics of conversation. In the first place, Pere Goriot 
 and Eugene slept till eleven o’clock. Madame Yau- 
 quer, who did not get home from the theatre till very 
 late, stayed in bed till half-past ten. Christophe, who 
 had finished the bottle of wine made over to him by 
 Yautrin, slept so late that everything was behindhand 
 in the household. Poiret and Mademoiselle Michon- 
 neau made no complaint about breakfast being late. 
 As for Victorine and Madame Couture, they also skpt 
 far into the morning. Yautrin went out before eight 
 o’clock, and got home just as breakfast was on the 
 table. No one, therefore, offered any remonstrance 
 when, at a quarter past eleven, Sylvie and Christophe 
 knocked at all the doors and said that breakfast was 
 served. While they were out of the dining-room. 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau, who was the first person 
 down that morning, poured her liquid into the silver 
 goblet belonging to Yautrin, in which the cream for 
 his coffee was heating in the Min-marie, together 
 
234 
 
 Fere Groriot. 
 
 with the portions of the other guests. The old maid 
 had counted on this custom of the house to accom- 
 plish her purpose. 
 
 It was not without difficulty that the family were 
 finally got together. At the moment when Rastignac, 
 still stretching himself, came last of all into the dining- 
 room, a messenger gave him a note from Madame de 
 Nucingen, which ran as follows : — 
 
 I will not show false pride, nor will I he angry with you, 
 my friend. I waited, expecting you, till two in the morning. 
 To wait for one we love ! — He who has known such pain 
 would not impose it on another. It proves to me that you 
 have never loved till now. What has happened ? I am very 
 anxious. If I did not fear to betray the secrets of my heart I 
 should have gone to find out whether joy or sorrow had befallen 
 you. I feel the disadvantage of being only a woman. Ee- 
 assure me ; explain to me why you did not come after what 
 my father told you. I may be angry, but I shall forgive you. 
 Are you ill? Why do you live so far away from me ? One 
 word for pity’s sake ! You will be here soon, wiU you not ? 
 Say merely, ‘ I am coming,^ or ^I am ill.^ But if you were 
 ill, my father would have been here to tell me. What has 
 happened ? — 
 
 “ Yes, what has happened ?” cried Eugene, hurriedly 
 entering the dining-room, and crumpling up his note 
 without reading the rest of it. What o’clock is it ? ” 
 
 “Half-past eleven,” said Vautrin, putting sugar in 
 his coffee. 
 
 The escaped convict gave Eugene that glance of 
 cold compelling fascination which very magnetic people 
 have the power of giving, — a glance which is said to 
 subdue the maniacs in a mad-house. Eugene trembled 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 235 
 
 in every limb. The roll of a carriage was heard in the 
 still street, and a servant in the Taillefer livery, which 
 Madame Couture recognized at once, came hurriedly 
 into the dining-room, with an excited air. 
 
 Mademoiselle,” he cried, ‘‘ Monsieur your father 
 has sent for you. A great misfortune has befallen him. 
 Monsieur Frederic has fought a duel. He received a 
 sword-thrust in the forehead. The doctors have no 
 hope of saving him. You will hardly be in time to see 
 him breathe his last. He is unconscious already.” 
 
 ^‘Poor young man!” exclaimed Vautrin, how can 
 people quarrel when they have thirty thousand francs 
 a year ! Most assuredly young men do not tread the 
 paths of wisdom — ” 
 
 Monsieur ! ” interrupted Eugene. 
 
 “Well! — and what of it, you big baby?” said 
 Vautrin, quietly finishing his cup of coffee, an opera- 
 tion which Mademoiselle Michonneau watched so in- 
 tently that she paid no heed to the extraordinary event 
 that stupefied the people around her. “ Are there not 
 duels every day in Paris ? ” 
 
 “ I shall go with you, Victorine,” said Madame 
 Couture. 
 
 The two women flew off without hats or shawls. 
 Victorine, with tears in her eyes, gave Eugene a part- 
 ing glance, which said, “ I did not think our happiness 
 would so soon have turned to grief ! ” 
 
 “Why, you are quite a prophet. Monsieur Vautrin,” 
 said Madame Vauquer. 
 
 “ I am all things,” replied Jacques Collin. 
 
 “ It is most singular,” said Madame Vauquer, break- 
 ing forth into a string of commonplaces. “Death takes 
 
236 
 
 Pere Ooriot, 
 
 us without warning. Young people are often called 
 before the aged. It is lucky for us women that we are 
 not expected to fight duels. But we have maladies 
 of our own unknown to men, — child-bed especially. 
 What unexpected luck for Victorine ! Her father will 
 be forced to acknowledge her.” 
 
 “ Just think,” said Vautrin, looking at Eugene, 
 “ yesterday she had not a sou ; this morning she has a 
 fortune of millions.” 
 
 ‘‘ Ah ! Monsieur Eugene,” cried Madame Vauquer, 
 ‘‘ you put your hand in the bag at the right moment.” 
 
 As Madame Vauquer said this, Pere Goriot looked at 
 Eugene and saw the crumpled letter in his hand. 
 
 ‘‘ You have not read it,” he said. ‘‘What does that 
 mean ? Are you like all the rest ? ” 
 
 “ Madame, I shall never marry Mademoiselle Victo- 
 rine,” said Eugene, addressing Madame Vauquer with 
 an expression of mingled horror and disgust which 
 astonished the others at the table. 
 
 Pere Goriot seized the student’s hand and pressed 
 it ; he would fain have kissed it. 
 
 “ Oh ! oh !” said Vautrin, “they have an excellent 
 saying in Italy, — col tempor 
 
 “ I was to wait for an answer,” said the messenger to 
 Rastignac. 
 
 “ Say I am coming.” 
 
 The man went away. Eugene’s agitation was so 
 great that he could not be prudent. 
 
 “ What can be done ? ” he said aloud, though speak- 
 ing to himself, “I have no proofs.” 
 
 Vautrin smiled. At this moment the potion ab- 
 sorbed by the stomach began to take effect. Never- 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 237 
 
 heless the convict was so vigorous that he rose, looked 
 t Rastignac, and said in a hollow voice, “ Young man, 
 ■ur blessings come to us while we sleep.” 
 
 As he said the words he fell down, to all appearance 
 lead. 
 
 “ The justice of God ! ” cried Eugene. 
 
 “ Why, what ’s the matter with him, poor dear Mon- 
 ieur Vautrin,” exclaimed Madame Vauquer. 
 
 “ It is apoplexy,” cried Mademoiselle Michonneau. 
 
 « Sylvie ! run, my girl, go for the doctor,” said the 
 vidow. “ Ah, Monsieur Rastignac, go, please, and get 
 donsieur Bianchon ; perhaps Sylvie will not find our 
 »wn doctor. Monsieur Grimprel.” 
 
 Rastignac, glad of the excuse to escape from that 
 lorrible den, rushed away at full speed. 
 
 “Christophe! here, — go as fast as you can to the 
 ipothecary’s, and ask him to give you something for 
 ipoplexy. Pere Goriot, help us to carry him up to his 
 )wn room.” 
 
 Vautrin was seized ; dragged with difficulty up the 
 ;taircase, and laid upon his bed. 
 
 “ I can be of no further use ; I am going to see my 
 laughter,” said Monsieur Goriot. 
 
 “ Selfish old thing ! ” cried Madame Vauquer. “ Go ! 
 [ only wish you may die like a dog yourself.” 
 
 “ See if you have any ether, Madame Vauquer,” said 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau, who with the aid of Poiret 
 lad unfastened Vautrin’s clothes. 
 
 Madame Vauquer went to her own room and left 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau mistress of the field. 
 
 “Come, quick! — take off his shirt and turn him 
 over. Be good for something — so far, at least, as to 
 
238 Fere Groriot. 
 
 save my modesty,” she said to Poiret ; “ you stanc 
 there like a fool.” 
 
 Vautrin being turned over, Mademoiselle Mich on 
 neau gave him a smart tap on the shoulder, and the twc 
 fatal letters appeared in the midst of the red circle. 
 
 Well, you have not had much trouble in earning 
 your three thousand francs,” cried Poiret, holding 
 Vautrin up while Mademoiselle Michonneau was put 
 ting on his shirt again. “ Ouf ! but he is heavy,” he 
 'V said, laying him down. 
 
 Hold your tongue ! I wonder if there is a strong- 
 box — or a safe ? ” said the old maid with avidity, her 
 eyes almost looking through the walls as she glanced 
 eagerly at every bit of furniture in the room. “ If one 
 could only open this writing-desk on some pretext,” 
 she said. 
 
 ‘‘Perhaps that would n’t be right,” remarked Poiret. 
 
 “ Where ’s the harm ? Stolen money belongs to no 
 one — it is anybody’s. But we have not time, I hear 
 the Yauquer.” 
 
 “ Here is the ether,” said the widow. “Well, I de- 
 clare, this is a day of adventures — but, look! that man 
 cannot be so very ill; he is as white as a chicken.” 
 
 “ As a chicken,” repeated Poiret. 
 
 “ His heart beats regularly,” said Madame Yauquer, 
 placing her hand upon it. 
 
 “ Regularly ? — does it though ? ” said Poiret, sur- 
 prised. 
 
 “ He is all right.” 
 
 “ Do you think so ? ” asked Poiret. 
 
 “ Why, yes ! he looks as if he were sleeping. Sylvie 
 has gone for the doctor. Look, Mademoiselle Michom 
 
Pere Goriot, 
 
 239 
 
 aeau, he is sniffing the ether. Bah ! it was only a 
 kind of spasm ; his pulse is good. He is as strong as 
 a. Turk. Just see, Mademoiselle, what a fur tippet he 
 bas got on his breast ! He will live to be a hundred, 
 be will ! His wig has n’t tumbled off — goodness ! 
 ^hy, it is glued on. He has got some hair of his own 
 — and it ’s red ! They say men with red hair are 
 either very good or very bad : he is one of the good 
 3nes.” 
 
 “ Good enough to hang,” interrupted Poiret. 
 
 ‘‘ Round a pretty woman’s neck, you mean,” cried 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau quickly. ‘‘ Go downstairs, 
 Monsieur Poiret. It is our place to take care of you 
 men when you are ill. You had better go out and 
 take a walk, — for all the good you do,” she added. 
 ‘‘Madame Vauquer and I will sit here and watch this 
 dear Monsieur Vautrin.” 
 
 Thus admonished, Poiret slunk off without a mur- 
 mur, like a hound that has got a kick from its master. 
 
 Rastignac had gone to walk, to breathe fresh air, for 
 be was stifled. What had happened ? The crime had 
 been committed at the hour fixed ; he had wanted to 
 put a stop to it the evening before — what had hin- 
 dered ? What must he do now ? He trembled lest in 
 some way he was an accomplice. Vautrin’s cool as- 
 surance horrified him still. 
 
 “ Suppose he dies without speaking ? ” he asked 
 bimself. 
 
 He was walking breathlessly along the alleys of the 
 Luxembourg, as if pursued by a pack of hounds : he 
 seemed to hear them yelping on his traces. 
 
240 Pere Croriot, 
 
 Here ! ” cried the voice of Bianchon, have you 
 seen the Piloted 
 
 The Pilate was a radical paper edited by Monsieur 
 Tissot, which made up a country edition a few hours 
 after the appearance of the morning papers, and often 
 contained items of later news. 
 
 “ There ’s a great affair in it,” said Bianchon ; young 
 Taillefer has fought a duel with Comte de Pranchessini 
 of the Old Guard, who ran two inches of his sword 
 into his forehead. So now the little Victorine is one 
 of the best matches in Paris. Hein ! if one had only 
 known it! What a game of chance life is — and 
 death, too. Is it true that Victorine looks upon you 
 with an eye of favor, my boy ? ” 
 
 Hush, Bianchon ! I will never marry her. I love 
 a charming woman, — a woman who loves me. I — ” 
 Well, you say it in a tone as if you were goading 
 yourself not to give up your charming woman. Show 
 me the lady worth the sacrifice of the wealth of the 
 house of Taillefer.” 
 
 “ Are all the devils on my track ? ” cried Rastignac. 
 
 « Why, what are you about ? Have you gone mad ? 
 Give me your wrist,” said Bianchon, I want to feel 
 your pulse. You have got a fever.” 
 
 “Go at once to Mother Vauquer’s,” said Eugene: 
 “that scoundrel Vautrin has just dropped dead.” 
 
 “ Ah-h ! ” cried Bianchon, dropping Rastignac’s 
 hand, “that confirms my suspicions; I will make sure 
 about them.” 
 
 During his long walk Eugene passed through a 
 solemn crisis. He made, as it were, the circuit of his 
 conscience. If he struggled with his own soul, if 
 
Pere Croriot. 
 
 241 
 
 he hankered and hesitated, it must be owned that his 
 probity came out of that bitter and terrible discus- 
 sion like a bar of iron, proof against every test. He 
 remembered the secret Pere Goriot had let drop the 
 day before. He thought of the appartement chosen 
 for him by Delphine in the Rue d’ Artois. He took 
 out her letter, and re-read it, and kissed it. 
 
 ‘^Her love is my sheet anchor/’ he said. “ The poor 
 old man, too, — he has had much to suffer ! He says 
 nothing of his griefs, but who cannot guess what they 
 have been to him? Well, I will take care of him 
 as if he were my father ; I will give him the joys he 
 longs for. If she loves me she will sometimes come 
 and pass the day with him. — That grand Comtesse 
 de Restaud is a vile woman ; she shuts her doors 
 against her father. Dear Delphine ! she is kinder 
 to the poor old man — yes ! she is worth loving.” 
 He drew out his watch and admired it. Everything 
 will go well with me,” he said. When people love 
 each other, what harm is there in accepting mutual 
 gifts? I may keep it. Besides, I shall succeed, 
 and repay her a hundredfold. In this lictison there 
 is no crime, — nothing to make the strictest virtue 
 frown. W^e deceive no one i it is falsehood that makes 
 us vile. How many honorable people contract just 
 such unions! Her quarrel with her husband is irre- 
 mediable. — Suppose I were to ask him, that big 
 Alsatian, to give up to me a woman he can never 
 render happy ? ” 
 
 * The struggle of his mind lasted long. Though the 
 victory remained with the virtues of youth, and he 
 repulsed the temptation to make himself the accom- 
 
242 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 plice of a deed of blood, he was nevertheless drawn 
 back at dusk to the Maison Vauquer by an irresistible 
 impulse of curiosity. He swore to himself that he 
 would quit the place forever, but he must know if 
 Vautrin was dead. 
 
 Bianchon after administering an emetic had taken 
 the matters vomited by Vautrin to his hospital for 
 chemical analysis. When he saw Mademoiselle Mich- 
 onneau’s anxiety to have them thrown away his sus- 
 picions increased; but Vautrin got over the attack so 
 quickly that he soon dropped the idea of a plot against 
 the life of that jovial merry-maker. 
 
 When Rastignac came in, Vautrin was standing by 
 the stove in the dining-room. The guests had come 
 together earlier than usual, anxious to learn the pai- 
 ticulars of the duel and to know what influence it 
 would have on the future of Victorine. As Eugene 
 entered, he caught the eye of the J.mperturbable sphinx. 
 The look the latter gave him pierced deep into his 
 heart, and touched some chords of evil with so pow- 
 erful a spell that he shivered. 
 
 ‘'Well, my dear fellow,” said the escaped convict, 
 “ Death will have a fierce struggle to get hold of me. 
 These ladies tell me I have recovered from a rush of 
 blood to the head that would have killed an ox.” 
 
 “ Indeed, you might say a bull,” said Madame 
 Vauquer. 
 
 “Are you sorry to see me alive?” said Vautrin to 
 Eugene in a wliisper, divining his thought. “You 
 will find, on the contrary, that I am devilishly strong.”. 
 
 “Ah, by the by!” exclaimed Bianchon, “the dayj 
 before yesterday Mademoiselle Michoiineau was speak- 
 
Pire Goriot. 
 
 243 
 
 ing of a man named Trompe-la-Mort. That name 
 would suit you, Monsieur Vautrin.” 
 
 K The words were a thunderbolt to Vautrin. He 
 turned pale and staggered. His magnetic glance fell 
 on Mademoiselle Michonneau, who sank beneath the 
 power of his eye. She fell back on a chaii, her knees 
 giving way under her. Poiret stepped nimbly between 
 the two, understanding instinctively that she was in 
 danger, so ferocious was the expression of the convict 
 as he threw off the mask of good humor under which 
 he had so long concealed his real nature. Without 
 the least comprehending what was taking place before 
 their eyes, the others saw that something was wrong, 
 and stood by bewildered. At that moment footsteps 
 were heard and the rattle of muskets in the street, as 
 a squad of soldiers brought their pieces to the pave- 
 ment. While Collin cast a quick glance at the win- 
 dows and the walls, instinctively looking for the means 
 of escape, four men showed themselves at the door of 
 the dining-room. The foremost was the chief of the 
 detective police, and the three others were members 
 of his force. 
 
 ^ “ In the name of the law and the King ! ” said one of 
 
 the latter, his words being drowned by a murmur of 
 amazement ; but in a moment silence reigned in the 
 room as the guests stood aside to give passage to these 
 men, each of whom had his right hand in a side-pocket 
 where he held a loaded pistol. Two gendarmes, who 
 stepped in after the detectives, stood by the doorway 
 leading to the salon, while two more appeared at that 
 which opened towards the staircase. The tread and 
 the guns of a squad of soldiers outside sounded on 
 
244 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 the pebble-paved space along the side of the building. 
 Every chance of flight was thus cut off from Trompe- 
 la-Mort, on whom all eyes now turned in his extremity. 
 The chief went straight to him, and gave him a blow 
 so vigorously applied that it tore the wig from its 
 place, and showed the head of Collin in all its horrible 
 integrity. The hair, red and . close-cropped, gave to his 
 face a look of mingled strength and cunning ; and the 
 harmony of the face and head with the stalwart chest 
 revealed the whole being of the man as by a flash 
 from the fires of hell. All present comprehended 
 Vautrin, — his past, his present, the future before him,^ 
 his implacable dogmas, the religion of his own good 
 pleasure, the dominion he had exercised by the cyni- 
 cism of his ideas and his acts, and by the force of his 
 extraordinary organism, /rhe blood rushed to his 
 face, and his eyes glittered like those of a wildcat. 
 He made one bound of savage energy ; he uttered one 
 roar, so ferocious that the people near him shrank back 
 in fear. At this movement, like that of a lion at bay, 
 and assuming to be justified by the terror of the by- 
 standers, the detectives drew their pistols. Collin no 
 sooner heard the cocking of the triggers than he un- 
 derstood his danger, aud gave instant proof of the 
 highest of human powers, — horrible, yet majestic 
 spectacle ! His whole being passed through a pheno- 
 menal change which can only be compared to that 
 which takes place in a boiler full of the steam that can 
 blast mountains in its might, and yet at the touch of 
 a drop of cold water sinks into instant dissolution. 
 The drop of water which in a moment calmed his 
 rage was a reflection that flashed, quick as lightning, 
 
Pere Croriot, 
 
 245 
 
 through his brain. He smiled quietly, and glanced at 
 
 his wig. ^ 1 
 
 « This is not one of your polite days,” he said to the 
 
 chief of police, stretching out his hands to the gen- 
 darmes with a motion of his head. Messieurs, put 
 "on the handcuiFs. I take all present to witness that I 
 ipake no resistance.” 
 
 (' A murmur of admiration, called forth by the promp- 
 titude with which this wondrous man mastered the 
 fire and molten lava of the volcano in his bieast, ran 
 through the room. 
 
 “ That puts an end to your kind intentions,” he said, 
 looking full at the celebrated director of the detective 
 police. 
 
 “Come, undress!” said the chief, in a tone of 
 contempt. 
 
 “ What for ? ” asked Collin. “ There are ladies 
 present. I deny nothing, and I surrender. 
 
 He paused, and looked on all around him with the 
 air of an orator about to hold the attention of his 
 audience. 
 
 “ Write down, Papa Lachapelle,” he said, address- 
 ing a little old man with white hair, who placed him- 
 self at the end of the table, taking from a portfolio a 
 form for the official report of the arrest, “ that I ac- 
 knowledge myself to be Jacques Collin, condemned to 
 twenty years? imprisonment; and I have just given 
 proof that I did not steal my nickname. If I had so 
 much as lifted a hand,” he said, turning to his late com- 
 panions, “ those fellows would have spilled my claret on 
 the domestic hearthstone of Mamma Vauquer. These 
 rogues delight in setting snares for their victims. 
 
246 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 Madame Vauquer turned pale on hearing these 
 words. ‘‘ Mon Dieu / ” she cried, “ it is enough to 
 bring on an illness ! To think of my having been at 
 the theatre with him only last evening ! ” she said 
 to Sylvie. 
 
 ‘‘ Show more philosophy, Mamma,” said Collin. 
 “ Was it really a misfortune to amuse yourself in my 
 box at the Gaite last night? Are you better than we? 
 We have less infamy branded on our shoulders than 
 you have in your hearts, — you flabby members of a 
 gangrened society ! Even the best among you could 
 not hold out against me.” His eyes turned to Rastig- 
 nac, to whom he gave a kindly smile in strange con- 
 trast to the harsh expression of his features. “ Our 
 little bargain holds good, my lad,” he said ; “ that is, 
 in case of acceptance. You know — ” and he sang : 
 
 ‘‘ ‘ My Fanny is charming 
 In her simplicity/ 
 
 Don’t be uneasy,” he resumed. “ I shall be all right 
 again before long. They fear me too much to play 
 me false.” 
 
 The bagne^ with its manners and vocabulary, its 
 abrupt transitions from the jocose to the horrible, its 
 fiendish grandeur, its familiarity, its degradation, were 
 all exhibited to the eye in the person of this man, — 
 no longer a man, but the type of a degenerate race ; of 
 a savage people, lawless yet logical, brutal but pliant. 
 On a sudden Collin had become an infernal poem, an 
 exposition of all human emotions save one, — repent- 
 ance. His glance was that of the fallen angel, prepared 
 to carry on a losing war. Rastignac bent his head, 
 accepting the comradeship thus forced upon him, in 
 
Pere Groriot. 247 
 
 expiation of the evil thoughts which had brought him 
 near to crime. 
 
 “Who betrayed me?” said Collin, casting his 
 glance around the circle. It stopped at Mademoiselle 
 Michonneau. “ Ah ! it was you, sleuth-hound ! — you 
 gave me a sham apoplexy, you prying devil ! If I said 
 two words, your head would be mown off in a week. 
 Bat I forgive you. I ’m a Christian. Besides, it was 
 not you who sold me. But who, then ? — Ha, ha ! 
 you are rummaging up there,” he cried, hearing the 
 detectives overhead, who were opening his closets 
 and taking possession of his effects. “ The birds are 
 flown, the nest is empty. You can find nothing there. 
 My ledgers are here,” he added, tapping his forehead. 
 “ Now I know who sold me. It can be no other than 
 that dirty blackguard, Fil de Soie. Is n’t it so. Father 
 Catch’em ? ” he said to the chief of police. “ I guess it 
 from the way you are looking for the bank-notes up- 
 stairs. None there, my little spies! As for Fil de 
 Soie, — he’ll be under the sod in a fortnight, even if 
 you try to guard him with the whole force of your 
 gendarmerie. How much did you pay that old 
 Michonnette ? ” he asked, turning to the police agents. 
 “ Only a thousand crowns ? Why, I was worth more 
 than that, you decayed Ninon — Pompadour in tatters 
 — Venus of the cemetery ! If you had given me 
 warning, I ’d have paid you double. Ha ! you did 
 thirds; of it? — Haggler in human flesh! Yes, I 
 would have given you six thousand francs to spare 
 myself a journey which I don’t like, — and which puts 
 me out of pocket,” he added, as they were screwing on 
 the handcuffs. “These people will, take pleasure in 
 
248 
 
 Pere GrorioU 
 
 letting things drag along, just to keep me idle. If they 
 would only send me ofF to the galleys at onch, I should 
 soon get back to my work, in spite of those simpletons 
 at the prefecture of police. Down there in Toulon 
 they would turn their souls inside out to set their gen- 
 eral at liberty, — their trusty Trompe-la-Mort. Is 
 there any one of you who can boast of having, as I 
 have, ten thousand brothers ready to do everything 
 for you ? ” he asked proudly. “ There is virtue here,” 
 striking his breast. have never betrayed any one. 
 Ha! old adder!” he continued, addressing the old 
 maid. “Look at these people. They fear me, but 
 they loathe you. Pick up your gains and begone ! ” 
 
 He made a pause, and looked round upon the other 
 guests. 
 
 “ What fools you are ! ” he said. “ Did you never 
 see a convict? A convict of the stamp of Collin, here 
 present, is a man who is less base than other men, and 
 who protests against the glaring deceptions of the so- 
 cial contract, as Jean Jacques called it, — whose pupil 
 I am proud to be. For myself, I stand alone against 
 the Government, with all its courts of law, its budgets 
 and gendarmes^ — and I get the better of it.” 
 
 “ The devil ! ” exclaimed the painter. “ I should 
 like to sketch him now.” 
 
 “Tell me,” he continued, turning to the chief of 
 police, — “ tell me, equerry to Monseigneur the execu- 
 tioner, governor of the Widow \La Veuve, — appalling 
 name, full of terrible poesy, given by the convicts to 
 the guillotine] ; come, be a good fellow and say, was 
 it Fil de Soie who sold me? I should be sorry if he 
 died for another; it would not be just.” 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 249 
 
 At this moment the detectives, who had opened 
 3verything and taken an inventory of all that was in 
 bis apartment, came down and said something in a low 
 ^oice to the chief of police. The proch-verbal (written 
 3fficial report of all the circumstances of the arrest) 
 was now completed. 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said Collin, turning to his late com- 
 panions, “they are about to take me from you. You 
 have all been very amiable to me during my residence 
 among you, and I shall think of you with gratitude. 
 Receive my adieux. You will permit me to send you 
 figs from Provence.” 
 
 He went a few steps, and then turned and looked at 
 Rastignac. 
 
 “Adieu, Eugene,” he said, in a gentle, sad voice, 
 3trangely in contrast with the rough tone he had used 
 hitherto. “ If you are ever in trouble, remember, — I 
 leave you a devoted friendo” Notwithstanding liis 
 handcuffs, he put himself on guard, gave the word like 
 a fencing-master, — one, two, — and made a pass as if 
 with the sword. “ In case of misfortune, go there. 
 Man or money, — all are at your disposal.” 
 
 This strange being put so much buffoonery into 
 these last words that no one present understood their 
 meaning except Rastignac. 
 
 When the house was vacated by the gendarmes., the 
 soldiers, and the agents of the police, Sylvie, who was 
 bathing her mistress’s forehead with vinegar, looked 
 round upon the assembled household and said, — 
 
 “ Well — all the same, he was a good man.” 
 
 These words broke the spell which the rush of 
 events and the diversity of emotions had exercised 
 
250 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 over the spectators of this strange scene. They 
 glanced at each other, and then by a common im- 
 pulse all turned to Mademoiselle Michonneau, who 
 crouched near the stove, cold, bloodless, withered as a 
 mummy, — her eyes cast down as though she felt the 
 protection of the green shade insufficient to concea' 
 their expression. The cause of the aversion they hac 
 long felt for her was suddenly made clear to theii 
 minds. A murmur of disgust, which by its unanimity 
 expressed the common feeling of all present, sounded 
 through the room. Mademoiselle Michonneau heard 
 it, but she did not change her attitude. Bianchon 
 was the first to speak. He turned to the man next 
 him and said, in a low voice, — 
 
 ‘‘ I shall decamp if she is to eat her dinner here.” 
 
 Instantly every one, except Poiret, accepted the 
 suggestion ; and the medical student, sustained by pub- 
 lic opinion, walked up to the old man. 
 
 ‘‘ You who enjoy a special intimacy with Mademoi- 
 selle Michonneau,” he said, “ had better speak to her. 
 Make her understand that she must leave this house 
 without delay.” 
 
 ‘‘Without delay?” repeated Poiret, astonished. 
 
 Then he went up to the old maid and said something 
 in a whisper. 
 
 “ But I have paid a month in advance ; I have a 
 right to stay here while I pay my money like every- 
 body else,” she said, darting a viperous glance at the 
 company. 
 
 “ That need not hinder,” said Rastignac, “ we will 
 all subscribe and return you the money.” 
 
 “ Monsieur stands up for Collin? ” she replied, casting 
 
Pere Goriot. 261 
 
 a venomous and searching look at Rastignac. ‘‘It is 
 easy to guess why. We all heard his last words.” 
 
 Eugene sprang forward as though he would have 
 seized and strangled her. 
 
 “ Let her alone ! ” cried the others. 
 
 Rastignac folded his arms and stood mute. 
 
 “We must get rid of Mademoiselle Judas,” said the 
 painter, turning to Madame Vauquer. “ Madame, if 
 you do not turn out la Michonneau we shall all leave 
 you ; and we shall report everywhere that your pension 
 Ls frequented by spies and convicts. If you do as we 
 demand, we will be silent about what has happened, — 
 which, indeed, is liable to take place in the best estab- 
 lishments, until galley-slaves are branded on the fore- 
 head and prevented from disguising themselves as 
 honest citizens and playing the buffoon as they please.” 
 
 Hearing this, Madame Vauquer miraculously recov- 
 Bred her senses, sat upright, folded her arms, and opened 
 her cold light eyes, which showed no trace of tears. 
 
 “ But, my dear Monsieur,” she said, “ do you mean 
 to ruin my house ? There is Monsieur Yautrin — oh ! 
 Mon Dieu^'^ she cried, interrupting herself, “I cannot 
 help giving him his honest name ! — he leaves me a 
 whole suite of rooms vacant; and now you ask me to 
 Bonsent to have two more rooms unoccupied at a season 
 when everybody is settled ! ” 
 
 “ Come, gentlemen, get your hats. We will go and 
 line in the Place Sorbonne at Flicoteaux’s,” said 
 Bianchon. 
 
 Madame Vauquer made a rapid mental calculation as 
 to which side her interest lay, and then waddled up to 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau. 
 
252 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 “ Come, my dear good lady,” she said, you don^t 
 want to be the death of my establishment, I am sure. 
 You see to what an extremity I am reduced by the be- 
 havior of these gentlemen. Go up to your room for 
 this evening.” 
 
 '' That won’t do ! That will not do at all ! ” cried all 
 the others. ‘‘We insist upon her leaving the house at 
 once.” 
 
 “ But she has not dined,” said Poiret piteously. 
 
 “ She can get her dinner somewhere else,” cried 
 several voices. 
 
 “ Begone, spy ! ” 
 
 “ Down with the spies — with both of them ! ” 
 
 “Gentlemen,” said Poiret, suddenly exhibiting the 
 courage of an old ram defending his favorite ewe, “ re- 
 spect her sex.” 
 
 “ Spies are not of any sex.” 
 
 “ Famous sex-orama ! ” 
 
 V 
 
 “ A la porte-orama I ” 
 
 “Gentlemen, this is indecent. When people are 
 dismissed from a house there are certain formalities to 
 be observed. We have paid our board in advance, 
 and we shall stay,” said Poiret, putting on his amor- 
 phous old hat, and taking a chair beside Mademoiselle 
 Michonneau, to whom Madame Vauquer was appealing 
 in a low voice. 
 
 “ Ah ! you bad boy ! ” cried the painter ; “ petit me- 
 chanty va ! ” 
 
 “ Come on, then,” said Bianchon, “ if they are not 
 going, we are.” 
 
 At this summons all the guests moved in a body to 
 the door of the salon. 
 
 I 
 
P^re Goriot. 
 
 253 
 
 « Mademoiselle ! what shall I do ? I shall be ruined ! ” 
 3ried Madame Vauquer. ‘'You cannot stay— they 
 will proceed to violence.” 
 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau rose. 
 
 “ She is going ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ She won’t go ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, she will !” 
 
 No, she won’t !” 
 
 These alternating exclamations and the increasing 
 hostility of all around her decided the old maid, and 
 she prepared to leave, after a few whispered stipulations 
 with her landlady. 
 
 “ I am going to Madame Buneaud’s,” she said with 
 a menacing air. 
 
 “ Go where you choose, Mademoiselle,” cried Madame 
 Yauquer, to whom this choice of the rival establish- 
 ment added insult to injury. “Go, if you like, to the 
 Buneaud’s. She will give you wine fit to make the 
 goats caper with stomach-ache, and stews made of cold 
 pieces from the eating-houses.” 
 
 / The guests stood in a double row in profound silence. 
 Poiret looked so tenderly at Mademoiselle Michonneau, 
 and yet was so naively undecided whether he ought to 
 go or stay, that the victorious party, put in good hu- 
 mor by the departure of the old maid, began to laugh 
 at him. 
 
 Xi, xi, xi, Poiret ! ” cried the painter, as if setting 
 on a dog ; “ hi, old fellow ! ” 
 
 The Museum employ^ began to sing, with comic 
 gestures, a well-known ballad : — 
 
 Partant pour la Syrie 
 Le jeune et beau Dunois/' 
 
254 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 “ You had better go, Poiret ; you are dying to follow 
 her,” cried Bianchon, — trahit sua quemque vohiptasP 
 “Like follows like — translation more liberal than 
 literal from Yirgil,” said a tutor who was one of the 
 guests. 
 
 Mademoiselle Michonneau looked hard at Poiret, 
 and made a movement as if to take his arm. He was 
 unable to resist the appeal, and came forward to sup- 
 port her. There was a burst of applause and peals of 
 laughter. 
 
 “ Bravo, Poiret ! ” 
 
 “ Good for old Poiret ! ” 
 
 “ Poiret-Apollo ! ” 
 
 “ Poiret-Mars ! ” 
 
 Plucky Poiret ! ” 
 
 \ At this moment a messenger came in with a note 
 for Madame Vauquer. She read it, and sank down 
 upon a chair. 
 
 “ Now there is nothing left but to be struck by light- 
 ning,” she said, “ and burn the house down ! Young 
 Taillefer died at three o’clock. I am rightly punished 
 for having wished those ladies good-luck at the expense 
 of that poor young man. Madame Couture and Vic- 
 torine have sent for their things, and are going to 
 live with the father. Monsieur Taillefer allows his 
 daughter to keep the widow Couture as her companion. 
 Four appartements vacant! Five lodgers gone ! ” she 
 said, with tears in her voice. “ Misfortune has visited 
 my house ! ” 
 
 The roll of a carriage echoed up the quiet street and 
 stopped before the door. 
 
 “ Here ’s some lucky windfall,” cried Sylvie. 
 
Pere Gioriot. 
 
 255 
 
 Goriot came in, radiant with happiness ; his face 
 shone ; he seemed transfigured. 
 
 “ Goriot in a hackney-coach ! ” cried the others ; 
 
 “ the end of the world has come ! ” 
 
 The old fellow went straight to Rastignac, who was 
 standing apart dumb-founded, and took him by the 
 arm. Come ! ” he cried eagerly. 
 
 ‘^Do you know what has happened ?” said Eugene; 
 
 Vautrin was a convict escaped from the galleys ; they 
 have just arrested him. And young Taillefer is dead.” 
 
 ‘‘Well — what is that to us ? ” replied Pere Goriot; 
 
 “ I am to dine with my daughter to-day at your rooms ; 
 you understand ? She is waiting for us. Come ! ” 
 
 He pulled Rastignac violently by the arm, and car- 
 ried him off as if he were a lover and Rastignac a 
 woman. 
 
 “ Let us sit down to dinner ; ” said the painter, and 
 each took his place at table. 
 
 “ I declare,” said Sylvie, “ things do go wrong to- 
 day ! My haricot of mutton has got stuck. Well! 
 you will have to eat it burned, whether or no.!” 
 
 / Madame Vauquer had no heart to say a word when 
 4he saw ten persons instead of eighteen sitting down ^ 
 to table ; but they all made a good-natured effort to 
 console her and cheer her up ; and though at first they 
 could think of nothing but Vautrin and the startling 
 events of the day, the serpentine current of their talk 
 soon led them to duels, the galleys, law-courts, prisons, 
 and the reform of the criminal code, from whence they 
 wandered far away from Jacques Collin and Yictorine 
 and her brother. Although there were but ten of them, 
 they made noise enough for twenty, and gave the im- 
 
256 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 pression of being more in number than usual, — which 
 was the only apparent difference between the dinner of 
 to-day and the dinners of other days. The habitual 
 insouciance of that devil-may-care world of Paris, 
 which each day gluts its maw with the events of the 
 last twenty-four hours, resumed its sway , and even 
 Madame Vauquer permitted herself to listen to the 
 voice of hope, — that divinity being represented by 
 the fat Sylvie. 
 
Pere (xoriot. 
 
 267 
 
 XV. 
 
 This day was destined to be, from morning till night, 
 a phantasmagoria to Eugene, who in spite of his self- 
 command and his strength of mind could not collect 
 his scattered senses when he found himself in the coach 
 beside Pere Goriot, whose babble flowed joyously as 
 from a fount of unexampled happiness, sounding in 
 Eugene’s ears, after so many emotions, like the words 
 of a dream : — 
 
 « We flnished our work this morning. We are all 
 three to dine together, — together, do you understand ? 
 It is four years since I last dined with Pelphine, 
 my own little Delphine ! I shall be there all the eve- 
 ning. We have been at your rooms since the morning. 
 I have been working like a day-laborer, coat off. I 
 helped to bring in the furniture. — Ah ! ah ! you 
 don’t know how charming she can be at the head of a 
 table. She will look after me. She will say, ‘ Come, 
 Papa, eat some of this — it is good ! ’ and then I shall 
 not be able to swallow a mouthful. Oh ! it is so long 
 since I have spent an evening with her ; but the happy 
 time is coming ! ” 
 
 “Ah!” cried Eugene, “the world seems upside 
 down.” 
 
 A “ Upside down ! ” exclaimed Pere Goriot. “ Why, 
 it never seemed to me so right-side-up before. I see 
 
 17 
 
258 
 
 P^re GorioL 
 
 none but happy faces in the streets ; everybody seems 
 to be shaking hands; some people are hugging each 
 other; men look as gay as if they were all going to 
 dine with their daughters, and gobble down the good 
 dinner I heard her order from the chef at the Cafe 
 Anglais. But, bah ! what matter ? Sitting beside her, 
 aloes would taste as sweet as honey.” 
 
 “ Am I coming to life again ? ” said Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘ Get on faster, coachman,” cried Pere Goriot, letting 
 down the front glass of the carriage. Drive faster ! 
 I will give you five francs drink-money if you get me 
 there in ten minutes.” 
 
 On hearing this promise, the man dashed across Paris 
 at break-neck speed. 
 
 “ The fellow crawls,” cried Goriot. 
 
 “ But where are you taking me ? ” asked Rastignac. 
 
 “ To your own rooms,” said Pere Goriot. 
 
 The carriage stopped in the Rue d’ Artois. The old 
 man got out first, and flung ten francs to the coachman 
 with the prodigality of a widower in the first flush of 
 his release. 
 
 Come ! let us go upstairs,” he said to Rastignac, 
 marshalling him across the courtyard and taking him to 
 an appartement on the third floor, in the rear of a new 
 and handsome building. Pere Goriot had no need to 
 ring the bell. Therese, Madame de Nucingen’s wait- 
 ing-woman, opened the door, and Eugene found him- 
 self in a charming bachelor establishment, consisting 
 of an ante-chamber, a little salon^ a bed-room, and a 
 dressing-room looking out upon a garden. In the little 
 salon^ whose furniture and decorations would have 
 borne comparison with everything beautiful and grace- 
 
Pere Qoriot. 
 
 269 
 
 ful of its kind, he saw Delphine by the soft light of 
 wax-candles, who rose from a couch by the fire and, 
 laying the hand-screen she had been using on the 
 chimney-piece, said in a voice full of tenderness, “ So 
 you had to be sent for, — Monsieur, who is so dull of 
 comprehension ! ” 
 
 Therese left the room. Eugene took Delphine in 
 his arms, and as he pressed her to his heart tears came 
 Into his eyes. The contrast between what he saw and 
 what he had so lately seen overwhelmed him, and the 
 emotions of this strange day, when so much had wea- 
 ried his spirit and confused his brain, brought on a rush 
 of nervous agitation. 
 
 “I knew all along how he felt,” whispered Pere 
 Goriot to his daughter, while Eugene lay back upon a 
 sofa unable to say a word, or to explain why this last 
 wave of the magic wand had so powerfully affected him. 
 
 “ Come and see your rooms,” said Madame de Nu- 
 cingen, after a pause, taking his hand and leading him 
 through the pretty appartement, where the carpets, the 
 furniture, and all the lesser decorations were of the 
 same style, in miniature, as those of Delphine’s own 
 rooms. 
 
 “We will keep our happiness a secret from all 
 except ourselves,” she whispered, smiling. 
 
 “Yes, but I must have my share in it,” said Pdre 
 Goriot. 
 
 “ You know you are included : ouvselves means 
 you, too.” 
 
 “ Ah ! that is what I wanted you to say. You will 
 not think me in the way, will you ? I shall come and 
 go like some good spirit, always at hand, though he 
 
260 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 does not make himself known. — Well, my Delphi* 
 nette, Ninette, Dedel ! was I not right to tell you of 
 this pretty little appartement, and to say, ‘Let us 
 furnish it for him’? At first you did not like the 
 idea. It is I who planned all this pleasure. Fathers 
 should give their children everything, just as they 
 gave them life. Give all, give ever, — that is a father’s 
 motto.” 
 
 “ Have we guessed what you like best ? ” said Del- 
 phine to Eugene as they came back into the salon. 
 
 “Yes, he said, “only too w''ell. Alas! the luxury 
 of these rooms is complete ; my every dream is real- 
 ized. The poetry of such a life, so fresh, so elegant, — 
 
 I feel it all ! But I cannot accept it from you, and I 
 am too poor as yet — ” 
 
 “ Ah ! would you dare to cross me already ? ” she 
 asked, with a mock air of authority, making one of 
 those pretty grimaces by which women try to laugh 
 away a scruple. But Eugene had that day too sol- ! 
 emnly interrogated his conscience, — the arrest of Vau- 
 trin, revealing the horrible abyss into which he had so 
 nearly plunged, — had too powerfully forced his mind 
 back to thoughts of duty and delicacy, to let him now 
 yield to her caressing assault upon his scruples. A 
 profound sadness came over him. 
 
 “ Is it possible,” cried Madame de Nncingen, “ that 
 you refuse me ? Do you know all that such a refusal 
 means? It means that you doubt the future, that 
 you doubt me, or th.at you fe.ar to be false yourself 
 to my affection. If you love me and if I love you, 
 why do you draw back and refuse such trifling obliga- 
 tions? If you knew the pleasure I have had in pre- 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 261 
 
 paring these rooms for you, you would not hesitate ; 
 you would beg my pardon for the very thought of 
 pgfugijig nie. Besides, you must remember that I have 
 money of yours • I have laid it out to the best advan- 
 tage,— that is all. You fancy that your refusal is a 
 proof of highmindedness : it is the contrary. Oh, 
 Papa! give him good reasons why he should not refuse 
 us,” she exclaimed after a pause, turning to her father. 
 
 “ Does he think I would be less fastidious than him- 
 self on a point of honor? ” 
 
 Pere Goriot listened to this dispute with the ab- 
 sorbed smile of an Oriental snake-charmer. 
 
 “ Child that you are, reflect ! ” continued Madame de 
 Nucingen, taking Eugene’s hand. “You stand on the 
 threshold of life ; between you and success there lies 
 a barrier insurmountable for most young men, the 
 barrier of poverty, of obscurity; the hand of a woman 
 removes it, and you draw back! You will succeed; 
 you will make a brilliant future ; I read success upon 
 your brow. When this comes to pass, can you not pay 
 back to me what I lend you now? In olden times 
 ladies gave to their knights armor and swords and 
 helmets, coats of mail and hoi’ses, that they might 
 fight at tournaments and win them honor. Eugene, 
 the things I ofier you are the arms of the nineteenth 
 century ; tools essential to the man who wishes to rise 
 above his fellows. Ah!” she added, “the gariet 
 where you live must be sumptuous, if it is anything 
 like Papa’s! Do you wish to make me miserable? 
 Answer ! ” she said, slightly shaking his hand. “ Mon 
 Pieu, Papa ! make him accept, or I will go away and 
 never let him see me again.” 
 
262 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 ‘‘ I can settle it,” said Pere Goriot, coming out of 
 his trance. “My dear Monsieur Eugene, you would 
 be glad no doubt to borrow money from the Jews, 
 would n’t you ? ” 
 
 “ I must,” he replied. 
 
 “Very good; now, then, I have you,” said the old 
 man, drawing out a shabby leather pocket-book. “ I 
 am your Jew. I have paid all the bills, and here they 
 are. Not a sou is owing for anything in this apparte- 
 merit. The furniture did not cost a great deal, — at 
 most five thousand francs. I lend you that sum. You 
 won’t refuse me ; I am not a woman. You can write 
 me an acknowledgment upon a scraj) of paper, and 
 repay me some of these days.” 
 
 Delphine and Eugene looked at each other in aston- 
 ishment, and tears filled their eyes. The student took 
 the hand of the old man and pressed it warmly. 
 
 “ Why, you need not think so much of it ; are you 
 not both my children ? ” said Goriot. 
 
 “ But, my poor Father, how did you manage it ? ” said 
 Madame de Nucingen. 
 
 “ Ah ! now you want me to tell you all,” he an- 
 swered. “Well, after I had persuaded you to let 
 him live here, and I saw you buying things fit for a 
 bride, I said, ‘ She will find herself in trouble about 
 the money.’ My lawyer tells me the suit against your 
 husband cannot be settled for six months. It can 
 wait. I have sold out my securities, that brought me 
 in thirteen hundred and fifty francs a year. With 
 fifteen thousand francs of the capital I have bought 
 an annuity of twelve hundred francs, and I have paid 
 these bills with the remainder, my children. 1 have a 
 
Pere Croriot. 
 
 2(5 
 
 edroora here which will cost only a hundred and 
 fty francs a year, and I can live like a prince on forty 
 ms a day and have something left over. I hardly 
 ver wear out my clothes, and I shall never need any 
 ew ones. For a fortnight past I have been laughing 
 1 my sleeve, saying to myself, ‘ How happy we shall 
 e ! ’ Was I not right ? — are you not happy ? ” 
 
 “Oh, Papa, Papa!” cried. Madame de Nucingen, 
 cringing into the arms of her father, who placed her 
 jnderly on his knee. She covered him with kisses ; 
 er blonde hair touched his cheeks as she shed tears 
 pon the aged face all glowing now with happiness. 
 Dear Father, — you are indeed a father. No ! there 
 j not another father in the world like you. Eugene! 
 ou loved him before, but you will love him better 
 ow.” 
 
 “Why, my children,” said PMe Goriot, who for 
 ix years had not felt a daughter’s heart against his 
 losom ; “ my Deljchinette, do you want to kill me 
 vith joy ? My poor heart cannot bear it. Ah ! Eu- 
 gene, the debt is repaid already ! ” 
 
 And the old man pressed his daughter to his heart 
 vith an embrace so frantic that she cried out, “ Oh ! 
 .'OU hurt me.” 
 
 “ Hurt you ! ” he said, turning pale. He looked at 
 ler with an expression of anguish. “ No, no ! I could 
 lot hurt you,” gently kissing the waist his arm had 
 iressed too roughly. “ It was you who hurt me by 
 hat cry of pain. — The furniture cost more than I 
 ;old him,” he whispered in her ear ; “ but we must 
 leceive him a little, or we shall not be able to manage 
 lira.” 
 
264 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 Eugene, amazed at the inexhaustible self-devotio 
 of Pere Goriot, gazed at him with a naive admiratio 
 which in the young expresses implicit faith. 
 
 I will make myself worthy of such goodness ! 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 “ Oh, my Eugene, those words are noble ! ” and 
 dame de Nucingen kissed him on the forehead. 
 
 ‘‘ For thy sake he refused Mademoiselle Taillefe 
 and her millions,” said Pere Goriot. ‘‘Yes, the littl 
 girl was fond of him ; her brother is dead, and she i 
 as rich as Croesus.” 
 
 “ Do not say that ! ” cried Rastignac. 
 
 “ Eugene,” whispered Madame de Nucingen. “ 
 have now a regret to mar my happiness ; but I wi 
 love you the better for it — and forever.” 
 
 “ This is the happiest day of my life since your mar 
 riages,” cried Pere Goriot. “I am willing to suffe 
 all that it may please God to send me, so long as i 
 does not come through ray children. As long as I liv 
 I shall say to myself, ‘ In February, 1820, there was ; 
 day when I was happier than other men are in a life 
 time ! ’ Look at me, Fifine,” he said to his daughter 
 “ Ah ! is she not lovely ? Tell me, where can yoi 
 find another little woman with such a skin, and sue! 
 pretty dimples? She is mine, — I made her, the little 
 darling ! Ah ! my friend, be good to her, make he: 
 happy, and I will reward you. If there were but om 
 chance to go to heaven and I had got it, I would give 
 it to you. But, come ! let us dine, — let ns dine,” he 
 said, as if beside himself. “All is ours.” 
 
 “ Poor Father ! ” 
 
 “ Ah ! my child,” he added, taking her head betweer 
 
Fere Goriot. 
 
 265 
 
 is hands, and kissing her hair ; you make my heaven 
 ere. Come and see me often; my room is close by; 
 ou have not far to go. Come often ; promise me, — 
 a,y that you promise it.” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes, dear Father.” 
 
 ‘‘ Say it again.” 
 
 ‘‘Yes, my good Father.” 
 
 “Hush, now! for I should make you say it a hun- 
 'red times if I thought of myself only. Let us dine.” 
 
 The evening was spent in tender child’s play such 
 s this, Fere Coriot not the least childish of the 
 hree. He sat at his daughter’s feet and kissed them ; 
 le gazed into her eyes ; he laid his head upon her dress, 
 le was guilty of a thousand follies, like a lovei with 
 lis first love. 
 
 “You see now,” whispered Delphine to Eugene, 
 
 • that when my father is here he exacts all my atten- 
 ion. It will often be very troublesome.” 
 
 Eugene, who had already felt some twinges of jeal- 
 )usy, could not exactly blame this speech, although it 
 )reathed the quintessence of ingratitude. 
 
 “ When will the appartement be finished? ” he asked, 
 'ooking round him. “ Must we leave it to-night ? ” 
 
 ' “ Yes ; but to-morrow you dine with me : it is the 
 )pera night, you remember.” 
 
 ' “ I shall go and sit in the pit,” said Pere Goriot. 
 
 It was now midnight ; Madame de Nucingen’s car- 
 riage was waiting. Pere Goriot and Eugene walked 
 back to the Maison Vauquer, talking of Delphine on 
 the way with an enthusiasm that revealed a curious 
 contrast of expression in the two individual passions 
 
266 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 Eugene could rxOt conceal from himself that the father’ 
 love, stained by no selfish interest, crushed his out o 
 sight by its vehemence and grandeur. To the fathe 
 the idol was all purity and goodness, and his adora 
 tion was nourished as much by recollections of th( 
 past as by his visions of the future. 
 
 V They found Madame Vauquer sitting over the stov< 
 with Christophe and Sylvie on either side of her, lik< 
 Marius among the ruins of Carthage. She was wait 
 ing for the two who were to-night her sole lodgers, an( 
 bemoaning herself to Sylvie. Though Lord Byroi 
 puts very beautiful lamentations into the mouth o; 
 Tasso, they have not the ring of truth which vibratec 
 in those now proceeding from the lips of the unfortu. 
 nate landlady. 
 
 Only three cups of coffee to make to-morrow. 
 Sylvie ! Is not my empty house enough to break m} 
 heart ? Alas ! what will life be to me without my 
 lodgers? Nothing. My house is desolate, deserted 
 by its men. They were its furniture. What is life 
 without furniture? What have I done that Heaven 
 should send me these misfortunes? We laid in pota- 
 toes and beans, — yes, beans enough for twenty people 
 The police in my house ! — Must we eat nothing bul 
 potatoes? I shall send Christophe away.” 
 
 The Savoyard, who was asleep, woke up on hearing 
 his name and said, ‘‘ Madame ? ” 
 
 ‘‘Poor fellow! he is as faithful as a dog,” said 
 Sylvie. 
 
 “ A lost season ! People are housed. Can lodgers 
 drop from heaven ? I shall lose my senses. And that 
 witch of a Michonneau, to have carried oflT Poiret J 
 
P^re Ooriot. 
 
 267 
 
 How did slie get such a grip on the man ? He fol- 
 lows her about like acpuppy-dog.” 
 
 “Bah!” said Sylvie, shaking her head. “Those 
 Did maids! they know the tricks of things.” 
 
 “That poor Monsieur Vautrin, whom they turned 
 into a convict! ” resumed the widow. “Well, Sylvie, 
 it is too much for me ; I can’t believe it yet. A man 
 as gay as he, who drank his gloria at fifteen francs a 
 month, and paid on the nail ! ” 
 
 “ And who was generous, too,” remarked Christophe. 
 
 “ There ’s some mistake,” said Sylvie. 
 
 “ No, there can’t be. He owned it himself,” said 
 Madame Vauquer. “ And to think that all these things 
 happened here in this neighborhood, where even the 
 cats don’t come ! I must be dreaming, it can’t be pos- 
 sible ! We saw Louis XVI. meet with his accident ; 
 we saw the fall of the Emperor ; we saw him come 
 back and fall again, — all that belonged to the order 
 of possible things. But there are no such hap-hazards 
 about pensions. People can get along without a king, 
 but they must have breakfast and dinner ; and when 
 an honest woman, nee de Conflans, gives dinners, with 
 all sorts of good things, unless the very end of the 
 world should come — but that’s what it is ; it is the 
 end of the world ! ” 
 
 “ And to think that that Michonneau, who has done 
 all the mischief, is to receive, they say, three thousand 
 francs a year ! ” cried Sylvie. 
 
 “ Don’t mention her to me ! she is a wicked woman,” 
 cried Madame Yauquer ; “and she has gone off to 
 Buneaud’s; she is capable of anything. She must 
 have done horrible things in her lifetime, — robbed, 
 
268 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 murdered, no doubt. She ought to have gone to the 
 galleys, instead of that poor, dear man — ” 
 
 At this moment Eugene and Pere Goriot rang the 
 bell. 
 
 “ Ah ! there are my two faithful ones,” said the 
 widow, with a sigh. 
 
 The faithful pair, who at that moment had but 
 slight remembrance of the disasters of the pension^ 
 unceremoniously announced to their landlady that they 
 were to leave her on the following day and take up 
 their quarters in the Chaussee d’Antin. 
 
 Sylvie!” cried the widow. ‘‘My last trump is 
 gone ! Gentlemen, you have given me my death-blow. 
 It has pierced to my vitals, — I feel it there. This day 
 has laid the weight of years upon my head. I shall 
 go mad, — upon my word, I shall ! What can be 
 done with the beans ? I am left desolate. You shall 
 go to-morrow, Christophe. Good night, gentlemen, — 
 good night.” 
 
 “ What is the matter with her ? ” said Eugene to 
 Sylvie. 
 
 “Oh, Lord! everybody has left the house because 
 of what happened this morning. It has upset her 
 head. There ! I hear her crying ; it will do her 
 good to blubber a bit. This is the first time I Ve 
 known her to wet her eyes since I have lived with 
 her.” 
 
 The next morning Madame Vauquer detail rai- 
 sonnee, as she expressed it, — that is, she had come to 
 her senses ; and though afflicted as a woman might 
 well be who had lost all her lodgers, and whose life 
 was suddenly turne(J topsy-turvy, she had her wits 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 269 
 
 )out her, and displayed no more than a reasonable 
 :ief caused by such sudden disasters. The glances 
 lat a lover casts upon the sacred places of a lost mis- 
 ess were not less moving than those with which she 
 3w looked round her deserted table. Eugene tried 
 > comfort her with the idea that Bianchon, whose 
 srm at the hospital was to end in a few days, might 
 ep into his vacant room ; and told her that the em- 
 ioye at the Museurn had frequently been heard to 
 ish for the appartement of Madame Couture ; and 
 lat no doubt in a few days the house would be full 
 ^ain. 
 
 Heaven grant it, my dear Monsieur Eugene ! But 
 lisfortune has come to my roof: before ten days are 
 3ne, death will be here. You will see,” she added, 
 isting a lugubrious glance around the dining-room. 
 Which of us will he summon?” 
 
 ‘‘If that is the case, we had better be off,” whis- 
 ered Eugene to Pere Goriot. 
 
 “ Madame ! ” cried Sylvie, bursting in excitedly. “ I 
 ave not seen Mistigris for three days ! ” 
 
 “ Ah ! if my cat is dead ; if he too has left me, 
 ?? 
 
 The poor woman could not finish her sentence. She 
 asped her hands and threw herself back in her arm- 
 aair, overwhelmed by this ominous loss. 
 
 Toward noon, the time of day when postmen make 
 leir rounds in the neighborhood of the Pantheon, 
 lugene received a letter in an elegant envelope, sealed 
 ith the arms of Beauseant. It inclosed an invitation 
 idressed to Monsieur and Madame de Nucingen, for 
 
270 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 a ball about to be given by the viscountess, whicl 
 had been announced for some weeks. A little note t< 
 Eugene accompanied the invitation : — 
 
 I think, Monsieur, that you will undertake with pleasure t( 
 interpret iny sentiments to Madame de Nucingen. I send yoi 
 the invitation you asked of me, and shall be delighted t< 
 make the acquaintance of the sister of Madame de Restaud 
 Come to my hall, and bring that charming lady with you 
 hut do not let her absorb all your affection. You owe me i 
 little, in return for that which I feel for you. 
 
 Yicomtesse de Beaus:i^ant 
 
 
 “Well,” said Eugene, reading this note for the sec 
 ond time, “ Madame de Beauseant tells me plainly thai 
 she does not wish to see the Baron de Nucingen.” 
 
 He went at once to Delphine’s, delighted that h( 
 had it in his power to bestow a pleasure of wliich nc 
 doubt he would reap the reward. Madame de Nu- 
 cingen was in her bath ; and Rastignac waited for hei 
 with the eager impatience of his years, and in tin 
 grasp of emotions which are given but once to the 
 lives of young people. The first woman to whom t 
 man attaches himself, if she appears to him in all the 
 splendors of Parisian life, need fear no rival. Love 
 in Paris is not the love of other regions. Neithei 
 men nor women are there duped by the time-worn 
 ideas which all display like banners, for the sake of de- 
 cency, over affections calling themselves disinterested 
 In Paris, a woman seeks to be loved not only for her 
 charms, but for all the satisfactions she can give to the 
 social ambitions of her lover ; she knows that she must 
 gratify the thousand vanities which make up life in 
 
Pere Groriot, 
 
 271 
 
 he great world. In that world, Love is braggart, 
 pendthrift, gayly deceitful, and ostentatious. If the 
 iTomen of the court of Louis XIV. envied Mademoi- 
 |elle de la Valliere the ardor which caused that mighty 
 |*rince to forget the fabulous cost of the ruffles which 
 Jie tore in facilitating the entrance of the Due de Ver- 
 iaandois into the world, what can be expected of a 
 lesser humanity ? Be young and rich and titled, ye 
 Parisian lovers! Be something better, if you can. 
 The more incense you burn before your idol, if idol 
 'ou have, the more that deity will bend a favorable 
 ar. Love is here an idolatry, — his rites more costly 
 ar than those of any other worship; he flits and van- 
 shes like an imp, delighting to leave his path marked 
 >ut by havoc. True passion is the poetry of garrets ; 
 without it, could the vestal flame of love be kept 
 live ? Exceptions to the laws of this Draconian code 
 >i Paris may be found in oases of that wilderness, — 
 n hearts not led astray by social theories, that dwell 
 etired near some fount of purity, some ever-bubbling 
 pring of living waters, where, faithful to these quiet 
 hades, they listen to the teachings of the Infinite 
 vritten for their learning on all things, even their own 
 learts, patiently waiting to rise on wings of angels, 
 ind compassionating the earth-bound tendencies of 
 he world about them. 
 
 Rastignac, like other young men who begin life 
 imong the traditions of rank, expected to enter the 
 ists fully equipped. He had caught the fever of the 
 vorld and. thought himself able to master it, without 
 n truth understanding the means or the ends of his 
 imbition. When the heart finds no pure and sacred 
 
272 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 love to fill its cup of life, a draught of mere succes 
 may have its value ; nay, the thirst for power is glori 
 ous when, stripped of personal ambition, it takes th( 
 form of patriotism, ^^ut Rastignac had by no mean^ 
 reached the heights whence men may contemplate th( 
 course of life and form a judgment on it. As yet h^ 
 had not wholly shaken off those fresh sweet theories 
 and dreams which enfold young people brought up ir 
 country solitudes, as the green calyx does the bud. Up 
 to this time he had hesitated to cross the Parisian rubi- 
 con .\"In spite of his ardent curiosity, he clung to the 
 traditions of the noble life led by men of breeding in 
 their ancient manors. Nevertheless, his last scruples 
 vanished the night before, as he stood in his new rooms 
 in the Rue d’ Artois. There, coming into possession 
 of the material advantages of wealth, in addition to his 
 natural advantages of rank and family, he stripped off 
 the skin of a country gentleman and slid with ease into 
 the new circumstances which his ambition told him 
 would lead to fortune. As he waited for Delphine, 
 luxuriously seated in her pretty boudoir, he seemed so 
 far removed from the Rastignac of the year before, that 
 as he looked at himself with the moral optics of his 
 own mind he wondered if he were indeed the same. 
 
 Madame will see you,” said Therese, whose voice 
 ^startled him. 
 
 He found Delphine on a couch beside the fire, fresh 
 and restful. As she lay back in her muslin draperies, 
 it was impossible not to compare her to one of those 
 oriental plants whose fruit comes with the flower. 
 
 At last we are together,” she said with some 
 emotion. 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 273 
 
 if ‘‘Guess what I bring you,” said Eugene, sitting 
 down beside her and lifting her arm that he might 
 kiss her hand. 
 
 Madame de Nucingen made a gesture of delight as 
 ishe read the invitation; and turning to Eugene with 
 tears in her eyes, she threw her arms around his neck 
 and drew him down to her in a delirium of gratified 
 vanity. 
 
 “And it is you to whom I owe this happiness!” 
 she said. “ Obtained by you, it is more than a triumph 
 of self-love. No one has ever been willing till now to 
 introduce me into that charmed circle. Perhaps you 
 think me at this moment as frivolous and light-minded 
 as any other Parisian ; but remember, my friend, I am 
 yours, and if I wish more than ever to enter the 
 society of the Faubourg Saint-Germain it is because 
 that society is yours.” 
 
 “Do you not think,” said Engene, ‘Hhat Madame 
 de Beauseant intimates pretty plainly that she does 
 not wish to see Monsieur de Nucingen at her ball?” 
 
 “Yes, I do,” said Delphine, returning the note to 
 Eugene ; “ those great ladies have a genius for imper- 
 tinence. But no matter ; I shall go. My sister is to 
 be there. I know she has ordered a bewitching dress 
 for the occasion. Eugene,” she resumed, in a low 
 voice, “ she wants to appear at that ball in all her 
 glory, that she may give the lie to dreadful rumors. 
 You don’t know what things are said about her. Nu- 
 cingen told me this morning that they talked of her at 
 the club, and handled her without mercy. Ah, mon 
 Dieu! upon how slight a thread hangs the honor of a 
 woman ! — and her family as well, for I feel myself 
 
 18 
 
274 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 involved in these attacks upon my poor sister. They 
 say that Monsieur de Trailles has given notes to the 
 amount of a hundred thousand francs ; that these have 
 gone to protest, and that he has even been in danger 
 of arrest, yin this extremity, so they say, my sister 
 has sold her diamonds to a Jew, — those beautiful dia- 
 monds which you have seen her wear, heir-looms be- 
 longing to the Restaud family. I am told that for two 
 days nothing else has been talked of. I understand 
 now why Anastasie has ordered a dress of gold tissue : 
 she means to attract all eyes at Madame de Beauseant’s 
 by appearing in a superb toilette^ and wearing the dia- 
 monds. But she shall not outshine me ! She has al- 
 ways tried to crash me ; she was never kind to me, 
 though I have done much for her, — I have even lent 
 her money when she was in trouble. But do not let 
 us talk about her now. To-day I wish to think of 
 nothing but happiness.” 
 
 . / Rastignac did not leave Madame de Nucingen till an 
 •hour after midnight. As she bade him a lover’s fare- 
 well, full of joys to come, she said, with an expression 
 of melancholy, ‘‘ I am timid, superstitious ! Call my 
 presentiments foolish if you will, but I feel as if some 
 terrible catastrophe were hanging over me.” 
 
 Child ! ” said Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘Ah! it is I who am the child to-night,” she an- 
 swered laughing. 
 
 Rastignac returned to the Maison Vauquer, as he be- 
 lieved, for the last time ; certain of quitting it forever 
 the next day. As he walked along he surrendered 
 himself to happy dreams, as young men will who taste 
 upon their lips the draught of joy. 
 
Pete Groriot. 
 
 275 
 
 “Well?” said Pk-e Goriot, as Rastignac passed his 
 
 “ Good night,” answered Eugene ; “ I will tell you all 
 to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Ah, to-morrow ! ” cried the old man. “ Go to bed 
 now, aW good vdght.- To-morrow our happy life 
 begins r’ 
 
The next morning Goriot and Rastignac.were wait« 
 iiig for the porters to remove their effects to the Rue 
 d’Artois, when, about noon, the noise of an equipage 
 stopping before the Maison Vauquer echoed up the 
 Rue Neuve Sainte-Genevieve. Madame de Nucingen 
 got out of the carriage, and learning from Sylvie that 
 her father was still there, ran lightly up to his room. 
 Eugene was in his own chamber, but his neighbor did 
 not know he was there.XAt breakfast he had asked 
 Pere Goriot to attend to the removal of his luggage, 
 promising to rejoin him at four o’clock in the Rue 
 d’Artois. But while the old man was out of the house 
 searching for porters, Eugene, after answering to his 
 name at the law-school, returned to settle his account 
 with Madame Vauquer, not wishing to leave the bill 
 with Goriot, lest the old man in his enthusiasm might 
 insist on paying it for him. The landlady was out, 
 and Eugene ran upstairs to make sure that nothing had 
 been left behind; congratulating himself for his pre- 
 caution when he found in a table-drawer the accept- 
 ance given to Vautrin, which he had carelessly flung 
 aside at the time when he paid the debt. Not having 
 any Are, he was about to tear it into little pieces, when 
 his hand was arrested in the act by hearing the voice 
 of Delphine in Pere Goriot’s chamber. He stopped 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 277 
 
 liort to listen to what she was saying, confident that 
 he could have no secrets from him. Then, after her 
 irst words, he found the conversation between father 
 ind daughter too deeply interesting to resist the temp- 
 ;ation of hearing more. 
 
 >(« Ah, my Father,” Delphine cried, “ would to heaven 
 pu had interfered about my fortune in time to save 
 
 ne from ruin ! Can I speak freely ? 
 
 “Yes, the house is empty,” said Pere Goriot in a 
 
 strange tone. „ „ , i j . 
 
 “ What is the matter with you. Father ? she asked j 
 
 '* are you ill ? ” 
 
 « I feel as if you had struck me with an axe upon 
 my head. God forgive you, darling ! you do not 
 understand how much I love you, or you would not 
 tell me bluntly such terrible things, — especially if the 
 case is not desperate. What has happened ? Why 
 are you here now, when in half an hour we should have 
 
 been in the Rue d’ Artois? 
 
 Ah, Father, how could I think of that when a 
 great catastrophe has befallen me? lam out of my 
 senses. Your lawyer has brought things to light 
 which we must have known sooner or later. Your 
 oreat experience in business is now my only hope, and 
 I have rushed to you as a poor drowning creature 
 catches at a branch. When Monsieur Derville found 
 that Monsieur de Nucingen was opposing him with all 
 sorts of evasions he threatened him with a law-suit, 
 saying that an order from the Court for such a pro- 
 ceeding could easily be obtained. Nuoingen came to 
 my room this morning and asked me if I was bent on 
 his ruin and mine. I answered that I knew nothing 
 
278 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 about all that ; that I had my own fortune ; that I 
 ought to be allowed to spend the income of it as 1 
 pleased ; that all business in connection with the mabr 
 ter w^as in the hands of my lawyer; and, finally, that 
 I was totally ignorant on such matters, and did not 
 wish to discuss them. That was exactly what you 
 advised me to say, was it not?” 
 
 Yes, that was right,” said Pere Goriot. 
 
 “Well,” continued Delphine, “then he told me 
 plainly about his affairs. He has embarked all his 
 own money and mine in speculations that have not yet 
 matured, in furtherance of which he has sent great 
 sums of money to other countries. If I force him to 
 account for my fortune now, I shall oblige him to 
 show his books and file his schedule ; whereas if I 
 will wait one year, he promises on his honor to double 
 my fortune and invest the whole — his and mine — in 
 landed property which shall be settled on me. My 
 dear Father, he meant what he said ; he frightened me. 
 He asked my pardon for his past conduct. He gave 
 me back my liberty ; he promised not to interfere wdth 
 my life in any way provided I would agree to let him 
 manage our affairs in my name. He promised, as a 
 proof of his good faith, that I should call in Monsieur 
 Derville at any time to examine the legality of the 
 papers by which the property was to be made mine. 
 In short, he put himself into my power, tied hand and 
 foot. He wishes for the next two years to keep the 
 expenditure of the household under his control, and he 
 besought me to spend no more than my allowance dur- 
 ing that period. He proved to me that he is doing all 
 he can to save appearances. He has sent away his 
 
Pere Ooriot. 
 
 279 
 
 lanseuse, and is going to practise the most rigid though 
 juiet economy, so that he may come safely out of his 
 peculations without impairing his credit. I answered 
 lim as unkindly as I could. I appeared to doubt him, 
 io that by pushing him to extremities I might force 
 lim to tell me everything. He showed me his books ; 
 ind at last he burst into tears. I have never seen a 
 nan in such a state. He lost his head ; he talked of 
 billing himself ; he was out of his mind. I felt for 
 ijm.” 
 
 M And you believed him ?” cried Pere Go riot. He 
 ivas playing a part. They were lies. I know what 
 arermans are in business. They seem honest and open 
 enough ; but under that air of frankness they are 
 ehrewd and cunning, and worse to deal with than any 
 others. Your husband is imposing on you. He finds 
 bimself close-pressed, and feigns death. He wants to 
 be more completely master of your fortune under your 
 |[iame than he could be under his own. He will make 
 ase of you to save himself in the event of business 
 losses. He is as cunning as he is false. He is a bad 
 fellow. No, no! I will not go to my grave leaving 
 my daughters stripped of everything. I know a little 
 about business still. He says he has embarked all his 
 capital in speculations. Well, then, his interest in 
 these speculations must be represented by stocks or 
 some kind of securities. Let him produce them, and 
 allow you to take your share. W e will choose the safest, 
 and run our chance. We will have all the papers reg- 
 istered under the name of Delphine Goriot^ wife^ sepa- 
 rated as to property from the Baron de Nucingen, 
 Does he take us for fools? Does he suppose I would 
 
280 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 patiently permit him, were it only for a day, to leave 
 you without fortune? Never! not for a day, nor a 
 night, — no, not for two hours! If such a thing should 
 come to pass I could not survive it. What ! have I 
 worked for forty years ; have I carried sacks of flour 
 on my back and toiled in the sweat of my brow ; have 
 I pinched and denied myself all the days of my life 
 for you, my angels, — who repaid my toil and lightened 
 my burden, — that to-day my fortune and my life 
 should pass away in smoke? I should die raving 
 mad ! By all that is sacred in heaven and earth we 
 will drag this matter to the light ; we will examine 
 into his books, his coffers, his speculations. I will not 
 sleep ; I will not lie down upon my bed ; I will not 
 eat, until I find out if your fortune is all there. 
 Thank God ! you are at least separated as to property. 
 Yon shall have Monsieur Derville for your lawyer; he 
 is an honest man. Heavens and earth ! you shall 
 have your poor little million to yourself, — you shall 
 have your fifty thousand francs income to spend as you 
 please to the end of your days, — or I will make such a 
 stir in Paris — Ha ! ha ! I will appeal to the Cham- 
 ber of Deputies, if the law courts will not right us. 
 If I can see you happy and at ease about money I 
 shall forget my own sorrows. Our money is our life ; 
 money does everything. What does that big log of 
 an Alsatian mean ? Delphine, don’t yield a farth- 
 ing to that brute, who has held you in bondage and 
 made you miserable. If he needs your help, he shall 
 not have it unless we can tie hini tight and make liim 
 march a straight line. Jtfon Dieu ! my whole head is 
 on fire ; there are flames in my skull. Think of my 
 
Pere Gioriot. 
 
 281 
 
 Delphine being brought to want ! Oh, my Fifine, if 
 bat should happen to thee ! — Sapristi ! where is my 
 lat? Come, I must go directly. I shall insist on 
 ooking into everything, — his books, his business, his 
 correspondence. We will go this moment. I cannot 
 3e calm until it is proved that your fortune is secure 
 beyond all risks, and I have seen it with my own 
 
 .vLi” 
 
 “ My clear Father, you must set about it cautiously, 
 [f you put the slightest desire for vengeance into this 
 iffair, if you even show hostile feeling to my husband, 
 jrou will ruin me. He knows you ; he thinks it nat- 
 ural that influenced by you I should be anxious about 
 [ny fortune j but I swear to you, he has it in his power, 
 md he means to keep it there. He is capable of run- 
 ning away with it, and leaving me without a sou. He 
 knows I would not dishonor the name I bear by bring- 
 ing him to justice. His position is both strong and 
 weak. Indeed, I have examined into it all. If you 
 push him to extremities, I am lost.” 
 
 “ Is he dishonest ? Is he a rogue ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Father, he is,” she cried, throwing herself 
 into a chair and bursting into tears. “ I did not mean 
 to acknowledge it, I wished to spai’e you the pain 
 of knowing that you had married me to such a man. 
 Vices and conscience, body and soul, — all are in keep- 
 ittg. It is terrible. I hate him, and yet I despise him. 
 A man capable of flinging himself into such transac- 
 tions as he has confessed to me, without shame or 
 remorse, fills me with disgust. My fears spring from 
 what I know of him. He offered me — he, my hus* 
 band ! — my full liberty (and you know what he meant), 
 
282 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 if I would play into his hands ; if I would lend inj 
 name to dishonorable transactions, under .cover o1 
 which he can escape if he meets with losses.” 
 
 ‘‘ But there are laws ! There is the guillotine foi 
 such men,” exclaimed Pere Goriot. 
 
 No, Father, there are no laws that can reach him. 
 Listen to what he told me. This is the substance 
 of it, stripped of his circumlocutions : ‘ Either all will 
 be lost, and you will not have a farthing, — you will 
 be ruined ; for I can take no one into partnership but 
 yourself, — or you must let me carry out my specula- 
 tions as they now stand, to the end.’ Is that plain 
 speaking ? He still trusts me. He knows that I shall 
 not touch his fortune, and shall be satisfied with my 
 own. It has come to this, — either I must enter into 
 a repulsive and dishonest partnership, or I am ruined. 
 He buys my complicity in his crimes by giving me the 
 liberty to live as I please. He says, ‘ I will take no 
 notice of your faults, if you will not prevent my plot- 
 ting the ruin of poor people.’ Is that clear? Do you 
 know what he means by ^ speculations ’ ? He buys un- 
 improved land in his own name, and puts forward men 
 of straw to build houses on the land. These men con- 
 tract with builders on an agreement for long credits ; 
 and afterwards, for a nominal sum, they make over 
 the buildings to my husband. They then go into sham 
 bankruptcy, and the contractors lose everything. The 
 name of Nucingen & Co. serves as a decoy. I under- 
 stand now how it is that to prove the payment of 
 money, should inquiry be aroused, he has sent away 
 enormous sums to Amsterdam, London, Naples, and 
 Vienna. How could we get hold of those sums ? ” 
 
Pere Q-oriot. 
 
 283 
 
 Eugene heard the dull sound of Pere Goriot’s knees 
 ‘ailing on the tiled floor of his chamber. 
 
 “ Good God ! What have I done ? he cried. ‘‘ I 
 lave delivered my daughter over to this man ! He 
 vill strip her of everything! Oh, forgive me, my 
 DOor girl ! ” 
 
 “True. If I am now in the depths of trouble, it is 
 partly your fault, Father,” said Delphine. A girl has 
 30 little sense up to the time she is married. What 
 io we know of the world, or of men or manners ? It 
 is the duty of our fathers to see to these things. Dear 
 Father, I don’t mean to blame you, — forgive me for 
 saying so. In this case the fault was all mine. No — 
 don’t cry, Papa,” she said, kissing his forehead. 
 
 “ Don’t you cry, either, my little Delphine. Stoop 
 .ower, that I may kiss away your tears. Ah ! I will 
 find my wits again. I will unravel the tangle thy 
 husband has made of thy affairs.” 
 
 No, let me manage him. I think I can get him 
 to put some of my money at once into land. Perhaps 
 I can make him buy back Nucingen in Alsace in my 
 name. I know he wants it. But come to-morrow, 
 Papa, and look into his books and his affairs. Mon- 
 sieur DerviUe knows nothing whatever about business. 
 Stay ! don’t come to-morrow, — it will agitate me ; 
 Madame de Beauseant’s ball is the day after, and I 
 want to take care of myself and be as beautiful as pos» 
 sible, to do honor to my dear Eugene. Let us go and 
 look into his chamber.” 
 
 I^At this moment another carriage drew up in the Rue 
 Neuve Sainte-Genevieve, and Madame de Restaud’s 
 voice was heard speaking to Sylvie, 
 
284 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 Is my father in ? ” i 
 
 This circumstance saved Eugene, who was on the ; 
 point of throwing himself upon the bed and pretending j 
 to be asleep. 
 
 “ Ah, Papa, have you heard about Anastasie ? ” said 
 Delphine, recognizing her sister’s voice. “ It seems 
 that very strange things have been going on in her 
 household.” 
 
 What things ?” cried Pk^e Goriot. “Is this to be 
 my end ? My poor head cannot bear another blow ! ” 
 
 “ Papa,” said the countess, entering. “ Ah, you 
 here, Delphine?” 
 
 Madame de Restaud seemed embarrassed at the 
 sight of her sister. 
 
 “Good morning, Nasie,” said Madame de Nucingen. 
 
 “ Do you think my being here so extraordinary ? I 
 see my father every day.” 
 
 “ Since when ? ” 
 
 “ If you came here, you would know.” 
 
 “ Don’t aggravate me, Delphine,” said the countess, 
 vn a lamentable voice. “I am very unhappy. I am 
 ruined, my poor Father, — utterly ruined, at last!” 
 
 “What is it, Nasie?” cried Pere Goriot. “ Tell me 
 all, my child. Oh, she is fainting ! — Delphine, come, 
 help her; be kind to her, and I will love you better 
 than ever — if I can.” 
 
 “My poor Nasie,” said Madame de Nucingen, mak- 
 ing her sister sit down, “ speak ; we are the only ones in 
 the world who love you enough to forgive everything. 
 You see, family affections are the safest, after all.” 
 
 Pere Goriot shivered. “ I shall die of this,” he said, 
 in a low voice. “Come,” he continued, stirring the 
 
P§re G-oriot. 
 
 285 
 
 miserable fire; “come to the hearth, both of you; I 
 am cold. What is it, Nasie? Speak, — you are kill- 
 ing me.” 
 
 “ Father ! ” said the poor woman. “ My husband 
 knows all. You remember, some time ago, that note 
 of Maxime’s which you paid for me at Gobseck’s? 
 Well, it was not the first. I had paid many before. 
 About the beginning of January he was greatly out of 
 spirits; he would tell me nothing. But it is so easy to 
 read the heart of those we love, — a trifle tells every- 
 thing; besides, there are presentiments. He was more 
 loving and tender than I had ever known him. Poor 
 Maxime ! In his heart he was bidding me good-by ; 
 he was thinking of blowing out his brains. At last 
 I besouglit him so earnestly that he told me — but 
 not until I had been two hours on my knees — that 
 he owed a hundred thousand francs. Oh, Papa! 
 a hundred thousand francs! I was beside myself. 
 I knew you had not got them ; I had eaten up your 
 all — ” 
 
 “ No,” said P6re Goriot, “ I have not got them. I 
 cannot give them to you — unless I stole them. Yes ! 
 I could have gone out to steal them. Nasie, I will 
 go — ” 
 
 At these words, forced out like the death-rattle of 
 the dying, — the groan of paternal love reduced to im- 
 potence, — the sisters paused: what selfish souls could 
 listen coldly to this cry of anguish that like a pebble 
 flung into an abyss revealed its depths ? 
 
 “ I obtained them, my Father,” said the countess, 
 bursting into tears. “ I sold that which did not belong 
 to me.” 
 
286 Pere Croriot, 
 
 Delphine, too, seemed moved, and laid her head upon 
 her sister^s shoulder. 
 
 ‘‘ Then it was all true ? ” she said. 
 
 Anastasie bowed her head. Madame de Nucingen 
 took her in her arms and kissed her tenderly. 
 
 “ You will always be loved, not judged, by me,” she 
 said. 
 
 “ My angels ! ” said their father in a feeble voice ; 
 “ alas ! that your union should come only through 
 misfortune.” 
 
 “ To save Maxime’s life, to save my own happiness,” 
 resumed the countess, comforted by these proofs of 
 loving kindness, “ I carried to that money-lender whom 
 you know of — that man born in hell, whom nothing 
 moves to pity ; that Monsieur Gobseck — the family 
 diamonds, heir-looms treasured by Monsieur de Res- 
 taud : his, ray own, all, everything. I sold them. 
 Sold them, do you understand ? I saved Maxime ; 
 but I killed myself. Restaud knows all.” 
 
 “ Who told him ? Who ? that I may strangle them ! ” 
 cried the old man passionately. 
 
 “ Yesterday my husband sent for me to his chamber. 
 I went. ‘ Anastasie,’ he said to me, in such a voice, — 
 oh, his voice was enough! I knew what was com- 
 ing, — ^ Where are your diamonds ? ’ ‘ In my room,’ 1 
 answered. ‘ No,’ he said, looking full at me, ^ they are 
 there, on ray bureau.’ He showed me the case, winch 
 he had covered with his handkerchief. ^You know 
 where they have come from,’ he said. I fell at his 
 feet ; I wept ; I asked him what death he wished me 
 to die — ” 
 
 “ Did you say that ? ” cried Pere Goriot. “ By all that 
 
 \ 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 287 
 
 is sacred, any one who blames or harms my children, 
 while I live, may be sure — that I — 
 
 The words died in his throat, and he was silent. 
 
 “ And then, dear Father, he asked me to do some- 
 thing harder than to die. Heaven preserve other 
 women from hearing what he said to me ! ” 
 
 “ I shall kill him,” said Pere Goriot, slowly. “ He has 
 but one life, yet he owes me two. What followed ?” 
 
 “He looked at me,” she continued, after a pause, 
 « and said, ‘ Anastasie, I will bury all in silence. I 
 will not separate from you, — there are children to be 
 considered. I will not fight with Monsieur de Trailles, 
 
 I might miss him. Human justice gives me the right 
 
 to kill him in your arms ; but I will not dishonor the 
 children. I spare you and your children, but I impose 
 two conditions. Answer me. Are any of these chil- 
 dren mine?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ ‘W^hich?’ ‘Ernest, our 
 eldest.’ ‘It is well,’ he said. ‘Next, swear to obey 
 me in future on one point.’ I swore. ‘You will sign 
 over to me your property when I demand it?’ 
 
 . “ Sign it not ! ” cried Pere Goriot. “ Never sign it ! 
 Nasie, Nasie, he cares for his heir, his eldest. I will 
 seize the child. Thunder of heaven ! he is mine as 
 well as his ; he is my grandson. I will put him in my 
 village where I was born. I will care for him oh, 
 yes, be sure of that ! I will make your husband yield. 
 I will say to him, If you want your son, give me back 
 my daughter; restore her property; leave her in 
 peace — ” 
 
 “ Father! ” 
 
 “ Yes, thy father. I am thy true father. Let this 
 great lord beware how he maltreats my daughter 1 
 
288 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 A fire is running through my veins ; I have the blood 
 of a tiger in me ! Oh, my children, my children ! is 
 this your life ? — it is my death. What will become of 
 you when I am gone ? Why cannot a father live out 
 the life of his child? Oh, my God, thy world is 
 wrong ! — and yet thou art a father. Oh, Father in 
 heaven! why are we condemned to suffer through 
 our children ? (Ah, my angels, it is only your griefs 
 that make you come to me, — only your tears that you 
 share with me! Yes, yes, but that is love; I know 
 you love me. ] Come, both of you, come, pour your 
 troubles into my heart : it is strong, it is large, it can 
 hold them all. Yes, though you rend it into fragments, 
 each fragment is a living heart, — a father’s heart. 
 Could they but take your griefs and bear them for 
 you ! Ah ! when you were my little ones I made you 
 . happy.” 
 
 ■ We have never been happy since,” said Delphine. 
 “ Where are those days when we slid down the sacks 
 in the great granary ! ” 
 
 “ Father, I have not told you all,” whispered Anas- 
 tasie to the old man, who started convulsively. The 
 diamonds did not bring a hundred thousand francs. 
 They are still pursuing Maxime. We have twelve 
 thousand francs more to pay. He has promised me to 
 reform ; to give up gambling. All I have in the world 
 is his affection ; and, oh, I have paid too terrible a 
 price for it ! — I cannot lose him now ! I have sacri- 
 ficed honor, fortune, children, peace of mind for him. 
 Oh, do something for me, that he may not be impris- 
 oned, not driven from society ! I know he will yet 
 make himself a position in the world. I have nothing 
 
Pere Goriot, 
 
 289 
 
 left to give him now. But we have children ; they 
 must be provided for All will be lost if they put him 
 in Sainte-Pelagie, — a debtor’s prison ! ” 
 
 “I have nothing — nothing left, Nasie — nothing! 
 The world is at an end ; I feel it quaking, crumbling. 
 Fly, fly ! save yourselves ! Stay ! I have still my 
 silver buckles, and six forks and spoons, the first I ever 
 owned. But I have no money, only my annuity — ” 
 
 What have you done with your money in the 
 funds ?” 
 
 sold it out, keeping a trifle for my wants. I 
 wanted the rest, twelve thousand francs, to furnish 
 some rooms for Fifine.” 
 
 For you, Delphine?” cried Madame de Restaud. 
 
 Never mind, never mind,” said Pere Goriot, the 
 twelve thousand francs are gone.” 
 
 “ I guess where,” said the countess, “ to help Mon- 
 sieur de Rastignac. Ah, my poor Delphine, pause! 
 see what I have come to.” 
 
 My dear. Monsieur de Rastignac is a man incapa- 
 ble of ruining the woman who loves him.” 
 
 Thank you, Delphine. In the terrible position I 
 am in, you might have spared me that. But you never 
 loved me.” 
 
 Ah, but she does love you, Nasie ; she was saying 
 so just now. W^e were speaking of you, and she said 
 you were beautiful, but she was only pretty — ” 
 
 Pretty ! ” cried the countess ; her heart is stone- 
 cold.” 
 
 “And if it were!” exclaimed Delphine, coloring, 
 “how have you behaved to me? You have dis- 
 claimed me ; you have shut against me the doors of 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 houses where I longed to go ; you have never let slip 
 an opportunity to give me pain. A cold heart ! Did 
 I come like you, and squeeze out of our poor father, 
 little by little, a thousand francs here, a thousand 
 francs there, — all he possessed ? Did I reduce him to 
 the state he is now in ? This is your doing, my sister. 
 I saw my father as often as I could. I never turned 
 him out of doors, and then came and licked his hands 
 when I had need of him. I did not even know that he 
 was spending those twelve thousand francs for me. I 
 at least have some decency — and you know it. Papa 
 may sometimes have made me presents, but I never 
 begged for them — ” 
 
 You were better off than I. Monsieur de Marsay 
 was rich, as you had good cause to know. You have 
 always been despicable as to money. Adieu, I have 
 no sister, no — ” 
 
 “ Hush, Nasie ! ” cried Pere Goriot. 
 
 “ No one but a sister — a sister like you — would in- 
 sinuate what the world itself does not believe. It is 
 monstrous ! ” cried Delphine. 
 
 My children ! my children ! hush, or you will 
 kill me before your eyes — ” 
 
 “ I forgive you, Nasie,” continued Madame de 
 Nucingen, “ for you are unhappy ; but I am better 
 than you — think of your saying that^ just as I was 
 making up my mind to do everything that I could for 
 you. Well, it is worthy of all that you have done to 
 me for the last nine years ! ” 
 
 My children ! oh, my children ! Kiss each other, 
 be friends/’ said the father. “ You are two angels.” 
 
 ‘^No, let me alone!” cried the countess, whom 
 
P^re Groriot, 
 
 291 
 
 Pere Goriot had taken by the arm; ‘^she has less pity 
 for me than my husband. An example of all the vir- 
 tues, indeed ! ” 
 
 I had rather be supposed to owe money to Mon- 
 sieur de Marsay than to own that Monsieur de Trailles 
 had cost me two hundred thousand, francs,” replied 
 Madame de Nucingen. 
 
 ‘‘ Delphine ! ” cried the countess, making a step 
 towards her. 
 
 “ I say the truth ; but what you say of me is false,” 
 replied the other, coldly. 
 
 ‘‘ Delphine, you are a — ” 
 
 Pere Goriot sprang forward and prevented the coun- 
 tess from saying more by putting his hand over her 
 mouth. 
 
 ‘‘Good heavens, Papa! what have you been touch- 
 ing?” cried Anastasie. 
 
 “ Ah, yes, yes ! I ought not to have touched you,” 
 said the poor father, wiping his hand upon his trousers, 
 “ I did not know you were coming. I am moving 
 to-day.” 
 
 He was glad to be able to draw upon himself a 
 reproach that diverted the current of his daughter’s 
 anger. 
 
 \li^Ah ! ” he sighed, sitting down, “ you break my 
 heart. I am dying, children ; my head burns as if my 
 skull were full of fire. Be kind to each other; love 
 one another. — You will kill me. Delphine! Nasie! 
 you were both right, you were both wrong. Come, 
 Dedel,” he resumed, turning to Madame de Nucingen 
 with his eyes full of tears, “ she needs twelve thousand 
 francs ; let us see how we can get them for her. Oh, 
 
292 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 my daughters, do not look at each other like that ! ” 
 He fell down on his knees before Delphine : Ask her 
 pardon for my sake,” he whispered ; “ she is more un- 
 happy than you are.” 
 
 “My poor Nasie,” said Delphine, frightened by the 
 wild and maddened expression on her father’s face, 
 
 “ I was wrong. Kiss me.” ! 
 
 “ Ah, that is balm to my heart ! ” cried the old man. f 
 “ But the twelve thousand francs, — how can we get I 
 them ? I might offer myself for a substitute in the ! 
 army — ” 
 
 “Oh, Father !” cried the daughters flinging their! 
 arms about him. ‘‘No!” j 
 
 “ God will bless you for that thought,” cried Del- j 
 phine. “We are not worthy of it, — are we, Nasie?” ^ 
 
 “ And besides, my poor Father, it would be but a I 
 drop in the bucket,” observed the countess. * 
 
 v “ Will flesh and blood bring nothing? ” cried the old | 
 man wildly. “I would give myself away to whoever j 
 would save thee, Nasie ; I would commit crimes for | 
 him ; I would go to the galleys, like Vautrin ; I — ” | 
 he stopped as if struck by a thunderbolt, and grasped 
 his head. “ Nothing more ! — all gone ! — ” he said. 
 
 “ No, I could steal — if I knew where : it is hard to 
 know where. Oh, there is nothing I can do — but 
 die ! Let me die ! I am good for nothing else. I am 
 no longer a father : she appeals to me ; she needs my 
 help, and I have none to give her ! Ah, wretch ! 
 why did I buy that annuity ? — I ! who have children ! 
 Did I not love them ? Die, die ! like a dog, as I 
 am. Yet the beasts love their young — Oh, my 
 head, my head ! it bursts ! ” 
 
P^re Groriot. 
 
 293 
 
 He sobbed convulsively. Eugene, horror-stricken, 
 took up the note he had once signed for Vautrin, the 
 stamp of which was for a much larger sum than that 
 named on the face of it; he altered the figures, making 
 it a note for twelve thousand francs payable to the order 
 of Goriot, and went into the old man’s chamber.^ 
 
 “ Here is the sura you want, Madame,” he said, giv- 
 ing Madame de Restaud the paper. “ I was asleep in 
 my room, and was wakened by what you were saying. 
 
 I learned for the first time what I owe to Monsieur 
 Goriot. Here is a paper on which you will be able to 
 raise the money. When it matures, I promise faith- 
 fully that it shall be paid.” 
 
 The countess stood motionless, holding the paper. 
 « Delphine,” she said, pale, and trembling with anger, 
 rage, and fury, “ I take God to witness that I forgave 
 you all— oh! butife's.' What! Monsieur has been 
 there, and you knew it ? You have had the meanness 
 to feed your spite by letting him hear my secrets, — 
 mine, my children’s, — my shame, my dishonor! Go, 
 you are a sister no longer! I hate you! I will harm 
 you, if I can. I — ” 
 
 Anger cut short her words ; her throat was parched 
 and dry. 
 
 “My child! he is one of us; he is my son, your 
 brother, our deliverer,” cried Pere Goriot. “Kiss 
 him, thank him, Nasie. See, I embrace him,” he went 
 on, clasping Eugene to his breast with a sort of fury. 
 “ Oh, my son ! ” he cried, “ I will be more than a father 
 to thee. Nasie, Nasie ! bless him and thank him.” 
 
 “ Don’t speak to her. Father, she is out of her senses,” 
 said Delphine.’^ 
 
294 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 “Out of my senses! And you? — what are you ?” 
 ■cried Madame de Restaud. 
 
 “ Oh, my children ! I die if you continue,” cried the 
 old man, falling across his bed as if struck by a shot. 
 “ They are killing me,” he said. 
 
 The countess turned to Eugene, who stood motion- 
 less, struck dumb by the violence of the scene before 
 him. 
 
 “ Monsieur ? ” she said, and her gesture, tone, and 
 look were interrogative. She paid no attention to 
 her father, whose waistcoat was being loosened by 
 Delphine. 
 
 “ Madame, I shall pay and keep silence,” he said, 
 answering her question before she asked it. 
 
 “ You have killed our father, Nasie,” cried Delphine, 
 pointing to the old man now senseless on the bed. 
 
 Madame de Restaud left the room. 
 
 “ I forgive her,” he said, opening his eyes ; “ her 
 position is dreadful, and would turn a wiser head. 
 Console her, Delphine. Be good to her, — promise 
 your poor father, who is dying,” he went on, pressing 
 her hand. 
 
 “But what ails you ?” she said, much frightened. 
 
 “Nothing, nothing,” her father answered. “ It will 
 go off presently. I have a weight upon my fore- 
 head ; a headache. Poor Nasie, what will become of 
 her?” 
 
 At this moment Madame de Restaud returned and 
 threw herself down beside her father. “Oh, foraive 
 me ! she cried. 
 
 “Come, come,” said Pere Goriot, “that hurts me 
 more than anything.” 
 
Pere Gforiot. 
 
 295 
 
 Monsieur ” said the countess, turning to Rastignac 
 nth tears in her eyes, ‘‘ my troubles have made me 
 injust. You will be a brother to me?” she added, 
 lolding out her hand. 
 
 ‘‘Nasie” said Delphine, ‘‘my little Nasie, let us for- 
 jet everything.” 
 
 “ No,” she said, “ I shall remember.” 
 
 “ My angels,” said Pere Goriot, “ you lift the cur- 
 ain that was falling before my eyes. Your voices 
 iall me back to life. Let me see you kiss each 
 )ther once more. Tell me, Nasie, will this note save 
 ,^ou ? ” 
 
 “ I hope so. But, Papa, will you indorse it ? ” 
 
 “ Why, what a fool I was to forget that ! — but I was 
 11. Nasie, don’t be vexed with me. Let me know 
 vhen you are out of your troubles. • But, stay, I will 
 yo to you — No, I will not go. I dare not see your 
 lusband. As to his doing what he pleases with your 
 fortune, remember, I am here. Adieu, my child. ’ 
 
 Eugene stood stupefied. 
 
 \“Poor Anastasie! she was always violent,” said 
 Madame de Nucingen ; “but she has a kind heart.” 
 
 “She came back for the indorsement,” whispered 
 Eugene in her ear. 
 
 “ Do you think so ? ” 
 
 “ I wish I did not think it. Do not trust her,” he 
 added, lifting up his eyes, as if to confide a thought 
 not to be put into words. 
 
 “ Yes, she was always acting a part ; and my poor 
 father was completely taken in by her” 
 
 “ How are you now, dear Pere Goriot ? ” asked 
 Rastignac, bending over the old man. 
 
296 Pere Groriot. ^ 
 
 “ I feel like going to sleep,” he answered. Eugene 
 helped him to go to bed ; and after he had fallen asleep 
 holding his daughter’s hand, Delphine quietly left him. 
 
 To-night, at the opera,” she said to Eugene, you* 
 will bring me word how he is. To-morrow you wili 
 change your quarters, Monsieur. Let me peep into! 
 your room — oh, what a horrid place ! it is worsci 
 than my father’s. Eugene, you behaved beautifully k 
 I would love you more than ever for it — if I could. 
 But, my child, if you mean to get on in the world 
 you must give up throwing twelve thousand franc 
 notes about in that way. Monsieur de Trailles is f I 
 gambler, though my sister will not admit it. Hi I 
 could have picked up that twelve thousand francisj 
 in the place where he has lost and won a mint of! 
 money. ” • ! 
 
 A groan brought them hastily back to Pere Goriot.j 
 He was to all appearances asleep, but as they ap- 
 proached they heard him say, Not happy ; they are 
 not happy ! ” Whether he were asleep or awake, the 
 tone in which he uttered the words struck so painfully 
 to his daughter’s heart that she leaned over the 
 wretched bed on which her father lay and kissed him 
 on his forehead. He opened his eyes and murmured, 
 ‘‘ Delphine ! ” 
 
 How are you now? ” she said. 
 
 “ Better. Do not worry about me. I shall get up 
 presently. Go away, my children, and be happy.” 
 
 Eugene took Delphine home ; but not liking the con- 
 dition in which they had left Pere Goriot, he refused 
 to dine with her, and went back to the Maison Vau- 
 quer. He found him better, and just sitting down to 
 
297 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 inner. Bianchon had placed himself so that he could 
 'atch the old man unobserved. When he saw him 
 ike up his bread and smell it to judge the quality of 
 le flour, the medical student, observing a total absence 
 f all consciousness of the act, made a significant 
 0stiiirG» 
 
 “ Come and sit by me, graduate of the Cochin Hos- 
 ital,” said Eugene. 
 
 Bianchon did as he was asked, all the more readily 
 lecause it placed him nearer to the old man. 
 
 “ What is the matter with him ? ” whispered 
 
 l^astignac. . 
 
 “ If I am not mistaken, he ’s done for. Something 
 (ut of the common must have excited him. He is 
 hreatened with apoplexy. The lower part of his face 
 s calm enough, but the upper part is drawn and unnat- 
 iral. The eyes have the peculiar expression which 
 lenotes pressure on the brain ; don’t you notice that 
 hey are covered with a light film ? To-morrow 
 norning I shall be able to judge better.” 
 
 “ Is there any cure for it ? ” 
 
 “ None. Possibly we might retard his death if we 
 jould set up a reaction in the extremities ; but if the 
 present symptoms continue, it will be all up with the 
 poor old fellow before to-morrow night. Do you know 
 what brought on his illness ? He must have had some 
 great shock that his mind has sunk under.” 
 
 “Yes, he has,” said Rastignac, remembering how 
 the daughters had struck alternate blows at their 
 father’s heart. “But, at least,” he said to himself 
 
 Delphine loves her old father. 
 
298 
 
 Pere GiorioL 
 
 
 XVII. 
 
 That night, at the opera, Eugene took some precau 
 tions not to alarm Madame de Nucingen. 
 
 Oh, you need not be so anxious about him,” sh< 
 said, as soon as he began to tell her of the illness 
 ‘‘ My father is very strong ; this morning we shool 
 him a little, that is all. Our fortunes are in peril: dc 
 you realize the extent of that misfortune ? I coulc 
 not survive it, if it were not that your affection makes 
 me indifferent to what I should otherwise considei 
 the greatest sorrow in the world. I have but one 
 fear now, — to lose the love which makes it happiness 
 to live. All outside of that I have ceased to care for ; 
 you are all in all to me. If I desire to keep my wealth, 
 it is that I may better please you. I know that I can 
 be more to a lover than to a father ; it is my nature. 
 My father gave me a heart, but you have made it 
 beatX The world may blame me, — I do not care ; 
 you will acquit me of sins into which I am drawn by 
 an irresistible attachment. You think me an unnatural 
 daughter? No, I am not : who would not love a father 
 kind as ours has been ? But how could I prevent his 
 knowing the inevitable results of our deplorable mar- 
 riages? Why did he not prevent them ? Was it not 
 his duty to think and judge for us ? I know that he 
 suffers now as much as we do; but how can I help 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 299 
 
 I at ? Ought we to make light of our troubles ? That 
 ould do no good. Our silence would have distressed 
 m far more than our reproaches and complaints have 
 jured him. There are some situations in life where 
 ^ery alternative is bitter.” 
 
 Eugene was silent, touched by this simple expression 
 • native feeling. The clear judgment a woman shows 
 judging natural affections when a privileged aifection 
 jparates and holds her at a distance from them, struck 
 m forcibly. Madame de Nucingen was troubled by 
 s silence. 
 
 “ What are you thinking of ? ” she said. 
 
 ‘‘ Of what you have just said to me. Until now, I 
 lought that I loved you more than you love me.” 
 
 She smiled, but checked the expression of her feel- 
 igs, that she might keep the conversation within the 
 )nventional limits of propriety. 
 
 “ Eugene,” she said, changing the conversation, ‘‘ do 
 ou know what is going on in the world? All Paris 
 ill be at Madame de Beauseant’s to-morrow evening, 
 he Rochefides and the Marquis d’Adjuda have agreed 
 ) keep the matter secret ; but it is certain that the 
 ing signs the marriage contract to-morrow morning, 
 ad that your poor cousin as yet knows nothing of it. 
 he cannot put off her ball, and the marquis will not 
 e there. All the world is talking of it.” 
 
 Then the world is amusing itself with what is in- 
 imous,” cried Eugene, ‘‘ and makes itself an accom- 
 lice. Don’t you know that it will kill Madame de 
 Jeauseant ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no, it will not,” said Delphine, smiling ; you 
 on’t understand that sort of woman. But all Paris 
 
300 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 will be at her ball, — and I too, I shall be there! ; 
 owe this happiness to you/’ 
 
 ‘‘ Perhaps,” said Rastignac, “ it is only one of thos< 
 
 , unfounded rumors which are always flying abou 
 Paris.” 
 
 We shall know to-morrow.” 
 
 ^ Eugene did not go back to the Maison Vauquer 
 The pleasure of occupying his new rooms in the Riu 
 ^ d’Artois was a temptation too great to withstand 
 The next morning he slept late ; and towards middaj 
 Madame de Nucingen came to breakfast with him 
 Young people are so eager for these pretty enjoyments 
 ^fhat he had well-nigh forgotten Pere Goriot. It was 
 like a delightful festival to make use of each elegant 
 trifle that was now his own ; and the presence oi 
 Madame de Nucingen lent to them all an added 
 charm. Nevertheless, about four o’clock they remem 
 bered the old man, and as they recalled the happiness 
 he had shown at the thought of living there, Eugene 
 remarked that they ought to get him there at once, 
 — especially if he were likely to be ill ; and he left 
 Delphine to fetch him from the Maison Vauquer. 
 
 Neither Goriot nor Bianchon were at the dinner- 
 table. 
 
 ^ ‘‘ Well,” said the painter, ‘‘ so Pere Goriot has broken 
 down at last! Bianchon is upstairs with him. The 
 old fellow saw one of his daughters this morning, — 
 that Countess de Restau-rama. After that he went 
 out, and made himself worse. Society is about to be 
 deprived of one of its brightest ornaments.” 
 
 Eugene rushed to the staircase. I 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 301 
 
 « Here, Monsieur Eugene ! ” 
 
 Monsieur Eugene ! Madame is calling you/’ cried 
 
 Jylvie. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the widow, ‘‘ you and Pke Goriot 
 ^ere to have left on the 15th of February ; it is three 
 lays past that time, — this is the 18th. I shall expect 
 )oth of you to pay me a month’s lodging ; but if you 
 choose to be responsible for Pere Goriot, your word 
 »vill be satisfactory.” ^ 
 
 « Why so ? Cannot you trust him ? ” 
 
 “Trust him! If he were to go out of his mind 
 )r die, his daughters would not pay me a farthing; 
 ind all he will leave is not worth ten francs. He 
 3 arried off the last of his forks and spoons this 
 
 morning. I don’t know why. He had dressed him- 
 self up like a young man. Heaven forgive me, but I 
 do think he had put rouge on his cheeks. He looked 
 q[uite young again.” 
 
 “ I will be responsible,” cried Eugene, with a shud- 
 der, foreseeing a catastrophe. 
 
 He ran up to Pere Goriot’s chamber. The old man 
 was lying on his bed, with Bianchon beside him. 
 
 “ Good evening, Father,” said Eugene. 
 
 Pere Goriot smiled gently and said, turning his 
 glassy eyes upon the student, “How is she?” 
 
 “ Quite well ; and you?” 
 
 “ Not very ill.” 
 
 “ Don’t tire him,” said Bianchon, drawing Eugene 
 apart into a corner of the room. 
 
 “ Well?” asked Rastignac. 
 
 “ Nothing can save him but a miracle. The conges* 
 tion I expected has taken place. I ’ve put on mustard 
 
302 Pere Goriot. 
 
 plasters, and luckily they are drawing: he feels 
 them.” 
 
 ‘‘ Can he be moved ? ” 
 
 “ Not possibly. You must leave him where he is, 
 and he must be kept perfectly quiet, and free from 
 emotion ” 
 
 Dear Bianchon,” said Eugene, “ we will take care 
 of him together.” 
 
 “ I called in the surgeon-in-chief of my hospital.” 
 
 “ What did he say ? ” 
 
 |V“He will give no opinion till to-morrow evening. 
 
 /He has promised to come in after he gets through his 
 work for the day. It is quite certain that the old fel- 
 low has b^en up to some imprudence ; but he won’t 
 tell me what. He is as obstinate as a mule. When I 
 speak to him he either makes believe he does not hear, 
 or that he has gone to sleep ; or if his eyes are open, 
 he begins to groan. He went out this morning and 
 walked all over Paris, nobody knows where. He 
 carried off everything he owned of any value; he 
 has been making some infernal sale of his things, 
 and exhausting his strength. One of his daughters 
 was here.” 
 
 X u Ah ! ” said Rastignac, ‘‘ the countess ; a tall, dark 
 woman, with fine eyes, a pretty foot, and graceful 
 figure ? ” 
 
 ‘‘Yes.” 
 
 “ Leave me a moment alone with him,” said Eugene 
 “ I can get him to tell me everything.” 
 
 “ Well, then, I ’ll go and get my dinner. Be careful 
 not to agitate him. There is still some hope.” 
 
 “ I ’ll be careful.” 
 
Pere Gioriot. 
 
 803 
 
 s They will enjoy themselves to-morrow,” said Pere 
 ioriot to Eugene as soon as they were alone. “ They 
 ire going to a* great ball.” 
 
 «What did you do this morning, Papa, to knock 
 rourself up and have to go to bed ? 
 
 ‘‘ Nothing.” 
 
 “Was Anastasie here?” 
 
 “Yes,” replied Pere Goriot. 
 
 “ Well, then, don’t keep any secrets from me. What 
 lid she ask you for this time ? ” 
 
 \ “ Ah ! ” he replied, rallying his strength to speak. 
 ^ Poor child ! she was in great trouble. Nasie has not 
 L sou of her own since the affair of the diamonds. She 
 lad ordered for this ball a beautiful dress of gold tissue, 
 vhich would set her off like a jewel. The dressmaker 
 — infamous creature! — refused to trust her, and her 
 naid paid a thousand francs on account — poor Nasie ! 
 hat she should come to that ! it breaks my heart ; — 
 )ut the maid, finding that Restaud had withdrawn all 
 5 onfidence from Nasie, was afraid of losing her money, 
 o she arranged with the dressmaker not to deliver the 
 Iress till the thousand francs were paid. The ball is 
 o-morrow; the dress is ready; Nasie is in despair. 
 ihe wanted to borrow my forks and spoons and pawn 
 hem. Her husband insists that she shall go to the 
 )all in order to show all Paris the diamonds she was 
 laid to have sold. Could she say to him, ‘ I owe a 
 thousand francs; pay them for me’? No: I felt 
 hat myself. Her sister Delphine is to be there in a 
 )eautiful dress ; Anastasie ought not to be less brilliant 
 han her younger sister, — certainly not. Besides, she 
 vas drowned in tears, my poor little daughter ! 1 
 
804 
 
 Pere Gforiot, 
 
 was so mortified that I had not those twelve thousand 
 francs yesterday ! I would have given the rest of my 
 miserable life to make amends.^^You see, I have borne 
 up till now against everything; but this last want of 
 money has broken my heart. — Well, well, I made no 
 bones about it ; I patched myself up ; I tried to make 
 myself look spruce, and I sold my forks and spoons 
 and the buckles for six hundred francs. Then I made 
 over my annuity for one year to old Gobseck for four 
 hundred more. — Bah ! I can live on dry bread : I did 
 when I was young. — So my Nasie will appear to- 
 morrow evening. I have got the thousand francs under 
 my pillow. It warms me up to feel them there under 
 my head, and to know that they are going to give com-! 
 fort to my poor child. She is to come for them at ten 
 o’clock to-morrow morning. I shall be quite well by 
 that time. I don’t want them to think me ill ; they 
 might not like to go to the ball, — they would wish to 
 stay and nurse me. Nasie will kiss me to-morrow as 
 if I were a baby. After all, I might have spent that 
 money on the apothecary ; I ’d rather give it to my 
 Cure-all, — my Nasie. I can still comfort her in her 
 troubles : that makes up in part for having sunk my 
 money in an annuity. She is down in the very depths, 
 and I have no strength to pull her up again ! — I am 
 going back into business ; I shall go to Odessa and 
 buy wheat : wheat is worth three times as much with 
 us as it costs there. The importation of cereals as raw 
 material is forbidden ; but the good people who make 
 the laws never thought of prohibiting manufactured 
 articles of flour. Ha ! ha ! the idea came into my head 
 this morning. I shall make millions out of my pastes.” 
 
Pere Ooriot, 
 
 305 
 
 He is losing his mind/' thought Eugene, looking 
 lown upon the old man. Come, now, lie still, and 
 lon't talk,” he said. 
 
 Rastigiiac went to dinner when Bianchon came up. 
 3oth passed the night taking turns beside the sick bed. 
 )ne occupied himself in reading medical books, the 
 )ther in writing to his mother and sisters. /<rhe next 
 norning Bianchon thought the symptoms somewhat 
 nore favorable, but the patient needed the intelligent 
 )ersonal care which the two students alone could give 
 lim. ^Leeches were put on the emaciated body of the 
 )oor old man, and poultices; mustard foot-baths were 
 idministered, and a number of medical devices resorted 
 o which required all the strength of the two young 
 nen.j" Madame de Restaud did not come, but sent a 
 nessenger for the money. 
 
 I thought she would have come herself ; but per- 
 laps it is best so, — she might have been anxious,” 
 ;aid her father, trying to make the best of his 
 iisappointment. 
 
 At seven o'clock in the evening Therese appeared, 
 )ringing a letter for Eugene ; — 
 
 What can you he doing, dear friend ? Am I neglected as 
 lOon as loved ? You have shown me, in the outpourings of 
 leart to heart, a soul so beautiful that I trust you as one of 
 hose forever faithful through many phases and shades of feei- 
 ng. Do you remember what you said as we were listening 
 ,o the prayer of Moses in Egypt'? ^ To some it seems hut a 
 angle note ; to others the infinite of music.' Do not forget that 
 ’ expect you this evening to go wuth me to Madame de Beau- 
 5eant's. Monsieur ’d'Adjuda's marriage contract was signed by 
 he king this morning, and the poor viscountess did not know 
 20 
 
306 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 of it till two o’clocli. All Paris will be at her house to-night ; 
 just as a crowd flocks to the Place de Greve to see an execu- 
 tion. Is it not horrible that people should go there to see it 
 she can hide her grief, — if she knows how to die ^ I certainly 
 would not go if I had been to her house before. But she will 
 probably never receive again, and then all the efforts I have made 
 to go there would be thrown away. My situation is different 
 from that of others. And besides, I shall be there for your 
 sake. If you do not come to me within two hours, I am not 
 sure that I shall pardon you for the crime.^^ 
 
 Eugene seized a pen and replied thus : — 
 
 I am waiting for a doctor, who will say how long your 
 father has to live. He is dying. I will come and tell you 
 what the medical opinion is. I fear it can only be that he 
 will not recover. You will judge whether you can go to the 
 ball. Tender remembrances.^^ 
 
 )^The doctor came at half-past eight, and though he 
 could hold out no hopes of improvement he thought 
 death was not imminent. He said there would be 
 changes to better or worse, and on these would hang 
 the life and reason of the patient. 
 
 ‘‘Far better that he should die,” were his last wwds. 
 
 ^ Eugene consigned Pere Goriot to the care of Bian- 
 chon, and went to Madame de Nuciugen with the sad 
 news, which to his mind, still imbued as it was with 
 tender memories of his home, precluded all possibility 
 of amusement for a daughter. 
 
 “ Tell her to go to the ball and enjoy herself all the 
 same,” said Pere Goriot, who they hoped was dozing, 
 but who started up in bed when he saw that Rastignac 
 was going. 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 807 
 
 The young man entered Delphine’s presence with 
 is heart full of grief and pity. He found her with 
 er toilette made, her hair dressed, and nothing more 
 3 be done than to put on her ball-dress. But like .an 
 rtist’s final work upon his canvas, the finishing touches 
 ook more time than the picture itself. 
 
 « What ! are you not dressed ? ” she said. 
 
 But, Madame, your father is — ” 
 
 “ Why do you harp upon my father ? ” she cried, in« 
 errupting him. “ You need not teach me my duty to 
 ny father. I have known my father for a long time. 
 
 ^ot another word, Eugene ;. I will not listen to you 
 ill you have made your toilette. Therese has laid out 
 verything in your room. My c.arriage is at the door ; 
 
 .ake it, and come back as soon as possible. We can 
 alk about my f.ather as we are driving to the ball. I _ 
 vish to start early, for if we are cjiught in the line of 
 iarri.ages it may be midnight before we get there. 
 
 “ Madame ! — ” 
 
 “ Go, go ! not another word,” she cried, running into 
 ler boudoir for a necklace. 
 
 “ Go, Monsieur Eugene — go ! ” said Therese, “ or you 
 vill make Madame very angry.” 
 
 So saying, she pushed the young man, who stood dis- 
 mayed and silenced by this elegant parricide. He went 
 iway and dressed himself, filled with melancholy and 
 disheartening reflections. The world seemed to him 
 like an ocean of slime, in which a man sank up to his 
 throat if he so much as put his foot into it. ^ 
 
 “Its wickednesses are mean, — are paltry,” he cried. 
 
 “ Vautrin’s crimes at least were great.” 
 
 He had now seen, by experience, the three great 
 
808 
 
 Fere (xoriot. 
 
 phases of society, — Obedience, Struggle, and Revolts 
 Family-life, the World, and Vautrin. He dared not 
 make his choice among them. Obedience had become 
 to him stagnation ; revolt was impossible ; struggle 
 false and uncertain. He thought of his home ; he re- 
 membered the pure emotions of that peaceful life ; his 
 mind went back to the years passed among the dear 
 ones who fondly loved him. He said to himself that 
 those, who conformed in all things to the natural 
 laws of family life were fully, perfectly, permanentlj^ 
 happy. 
 
 But though he owned these things, he had not the 
 courage to assert them to Delphine. Could he confess 
 the faith of purity to her ? Could he talk to her of 
 virtue in the guise of love ? His worldly training was 
 already bearing fruit ; his love was selfisjine ss. His 
 instinct enabled him to sound the inner nature of 
 Delphine : he believed her capable of going to this 
 ball over the dead body of her father ; but he had nei- 
 ther the strength to oppose her by argument, nor the 
 courage to displease her, nor the virtue to give her up. 
 “ She would never forgive me for being right where 
 she was bent on doing wrong,^’ was his reflection. 
 Then he recalled the doctor’s words. He persuaded 
 himself that Fhre Goriot was not so dangerously ill as 
 he had thought; he multiplied heartless arguments 
 that he might justify Delphine : she could not know 
 her father^s true condition ; the poor old man himself 
 would send her to the ball if she went to see him. He 
 reflected also that the laws of social life are absolute, 
 and make no allowances for differences of character, or 
 interests, or situations. He tried to deceive himself, 
 
Pere Croriot. 
 
 309 
 
 ind find reasons to sacrifice his conscience to his mis- 
 a-ess. For two days past everything within him and 
 ibout him had changed. Woman had turned the cur- 
 "ent of his whole existence ; home and its ties had 
 oaled before her influence j she had confiscated all 
 things to her profit ^— 
 
 v ;‘Teirme now, how is my father?” said Madame 
 ie Nucingen, when he came back dressed for the ball. 
 
 “ Very ill,” he said. “ If you would give me a proof 
 af your affection, you would let me take you to him at 
 once.” 
 
 « -Well — yes ; ” she said ; “ but it must be after the 
 ball. Eugene, be good ; don’t preach to me. Come ! 
 
 They drove away. Eugene sat silent for a part of 
 the way. 
 
 “ What are you thinking of ? ” she asked. 
 
 “ I am listening to the rattle in your father’s throat,” 
 he answered in a tone of anger; and he began to relate, 
 with the fiery eloquence of youth, the cruelty to which 
 Madame de Restaud’s vanity had pushed her, the last 
 supreme act of their father’s self-devotion, and the mor- 
 tal cost of that golden robe in which Anastasie was 
 now about to appear. Delphine wept. 
 
 “ But it will make me ugly she thought — and her 
 tears dried at once. “ I will go and nurse my father. 
 I will stay beside his pillow,” she said aloud. 
 
 “ Ah ! now, indeed, thou art all that I would have 
 thee ! ” cried Eugene. 
 
 The lamps of five hundred carriages lighted the 
 approach to the Hbtel de Beauseant, and on either 
 side of the illuminated gateway was a mounted gen^ 
 darme. The great world flocked thither in such crowds. 
 
810 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 eager to gaze on this great lady at the moment of her 
 downfall, that the ball-rooms on the ground-floor oi\ 
 the Hotel were fllled when Madame de Nucingen and 
 Rastignac entered them. Since the famous occasion 
 when a whole Court rushed to see la grande Made- 
 moiselle^ after Louis XIV. had torn her lover from her 
 arms, no disaster of the heart had excited such intense 
 interest as this of Madame de Beauseant. On this 
 occasion the daughter of the semi-royal house of 
 Burgundy rose superior to her woe, and swayed to 
 her latest moment that world whose homage she had 
 valued only /as incense to be offered on the altar of 
 her friend. )(The loveliest women in Paris adorned the 
 rooms with their dresses and their smiles. The most 
 distinguished men of the Court, — ambassadors, minis- 
 ters, heroes illustrious in a hundred ways, and covered 
 with crosses, medals, and ribbons of all orders, — pressed 
 around their hostess. The great world had arrayed 
 itself as if to make a last obeisance to its sovereign. 
 The music of the orchestra floated in tender harmonies 
 along the gilded ceilings of the palace now desolate 
 for its queen. Madame de Beauseant stood within the 
 doorway of the first salon^ receiving those who called 
 themselves her friends. Dressed in white, without an 
 ornament, and with simply braided hair, she appeared 
 calm, and exhibited neither grief nor pride, nor any 
 pretence of joy. No one saw into her heart. She 
 seemed a marble Niobe. The smiles she gave to her 
 intimate friends had occasional gleams of irony; but 
 to all present she appeared unchanged, and bore her- 
 self so truly the same as when happiness shed its halo i 
 round her that the most unfeeling person in that crowd 
 
Pere Groriot. 31] 
 
 admired her, as the Roman youths admired the gladia. 
 tors who smiled as they died. 
 
 “ I feared you might not come,” said Madame de 
 Beauseant to Rastignac. 
 
 Taking her words for a reproach, he answered with 
 emotion, ‘‘Madame, I have come to be the last to 
 leave you.” 
 
 “That is well,” she said, taking his hand. “You 
 are perhaps the only person present whom I can trust. 
 My friend, when you love, let it be a woman whom 
 pu can love forever. Never forsake a woman ! ” 
 
 She took Rastignac’s arm, and led him to a sofa in 
 the card-room. 
 
 “ Go for me,” she said, “ to the Marquis d’Adjuda. 
 Jacques, my footman, will tell you where he is to be 
 found, and will give you a note for him. It asks for 
 ny letters. He will give them up to you, — I trust he 
 vill. If you obtain them, go up to my rooms on your 
 return ; they will tell me when you are there.^^' 
 
 She rose and went forward to greet the Duchesse 
 ie Langeais, who was entering the salon. Rastignac 
 Yid as he was told. He asked for the Marquis d’Ad- 
 juda at the Hotel Rochefide, where he was to pass the 
 3vening, and found him. The Marquis took him to 
 lis own house, and gave him a casket, saying, “ They 
 ire all there.” He seemed to wish to say more ; per- 
 haps to question Eugene about the viscountess, 
 possibly to own himself already in despair about his 
 narriage (as, in fact, he became soon after) ; but a ray 
 3f pride shone in his eyes, and he had the melancholy 
 courage to triumph over his better feelings. “Tell 
 ler nothing about me, my dear Eugene,” he said. He 
 
312 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 pressed Rastignac’s hand with a grasp of affection anc 
 regret, and made a sign that he should leave him. 
 
 Eugene returned to the Hotel de Beauseant, and 
 was shown up to his cousin’s chamber, which was 
 strewn with preparations for a journey. He sat down 
 near the fire holding the cedar casket, and fell into a 
 state of the deepest melancholy. For him, Madame 
 de Beauseant took on the proportions of a goddess of 
 the Iliad. 
 
 “ Ah ! my friend,” she said, coming in and laying 
 her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 He turned and saw her in tears. Her eyes were 
 raised, the hand upon his shoulder trembled, the other 
 was lifted up. Suddenly she took the casket, put it 
 on the fire, and watched it burn. 
 
 “ They are dancing — they came early — Death 
 may keep me waiting long. Hush, dear friend,” she 
 said, laying her hand upon the lips of Rastignac as he 
 was about to answer. “ To-night I take my leave of 
 Paris and the world. At five o’clock to-morrow rnoin- 
 ing I go to bury myself in the solitude of Normandy. 
 Since three o’clock to-day I have made my pre})ara- 
 tions, signed papers, transacted business. I had no 
 one I could send to — ” She paused. “ It was cer- 
 tain he would be at — ” She stopped again, overcome 
 with emotion. At such times it is pain to speak ; 
 certain words it is impossible to utter. “ You see,” 
 she resumed, “ that I counted upon you for this last 
 service. I should like to give you a remembrance, — { 
 something to make you think of me. I shall often 
 think of you; you have seemed to me kind and noble, 
 fresh and true, in this world where these qualities are 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 313 
 
 ^re. See,” she said, casting a glance about the room, 
 here is the box in which I have always kept my 
 loves. Every time that I took them from it — for 
 ball, an opera — I felt myself beautiful, for I was 
 appy. I never opened it that I did not leave within 
 j some smiling thought. Much of myself is in that 
 ox, — much of a Madame de Beauseant, who is gone 
 ^rever. Accept it. I will take care that it is carried 
 0 your rooms in the Rue d’ Artois. — Madame de 
 fucingen looks well to-night. Treat her tenderly, 
 f we never meet again, dear friend, be sure that I 
 hall pray for you, who have been very good to me. 
 jet us go down now ; I would not have them think that 
 have wept. I have an eternity before me, where I 
 hall be alone, — where no one will ask whether I smile 
 r weep. Let me give a last look round my chamber.” 
 
 She stopped, hid her eyes for a moment with her 
 and, then bathed them with cold water, and took the 
 tudent’s arm. ‘‘ Let us go,” she said. 
 
 \ Rastignac had never in his life been so much moved 
 s he now was by the grief thus nobly kept under con- 
 rol. When they reached the ball-rooms, Madame de 
 Jeauseant made the circuit of her guests leaning on 
 er cousin’s arm, — a last and thoughtful act of kind- 
 ess bestowed by this gracious woman. He soon saw 
 he two sisters, Madame de Restaud and Madame de 
 fucingen. The former was blazing in diamonds, — 
 7hich no doubt burned her as they blazed, conscious, 
 8 she was, that she was wearing them for the last 
 lime. Though she bore herself proudly and was ex- 
 quisitely dressed, she seemed unable to meet the eye 
 [.f her husband. This sight did not make Rastignao 
 
314 
 
 Pere Goriot 
 
 less bitter at heart. If Vautrin had appeared to hii 
 in the Italian colonel, he now saw through the glittei | 
 ing diamonds of the two sisters the neglected death 
 bed of Pere Goriot. 
 
 His depression was noticed by Madame de Beauseam 
 who attributed it to another cause, and released hi 
 arm. 
 
 Go now,” she said ; “ I would not deprive you of 
 pleasure.” 
 
 Eugene was soon claimed by Delphine, charme( 
 with the sensation she had created, and anxious t< 
 lay at his feet the homage she was receiving fron 
 the great world, in which she now might hope fo 
 adoption. 
 
 « What do you think of Nasie ?” she asked him. 
 
 She has discounted even her father’s death,” h< 
 answered. 
 
 About four in the morning the crowd began t( 
 thin, and presently the music ceased. The Duchess* 
 de Langeais and Rastignac at last stood alone in th( 
 great ball-room. The viscountess, expecting to fin( 
 only Rastignac, came in after taking leave of Monsieu; 
 de Beauseant, who had gone to bed, saying, — 
 
 ‘‘ Indeed you are wrong, my dear, to shut yoursel 
 up^ — at your age ! Why not remain among us ? ” 
 
 On seeing the duchess, Madame de Beauseant startec 
 and gave a little cry. 
 
 ‘‘ I guess what you are about to do, Clara,” sai( 
 Madame de Langeais. “ You are going to leave us 
 and you will never return. But you shall not gi 
 without hearing what I have to say. We must no 
 part misunderstanding each other,” 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 315 
 
 She took her friend by the arm and led her into 
 smaller salon. There, looking at her with tears in 
 T eyes, she pressed her in her arms and kissed her 
 leeks. 
 
 “We must not part coldly, dear,” she said; “it 
 Duld make me too unhappy. You may rely on me 
 you would upon yourself. You have been noble 
 is evening : I feel that I am not unworthy of you, 
 id I wish to prove it. I have not always treated 
 )u as I should have done : forgive me, dear. I take 
 ick every word that may have pained you, — would 
 at I could unsay them altogether ! We are passing 
 irough the same sorrow ; I know not which of us is 
 le most unhappy.' Monsieur de Montriveau was not 
 3 re to-night : you know what that means. All who 
 w you at this ball, Clara, will never forget you. 
 or myself, — I shall make a last effort : if it fails, I 
 lall go into a convent. And you ? Where are you 
 3ing?” 
 
 “To Normandy, — to Courcelles: to love, to pray, 
 11 it shall please God to take me from the world.” 
 hen, with a break in her voice, Madame de Beau^ 
 hnt called to Eugene, remembering that he was 
 aiting for her in the great salon. 
 
 He knelt beside her, and took her hand and kissed 
 
 “ Antoinette, adieu,” she said ; “ be happy. Mon- 
 eur de Rastignac, you are happy, — for you are 
 oung, and can still have faith. Here, where I re- 
 ounce the world, I have beside me — as some rare 
 eath-beds have had — two hearts that feel for me 
 ith sacred and sincere affection.” 
 
316 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 Rastignac left the house about five o’clock, having 
 put Madame de Beauseant into her travelling-carriage 
 and received her last farewells mingled with tears. 
 He walked home to the Maison Vauquer in the damp 
 dawn of a cold morning. He was making progress in 
 his education. 
 
 ‘‘ We can’t save poor old Goriot,” said Bianchon, when 
 Rastignac entered the room of his sick neighbor. 
 
 “ Bianchon,” said Rastignac, looking down upon the 
 old man, who lay asleep, “ keep to the humble destiny 
 to which you limit your ambition. For me, — I am in 
 hell, and I must stay there. Whatever evil they may 
 tell you of the world, believe it. * No Juvenal that 
 ever lived could reveal the infamies concealed under 
 its gold and jewels.” 
 
 Later in the day Rastignac was awakened by Bian- 
 chon, who being obliged to go out, requested him to 
 take charge of Pere Goriot, who had grown much 
 worse during the morning. 
 
 « Poor old fellow! He can’t live two days, — per- 
 haps not more than six hours,” said the medical stu- 
 dent ; “ though of course we must do all we can for 
 him. We shall have to try certain remedies that cost 
 money. You and I can take care of him, — but how 
 are we to pay for the things ? I have n’t a sou^ myself. 
 I have turned out his pockets and searched his cup- 
 boards— nothing! absolutely zero ! I asked him in a 
 lucid moment, and he told me he had not a farthing. 
 How much have you ? ” 
 
 “ I have only twenty francs,” said Rastignac ; “ but I 
 will go and play them, and win more.” ^ 
 
P^re Groriot. 
 
 817 
 
 Suppose you lose ? ” 
 
 “ Then I will ask money from his sons-in-law and 
 lis daughters.” 
 
 ‘^And suppose they won’t give it to you?” said 
 Bianchon. ‘‘However, the important thing now is 
 lot to get the money, but to wrap the poor fellow in 
 lot mustard, from his feet up to the middle of his 
 highs. If he cries out, so much the better : it will 
 ihow there’s a chance for him. You know how to 
 nanage it, and Christophe will help you. I will stop 
 It the apothecary’s and make myself responsible for 
 .he things we may want. What a pity he could not 
 lave been taken to the hospital! He would have 
 deen much better off there. Come on, and let me 
 ^ive you the directions; and don’t leave him till I 
 yet back.” 
 
 The two young men went into the room where the 
 old man lay. Eugene was shocked by the great 
 change that a few hours had made in the weak, 
 blanched, and distorted features. 
 
 “ Well, Papa 1 ” he said, leaning over the bed. 
 
 Pere Goriot raised his dim eyes and looked atten- 
 tively at him, but did not recognize him. The student 
 could not bear the sight, and turned away weeping. ^ 
 
 “ Bianchon,” he said, “ ought there not to be curtains 
 to his window ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no ; atmospheric conditions can’t affect him 
 now. It would be a good sign if he felt either heat or 
 cold. Still, we must keep up a little fire, to heat the 
 mustard and prepare his drinks. I ’ll send you some 
 fagots, which will do till we can buy wood. Last 
 night and yesterday I burned up yours, and the poor 
 
818 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 old fellow’s bark as well. It was so damp, and the 
 walls were dripping with moisture. I could hardly 
 keep the floor dry. Christophe swept it up, but it is 
 as bad as a stable. I have been burning juniper, the 
 room smelt so infernally.” 
 
 Good God ! ” said Rastignac. Think of his 
 daughters ! ” 
 
 ‘‘Now, if he wants anything to drink, give him 
 this,” said the medical student, showing a large white 
 pitcher. “ If he complains of his stomach being hot 
 and hard, call Christophe, and he will help you to give 
 him — you know. If he should get excited and insist 
 on talking, or be a little out of his head, don’t check 
 him. It is not a bad symptom. But send Christophe 
 at once to the hospital ; and either the surgeon or my 
 comrade and I will come and apply the actual cautery. 
 This morning, while you were asleep, we had a great 
 consultation here, between a pupil of Dr. Gall the 
 phrenologist, the head-surgeon of the Hotel Dieu, 
 and our own chief from the Cochin Hospital. They 
 thought there were some curious symptoms in the 
 case ; and we are going to make notes on its progress, 
 in hopes of throwing light on some important scientific 
 points. One of the doctors thinks that if the pressure 
 of the serum should be more upon one organ than upon 
 any other, we may see some singular developments. 
 So in case he should begin to talk, listen to what he 
 says, and note what kind of ideas his mind runs on, — 
 whether memory is all he has left, or whether he still 
 has his reasoning powers ; whether he is thinking of 
 material things, or only of feelings; whether he is 
 calculating as to the future, or only reverting to the 
 
Pere G-oriot. 
 
 dl9 
 
 past. In short, give us an exact report. It is possible 
 that the invasion of the brain may be complete, all 
 over it ; in that case, he will die imbecile, as he is at 
 this moment. The course of an illness like this is 
 often very singular. If the rush were here,” continued 
 Bianchon, putting his finger upon the occiput, “the 
 case might show some very remarkable phenomena. 
 The brain might then recover some of its faculties, and 
 death would be slow in coming. The matter that 
 presses on the brain might then be absorbed through 
 channels which we could only discover in the post- 
 mortem. There is an old man now in the Hospital 
 for Incurables, with whom the matter in question is 
 slowly passing away down the spinal column. He 
 suffers horribly, — but he lives.” 
 
 “Did they enjoy themselves?” said Pere Goriot, 
 who now recognized Eugene. 
 
 “He thinks of nothing but his daughters,” said 
 Bianchon. He said to me over and over again during 
 the night, ‘ they are dancing,’ ‘ she has got her gown.’ 
 He called them by their names. He made me cry 
 the devil take me ! — by his piteous way of saying 
 ‘Delphine! my little Delphine ! Nasie!’ Upon my 
 word of honor,” said the medical student, “it was 
 enough to make any fellow shed tears.” 
 
 “Delphine?” said the old man. “Is she there? 
 Did you say so?” And his eyes glanced wildly at 
 the walls and doorway. 
 
 I ’ll go and tell Sylvie to get the mustard, said 
 Bianchon. “It is a good time now.” 
 
320 
 
 Pere Croriot. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Rastignac remained alone with the old man, sitting 
 at the foot of the bed, with his eyes fixed on the aged 
 head now coming with sorrow to the grave. 
 
 Madame de Beauseant has fied,” he said to him- 
 self, Pere Goriot dies : natures that have deep affec- 
 tions cannot abide long in this evil world. How 
 should noble minds live, allied to a society that is 
 mean, petty, and superficial?” 
 
 Scenes of that splendid ball rose up in awful con- 
 trast to this bed of death. Bianchon reappeared. 
 
 ‘‘ Look here, Eugene ! ’’ he said. I have just seen 
 our surgeon-in-chief, and I have run back to tell you. 
 If he should recover his reason, if he should talk, 
 wrap him in mustard, from his neck half-way down 
 his loins, and send somebody at once for me.” 
 
 “ Dear Bianchon ! ” said Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, it ’s a case of great scientific interest ! ” 
 exclaimed the medical student, with the fervor of a 
 neophyte. 
 
 ^ “ Alas ! ” cried Eugene ; am I the only one to care 
 for the poor old man out of affection ?” 
 
 “ You would not say that, if you had seen me this 
 morning,” said Bianchon, not offended. “ The other 
 doctors thought of him only as a case ; but I thought 
 also of the poor patient, my dear fellow.” 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 321 
 
 He went away, leaving his friend alone with the old 
 man. Eugene dreaded a crisis, which was not long in 
 coming. 
 
 Ah ! is that you, my dear boy asked Pere Goriot, 
 recognizing Eugene. 
 
 ‘‘Are you better?” said the student, taking his 
 hand, 
 
 “Yes; my head was in a vice, — but it is free now. 
 Did you see my daughters ? Will they be here soon ? 
 They will come as soon as they know that I am ill. I 
 wish my room were clean. There was a young man 
 here last night who burned up all my fuel.” 
 
 “I hear Christophe bringing up some wood which 
 that young man has sent you.” 
 
 “ Good, — but who is to pay for the wood ? I have 
 no money. I have given it all away, — all ! I must 
 come on charity. — Was the dress of gold tissue 
 very handsome? — Ah, how I suffer! Thank you, 
 Christophe, my good man. God will reward you ; I 
 have nothing now.” 
 
 “ I will pay you and Sylvie handsomely for all you 
 do,” whispered Eugene to the Savoyard. 
 
 “ My daughters said they would be here, did they 
 not, Christophe ? Go to them again ; I will give you 
 a five-franc piece. Tell them that I am not very well ; 
 that I should like to see them, — to kiss them before I 
 die. But don’t alarm them.” 
 
 Christophe went off on a sign from Rastignac. 
 
 “ They will come,” resumed the old man. “I know 
 them. Dear, kind Delphine, — if I die, what sorrow I 
 shall cause her; and Nasie too. I don’t want to die. 
 To die, my good Eugene, is — not to see them. There, 
 
 21 
 
322 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 I where I am going, how lonely I shall be ! Hell, to a 
 father, is to be without his children • I have served 
 my apprenticeship in it ever since they married. My 
 heaven was in our home, — Rue Jussienne. Tell me, 
 if I go to heaven, can I come back in spirit and hover 
 near them? I have heard of such things; are they 
 true ? — I see them now, as they were in the Rue 
 Jussienne. ‘Good morning, Papa,’ they used to say. 
 I took them on my knee and played with them, — a 
 thousand little tricks: they caressed me so prettily. 
 We used to breakfast together, to dine together. Ah, 
 I was a father then ! I was happy in my children. 
 They never reasoned then ; they knew nothing of the 
 world, — they only loved me. Oh, my God ! why 
 could I not have kept my little ones ? — I suffer — 
 my head! my head ! Forgive me, my children, but I 
 am in such pain — no, this must be anguish ; for you 
 have hardened me to pain. — If I could but hold them 
 in my arms, I should not suflFer so. Are they coming? 
 Will they come ? Christophe is so stupid. I ought to 
 ha^e gone myself. — You saw them at the ball. 
 They did not know that I was ill, did they? they 
 would not have danced, poor darlings. Oh! I must 
 - not be ill, — they need me : their fortunes are in dan- 
 ger. Ah! to what husbands they are bound! Save 
 me ! cure me ! — Oh, I suffer, suffer ! — I must be 
 cured, for they need money, and I know where to make 
 it. I am going to Odessa; I shall make my pastes 
 there. I ’m shrewd : I shall make millions. — Oh, 
 
 . I suffer too much ! — too much ! ” 
 
 He was silent a few moments, and seemed to be 
 rallying all his strength to bear the pain. 
 
P^re Goriot. 
 
 323 
 
 “ If they were here I would not complain,” he said. 
 
 “ Why should I complain if they were here ? ” 
 
 He dozed off lightly. The sleep lasted some time. [ 
 
 Christophe returned, and Eastignac, who thought Pere ^ 
 
 Goriot had fallen hack into a stupor, let him give an i 
 
 account of his mission. ■ 
 
 “Monsieur,” he said, “first of all, I went to find 
 Madame la comtesse; but I was told I could not 
 speak with her because she was settling some business 
 with her husband. I said that I must see somebody ; 
 so Monsieur de Restaud came himself, and he talked 
 just this way. He said : ‘ Well, if Monsieur Goriot is 
 dying, it is the best thing he can do. I want Madame 
 de Restaud to settle some very important business, and 
 she can’t go till it is finished.’ He looked very angry, 
 he did. I was just going away when Madame came 
 through a side door into the antechamber and said to 
 me, ‘ Christophe, tell my father that I am arranging 
 important matters with my husband, and that I cannot 
 leave at present ; but as soon as I can I will go to 
 him.’ As for Madame la baronne, that was another 
 matter. I could n’t see her, and I could n’t get word 
 to her. Her maid said, ‘ Madame did not get home 
 from a ball till half-past four, and she ’s asleep. If I 
 wake her she will scold me. I will tell her that her 
 father is worse when she rings her bell. It is always 
 soon enough to tell bad news.’ I begged her and 
 begged her ; but it was no use. Then I asked to see 
 Monsieur de Nucingen, but he was out. ’ 
 
 “ So neither of his daughters will come to him ! ” 
 cried Rastignac. “ I will write to both of them. 
 
 “ Neither ! ” cried the old man, rising in his bed. 
 
324 Pere Groriot, 
 
 “ They are busy ; they sleep ; they will not come. I 
 knew it. We must die, to know what our children 
 are. Friend, never marry; never have children. You 
 give them life, — they will give you death. You bring 
 them into the world, — they drive you out of it. No ! 
 they will not come. I have known it these ten years. 
 I have said it to myself, but I dared not believe it.” 
 
 Tears welled up to the red rims of his poor eyes, but 
 they did not fall. 
 
 ‘‘ Ah, if I were rich ; if I had kept my fortune ; if 
 I had not given them all, all, — they would be here, 
 they would lick my cheeks with kisses. I should live 
 in a mansion ; I should have a fine chamber, servants, 
 a fire. They would be all in tears, husbands and 
 children. All would be mine. — But now, nothing ; 
 I have nothing. Money gives all things, even chil- 
 dren. — Oh, my money ! where is it ? If I had treas- 
 ures to bequeath, they would nurse me, they would 
 watch me. I should hear them ; I should see them. 
 Ah, my son ! my only child ! I would rather be as I am, 
 forsaken and destitute : if a poor creature is loved, he 
 knows that love is true. — But, no, no! if I were rich 
 I should see them. My God ! who knows ? They have 
 hearts of stone, — both, both ! I loved them too well ; 
 they gave me no love in return. A father should 
 always be rich ; he should curb his children like vicious 
 horses. But I — I was on my knees to them ! — Ah, 
 cruel hearts ! they fitly crown their conduct to me for 
 ten years past. If you knew the tender care they took 
 of me the first year of their marriage ! — oh, I suffer 
 a martyrdom of pain! — I had just given eight hun- 
 dred thousand francs to each, and neither they nor their 
 
Pere Goriot, 
 
 325 
 
 husbands could be rude to me. They welcomed me. 
 It was ‘ My good Papa,’ ^ My dear Papa.’ My place 
 was laid at their table ; I dined with their husbands ; I 
 was treated with respect. Why ? Because I had said 
 nothing of my affairs ; because a man who gives away 
 a million and a half of francs must have something 
 left to leave : he is a man to be thought of. And so 
 they paid me attentions, — but it was for my money. 
 The world is not noble : I saw it all. They took me ’ 
 to the theatre in their carriages ; I went if I pleased to 
 their parties. They called themselves my daughters ; 
 they acknowledged me to be their father. Ah, I 
 have my sight ; I saw through it all, — nothing escaped 
 me ; it struck home and pierced my heart : I knew 
 that all was a pretence. — But the evil was without 
 remedy. I was less at my ease dining with them than 
 at the table downstairs. I was dull ; I could say 
 nothing. These fashionable people whispered to my 
 sons-in law, ‘Who is that. Monsieur?’ ‘The papa 
 with the money-bags.’ ‘ Ah, the devil ! ’ they cried, and 
 looked at me with the respect due to wealth. — My 
 head, my head ! I suffer, Eugene ! I suffer ! It is my 
 death-struggle.” 
 
 He paused a moment, and then continued : “ But it 
 is nothing, nothing compared to the first look Anastasie 
 gave me, to make me feel I had said an ignorant thing 
 which mortified her. That look ! it bled me from 
 every vein. I was ignorant ; yes, but one thing I 
 knew too well, — there was no place for me among 
 the living. The next day I went to Delphine to con- 
 sole me ; and there I did an awkward thing which 
 , made her angry. I went nearly out of my mind ^ 
 
326 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 for eight days I was beside myself, not knowing 
 what to do : I was afraid to go and see them, lest 
 they should speak their mind to me. And so it came 
 to pass that I was turned from their doors. — My 
 God ! thou who hast known the sufferings and the 
 misery I have endured ! who hast counted the stabs 
 that I have received throughout the years which have 
 changed and whitened and withered me ! why dost 
 thou let me suffer so horribly to-day ? Have I not ex- 
 piated the crime of loving them too well? — they have 
 punished it themselves ; they have tortured me with 
 hot irons! — Ah, fathers are fools! I loved them 
 so well that I went back like a gambler to his play. 
 My daughters were my vice, — my mistresses. They 
 wanted this and that, — laces, jewels, — their waiting- 
 women told me ; and I gave that 1 might bi^y a wel- 
 come. But all the same they tutored me about my 
 behavior in their world ^ they let me see they were 
 ashamed of me.” 
 
 His voice sank, then rose again : ‘‘ Oh, I suffer ! 
 The doctors ! where are they ? If they would split 
 my head open with an axe, I should suffer less. — 
 Send for them, send for my daughters, — Anastasie, 
 Delphine ! I must see them ! Send the gendarmes ; 
 use force! Justice is on my side; all is on my side, 
 — nature, laws! The nation will perish if fathers are 
 trodden under foot ; society, the world, — all rest, 
 upon fatherhood : they will crumble to nothing if 
 children do not love their fathers. Oh, to see them! 
 to hear them ! no matter what they say to me ; their 
 voices would calm me, — my Delphine especially. 
 But when they come, tell them not to look at me so 
 
Pire Goriot. 
 
 32T 
 
 joldly. Ah, my friend, my good Eugene! do you 
 know what it is to see the golden glance of love 
 change to leaden gray ? Since that day, when their 
 eyes no longer lightened up for me, my life has been 
 an arctic winter ; grief has been my portion and I 
 have eaten my fill of it. I have lived only to be in- 
 sulted and humiliated. Yet I loved them so much 
 that I swallowed the affronts each shameful pleasure 
 cost me. A father hiding himself! waiting in the 
 streets to see his child !— I have given them all my 
 life : they will not give me one hour to-day. I thirst, 
 I burn ! they will not come to ease my death, — for 
 I am dying ; I feel it. Do they know what it is to 
 trample on the corpse of a father ? There is a God in 
 heaven ; he will avenge us, whether we will or no. — 
 Oh, the*y will come! Come, my darlings! a kiss, 
 a last ‘kiss!— the viaticum of your father. 1 go to 
 God, and I will tell him you have been good to 
 me ; I will plead for you, — for you are innocent ; 
 yes, Eugmie, they are innocent. The fault was mine . 
 I taught them to tread me underfoot. Divine justice 
 sees the truth and will not condemn them. I abdi- 
 cated my rights ; I neglected my duty ; I abased 
 myself in their eyes. The noblest natures would be 
 corrupted by such weakness. I am justly punished : 
 my children were good, and I have spoiled them , 
 on my head be their sins. I alone am guilty; but 
 guilty through love. — Their voices woirld still my 
 heart. — I hear them : they come ! They will 
 come ; the law requires them to see their father 
 1 die, — the law is on my side. Write to them that 
 I have millions to bequeath. It is true, upon my 
 
328 
 
 Pere Groriot, 
 
 honor. I am going to Odessa to make Italian pastes 
 I know what I am about. It is a great project, — 
 millions to make, and no one has yet thought of it. 
 Transportation does not injure pastes as it does wheat 
 and flour. Yes, millions! you may say millions, — 
 avarice will bring them. — Well, even so, I shall see 
 them ! — ^ I want my daughters ; I made them : they 
 are mine ! ” he cried wildly, rising in his bed, his dis- 
 hevelled white hair giving to his head a look of un- 
 utterable menace. 
 
 Dear Pere Goriot, lie down again,” said Eugene. 
 ‘‘ As soon as Bianchon comes back I will go myself and 
 fetch them, if they do not come — ” 
 
 ‘‘ If they do not come ! ” sobbed the old man ; but 
 I shall be dead ! dead, in a rush of madness — mad- 
 ness ! I feel it coming. At this moment I see my 
 life. I am a dupe. They do not love me, — they 
 never loved me. If they have not come, it means 
 that they will not come. The longer they delay, the 
 less they will resolve to give me this last joy. I know 
 them. They have never divined my sorrows, nor my 
 wants, nor my pains : why should they divine my 
 death ? They have never even entered into the secret 
 of my tenderness for them. — Yes, I see it all. I 
 have so long plucked out my entraik. f or their sakes 
 that my sacrifices have ceased to be of value. Had 
 they asked me to tear out my eyes, I should have an- 
 swered, ‘ Take them ! ’ I have been a fool. They 
 thought all fathers were like me. — But their own 
 children will avenge me. Tell them it is for their 
 interest to come here; tell them to think of their own 
 death-beds. Go, go ! tell them to come : not to come 
 
Pere Groriot. 
 
 329 
 
 s parricide ! — they have committed that already ; 
 ,hey have given me a death in life. — Call out ! 
 ;all out, as 1 do, ‘Here, Nasie! Here, Delphine! 
 iJome to your father who has been so good to you, and 
 ,vho is dying !’ — Are they coming ? No? Am I to 
 lie like a dog? — This is my reward, — abandoned, 
 orsaken ! — They are wicked, they are criminal. I 
 late them ! I curse them ! I will rise from my coffin 
 ,0 curse them again!— Friends, am I wrong ? They 
 io wrong— Oh, what am I saying ?— Is Delplune 
 here ? Delphine is good ; but Nasie is so unhappy ! 
 A.nd their money ! — Oh, my God ! let me die ! . I 
 suffer so ! My head ! my head ! Cut it off, but leave 
 lie my heart ! ” 
 
 “ Christophe ! go for Bianchon,” cried Eugene, 
 lorror-stricken ; “and bring me a cabriolet. I am 
 ^oing to fetch your daughters, dear Pere Goriot. I 
 will bring them to you.” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes, by force, by force ! Get the gendarmes^ the 
 troops,”’ he cried. “ Tell the Government, the public 
 prosecutor, to send them. I will have them ! 
 
 “ But you cursed them.” 
 
 “ Who says I did ? ” answered the old man with 
 amazement. “You know I love them : I adore them. 
 I shall recover if I see them. Yes, go for them, my 
 good friend, my dear son. You have been very kind 
 to me. I wish I could thank you ; but I have nothing 
 to give except the blessing of a dying man. You love 
 your father and mother,— I know you do,” he con- 
 tinued, pressing the student’s hand in his failing grasp. 
 “ You feel what it is to die as I am dying, — without 
 my children. To be thirsty, and never to diink, that 
 
330 
 
 Pere Goriot, 
 
 is how I have lived ten years. My sons-in-law have 
 killed my daughters. I lost them when they married 
 Fathers ! petition the Chambers for a law againsi 
 marriage. No more marriages ! — they take our chil- 
 dren from us, and we die desolate. Make a law 
 for the death of fathers ! — Oh, this is horrible, hor- 
 rible ! — Vengeance ! it is my sons-in-law who keep 
 them away from me ! They assassinate me ! Death, 
 or my daughters ! — Ah, it is finished ! I die with- 
 out them ! Fifine ! Nasie ! Fifine ! come ! — 
 
 My good Pere Goriot ! be calm, be still, don’t 
 think.” 
 
 “ Not to see them ! — it is the agony of death.” 
 
 You shall see them.” 
 
 Shall I ? ” cried the old man, wandering. ‘‘ See 
 them ? I am to see them, to hear their voices ? I shall 
 die happy. — Well, yes, I don’t ask to live; I don’t 
 wish it ; my troubles are too heavy. But, oh, to see 
 them ! to touch their pretty dresses ! — it isn’t much — 
 to smell the fragrance — ah ! put my hands upon their 
 hair, will — ” 
 
 He fell back heavily on his pillow, felled like an ox. 
 His fingers wandered over the coverlet as if searching 
 for his daughters’ hair. “ I bless them,” he said, mak- 
 ing an efibrt. ‘‘ I bless — ” 
 
 He sank unconscious. At this moment Bianchon 
 came in. 
 
 I met Christophe,” he said. “ He is bringing yoil' 
 a carriage.” Then he looked at the sick man and 
 lifted his eye-lids. Both saw that the power of sight 
 had gone. 
 
 “ He won’t come out of this ; that is, I think not,” 
 
331 
 
 Pire Goriot. 
 
 aid Biaiichon. He felt the pulse, and laid his hand 
 ipon the old man’s heart. “ The machine is still run- 
 ling, more ’s the pity. He had better die.” 
 i “ Yes,” said Rastignac. 
 
 “ What ’s the matter with you ? You are as pale as 
 leath.” 
 
 “Bianchon! I have been listening to such cries, 
 mch anguish! There is a God. Oh, yes, there is a 
 Glod ! and he has prepared for us a better world, or this 
 sarth would be foolishness. If it were not so tragic 
 [ could weep ; my whole being is wrenched.” 
 
 “Dear fellow! — We shall want several things; 
 
 where can we get the money ? ” 
 
 Rastignac drew out his watch. “ Here, pawn this 
 at once. I can’t wait a moment. I hear Christoph e. 
 I have not a farthing; and shall have to pay the 
 coachman when I get back.” 
 
332 
 
 Pere GrorioU 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Rastignac ran downstairs and started for the Rue 
 du Helder to find Madame de Restaud. As he drove 
 through the streets, his imagination, excited by the 
 horrors he had witnessed, increased his indignation. 
 When he reached the antechamber and asked for 
 Madame de Restaud, the servants told him she could 
 see no one. 
 
 ‘‘But,” he said to the footman, “I come from her 
 father, who is dying.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, we have the strictest orders from Mon- 
 sieur le comte — ” 
 
 “ If Monsieur de Restaud is at home, tell him the 
 condition of his father-in-law, and say that I beg to 
 see him immediately.” 
 
 Eugene waited a long time. “ He may be dying at 
 this moment,” he thought. 
 
 The footman came back and showed him into the 
 outer salon^ where Monsieur de Restaud received him 
 standing, without asking him to sit down, and with 
 his back to a fire-place where there was no fire 
 
 “ Monsieur le comte,” said Rastignac, “ your father- i 
 in-law is dying at this moment in a wretched lodging, 
 without a farthing even to buy fuel. He is about to 
 draw his last breath, and is asking for his daughter.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied the Comte de Restaud, coldly, 
 
 “ you are doubtless aware that I have very little 
 
Pere GiorioL 
 
 S33 
 
 ffection for Monsieur Goriot. He has compromised 
 imself oy unseemly transactions with Madame de 
 lestaud ; he is the author of the chief misfortunes of 
 iiy life ; in him I see the enemy of my domestic hap- 
 liness. I cannot care whether he lives or dies ; to 
 ae it is perfectly indifferent. Such are my feelings 
 loncerning him. The world may blame me, — I de- 
 pise its opinion ; I have matters of far more impor- 
 ance to think of than the opinion of fools or third 
 )arties. As for Madame de Eestaud, she is in no con- 
 lition to leave her own house ; nor do I wish her to 
 eave it. You may tell her father that as soon as she 
 las fulfilled the duty she owes to me and to my child, 
 he may go to him. If she loves her father, she can 
 )e free to go in a few moments.” 
 
 ^‘Monsieur le comte, it is not for me to pass judg- 
 nent on your conduct ; you have the right to deal with 
 ,rour wife as you think best : but I am sure that I can 
 •ely upon your word. Will you promise to tell her 
 kat her father cannot live another day, and that he 
 las already cursed her because she has not come to 
 lim ? ” 
 
 Tell her yourself,” said Monsieur de Restaud, 
 struck by the tone of indignation with which Ras- 
 ngnac uttered these words. 
 
 Eugene followed the count into the inner room 
 vhere Madame de Restaud usually sat. They found 
 ler bathed in tears, lying back in her chair like a 
 voman who longed to die. Eugene pitied her. Before 
 loticing him, she turned a timid look upon her hus- 
 band, — a look which showed how completely she was 
 i 3 rostrated, mentally and physically, by the power he 
 
334 
 
 Pere Groriot 
 
 now wielded over her. The count made a sign with hi; 
 head, which she took as a permission to speak. 
 
 ‘‘ Monsieur, I have heard all,” she said. Tell mj 
 father that if he knew my situation he would forgive 
 me. I did not expect this additional misery : it u 
 more than T have strength to bear. But I will resist 
 to the last,” she continued, turning to her husband : 
 am a mother. Tell my father I am not to blame, in 
 spite of appearances,” she added, with an accent of 
 despair. 
 
 Rastignac bowed to husband and wife. He could 
 guess through what a trial the woman was passing, 
 and he went away silenced. From Monsieur de Res- 
 taud’s tone, he saw that remonstrances were useless ; 
 and he judged that Anastasie herself would not dare 
 to make them. 
 
 He hastened to Madame de Nucingen. 
 
 ‘‘ I am quite unwell, my poor friend,” she said, as 
 he entered. I took cold coming away from the ball, 
 and I am afraid it may settle on my lungs. I am ex- 
 pecting the doctor — ” 
 
 “ If death were on your lips,” said Eugene, interrupt- 
 ing her, “you should drag yourself to your father’s 
 bedside. He is dying, — and he calls for you. If you 
 heard but the least of his cries, you would not fanc}' 
 yourself ill.” 
 
 “Eugene, perhaps my father is not as ill as you 
 think. But I should be in despair if you thought me 
 to blame. I will try to please you. He, I know, 
 would be filled with grief if my illness were made 
 serious by the imprudence of going out to-day. But 
 I will go, after I have seen the doctor. — Ah ! what 
 
Fere Groriot. 335 
 
 ive you done with your watch ? ” she cried, observ« 
 g that he did not wear the chain. 
 
 Eugene hesitated. 
 
 Eugene ! Eugene ! if you have sold it, or lost it — 
 1 ! it would be very — ” 
 
 Rastignac leaned over her and said, in a low voice, 
 Do you wish me to tell you ? Well, know it, then ! 
 our father has not money to buy the winding-sheet 
 \ which they will wrap him this evening. Your 
 atch is in pawn: I had nothing else. 
 
 Delphine sprang up and ran to her writing-table, 
 ■om which she took her purse and gave it to Ras- 
 gnac. She rang her bell and cried, I am coming, 
 am coming, Eugene ! Let me get dressed. Oh, I 
 lould be a monster not to go ! Go back ; I will be 
 lere before you. Therese,” she said, turning to her 
 aiting-maid, ‘‘ask Monsieur de Nucingen to come up 
 b once and speak to me.’’ 
 
 Eugene, glad to comfort the dying man with the 
 ews that one of his daughters was coming, reached 
 le Rue Neuve Sainte-Genevieve almost in good spirits, 
 ^hen he paid his coachman, he discovered that the 
 urse of this wealthy, elegant, and envied woman con- 
 lined sixty-six francs ! Pere Goriot, supported by 
 iianchon, was being operated upon by the hospital 
 irgeon, under the superintendence of the chief phy- 
 cian. They were applying the actual cautery, — 
 last resource of science, but in this case wholly 
 lieffectual. 
 
 i “ Can you feel it ? ” asked the physician. 
 
 ■ Pere Goriot, seeing the student enter the room, cried 
 ut, “ Are they coming ? ” 
 
336 Pere Goriot, 
 
 “ He may pull through,"’ said the surgeon. B 
 can speak.” 
 
 “Yes,” replied Eugene ; “Delphine is on her way.” 
 
 “ It won’t do,” said Bianchon ; “ he is only talking ( 
 his daughters. He cries after them as a man impale 
 cries, they say, for water.” 
 
 “We may as well give it up,” said the physician t 
 the surgeon. “ There is nothing more to be done ; w 
 cannot save him.” 
 
 Bianchon and the surgeon replaced the dying ma 
 upon his wretched bed. 
 
 “ You had better change the linen,” said the phys: 
 cian. “ There i-s no hope ; but something is alwaj 
 due to human nature. I will come back, Bianchon, 
 he said to his pupil. “ If he seems to suffer, put lai 
 danum on the diaphragm.” 
 
 The surgeon and physician went away. 
 
 “ Come, Eugene, courage, my lad ! ” said Biancho 
 when they were left alone. “We must put on a clea 
 shirt, and change the bed. Go down and ask Sylvie t 
 bring up some sheets and stop and help us.” 
 
 Eugene went down and found Madame Vauque 
 helping Sylvie to set the dinner-table. At his firs 
 words the widow came up to him with the sour civilit; 
 of a shopkeeper doubtful about the payment, yet un 
 willing to lose a customer. 
 
 “ My dear Monsieur Eugene,” she said, “ you kno\ 
 as well as I do that Pere Goriot has not a sou^ T« 
 furnish sheets to a man just giving up the ghost i 
 throwing them away, — one of them at least must b' 
 sacrificed for the winding-sheet. Besides this, you ow< 
 me one hundred and forty-four francs ; add forty franc 
 
337 
 
 - P^re Goriot. 
 
 51 - the sheets and some other little things, including the 
 andles, — which Sylvie will give you, — and it mounts 
 p to not less than two hundred francs ; a sum which a 
 oor widow like me cannot afford to lose. Come ! do 
 le justice. Monsieur Eugene. I have lost enough the 
 ist few days since ill-luck got hold of me. I would 
 lave given five louis if the old man had gone away 
 fhen he gave notice. My lodgers don’t like this sort 
 .f thing. It would not take much to make me even 
 low send him off to the hospital. Put yourself in my 
 ilace. My establishment is the chief thing to me, of 
 jourse. It is my support, my all.” 
 
 Eugene ran up swiftly to P^re Goriot’s chamber. 
 
 ‘ The money for the watch, Bianchon, where is it . 
 
 “On the table. You will find three hundred and 
 fixty-odd francs left. I have paid all we owe. The 
 pawn ticket is under the money. 
 
 “ Here Madame,” said Rastignac, rushing headlong 
 down the staircase, “ let us settle our accounts. Mon- 
 sieur Goriot will not long be with you, and I 
 
 “ Yes, he will go out feet foremost, poor old man, 
 she said, counting up her two hundred francs with an 
 air of complacent melancholy. 
 
 “ Let us make an end of this,” cried Rastignac. 
 
 “ Sylvie, give out the sheets, and go and help the 
 gentlemen upstairs. You will not forget Sylvie,” 
 whispered Madame Vauquer to Eugene. “She has 
 sat up two nights, you know.” 
 
 As soon as Eugene’s back was turned, the old woman 
 ran after her cook. “ Take the sheets that have been 
 turned, Sylvie, — No. 7. Good enough for a corpse, 
 she whispered 
 
 22 
 
338 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 Eugene being already half way up the stairs did n( 
 hear his landlady’s words. 
 
 ‘‘Now, then,” said Bianchon, “we will change hi 
 shirt. Hold him up.” 
 
 Eugene went to the head of the bed and supportei 
 Pere Goriot, while Bianchon drew off his shirt. Th 
 old man made a gesture as if to grasp something oi 
 his breast, uttering plaintive inarticulate cries, like ai 
 animal in pain. 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” said Bianchon, “ he wants a little hair 
 chain and locket which we took off when we appliec 
 the fire. Poor old man ! Put it around his necl 
 again; it is on the chimney-piece.” 
 
 Eugmie took up the little chain, made of a tress oi 
 chestnut hair, which was doubtless Madame Goriot’s. 
 Attached to it was a locket, with the names “ Anas- 
 tasie ” on one side and “ Delphine ” on the other ; fit 
 emblem of his constant heart, it lay upon that heart 
 continually. The curls in the locket were so fine that 
 they must have been cut off when the little girls were 
 infants. As Eugene replaced the trinket on his breast 
 the old man gave a long-drawn sigh of relief, heart- 
 breaking to hear. It was well-nigh the final echo of his 
 living emotions, as they drew in to the unknown centre 
 from which spring and to which return our human sym- 
 pathies. His face, much distorted, wore an unnatural 
 expression of joy. The two young men, deeply moved 
 by this sudden explosion of a feeling which had out- 
 lived the power of thought, let fall hot tears, which 
 touched the face of the dying man. He uttered a 
 piercing cry of pleasure. 
 
 “ Nasie ! Fifine ! ” he exclaimed- 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 339 
 
 « He is still living,” said Bianchon. 
 
 « What’s the use of that?” said Sylvie. 
 
 “ To suffer,” replied Rastignac. 
 
 Making Eugene a sign to do as he did, Bianchon 
 nelt down beside the bed to pass his arms beneath the 
 ick man’s knees, while Rastignac on the other side did 
 he same, supporting the shoulders. Sylvie stood by 
 0 draw the sheet as the weight was raised, and slip 
 hrough one of those she had brought up with her. 
 lisled no doubt by the tears that he had felt upon his 
 ace, Pere Goriot used his last strength to stretch out 
 lis hands on either side of the bed and grasped the 
 lair of the two students, muttering feebly, “ Ah, my 
 
 ingels ! ” two words sighed forth by the spirit as it 
 
 ,ook its flight. 
 
 “ Poor, dear man ! ” said Sylvie, much affected by this 
 ixclamation, — the utterance of the ever-dominant pas- 
 ;ion drawn forth by an involuntary deception. The 
 ast conscious sigh of the unhappy father was a sigh of 
 oy. It expressed his whole life, — delusion ; deluded 
 3vehiWffeafh t laid him gently back upon the 
 
 wretched pallet, and from that moment his face showed 
 only fluctuations between life and death, — the move- 
 ments of the machinery no longer guided by the brain, 
 in which alone resides the consciousness of human joy 
 and misery. 
 
 « He will lie as he is for some hours, and die so qui- 
 etly that no one will perceive when the end comes. 
 There will be no rattle in his throat. His brain has 
 ceased to act,” said Bianchon. 
 
 At this moment they heard the rapid footsteps of a 
 young woman. 
 
340 Pere Goriot. 
 
 “It is Delphine/’ said Rastignac; “she comes to 
 late.” 
 
 It was not Delphine, but Tlierese, her waiting 
 woman. 
 
 “Monsieur Eugene,’’ she said, “ there has been aj 
 angry scene between Monsieur and Madame, abou 
 some money Madame asked for, for her father. Sh 
 fainted away ; the doctor came and bled her. She kep 
 saying, ‘ Papa is dying, I must go to him ! ’ Her crie 
 were enough to break one’s heart.” 
 
 “ That will do, Therese. Her coming would be sn 
 perfluous now. Monsieur Goriot has lost conscious 
 ness.” 
 
 “ Poor, dear Monsieur ! is he so bad as that ? ” sai( 
 Therese. 
 
 “ You don’t want me any more; I must go and se< 
 after my dinner. It is half-past five now,” said Sylvie 
 who as she went downstairs nearly fell over Madaim 
 de Restaud. 
 
 The countess glided into the death-chamber like ai 
 apparition. She gazed at the bed by the light of th( 
 one poor candle, and shed tears as she looked dowr 
 upon the face of her dying father, where the last dicker- 
 ings of life still quivefed. Bianchon left the room, oul 
 of respect for her feelings. 
 
 “ I could not escape soon enough,” she said tc 
 Rastignac. 
 
 The student sadly shook his head to imply that this 
 was true. Madame de Restaud took her father’s hand 
 and kissed it. 
 
 “ Forgive me, oh, my Father ! ” she exclaimed. “ You 
 used to say that my voice would call you from the 
 
PeTe CioTiot. 
 
 341 
 
 mb. Come back to life one moment to bless your 
 pentant daughter ! Oh, hear me ! — This is dread- 
 1! Your blessing is the only one I can hope for 
 ^re below. All hate me; you alone in this wicle 
 
 orld can love me. My children will abhor me Oh, 
 
 ke me with you ! 1 will love you ; I will wait upon 
 
 3 u — He does not hear me. I am mad — 
 
 She fell upon her knees, gazing at the wreck before 
 
 or 
 
 «*Mv cup of misery is full,” she cried, looking up at 
 luaene. “ Monsieur de Trailles has gone, leaving enor- 
 lous debts behind him, — and I now know that he 
 deceived me all along. My husband can never forgive 
 ae ; I have made over to him the disposal of my for- 
 une; my children are destitute. Alas! for what, for 
 vhom, have I betrayed the only faithful heart that 
 oved me? I did not understand him ; I cast him ott ; 
 
 [ did so many cruel things to him — Oh, wicked 
 
 ivoman that I am!” 
 
 « He knew it,” said Rastignac. 
 
 At that moment Phre Goriot opened his eyes; but 
 the movement was only convulsive and involuntary. 
 The gesture by which his daughter showed her hope 
 of recognition was not less terrible to witness than his 
 
 sheened. .-Ah,™!" she 
 
 added after a pause, sitting down beside the bed. ^ 
 
 As she expressed the wish to watch him, Eugene 
 went downstairs to take some food. The guests 
 were all assembled in the salon. 
 
 ‘‘Well,” said the painter, ‘‘so we are to nave a li o 
 
 death-orama upstairs ? ” 
 
842 
 
 P^re Goriot. 
 
 “ Charles,” said Eugene, “ choose some less melan 
 choly subject to joke upon.” 
 
 “ Dear me ! is it forbidden to laugh under this roof 
 What does it matter? Bianchon says the old fellow 
 has lost his senses.” 
 
 “ If that is so,” said the employe, “ he will die as he 
 lived.” 
 
 “ My father is dead! ” shrieked Madame de Restaud. 
 Rastignac and Bianchon ran upstairs, where they found 
 her fainting on the floor. After bringing her back 
 to consciousness, Eugene took her down to the hack- 
 ney coach in which she had come, and consigned her 
 to Therese, with orders to take her to Madame de 
 Nucingen. 
 
 “ Yes, he is quite dead,” said Bianchon, coming down 
 again. 
 
 “ Come, gentlemen, sit down to table,” said Madame 
 Vauquer. “ The soup is getting cold.” 
 
 The two students took their places by each other. 
 
 “ W^hat is to be done next ? ” said Eugene to 
 Bianchon. 
 
 “I have closed his eyes, and composed him properly. 
 When the doctor from the Mayor’s ofBce has certified 
 to the death, which we will report at once, he will be 
 sewn up in a sheet and buried. "Where do you mean 
 to put him ? ” 
 
 “ He will never sniff his bread any more, like this,” 
 said one of the guests, mimicking the trick of the poor 
 old man. 
 
 “ The devil ! gentlemen,” cried the tutor, “ do leave 
 Pere Goriot alone. W^e don’t want any more of him. 
 You have served him up with every kind of sauce for 
 
P^re Qoriot. 
 
 343 
 
 e last hour. One of the privileges of this good city 
 Paris is that you can come into the world, live in 
 and go out of it, and nobody will pay any atten- 
 )n to you. Avail yourselves of the advantages of 
 rilization. According to statistics, sixty persons 
 ,ve died in Paris this very day. Are we called 
 )on to weep over Parisian hecatombs? If Pere 
 jriot is dead, so much the better for him. If you 
 Bre all so fond of him, you can go and keep watch 
 ■side him ; but leave the rest of us to eat our dinners 
 peace.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes,” said the widow. “ It is much better for 
 m that he is dead. It seems the poor man has had 
 enty of troubles all his life long.” 
 
 This was the only funeral oration pronounced over a . — 
 iing who in the eyes of Rastignac was the incarna- j 
 an of Fatherhood. . ^ 
 
 The fifteen guests began to talk about other things, 
 /■fien Eugene and Bianchon had finished eating, the 
 alter of knives and forks, the laughter, the jests, the 
 avious expressions on the callous, greedy faces I’ound 
 le table struck them with horror. They went in 
 iarch of a priest to watch and pray during the night 
 eside the dead. It was necessary to calculate the 
 ist duties they could render to their poor old friend 
 y the slender sum they had to spend. About nine 
 ’clock in the evening the body was placed on a 
 ier between two tallow candles, in the centre of the 
 rretched chamber ; and a priest came to watch beside 
 t. Before going to bed, Rastignac, who had obtained 
 iiformation from the ecclesiastic as to burial fees and 
 he cost of funeral rites, wrote to the Baron de Nucin- 
 
844 
 
 Pere Goriot. 
 
 gen and the Comte de Restaud, asking them to sen 
 their men of business with orders to provide for 
 suitable interment. He sent Christophe with thes 
 notes, and then went to his own bed and slept, wor; 
 out with fatigue. 
 
 The next morning Bianchon and Rastignac wer 
 forced to go themselves and declare the death, whic. 
 was certified to officially by midday. Two hour 
 passed ; neither of the sons-in-law sent money, no 
 did any one appear who was authorized to act in thei 
 names. Rastignac had already been obliged to pa; 
 the priest, and Sylvie having demanded ten francs fo 
 sewing the corpse in its winding-sheet, Rastignac am 
 Bianchon came to the conclusion that as the relative 
 would do nothing, they had barely enough money t< 
 provide the cheapest funeral. The medical studen 
 undertook to place the body himself in a pauper’s coJ 
 fin, which he sent from the hospital, where he coul( 
 buy it for less cost than elsewhere. 
 
 ‘^Play a trick upon those people, — they deserw 
 it,” he said to Rastignac. Buy a grave for five 
 years in Pere-La-Chaise, and order a third-class fu 
 neral service at the Church, and from the Pompes 
 Funebres, and send the bills to the family. If th( 
 sons-in-law and the daughters don’t choose to pay it 
 we will have engraved upon his tombstone* ^ Here liei 
 Monsieur Goriot, father of the Corntesse de Restauc 
 and the Baronne de Nucingen. Buried at the expense 
 of two students.’ ” 
 
 Eugene did not take his friend’s advice until h( 
 had been, but in vain, to Monsieur and Madame de 
 Nucingen’s house and to Monsieur and Madame d( 
 
Pere Groriot. ^45 
 
 Restaud’s. He could not gain admittance. Both 
 porters had strict orders. 
 
 “ Monsieur and Madame,” they said, “ receive no 
 one : they are in deep affliction, owing to the death of 
 
 their father.” _ ■ ■ 
 
 Eugene had had enough experience of Parisian life 
 to know that it was useless to persist further. He was 
 greatly wounded when he found that he could not see 
 Delphine. “ Sell a necklace,” he wrote in the porter’s 
 lodge, “ that your father may be decently consigned to 
 his last resting-place.” 
 
 He sealed the note, and begged the porter to give it 
 to Therese for her mistress; but the man gave it to 
 the Baron de Nucingen, who put it in the fire. 
 
 Having made all his arrangements, Eugene came 
 back a little after three o’clock to the Maison Vauquer, 
 and could not help shedding tears when he saw the 
 bier at the iron gate, scantily covered with black cloth 
 and placed upon two chairs in the lonely street. An 
 old holy-water .sprinkler, which no hand had yet 
 touched, lay beside it in a plated copper vessel full 
 of holy water. The gateway was not even hung 
 with black. It was a pauper funeral, — no pomp, no 
 attendants, no friends, no relatives. Bianchon, whose 
 duties kept him at the Hospital, had left a note for 
 Rastignac to let him know what arrangements he had 
 made for the Church services. He told him that a 
 Mass could not be had for the sum they were able to 
 pay ; that they must put up with a less costly service 
 at vespers; and that he had sent Christophe to notify 
 the Pompes-Funebre^ 
 
346 
 
 Pere Qoriot. 
 
 As Rastignac finished reading Bianchon’s scrawl, he 
 saw in Madame Vauquer’s hands the gold locket which 
 had lain upon the old man’s heart. 
 
 “ How dared you take that ? ” he said to her. 
 
 “ Bless me ! ” cried Sylvie, “ did you mean to bury 
 him with that ? Why, it ’s gold.” 
 
 “ Yes,” answered Eugene indignantly. “ Let him at 
 least take with him to the grave the only thing that 
 represents his daughters.” 
 
 When the hearse came, Eugene ordered the coffin 
 to be taken back into the house, where he unscrewed 
 the nails, and reverently placed upon the old man’s 
 heart that relic of the days when Delphine and Anas- 
 tasie had been young and pure, and “ did not reason,” 
 as he had said in his dying moments. 
 
 Rastignac and Christophe and two of the under- 
 taker’s men were all who accompanied the hearse 
 which carried the poor man to the nearest church, 
 Saint-Etienne du Mont, not far from the Rue Neuve 
 Sainte-Genevieve. There the corpse was placed in 
 a little chapel, low and dark, round which the student 
 looked in vain for the daughters of Pere Goriot or their 
 husbands. He was alone with Christophe, who thought 
 himself under an obligation to pay the last duties to a 
 man who had been the means of procuring for him 
 many large pour-boires. While waiting for the two 
 officiating priests, the choir-boy, and the beadle, Rastig- 
 nac pressed Christophe’s hand, but could not speak. 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur Eugene,” said Christophe, “he was 
 a good and honest man; he never said an angiy word; 
 he never tried to injure any one ; he never did an un- 
 kind thing.” 
 
Pere Goriot. 
 
 347 
 
 The two priests, the acolyte, and the beadle came 
 and gave all that could be had for seventy francs in an 
 epoch when religion is too poor to pray for nothing. 
 The clergy sang a psalm, the Libera, and the Pe 
 
 \profundis. The service lasted twenty minutes. There 
 was only one mourning-coach, intended for the priest 
 and the choir-boy ; but they allowed Rastignac and 
 Christophe to go with them. 
 
 “ As there is no procession,” said the priest, “ we can 
 go fast, so as not to be late. It is half-past five now.” 
 
 However, just as the coffin was replaced in the 
 hearse two carriages with armorial bearings, but empty 
 (those of the Comte de Restaud and the Baron de Nu- 
 cingen), made their appearance and followed the funeral 
 to Pere-La-Chaise. At six o’clock the body of Pere 
 Goriot was lowered into its grave, round which stood 
 the footmen of his daughters, who disappeared with 
 the clergy as soon as a short prayer — all that could 
 be given for the student’s money — was over. When 
 the two grave-diggers had thrown a few shovelsful of 
 earth upon the coffin they came out of the grave, and 
 turning to Rastignac asked him for their drink-money. 
 Eugene felt in his pockets, but nothing was there. He 
 had to borrow a franc from Christophe. This cir- 
 cumstance, trivial in itself, produced in his mind a 
 horrible depression. Day was departing; a damp mist 
 irritated his nerves. He looked down into the grave 
 and buried there the last tear of his young manhood, — 
 a last tear springing from the sacred emotions of a pure 
 heart, which from the earth on which it fell exhaled to 
 heaven. He folded his arms and stood gazing upward 
 at the clouds. Seeing him thus, Christophe went away. 
 
348 
 
 Pere Groriot. 
 
 Left alone, Rastignac walked a few steps until hej 
 reached the highest part of the cemetery, and saw! 
 Paris as it lies along the winding shores of the Seine. | 
 Lights were beginning to glitter in the gathering dark- 
 ness. His eyes turned eagerly to the space between 
 the column of the Place Vendome and the dome of the 
 Invalides. There lived that world of fashion which 
 it had been his dream to enter. He gave the hum- 
 ming hive a look that seemed to suck it of its honey, 
 and said aloud the defj'ing words, — 
 
 Between us two, henceforth I ” 
 
 As the first act of this challenge to society, Rastignac 
 went to dine with Madame de Nucingen. 
 
THE MAERIAGE CONTRACT. 
 
 TO EOSSINI. 
 
 1 . 
 
 PRO AND CON. 
 
 Monsieur de Maneryii.le, the father, was a worthy 
 Norman gentleman, well known to the Marechal de 
 Richelieu, who married him to one of the richest heir- 
 esses of Bordeaux in the days when the old duke 
 reigned in Guienne as governor. The Norman then 
 sold the estate he owned in Bessin, and became a 
 Gascon, allured by the beauty of the chateau de Lans- 
 trac, a delightful residence owned by his wife. Dur- 
 ing the last days of the reign of Louis XV., he bought 
 the post of major of the Gate Guards, and lived till 
 1813, having by great good luck escaped the dangers 
 of the Revolution in the following manner. 
 
 Toward the close of the year, 1790, he went to Mar- 
 tinque, where his wife had interests, leaving the man- 
 agement of his property in Gascogne to an honest man, 
 a notary’s clerk, named Mathias, who was inclined to 
 or at any rate did — give into the new ideas. On 
 
 tiis return the Comte deManerville found his possessions 
 
 1 
 
2 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 intact and well-managed. This sound result was the 
 fruit produced by grafting the Gascon on the Norman. 
 
 Madame de Manerville died in 1810. Having 
 learned the importance of worldly goods through the 
 dissipations of his youth, and, giving them, like many 
 another old man, a higher place than they really hold 
 in life, Monsieur de Manerville became increasingly 
 economical, miserly, and sordid. Without reflecting 
 that the avarice of parents prepares the way for the 
 prodigalities of children, he allowed almost nothing to 
 his son, although that son was an only child. 
 
 Paul de Manerville, coming home from the college 
 of Vendome in 1810, lived under close paternal discipline 
 for three years. The tyranny by which the old man of 
 seventy oppressed his heir influenced, necessarily, a 
 heart and a character which were not yet formed. 
 Paul, the son, without lacking the physical courage 
 which is vital in the air of Gascony, dared not struggle 
 against his father, and consequently lost that faculty 
 of resistance which begets moral courage. His 
 thwarted feelings were driven to the depths of his 
 heart, where they remained without expression ; later, 
 when he felt them to be out of harmony with 
 the maxims of the world, he could only think rightly 
 and act mistakenly. He was capable of fighting for a 
 mere word or look, yet he trembled at the thought of 
 dismissing a servant, — his timidity showing itself in 
 those contests only which required a persistent will. 
 Capable of doing great things to fly from persecution, 
 he would never have prevented it by systematic oppo- 
 sition, nor have faced it with the steady employment of i 
 force of will. Timid in thought, bold in actions, he 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 3 
 
 ng preserved that inward simplicity which makes 
 man the dupe and the voluntary victim of things 
 • ainst which certain souls hesitate to revolt, prefer- 
 ng to endure them rather than complain. He wms, in 
 )int of fact, imprisoned in his father’s old mansion, 
 
 )r he had not enough money to consort with young men ; 
 
 3 envied their pleasures while unable to share them. 
 
 The old gentleman took him every evening, in 
 n old carriage drawn by ill-harnessed old horses, 
 tteuded by ill-dressed old servants, to royalist 
 ouses, where he met a society composed of the 
 elics of the parliamentary nobility and the martial 
 obility. These two nobilities coalescing after the 
 levolution for the purpose of resisting imperial 
 nfluence, had now transformed themselves into^ a 
 anded aristocracy. Crushed by the vast and swelling 
 ortunes of the maritime cities, this Taubourg Saint- 
 dermain of Bordeaux responded by lofty disdain to 
 ;he sumptuous displays of commerce, government ad- 
 ninistrations, and the military. Too young to under- 
 stand social distinctions and the necessities underlying 
 the apparent assumption which they create, Paul was 
 bored to death among these ancients, unaware that the 
 connections of his youth would eventually secure to 
 him that aristocratic pre-eminence which Frenchmen 
 will forever desire. 
 
 He found some slight compensations for the dul- 
 ness of these evenings in certain manual exercises 
 which always delight young men, and which his father 
 enjoined upon him. The old gentleman considered that 
 to know the art of fencing and the use of arms, to ride 
 well on horseback, to play tennis, to acquire good 
 
4 The Marriage Contract. ; 
 
 manners, in short, to possess all the frivolous accon 
 plishments of the old nobility, — made a young man ( 
 the present day a finished gentleman. According!;; 
 Paul took a fencing-lesson every morning, went to tl 
 riding-school, and practised in a pistol-gallery. The res 
 of his time he spent in reading novels, for his fathe 
 would never have allowed the more abstruse studie 
 now considered necessary to finish an education. 
 
 So monotonous a life would soon have killed th 
 poor youth if the death of the old man had not deliv 
 ered him from this tyranny at the moment when it wa 
 becoming intolerable. Paul found himself in posses 
 sion of considerable capital, accumulated by his father’i 
 avarice, together with landed estates in the best pos 
 sible condition. But he now held Bordeaux in horror 
 neither did he like Lanstrac, where his father hac 
 taken him to spend the summers, employing his whole 
 time from morning till night in hunting. 
 
 As soon as the estate was fairly settled, the young 
 heir, eager for enjoyment, bought consols with his 
 capital, left the management of the landed property to 
 old Mathias, his father’s notary, and spent the next 
 six years away from Bordeaux. At first he was at- 
 tached to the French embassy at Naples ; after that 
 he was secretary of legation at Madrid, and then in 
 London, — making in this way the tour of Europe. 
 
 After seeing the world and life, after losing several 
 illusions, after dissipating all the loose capital which 
 his father had amassed, there came a time when, in 
 order to continue his way of life, Paul was forced to 
 di-aw upon the territoral revenues which his notary was 
 laying by. At this critical moment, seized by one of 
 
^ The Marriage Contract. o 
 
 ie so-called virtuous impulses, he determined to leave 
 aris, return to Bordeaux, regulate bis affairs, lead the 
 fe of a country gentleman at Lanstrac, improve his 
 foperty, marrv, and become, in the end, a deputy. 
 
 Paul was a count ; nobility was once more of matn- 
 lonial value ; he could, and he ought to make a good 
 larriage. While many women desire a title, many 
 thers like to marry a man to whom a knowledge of 
 fe is familiar. Now Paul had acquired, in exchange 
 K the sum of seven hundred thousand francs squan- 
 ered in six years, that possession, which cannot be 
 ouglit and is practically of more value than gold and 
 ilver ; a knowledge which exacts long study , proba- 
 ion, examinations, friends, enemies, acquaintances, 
 ertain manners, elegance of form and demeanor, 
 
 , graceful and euphonious name, — a knowledge, 
 noreover, which means many love-affairs, duels, bets 
 ost on a race-course, disillusions, deceptions, annoy- 
 •nces, toils, and a vast variety of undigested pleasures, 
 n short, he had become what is called elegant. But 
 n spite of his mad extravagance he had never made 
 limself a mere fashionable man. In the burlesque 
 irmy of men of tlie world, the man of fashion holds 
 he place of a marshal of France, the man of elegance 
 s. the equivalent of a lieutenant-general. Paul enjoyed 
 lis lesser reputation, of elegance, and knew well how to 
 mstain it. His servants were well-dressed, his equi- 
 pages were cited, his suppers had a certain vogue ; in 
 short, his bachelor establishment was counted among 
 the seven or eight whose splendor equalled that of the 
 finest houses in Paris. 
 
 But he had not caused the wretchedness of any 
 
 
6 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 woman ; he gambled without losing ; his luck was n* 
 notorious ; he was far too upright to deceive or misler 
 any one, no matter who, even a wanton ; never did 1 
 leave his billets-doux lying about, and he possessed r 
 coffer or desk for love-letters which his friends were i 
 liberty to read while he tied his cravat or trimmed h 
 beard. Moreover, not willing to dip into his Guienr 
 property, he had not that bold extravagance whic 
 leads to great strokes and calls attention at any co^ 
 to the proceedings of a young man. Neither did h 
 borrow money, but he had the folly to lend to friends 
 who then deserted him and spoke of him no more eithe 
 for good or evil. He seemed to have regulated his dis 
 sipations methodically. The secret of his character la; 
 in his father’s tyranny, which had made him, as it were 
 a social mongrel. 
 
 So, one morning, he said to a friend named d( 
 Marsay, who afterwards became celebrated : — 
 
 “ My dear fellow, life has a meaning.” 
 
 ‘‘ You must be twenty-seven years of age before yoi 
 can find it out,” replied de Marsay, laughing. 
 
 ‘‘ Well, I am twenty-seven ; and precisely because J 
 am twenty-seven I mean to live the life of a countrj 
 gentleman at Lanstrac. I ’ll transport my belongings 
 to Bordeaux into my father’s old mansion, and 1 ’ll 
 spend three months of the year in Paris in this house, 
 which I shall keep.” 
 
 ‘‘ Will you marry? ” 
 
 ‘‘ I shall marry.” 
 
 “I’m your friend, as you know, my old Paul,” said 
 de Marsay, after a moment’s silence, “and I say to i 
 you : settle down into a worthy father and husband 
 
The Marriage Contract. 7 
 
 and you’ll be ridiculous for the rest of your days. 
 
 If you could be happy and ridiculous, the thing might 
 be thought of ; but you will not be happy. You have n’t 
 a strong enough wrist to drive a household. I ’ll do 
 you justice and say you are a perfect horseman ; no 
 one .knows as well as you how to pick up or throw down 
 the reins, and make a horse prance, and sit firm to the 
 saddle. But, my dear fellow, marriage is another thing. 
 
 I see you uotv, led along at a slapping pace by Madame 
 la Comtesse de Manerville, going whither you would 
 not, oftener at a gallop than a trot, and presently un- 
 Ijorsed ! — yes, unhorsed into a ditch and your legs 
 broken. Listen to me. You still have some forty-odd 
 thousand francs a year from your property in the 
 Gironde. Good. Take your horses and servants and 
 furnish your house in Bordeaux ; you can be king of 
 Bordeaux, you can promulgate there the edicts that we 
 put forth in Paris; you can be the correspondent of 
 our stupidities. Very good. Play the rake in the pro- 
 vinces ; better still, commit follies ; follies may win you 
 celebrity. But — don’t marry. Who marries nowa- 
 days? Only merchants, for the sake of their capital, 
 or to be two to drag the cart.; only peasants who want 
 to produce children to work for them ; only brokers and 
 notaries who want a wife’s dot to pay for their practice ; 
 only miserable kings who are forced to continue their 
 miserable dynasties. But we are exempt from the 
 pack, and you want to shoulder it! And why do you 
 want to marry? You ought to give your best friend 
 your reasons. In the first place, if you marry an 
 heiress as rich as yourself, eighty thousand francs a 
 year for two is not the same thing as forty thousand 
 
8 The Marriage Contract. | 
 
 francs a year for one, because the two are soon three 
 or four when the children come. You have n’t surely 
 any love for that silly race of Manerville which would 
 only hamper you? Are you ignorant of what a father 
 and mother have to be ? Marriage, my old Paul, is the 
 silliest of all the social immolations ; our children alone 
 profit by it, and don’t know its price till their horses 
 are nibbling the flowers on our grave. Do you regret 
 your father, that old tyrant who made your first years 
 wretched? How can you be sure that your children 
 will love you? The very care you take of their educa- 
 tion, your precautions for their happiness, your neces- 
 sary sternness will lessen their affection. Children 
 love a weak or a prodigal father, whom they will despise 
 m after years. You ’ll live betwixt fear and contempt. 
 No man is a good head of a family merely because he 
 wants to be. Look round on all our friends and name 
 to me one whom you would like to have for a son. 
 We have known a good many who dishonor their 
 names. Children, my dear Paul, are the most difficult 
 kind of merchandise to take care of. Yours, you think, 
 will be angels ; well, so be it ! Have you ever sounded 
 the gulf which lies between the lives of a bachelor and 
 a married man? Listen. As a bachelor you can say 
 to yourself : ‘ I shall never exhibit more than a certain 
 amount of the ridiculous ; the public will think of me 
 what I choose it to think.’ Married, you ’ll drop into 
 the infinitude of the ridiculous ! Bachelor, you can make 
 your own happiness ; you enjoy some to-day, you do 
 without it to-morrow ; married, you must take it as it 
 comes ; and the day you want it you will have to go 
 without it. Marry, and you’ll grow a blockhead; 
 
The Marriage Contract. , 9 
 
 ou ’ll calculate dowries ; you ’ll talk morality, public 
 iid religious; you’ll thiuk young men immoral and 
 angerous ; in short, you ’ll become a social academi- 
 iam It ’s pitiable ! The old bachelor whose property 
 m heirs are waiting for, who fights to his last breath 
 ith his nurse for a spoonful of drink, is blest in com- 
 arison with a married man. I ’m not speaking of all 
 hat will happen to annoy, bore, irritate, coerce, op- 
 ose, tyrannize, narcotize, paralyze, and idiotize a man 
 a marriage, in that struggle of two beings always in one 
 nother’s presence, bound forever, who have coupled 
 ach other under the strange impression that they were 
 uited. No, to tell you those things would be merely a 
 epetition of Boileau, and we know him by heart. Still, 
 ’ll forgive your absurd idea if you will promise me to 
 narry en grand seigneur ; to entail your property ; to 
 rave two legitimate children , to give your wife a house 
 ind household absolutely distinct from yours ; to meet 
 ler only in society, and never to return from a journey 
 without sending her a courier to announce it. Two hun- 
 Ired thousand francs a year will suffice for such a life 
 ind your antecedents will enable you to marry some rich 
 English woman hungry for a title. That ’s an aristo- 
 3 ratic life which seems to me thoroughly French ; the 
 only life in which we can retain the respect and 
 friendship of a woman; the only life which distin- 
 guishes a man from the present crowd, — in short, the 
 only life for which a young man should even thmk of 
 resigning his bachelor blessings. Thus established, 
 the Comte de Manerville may advise his epoch, place 
 himself above the world, and be nothing less than a 
 minister oi an ambassador. Ridicule can never touch 
 
10 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 him ; he has gained the social advantages of marriagj 
 while keeping all the privileges of a bachelor.” t 
 
 ‘‘ But, my good friend, I am not de Marsay ; I ai| 
 plainly, as you yourself do me the honor to say, Paul di 
 Manerville, worthy father and husband, deputy of th( 
 Centre, possibly peer of France, — a destiny extremelj 
 commonplace ; but I am modest and I resign myself.’^ 
 “Yes, but your wife,” said the pitiless de Marsay, 
 “ will she resign herself? ” 
 
 “ My wife, my dear fellow, will do as I wish.” 
 
 “Ah! my poor friend, is that where you are? 
 Adieu, Paul. Henceforth, I refuse to respect you. 
 One word more, however, for I cannot agree coldly to 
 your abdication. Look and see in what the strength 
 of our position lies. A bachelor with only six thou- 
 sand francs a year remaining to him has at least his 
 reputation for elegance and the memory of success. 
 Well, even that fantastic shadow has enormous value 
 in it. Life still offers many chances to the unmarried 
 man. Yes, he can aim at anything. But marriage, 
 Paul, is the social ‘ Thus far shalt thou go and no 
 farther.’ Once married you can never be an^ffhing 
 but what you then are — unless your wife should deign 
 to care for you.” 
 
 “But,” said Paul, “you are crushing me down with 
 exceptional theories. I am tired of living for others ; 
 of having horses merely to exhibit them ; of doing all | 
 things for the sake of what may be said of them ; of 
 wasting my substance to keep fools from crying out : ; 
 ‘ Dear, dear ! Paul is still driving the same carriage. I 
 What has he done with his fortune ? Does he squan- 1 
 der it? Does he gamble at the Bourse? Ko, he’s a 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 11 
 
 flillionnaire. Madame such a one is mad about him. 
 le sent to England for a harness which is certainly the 
 landsomest in all Paris. The four-horse equipages of 
 dessieurs de Marsay and de Manerville were much 
 loticed at Longchamps; the harness was perfect’ 
 n short, the thousand silly things with which a crowd 
 )f idiots lead us by the nose. Believe me, my dear 
 denri, I admire your power, but I don’t envy it. You 
 enow how to judge of life ; you think and act as a 
 statesman; you are able to place yourself above all 
 >rdinary laws, received ideas, adopted conventions, 
 ind acknowledged prejudices; in short, you can grasp 
 the profits of a situation in which I should find nothing 
 but ill-luck. Your cool, systematic, possibly true 
 deductions are, to the eyes of the masses, shockingly im- 
 moral. I belong to the masses. I must play my 
 game of life according to the rules of the society in 
 which I am forced to live. While putting yourself 
 above all human things on peaks of ice, you still have 
 feelings ; but as for me, I should freeze to death. The 
 life of that great majority, to which I belong in my 
 commonplace way, is made up of emotions of which I 
 now have need. Often a man coquets with a dozen 
 women and obtains none. Then, whatever be his 
 strength, his cleverness, his knowledge of the world, 
 he undergoes convulsions, in which he is crushed as 
 between two gates. For my part, 1 like the peaceful 
 chances and changes of life ; I want that wholesome 
 existence in which we find a woman always at our 
 side.” 
 
 “ A trifle indecorous, your marnage ! ” exclaimed de 
 Marsay. 
 
12 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Paul was not to be put out of countenance, and 
 continued : Laugh if you like; I shall feel myself a 
 happy man when my valet enters my room in the morn- 
 ing and says : ‘ Madame is awaiting monsieur foi 
 breakfast ; ’ happier still at night, when I return to 
 find a heart — ’’ 
 
 ‘‘Altogether indecorous, my dear Paul. You are 
 not yet moral enough to marry.’* 
 
 “ — a heart in which to confide my interests and 
 my secrets. I wish to live in such close union with 
 a woman that our affection shall not depend upon a 
 yes or a no, or be open to the disillusions of love. 
 In short, I have the necessary courage to become, as 
 you say, a worthy husband and father. I feel myself 
 fitted for family joys ; I wish to put myself under the 
 conditions prescribed by society ; I desire to have a 
 wife and children.” 
 
 “ You remind me of a hive of honey-bees ! But go 
 your way, you ’ll be a dupe all your life. Ha, ha ! you 
 wish to marry to have a wife ! In other words, you 
 wish to solve satisfactorily to your own profit the most 
 difficult problem presented by those bourgeois morals 
 which were created by the French Revolution; and, 
 what is more, you mean to begin your attempt by a 
 life of retirement. Do you think your wife won’t 
 crave the life you say you despise? Will she be dis- 
 gusted with it, as you are? If you won’t accept the 
 noble conjugality just formulated for your benefit by 
 your friend de Marsay, listen, at any rate, to his final 
 advice. Remain a bachelor for the next thirteen years ; 
 amuse yourself like a lost soul ; then, at forty, on 
 your first attack of gout, marry a widow of thirty-six. 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 13 
 
 ['hen yon may possibly be happy. If you now take a 
 foung girl to wife, you ’ll die a madman.” 
 
 '•‘•Ah ! tell me why!” cried Paul, somewhat 
 
 nqued. 
 
 “ My dear fellow,” replied de Marsay, “ Boileau’s 
 latire against women is a tissue of poetical common- 
 )laces. Why should n’t women have defects ? Why 
 jondemn them for having the most obvious thing in 
 lumau nature? To my mind, the problem of marriage 
 s not at all at the point where Boileau puts it. Do 
 ^ou suppose that marriage is the same thing as love, 
 ind that being a man suffices to make a wife love you? 
 3ave you gathered nothing in your boudoir experience 
 iut pleasant memories? I tell you that everything in 
 )ur bachelor life leads to fatal errors in the married 
 nan unless he is a profound observer of the human 
 leart. In the happy days of his youth a man, by the 
 japrice of our customs, is always lucky ; he triumphs 
 )ver women who are all ready to be triumphed over 
 ind who obey their own desires. One thing after 
 mother — the obstacles created by the laws, the senti- 
 nents and natural defences of women — all engender 
 5 , mutuality of sensations which deceives superficial 
 persons as to their future relations in marriage, where 
 obstacles no longer exist, where the wife submits to 
 love instead of permitting it, and frequently repulses 
 pleasure instead of desiring it. Then, the whole as- 
 pect of a man’s life changes. The bachelor, who is 
 free and without a care, need never fear repulsion ; in 
 marriage, repulsion is almost certain and irreparable. 
 It may be possible for a lover to make a woman reverse 
 an unfavorable decision, but such a change, my dear 
 
14 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Paul, is the Waterloo of husbands. Like Napoleon, th( 
 husband is thenceforth condemned to victories which, 
 in spite of their number, do not prevent the first defea; 
 from crushing him. The woman, so flattered by thi 
 perseverance, so delighted with the ardor of a lover, 
 calls the same things brutality in a husband. You 
 who talk of marrying, and who will marry, have yot 
 ever meditated on the Civil Code? I myself hav( 
 never muddied my feet in that hovel of commentators, 
 that garret of gossip, called the Law-school. I have 
 never so much as opened the Code ; but 1 see its appli- 
 cation on the vitals of society. The Code, my dear Paul, 
 makes woman a ward ; it considers her a child, a minor. 
 Now how must we govern children? By fear. In 
 that one word, Paul, is the curb of the beast. Now, 
 feel your own pulse ! Have you the strength to play 
 the tyrant, — you, so gentle, so kind a friend, so confid- 
 ing; you, at whom I have laughed, but whom I love, 
 and love enough to reveal to you my science? For 
 this is science. Yes, it proceeds from a science which 
 the Germans are already calling Anthropology. Ah ! 
 if I had not already solved the mystery of life by 
 pleasure, if I had not a profound antipathy for those 
 who think instead of act, if I did not despise the nin- 
 nies who are silly enough to believe in the truth of a 
 book, when the sands of the African deserts are made ^ 
 of the ashes of I know not how many unknown and 
 pulverized Londons, Romes, Veniees, and Parises, I 
 would write a book on modern marriages made under 
 the influence of the Christian system, and I ’d stick a 
 lantern on that heap of sharp stones among which lie 
 the votaries of the social multiplicamhii. But the 
 
!|i ■ The Marriage Contract. IS 
 
 (aestion is, Does humanity require even an hour of my 
 Ime? And besides, is n’t the more reasonable use of 
 ink that of snaring hearts by writing love-letters? — 
 iVell, shall you bring the Comtesse de Manerville here, 
 md let us see her? ” 
 
 “ Perhaps,” said Paul. 
 
 “We shall still be friends,” said de Marsay. 
 
 “If — ” replied Paul. 
 
 “Don’t be uneasy; we will treat you politely, as 
 ilaison-Rouge treated the English at Fontenoy.” 
 
16 
 
 The Marriage Contract 
 
 11 . 
 
 THE PINK OP FASHIOK. 
 
 Though the foregoing conversation affected the 
 Comte de Manerviile somewhat, he made it a point of 
 duty to carry out his intentions, and he returned to 
 Bordeaux during the winter of the year 1821. 
 
 The expenses he incurred in restoring and furnishing 
 his family mansion sustained the reputation for ele- 
 gance which had preceded him. Introduced through 
 his former connections to the royalist society of Bor- 
 deaux, to which he belonged as much by his personal 
 opinions as by his name and fortune, he soon obtained 
 a fashionable pre-eminence. His knowledge of life, his 
 manners, his Parisian acquirements enchanted the fau- 
 bourg Saint-Germain of Bordeaux. An old marquise 
 made use of a term formerly in vogue at court to ex- 
 press the flowery beauty of the fops and beaux of the 
 olden time, whose language and demeanor were social 
 laws: she called him ‘‘the pink of fashion.” The 
 liberal clique caught up the word and used it satirically 
 as a nickname, while the royalist party continued to 
 employ it in good faith. 
 
 Paul de Manerviile acquitted himself gloriously of 
 the obligations imposed by his flowery title. It hap- 
 pened to him, as to many a mediocre actor, that the 
 day when the public granted him them full attention 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 17 
 
 3 became, one may almost say, superior. Feeling at 
 is ease, he displayed the fine qualities which accom- 
 anied his defects. His wit had nothing sharp or bit- 
 ;r in it ; his manners were not supercilious ; his inter- 
 )urse with women expressed the respect they like, — it 
 as neither too deferential, nor too familiar ; his fop- 
 ery went no farther than a care for his personal 
 ppearance which made him agreeable; he showed 
 onsideration for rank ; he allowed young men a cer- 
 lin freedom, to which his Parisian experience assigned 
 he limits; though skilful with sword and pistol, he 
 ms noted for a feminine gentleness for which others 
 'ere grateful. His medium height and plumpness 
 which had not yet increased into obesity, an obstacle 
 3 personal elegance) did not prevent his outer man 
 fom playing the part of a Bordelais Brummell. A 
 rhite skin tinged with the hues of health, handsome 
 ands and feet, blue eyes with long lashes, black hair, 
 raceful motions, a chest voice which kept to its mid- 
 le tones and vibrated in the listener’s heart, harmon- 
 sed well with his sobriquet. Paul was indeed that 
 elicate flower which needs such careful culture, the 
 ualities of which display themselves only in a moist 
 lid suitable soil, — a flower which rough treatment 
 iiwarfs, which the hot sun burns, and a frost lays low. 
 le was one of those men made to receive happiness. 
 
 ither than to give it ; who have something of the 
 'Oman in their nature, wishing to be divined, under- 
 tood, encouraged ; in short, a man to whom conjugal 
 ive ought to come as a providence. 
 
 If such a character creates difficulties in private life, 
 ; is gracious and full of attraction for the world. 
 
18 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Consequently, Paul had great success in the narrot 
 social circle of the provinces, where his mind, alwayj 
 so to speak, in half-tints, was better appreciated thaj 
 in Paris. 
 
 The arrangement of his house and the restoratioi 
 of the chateau de Lanstrac, where he introduced th 
 comfort and luxury of an English country-house, ab 
 sorbed the capital saved by his notary during the pre 
 ceding six years. Reduced now to his strict incom< 
 of forty-odd thousand a year, he thought himself wis< 
 and prudent in so regulating his household as not t( 
 exceed it. 
 
 After publicly exhibiting his equipages, entertaininc 
 the most distinguished young men of the place, and 
 giving various hunting parties on the estate at Lan- 
 strac, Paul saw very plainly that provincial life would 
 never do without marriage. Too young to employ his 
 time in miserly occupations, or in trying to interest 
 himself in the speculative improvements in which pro- 
 vincials sooner or later engage (compelled thereto by 
 the necessity of establishing their children), he soon 
 felt the need of that variety of distractions a habit of 
 which becomes at last the very life of a Parisian. A 
 name to preserve, property to transmit to heirs, social 
 relations to be created by a household where the prin- 
 cipal families of the neighborhood could assemble, 
 and a weariness of all irregular connections, were not, 
 however, the determining reasons of his matrimonial 
 desires. From the time he first returned to the prov- 
 inces he had been secretly in love with the queen of i 
 Bordeaux, the great beauty. Mademoiselle Evangelista, j 
 
 About the beginning of the century, a rich Spaniard, j 
 
The Marriage Contract, 
 
 19 
 
 lamed llvangelista, established himself in Bordeaux, 
 rhere his letters of recommendation, as well as his 
 arge fortune, gave him an entrance to the salons of 
 he nobility. His wife contributed greatly to maintain 
 lim in the good graces of an aristocracy which may 
 lerhaps have adopted him in the first instance merely 
 o pique the society of the class below them. Ma- 
 lame Evangelista, who belonged to the Casa-Reale, an 
 llustrious family of Spain, was a creole, and, like all 
 vomen served by slaves, she lived as a great lady, 
 cnew nothing of the value of money, repressed no 
 vhiins, even the most expensive, finding them ever 
 satisfied by an adoring husband who generously con- 
 lealed from her knowledge the running-gear of the 
 inancial machine. Happy in finding her pleased with 
 Bordeaux, where his interests obliged him to live, 
 she Spaniard bought a house, set up a household, re- 
 5 eived in much style, and gave many proofs of pos- 
 sessing a fine taste in all things. Thus, from 1800 to 
 1812, Monsieur and Madame Evangelista were objects 
 3 f great interest to the community of Bordeaux. 
 
 The Spaniard died in 1813, leaving his wife a widow 
 at thirty-two years of age, with an immense fortune 
 and the prettiest little girl in the world, a child of 
 eleven, who promised to be, and did actually become, 
 a most accomplished young woman. Clever as Ma- 
 dame Evangelista was, the Restoration altered her 
 position ; the royalist party cleared its ranks and sev- 
 eral of the old families left Bordeaux. Though the 
 head and hand of her husband were lacking in the 
 direction of her affairs, for which she had hitherto 
 shown the indifference of a creole and the inaptitude of 
 
20 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 a lackadaisical woman, she was determined to make n(J 
 change in her manner of living. At the peidod when 
 Paul resolved to return to his native town, Mademok 
 selle Natalie Evangelista was a remarkably beautiful 
 young girl, and, apparently, the richest match in Bor- 
 deaux, where the steady diminution of her mother’s 
 capital was unknown. In order to prolong her reign, 
 Madame Evangelista had squandered enormous sums. 
 Brilliant fetes and the continuation of an almost regal 
 stjde of living kept the public in its past belief as to 
 the wealth of the Spanish family. 
 
 Natalie was now in her nineteenth year, but no pro- 
 posal of marriage had as yet reached her mother’s ear. 
 Accustomed to gratify her fancies. Mademoiselle Evan- 
 gelista wore cashmeres and jewels, and lived in a 
 style of luxury which alarmed all speculative suitors 
 in a region and at a period when sons were as calculat- 
 ing as their parents. The fatal remark, “ None but 
 a prince can afford to marry Mademoiselle Evange- 
 lista,” circulated among the salons and the cliques. 
 Mothers of families, dowagers who had granddaugh- 
 ters to establish, young girls jealous of Natalie, whose 
 elegance and tyrannical beauty annoyed them, took 
 .pains to envenom this opinion with treacherous re- 
 marks. When they heard a possible suitor say with 
 ecstatic admiration, as Natalie entered a ball-room,; 
 “Heavens, how beautiful she is ! ” “Yes,” the mamma^ 
 would answer, “but expensive.” If some new-comei 
 thought Mademoiselle Evangelista bewitching and said 
 to a marriageable man that he could n’t do better, 
 “Who M'ould be bold enough,” some woman would 
 reply, “ to marry a girl whose mother gives her a thou 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 21 
 
 and francs a month for her toilet, -a girl who has 
 orses and a maid of her own, and wears laces, ^es, 
 er peignoirs are trimmed with mechlin. The price of 
 ,er washing would support the household of a cleik 
 ;he wears pelerines in the morning which actually cost 
 
 ix francs to get up.’’ n • ..i ^ 
 
 These, and other speeches said occasionally in the for 
 
 ,f praise extinguished the desires that some men might 
 lave had to marry the beautiful Spanish gir . 
 if every ball, accustomed to flattery, Masee with the 
 smiles and the admiration which followed her every step, 
 Natalie, nevertheless, knew nothing of life. She lived 
 as the bird which flies, as the flower that b ooms, find- 
 incr every one about her eager to do her will. She was 
 ionorantof the price of things; she knew neither the 
 vmlue of money, nor whence it came, how it b" 
 
 managed, and how spent. Possibly she thought that 
 every household had cooks and coachmen, lady s- 
 niaids and footmen, as the fields have hay and he 
 trees their fruits. To her, beggars and paupers fallen 
 trees and waste lands seemed in the same categ-ory. 
 Pampered and petted as her mother’s hope, no fatigue 
 was allowed to spoil her pleasure. Thus bound d 
 through life as a courser on his steppe, unbridled and 
 
 '^'^Six months after Paul’s arrival the Pink of Fashion 
 and the Queen of Balls met in presence of the highest 
 ociety of the town of Bordeaux. The two flowers 
 loked at each other with apparent coldness, and mutu- 
 ,lly thought each other charming. Intereste m 
 matching the effects of the meeting, Madame Evaii- 
 relista divined in the expression of Pauls eyes the 
 
22 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 feelings within him, and she muttered to herself, “ He 
 will be my son-in-law.’’ Paul, on the other hand, said 
 to himself, as he looked at Natalie, She will be my 
 wife.” 
 
 The wealth of the Evangelistas, proverbial in 
 Bordeaux, had remained in Paul’s mind as a memory of 
 his childhood. Thus the pecuniary conditions were 
 known to him from the start, without necessitating 
 those discussions and inquiries which are as repugnant 
 to a timid mind as to a proud one. When some per- 
 sons attempted to say to Paul a few flattering phrases 
 as to Natalie’s manner, language, and beauty, ending 
 by remarks, cruelly calculated to deter him, on the 
 lavish extravagance of the Evangelistas, the Pink 
 of Fashion replied with a disdain that was well- 
 deserved by such provincial pettiness. This method of 
 receiving such speeches soon silenced them ; for he now 
 set the tone to the ideas and language as well as to the 
 manners of those about him. He had imported from 
 his travels a certain development of the Britannic per- 
 sonality with its icy barriers, also a tone of Byronian 
 pessimism as to life, together with English plate, 
 boot-polish, ponies, yellow gloves, cigars, and the habit 
 of galloping. 
 
 It thus happened that Paul escaped the discourage- 
 ments hitherto presented to marriageable men by 
 dowagers and young girls. Madame Evangelista be- 
 gan by asking him to formal dinners on various occa- 
 sions. The Pink of Fashion would not, of course, miss 
 festivities to which none but the most distinguished 
 young men of the town were bidden. In spite of the 
 coldness that Paul assumed, which deceived neither 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 23 
 
 lothev nor daughter, he was drawn, step by step, into 
 le path of marriage. Sometimes as he passed in his 
 Ibury, or rode by on his fine English horse, he heard 
 le young mien of his acquaintance say to one 
 nother : — 
 
 “ There ’s a lucky man. He is rich and^ handsome, 
 nd is to marry, so they say. Mademoiselle Evangelista. 
 :here are some men for whom the world seems made.” 
 
 When he met the Evangelistas he felt proud of the 
 , articular distinction which mother and daughter im- 
 parted to their bows. If Paul had not secretly, within 
 lis heart, fallen in love with Mademoiselle Natalie, 
 ociety would certainly have married him to her in spite 
 )f himself. Society, which never causes good, is the 
 iccomplice of much evil ; then when it beholds the evil 
 t has hatched maternally, it rejects and revenges it. 
 Society in Bordeaux, attributing a dot of a million to 
 IVIademoiselle Evangelista, bestowed it upon Paul with- 
 out awaiting the consent of either party. Their for- 
 tunes, so it was said, agreed as well as their persons. 
 Paul had the same habits of luxury and elegance in the 
 midst of which Natalie, had been brought up. He had 
 ljust arranged for himself a house such as no other man 
 jin Bordeaux could have offered her. Accustomed to 
 Parisian expenses and the caprices of Parisian women, 
 he alone was fitted to meet the pecuniary dilHculties 
 which were likely to follow this marriage with a girl 
 who was as much of a creole and a great lady as her 
 mother. Where they themselves, remarked the mar- 
 riageable men, would have been ruined, the Comte de 
 Manerville, rich as he was, could evade disaster. In 
 short, the marriage was made. Persons in the highest 
 
24 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 royalist circles said a few engaging words to Pau 
 which flattered his vanity : — 
 
 Every one gives you Mademoiselle Evangelista 
 If you marry her you will do well. You could not find 
 even in Paris, a more delightful girl. She is beautiful, 
 graceful, elegant, and takes after the Casa-Reales 
 through her mother. You will make a charming 
 couple ; you have the same tastes, the same desires ii 
 life, and you will certainly have the most agreeabk 
 house in Bordeaux. Your wife need only bring hei 
 night-cap ; all is ready for her. You are fortunate 
 indeed in such a mother-in-law. A woman of intelli 
 gence, and very adroit, she will be a great help to you 
 in public life, to which you ought to aspire. Besides, 
 she has sacrificed everything to her daughter, whom she 
 adores, and Natalie will, no doubt, prove a good wife, 
 for she loves her mother. You must soon bring the 
 matter to a conclusion.” * 
 
 That is all very well,” replied Paul, who, in spite 
 of his love, was desirous of keeping his freedom of 
 action, ‘‘but I must be sure that the conclusion shall 
 be a happy one.” 
 
 He now went frequently to Madame Evangelista’s, 
 partly to occupy his vacant hours, which were harder 
 for him to employ than for most men. There alone he 
 breathed the atmosphere of grandeur and luxury to 
 which he was accustomed. 
 
 At forty years of age, Madame Evangelista was 
 beautiful, ^with the beauty of those glorious summei 
 sunsets which crown a cloudless day. Her spotles^ 
 reputation had given an endless topic of conversation 
 to the Bordeaux cliques ; the curiosity of the women 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 25 
 
 yas all the more lively because the widow gave signs 
 .f the temperament which makes a Spanish woman and 
 , creole particularly noted. She had black eyes and 
 lair, the feet and form of a Spanish woman, — that 
 waying form the movements of which have a name in 
 ^pain. Her face, still beautiful, was particularly se- 
 luctive for its creole complexion, the vividness of 
 v^hich can be described only by comparing it to muslin 
 Werlying crimson, so equally is the whiteness suffused 
 vith color. Her figure, which was full and founded, 
 Lttracted the eye by a grace which united nonchalance 
 vith vivacity, strength with ease. She attracted and 
 ;he imposed, she seduced, but promised nothing. She 
 vas tall, which gave her at times the air and carriage 
 )f a queen. Men were taken by her conversation like 
 Dirds in a snare ] for she had by nature that genius 
 vhich necessity bestows on schemers; she advanced 
 I'rom concession to concession, strengthening herself 
 vith what she gained to ask for more, knowing well 
 aow to retreat with rapid steps when concessions were 
 demanded in return. Though ignorant of facts, she 
 iaad known the courts of Spain and Naples, the cele- 
 Ibrated men of the two Americas, many illustrious 
 iljamilies of England and the continent, all of which 
 igave her so extensive an education superficially that it 
 ijseemed immense. She received her society with the 
 [grace and dignity which are never learned, but which 
 come to certain naturally fine spirits like a second 
 nature; assimilating choice things wherever they are 
 met. If her reputation for virtue was unexplained, 
 it gave at any rate much authority to her actions, het 
 conversation, and her character. 
 
26 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Mother and daughter had a true friendship for eact 
 other, beyond the filial and maternal sentiment. The^ 
 suited one another, and their perpetual contact hac 
 never produced the slightest jar. Consequently mam 
 persons explained Madame Evangelista’s actions 
 maternal love. But although Natalie consoled hei 
 mother’s persistent widowhood, she may not have 
 been the only motive for it. Madame Evangelista hac 
 been, it was said, in love with a man who recovered his 
 titles and property under the Restoration. This man, 
 desirous of marrying her in 1814 had discreetly sev- 
 ered the connection in 1816. Madame Evangelista, to 
 all appearance the best-hearted woman in the world, 
 had, in the depths of her nature, a fearful quality, ex- 
 plainable only by Catherine de Medici’s device : Odiate 
 e aspettate — ‘‘ Hate and wait.” Accustomed to rule, 
 having always been obeyed, she was like other royalties, 
 amiable, gentle, easy and pleasant in ordinary life, 
 but terrible, implacable, if the pride of the woman, the 
 Spaniard, and the Casa-Reale was touched. She never 
 forgave. This woman believed in the power of her 
 hatred ; she made an evil fate of it and bade it hover 
 above her enemy. This fatal power she employed 
 against the man who had jilted her. Events which 
 seemed to prove the influence of her jettatura — the 
 casting of an evil eye — confirmed her superstitious 
 faith in herself. Though a minister and peer of 
 France, this man began to ruin himself, and soon came 
 to total ruin. His property, his personal and public 
 honor were doomed to perish. At this crisis Madame 
 Evangelista in her brilliant equipage passed her faith- 
 less lover walking on foot in the Champs Elysees, and 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 27 
 
 rushed him with a look which flamed with triumph. 
 :his misadventure, which occupied her mind for two 
 -ears, was the original cause of her not remarrying, 
 jater, her pride had drawn comparisons between the 
 .uitors who presented themselves and the husband who 
 lad loved her so sincerely and so well. 
 
 She had thus reached, through mistaken calculations 
 lind disappointed hopes, that period of life when 
 vomen have no other part to take in life than that of 
 nother; a part which involves the sacrifice of them- 
 jelves to their children, the placing of their interests 
 butside of self upon another household, — the last 
 refuge of human affections. 
 
 Madame Evangelista divined Paul s nature intui- 
 Lively, and hid her own from his perception. Paul 
 was the very man she desired for a son-in-law, for the 
 responsible editor of her future power. He belonged, 
 Ithrough his mother, to the family of Maulincour, and 
 the old Baronne de Maulincour, the friend of the 
 Vidame de Pamiers, was then living in the centre of the 
 faubourg Saint-Grermain. Xhe grandson of the baron- 
 ess, Auguste de Maulincour, held a fine position in the 
 army. Paul would therefore be an excellent introducer 
 for the ^Evangelistas into Parisian society . The widow 
 had known something of the Paris of the Empire, she 
 now desired to shine in the Paris of the Restoration. 
 There alone were the elements of political fortune, the 
 only business in which women of the world could de- 
 cently co-operate. Madame Evangelista, compelled by 
 her husband’s affairs to reside in Bordeaux, disliked 
 the place. She desired a wider field, as gamblers rush 
 to higher stakes. For her own personal ends, therefore. 
 
28 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 she looked to Paul as a means of destiny, she propose* 
 to employ the resources of her own talent and knowl 
 edge of life to advance her son-in-law, in order to en 
 joy through him the delights of power. Many men ar* 
 thus made the screens of secret feminine ambitions. Ma 
 dame Evangelista had, however, more than one interest 
 as we shall see, in laying hold of her daughter’s husband 
 
 Paul was naturally captivated by this woman, whc 
 charmed him all the more because she seemed to sect 
 no influence over him. In reality she was using her as* 
 cendency to magnify herself, her daughter, and all hei 
 surroundings in his eyes, for the purpose of ruling from 
 the start the man in whom she saw a means of gratifying 
 her social longings. Paul, on the other hand, began to 
 value himself more highly when he felt himself appre- 
 ciated by the mother and daughter. He thought him- 
 self much cleverer than he really was when he found 
 his reflections and sayings accepted and understood 
 by Mademoiselle Natalie — who raised her head and 
 smiled in response to them — and by the mother, whose 
 flattery seemed always involuntary. The two women 
 were so kind and friendly to him, he was so sure of 
 pleasing them, they ruled him so delightfully by hold- 
 ing the thread of his self-love, that he soon passed all 
 his time at the hotel Evangelista. 
 
 A year after his return to Bordeaux, Comte Paul, 
 without having declared himself, was so attentive to 
 Natalie that the world considered him as courting her. 
 Neither mother nor daughter appeared to be thinking 
 of marriage. Mademoiselle Evangelista preserved 
 towards Paul the reserve of a great lady who can 
 ^ake herself charming and converse agreeably without 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 29 
 
 ermitting a single step into intimacy. This reserve, 
 
 0 little customary among provincials, pleased Paul 
 nmensely. Timid men are shy ; sudden proposals 
 larm them. They retreat from happiness when it 
 omes with a rush, and accept misfortune if it pre- 
 ents itself mildly with gentle shadows. Paul there- 
 ore committed himself in his own mind all the more 
 )ecause he saw no effort on Madame Evangelista s 
 )art to bind him. She fairly seduced him one evening 
 )y remarking that to superior women as well as men 
 here came a period of life when ambition superseded 
 dl the earlier emotions of life. 
 
 ' “ That woman is fitted,"’ thought Paul, as he left her, 
 
 to advance me in diplomacy before I am even made 
 
 1 deputy.” 
 
 If, in all the circumstances of life a man does not 
 :urn over and over both things and ideas in order to 
 jxamine them thoroughly under their different aspects 
 before taking action, that man is weak and incomplete 
 and in danger of fatal failure. At this moment Paul 
 was an optimist ; he saw everything to advantage, and 
 did not tell himself that an ambitious mother-in-law 
 might prove a tyrant. So, every evening as he left the 
 house, he fancied himself a married man, allured his 
 mind with its own thought, and slipped on the slippers 
 of wedlock cheerfully. In the first place, he had en- 
 joyed his freedom too long to regret the loss of it ; he 
 was tired of a bachelor’s life, which offered him nothing 
 new ; he now saw only its annoyances ; whereas if he 
 thought at times of the difficulties of marriage, its 
 pleasures, in which lay novelty, came far more piomi 
 nently before his mind. 
 
30 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 “ Marriage/’ he said to himself, is disagreeable 
 for people without means, but half its troubles disap 
 pear before wealth.” 
 
 Every day some favorable consideration swelled 
 the advantages which he now saw in this particulai 
 alliance. 
 
 ‘‘No matter to what position I attain, Natalie will 
 always be on the level of her part,” thought he, “ and 
 that is no small merit in a woman. How many of the 
 Empire men I ’ve seen who suffered horribly througlj 
 their wives ! It is a great condition of happiness no< 
 to feel one’s pride or one’s vanity wounded by the com-j 
 panion we have chosen. A man can never be really 
 unhappy with a well-bred wife ; she will never make 
 him ridiculous ; such a woman is certain to be useful 
 to him. Natalie will receive in her own house 
 admirably.” 
 
 So thinking, he taxed his memory as to the most 
 distinguished women of the faubourg Saint-Germain, 
 in order to convince himself that Natalie could, if not 
 eclipse them, at any rate stand among them on a foot- 
 ing of perfect equality. All comparisons were to her 
 advantage, for they rested on his own imagination, 
 which followed his desires. Paris would have shown 
 him daily other natures, young girls of other styles of 
 beauty and charm, and the multiplicity of impressions 
 would have balanced his mind ; whereas in Bordeaux 
 Natalie had no rivals, she was the solitary flower; 
 moreover, she appeared to him at a moment when 
 Paul was under the tyranny of an idea to which most 
 men succumb at his age. 
 
 Thus these reasons of propinquity, joined to reasons 
 
31 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 )f self-love and a real passion which had no means of 
 satisfaction except by marriage, led Paul on to an 
 rrational love, which he had, however, the good sense 
 so keep to himself. He even endeavored to study 
 Mademoiselle Evangelista as a man should who de- 
 sires not to compromise his future life ; for the words 
 Df his friend de Marsay did sometimes rumble in his 
 ears like a warning. But, in the first place, persons 
 accustomed to luxury have a certain indifference to it 
 which misleads them. They despise it, they use it ; it is 
 an instrument, and not the object of their existence. 
 Paul never imagined, as he observed the habits of life 
 of the two ladies, that they covered a gulf of rum. 
 Then, though there may exist some general rules to 
 soften the asperities of marriage, there are none by 
 which they can be accurately foreseen and evaded. 
 When trouble arises between two persons who have 
 undertaken to render life agreeable and easy to each 
 other, it comes from the contact of continual intimacy, 
 which, of course, does not exist between young people 
 i before they marry, and will never exist so long as our 
 present social laws and customs prevail in France. All 
 is more or less deception between the two young pei- 
 sons about to take each other for life, — an innocent 
 and involuntary deception, it is true. Each endeavors 
 to appear in a favorable light ; both take a tone and 
 attitude conveying a more favorable idea of their 
 nature than they are able to maintain in after years. 
 Real life, like the weather, is made up of gray and 
 cloudy days alternating with those when the sun shines 
 and the fields are gay. Young people, however, ex- 
 hibit fine weather and no clouds. Later they attribute 
 
32 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 to marriage the evils inherent in life itself ; for there is 
 in man a disposition to lay the blame of his own miserj 
 on the persons and things that surround him. 
 
 To discover in the demeanor, or the countenance, 
 or the words, or the gestures of Mademoiselle Evange- 
 lista any indication that revealed the imperfections of 
 her character, Paul must have possessed not only the 
 knowledge of Lavater and Gall, but also a science in 
 which there exists no formula of doctrine, — the indi- 
 vidual and personal science of an observer, which, for 
 its perfection, requires an almost universal knowledge. 
 Natalie s face, like that of most young girls, was im- 
 penetrable. The deep, serene peace given by sculptors 
 to the virgin faces of Justice and Innocence, divinities 
 aloof from all earthly agitations, is the greatest charm 
 of a young girl, the sign of her purity. Nothing, as 
 yet, has stirred her ; no shattered passion, no hope 
 betrayed has' clouded the placid expression of that 
 pure face. Is that expression assumed? If so, there 
 is no young girl behind it. 
 
 Natalie, closely held to the heart of her mother, had 1 
 received, like other Spanish women, an education that 
 was solely religious, together with a few instructions 
 from her mother as to the part in life she was called 
 upon to play. Consequently, the calm, untroubled ex- 
 pression of her face was natural. And yet it formed a 
 casing in which the woman was wrapped as the moth 
 in its cocoon. Nevertheless, any man clever at hand- 
 ling the scalpel of analysis might have detected in 
 Natalie certain indications of the difficulties her char- 
 acter would present when brought into contact with 
 conjugal or social life. Her beauty, which was really 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 33 
 
 aarvellpus, came from extreme regularity of feature 
 larmonizing with the proportions of the head and the 
 )ody. This species of perfection augurs ill for the 
 nind ; and there are few exceptions to the rule. All 
 iuperior nature is found to have certain slight imper^ 
 ections of form which become irresistible attractions, 
 urninous points from which shine vivid sentiments, 
 ind on which the eye rests gladly. Perfect harmony 
 expresses usually the coldness of a mixed organization. 
 
 Natalie’s waist was round, — a sign of strength, but 
 ilso the infallible indication of a will which becomes 
 )bstinacy in persons whose mind is neither keen noi 
 [)road. Her hands, like those of a Greek statue, con- 
 Armed the predictions of face and figure by revealing 
 an inclination for illogical domination, of willing for 
 will’s sake only. Her eyebrows met , — a sign, accord- 
 ing to some observers, which indicates jealousy. The 
 jealousy of superior minds becomes emulation and 
 leads to great things; that of small minds turns to 
 hatred. The ‘‘ hate and wait” of her mother was in 
 her nature, without disguise. Her eyes were black ap- 
 parently, though really brown with orange streaks, 
 contrasting with her hair, of the ruddy tint so prized 
 by the Romans, called auburn in England, a color 
 which often appears in the offspring of persons of 
 jet black hair, like that of Monsieur and Madame 
 Evangelista. The whiteness and delicacy of Natalie s 
 complexion gave to the contrast of color in her eyes 
 and hair .an inexpressible charm ; and yet it was a 
 charm that was purely external; for whenever the 
 line's of a face are lacking in a certain soft roundness, 
 whatever may be the finish and grace of the details, the 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 beauty therein expressed is not of the soul. These 
 roses of deceptive youth will drop their leaves, and you 
 will be surprised in a few years to see hardness and 
 dryness where you once admired what seemed to be 
 the beauty of noble qualities. 
 
 Though the outlines of Natalie’s face had something 
 august about them, her chin was slightly empdte^ — a 
 painter’s expression which will serve to show the exist- 
 ence of sentiments the violence of which would only 
 become manifest in after life. Her mouth, a trifle 
 drawn in, expressed a haughty pride in keeping with 
 her hand, her chin, her brows, and her beautiful figure. 
 And — as a last diagnostic to guide the judgment of a 
 connoisseur — Natalie’s pure voice, a most seductive 
 voice, had certain metallic tones. Softly as that brassy 
 ring was managed, and in spite of the grace with which 
 its sounds ran through the compass of the voice, that 
 organ revealed the character of the Duke of Alba, from 
 whom the Casa-Reales were collaterally descended. 
 These indications were those of violent passions with- 
 out tenderness, sudden devotions, irreconcilable dis- 
 likes, a mind without intelligence, and the desire to 
 rule natural to persons who feel themselves inferior 
 to their pretensions. 
 
 These defects, born of temperament and constitu- 
 tion, were buried in Natalie like ore in a mine, and 
 would only appear under the shocks and harsh treat- 
 ment to which all characters are subjected in this 
 world. Meantime the grace and freshness of her 
 youth, the distinction of her manners, her sacred igno- 
 rance, and the sweetness of a young girl, gave a deli- 
 cate glamour to her features which could not fail to 
 
85 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 mislead an unthinking or superficial mind. Her mother 
 had early taught her the trick of agreeable talk which 
 appears to imply superiority, replying to arguments by 
 clever jests, and attracting by the graceful volubility 
 beneath which a woman hides the subsoil of her mind, 
 as Nature disguises her barren strata beneath a wealth 
 of ephemeral vegetation. Natalie had the charm of 
 children who have never known what it is to suffer. 
 She charmed by her frankness, and had none of that 
 solemn air which mothers impose on their daughters by 
 laying down a programme of behavior and language 
 until the time comes when they marry and are emanci- 
 pated. She was gay and natural, like any young girl 
 who knows nothing of marriage, expects only pleasure 
 from it, replies to all objections with a jest, foresees 
 no troubles, and thinks she is acquiring the right to 
 have her own way. 
 
 How could Paul, who loved as men love when desire 
 increases love, perceive in a girl of this nature whose 
 beauty dazzled him, the woman, such as she would 
 probably be at thirty, when observers themselves have 
 been misled by these appearances? Besides, if hap- 
 piness might prove difficult to find in a marriage with 
 such a girl, it was not impossible. Through these 
 embryo defects shone several fine qualities. There is 
 no good quality which, if properly developed by the 
 band of an able master, will not stifle defects, especially 
 in a young girl who loves him. But to render ductile 
 80 intractable a woman, the iron wrist, about which de 
 Marsay had preached to Paul, was needful. The 
 Parisian dandy was right. Fear, inspired by love 
 is an infallible instrument by which to manage the 
 
86 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 minds of women. Whoso loves, fears ; whoso fears is 
 nearer to affection than to hatred. 
 
 Had Paul the coolness, firmness, and judgment re- 
 quired for this struggle, which an able husband ought 
 not to let the wife suspect? Did Natalie love Paul? 
 Like most young girls, Natalie mistook for love the 
 first emotions of instinct and the pleasure she felt in 
 Paul’s external appearance ; but she knew nothing of 
 the things of marriage nor the demands of a home. To 
 her, the Comte de Manerville, a rising diplomatist, to 
 whom the courts of Europe were known, and one of the 
 most elegant young men in Paris, could not seem, what 
 perhaps he was, an ordinary man, without moral force, 
 timid, though brave in some ways, energetic perhaps 
 in adversity, but helpless against the vexations and 
 annoyances that hinder happiness. Would she, in after 
 years, have sufficient tact and insight to distinguish 
 Paul’s noble qualities in the midst of his minor defects? 
 Would she not magnify the latter and forget the former, 
 after the manner of young wives who know nothing of 
 life? There comes a time when wives will pardon de- 
 fects in the husband who spares her annoyances, con- 
 sidering annoyances in the same category as misfor- 
 tunes. What conciliating power, what wise experience 
 would uphold and enlighten the home of this young 
 pair? Paul and his wife would doubtless think they 
 loved when they had really not advanced beyond the 
 endearments and compliments of the honeymoon. 
 Would Paul in that early period yield to the tyranny 
 of his wife, instead of establishing his empire ? Could 
 Paul say. No? All was peril to a man so weak where 
 even a strong man ran some risks. 
 
The Marriage Contract, 
 
 37 
 
 ' The subject of this Study is not the transition of a 
 ibachelor into a married man, — a picture which, if 
 broadly composed, would not lack the attraction which 
 jthe inner struggles of our nature and feelings give to 
 jthe commonest situations in life. The events and the 
 ideas which led to the marriage of Paul with Natalie 
 Evangelista are an introduction to our real subject, 
 which is to sketch the great comedy that precedes, in 
 i France, all conjugal pairing. This Scene, until now 
 singularly neglected by our dramatic authors although 
 it offers novel resources to their wit, controlled^ Paul’s 
 future life and was now awaited by Madame Evange- 
 lista with feelings of terror. We mean the discussion 
 I which takes place on the subject of the marriage con- 
 I tract in all families, whether noble or bourgeois, for 
 I human passions are as keenly excited by small interests 
 i as by large ones. These comedies, played before a 
 i notary, all resemble, more or less, the one we shall 
 I now relate, the interest of which will be far less in the 
 pages of this book than in the memories of married 
 persons. 
 
38 
 
 The Marriage QontracU 
 
 III 
 
 THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT — FIRST DAY. 
 
 At the beginning of the winter of 1822, Paul de 
 Manerville made a formal request, through his great- 
 aunt, the Baronne de Maulincour, for the hand of 
 Mademoiselle Natalie Evangelista. Though the baron- 
 ess never stayed more than two months in Medoc, she 
 remained on this occasion till the ‘last of October, in 
 order to assist her nephew through the affair and play 
 the part of a mother to him. After conveying the first 
 suggestions to Madame Evangelista the experienced 
 old woman returned to inform Paul of the results of the 
 overture. 
 
 “My child,” she said, “ the affair is won. In talk- 
 ing of property, I found that Madame Evangelista 
 gives nothing of her own to her daughter. Made- 
 moiselle Natalie’s dowry is her patrimony. Marry her, 
 my dear boy. Men who have a name and an estate 
 to transmit, a family to continue, must, sooner or later, 
 end in marriage. I wish I could see my dear Auguste 
 taking that course. You can now carry on the mar- 
 riage without me ; I have nothing to give you but my 
 blessing, and women as old as I are out of place at a 
 wedding. I leave for Paris to-morrow. When you 
 present your wife in society I shall be able to see her 
 and assist her far more to the purpose than now. If 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 39 
 
 you had had no liouse in Paris I would gladly have 
 arranged the second floor of mine for you.” 
 
 “ Dear aunt,” said Paul, “ I thank you heartily. 
 But what do you mean when you say that the mother 
 gives nothing of her own, and that the daughter’s dowry 
 is her patrimony ? ” 
 
 “The mother, my dear boy, is a sly cat, who 
 takes advantage of her daughter’s beauty to impose 
 conditions and allow you only that which she can- 
 not prevent you from having ; namely, the daughter’s 
 fortune from her father. We old people know the im- 
 portance of inquiring closely. What has he? What 
 has she? I advise you therefore to give particular in- 
 structions to your notary. The marriage contract, 
 my dear child, is the most sacred of all duties. If 
 your father and your mother had not made their bed 
 properly you might now be sleeping without sheets. 
 You will have children, they are the commonest results 
 of marriage, and you must think of them. Consult 
 Maitre Mathias our old notary.” 
 
 Madame de Maulincour departed, having plunged 
 Paul into a state of extreme perplexity. His mother- 
 in-law a sly cat ! Must he struggle for his interests 
 in the marriage contract? Was it necessary to defend 
 them? Who was likely to attack them? 
 
 He followed the advice of his aunt and confided the 
 drawing-up of the maiTiage contract to Maitre Mathias. 
 But these threatened discussions oppressed him, and he 
 went to see Madame Evangelista and announce his in- 
 tentions in a state of rather lively agitation. Like all 
 timid men, he shrank from allowing the distrust his 
 aunt had put into his mind to be seen ; in fact, he con- 
 
40 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 sidered it insulting. To avoid even a slight jar with j 
 person so imposing to his mind as his future mother-iu' 
 law, he proceeded to state his intentions with the cir- 
 cumlocution natural to persons who dare not face s 
 difficulty. 
 
 “ Madame,” he said, choosing a moment when Natalie 
 was absent from the room, “you know, of course, 
 what a family notary is. Mine is a worthy old man, to 
 whom it would be a sincere grief if he were not in 
 trusted with the drawing of my marriage contract.” 
 
 “Why, of coui’se ! ” said Madame Evangelista, in- 
 terrupting him, “ but are not marriage contracts always 
 made by agreement of the notaries of both families?” 
 
 The time that Paul took to reply to this question 
 was occupied by Madame Evangelista in asking her- 
 self, “ What is he thinking of? ” for women possess in 
 an eminent degree the art of reading thoughts from the 
 play of countenance. She divined the instigations of 
 the great-aunt in the embarrassed glance and the agi- 
 tated tone of voice which betrayed an inward struggle 
 in Paul’s mind. 
 
 “At last,” she thought to herself, “the fatal day 
 has come; the crisis begins — how will it end? My 
 notary is Monsieur Solonet,” she said, after a pause. 
 “ Yours, I think you said, is Monsieur Mathias ; I will 
 invite them to dinner to-morrow, and they can come to 
 an understanding then. It is their business to concili- 
 ate our interests without our interference ; just as good 
 cooks are expected to furnish good food without 
 instructions.” 
 
 “ Yes, you are right,” said Paul, letting a faint 
 sigh of relief escape him. 
 
The (JoThtTCLCt* 41 
 
 : By a singular transposition of parts, Paul, innocent of 
 11 wrong-doing, trembled, while Madame Evangelista, 
 hough a prey to the utmost anxiety, was outwardly 
 i:alm. 
 
 The widow owed her daughter one-third of the tor- 
 une left by Monsieur ^Evangelista, — namely, nearly 
 welve hundred thousand francs, — and she knew herself 
 in able to pay it, even by taking the whole of her prop- 
 srty to do so. She would therefore be placed at the 
 nercy of a son-in-law. Though she might be able to 
 jontrol Paul if left to himself, would he, when enlight- 
 med by his notary, agree to release her from rendering 
 aer account as guardian of her daughter’s patrimony? 
 If Paul withdrew his proposals all Bordeaux would know 
 the reason and Natalie’s future marriage would be made 
 impossible. This mother, who desired the happiness . 
 of her daughter, this woman, who from infancy had 
 lived honorably, was aware that on the morrow she 
 must become dishonest. Like those great warriois 
 who fain would blot from their lives the moment when 
 they had felt a secret cowardice, she ardently desired 
 I to cut this inevitable day from the record of hers. 
 Most assuredly some hairs on her head must have 
 whitened during the night, when, face to face with 
 I facts, she bitterly regretted her extravagance as she 
 lelt the hard necessities of the situation. 
 
 Among these necessities was that of confiding the 
 truth to her notary, for whom she sent in the morning 
 as soon as she rose. She was forced to reveal to him 
 a secret defaulting she had never been willing to admit 
 to herself, for she had steadily advanced to the abyss, 
 relying on some chance accident, which never hap 
 
42 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 pened, to relieve her. There rose in her soul a feelinf 
 against Paul, that was neither dislike, nor aversion, noi 
 anything, as yet, unkind ; but he was the cause of thii 
 crisis; the opposing party in this secret suit; he be 
 came, without knowing it, an innocent enemy she was 
 forced to conquer. What human being did ever yei 
 love his or her dupe ? Compelled to deceive and tricii 
 him if she could, the Spanish woman resolved, like 
 other women, to put her vfhole force of character into 
 the struggle, the dishonor of which could be absolved 
 by victory only. 
 
 In the stillness of the night she excused her conduct 
 to her own mind by a tissue of arguments in which her 
 pride predominated. Natalie had shared the benefit 
 of her extravagance. There was not a single base or 
 ignoble motive in what she had done. She was no 
 accountant, but was that a crime, a delinquency? A 
 man was only too lucky to obtain a wife like Natalie 
 without a penny. Such a treasure bestowed upon him 
 might surely release her from a guardianship account. 
 How many men had bought the women they loved by 
 greater sacrifices ? Why should a man do less for a wife 
 than for a mistress? Besides, Paul was a nullity, a 
 man of no force, incapable ; she would spend the best 
 resources of her mind upon him and open to him a fine 
 career ; he should owe his future power and position to 
 her influence ; in that way she could pay her debt. He 
 would indeed be a fool to refuse such a future ; and for 
 what? a few paltry thousands, more or less. He 
 would be infamous if he withdrew for such a reason. 
 
 ‘‘But,” she added, to herself, “if the negotiation 
 does not succeed at once, I shall leave Bordeaux. J 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 43 
 
 itt still find a good marriage for Natalie by investing 
 3 proceeds of what is left, house and diamonds and 
 rniture, — keeping only a small income for myself.” 
 When a strong soul constructs a way of ultimate 
 3ape, — as Richelieu did at Brouage, — and holds in 
 serve a vigorous end, the resolution becomes a lever 
 iiich strengthens its immediate way. The thought of 
 is finale in case of failure comforted Madame Evan- 
 tlista, who fell asleep with all the more confidence as 
 le remembered her assistant in the coming duel. 
 
 This was a young man named Solonet, considered the 
 )lest notary in Bordeaux; now twenty-seven years 
 
 age and decorated with the Legion of honor for 
 iving actively contributed to the second return of the 
 Durbons. Proud and happy to be received in the 
 )me of Madame Evangelista, less as a notary than as 
 ilonging to the royalist society of Bordeaux, Solonet 
 id conceived for that fine setting sun one of those 
 issions which women like Madame Evangelista re- 
 vise, although fiattered and graciously allowing them 
 i exist upon the surface. Solonet remained therefore in 
 self-satisfied condition of hope and becoming respect, 
 eing sent for, he arrived the next morning with the 
 romptitude of a slave and was received by the coquet- 
 sh widow in her bedroom, where she allowed him to 
 nd her in a very becoming dishabille. 
 
 “ Can I,” she said, “ count upon your discretion and 
 our entire devotion in a discussion which will take place 
 1 my house this evening? You will readily understand 
 lat it relates to the marriage of my daughter.” 
 
 The young man expended himself in gallant protes 
 itions. 
 
44 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Now to the point,’’ she said. 
 
 ‘‘ I am listening,” he replied, checking his ardor 
 
 Madame Evangelista then stated her positic 
 baldly. 
 
 ‘‘My dear lady, that is nothing to be trouble 
 about,” said Maitre Solonet, assuming a confident a 
 as soon as his client had given him the exact figures 
 “ The question is how have you conducted yourse, 
 toward Monsieur de Manerville? In this matter quej 
 tions of manner and deportment are of greater impoi 
 tance than those of law and finance.” 
 
 Madame Evangelista wrapped herself in dignit} 
 The notary learned to his satisfaction that until th 
 present moment his client’s relations to Paul had bee 
 distant and reserved, and that partly from native prid 
 and partly from involuntary shrewdness she had treate 
 the Comte de Manerville as in some sense her inferio 
 and as though it were an honor for him to be allowe< 
 to marry Mademoiselle Evangelista. She assure( 
 Solonet that neither she nor her daughter could be sus 
 pected of any mercenary interests in the marriage ; tha 
 they had the right, should Paul make any financia 
 difficulties, to retreat from the affair to an illim 
 itable distance; and finally, that she had already ac 
 quired over her future son-in law a very remarkabi 
 ascendency. 
 
 “If that is so,” said Solonet, “ tell me what are th< 
 utmost concessions you are willing to make.” 
 
 “ I wish to make as few as possible,” she answered 
 laughing. 
 
 “A woman’s answer,” cried Solonet. “Madame, 
 are you anxious to marry Mademoiselle Natalie? ” 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 45 
 
 ‘‘Yes.” 
 
 “ And you want a receipt for the eleven hundred and 
 fty-six thousand francs, for which you are responsible 
 n the guardianship account which the law obliges you 
 0 render to your son-in-law ? ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ How much do you want to keep back?” 
 
 “ Thirty thousand a year, at least.” 
 
 “ It is a question of conquer or die, is it? ” 
 
 “It is.” 
 
 “Well, then, I must reflect on the necessary means 
 .0 that end ; it will need all our cleverness to manage 
 )ur forces. I will give you some instructions on my 
 irrival this evening ; follow them carefully , and I think 
 [ may promise you a successful issue. Is the Comte de 
 Manerville in love with Mademoiselle Natalie? he 
 rsked as he rose to take leave. 
 
 “ He adores her.” 
 
 “That is not enough. Does he desire her to the 
 point of disregarding all pecuniary difficulties? ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ That’s what I call having a lien upon a daughter’s 
 property,” cried the notary. “ Make her look her best 
 to-night,” he added with a sly glance. 
 
 “ She has a most charming dress for the occasion.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ The marriage-contract dress is, in my opinion, 
 half the battle,” said Solonet. 
 
 This last argument seemed so cogent to Madame 
 Evangelista that she superintended Natalie’s toilet 
 herself, as much perhaps to watch her daughter as to 
 make her the innocent accomplice of her financial 
 conspiracy. 
 
46 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 With her hair dressed a la Sevigne and wearing 
 gown of white tulle adorned with pink ribbons, Natali 
 seemed to her mother so beautiful as to guarante 
 victory. When the lady’s-maid left the room an( 
 Madame Evangelista was certain that no one coul< 
 overhear her, she arranged a few curls on her daughter’; 
 head by way of exordium. 
 
 “ Dear child,” she said, in a voice that was firn 
 apparently, “ do you • sincerely love the Comte d« 
 Manerville ? 
 
 Mother and daughter cast strange looks at each 
 other. 
 
 “ Why do you ask that question, little mother? and 
 to-day more than yesterday? Why have you thrown 
 me with him ? ’’ 
 
 “If you and I had to part forever would you still 
 persist in the marriage ? ” 
 
 “I should give it up — and I should not die of 
 grief.” 
 
 “ You do not love him, my dear,” said the mother, 
 kissing her daughter’s forehead. 
 
 “But why, my dear mother, are you playing the 
 Grand Inquisitor ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ I wished to know if you desired the marriage with- 
 out being madly in love with the husband.” 
 
 “ I love him.” 
 
 “ And you are right. He Is a count; we will make 
 him a peer of France between us ; nevertheless, there 
 are certain difficulties.” 
 
 “ Difficulties between persons who love each other? 
 Oh, no. The heart of the Pink of Fashion is too 
 firmly planted here, sne said, with a pretty gesture, 
 
The Marriaae Contract, 
 
 4? 
 
 ‘ to make the very slightest objection. I am sure of 
 hate” 
 
 ‘‘ But suppose it were otherwise? ’’ persisted Madame 
 Evangelista. 
 
 He would be profoundly and forever forgotten,’’ 
 •eplied Natalie. 
 
 “Good! You are a Casa-Reale. But suppose, 
 hough he madly loves you, suppose certain discussions 
 ind difficulties should arise, not of his own making, 
 )ut which he must decide in your interests as well as in 
 Inine — hey, Natalie, what then? Without lowering 
 i^our dignity, perhaps a little softness in your manner 
 night decide him — a word, a tone, a mere nothing. 
 VIen are so made ; they resist a serious argument, but 
 hey yield to a tender look.” 
 
 “I understand! a little touch to make my Favori 
 eap the barrier,” said Natalie, making the gesture of 
 striking a horse with her whip. 
 
 “My darling! I ask nothing that resembles seduc- 
 ;ion. You and I have sentiments of the old Castilian 
 lonor which will never permit us to pass certain 
 imits. Count Paul shall know our situation.” 
 
 “ What situation? ” 
 
 “You would not understand it. But I tell you 
 low that if after seeing you in all your glory his look 
 3etrays the slightest hesitation, — and I shall watch 
 lim, — on that instant I will break off the marriage ; I 
 vill liquidate my property, leave Bordeaux, and go to 
 Douai, to be near the Claes. Madame Claes is our 
 'elation through the Temnincks. Then I’ll marry you 
 :o a peer of France, and take refuge in a convent my- 
 self, that I may give up to you my whole fortune.” 
 
^8 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 “ Mother, what am I to do to prevent such misfor|i 
 tunes? ’’cried Natalie. |( 
 
 “ I have never seen you so beautiful as you are now,’| 
 replied her mother. ‘‘Be a little coquettish, and all 
 is well.” I 
 
 Madame Evangelista left Natalie to her thoughts! 
 and went to arrange her own toilet in a way thatl 
 would bear comparison with that of her daughter. Ill 
 Natalie ought to make herself attractive to Paul shei 
 ought, none the less, to inflame the ardor of her chain-J 
 pion Solonet. The mother and daughter were there! 
 fore under arms when Paul arrived, bearing the bouquet! 
 which for the last few months he had daily offered toj 
 his love.. All three conversed pleasantly while await-l 
 ing the arrival of the notaries. [ 
 
 This day brought to Paul the first skirmish of thatl 
 long and wearisome warfare called marriage. It is 
 therefore necessary to state the forces on both sides, 
 the position of the belligerent bodies, and the ground 
 on which they are about to manoeuvre. 
 
 To maintain a struggle, the importance of which had 
 wholly escaped him, Paul’s only auxiliary was the old 
 notary, Mathias. Both were about to be confronted, 
 unaware and defenceless, by a most unexpected circum- 
 stance ; to be pressed by an enemy whose strategy was 
 planned, and driven to decide on a course without hav- 
 ing time to reflect upon it. Where is the man who 
 would not have succumbed, even though assisted by 
 Cujas and Barthole? How should he look for deceit 
 and treachery where all seemed compliant and natural? 
 What could old Mathias do alone against Madame 
 Evangelista, against Solonet, against Natalie, espe 
 
The Marriage Contract. 49 
 
 ially when a client in love goes over to the enemy as 
 Don as the rising conflict threatens his happiness? 
 Llready Paul was damaging his cause by making the 
 ustomary lover’s speeches, to which his passion gave 
 xcessive value in the ears of IVIadame Evangelista, 
 ;rhose object it was to drive him to commit himself. 
 
 The matrimonial condottieri now about to fight for 
 beir clients, whose personal powers were to be so 
 itally important in this solemn encounter, the two 
 otaries, in short, represent individually the old and the 
 lew systems, — old-fashioned notarial usage, and the 
 lew-fangled modern procedure. 
 
 Maitre Mathias was a worthy old gentleman sixty- 
 line years of age, who took great pride in his foity 
 wears’ exercise of the profession. His huge gouty feet 
 ivere encased in shoes with silver buckles, making a 
 idiculous termination to legs so spindling, with knees 
 \o bony, that when he crossed them they made you 
 ihink of the emblems on a tombstone. His puny little 
 highs, lost in a pair of wide black breeches fastened 
 vith buckles, seemed to bend beneath the weight of a 
 •ound stomach and a torso developed, like that of most 
 ledentary persons, into a stout barrel, always buttoned 
 nto a green coat with square tails, which no man could 
 'emember to have ever seen new. His hair, well 
 Drushed and powdered, was tied in a rat’s tail that lay 
 Detween the collar of his coat and that of his waist- 
 3 oat, which was white, with a pattern of flowers. 
 W^ith his round head, his face the color of a vine- 
 leaf, his blue eyes, a trumpet nose, a thick-lipped 
 rnouth, and a double chin, the dear old fellow excited, 
 whenever he appeared among strangers who did not 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 know him, that satirical laugh which Frenchmen w 
 generously bestow on the ludicrous creations Dam< 
 Nature occasionally allows herself, which Art delighti 
 in exaggerating under the name of caricatures. 
 
 But in Maitre Mathias, mind had triumphed ove:| 
 form ; the qualities of his soul had vanquished the od| 
 dities of his body. The inhabitants of Bordeaux, as { 
 rule, testified a friendly respect and a deference tha 
 was full of esteem for him. The old man’s voice wen 
 to their hearts and sounded there with the eloquence ol 
 uprightness. His craft consisted in going straight tc 
 the fact, overturning all subterfuge and evil devices 
 by plain questionings. His quick perception, his lon^ 
 training in his profession gave him that divining senst 
 which goes to the depths of conscience and reads its 
 secret thoughts. Though grave and deliberate in busi-j 
 ness, the patriarch could be gay with the gayety of ouij 
 ancestors. He could risk a song after dinner, enjo^^j 
 all family festivities, celebrate the birthdays of grand-j 
 mothers and children, and bury with due solemnity thej 
 Christmas log. He loved to send presents at Newi 
 Year, and eggs at Easter ; he believed in the duties of| 
 a godfather, and never deserted the customs whichj 
 colored the life of the olden time. Maitre Mathiasj 
 was a noble and venerable relic of the notaries, obscurej 
 great men, who gave no receipt for the millions in-j 
 trusted to them, but returned those millions in the 
 sacks they were delivered in, tied with the same twine; 
 men who fulfilled their trusts to the letter, drew honest 
 inventories, took fatherly interest in their clients, often 
 barring the way to extravagance and dissipation, — 
 men to whom families confided their secrets, and who 
 
The Marriaae Contract. 
 
 51 
 
 3lt SO responsible for any error in their deeds that they 
 leditated long and carefully over them. Never dur- 
 ig his whole notarial life, had any client found reason 
 ) complain of a bad investment or an ill-placed mort- 
 age. His own fortune, slowly but honorably ac- 
 uired, had come to him as the result of a thirty years’ 
 ractice and careful economy. He had established in 
 fe fourteen of his clerks. Religious, and generous in 
 ecret, Mathias was found wherever good was to be 
 one without remuneration. An active member on hos- 
 ital and other benevolent committees, he subscribed 
 he largest sums to relieve all sudden misfortunes and 
 mergencies, as well as to create certain useful perma- 
 ent institutions ; consequently, neither he nor his 
 nfe kept a carriage. Also his word was felt to be 
 acred, and his coffers held as much of the money of 
 •thers as a bank ; and also, we may add, he went by 
 he name of Our good Monsieur Mathias,” and when 
 le died, three thousand persons followed him to his 
 ;rave. 
 
 Solonet was the style of young notary who comes in 
 lumming a tune, affects light-heartedness, declares 
 hat business is better done with a laugh than seri- 
 »usly. He is the notary captain of the national guard, 
 v’ho dislikes to be taken for a notary, solicits the cross 
 >f the Legion of honor, keeps his cabriolet, and leaves 
 he verification of his deeds to his clerks ; he is the 
 lotary who goes to balls and theatres, buys pic- 
 ures and plays at ecarte ; he has coffers in which gold 
 s received on deposit and is later returned in bank- 
 fills, — a notary who follows his epoch, risks capital in 
 loubtful investments, speculates with all he can lay hia 
 
62 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 hands on, and expects to retire with an income c 
 thirty thousand francs after ten years’ practice; i 
 short, the notary whose cleverness comes of his dupl 
 city, whom many men fear as an accomplice possessin 
 their secrets, and who sees in his practice a means c 
 ultimately marrying some blue-stockinged heiress. 
 
 When the slender, fair-haired Solonet, curled, pei 
 fumed, and booted like the leading gentleman at th 
 Vaudeville, and dressed like a dandy whose most im 
 portant business is a duel, entered Madame Evan 
 gelista’s salon, preceding his brother notary, whos 
 advance was delayed by a twinge of the gout, the tw< 
 men presented to the life one of those famous carica 
 tures entitled ‘‘Former Times and the Present Day,' 
 which had such eminent success under the Empire. I 
 Madame and Mademoiselle Evangelista to whom th« 
 “ good Monsieur Mathias,” was personally unknown 
 felt, on first seeing him, a slight inclination to laugh 
 they were soon touched by the old-fashioned grace 
 with which he greeted them. The words he used wen 
 full of that amenity which amiable old men convey as 
 much by the ideas they suggest as by the manner k 
 which they express them. The younger notary, with 
 his flippant tone, seemed on a lower plane. Mathias 
 showed his superior knowledge of life by the reserved 
 manner with which he accosted Paul. Without com- 
 promising his white hairs, he showed that he respected 
 the young man’s nobility, while at the same time he 
 claimed the honor due to old age, and made it felt that 
 social rights are mutual. Solonet’s bow and greeting, 
 on the contrary, expressed a sense of perfect equality, 
 which would naturally affront the pretensions of a man 
 
The Marriage OontracL 
 
 53 
 
 f society and make the notary ridiculous in the eyes 
 f a real noble. Solouet made a motion, somewhat too 
 amiliar, to Madame Evangelista, inviting her to a 
 ii-ivate conference in the recess of a window. For 
 ,ome minutes they talked to each other in a low voice, 
 iving way now and then to laughter, ■ no doubt to 
 Bssen in the minds of others the importance of the 
 onversation, in which Solonet was really communicat- 
 ing to his sovereign lady the plan of battle. 
 
 , “ But,” he said, as he ended, “ will you have the 
 lourage to sell your house? ” 
 
 , “ Undoubtedly,” she replied. 
 
 I Madame Evangelista did not choose to tell her notary 
 he motive of this heroism, which struck him greatly. 
 5olonet’s zeal might have cooled had he known that 
 Ills client was really intending to leave Bordeaux. 
 She had not as yet said anything about that intention 
 ;;o Paul, in order not to alarm him with the preliminary 
 steps and circumlocutions which must be taken before 
 [le entered on the political life she planned for him. 
 
 I After dinner the two plenipotentaries left the loving 
 pair with the mother, and betook themselves to an ad- 
 joining salon where their conference was arranged to 
 take place. A dual scene then followed on this domes- 
 tic stage: in the chimney-corner of the great salon a 
 scene of love, in which to all appearance life was 
 smiles and joy ; in the other room, a scene of gravity 
 and gloom, where selfish interests, baldly proclaimed, 
 openly took the part they play in life under flowery 
 disguises. 
 
 “ My dear master,” said Solonet, “ the document can 
 remain under your lock and key ; I know very well whaf 
 
54 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 I owe to my old pre7?5ptor.'’ Mathias bowed gravelj 
 ‘‘ But,” continued Solonet, unfolding the rough cop 
 of a deed he had made his clerk draw up, as we ar 
 the oppressed party, I mean the daughter, I hav 
 written the contract — which will save you trouble 
 We marry with our rights under the rule of communit 
 of interests ; with general donation of our property t< 
 each other in case of death without heirs ; if not, dona 
 tion of one-fourth as life interest, and one-fourth ii 
 fee ; the sum placed in community of interests to b< 
 one-fourth of the respective property of each party 
 the survivor to possess the furniture without appraisal 
 It ’s all as simple as how d’ ye do.” 
 
 ‘‘Ta, ta, ta, ta,” said Mathias, ‘‘I don’t do business 
 as one sings a tune. What are your claims? ” 
 
 ‘‘ What are yours? ” said Solonet. 
 
 ‘‘Our property” replied Mathias, “is: the estate 
 of Lanstrac, which brings in a rental of twenty-three 
 thousand francs a year, not counting the natural pro- 
 ducts. Item : the farms of Grassol and Gaudet, each 
 worth three thousand six hundred francs a year. 
 Item> : the vineyard of Belle-Rose, yielding in ordinary 
 years sixteen thousand francs ; total, forty-six thou- 
 sand two hundred francs a year. Item : the patrimo 
 nial mansion at Bordeaux taxed for nine hundred 
 francs. Item : a handsome house, between court and 
 garden in Paris, rue de la Pe'piuiere, taxed for fifteen 
 hundred francs. These pieces of property, the title- 
 deeds of which I hold, are derived from our father and 
 mother, except the house in Paris, which we bought 
 ourselves. We must also reckon in the furniture of 
 the two houses, and that of the chateau of Lanstrac, 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 65 
 
 stimated at four hundred and fifty thousand francs, 
 rhere’s the table, the cloth, and the first course. 
 /V^hat do you bring for the second course and the 
 lessert? ’’ 
 
 Our rights,” replied Solonet. 
 
 “ Specify them, my friend,” said Mathias. “ What 
 lo you bring us? Where is the inventory of the prop- 
 jrty left by Monsieur Evangelista? Show me the 
 .iquidation, the investment of the amount. Where is 
 your capital? — if there is any capital. Where is 
 your landed property? — if you have any. In short, 
 let us see your guardianship account, and tell us what 
 you bring and what your mother will secure to us.” 
 
 “ Does Monsieur le Comte de Manerville love Made- 
 moiselle Evangelista? 
 
 “ He wishes to make her his wife if the marriage can 
 be suitably arranged,” said the old notary. “lam not 
 a child; this matter concerns our business, and not our 
 feelings.” 
 
 “ The marriage will be off unless you show gener- 
 ous feeling; and for this reason,” continued Solonet. 
 “ No inventory was made at the death of our husband ; 
 we are Spaniards, creoles, and know nothing of French 
 laws. Besides, we were too deeply grieved at our loss 
 to think at such a timq of the miserable formalities 
 which occupy cold hearts. It is publicly well known 
 that our late husband adored us, and that we mourned 
 for him sincerely. If we did have a settlement of ac- 
 counts with a short inventory attached, made, as one 
 may say, by common report, you can thank our surro- 
 gate guardian, who obliged us to establish a status and 
 assign to our daughter a fortune, such as it is, at a 
 
56 
 
 The Marriage Contract. \ 
 
 time when we were forced to withdraw from London 
 our English securities, the capital of which was im- 
 mense, and re-invest the proceeds in Paris, where inter- 
 ests were doubled.’’ 
 
 Don’t talk nonsense to me. There are various 
 ways of verifying the property. What was the amount 
 of your legacy tax? Those figures will enable us to 
 get at the total. Come to the point. Tell us frankly 
 what you received from the father’s estate and how 
 much remains of it. If we are very much in love 
 we ’ll see then what we can do.” 
 
 If you are marrying us for our money you can go 
 about your business. We have claims to more than a 
 million ; but all that remains to our mother is this house 
 and furniture and four hundred odd thousand francs 
 invested about 1817 in the Five-per-cents, which yield 
 about forty thousand francs a year.” 
 
 “Then why do you live in a style that requires one 
 hundred thousand a year at the least?” cried Mathias, 
 horror-stricken. 
 
 “ Our daughter has cost us the eyes out of our 
 head,” replied Solonet, “ Besides, we like to spend 
 money. Your jeremiads, let me tell you, won’t re- 
 cover two farthings of the money.” 
 
 “ With the fifty thousand francs a year which be- 
 longed to Mademoiselle Natalie you could have brought 
 her up handsomely without coming to ruin. But if you 
 have squandered everything while you were a girl what 
 will it be when you a married woman ? ” 
 
 “Then drop us altogether,” said Solonet, “The 
 handsomest girl in Bordeaux has a right to spend more 
 than she has, if she likes.” 
 
The Marriage Contract. 57 
 
 “ I ’ll talk to my client about that,” said the old 
 lotary. 
 
 “ Very good, old father Cassandra, go and tell your 
 3 lient that we have n’t a penny,” thought Solonet, who, 
 n the solitude of his study, had strategically massed 
 lis forces, drawn up his propositions, manned the 
 Irawbridge of discussion, and prepared the point at 
 (vhich the opposing party, thinking the affair a failure, 
 could suddenly be led into a compromise which would 
 end in the triumph of his client. 
 
 The white dress with its rose-colored ribbons, the 
 Sevigne curls, Natalie’s tiny foot, her winning glance, 
 her pretty fingers constantly employed in adjusting 
 curls that needed no adjustment, these girlish manoeu- 
 vres like those of a peacock spreading his tail, had 
 brought Paul to the point at which his future mother- 
 in-law desired to see him. He was intoxicated with 
 love, and his eyes, the sure thermometer of the soul, 
 indicated the degree of passion at which a man com- 
 mits a thousand follies. 
 
 “ Natalie is so beautiful,” he whispered to the 
 mother, “ that I can conceive the frenzy which leads a 
 man to pay for his happiness by death.” 
 
 Madame Evangelista replied with a shake of her 
 head : — 
 
 ‘‘Lover’s talk, my dear count. My husband never 
 said such charming things to me ; but he married me 
 without a fortune and for thirteen years he never 
 caused me one moment’s pain. 
 
 “Is that a lesson you are giving me?” said Paul, 
 
 laughing. 
 
 “You know how I love you^ my dear son,” she 
 
58 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 answered, pressing his hand. ‘‘ I must indeed lov< 
 you well to give you my Natalie.’’ 
 
 ‘‘ Give me, give me? ” said the young girl, waving 2 
 screen of Indian feathers, what are you whispering 
 about me ? ” 
 
 I was telling her,” replied Paul, how much I love 
 you, since etiquette forbids me to tell it to you.” 
 
 ‘‘Why?” 
 
 “ I fear to say too much.” 
 
 “ Ah! you know too well how to offer the jewels of 
 flattery. Shall I tell you my private opinion about 
 you? Well, I think you have more mind than a lover 
 ought to have. To be the Pink of Fashion and a wit 
 as well,” she added, dropping her eyes, “ is to have too 
 many advantages : a man should choose between them. 
 I fear too, myself.” 
 
 “ And why ? ” 
 
 “We must not talk in this way. Mamma, do you 
 not think that this conversation is dangerous inasmuch 
 as the contract is not yet signed ? ” 
 
 “ It soon will be,” said Paul. 
 
 “I should like to know what Achilles and Nestor 
 are saying to each other in the next room,” said 
 Natalie, nodding toward the door of the little salon 
 with a childlike expression of curiosity. 
 
 “ They are talking of our children and our death and 
 a lot of other such trifles ; they are counting our gold 
 to see if we can keep five horses in the stables. They 
 are talking also of deeds of gift; but there, I have 
 forestalled them.” 
 
 “ How so? ” 
 
 “ Have I not given myself wholly to you? ” he said, 
 
The Marriage Contract, 
 
 59 
 
 looking straight at the girl, whose beauty was en- 
 hanced by the blush which the pleasure of this answer 
 brought to her face. 
 
 “ Mamma, how can I acknowledge so much gen- 
 erosity.” 
 
 “ My dear child, you have a lifetime before you in 
 which to return it. To make the daily happiness of a 
 home, is to bring a treasure into it. I had no other 
 fortune when I married.” 
 
 “Do you like Laustrac?” asked Paul, addressing 
 Natalie. 
 
 “ How could I fail to like the place where you were 
 born? ” she replied. “ I wish I could see your house.” 
 
 “ Our house,” said Paul. “ Do you not want to 
 know if I shall understand your tastes and arrange the 
 house to suit you? Your mother had made a hus- 
 band’s task most difficult ; you have always been so 
 happy ! But where love is infinite, nothing is 
 impossible.” 
 
 “ My dear children,” said Madame Evangelista, 
 “ do you feel willing to stay in Bordeaux after your 
 marriage? If you have the courage to face the people 
 here who know you and will watch and hamper you, so 
 be it ! But if you feel that desire for a solitude 
 together which can hardly be expressed, let us go to 
 Paris where the life of a young couple can pass un- 
 noticed in the stream. There alone you can behave as 
 lovers without fearing to seem ridiculous.” 
 
 “You are quite right,” said Paul, “but I shall 
 hardly have time to get my house ready. However, I 
 will write to-night to de Marsay, the friend on whom I 
 can always count to get things done for me.” 
 
60 
 
 The Marriage Contracto 
 
 At the moment when Paul, like all young men accus* 
 tomed to satisfy their desires without previous calcula- 
 tion, was inconsiderately binding himself to the 
 expenses of a stay in Paris, Maitre Mathias entered 
 the salon and made a sign to his client that he wished 
 to speak to him. 
 
 ‘‘ What is it, my friend? ” asked Paul, following the 
 old man to the recess of a window. 
 
 '‘Monsieur le comte,’’ said the honest lawyer, 
 "there is not a penny of dowry. My advice is : 
 put off the conference to another day, so that you may 
 gain time to consider your proper course.’’ 
 
 " Monsieur Paul,” said Natalie, "I have a word to 
 say in private to you.” 
 
 Though Madame Evangelista’s face was calm, no 
 Jew of the middle ages ever suffered greater torture in 
 his caldron of boiling oil than she was enduring in her 
 violet velvet gown. Solonet had pledged the marriage 
 to her, but she was ignorant of the means and condi- 
 tions of success. The anguish of this uncertainty was 
 intolerable. Possibl}^ she owed her safety to her 
 daughter’s disobedience. Natalie had considered the 
 advice of her mother and noticed her anxiety. When 
 she saw the success of her own coquetry she was struck 
 to the heart with a variety of contradictory thoughts. 
 Without blaming her mother, she was half-ashamed 
 of manoeuvres the object of which was, undoubtedly, 
 some personal game. She was also seized with a jeal- 
 ous curiosity which is easily conceived. She wanted 
 to find out if Paul loved her well enough to rise above 
 the obstacles that her mother foresaw and which she 
 now saw clouding the face of the old lawyer. These 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 61 
 
 ideas and sentiments prompted her to an action of 
 loyalty which became her well. But, for all that, the 
 blackest perfidy could not have been as dangerous as 
 her present innocence. 
 
 “Paul,” she said in a low voice, and she so called 
 him for the first time, “ if any difficulties as to property 
 arise to separate us, remember that 1 free you from all 
 engagements, and will allow you to let the blame of 
 such a rupture rest on me.” 
 
 She put such dignity into this expression of her 
 generosity that Paul believed in her disinterestedness 
 and in her ignorance of the strange fact that his notary 
 had just told to him. He pressed the young girl’s 
 hand and kissed it like a man to whom love is more 
 precious than wealth. Natalie left the room. 
 
 Sac-a-papier ! Monsieur le comte, you are com- 
 mitting a great folly,” said the old notary, rejoining his 
 client. 
 
 Paul grew thoughtful. He had expected to unite 
 Natalie’s fortune with his own and thus obtain for his 
 married life an income of one hundred thousand francs 
 a year ; and however much a man may be in love he 
 cannot pass without emotion and anxiety from the 
 prospect of a hundred thousand to the certainty of 
 forty-six thousand francs a year and the duty of pro- 
 viding for a woman accustomed to every luxury. 
 
 ‘‘My daughter is no longer here,” said Madame 
 Evangelista, advancing almost regally toward her son- 
 in-law and his notary. “May I be told what is 
 happening ? ” 
 
 “Madame,” replied Mathias, alarmed at Paul’s 
 silence, “an obstacle which I fear will delay us has 
 
 arisen — 
 
62 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 At these words, Maitre Solonet issued from the 
 little salon and cut short the old man’s speech by a 
 remark which restored Paul’s composure. Overcome 
 by the remembrance of his gallant speeches and his 
 lover-like behavior, he felt unable to disown them or to 
 change his course. He longed, for the moment, to 
 fling himself into a gulf; Solonet’s words relieved 
 him. 
 
 There is a way,” said the younger notary, with an 
 easy air, ‘‘by which madame can meet the payment 
 which is due to her daughter. Madame Evangelista 
 possesses forty thousand francs a year from an invest- 
 ment in the Five-per-cents, the capital of which will 
 soon be at par, if not above it. We may therefore 
 reckon it at eight hundred thousand francs. This 
 house and garden are fully worth two hundred thou- 
 sand. On that estimate, Madame can convey by the 
 marriage contract the titles of that property to her 
 daughter, reserving only a life interest in it— for I 
 conclude that Monsieur le comte could hardly wish to 
 leave his mother-in-law without means? Thouoh 
 Madame has certainly run through her fortune, she is 
 still able to make good that of her daughter, or very 
 nearly so.” 
 
 ‘‘Women are most unfortunate in having no know- 
 ledge of business,” said Madame Evangelista. “Have 
 I titles to. property? and what are life-interests? ” 
 
 Paul was in a sort of ecstasy as he listened to the 
 proposed arrangement. The old notary, seeing the 
 trap, and his client with one foot caught in it, was 
 petrified for a moment, as he said to himself: — 
 
 “I am certain they are tricking us.” 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 63 
 
 “If madame will follow my advice,” said Soloiiet, 
 ‘she will secure her own tranquillity. By sacrificing 
 lerself in this way she may be sure that no minors 
 vill ultimately harass her — for we never know who 
 3iay live and who may die! Monsieur le comte will 
 then give due acknowledgment in the marriage con- 
 tract of having received the sum total of Mademoiselle 
 Evangelista’s patrimonial inheritance.” 
 
 Mathias could not restrain the indignation which 
 shone in his eyes and flushed his face. 
 
 “And that sum,” he said, shaking, “is — ” 
 
 “One million, one hundred and fifty-six thousand 
 francs according to the document ” 
 
 “Why don’t you ask Monsieur le comte to make 
 over hie et nunc his whole fortune to his future wife? ” 
 said Mathias. “It would be more honest than what 
 you now propose. I will not allow the ruin of the 
 Comte de Manerville to take place under my very 
 eyes — ” 
 
 He made a step a^ if to address his client, who was 
 silent throughout this scene as if dazed by it; but he 
 turned and said, addressing Madame Evangelista: — 
 “Do not suppose, madame, that I think you a party 
 to these ideas of my brother notary. I consider you 
 an honest woman and a lady who knows nothing of 
 business.” 
 
 “Thank you, brother notary,” said Solonet. 
 
 “You know that there can be no offence between 
 you and me,” replied Mathias. “Madame,” he added, 
 “you ought to know the result of this proposed arrange- 
 ment. You are still young and beautiful enough to 
 marry again — Ah! madame,” said the old man, 
 
64 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 noting her gesture, “who can answer for themselves 
 on that point? ” 
 
 “I did not suppose, monsieur,” said Madame Evan- 
 gelista, “ that, after remaining a widow for the seven 
 best years of my life, and refusing the most brilliant 
 offers for my daughter’s sake, I should be suspected 
 of such a piece of folly as marrying again at thirty- 
 nine years of age. If we were not talking business I 
 should regard your suggestion as an impertinence.” 
 
 “Would it not be more impertinent if I suggested 
 that you could not maiTy again ? ” 
 
 “Can and will are separate terms,” remarked 
 Solonet, gallantly.” 
 
 “Well,” resumed Maitre Mathias, “we will say 
 nothing of your marriage. You may, and we all 
 desire it, live for forty-five years to come. Now, if 
 you keep for yourself the life-interest in your daugh- 
 ter’s patrimony, your children are laid on the shelf for 
 the best years of their lives.” 
 
 “What does that mean? ” said tlje widow. “I don’t 
 understand being laid on a shelf. 
 
 Solonet, the man of elegance and good taste, began 
 to laugh. 
 
 ‘'I ’ll translate it for you,” said Mathias. ‘‘If your 
 children are wise they will think of the future. To 
 think of the future means laying by half our income, 
 provided we have only two children, to whom we are 
 bound to give a fine education and a handsome dowry. 
 Your daughter and son-in-law will, therefore, be 
 reduced to live on twenty thousand francs a year, 
 though each has spent fifty thousand while still un- 
 mairied* But that is nothing. The law obliges my 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 65 
 
 client to account, hereafter, to his children for the 
 eleven hundred and fifty-six thousand francs of their 
 mother’s patrimony; yet he may not have received 
 them if his wife should die and madame should sur- 
 vive her, which may very well happen. To sign such 
 a contract is to fling one’s self into the river, bound 
 hand and foot. You wish to make your daughter 
 happy, do you not? If she loves her husband, a fact 
 which notaries never doubt, she will share his troubles. 
 Madame, I see enough in this scheme to make her die 
 of grief and anxiety ; you are consigning her to pov- 
 erty. Yes, madame, poverty; to persons accustomed 
 to the use of one hundred thousand francs a year, 
 twenty thousand is poverty. Moreover, if Monsieur 
 le comte, out of love for his wife, were guilty of 
 extravagance, she could ruin him by exercising hei 
 rights when misfortunes overtook him. I plead now 
 for you, for them, for their children, for every one.” 
 
 “The old fellow makes a lot of smoke with his can- 
 non,” thought Maitre Solonet, giving his client a look, 
 which meant, “Keep on! ” 
 
 “There is one way of combining all interests,” 
 replied Madame Evangelista, calmly. “T can reserve 
 to myself only the necessary cost of living in a con- 
 vent, and my children can have my property at once. 
 I can renounce the world, if such anticipated death 
 conduces to the welfare of my daughter. 
 
 “Madame,” said the old notary, “let us take time 
 to eonsider and weigh, deliberately, the course we had 
 best pursue to conciliate all interests.” 
 
 “ Good heavens! monsieur,” cried Madame Evan- 
 gelista, who saw defeat in delay, “everything has 
 
 6 
 
66 
 
 The Marriage Contraci, 
 
 already been considered and weighed. I was ignorant 
 of what the process of marriage is in France; I am a 
 Spaniard and a creole. I did not know that in order 
 to marry my daughter it was necessary to reckon up 
 the days which God may still grant me; that my 
 child would suffer because I live ; that I do harm f 
 by living, and by having lived ! When my husband j 
 married me I had nothing but my name and my j 
 person. My name alone was a fortune to him, which [ 
 dwarfed his own. What wealth can equal that of a : 
 great name? My dowry was beauty, virtue, happiness, [ 
 birth, education. Can money give those treasures ? | 
 If Natalie’s father could overhear this conversation, [ 
 his generous soul would be wounded forever, and his : 
 happiness in paradise destroyed. I dissipated, fool- 
 ishly, perhaps, a few of his millions without a quiver 
 ever coming to his eyelids. Since his death, I have 
 grown economical and orderly in comparison with i 
 the life he encouraged me to lead — Come, let us 
 break this thing off! Monsieur de Manerville is so 
 disappointed that I — ” 
 
 No descriptive language can express the confusion 
 and shock which the words, ‘‘break off,” introduced 
 into the conversation. It is enough to say that these 
 four apparently well-bred persons all talked at once. 
 
 “In Spain people marry in the Spanish fashion, or 
 as they please; but in France they marry according 
 to French law, sensibly, and as best they can,” said 
 Mathias. 
 
 “Ah, madame,” cried Paul, coming out of his 
 stupefaction, “you mistake my feelings.” I 
 
 “This is not a matter of feeling,” said the old 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 67 
 
 otary, trying to stop his client from concessions. 
 ■We are concerned now with the interests and welfare 
 f three generations. Have we wasted the missing 
 aillions? We are simply endeavoring to solve diffi- 
 ulties of which we are wholly guiltless.” 
 
 “Marry us, and don’t haggle,” said Solonet. 
 
 “Haggle! do you call it haggling to defend the 
 nterests of father and mother and children?” said 
 ilathias. 
 
 “Yes,” said Paul, continuing his remarks to 
 dadame Evangelista, “I deplore the extravagance of 
 ny youth, which does not permit me to stop this dis- 
 ■■ussion, as you deplore your ignorance of business 
 ind your involuntary wastefulness. God is my wit- 
 less that I am not thinking, at this moment, of my- 
 lelf. A simple life at Lanstrac does not alarm me; 
 mt how can I ask Mademoiselle Natalie to i-enounce 
 ler tastes, her habits ? Her very existence would be 
 
 ihanged.” « 
 
 “Where did Evangelista get his millions?” said 
 
 .he widow. 
 
 “Monsieur Evangelista was in business,” replied 
 ;he old notary; “he played in the great game of 
 jommerce; he despatched ships and made enormous 
 mms; we are simply a landowner, whose capital is 
 invested, whose income is fixed.” 
 
 “There is still a way to harmonize all interests,” 
 said Solonet, uttering this sentence in a high falsetto 
 tone, which silenced the other three and drew their 
 eyes and their attention upon himself. 
 
 This young man was not unlike a skilful coachman 
 who holds the reins of four horses, and amuses himself 
 
68 
 
 The Marriage Contract 
 
 by first exciting his animals and then subduing them,^ 
 He had let loose these passions, and then, in turn, hi^ 
 calmed them, making Paul, whose life and happiness 
 were in the balance, sweat in his harness, as well ag 
 his own client, who could not clearly see her waj 
 through this involved discussion. 
 
 ‘‘Madame Evangelista,’’ he continued, after a slight 
 pause, “can resign her investment in the Five-per- 
 cents at once, and she can sell this house. I can getf 
 three hundred thousand for it by cutting the land into 
 small lots. Out of that sum she can give you one 
 hundred and fifty thousand francs. In this way she 
 pays down nine hundred thousand of her daughter’s 
 patrimony, immediately. That, to be sure, is not all 
 that she owes her daughter, but where will you find, in 
 France, a better dowry?” 
 
 “Very good,” said Maitre Mathias; “but what, 
 then, becomes of madame?” 
 
 At^this ques’/.on, which appeared to imply consent, 
 Solonet said, softly, to himself, “Well done, old fox! 
 
 I ’ve caught you ! ” 
 
 “Madame,” he replied, aloud, “will keep the hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand francs remaining from the 
 sale of the house. This sum, added to the value of 
 her furniture, can be invested in an annuity which will 
 give her twenty thousand francs a year. Monsieur le 
 comte can arrange to provide a residence for her under 
 his roof. Lanstrac is a large house. You have also 
 a house in Paris,” he went on, addressing himself to 
 Paul. “Madame can, therefore, live with you where- 
 ever you are. A widow with twenty thousand francs 
 a year, and no household to maintain, is richer than 
 
The Marriage Contract, 
 
 69 
 
 aadame was when she possessed her whole fortune, 
 ladame Evangelista has only this one daughter; 
 lonsieur le comte is without relations; it will be 
 aany years before your heirs attain their majority; 
 lO conflict of interests is, therefore, to be feared. A 
 Qother-in-law and a son-in-law placed in such rela- 
 ions will form a household of united interests, 
 dadame Evangelista can make up for the remaining 
 ieflcit by paying a certain sum for her support from 
 ler annuity, which will ease your way. We know that 
 aadame is too generous and too large-minded to be 
 rilling to be a burden ori her children. In this way 
 rou can make one household, united and happy, and 
 )e able to spend, in your own right, one hundred 
 housand francs a year. Is not that sum suftlcient, 
 donsieur le comte, to enjoy, in all countries, the 
 uxuries of life, and to satisfy all your wants and 
 caprices? Believe me, a young couple often feel the 
 leed of a third member of the household; and, I ask 
 70U, what third member could be so desirable as a 
 ;ood mother?” 
 
 “A little paradise! ” exclaimed the old notary. 
 
 Shocked to see his client’s joy at this proposal, 
 dathias sat down on /in ottoman, his head in his 
 lands, plunged in reflections that were evidently pain- 
 iil. He knew well the involved phraseology in which 
 lotaries and lawyers wrap up, intentionally, malicious 
 schemes, and he was not the man to be taken in by it. 
 de now began, furtively, to watch his brother notary 
 ind Madame Evangelista as they conversed with Paul, 
 ndeavoring to detect some clew to the deep-laid plot 
 irhich was beginning to appear upon the surfacce 
 
70 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 “Monsieur,” said Paul to Solonet, “I thank you fo 
 the pains you take to conciliate our interests. Thi 
 arrangement will solve all difficulties far more happil 
 than I expected — if,” he added, turning to Madam 
 Evangelista, “it is agreeable to you, madame; for 
 could not desire anything that did not equally pleas* 
 you.” 
 
 “I?” she said; “all that makes the happiness o: 
 my children is joy to me. Do not consider me in an] 
 way.” 
 
 “That would not be right,” said Paul, eagerly. “L 
 your future is not honorably provided for, Natalie 
 and I would suffer more than you would suffer foi 
 yourself.” 
 
 “Don’t be uneasy. Monsieur le comte,” interposed 
 Solonet. 
 
 “Ah!” thought old Mathias, “they’ll make him 
 kiss the rod before they scourge him.” 
 
 “You may feel quite satisfied,” continued Solonet. 
 “There are so many enterprises going on in Bordeaux 
 at this moment that investments for annuities can be 
 negotiated on very advantageous terms. After deduct- 
 ing from the proceeds of the house and furniture the 
 hundred and fifty thousand francs we owe you, I think 
 I can guarantee to madame that two hundred and fifty 
 thousand will remain to her. I take upon myself to 
 invest that sum in a first mortgage on property worth 
 a million, and to obtain ten per cent for it, — twenty- 
 five thousand francs a year. Consequently, we are 
 marrying on nearly equal fortunes. In fact, against 
 your forty-six thousand francs a year. Mademoiselle 
 Natalie brings you forty thousand a year in the Five- 
 
The Marriage Contract, 
 
 71 
 
 per-cents, and one hundred and fifty thousand in a 
 round sum, which gives, in all, forty-seven thousand 
 francs a year.” 
 
 ^‘That is evident,” said Paul. 
 
 As he ended his speech, Solonet had cast a sidelong 
 glance at his client, intercepted by Mathias, which 
 meant: ‘‘Bring up your reserves.” 
 
 “But,” exclaimed Madame Evangelista, in tones of 
 joy that did not seem to be feigned, “I can give 
 Natalie my diamonds; they are worth, at least, a 
 hundred thousand francs.” 
 
 “We can have them appraised,” said the notary.” 
 “This will change the whole face of things. Madame 
 can then keep the proceeds of her house, all but fifty 
 thousand francs. Nothing will prevent Monsieur le 
 comte from giving us a receipt in due form, as having 
 received, in full. Mademoiselle Natalie’s inheritance 
 from her father; this will close, of course, the guard- 
 ianship account. If madame, with Spanish gener- 
 osity, robs herself in this way to fulfil her obligations, 
 the least that her children can do is to give her a full 
 receipt.” 
 
 “Nothing could be more just than that,” said Paul. 
 “I am simply overwhelmed by these generous pro- 
 posals.” 
 
 “My daughter is another myself,” said Madame 
 Evangelista, softly. 
 
 Maitre Mathias detected a look of joy on her face 
 when she saw that the difficulties were being removed : 
 that joy, and the previous forgetfulness of the dia- 
 monds. which were now brought forward like fresh 
 troops, confirmed his suspicions. 
 
72 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 “The scene has been prepared between them ag 
 gamblers prepare the cards to ruin a pigeon.” though- 
 the old notary.* “Is this poor boy, whom I saw born, 
 doomed to be plucked alive by that woman, roasted 
 by his very love, and devoured by his wife? I, who 
 have nursed these fine estates for years with such care, 
 am I to see them ruined in a single night? Three 
 million and a half to be hypothecated for eleven hun- 
 dred thousand francs these women will force him to 
 squander! ” 
 
 Discovering thus in the soul of the elder woman 
 intentions which, without involving crime, theft, 
 swindling, or any actually evil or blameworthy action, 
 nevertheless belonged to all those criminalities in 
 embryo, Maitre Mathias felt neither sorrow nor gen- 
 erous indignation. He was not the Misanthrope; he 
 was an old notary, accustomed in his business to the 
 shrewd calculations of worldly people, to those clever 
 bits of treachery which do more fatal injury than open 
 murder on the high-road committed by some poor devil, 
 who is guillotined in consequence. To the upper 
 classes of society these passages in life, these diplo- 
 matic meetings and discussions are like the necessary 
 cesspools where the filth of life is thrown. Full of 
 pity for his client, Mathias cast a foreseeing eye into 
 the future and saw nothing good. 
 
 “We ’ll take the field with the same weapons,” 
 thought he, “and beat them.” 
 
 At this moment, Paul, Solonet and Madame Evange- 
 lista, becoming embarrassed by the old man’s silence, 
 felt that the approval of that censor was necessary to 
 carry out the transaction, and all three turned to him 
 simultaneously. 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 73 
 
 “Well, my dear Monsieur Mathias, what do you 
 link of it?” said Paul. 
 
 “This is what I think,” said the conscientious and 
 ncomproinising notary. “You are not rich enough 
 3 commit such regal folly. The estate of Lanstrac, if 
 stimated at three per cent on its rentals, represents, 
 dth its furniture, one million; the farms of Gi'assol 
 ,nd Guadet and your vineyard of Belle- Rose are worth 
 ■nother million; your two houses in Bordeaux and 
 ^aris, with their furniture, a third million. Against 
 hese three millions, yielding forty-seven thousand 
 rancs a year, Mademoiselle Natalie brings eight 
 lundred thousand francs in the Five-per-cents, the 
 liamonds (supposing them to be worth a hundred 
 housand francs, which is still problematical) and fifty 
 housand francs in money; in all, one million and 
 ifty thousand francs. In presence of such facts my 
 3rother notary tells you boastfully that we are marry- 
 ing equal fortunes ! He expects us to encumber our. 
 selves with a debt of eleven hundred and fifty-six 
 thousand francs to our children by acknowledging the 
 Ireceipt of our wife’s patrimony, when we have actually 
 received but little more than a doubtful million. You 
 are listening to such stuff with the rapture of a lover, 
 and you think that old Mathias, who is not in love, 
 can forget arithmetic, and will not point out the 
 difference between landed estate, the actual value of 
 which is enormous and constantly increasing, and the 
 revenues of personal property, the capital of which is 
 subject to fluctuations and dimiuishment of income. 
 I am old enough to have learned that money dwindles 
 and land augments. You have called me in. Monsieur 
 
74 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 le comte, to stipulate for your interests ; either let m 
 defend those interests, or dismiss me/’ 
 
 “ If monsieur is seeking a fortune equal in capita 
 to his own,” said Solonet, ‘‘we certainly cannot giv( 
 it to him. We do not possess three millions and j 
 half; nothing can be more evident. While you cai 
 boast of your three overwhelming millions, we cai 
 only produce our one poor million, — a mere nothing 
 in your eyes, though three times the dowry of ar 
 archduchess of Austria. Bonaparte received onlj 
 two hundred and fifty thousand francs with Maria- 
 Louisa.” 
 
 “Maria-Louisa was the ruin of Bonaparte,” muttered 
 Mathias. 
 
 Natalie’s mother caught the words. 
 
 “If my sacrifices are worth nothing/’ she cried, “I 
 do not choose to continue such a discussion ; I trusti 
 to the discretion of Monsieur le comte, and I renounce| 
 the honor of his hand for my daughter.” 
 
 According to the strategy marked out by the younger 
 notary, this battle of contending interests had now 
 reached the point where victory was certain for 
 Madame Evangelista. The mother-in-law had opened 
 her heart, delivered up her property, and was there- 
 fore practically released as her daughter’s guardian. 
 The future husband, under pain of ignoring the laws 
 of generous propriety and being false to love, ought 
 now to accept these conditions previously planned, and 
 cleverly led up to by Solonet and Madame Evangelista. 
 Like the hands of a clock turned by mechanism, Paul 
 came faithfully up to time. 
 
 “Madame! ” he exclaimed, “is it possible you can 
 think of breaking off the marriage? ” 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 75 
 
 “Monsieur,” she replied, “to whom am I account- 
 lible? To my daughter. When she is twenty-one years 
 )f age she will receive my guardianship account and 
 'elease me. She will then possess a million, and can, 
 f she likes, choose her husband among the sons of 
 ;he peers of France. She is a daughter of the Casa- 
 iReale.” 
 
 , “Madame is right,” remarked Solonet. “Why 
 should she be more hardly pushed to-day than she 
 svill be fourteen months hence? You ought not to 
 ieprive her of the benefits of her maternity.” 
 
 “Mathias! ” cried Paul, in deep distress, “there are 
 itwo sorts of ruin, and you are bringing one upon me 
 |at this moment.” 
 
 He made a step toward the old notary, no doubt 
 intending to tell him that the contract must be dravn 
 iat once. But Mathias stopped that disaster with a 
 jglance which said, distinctly, “Wait!” He saw the 
 Itears in Paul’s eyes, — tears drawn from an honorable 
 man by the shame of this discussion as much as by the 
 peremptory speech of Madame Evangelista, threaten- 
 ing rupture, — and the old man stanched them with a 
 gesture like that of Archimedes when he cried, 
 “ Eureka!” The words peer of France had been to 
 him like a torch in a dark crypt. 
 
 Natalie appeared at this moment, dazzling as the 
 dawn, saying, with infantine look and manner, Am 
 ■ I in the way ? ” 
 
 ! “ Singularly so, my child,” answered her mother, in 
 
 ; a bitter tone. 
 
 “Come in, dear Natalie,” said Paul, taking hei 
 hand and leading her to a chair near the fireplace 
 “All is settled.” 
 
76 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 He felt it impossible to endure the overthrow of 
 their mutual hopes. 
 
 ‘‘Yes, all can be settled,’’ said Mathias, hastily 
 interposing. 
 
 Like a general who, in a moment, upsets the plans 
 skilfully laid and prepared by the enemy, the old 
 notary, enlightened by that genius which presides over 
 notaries, saw an idea, capable of saving the future of 
 Paul and his children, unfolding itself in legal form 
 before his eyes. 
 
 Maitre Solonet, who perceived no other way out of 
 these irreconcilable difficulties than the resolution with 
 which Paul’s love inspired him, and to which this 
 conflict of feelings and thwarted interests had brought 
 him, was extremely surprised at the sudden exclam- 
 ation of his brother-notary. Curious to know the 
 remedy that Mathias had found in a state of things 
 which had seemed to him beyond all other relief, he 
 said, addressing the old man : — 
 
 “What is it you propose? ” 
 
 “Natalie, my dear child, leave us,” said Madame 
 Evangelista. 
 
 “Mademoiselle is not in the way,” replied Mathias, 
 smiling. “I am going to speak in her interests as well 
 as in those of Monsieur le comte.” 
 
 Silence reigned for a moment, during which time 
 everybody present, oppressed with anxiety, awaited the 
 allocution of the venerable notary with unspeakable 
 curiosity. 
 
 “In these days,” continued Maitre Mathias, after a 
 pause, “the profession of notary has changed from 
 what it was. Political revolutions now exert an influ- 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 77 
 
 ence over the prospects of families, which never hap- 
 pened in former times. In those days existences were 
 clearly defined; so were rank and position — ” 
 
 ‘‘We are not here for a lecture on political economy, 
 but to draw up a marriage contract,” said Solonet, 
 interrupting the old man, impatiently. 
 
 “I beg you to allow me to speak in my turn as I see 
 fit,” replied the other. 
 
 Solonet turned away and sat down on the ottoman, 
 saying, in a low voice, to Madame Evangelista: — 
 
 “You will now hear what we call in the profession 
 balderdash.^' 
 
 “Notaries are therefore compelled to follow the 
 course of political events, which are now intimately 
 connected with private interests. Here is an example: 
 j formerly noble families owned fortunes that were 
 never shaken, but which the laws, promulgated by the 
 [Revolution, destroyed, and the present system tends 
 I to reconstruct,” resumed the old notary, yielding to 
 the loquacity of the tahellionaris boa-constrictor (boa- 
 notary). “Monsieur le comte by his name, his talents, 
 and his fortune is called upon to sit some day in the 
 elective Chamber. Perhaps his destiny will take him 
 to the hereditary Chamber, for we know that he has 
 talent and means enough to fulfil that expectation. 
 Do you not agree with me, madame ? ” he added, 
 turning to the widow. 
 
 “You anticipate my dearest hope,” she replied. 
 “Monsieur de Manerville must be a peer of France, 
 or I shall die of mortification.” 
 
 “Therefore all that leads to that end — ” continued 
 Mathias with a cordial gesture to the astute mother 
 in-law. 
 
78 
 
 The Marriage Contract- 
 
 “ — will promote my eager desire,” she replied. 
 “Well, then,” said Mathias, “is not this marriage 
 the proper occasion on which to entail the estate and 
 create the family ? Such a course would, undoubtedly, 
 militate in the mind of the present government in 
 fa\or of the nomination of my client whenever a batch 
 of appointments is sent in. Monsieur le comte can 
 very well afford to devote the estate of Lanstrac 
 (which is worth a million) to this purpose. I do not 
 ask that mademoiselle should contribute an equal sum ; 
 that would not be just. But we can surely apply eight 
 hundred thousand of her patrimony to this object. 
 There are two domains adjoining Lanstrac now to be 
 sold, which can be purchased for that sum, which will 
 return in rentals four and a half per cent. The house 
 in Paris should be included in the entail. The sur- 
 plus of the two fortunes, if judiciously managed, will 
 amply suffice for the fortunes of the younger children. 
 If the contracting parties will agree to this arrange- 
 ment, Monsieur ought certainly to accept your guard- 
 ianship account with its deficiency. I consent to 
 that. ” 
 
 “ Qiiesta coda non e di questo gatto (That tail does n’t 
 belong to that cat),” murmured Madame Evangelista, 
 appealing to Solonet. 
 
 “There ’s a snake in the grass somewhere,” 
 answered Solonet, in a low voice, replying to the 
 Italian proverb with a French one. 
 
 “Why do you make this fuss?” asked Paul, leading 
 Mathias into the adjoining salon. 
 
 “To save you from being ruined,” replied the old 
 notary, in a whisper. “You are determined to marry 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 79 
 
 girl and her mother who have already squandered 
 wo millions in seven years; you are pledging your- 
 elf to a debt of eleven hundred thousand francs to 
 our children, to whom you will have to account for 
 he fortune you are acknowledging to have received 
 dth their mother. You risk having your own fortune 
 quandered in five years, and to be left as naked as 
 laint-John himself, besides being a debtor to your 
 afe and children for enormous sums. If you are 
 .etermined to put your life in that boat. Monsieur le 
 omte, of course you can do as you choose; but at 
 east let me, your old friend, try to save the house of 
 danerville.” 
 
 “How is this scheme going to save it?” asked Paul. 
 
 “Monsieur le comte, you are in love — ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “A lover is about as discreet as a cannon-ball; 
 herefore, I shall not explain. If you repeated what 
 ; should say, your marriage would probably be broken 
 iff. I protect your love by my silence. Have you 
 ionfidence in my devotion? ” 
 
 “A fine question! ” 
 
 “Well, then, believe me when I tell you that Madame 
 Wangelista, her notary, and her daughter, are tricking 
 IS through thick and thin ; they are more than clever. 
 Tudieu! what a sly game! ” 
 
 “Not Natalie? ” cried Paul. 
 
 “I sha’n’t put my fingers between the bark and the 
 Tee,” said the old man. “You want her, take her! 
 Sut I wish you were well out of this marriage, if it 
 ;ould be done without the least wrong-doing on your 
 part.” 
 
80 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 ‘Why do you wish it? ’’ 
 
 “Because that girl will spend the mines of Peru 
 Besides, see how she rides a horse, -- like the groor 
 of a circus; she is half emancipated already. Sue) 
 girls make bad wives.’' 
 
 Paul pressed the old man’s hand, saying, with j 
 confident air of self-conceit: — 
 
 “Don’t be uneasy as to that! But now, at thh 
 moment, what am I to do ? ” 
 
 “Hold firm to my conditions. They will consent 
 for no one’s apparent interest is injured. Madam( 
 Evangelista is very anxious to marry her daughter; J 
 see that in her little game — Beware of her! ” 
 
 Paul returned to the salon^ where he found his future 
 mother-in-law conversing in a low tone with Solonet, 
 just as he himself had been conversing with Mathias. 
 Natalie, kept outside of these mysterious conferences, 
 was playing with a screen. Embarrassed by her posi- 
 tion, she was thinking to herself: “How odd it is that 
 they tell me nothing of my own affairs.” 
 
 The younger notary had seized, in the main, the 
 future effect of the new proposal, based, as it was, on 
 the self-love of both parties, into which his client 
 had fallen headlong. Now, while Mathias was morei 
 than a mere notary, Solonet was still a young man, 
 and brought into his business the vanity of youth. 
 It often happens that personal conceit makes a man 
 forgetful of the interests of his client. In this 
 case, Maitre Solonet, who would not suffer the widow 
 to think that Nestor had vanquished Achilles, advised 
 her to conclude the marriage on the terms pro- 
 posed. Little he cared tor the future working of 
 
81 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 he marriage contract; to him, the conditions of 
 dctory were: Madame Ilvangelista released from her 
 •bligations as guardian, her future secured, and 
 'fatal ie married. 
 
 ^^Bordeaux shall know that you have ceded eleven 
 lundred thousand francs to your daughter, and that 
 rou still have twenty-five thousand francs a year left,” 
 vhispered Solouet to his client. “For my part, I did 
 lot expect to obtain such a fine result. 
 
 “But,” she said, “explain to me why the creation of 
 ;his entail should have calmed the storm at once.” 
 
 “It relieves their distrust of you and of your 
 laughter. An entail is unchangeable; neither hus- 
 band nor wife can touch that capital. 
 
 “Then this arrangement is positively insulting! 
 
 “No; we call it simply precaution. The old fel- 
 low has caught you in a net. If you refuse to consent 
 |;o the entail, he can reply: ‘Then your object is to 
 squander the fortune of my client, who, by the crea- 
 tion of this entajl, is protected from all such injury 
 p,s securely as if the marriage took place under the 
 Ycgline dotal,^ ’’ 
 
 Solonet quieted his own scruples by reflecting: 
 “After all, these stipulations will take effect only ni 
 the future, by which time Madame Evangelista will 
 [be dead and buried.” 
 
 I Madame Evangelista contented herself, for the pies- 
 lent, with these explanations, having full confidence 
 in Solonet. She was wholly ignorant of law; consid- 
 iering her daughter as good as married, she thought 
 she had gained her end, and was filled with the joy of 
 success. Thus, as Mathias had shrewdly calculated, 
 
 6 
 
82 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 neither Solonet nor Madame Evangelista understoo( 
 as yet, to its full extent, this scheme which he hac 
 based on reasons that were undeniable. 
 
 “Well, Monsieur Mathias,” said the widow, “all h 
 for the best, is it not? ” 
 
 “Madame, if you and Monsieur le comte consent 
 to this arrangement you ought to exchange pledgeSj 
 It is fully understood, I suppose,” he continued, look- 
 ing from one to the other, “that the marriage will onlj 
 take place on condition of creating an entail upon 
 the estate of Lanstrac and the house in the rue de la 
 Pepiniere, together with eight hundred thousand francs 
 in money brought by the future wife, the said sum 
 to be invested in landed property? Pardon me the 
 repetition, madame ; but a positive and solemn engage- 
 ment becomes absolutely necessary. The creation 
 of an entail requires formalities, application to the 
 chancellor, a royal ordinance, and we ought at once 
 to conclude the purchase of the new estate in order 
 that the property be included in the royal ordinance 
 by virtue of which it becomes inalienable. In many 
 families this would be reduced to writing, but on this 
 occasion I think a simple consent will suffice. Do 
 you consent?” 
 
 “Yes,” replied Madame Evangelista. 
 
 “Yes,” said Paul. 
 
 “And I? ” asked Natalie, laughing. 
 
 “You are a minor, mademoiselle,” replied Solonet; 
 “don’t complain of that.” 
 
 It was then agreed that Maitre Mathias should draw 
 up the contract, Maitre Solonet the guardianship 
 account and release, and that both documents should 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 83 
 
 e signed, as the law requires some days before the 
 elebration of the marriage. After a few polite salu- 
 rtions the notaries withdrew. 
 
 “It rains, Mathias; shall I take you home?’" said 
 olonet. “My cabriolet is here.” 
 
 “My carriage is here, too,” said Paul, manifesting 
 n intention to accompany the old man. 
 
 “I won’t rob you of a moment’s pleasure,” said 
 lathias. “I accept my friend Solonet’s offer.” 
 
 “Well,” said Achilles to Nestor, as the cabriolet 
 oWed away, “you have been truly patriarchal to-night, 
 'he fact is, those young people would certainly have 
 uined themselves.” 
 
 “I felt anxious about their future,” replied Mathias, 
 eeping silence as to the real motives of his propo- 
 ition. 
 
 At this moment the two notaries were like a pair 
 f actors arm in arm behind the stage on which they 
 ave played a scene of hatred and provocation. 
 
 “But,” said Solonet, thinking of his rights as 
 otary, “isn’t it my place to buy that land you 
 lentioned? The money is part of our dowry.” 
 
 “How can you put property bought in the name of 
 lademoiselle Evangelista into the creation of an 
 ntail by the Comte de Manerville? ” replied MathiaSo 
 
 ^^We shall have to ask the chancellor about that,” 
 aid Solonet. 
 
 “But 1 am the notary of the seller as well as of the 
 )uyer of that land,” said Mathias. “Besides, Mon- 
 ieur de Manerville can buy in his own name. At the 
 ime of payment we can make mention of the fact that 
 he dowry funds are put into it.” 
 
84 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 “You ’ve an answer for everything, old man, 
 said Solonet, laughing. “You were really surpassin 
 to-night; you beat us squarely.’’ 
 
 “For an old fellow who didn’t expect your batterie 
 of grape-shot, I did pretty well, did n’t I? 
 
 “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Solonet. 
 
 The odious struggle in which the material welfare o 
 a family had been so perilously near destruction wa 
 to the two notaries nothing more than a matter o 
 professional polemics. 
 
 “1 have n’t been forty years in harness for nothing,' 
 remarked Mathias. “Look here, Solonet,” he added 
 “I’m a good fellow; you shall help in drawing th 
 deeds for the sale of those lands.” 
 
 “Thanks, my dear Mathias. I ’ll serve you ii 
 return on the very first occasion.” 
 
 While the two notaries were peacefully returning 
 homeward, with no other sensations than a litth 
 throaty warmth, Paul and Madame Evangelista wen 
 left a prey to the nervous trepidation, the quivering 
 of the flesh and brain which excitable natures pasi 
 through after a scene in which their interests anc 
 their feelings have been violently shaken. In Madams 
 Evangelista these last mutterings of the storm wen 
 overshadowed by a terrible reflection, a lurid glean 
 which she wanted,* at any cost, to dispel. 
 
 ‘^Has Maitre Mathias destroyed in a few minutes 
 the work I have been doing for six months?” she 
 asked herself. “Was he withdrawing Paul from mj 
 influence by filling his mind with suspicion during 
 their secret conference in the next room ? ” 
 
 She was standing absorbed in these thoughts before 
 
85 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 le fireplace, her elbow resting on the marble mantel- 
 iielf. When the porte-cochere closed behind the car- 
 iage of the two notaries, she turned to her future 
 on-in-law, impatient to solve her doubts. 
 
 “ This has been the most terrible day of my life, 
 ried Paul, overjoyed to see all difficulties vanish. 
 
 I know no one so downright in speech as that old 
 lathias. May God hear him, and make me peer of 
 -Tance! Dear Natalie, I desire this for your sake 
 nore than for my own. You are my ambition; I live 
 mly in you.” 
 
 Hearing this speech uttered in the accents o e 
 leart, and noting, more especially, the limpid azure 
 )f Paul’s eyes, whose glance betrayed no thought o 
 iouble meaning, Madame Evangelista’s satisfaction 
 svas complete. She regretted the sharp language with 
 which she had spurred him, and in the joy of success 
 she resolved to reassure him as to the future. Calm- 
 ing her countenance, and giving to her eyes t a 
 expression of tender friendship which made her so 
 'attractive, she smiled and answered: 
 
 “I can say as much to you. Perhaps, dear Paul, 
 my Spanish nature led me farther than my heait 
 desired. Be what you are, — kind as God himself, 
 and do not be angry with me for a few hasty words. 
 
 Shake hands.” , 
 
 Paul was abashed ; he fancied himself to blame, and 
 
 he kissed Madame Evangelista. 
 
 “Dear Paul,” she said with much emotion, why 
 could not those two sharks have settled this matter 
 without dragging us into it, since it was so easy to 
 
 ! settle? ” 
 
86 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 ‘‘In that case I should not have known how grand 
 and generous you can be/’ replied Paul. 
 
 “Indeed she is, Paul!” cried Natalie, pressing his 
 hand. 
 
 “We have still a few little matters to settle, my 
 dear son,” said Madame Evangelista. “My daughter 
 and I are above the foolish vanities to which so many^ 
 persons cling. Natalie does not need my diamonds, 
 but I am glad to give them to her.” 
 
 “Ah! my dear mother, do you suppose that I will 
 accept them ? ” 
 
 “Yes, my child; they are one of the conditions of 
 the contract.” 
 
 “I will not allow it; I will not marry at all,” cried 
 Natalie, vehemently. “Keep those jewels which my 
 father took such pride in collecting for you. How 
 could Monsieur Paul exact — ” 
 
 “Hush, my dear,” said her mother, whose eyes now‘ 
 filled with tears. “My ignorance of business compels; 
 me to a greatei sacrifice than that.” 
 
 “What sacrifice? ” 
 
 “I must sell my house in order to pay the money 
 that I owe to you.” 
 
 “What money can you possibly owe to me?” she 
 said; “to me, who owe you life! If my marriage 
 costs you the slightest sacrifice, I will not marry.” 
 “Child!” 
 
 “Dear Natalie, try to understand that neither I, nor 
 your mother, nor you yourself, require these sacrifices, 
 but our children.” 
 
 “Suppose I do not marry at all? ” 
 
 “ Do you not love me ? ” said Paul, tenderly. 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 87 
 
 “Come, come, my silly child; do you imagine that 
 
 contract is like a house of cards which you can 
 low down at will? Dear little ignoramus, you don’t 
 now what trouble we have had to found an entail 
 or the benefit of your eldest son. Don’t cast us 
 ,ack into the discnssions from which we have just 
 scaped.” 
 
 “Why do you wish to ruin my mother? ” said Natalie, 
 ooking at Paul. 
 
 “Why are you so rich? ” he replied, smiling. 
 
 “Don’t quarrel, my children, you are not yet mar- 
 led,” said Madame Evangelista. “Paul,” she con- 
 inued, “you are not to give either corbeille, or jewels, 
 )r trousseau. Na;talie has everything in profusion, 
 iiay by the money you would otherwise put into wed- 
 ling presents. I know nothing more stupidly bour- 
 geois and commonplace than to spend a hundred 
 thousand francs on a corbeille, when five thousand 
 i year given to a young woman saves her much anxiety 
 md lasts her lifetime. Besides, the money for a cor- 
 beille is needed to decorate your house in Paris. We 
 svill return to Lanstrac in the spring; for Solonet is to 
 settle my debts during the winter.” 
 
 “All is for the best,” cried Paul, at the summit of 
 
 happiness.” 
 
 “So I shall see Paris! ” cried Natalie, in a tone that 
 would justly have alarmed de Marsay. 
 
 “If we decide upon this plan,” said Paul, “I 11 
 write to de Marsay and get him to take a box for me 
 at the Bouffons and also at the Italian opera.” 
 
 “You are very kind; I should never have dared to 
 ask for it,” said Natalie. “Marriage is a very agree- 
 
88 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 able institution if it gives husbands a talent foi 
 divining the wishes of their wives.” 
 
 is nothing else,” replied Paul. ‘‘But see hoi^ 
 late it is; I ought to go.” 
 
 “Why leave so soon to-night?” said Madame Evan- 
 gelista, employing those coaxing ways to which mec 
 are so sensitive. 
 
 Though all this passed on the best of terms, and 
 according to the laws of the most exquisite politeness, 
 the effect of the discussion of these contending in- 
 terests had, nevertheless, cast between son and mother- 
 in-law a seed of distrust and enmitv which was liable 
 to sprout under the first heat of anger, or the warmth 
 of a feeling too harshly bruised. In most families 
 the settlement of dots and the deeds of gift required 
 by a marriage contract give rise to primitive emotions 
 of hostility, caused by self-love, by the lesion of cer- 
 tain sentiments, by regret for the sacrifices made, and 
 by the desire to diminish them. When difficulties 
 arise there is always a victorious side and a van- 
 quished one. The parents of the future pair try to 
 conclude the matter, which is purely commercial in 
 their eyes, to their own advantage ; and this leads to 
 the trickery, shrewdness, and deception of such nego- 
 tiations. Generally the husband alone is initiated 
 into the secret of these discussions, and the wife is 
 kept, like Natalie, in ignorance of the stipulations 
 which make her rich or poor. 
 
 As he left the house, Paul reflected that, thanks to 
 the cleverness of his notar}^, his fortune was almost 
 entirely secured from injury. If Madame Evangelista 
 did not live apart from her daughter their united 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 89 
 
 household would have an income of more than a hun^ 
 dred thousand francs to spend. All his expectations 
 of a happy and comfortable life would be realized. 
 
 ‘‘My mother-in-law seems to me an excellent 
 woman,” he thought, still under the influence of the 
 cajoling manner by which she had endeavored to dis- 
 perse the clouds raised by the discussion. “Mathias 
 is mistaken. These notaries are strange fellows ; they 
 envenom everything. The harm started from that 
 little cock-sparrow Solonet, who wanted to play a 
 clever game.” 
 
 While Paul went to bed recapitulating the advan- 
 tages he had won during the evening, Madame 
 Evangelista was congratulating herself equally on her 
 victory. 
 
 “Well, darling mother, are you satisfied?” said 
 Natalie, following Madame Evangelista into her bed- 
 room. 
 
 “Yes, love,” replied the mother, “everything went 
 well, according to my wishes; I feel a weight lifted 
 from my shoulders which was crushing me. Paul is 
 a most easy-going man. Dear fellow ! yes, certainly, 
 we must make his life prosperous. You will make 
 him happy, and I will be responsible for his political 
 success. The Spanish ambassador used to be a friend 
 of mine, and I ’ll renew the relation — as I will with 
 the rest of my old acquaintance. Oh! you ’ll see! we 
 shall soon be in the very heart of Parisian life; all will 
 be enjoyment for us. You shall have the pleasures, my 
 dearest, and I the last occupation of existence, — the 
 game of ambition! Don’t be alarmed when you see 
 me selling this house. Do you suppose we shall ever 
 
90 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 come back to live in Bordeaux? no. Lanstrac? jes. 
 But we shall spend all our winters in Paris, where oui 
 real interests will be. Well, Natalie, tell me, was it 
 very difficult to do what 1 asked of you? ” 
 
 “My little mamma! every now and then I felt 
 ashamed.” 
 
 '‘Solonet advises me to put the proceeds of this 
 house into an annuity,” said Madame Evangelista, 
 “but I shall do otherwise; I won’t take a penny of 
 my fortune from you.” 
 
 “I saw you were all very angry,” said Natalie. 
 “How did the tempest calm down?” 
 
 “By an offer of my diamonds,” replied Madame 
 Evangelista. “Solonet was right. How ably he con- 
 ducted the whole affair. Get out my jewel-case, 
 Natalie. I have never seriously considered what my 
 diamonds are worth. When. I said a hundred thou- 
 sand francs I talked nonsense. Madame de Gyas 
 always declared that the necklace and ear-rings your 
 father gave me on our marriage day were worth at 
 least that sum. My poor husband was so lavish! 
 Then my family diamond, the one Philip the Second 
 gave to the Duke of Alba, and which my aunt be- > 
 queathed to me, the Discreto^ was, I think, appraised 
 in former times at four thousand quadruples,— one of 
 our Spanish gold -coins. 
 
 Natalie laid out upon her mother’s toilet-table the 
 pearl necklace, the sets of jewels, the gold bracelets 
 and precious stones of all description, with that inex- j 
 pressible sensation enjoyed by certain w’omen at the i 
 sight of such treasures, by which — so commentators 
 on the Talmud say — the fallen angels seduce the 
 
Vhe Marriage Contract. 
 
 91 
 
 daughters of men, having sought these flowers of 
 celestial fire in the bowels of the earth. 
 
 Certainly,” said Madame Evangelista, “though 
 I know nothing about jewels except how to accept 
 and wear them, I think there must be a great deal of 
 money in these. Then, if we make but one house- 
 hold, I can sell my plate, the weight of which, as mere 
 silver, would bring thirty thousand francs. I remem- 
 ber when we brought it from Lima, the custom-house 
 officers weighed and appraised it. Solonet is right. 
 I ’ll send to-morrow to Elie Magus. The Jew shall 
 estimate the value of these things. Perhaps I can 
 avoid sinking any of my fortune in an annuity.”' 
 
 “What a beautiful pearl necklace! ” said Natalie. 
 
 “He ought to give it to you, if he loves you,” 
 replied her mother; “and I think he might have all 
 my other jewels reset and let you keep them. The 
 diamonds are a part of your property in the contract. 
 And now, good-night, my darling. After the fatigues 
 of this day we both need rest.” 
 
 The woman of luxury, the creole, the great lady, 
 incapable of analyzing the results of a contract which 
 was not yet in force, went to sleep in the joy of see- 
 ing her daughter married to a man who was easy to 
 manage, who would let them both be mistresses of 
 his home, and whose fortune, united to theirs, would 
 require no change in their way of living. Thus hav- 
 ing settled her account with her daughter, whose 
 patrimony was acknowledged in the contract, Madame 
 Evangelista could feel at her ease. 
 
 “How foolish of me to worry as I did,” she thought. 
 “But I wish the marriage were well over.” 
 
92 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 So Madame Evangelista, Paul, Natalie, and the 
 two notaries were equally satisfied with the first day’s 
 result. The Te Deum was sung in both camps, — a 
 dangerous situation; for there comes a moment when 
 the vanquished side is aware of its mistake. To 
 Madame Evangelista’s mind, her son-in-law was the 
 vanquished side. 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 93 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE-CONTRACT — SECOND DAY. 
 
 The next day Elie Magus (who happened at that 
 time to be in Bordeaux) obeyed Madame Evangelista’s 
 summons, believing, from general rumor as to the 
 marriage of Comte Paul with Mademoiselle Natalie, 
 that it concerned a purchase of jewels for the bride. 
 The Jew was, therefore, astonished when he learned 
 that, on the contrary, he was sent for to estimate the 
 value of the mother-in-law’s property. The instinct 
 of his race, as well as certain insidious questions, 
 made him aware that the value of the diamonds was 
 included in the marriage-contract. The stones were 
 not to be sold, and yet he was to estimate them as if 
 some private person were buying them from a dealer. 
 Jewellers alone know how to distinguish between the 
 diamonds of Asia and those of Brazil. The stones of 
 Golconda and Visapur are known by a whiteness and 
 glittering brilliancy which others have not, — the water 
 of the Brazilian diamonds having a yellow tinge which 
 reduces their selling value. Madame Evangelista s 
 necklace and ear-rings, being composed entirely of 
 Asiatic diamonds, were valued by Elie Magus at 
 two hundred and fifty thousand francs. As for the 
 Discrete^ he pronounced it one of the finest diamonds 
 
94 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 in the possession of private persons ; it was known to 
 tne trade and valued at one’ hundred thousand francs. 
 On hearing this estimate, which proved to her the 
 lavishness of her husband, Madame Evangelista asked 
 the old Jew whether she should be able to obtain that 
 money immediately. 
 
 “Madame,” replied the Jew, ‘‘if you wish to sell 
 I can give you only seventy-five thousand for the 
 brilliant, and one hundred and sixty thousand for 
 the necklace and earrings.” 
 
 “Why such reduction? ” 
 
 “Madame,” replied Magus, “ the finer the diamond, 
 the longer we keep it unsold. The rarity of such 
 investments is one reason for the high value set upon 
 precious stones. As the merchant cannot lose the 
 interest of his money, this additional sum, joined to 
 the rise and fall to which such merchandise is subject, 
 explains the difference between the price of purchase 
 and the price of sale. By owning these diamonds 
 you have lost the interest on three hundred thousand 
 francs for twenty years. If you wear your jewels ten 
 times a year, it costs you three thousand francs each 
 evening to put them on. How many beautiful gowns 
 you could buy with that sum. Those who own dia- 
 monds are, therefore, very foolish; but, luckily for 
 us, women are never willing to understand the cal- 
 culation.” 
 
 “I thank you for explaining it to me, and I shall 
 profit by it.” 
 
 “Do you wish to sell? ” asked Magus, eagerly. 
 
 “What are the other jewels worth? ” 
 
 The Jew examined the gold of the settings, held the 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 95 
 
 oearls to the light, scrutinized the rubies, the diadems, 
 clasps, bracelets, and chains, and said, in a mumbling 
 tone : — 
 
 “A good many Portuguese diamonds from Brazil 
 are among them. They are not worth more than a 
 hundred thousand to me. But,” he added, a dealer 
 would sell them to a customer for one hundred and 
 fifty thousand, at least. 
 
 “I shall keep them,” said Madame Evangelista. 
 
 ' “You are wrong,” replied Elie Magus. “With the 
 income from the sum they represent you could buy 
 just as fine diamonds in five years, and have the 
 capital to boot.” 
 
 This singular conference became known, and cor- 
 roborated certain rumors excited by the discussion of 
 the contract. The servants of the house, overhearing 
 high voices, supposed the difficulties greater than they 
 really were. Their gossip with other valets spread the 
 information, which from the lower regions rose to the 
 ears of the masters. The attention of society, and of 
 the town in general, became so fixed on the marriage 
 of two persons equally rich and well-born, that every 
 one, great and small, busied themselves about the 
 matter, and in less than a week the strangest rumors 
 were bruited about. 
 
 “Madame Evangelista sells her house; she must be 
 ruined. She offered her diamonds to Elie Magus. 
 Nothing is really settled between herself and the 
 I Comte de Manerville. Is it probable that the mar- 
 I riage will ever take place? ” 
 
 ; To this question some answered yes, and others 
 i said no. The two notaries, when questioned, denied 
 
96 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 these calumnies, and declared that the difficulties arose 
 only from the official delay in constituting the entail. 
 But when public opinion has taken a trend in one 
 direction it is very difficult to turn it back. Though 
 Paul went every day to Madame Evangelista’s house, 
 and though the notaries denied these assertions con- 
 tinually, the whispered calumny went on. Young 
 girls, and their mothers and aunts, vexed at a mar- 
 riage they had dreamed of for themselves or for their 
 families, could not forgive the Spanish ladies for their 
 happiness, as authors cannot forgive each other for 
 their success. A few persons revenged themselves for 
 the twenty-years luxury and grandeur of the family 
 of Evangelista, which had lain heavily on their self- 
 love. A leading personage at the prefecture declared 
 that the notaries could have chosen no other language 
 and followed no other conduct in the case of a rupture. 
 The time actually required for the establishment of 
 the entail confirmed the suspicions of the Bordeaux 
 provincials. 
 
 “They will keep the ball going through the winter; 
 then, in the spring, they will go to some watering- 
 place, and we shall learn before the year is out that 
 the marriage is off.” 
 
 “And, of course, we shall be given to understand,” 
 said others, “for the sake of the honor of the two 
 families, that the difficulties did not come from either 
 side, but the chancellor refused to consent; you may 
 be sure it will be some quibble about that entail which 
 will cause the rupture.” 
 
 “Madame Evangelista,” some said, “lived in a 
 stvle that the mines of Valenciana could n’t meet. 
 
The Marfiage Contract. 
 
 97 
 
 VYhen the time came to melt the bell, and pay the 
 laughter’s patrimony, nothing would be found to pay 
 it with.” 
 
 The occasion was excellent to add up the spendings 
 Df the handsome widow and prove, categorically, her 
 ruin. Rumors were so rife that bets were made for 
 and against the marriage. By the laws of worldly 
 I'jurisprudence this gossip was not allowed to reach the 
 iears of the parties concerned. No one was enemy or 
 friend enough to Paul or to Madame livangelista to 
 inform either of what was being said. Paul had some 
 business at Lanstrac, and used the occasion to make a 
 i hunting-party for several of the young men of Bor- 
 deaux,— a sort of farewell, as it were, to his bachelor 
 life. This hunting party was accepted by society as 
 a signal confirmation of public suspicion. 
 
 When this event occurred, Madame de Gyas, who 
 had a daughter to marry, thought it high time to 
 sound the matter, and to condole, with joyful heart, 
 i the blow received by the Ilvangelistas. Natalie and 
 iher mother were somewhat surprised to see the 
 (lengthened face of the marquise, and they asked at 
 i once if anything distressing had happened to her. 
 
 “Can it be,” she replied, “that you are ignorant of 
 ;i the rumors that are circulating? Though I think them 
 ij false myself, I have come to learn the truth in order 
 
 ■ to stop this gossip, at any rate among the circle of 
 my own friends. To be the dupes or the accomplices 
 
 : of such an error is too false a position for true friends 
 
 ■ to occupy.” 
 
 “But what is it? what has happened?” asked 
 mother and daughter. 
 
 7 
 
98 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Madame de Gyas thereupon allowed herself the hap 
 piness of repeating all the current gossip, not sparing 
 her two friends a single stab. Natalie and Madame 
 Evangelista' looked at each other and laughed, but 
 they fully understood the meaning of the tale and the 
 motives of their friend. The Spanish lady took her 
 revenge very much as Celimene took hers on Arsinoe. 
 
 “My dear, are you ignorant — you who know the! 
 provinces so well — can you be ignorant of what a I 
 mother is capable when she has on her hands a daugh- 
 ter whom she cannot marry for want of dot and lovers, 
 want of beauty, want of mind, and, sometimes, want 
 of everything? Why, a mother in that position would 
 rob a diligence or commit a murder, or wait for a man 
 at the corner of a street — she would sacrifice herself 
 twenty times over, if she was a mother at all. Now, 
 as you and I both know, there are many such in that 
 situation in Bordeaux, and no doubt they attribute to 
 us their own thoughts and actions. Naturalists have 
 depicted the habits and customs of many ferocious 
 animals, but they have forgotten the mother and 
 daughter in quest of a husband. Such women are 
 hyenas, going about, as the Psalmist says, seeking 
 whom they may devour, and adding to the instinct of 
 the brute the intellect of man, and the genius of 
 woman. I can understand that those little spiders. 
 Mademoiselle de Belor, Mademoiselle de Trans, and 
 others, after working so long at their webs without 
 catching a fiy, without so much as hearing a buzz,, 
 should be furious; 1 can even forgive their spiteful 
 speeches. But that you, who can marry your daughter 
 when you please, you, who are rich and titled, you 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 99 
 
 vho have nothing of the provincial about you, whose 
 laughter is clever and possesses fine qualities, with 
 3eauty and the power to choose — that you, so distin- 
 guished from the rest by your Parisian grace, should 
 lave paid the least heed to this talk does really sur- 
 
 ! prise me. Am I bound to account to the public for 
 :;he marriage stipulations which our notaries think 
 kecessary under the political circumstances of my 
 <3on-in-law’s future life? Has the mania for public 
 iiscussion made its way into families? Ought I to 
 convoke in writing the fathers and mothers of the 
 province to come here and give their vote on the 
 clauses of our marriage contract? ” 
 
 A torrent of epigram flowed over Bordeaux. 
 Madame Evangelista was about to leave the city, and 
 could safely scan her friends and enemies, caricature 
 them and lash them as she pleased, with nothing to 
 fear in return. Accordingly, she now gave vent to 
 her secret observations and her latent dislikes as she 
 V sought for the reason why this or that person denied 
 Ithe shining of the sun at mid-day. 
 i ‘‘But, my dear,’^ said the Marquise de Gyas, this 
 I stay of the count at Lanstrac, these parties given to 
 i young men under such circumstances — ” 
 
 “Ah! my dear,” said the great lady, interrupting 
 ithe marquise, “do you suppose that we adopt the 
 pettiness of bourgeois customs ? Is Count Paul held 
 in bonds like a man who might seek tc get away? 
 
 : Think you we ought to watch him with squad of 
 ij gendarmes lest some provincial conspiracy should get 
 II him away from us ? ” 
 
 ij “Be assured, my dearest friend, that it gives me 
 the greatest pleasure to — ’’ 
 
100 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Here her words were interrupted by a footman 
 who entered the room to announce Paul. Like many 
 lovers, Paul thought it charming to ride twelve miles 
 to spend an hour with Natalie. He had left his 
 friends while hunting, and came in booted and 
 spurred, and whip in hand. 
 
 ‘‘Dear Paul,’’ said Natalie, “you don’t know what 
 an answer you are giving to madame.” 
 
 When Paul heard of the gossip that was current in 
 Bordeaux, he laughed instead of being angry. 
 
 “These worthy people have found out, perhaps, that 
 there will be no wedding festivities, according to pro- 
 vincial usages, no marriage at mid-day in the church, 
 and they are furious. Well, my dear mother,” he 
 added, kissing her nand, “let us pacify them with a 
 ball on the day when we sign the contract, just as the 
 government flings a fete to the people in the great 
 square of the Champs-Elysees, and we will give our 
 dear friends the dolorous pleasure of signing a mar- 
 riage-contract such as they have seldom heard of in 
 the provinces.” 
 
 This little incident proved of great importance. 
 Madame Evangelista invited all Bordeaux to witness 
 the signature of the contract, and showed her intention 
 of displaying in this last fete a luxury which should 
 refute the foolish lies of the community. 
 
 The preparations for this event required over a 
 month, and it was called the fete of the camellias. 
 Immense quantities of that beautiful flower were 
 massed on the staircase, and in the antechamber and 
 supper-room. During this month the formalities for 
 constituting the entail were concluded in Paris; the 
 
101 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 ^states adjoining Lanstrac were purchased, the banns 
 «rere published, and all doubts finally dissipated. 
 Friends and enemies thought only of preparing their 
 
 toilets for the coming fete. 
 
 The time occupied by these events obscured the 
 difficulties raised by the first discussion, and swept 
 into oblivion the words and arguments of that stormy 
 conference. Neither Paul nor his mother-in-law con- 
 tinued to think of them. Were they not, after all, as 
 Madame Evangelista had said, the affair of the two 
 
 notaries? . 
 
 But — to whom has it never happened, when life is 
 in its fullest flow, to be suddenly challenged by the 
 voice of memory, raised, perhaps, too late, reminding 
 us of some important fact, some threatened danger? 
 On the morning of the day when the contract was to 
 be signed and the f§te given, one of these flashes of 
 the soul illuminated the mind of Madame Evangelista 
 during the semi-somnolence of her waking hour. The 
 words that she lierself had uttered at the moment when 
 Mathias acceded to Solonet’s condition, Qiiesta coda 
 non e di questo gatto, were cried aloud in her mind 
 by that voice of memory. In spite of her incapacity 
 for business, Madame Evangelista’s shrewdness told 
 
 “If so clever a notary as Mathias was pacified, it 
 must have been that he saw compensation at the cost 
 
 of some oneJ^^ 
 
 That some one could not be Paul, as she had blind y 
 hoped. Could it be that her daughter’s fortune was 
 to pay the costs of war? She resolved to demand 
 explanations on the tenor of the contract, not reflect 
 
102 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 ing on the course she would have to take in case she 
 found her interests seriously compromised. This daj 
 had so powerful an influence on Paul de Manerville’s 
 conjugal life that it is necessary to explain certain of 
 the external circumstances which accompanied it. 
 
 Madame Evangelista had shrunk from no expense 
 for this dazzling fete. The court-yard was gravelled 
 and converted into a tent, and tilled with shrubs, 
 although it was winter. The camellias, of which so 
 much had been said from Angouleme to Dax, were 
 banked on the staircase and in the vestibules. Wall 
 partitions had disappeared to enlarge the supper-room 
 and the ball-room where the dancing was to be. Bor- 
 deaux, a city famous for the luxury of colonial for- 
 tunes, was on a tiptoe of expectation for this scene of 
 fairyland. About eight o’clock, as the last discus- 
 sion of the contract was taking place within the house, 
 the inquisitive populace, anxious to see the ladies in 
 full dress getting out of their carriages, foi'med in two 
 hedges on either side of the porte-cochere. Thus the 
 sumptuous atmosphere of a fgte acted upon all minds 
 at the moment when the contract was being signed, 
 illuminating colored lamps lighted up the shrubs, and 
 the wheels of the arriving guests echoed from the 
 court-yard. The two notaries had dined with the 
 bridal pair and their mother. Mathias’s head-clerk, 
 whose business it was to receive the signatures of the 
 guests during the evening (taking due care that the 
 contract was not surreptitiously read by the signers), 
 was also present at the dinner. 
 
 No bridal toilet was ever comparable with that of 
 Natalie, whose beauty, decked with laces and satin, 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 108 
 
 her hair coquettishly falling in a myriad of curls about 
 her throat, resembled that of a dower encased in its 
 foliage. Madame Evangelista, robed in a gown of 
 cherry velvet, a color judiciously chosen to heighten 
 the brilliancy of her skin and her black hair and eyes, 
 glowed with the beauty of a woman at forty, and 
 wore her pearl necklace, clasped with the Discreto, a 
 '^isible contradiction to the late calumnies. 
 
 To fully explain this scene, it is necessary to say 
 that Paul and Natalie sat together on a sofa beside 
 the fireplace and paid no attention to the reading of 
 the documents. Equally childish and equally happy, 
 regarding life as a cloudless sky, rich, young, and 
 loving, they chattered to each other in a low voice, 
 sinking into v/hispers. Arming his love with the 
 presence of legality, Paul took delight in kissing the 
 tips of Natalie’s fingers, in lightly touching her snowy 
 shoulders and the waving curls of her hair, hiding 
 from the eyes of others these joys of illegal emancipa- 
 tion. Natalie played with a screen of peacock’s feathers 
 given to her by Paul, — a gift which is to love, accord- 
 ing to superstitious belief in certain countries, as 
 dangerous an omen as the gift of scissors or other 
 cutting instruments, which recall, no doubt, the Parces 
 of antiquity. 
 
 Seated beside the two notaries, Madame Evange- 
 lista gave her closest attention to the reading of the 
 documents. After listening to the guardianship ac- 
 count, most ably written out by Solonet, in which 
 Natalie’s share of the three million and more francs 
 left by Monsieur Evangelista was shown to be the 
 much-debated eleven hundred and fifty-six tlrousand, 
 
/ 
 
 104 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Madame Evangelista said to the heedless youn^ 
 couple : — 
 
 Come, listen, listen, my children; this is youi 
 marriage contract.” 
 
 The clerk drank a glass of iced-water, Solonet and 
 Mathias blew their noses, Paul and Natalie looked at 
 the four personages before them, listened to the pre- 
 amble, and returned to their chatter. The statement! 
 of the property brought by each party; the general 
 deed of gift in the event of. death without issue; the 
 deed of gift of one-fourth in life interest and one- 
 fourth in capital without interest, allowed by the 
 Code, whatever be the number of the children; the 
 constitution of a common fund for husband and wife; 
 the settlement of the diamonds on the wife, the library 
 and horses on the husband, were duly read and passed 
 without observations. Then followed the constitution 
 of the entail. When all was read and nothing re- 
 mained but to sign the contract, Madame Evangelista 
 demanded to know what would be the ultimate effect 
 of the entail. 
 
 An entail, madame,” replied Solonet, means an 
 inalienable right to the inheritance of certain property 
 belonging to both husband and wdfe, which is settled 
 from generation to generation on the eldest son of the 
 house, without, however, depriving him of his right to 
 share in the division of the rest of the property.” 
 
 What will be the effect of this on my daughter’s 
 rights ? ” 
 
 Maitre Mathias, incapable of disguising the truth, 
 replied : — 
 
 Madame, an entail being an appanage, or portion 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 105 
 
 Df property set aside for this purpose from the for- 
 tunes of husband and wife, it follows that if the wife 
 dies first, leaving several children, one of them a son. 
 Monsieur de Manerville will owe those children three 
 hundred and sixty thousand francs only, from which 
 he will deduct his fourth in life-interest and his fourth 
 in capital. Thus his debt to those children will be 
 reduced to one hundred and sixty thousand francs, or 
 thereabouts, exclusive of his savings and profits from 
 the common fund constituted for husband and wife. 
 If, on the contrary, he dies first, leaving a male heir, 
 Madame de Manerville has a right to three hundred 
 land sixty thousand francs only, and to her deeds of 
 igift of such of her husband’s property as is not in- 
 j eluded in the entail, to the diamonds now settled upon 
 her, and to her profits and savings from the common 
 fund.” 
 
 The effect of Maitre Mathias’s astute and far-sighted 
 policy were now plainly seen. 
 
 ‘‘My daughter is ruined,” said Madame Evangelista 
 
 in a low voice. 
 
 The old and the young notary both overheard the 
 words. 
 
 “Is it ruin,” replied Mathias, speaking gently, “to 
 constitute for her family an indestructible fortune? 
 
 The younger notary, seeing the expression of his 
 client’s face, thought it judicious in him to state the 
 disaster in plain terms. 
 
 “We tried to trick them out of three hundred thou- 
 sand francs,” he whispered to the angry woman. “They 
 have actually laid hold of eight hundred thousand, it 
 is a loss of four hundred thousand from our interests 
 
106 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 for the benefit of the children. You must now eithei 
 break the marriage off at once, or carry it through,’* 
 concluded Solonet. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the moment of silence 
 that followed. Maitre Mathias waited in triumph the 
 signature of the two persons who had expected to rob 
 his client. Natalie, not competent to understand that 
 she had lost half her fortune, and Paul, ignorant that 
 the house of Manerville had gained it, were laughing ; 
 and chattering still Solonet and Madame Evangelista 
 gazed at each other; the one endeavoring to conceal his 
 indifference, the other repressing the rush of a crowd 
 of bitter feelings. j 
 
 After suffering in her own mind the struggles of 
 remorse, after blaming Paul as the cause of her dis- 
 honesty, Madame Evangelista had decided to employ 
 those shameful manoeuvres to cast on him the burden 
 of her own unfaithful guardianship, considering him 
 her victim. But now, in a moment, she perceived 
 that where she thought she triumphed she was about 
 to perish, and her victim was her own daughter. 
 Guilty without profit, she saw herself the dupe of an 
 honorable old man, whose respect she had doubtless 
 lost. Her secret conduct must have inspired the 
 stipulation of old Mathias; and Mathias must have 
 enlightened Paul. Horrible reflection! Even if he 
 had not yet done so, as soon as that contract was 
 signed the old wolf would surely warn his client of 
 the dangers he had run and had now escaped, were it 
 only to receive the praise of his sagacity. He would 
 put him on his guard against the wily woman who had 
 lowered herself to this conspiracy; he would destroy 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 107 
 
 tiG GinpirG sliG Lifid con(][UGrGd ovGr her soD*‘in*lftw! 
 'ggOIg Datui'GS, oncG wariiGd, turn obstinate, and aie 
 GVGr won again. At the first discussion of the con- 
 ract she had reckoned on Paul’s weakness, and on the 
 mpossibility he wonld feel of breaking off a marriage 
 o far advanced. But now, she herself was far more 
 ightly bound. Three months earlier Paul had no real 
 .bstacles to prevent the rupture; now, all Bordeaux 
 mew that the notaries had smoothed the difficulties ; 
 he banns were published ; the wedding was to take 
 )lace immediately ; the friends of both families were 
 it that moment arriving for the fhte, and to witness 
 he contract. How conld she postpone the marriage at 
 his late hour? The cause of the rupture would surely 
 )e made known; Maitre Mathias’s stern honor was too 
 veil known in Bordeaux; his word would be believed 
 n preference to hers. The scoffers would turn against 
 ler and against her daughter. No, she could not 
 3reak it off; she must yield! 
 
 These reflections, so cruelly sound, fell upon Madame 
 Evangelista’s brain like a water-spout and split it. 
 Though she still maintained the dignity and reserve 
 )f a diplomatist, her chin was shaken by that apoplec- 
 tic movement which showed the anger of Catherine 
 the Second on the famous day when, seated on her 
 throne and in presence of her court (very much in the 
 present circumstances of Madame l^vangelista), she 
 was braved by the King of Sweden. Solonet observed 
 that play of the muscles, which revealed the birth 
 of a mortal hatred, a lurid storm to which there was 
 no lightning. At this moment Madame Evangelista 
 vowed to her son-in-law one of those unquenchable 
 
108 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 V‘' 
 
 hatreds the seeds of which were left by the Moors ic 
 the atmosphere of Spain. 
 
 “Monsieur,” she said, bending to the ear of hei 
 • notary, “you called that stipulation balderdash; it 
 seems to me that nothing could have been more 
 clear.” 
 
 “Madame, allow me — ” 
 
 “Monsieur,” she continued, paying no heed to his 
 interruption, “if you did not perceive the effect of that 
 entail at the time of our first conference, it is very ex- 
 traordinary that it did not occur to you in the silence 
 of your study. This can hardly be incapacity.” 
 
 The young notary drew his client into the next 
 room, saying to himself, as he did so: — 
 
 “I get a three-thousand-franc fee for the guardian- 
 ship account, three thousand for the contract, six 
 thousand on the sale of the house, fifteen thousand 
 in all — better not be angry.” 
 
 He closed the door, cast on Madame Evangelista 
 the cool look of a business man, and said : — 
 
 “Madame, having, for your sake, passed — as I 
 did — the proper limits of legal craft, do you seriously 
 intend to reward my devotion by such language ? ” 
 
 “But, monsieur — ” 
 
 “Madame, I did not, it is true, calculate the effect 
 of the deeds of gift. But if you do not wish Comte 
 Paul for your son-in-law you are not obliged to accept 
 him. The contract is not signed. Give your fete, 
 and postpone the signing. It is far better to brave 
 Bordeaux than sacrifice yourself.” 
 
 “How can I justify such a course to society, which 
 is already prejudiced against us by the slow conclusion 
 of the marriage? ” 
 
109 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 <f0y gQjQ0 error coinrnittcd in Psirisj sorno missing 
 document not sent with the rest,” replied Solonet. 
 
 “But those purchases of land near Lanstrac? 
 
 “ Monsieur de Manerville will be at no loss to find 
 another bride and another dowry.” 
 
 “.Yes, he ’ll lose nothing; but we lose all, all! ” 
 
 “You?” replied Solonet; “why, you can easily find 
 another count who will cost you less money, if a title 
 is the chief object of this marriage.” 
 
 “No, no! we can’t stake our honor in that way. I 
 am caught in a trap, monsieur. All Bordeaux will 
 ring with this to-morrow. Our solemn words are 
 pledged — ” 
 
 “You wish the happiness of Mademoiselle Natalie.” 
 
 “Above all things.” 
 
 “To be happy in France,” said the notary, “means 
 being mistress of the home. She can lead that fool 
 of a Manerville by the nose if she chooses; he is so 
 dull he has actually seen nothing of all this. Even if 
 he now distrusts you, he will always trust his wife; 
 and his wife is yow, is she not? The count s fate is 
 still within your power if you choose to play the cards 
 in your hand.” 
 
 “If that were true, monsieur, I know not what I 
 would not do to show my gratitude,” she said, in a 
 transport of feeling that colored her cheeks. 
 
 “Let us now return to the others, madame,” said 
 Solonet. “Listen carefully to what I shall say; and 
 then — you shall think me incapable if you choose.” 
 
 “My dear friend,” said the young notary to Maitre 
 Mathias, “in spite of your great ability, you have not 
 foreseen either the case of Monsieur de Manerville 
 
110 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 without childroU) nor thnt in which he leaves 
 only female issue. In either of those cases the entail 
 would pass to the Manervilles, or, at any rate, give 
 rise to suits on their part. 1 think, therefore, it is 
 necessary to stipulate that in the first case the entailed 
 property shall pass under the general deed of •gift 
 between husband and wife; and in the second case 
 that the entail be declared void. This agreement 
 concerns the wife’s interest.” 
 
 “Both clauses seem to me perfectly just,” said 
 Maitie Mathias. “As to their ratification. Monsieur 
 le Comte can, doubtless, come to an understanding 
 with the chancellor, if necessary.” 
 
 Solonet took a pen and added this momentous clause 
 on the margin of the contract. Paul and Natalie paid 
 no attention to the matter; but Madame Evangelista 
 dropped her eyes while Maitre Mathias read the added 
 sentence aloud. 
 
 “We will now sign,” said the mother. 
 
 The volume of voice which Madame Evangelista 
 repressed as she uttered those words betrayed her vio- 
 lent emotion. She was thinking to herself; “No, my 
 daughter shall not be ruined — but he! My daughter 
 shall have the name, the title, and the fortune. If 
 she should some day discover that she does not love 
 him, that she loves another, irresistibly, Paul shall be 
 driven out of France! My daughter shall be free, and 
 happy, and rich.” 
 
 If Maitre Mathias understood how to analyze busi- 
 ness interests, he knew little of the analysis of human 
 passions. He accepted Madame Evangelista’s words 
 as an honorable amende, instead of judging them for 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Ill 
 
 ^vhat they were, a declaration of war. While Solonet 
 and his clerk superintended Natalie as she signed the 
 iocuHients, — an operation which took time, — Mathias 
 took Paul aside and told him the meaning of the 
 stipulation by which he had saved him from ultimate 
 ruin. 
 
 “The whole affair is now en regie. I hold the docu- 
 ments. But the contract contains a receipt for the 
 iiamonds; you must ask for them. Business is busi- 
 ness. Diamonds are going up just now, but may go 
 down. The purchase of those new domains justifies 
 you in turning everything into money that you can. 
 Therefore, Monsieur le comte, have no false modesty 
 in this matter. The first payment is due after the 
 iformalities are over. The sum is two hundred thou- 
 sand francs; put the diamonds into that. You have 
 the lien on this house, which will be sold at once, and 
 [will pay the rest. If you have the courage to spend 
 bnly fifty thousand francs for the next three years, 
 you can save the two hundred thousand francs you are 
 Qow obliged to pay. If you plant vineyards on your 
 new estates, you can get an income of over twenty- 
 five thousand francs upon them. You may be said, 
 in short, to have made a good marriage.” 
 
 Paul pressed the hand of his old friend very affec- 
 tionately, a gesture which did not escape Madame 
 Evangelista, who now came forward to offer him the 
 pen. Suspicion became certainty to her mind. She 
 was confident that Paul and Mathias had come to an 
 understanding about her. Rage and hatred sent the 
 blood surging through her veins to her heart. The 
 worst had come. 
 
i 
 
 112 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 After verifying that all the documents were dub 
 signed and the initials of the . parties affixed to th( 
 bottom of the leaves, Maitre Mathias looked fron 
 Paul to his mother-in-law, and seeing that his clien 
 did not intend to speak of the diamonds, he said: — 
 
 “ I do not suppose there can be any doubt about th( 
 transfer of the diamonds, as you are now one family.’ 
 
 “It would be more regular if Madame Evangelists 
 made them over now, as Monsieur de Manerville ha^ 
 become responsible for the guardianship funds, and 
 we never know who may live or die,” said Solonet, 
 who thought he saw in this circumstance fresh cause 
 of anger in the mother-in-law against the son-in-law. 
 
 “Ah! mother,” cried Paul, “it would be insulting 
 to us all to do that, — Summum jiis^ summa injuria^ 
 monsieur,” he said to Solonet. 
 
 “And I,” said Madame Evangelista, led by the 
 hatred now surging in her heart to see a direct insult 
 to her in the iridirect appeal of Maitre Mathias, “1 
 will tear that contract up if you do not take them.” 
 
 She left the room in one of those furious passions 
 which long for the power to destroy everything, 
 and which the sense of impotence drives almost to 
 madness. 
 
 “For Heaven’s sake, take them, Paul,” whispered 
 Natalie in his ear. “My mother is angry; I shall 
 know why to-night, and I will tell you. We must 
 pacify her.” 
 
 Calmed by this first outburst, madame kept the 
 necklace and ear-rings which she was wearing, and 
 brought the other jewels, valued at one hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs by Elie Magus. Accustomed to 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 113 
 
 sight of family diamonds in all valuations of 
 nheritance, Maitre Mathias and Solonet examined 
 [lese jewels in their cases and exclaimed upon their 
 •eauty. 
 
 “You will lose nothing, after all, upon the dot., 
 lonsieur le comte,” said Solonet, bringing the color 
 o Paul’s face. 
 
 “Yes,” said Mathias, “these jewels will meet the 
 irst payment on the purchase of the new estate.” 
 
 “And the costs of the contract,” added Solonet. 
 
 ^ Hatred feeds, like love, on little things; the least 
 hing strengthens it; as one beloved can do no evil. 
 Iso the person hated can do no good. Madame Evan- 
 i;elista assigned to hypocrisy the natural embarrass- 
 nent of Paul, who was unwilling to take the jewels, 
 and not knowing where to put the cases, longed^ to 
 ling them from the window. Madame Evangelista 
 spurred him with a glance which seemed to say, 
 l‘Take your property from here.” 
 
 “Dear Natalie,” said Paul, “put away these jewels; 
 they are yours; I give them to you.” 
 
 Natalie locked them into the drawer of a console. 
 At this instant the noise of the carriages in the court- 
 yard and the murmur of voices in the reception-rooms 
 jbecame so loud that Natalie and her mother were 
 forced to appear. The salons were filled in a few 
 moments, and the fSte began. 
 
 “Profit by the honeymoon to sell those diamonds, 
 said the old notary to Paul as he went away. 
 
 While waiting for the dancing to begin, whispers 
 went round about the marriage, and doubts were 
 -expressed as to the future of the promised couple. 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 “Is it finally arranged ? ” said one of the leading 
 personages of the town to Madame Evangelista. 
 
 “We had so many documents to read and sign that 
 I fear we are rather late,” she replied; “but perhaps 
 we are excusable.” 
 
 “As for me, I heard nothing,” said Natalie, giving 
 her hand to her lover to open the ball. 
 
 Both of those young persons are extravagant, and 
 the mother is not of a kind to check them,” said a 
 dowager. 
 
 “But they have founded an entail, I am told, worth 
 fifty thousand francs a year.” 
 
 “Pooh!” 
 
 “In that I see the hand of our worthy Monsieur 
 Mathias,” said a magistrate. “If it is really true, he 
 has done it to save the future of the family.” 
 
 “Natalie is too handsome not to be horribly coquet- 
 tish. After a couple of years of marriage,” said one 
 young woman, “I wouldn’t answer for Monsieur de 
 Manerville’s happiness in his home.” 
 
 “The Pink of Fashion will then need staking,” said 
 Solonet, laughing. 
 
 “Don’t you think Madame Evangelista looks 
 annoyed ? ” asked another. 
 
 “But, my dear, I have just been told that all she is 
 able to keep is twenty-five thousand francs a year, and 
 what is that to her? ” 
 
 “Penury!” 
 
 “Yes, she has robbed herself for Natalie. Monsieur 
 de Manerville has been so exacting — ” 
 
 “Extremely exacting,” put in Maitre Solonet. “But 
 before long he will be peer of France. The Maulin- 
 
115 
 
 The Marriage Contract 
 
 i;ours and the Vidame de Pamiers will use their influ 
 ',nce. He belongs to the faubourg Saint-Germain.” 
 
 “Oh! he is received there, and that is all,” said a 
 ady, who had tried to obtain him as a son-in-law. 
 ‘Mademoiselle Evangelista, as the daughter of a mer- 
 chant, will certainly not open the doors of the chapter- 
 house of Cologne to him ! 
 
 “She is grand-niece to the Duke of Casa-Reale. 
 “Through the female line! ” 
 
 The topic was presently exhausted. The card- 
 players went to the tables, the young people danced, 
 the supper was served, and the ball was not over till 
 morning, when the first gleams of the coming day 
 whitened the windows. 
 
 Having said adieu to Paul, who was the last to go 
 Lway, Madame Evangelista went to her daughter s 
 room; for her own had been taken by the architect to 
 enlarge the scene of the fete. Though Natalie and 
 her mother were overcome with sleep, they said a few 
 words to each other as soon as they were alone. 
 
 “ Tell me, mother dear, what was the matter with you ? 
 “My darling, 1 learned this evening to what lengths 
 a mother’s tenderness can go. You know nothing of 
 business, and you are ignorant of the suspicions to 
 which my integrity has been exposed. 1 have trampled 
 my pride under foot, for your happiness and my 
 reputation were at stake.” 
 
 “Are you talking of the diamonds? Poor boy, he 
 wept; he did not want them; I have them.” 
 
 “Sleep now, my child. We will talk business when 
 we wake — for,” she added, sighing, “you and I have 
 business now; another person has come between us.” 
 
116 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 ‘'Ah! my dear mother, Paul will never be ar 
 obstacle to our happiness, yours and mine,’’ murmured 
 Natalie, as she went to sleep. 
 
 “Poor darling! she little knows that the man has 
 ruined her.” 
 
 Madame Evangelista’s soul was seized at that 
 moment with the first idea of avarice, a vice to which 
 many become a prey as they grow aged. It came 
 into her mind to recover in her daughter’s interest the 
 whole of the property left by her husband. She told 
 herself that her honor demanded it. Her devotion to 
 Natalie made her, in a moment, as shrewd and calcu- 
 lating as she had hitherto been careless and wasteful. 
 She resolved to turn her capital to account, after 
 investing a part of it in the Funds, which were then 
 selling at eighty francs. A passion often changes the 
 whole character in a moment; an indiscreet person 
 becomes a diplomatist, a coward is suddenly brave. 
 Hate made this prodigal woman a miser. Chance 
 and luck might serve the project of vengeance, still 
 undefined and confused, which she would now mature 
 in her mind. She fell asleep, muttering to herself, 
 “To-^morrow! ” By an unexplained phenomenon, the 
 effects of which are familiar to all thinkers, her mind, 
 during sleep, marshalled its ideas, enlightened them, 
 classed them, prepared a means by which she was to 
 rule Paul’s life, and showed her a plan which she 
 began to carry out on that very to^niorrow. 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 117 
 
 V. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT THIRD DAT. 
 
 Though the excitement of the fete had driven from 
 haul’s mind the anxious thoughts that now and then 
 issailed it, when he was alone with himself and in hia 
 
 jed they returned to torment him. 
 
 “It seems to me,” he said to himself, “that with- 
 mt that good Mathias my mother-in-law 
 tricked n.e. And yet, is that believable? Wha 
 interest could lead her to deceive me? le we no 
 to join fortunes and live together? Well, we 1, why 
 should I worry about it? In two days Natalie will 
 be my wife, our money relations are plainly defined, 
 nothing can come between us. Vogue la gMere. 
 Nevertheless, I’ll be upon my guard. Suppose 
 Mathias was right? Well, if he was, I ’m not obliged 
 
 to marry my mother-in-law/’ 
 
 In this second battle of the contract Paul s future 
 had completely changed in aspect, though he was not 
 aware of it. Of the two persons whom he was marry- 
 ing, one, the cleverest, was now his mortal enemy, and 
 meditated already withdrawing her interests from the 
 common fund. Incapable of observing the difference 
 that a creole nature placed between his mother-in-law 
 and other women, Paul was far from suspecting her 
 craftiness. The creole nature is apart from all others ; 
 
118 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 7t derives from Europe by its intellect, from the 
 tropics by the illogical violence of its passions, from 
 the East by the apathetic indifference with which it 
 does, or suffers, either good or evil, equally, — a grace- 
 ful nature withal, but dangerous, as a child is danger- 
 ous if not watched. Like a child, the creole woman 
 must have her way immediately; like a child, she 
 would burn a house to boil an egg. In her soft and 
 easy life she takes no care upon her mind; but when 
 impassioned, she thinks of all things. She has some- 
 thing of the perfidy of the negroes by whom she has 
 been surrounded from her cradle, but she is also as 
 naive and even, at times, as artless as they. Like 
 them and like the children, she wishes doggedly for 
 one thing with a growing intensity of desire, and will 
 brood upon that idea until she hatches it. A strange 
 assemblage of virtues and defects! which her Spanish 
 nature had strengthened in Mac.ame Evangelista, and 
 over which her French experience had cast the glaze 
 of its politeness. 
 
 This character, slumbering in married happiness 
 for sixteen years, occupied since then with the trivial- 
 ities of social life, this nature to which a first hatred ! 
 had revealed its strength, awoke now like a conflagra- 
 tion; at the moment of the woman’s life when she was 
 losing the dearest object of her affections and needed 
 another element for the energy that possessed her, this 
 flame burst forth. Natalie could be but three days 
 more beneath her influence! Madame Evangelista, 
 vanquished at other points, had one clear day before 
 her, the last of those that a daughter spends beside 
 her mother. A few words, and the creole nature could 
 
119 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 nfluence the lives of the two beings about to walk 
 ;ocyether through the brambled paths and the dusty 
 ii°h-roads of Parisian society, for Natalie believed m 
 ler mother blindly. What far-reaching power would 
 the counsel of that creole nature have on a mind so 
 subservient! The whole future of these lives might be 
 determined by one single speech. No code, no human 
 institution can prevent the crime that kills by woi s. 
 There lies the weakness of social law; in that is the 
 difference between the morals of the great world and 
 'the morals of the people: one is frank, the other 
 hypocritical; one employs the knife, the other the 
 venom of ideas and language; to one death, to the 
 
 other impunity. . 
 
 The next morning, about mid-day, Madame van- 
 . gelista was half seated, half lying on the edge of 
 I her daughter’s bed. During that waking hour they 
 i caressed and played together in happy memory of 
 \ their loving life; a life in which no discord had ever 
 i troubled either the harmony of their feelings, the 
 .j agreement of their ideas, or the mutual choice and 
 \ enioyment of their pleasures. 
 
 ‘‘Poor little darling!” said the mother, shedding 
 true tears, “how can I help being sorrowful when I 
 I think that after I have fulfilled your every wish during 
 your whole life you will belong, to-morrow night, to a 
 
 man you must obey ? ” . i .» j 
 
 “Oh, my dear mother, as for obeying!— and 
 Natalie made a little motion of her head which ex- 
 pressed a graceful rebellion. You are joking, ^ s e 
 continued. “My father always gratified your caprices ; 
 and why not? he loved you. And I am loved, too. 
 
120 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 “Yes, Paul has a certain love for you. But if a ' 
 married woman is not careful nothing more rapidly 
 evaporates than conjugal love. The influence a wife 
 ought to have over her husband depends entirely on 
 how she begins with him. You need the best advice.” 
 
 “But you will be with us.” 
 
 “Possibly, dear child. Last night, while the ball 
 was going on, I reflected on the dangers of our being 
 together. If my presence were to do you harm, if the i 
 little acts by which you ought slowly, but surely, to ! 
 establish your authority as a wife should be attributed 
 to my influence, your home would become a hell. At i 
 the first frown I saw upon your husband’s brow I, ; 
 proud as I am, should instantly leave his house. If ; 
 I were driven to leave it, better, I think, not to enter ; 
 it. I should never forgive your husband if he caused \ 
 trouble between us. Whereas, when you have once 
 become the mistress, when your husband is to you 
 what your father was to me, that danger is no longer 
 to be feared. Though this wise policy will cost your 
 young and tender heart a pang, your happiness de- 
 mands that you become the absolute sovereign of your i 
 home.” j 
 
 “ Then why, mamma, did you say just now I must ! 
 obey him.” 
 
 My dear little daughter, in order that a wife may j 
 rule, she must always seem to do what her husband j 
 wishes. If you were not told this you might by some 
 impulsive opposition destroy your future. Paul is a 
 weak young man; he might allow a friend to rule 
 him ; he might even fall under the dominion of some 
 woman who would make you feel her influence. Pre- 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 121 
 
 7ent such disasters by making yourself from the very 
 start his ruler. Is it not better that he be governed 
 oy you than by others ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, certainly,” said Natalie. “I should think 
 only of his happiness.” 
 
 “And it is my privilege, darling, to think only of 
 yours, and to wish not to leave you at so crucial a 
 moment without a compass in the midst of the reefs 
 through which you must steer.” 
 
 “But, dearest mother, are we not strong enough, 
 you and I, to stay together beside him, without hav- 
 ing to fear those frowns you seem to dread. Paul 
 j loves you, mamma.” 
 
 ; “Oh! oh! He fears me far more than he loves me. 
 Observe him carefully to-day when I tell him that I 
 shall let you go to Paris without me, and you will see 
 on his face, no matter what pains he takes to conceal 
 it, his inward joy.” 
 
 “Why should he feel so? ” 
 
 I “Why? Dear child! I am like Saint- Jean Bouche- 
 i d’Or. I will tell that to himself, and before you.” 
 “But suppose I marry on condition that you do not 
 
 leave me?” urged Natalie. 
 
 “Our separation is necessary,” replied her mother. 
 
 I “Several considerations have greatly changed my 
 future. I am now poor. You will lead a brilliant 
 life in Paris, and I could not live with you suitably 
 I without spending the little that remains to me. 
 
 ' Whereas, if I go to Lanstrac, I can take care of your 
 property there and restore my fortune by economy.” 
 
 “You, mamma! you practise economy! cried 
 Natalie, laughing. “Don’t begin to be a grand- 
 
122 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 mother yet. What! do you mean to leave me foi 
 such reasons as those? Dear mother, Paul may seen 
 to you a trifle stupid, , but he is not one atom 'selfist 
 or grasping.” 
 
 Ah! replied Madame Evangelista, in a tone of 
 voice big with suggestions which made the girl’s heart 
 thiob, those discussions about the contract have 
 made me distrustful. I have my doubts about him — 
 But don’t be troubled, dear child,” she added, taking 
 her daughter by the neck and kissing her. “I will 
 not leave you long alone. Whenever my return can 
 take place without making difficulty between you, 
 whenever Paul can rightly judge me, we will begin 
 once more our happy little life, our evening con- 
 fidences — ” 
 
 “Oh! mother, how can you think of living without 
 your Natalie? ” 
 
 “Because, dear angel, I shall live for her. My 
 mother’s heart will be satisfied in the thought that I 
 contribute, as I ought, to your future happiness.” 
 
 “But my dear, adorable mother, must I be alone 
 with Paul, here, now, all at once? What will become 
 of me? what will happen? what must I do? what must 
 I not do ? 
 
 “Poor child! do you think that I would utterly 
 abandon you to your first battle? We will write to 
 each other three times a week like lovers. We shall 
 thus be close to each other’s heart incessantly. Noth- 
 ing can happen to you that I shall not know, and I 
 can save you from all misfortune. Besides, it would 
 be too ridiculous if I never went to see you ; it wmuld 
 seem to show dislike or disrespect to your husband; 
 
The Marriage Contract 123 
 
 r will always spend a month or two every year with 
 you in Paris.” 
 
 Alone, already alone, and with him! ” cried Natalie 
 in terror, interrupting her mother. 
 
 “But you wish to be his wife? ” 
 
 “Yes, I wish it. But tell me how I should behave, 
 — you, who did what you pleased with my father. You 
 know the way; I dl obey you blindly.” 
 
 Madame Evangelista kissed her daughter’s fore- 
 head. She had willed and awaited this request. 
 
 “Child, my counsels must adapt themselves to cir- 
 cumstances. All men are not alike. The lion and 
 tne frog are not more unlike than one man compared 
 with another, — morally, I mean. Do I know to-day 
 what will happen to you to-morrow? No; therefore I 
 can only give you general advice upon the whole tenor 
 of your conduct.” 
 
 “Dear mother, tell me, quick, all that you know 
 yourself.” 
 
 “In the first place, my dear child, the cause of the 
 failure of married women who desire to keep their 
 husbands’ hearts — and ” she said, making a paren- 
 thesis, “to keep their hearts and rule them is one and 
 the same thing — Well, the principle cause of con- 
 jugal disunion is to be found in perpetual inter- 
 . course, which never existed in the olden time, but 
 which has been introduced into this country of late 
 years with the mania for family. Since the Kevolu- 
 tion the manners and customs of the bourgeoisie have 
 invaded the homes of aristocracy. This misfortune 
 is due to one of their writers, Rousseau, an infamous 
 heretic, whose ideas w^ere all anti-social and who pre^ 
 
124 
 
 The Marriage Gontraoi. 
 
 tended, I don’t know how, to justify the most senselesf 
 things. He declared that all women had the sam< 
 rights and the same faculties; that living in a stati 
 of society we ought, nevertheless, to obey nature -ai 
 1 the wife of a Spanish grandee, as if you or I had 
 anything in common with the women of the people! 
 Since then, well-bred women have suckled their chil- 
 dren, have educated their daughters, and stayed in 
 their own homes. Life has become so involved that 
 happiness is almost impossible, — for a perfect har- 
 mony between natures such as that which has made 
 you and me live as two friends is an exception. Per- 
 petual contact IS as dangerous for parents and children 
 as It is for husband and wife. There are few souls in 
 w ich love survives this fatal omnipresence. There- 
 fore, I say, erect between yourself and Paul the bar- 
 rmrs of society; go to balls and operas; go out in 
 t e morning, dine out in the evenings, pay visits con- 
 stantly, and grant but little of your time to your 
 usband. By this means you will always keep your 
 value to him. When two beings bound together for 
 1 e have nothing to live upon but sentiment, its 
 resources are soon exhausted, indifference, satiety 
 and disgust succeed. When sentiment has withered 
 what will become of you? Remember, affection once 
 extinguished can lead to nothing but indifference or 
 contempt. Be ever young and ever new to him. He 
 may weary you, that often happens, — but you must 
 
 never weary him. The faculty of being bored with- 
 out showing It is a condition of all species of power. 
 You cannot diversify happiness by the cares of prop- 
 erty or the occupations of a family. If you do not 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 125 
 
 aake your husband share your social interests, if you 
 lo not keep him amused you will fall into a dismal 
 .pathy. Then begins the spleen of love. But a man 
 vill always love the woman who amuses him and keeps 
 dm happy. To give happiness and to receive it are 
 ,wo lines of feminine conduct which are separated by 
 
 I gulf.” , T J 
 
 ‘‘Dear mother, I am listening to you, but I don 
 
 inderstand one word you say.” 
 
 “If you love Paul to the extent of doing all he asks 
 )f you, if you make your happiness depend on him, 
 ill is over with your future life; you will never be 
 mistress of your home, and the best precepts in the 
 
 world will do you no good. 
 
 “That is plainer; but I see the rule without know- 
 ling how to apply it,” said Natalie, laughing. I have 
 
 (the theory; the practice will come.” 
 
 “My poor Ninie,” replied the mother, who dropped 
 an honest tear at the thought of her daughter’s mai- 
 riage, things will happen to teach it to you And, 
 she continued, after a. pause, during which the mother 
 and daughter held each other closely embraced in the 
 truest sympathy, “remember this, my Natalie: we all 
 have our destiny as women, just as men have their 
 vocation as men. A woman is born to be a woman 
 of the world and a charming hostess, as a man is born 
 to be a general or a poet. Your vocation is to please. 
 Your education has formed you for society. In these 
 days women should be educated for the salon as they 
 once were for the gynoecium. You were not born to 
 : be the mother of a family or the steward of a house- 
 i hold. If you have children, I hope they will not come 
 
 i 
 
126 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 to spoil your figure on the morrow of your marriage 
 nothing is so bourgeois as to have a child at once. I: 
 you have them two or three years after your marriage, 
 well and good ; governesses and tutors will bring then 
 up. You are to be the lady, the great lady, who rep- 
 resents the luxury and the pleasure of the house. But 
 remember one thing — let your superiority be visible 
 in those things only which flatter a man’s self-love; 
 hide the superiority you must also acquire over him 
 in great things. I 
 
 “But you frighten me, mamma,” cried Natalie.! 
 “How can I remember all these precepts? How shall! 
 1 ever manage, 1, such a child, and so heedless, tol 
 reflect and calculate before I act?” j 
 
 “But, my dear little girl, I am telling you to-day. 
 that which you must surely learn later, buying your ! 
 experience by fatal faults and errors of conduct which i 
 will cause you bitter regrets and embarrass your whole ■ 
 life.” 
 
 “But how must I begin?” asked Natalie, artlessly. 
 
 “Instinct will guide you,” replied her mother. “At 
 this moment Paul desires you more than he loves you; 
 for love born of desires is a hope; the love that sue- i 
 ceeds their satisfaction is the reality. There, my 
 dear, is the question; there lies your power. What 
 woman is not loved before marriage? Be so on the 
 morrow and you will remain so always. Paul is a 
 weak man who is easily trained to habit. If he yields 
 to you once he will yield always. A woman ardently 
 desired can ask all things ; do not commit the folly of 
 many women who do not see the importance of the 
 first hours of their sway, — that of wasting your power 
 
127 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 on trifles, on silly things with no result. Use the 
 empire your husband’s first emotions give you to , 
 
 accustom him to obedience. And when you make him 
 yield, choose that it be on some unreasonable point, 
 so as to test the measure of your power by the measure 
 of his concession. What victory would there be in 
 making him agree to a reasonable thing? Would that 
 be obeying you? We must always, as the Castilian 
 proverb says, take the bull by the horns; when a bull 
 has once seen the inutility of his defence and ot his 
 strength he is beaten. When your husband does a 
 foolish thing for you, you can govern him.” 
 
 “Why so?” . . 
 
 “Because, my child, marriage lasts a lifetime, and 
 a husband is not a man like other men. Therefore, 
 never commit the folly of giving yourself into his 
 power in anything. Keep up a constant reserve in 
 your speech and in your actions. You may even be 
 cold to him without danger, for you can modify co d- 
 ness at will. Besides, nothing is more easy to maintain 
 than our dignity. The words, “It is not becoming 
 in your wife to do thus and so,” is a great talismam 
 The life of a woman lies in the words, “I will not.” 
 
 They are the final argument. Feminine power is in 
 them, and therefore they should only be used on real 
 occasions. But they constitute a means of governing 
 far beyond that of argument or discussion. 1, my dear 
 child, reigned over your father by his faith in me. If 
 your husband believes in you, you can do all things with 
 him. To inspire that belief you must make him think 
 that you understand him. Do not suppose that that 
 is an easy thing to do. A woman can always make a 
 
128 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 man think that he ia loved, but to make him admit 
 that he is understood is far more difficult. I am 
 bound to tell you all now, my child, for to-morrow 
 life with its complications, life with two wills which 
 must be made one, begins for you. Bear in mind, at 
 all moments, that difficulty. The only means of har- 
 monizing your two wills is to arrange from the first 
 that there shall be but one; and that will must be 
 yours. Many persons declare that a wife creates her 
 own unhappiness by changing sides in this way; but, 
 my dear, she can only become the mistress by controlling 
 events instead of bearing them; and that advantage 
 compensates for any difficulty.” 
 
 Natalie kissed her mother’s hands with tears of 
 p-atitude. Like all women in whom mental emotion 
 is never warmed by physical emotion, she suddenly 
 comprehended the bearings of this feminine policy; 
 but, like a spoiled child that never admits the force 
 of reason and returns obstinately to its one desire, she 
 came back to the charge with one of those personal 
 
 arguments which the logic of a child suggests: 
 
 ^ “Dear mamma,” she said, “it is only a few days 
 since you were talking of Paul’s advancement, and 
 saying that you alone could promote it; why, then, do 
 you suddenly turn round and abandon us to our- 
 selves ? ’’ 
 
 “I did not then know the extent of my obligations 
 nor the amount of my debts,” replied the mother, who 
 would not suffer her real motive to be seen. “Besides, 
 a year or two hence I can take up that matter again. i 
 
 Come, let us dress; Paul will be here soon. Be as • 
 
 sweet and caressing as you were, — you know? — that 
 
129 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 light when we first discussed this fatal contract; for 
 ;o-day we must save the last fragments of our for- | 
 
 ;une, and I must win for you a thing to which I am f 
 
 mperstitiously attached.” 
 
 “What is it?” 
 
 “The Cisereto." 
 
 Paul arrived about four o’clock. Though he en- 
 deavored to meet his mother-in-law with a gracious 
 look upon his face, Madame Evangelista saw traces 
 of the clouds which the counsels of the night and the 
 reflections of the morning had brought there. 
 
 “Mathias has told him! ” she thought, resolving to 
 defeat the old notary’s action. “My dear son, she 
 I said, “you left your diamonds in the drawer of the 
 I console, and I frankly confess that I would rather not 
 isee again the things that threatened to bring a cloud 
 i between us. Besides, as Monsieur Mathias said, they 
 i ought to be sold at once to meet the first payment on 
 I the estates you have purchased.” 
 
 “They are not mine,” he said. “I have given them 
 i to Natalie, and when you see them upon her you will 
 forget the pain they caused you.” 
 
 i Madame Evangelista took his hand and pressed it 
 ! cordially, with a tear of emotion. 
 
 I “Listen to me, my dear children,” she said, looking 
 from Paul to Natalie; “since you really feel thus, 1 
 have a proposition to make to both of you. I find 
 myself obliged to sell my pearl necklace and my ear- 
 rings. Yes, Paul, it is necessary; I do not choose to 
 put a penny of my fortune into an annuity; 1 know 
 what I owe to you. Well, I admit a weakness; to 
 sell the Discrete seems to me a. disaster. To sell a 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 diamond which bears the name of Philip the Second 
 and once adorned his royal hand, an historic stone 
 which the Duke of Alba touched for ten years in the 
 hilt of his sword — no, no, I cannot! Elie Magus 
 estimates my necklace and ear-rings at a hundred and 
 some odd thousand francs without the clasps. Will 
 you exchange the other jewels I made over to you for 
 these? you will gain by the transaction, but what of 
 that? I am not selfish. Instead of those mere fancy 
 jewels, Paul, your wife will have fine diamonds which 
 she can really enjoy. Is n’t it better that I should sell 
 those ornaments which will surely go out of fashion, 
 and that you should keep in the family these priceless 
 stones? ” 
 
 ‘‘But, my dear mother, consider yourself,’’ said 
 Paul. 
 
 “I,” replied Madame Evangelista, “I want such 
 things no longer. Yes, Paul, I am going to be your 
 bailiff at Lanstrac. It would be folly in me to go 
 to Paris at the moment when I ought to be here to 
 liquidate my property and settle my affairs. I shall 
 grow miserly for my grandchildren.” 
 
 “Dear mother,” said Paul, much moved, “ought I 
 to accept this exchange without paying you the 
 difference ? ” 
 
 “Good heavens! are you not, both of you, my 
 dearest interests? Do you suppose I shall not find 
 happiness in thinking, as I sit in my chimney-corner, 
 ‘Natalie is dazzling to-night at the Duchesse de 
 Berry’s ball’? When she sees my diamond at her 
 throat and my ear-rings in her ears she will have one 
 of those little enjoyments of vanity which contribute 
 
131 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 80 much to a woman’s happiness and make her so gay 
 and fascinating. Nothing saddens a woman more 
 than to have her vanity repressed ; I have never seen 
 |an ill-dressed woman who was amiable or good- 
 
 ihumored.” , 
 
 “Heavens! what was Mathias thinking about, 
 thought Paul. “Well, then, mamma,” he said, in a 
 
 low voice, ‘‘I accept.’’ 
 
 ‘‘But I am confounded! ” said Natalie. 
 
 At this moment Solonet arrived to announce the 
 good news that he had found among the speculators 
 of Bordeaux two contractors who were much attracted 
 by the house, the gardens of which could be covered 
 with dwellings. 
 
 “They offer two hundred and fifty thousand francs, 
 he said; “but if you consent to the sale, I can make 
 them give you three hundred thousand. There are 
 three acres of land in the garden.” 
 
 “My husband paid two hundred thousand for the 
 i place, therefore I consent,” she replmd. ‘‘But you 
 i must reserve the furniture and the miiiois. 
 
 “Ah!” said Solonet, “you are beginning to under- 
 stand business.” 
 
 “Alas! I must,” she said, sighing. 
 
 “I am told that a great many persons are coming 
 to your midnight service,” said Solonet, pereeivnig 
 that his presence was inopportune, and preparing 
 to go. 
 
 Madame Evangelista accompanied him to the door 
 I of the last salon, and there she said, in a low voice . 
 i “I now have personal property to the amount of two 
 i hundred and fifty thousand francs; if I can get two 
 
132 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 hundred thousand for my share on the sale of the 
 house it will make a handsome capital, which I shall 
 want to invest to the very best advantage. I count on 
 you for that. I shall probably live at Lanstrac.” 
 
 The young notary kissed his client’s hand with a 
 gesture of gratitude; for the widow’s tone of voice 
 made Solonet fancy that this alliance, really made 
 from self-interest only, might extend a little farther. 
 
 “You can count on me,” he replied. “I can find 
 you investments in merchandise on which you will 
 risk nothing and make very considerable profits.” 
 
 Adieu until to-morrow,” she said; “you are to be 
 our witness, you know, with Monsieur le Marquis de 
 Gyas.” 
 
 My dear mother, said Paul, when she returned to 
 them, “why do you refuse to come to Paris? Natalie 
 is provoked with me, as if I were the cause of your 
 decision.” 
 
 “I have thought it all over, my children, and I am 
 sure that I should hamper you. You would feel 
 obliged to make me a third in all you did, and young 
 people have ideas of their own which I might, unin- 
 tentionally, thwart. Go to Paris. I do not wish to 
 exercise over the Comtesse de Manerville the gentle 
 authority I have held over Natalie. I desire to leave 
 her wholly to you. Don’t you see, Paul, that there 
 are habits and ways between us which must be broken 
 up? My influence ought to yield to yours. I want 
 you to love me, and to believe that J have your 
 interests more at heart than you think for. Young 
 husbands are, sooner or later, jealous of the love of a 
 wife for her mother. Perhaps they are right. When 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 133 
 
 you are thoroughly united, when love has blended your 
 two souls into one, then, my dear son, you will not 
 fear an opposing influence if 1 live in your house. I 
 know the world, and men, and things; I have seen the 
 peace of many a home destroyed by the blind love of 
 mothers who made themselves in the end as intolerable 
 to their daughters as to their sons-in-law. The affec- 
 tion of old people is often exacting and querulous. 
 Perhaps I could not efface myself as I should. I have 
 the weakness to think myself still handsome; I have 
 flatterers who declare that I am still agreeable ; 1 
 should have, I fear, certain pretensions which might 
 interfere with your lives. Let me, therefore, make 
 one more sacrifice for your happiness. I have given 
 you my fortune, and now I desire to resign to you my 
 last vanities as a woman. Your notary Mathias is 
 getting old. He cannot look after your estates as I 
 will. I will be your bailiff; I will create for myself 
 those natural occupations which are the pleasures of 
 old age. Later, if necessary, I will come to you in 
 Paris, and second you in your projects of ambition. 
 Come, Paul, be frank; my proposal suits you, does 
 it not? ” 
 
 Paul would not admit it, but he was at heart 
 delighted to get his liberty. The suspicions which 
 Mathias had put into his mind respecting his mother- 
 in-law were, however, dissipated by this conversation, 
 which Madame Evangelista carried on still longer in 
 the same tone. 
 
 ^^JVIy mother was right, thought Natalie, who had 
 watched Paul’s countenance. “He is glad to know 
 that I am separated from her — why ? ” 
 
134 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 That “why?” was the first note of a rising distrust; 
 did it prove the power of those maternal instructions? 
 
 There are certain characters whicn on the faith of a 
 single proof believe in friendship. To persons thus 
 constituted the north wind drives away the clouds as 
 rapidly as the south wind brings them ; they stop at 
 effects and never hark back to causes. Paul had one 
 of those essentially confiding natures, without ill- 
 feelings, but also without foresight. His weakness 
 proceeded far more from his kindness, his belief in 
 goodness, than from actual debility of soul. 
 
 Natalie was sad and thoughtful, for she knew not 
 what to do without her mother. Paul, with that self- 
 confident conceit which comes of love, smiled to him- 
 self at hei sadness, thinking how soon the pleasures 
 of marriage and the excitements of Paris would drive 
 it away. Madame Evangelista saw this confidence 
 with much satisfaction. She had already taken two 
 gieat steps. Her daughter possessed the diamonds 
 which had cost Paul two hundred thousand francs; 
 and she had gained her point of leaving these two 
 children to themselves with no other guide than their 
 illogical love. Her revenge was thus preparing, un- 
 known to her daughter, who would, sooner or later, 
 become its accomplice. Did Natalie love Paul? That 
 was a question still undecided, the answer to which 
 might modify her projects, for she loved her daughter 
 too sincerely not to respect her happiness. Paurs 
 future, therefore, still depended on himself. If he 
 could make his wife love him, he was saved. 
 
 The next day, at midnight, after an evening spent 
 together, with the addition of the four witnesses, to 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 135 
 
 irhom Madame Evangelista gave the formal dinner 
 vhich follows the legal marriage, the bridal pair, 
 iccompanied by their friends, heard mass by torch- 
 ight, in presence of a crowd of inquisitive persons. 
 
 marriage celebrated at night always suggests to the 
 nind an unpleasant omen. Light is the symbol of 
 ife and pleasure, the forecasts of which are lacking 
 ;o a midnight wedding. Ask the intrepid soul why it 
 shivers ; why the chill of those black arches ener- 
 vates it; why the sound of steps ' startles it; why it 
 notices the cry of bats and the hoot of owls. Though 
 there is absolutely no reason to ti’emble, all piesent do 
 tremble, and the darkness, emblem of death, saddens 
 them. Natalie, parted from her mother, wept. The 
 girl was now a prey to those doubts which grasp the 
 heart as it enters a new career in which, despite all 
 assurances of happiness, a thousand pitfalls await the 
 steps of a young wife. She was cold and wanted a 
 mantle. The air and manner of Madame Evangelista 
 and that of the bridal pair excited some comment 
 among the elegant crowd which surrounded the altar. 
 
 “Solonet tells me that the bride and bridegroom 
 'leave for Paris to-morrow morning, all alone.” 
 
 “Madame Evangelista was to live with them, I 
 thought.” 
 
 “Count Paul has got rid of her already.” 
 
 “What a mistake!” said the Marquise de Gyas. 
 “To shut the door on the mother of his wife is to open 
 it to a lover. Does n’t he know what a mother is? 
 
 “He has been very hard on Madame Evangelista; 
 the poor woman has had to sell her house and her 
 diamonds, and is going to live at Lanstrac.” 
 
136 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 • “Natalie looks very sad.*' 
 
 “Would you like to be made to take a journey the 
 day after your marriage? ” 
 
 “It is very awkward.” 
 
 “I am glad I came here to-night,” said a lady. “I 
 am now convinced of the necessity of the pomps of 
 marriage and of wedding fgtes; a scene like this is 
 very bare and sad. If I may say what I think,” she 
 added, in a whisper to her neighbor, “this marriage 
 seems to me indec6nt.” 
 
 Madame Evangelista took Natalie in her carriage 
 and accompanied her, alone, to Paul’s house. 
 
 “Well, mother, it is done! ” 
 
 Remember, my dear child, my last advice, and 
 you will be a happy woman. Be his wife, and not his 
 mistress.” 
 
 When Natalie had retired, the mother played the 
 little comedy of flinging herself with tears into the 
 arms of her son-in-law. It was the only provincial 
 thing that Madame Evangelista allowed herself, but 
 she had her reasons for it. Amid tears and speeches, 
 apparently half wild and despairing, she obtained of 
 Paul those concessions which all husbands make. 
 
 The next day she put the married pair into their 
 carriage, and accompanied them to the ferry, by which 
 the road to Paris crosses the Gironde. With a look 
 and a word Natalie enabled her mother to see that if 
 Paul had won the trick in the game of the contract, 
 her revenge was beginning. Natalie was already 
 redueing her husband to perfect obedience. 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 137 
 
 VL 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Five years later, on an afternoon in the month of 
 'November, Comte Paul de Manerville, wrapped in a 
 ioak, was entering, with a bowed head and a mys- 
 erious manner, the house of his old friend Monsieur 
 dathias at Bordeaux. 
 
 Too old to continue in business, the worthy notary 
 lad sold his practice and was ending his days peace- 
 ‘ully in a quiet house to which he had retired. An 
 irgent affair had obliged him to be absent at the 
 noment of his guest’s arrival, but his housekeeper, 
 varned of Paul’s coming, took him to the room of 
 :he late Madame Mathias, who had been dead a year. 
 Fatigued by a rapid journey, Paul slept till evening. 
 VV^hen the old man reached home he went up to his 
 3lient’s room, and watched him sleeping, as a mother 
 watches her child. Josette, the old housekeepei, fol« 
 lowed her master and stood before the bed, her hands 
 on her hips. 
 
 “It is a year to-day, Josette, since I received my 
 dear wife’s last sigh; I little knew then that I should 
 stand here again to see the count half dead.” 
 
 ‘‘Poor man! he moans in his sleep,” said Josette. 
 
 ‘ “ Sac a papier / ” cried the old notary, an innocent 
 
 ;oath which was a sign with him of the despair on a 
 
138 
 
 The Marriage Oontract, 
 
 man of business before insurmountable difficultiet 
 “At any rate,” he thought, “I have saved the tit] 
 to the Lanstrac estate for him, and that of Ausa( 
 Saint-Froult, and his house, though the usufruct ha 
 gone.” Mathias counted on his fingers. “Five years 
 Just five years this month, since his old aunt, no’^ 
 dead, that excellent Madame de Maulincour, asked fo 
 the hand of that little crocodile of a woman, who ha 
 finally ruined him — as I expected.” 
 
 / And the gouty old gentleman, leaning on his cane 
 went to walk in the little garden till his guest shouk 
 awake. At nine o’clock supper was served, fo 
 Mathias took supper. The old man was not a litth 
 astonished, when Paul joined him, to see that his ok 
 client’s brow was calm and his face serene, thougi 
 noticeably changed. If at the age of thirty-three thi 
 Comte de Manerville seemed to be a man of forty, tha'i 
 change in his appearance was due solely to menta! 
 shocks; physically, he was well. He clasped the old 
 man’s hand affectionately, and fo]*ced him not to rise, 
 saying : — 
 
 “Dear, kind Maitre Mathias, you, too, have had 
 your troubles.” 
 
 “Mine were natural troubles. Monsieur le comte; 
 but yours — ” 
 
 “We will talk of that presently, while we sup.” 
 
 “If I had not a son in the magistracy, and a daugh- 
 ter married,” said the good old man, “you would have 
 found in old Mathias, believe me. Monsieur le comte, 
 something better than mere hospitality. Why have 
 you come to Bordeaux at the very moment when posters 
 are on all the walls of the seizure of your farms at 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 139 
 
 ^rassol and Gnadet, the vineyard of Belle-Rose and 
 he family mansion? I cannot tell you the grief I 
 eel at the sight of those placards, — I, who for forty 
 ears nursed that property as if it belonged to me ; I, 
 ?ho bought it for your mother when I was only third 
 lerk to Monsieur Chesnau, my predecessor, and wrote 
 he deeds myself in my best round hand; I, who have 
 hose titles now in my successor’s office; I, who have 
 mown you since you were so high;” and the old man 
 dooped to put his hand near the ground. “Ah! a 
 nan must have been a notary for forty-one years and 
 i half to know the sort of grief I feel to see my name 
 jxposed before the face of Israel in those announce- 
 nents of the seizure and sale of the property. When 
 [ pass through the streets and see men i-eading those 
 horrible yellow posters, I am ashamed, as if my own 
 honor and ruin were concerned. Some fools will 
 stand there and read them aloud expressly to draw 
 other fools about them — and what imbecile remarks 
 they make! As if a man were not master of his own 
 property! Your father ran through two fortunes be- 
 fore he made the one he left you; and you would n’t 
 be a Manerville if you did n’t do likewise. Besides, 
 seizures of real estate have a whole section of the 
 Code to themselves ; they are expected and provided 
 for; you are in a position recognized by the law. — 
 If I were not an old man with white hair, I would 
 thrash those fools I hear reading aloud in the streets 
 such an abomination as this,” added the worthy 
 notary, taking up a paper: “ ‘At the request of Dame 
 Natalie Evangelista, wife of Paul-Fran^ois-Joseph, 
 Comte de Manerville, separated from him as to 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 / 140 
 
 worldly goods and chattels by the Lower court of th 
 department of the Seine — ’ ” 
 
 “Yes, and now separated in body,” said Paul. 
 
 “Ah! ” exclaimed the old man. 
 
 “Oh! against my wife’s will,” added the count 
 hastily. “I was forced to deceive her; she did no 
 know that I was leaving her.” 
 
 “You have left her? ” 
 
 “My passage is taken; I sail for Calcutta on th. 
 ‘Belle- Amelie.’ ” 
 
 “Two days hence!” cried the notary. “Then 
 Monsieur le comte, we shall never meet again.” 
 
 “You are only seventy-three, my dear Mathias, anc 
 you have the gout, the brevet of old age. When 1 
 return I shall find you still afoot. Your good head 
 and heart will be as sound as ever, and you will helf 
 me to reconstruct what is now a shaken edifice. 1 
 intend to make a noble fortune in seven years. J 
 shall be only forty on my return. All is still possible 
 at that age.” 
 
 “You?” said Mathias, with a gesture of amaze- 
 ment, — you, Monsieur le comte, to undertake com- 
 merce! How can you even think of it?” 
 
 “I am no longer Monsieur le comte, dear Mathias. 
 My passage is taken under the name of Camille, one 
 of my mother’s baptismal names. I have acquire- 
 ments which will enable me to make my fortune other- 
 wise than in business. Commerce, at any rate, v/ill 
 be only my final chance. I start with a sum in hand 
 sufficient for the redemption of my future on a Isrge 
 scale.” 
 
 “Where is that money? ” 
 
The Marriage ContraoL 
 
 141 
 
 friend is to send it to me.” 
 
 The old man dropped his fork as he heard the word 
 ‘friend,” not in surprise, not scoffingly, but in grief; 
 lis look and manner expressed the pain he felt in 
 inding Paul under the influence of a deceitful illusion; 
 lis practised eye fathomed a gulf where the count saw 
 lothing but solid ground. 
 
 “I have been fifty years in the notariat,” he said, 
 ‘and I never yet knew a ruined man whose friends 
 vould lend him money.” 
 
 “You don’t know de Marsay. I am certain that he 
 las sold out some of his investments already, and to- 
 morrow you will receive from him a bill of exchange 
 m one hundred and fifty thousand francs.” 
 
 “I hope I may. If that be so, cannot your friend 
 settle your difiSculties here? You could live quietly 
 it Lanstrac for five or six years on your wife’s income, 
 ind so recover yourself.” 
 
 ‘‘No assignment or economy on my part could pay 
 )ff fifteen hundred thousand francs of debt, in which 
 ny wife is involved to the amount of five hundred and 
 ifty thousand.” 
 
 “You cannot mean to say that in four years you 
 lave incurred a million and a half of debt?” 
 
 “Nothing is more certain, Mathias. Did I not give 
 :hose diamonds to my wife? Did I not spend the 
 lundred and fifty thousand I received from the sale 
 )f Madame Evangelista’s house, in the arrangement 
 )f my house in Paris? Was I not forced to use 
 )ther money for the first payments on that property 
 demanded by the marriage contract? I was even 
 forced to sell out Natalie’s forty thousand a year in 
 
142 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 the Funds to complete the purchase of Auzac and Saint 
 Froult. We sold at eighty-seven, therefore I becam« 
 in debt for over two hundred thousand francs within i 
 month after my marriage. That left us only sixty 
 seven thousand francs a year ; but we spent fully thre( 
 times as much every year. Add all that up, togethej 
 with rates of interest to usurers, and you will soor 
 find a million.” 
 
 ‘‘Br-r-r!” exclaimed the old notary. “Go on. 
 What next?” 
 
 “Well, I wanted, in the first place, to complete for 
 my wife that set of jewels of which she had the pearl 
 necklace clasped by the family diamond, the Biscreto,, 
 and her mother’s ear-rings. I paid a hundred thousand 
 francs for a coronet of diamond wheat-ears. There ’s 
 eleven hundred thousand. And now I find I owe the 
 fortune of my wife, which amounts to three hundred 
 and sixty-six thousand francs of her dot,'^ 
 
 “Bnt,” said Mathias, “if Madame la comtesse had 
 given up her diamonds and you had pledged your 
 income you could have pacified your creditors and 
 have paid them off in time.” 
 
 “When a man is down, Mathias, when his property 
 is covered with mortgages, when his wife’s claims 
 take precedence of his creditors’, and w^hen that man 
 has notes out for a hundred thousand francs which he 
 must pay (and I hope I can do so out of the increased 
 value of my property here), what you propose is not 
 possible.” 
 
 “This is dreadful!” cried Mathias; “would you 
 sell Belle-Rose with the vintage of 1825 still in the 
 cellars ? ” 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 143 
 
 ‘‘I cannot help myself.’’ 
 
 “Belle-Rose is worth six hundred thousand francs.’* 
 
 “Natalie will buy it in; I have advised her to 
 o so.” 
 
 “I might push the price to seven hundred thousand, 
 nd the farms are worth a hundred thousand each.” 
 
 “Then if the house in Bordeaux can be sold for two 
 undred thousand — ” 
 
 “Solonet will give more than that; he wants it. 
 le is retiring with a handsome property made by 
 ambling on the Funds. He has sold his practice for 
 hree hundred thousand francs, and marries a mulatto 
 roman. God knows how she got her money, but they 
 ay it amounts to millions. A notary gambling in 
 tocks! a notary marrying a black woman! What an 
 gel It is said that he speculates for your mother- 
 n-law with her funds.” 
 
 “She has greatly improved Lanstrac and taken great 
 )ains with its cultivation. She has amply repaid me 
 or the use of it.” 
 
 “I should n’t have thought her capable of that.” 
 
 “She is so kind and so devoted; she has always 
 )aid Natalie’s debts during the three months she spent 
 ^ith us every year in Paris.” 
 
 “She could well afford to do so, for she gets her 
 iving out of Lanstrac,” said Mathias. “She! grown 
 iconomical! what a miracle! I am told she has just 
 )ought the domain of Grainrouge between Lanstrac 
 Liid Grassol; so that if the Lanstrac avenue were 
 extended to the high-road, you would drive four and a 
 lalf miles through your own property to reach the 
 louse. She paid one hundred thousand francs down 
 ‘or Grainrouge.” 
 
144 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 ‘^She is as handsome as ever,” said Paul; ‘‘countr 
 life preserves her freshness; I don’t mean to go h 
 Lanstrac and bid her good-bye ; her heart would bleec 
 for me too much.’’ 
 
 ‘‘You would go in vain; she is now in Paris. Sh< 
 probably arrived there as you left.” 
 
 “No doubt she had heard of the sale of my property 
 and came to help me. I have no complaint to mak( 
 of life, Mathias. I am truly loved, — as much as an} 
 man ever could be here below ; beloved by two womer 
 who outdo each other in devotion ; they are ever 
 jealous of each other; the daughter blames the mother 
 for loving me too much, and the mother reproaches the 
 daughter for what she calls her dissipations. I may 
 say that this great affection has been my ruin. How 
 could I fail to satisfy even the slightest caprice of a 
 loving wife? Impossible to restrain myself I Neither 
 could I accept any sacrifice on her part. We might 
 certainly, as you say, live at Lanstrac, save my in- 
 come, and part with her diamonds, but I would rather 
 go to India and work for a fortune than tear my 
 Natalie from the life she enjoys. So it was I who 
 proposed the separation as to property. Women are 
 angels who ought not to be mixed up in the sordid 
 interests of life.” 
 
 Old Mathias listened in doubt and amazement. 
 
 “You have no children, I think,” he said. 
 
 “Fortunately, none,” replied Paul. 
 
 “That is not my idea of marriage,” remarked the 
 old notary, naively. “A wife ought, in my opinion, 
 to share the good and evil fortunes of her husband. I 
 have heard that young married people who love like 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 145 
 
 )vers, do not want children? Is pleasure the only 
 bject of marriage? I say that object should be the 
 jys of family. Moreover, in this case — I am afraid 
 on will think me too much of notary — your marriage 
 ontract made it incumbent upon you to have a son. 
 res, Monsieur le comte, you ought to have had at 
 nee a male heir to consolidate that entail. Why not? 
 Mademoiselle Evangelista was strong and healthy; 
 he had nothing to fear in maternity. You will tell 
 ne, perhaps, that these are the old-fashioned notions 
 if our ancestors. But in those noble families, Mon- 
 ieur le comte, the legitimate wife thought it her 
 luty to bear children and bring them up nobly; as 
 he Duchesse de Sully, the wife of the great Sully, 
 laid, a wife is not an instrument of pleasure, but the 
 lonor and virtue of her household.” 
 
 “You don’t know women, my good Mathias,” said 
 Paul. “In order to be happy we must love them as 
 ;hey want to be loved. Is n’t there something brutal 
 n at once depriving a wife of her charms, and spoil- 
 ,ng her beauty before she has begun to enjoy it?” 
 
 “If you had had children your wife would not have 
 lissipated your fortune; she would have stayed at 
 aome and looked after them.” 
 
 “Jf you were right, dear friend,” said Paul, frown- 
 ing, “I should be still more unhappv than I am. Do 
 not aggravate my sufferings by preaching to me after 
 my fall. Let me go, without the pang of looking 
 backward to mistakes.” 
 
 The next day Mathias received a bill of exchange 
 for one hundred and fifty thousand francs from de 
 Marsay. 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 ^‘You see,” said Paul, ‘‘he does not write a word t« 
 me. He begins by obliging me. Henri’s nature i 
 the most imperfectly perfect, the most illegally beauti 
 ful that I know. If you knew with what superiority 
 that man, still young, can rise above sentiments 
 above self-interests, and judge them, you would b< 
 astonished, as I am, to find how much heart he has.” 
 
 JMathias tried to battle with Paul’s determination, 
 but he found it irrevocable, and it was justified by s( 
 many cogent reasons that the old man finally ceasec 
 his endeavors to retain his client. 
 
 It is seldom that vessels sail promptly at the timt 
 appointed, but on this occasion, by a fateful circum-1 
 stance for Paul, the wind was fair and the “Belle- 
 Amelie ” sailed on the morrow, as expected. The 
 quay was lined with relations, and friends, and idle 
 persons. Among them were several who had formerly 
 known Manerville. His disaster, posted on the walls 
 of the town, made him as celebrated as he was in 
 the days of his wealth and fashion. Curiosity was 
 aroused; every one had their word to say about him. 
 Old Mathias accompanied his client to the quay, and 
 his sufferings were sore as he caught a few* words of 
 those remarks : — 
 
 “Who could recognize in that man you see over 
 there, near old Mathias, the dandy who was called 
 the Pink of Fashion five years ago, and made, as they 
 say, ‘fair weather and foul ’ in Bordeaux.” 
 
 “What! that stout, short man in the alpaca over- 
 coat, who looks like a groom, — is that Comte Paul 
 de Manerville? ” 
 
 “Yes, my dear, the same who married Mademoiselle 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 147 
 
 ^Ivangelista. Here be is, ruined, without a penny to 
 bis name, going out to India to look for luck.’’ 
 
 ^^But how did he ruin himself? he was very rich.” 
 
 ‘‘Oh! Paris, women, play, luxury, gambling at the 
 Bourse — ” 
 
 “Besides,” said another, “Manerville always was a 
 poor creature; no mind, soft as papier-mache, he’d 
 let anybody shear the wool from his back; incapable 
 of anything, no matter what. He was born to be 
 ruined. 
 
 Paul wrung the hand of the old man and went on 
 board. Mathias stood upon the pier, looking at his 
 client, who leaned against the shrouds, defying the 
 crowd before him with a glance of contempt. At the 
 moihent when the sailors began to weigh anchor, Paul 
 noticed that Mathias was making signals to him with 
 his handkerchief. The old housekeeper had hurried to 
 her master, who seemed to be excited by some sudden 
 event. Paul asked the captain to wait a moment, and 
 send a boat to the pier, which was done. Too feeble 
 himself to go aboard, Mathias gave two letters to a 
 sailor in the boat. 
 
 “My friend,” he said, “this packet” (showing one 
 of the two letters) “is important; it has just arrived 
 by a courier from Paris in thirty- five hours. State 
 this to Monsieur le comte; don’t neglect to do so; 
 it may change his plans.” 
 
 “Would he come ashore?” 
 
 “Possibly, my friend,” said the notary, impru- 
 i dently. 
 
 The sailor is, in all lands, a being of a race apart, 
 Holding all land-folk in contempt. This one happened 
 
148 
 
 The Marriage Contract 
 
 to be a bas-Breton, who saw but one thing in Maitre 
 Mathiases request. 
 
 “Come ashore, indeed!” he thought, as he rowed. 
 “Make the captain lose a passenger! If one listened 
 to those walruses we ’d have nothing to do but 
 embark and disembark ’em. He ’s afraid that son 
 of his will catch cold.” 
 
 The sailor gave Paul the letter and said not a word 
 of the message. Recognizing the handwriting of his 
 wife and de Marsay, Paul supposed that he knew what 
 they both would urge upon him. Anxious not to be 
 influenced by offers which he believed their devotion 
 to his welfare would inspire, he put the letters in his 
 pocket unread, with apparent indifference. * 
 
 Absorbed in the sad thoughts which assail the 
 strongest man under such circumstances, Paul gave 
 way to his grief as he waved his hand to his old 
 friend, and bade farewell to France, watching the 
 steeples of Bordeaux as they fled out of sight. He 
 seated himself on a coil of rope. Night overtook him 
 still lost in thought. With the semi-darkness of the 
 dying day came doubts; he cast an anxious eye into 
 the future. Sounding it, and finding there uncertainty 
 and danger, he asked his soul if courage would fail 
 him. A vague dread seized his mind as he thought of 
 Natalie left wholly to herself; he repented the step he 
 had taken ; he regretted Paris and his life there. Sud- 
 denly sea-sickness overcame him. Every one knows 
 the effect of that disorder. The most horrible of its 
 sufferings devoid of danger is a complete dissolution 
 of the will. An inexplicable distress relaxes to their 
 very centre the cords of vitality ; the soul no longer 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 149 
 
 performs its functions ; the sufferer becomes indifferent 
 Lo everything; the mother forgets her child, the lover 
 biis mistress, the strongest man lies prone, like an 
 inert mass. Paul was carried to his cabin, where he 
 stayed three days, lying on his back, gorged with grog 
 by the sailors, or vomiting ; thinking of nothing, and 
 sleeping much. Then he revived into a species of 
 convalescence, and returned by degrees to his ordi- 
 nary condition. The first morning after he felt better 
 he went on deck and paced the poop, breathing in 
 the salt breezes of another atmosphere. Putting his 
 hands into his pockets he felt the letters. At once he 
 opened them, beginning with that of his wife. 
 
 In order that the letter of the Comtesse de Maner- 
 ville be fully understood, it is necessary to give the 
 one which Paul had written to her on the day that h^ 
 left Paris. 
 
 From Paul de Manerville to his wife : 
 
 My beloved, — When you read this letter I shall 
 be far away from you; perhaps already on the vessel 
 which is to take me to India, where I am going to 
 repair my shattered fortune. 
 
 I have not found courage to tell you of my depart- 
 ure. I have deceived you; but it was best to do so. 
 You would only have been uselessly distressed; you 
 would have wished to sacrifice your fortune, and that 
 I could not have suffered. Dear Natalie, feel no 
 remorse; I have no regrets. When I return with 
 millions I shall imitate your father and lay them at 
 your feet, as he laid his at the feet of your mother, 
 saying to you: ‘^All I have is yours.’* 
 
150 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 I love you madly, Natalie; I say this without fear 
 that the avowal will lead you to strain a power which 
 none but weak men fear; yours has been boundless 
 from the day I knew you first. My love is the only 
 accomplice in my disaster. I have felt, as my ruin 
 progressed, the delirious joys of a gambler; as the 
 money diminished, so my enjoyment grew. Each frag- 
 ment of my fortune turned into some little pleasure 
 for you gave me untold happiness. I could have 
 wished that you had more caprices that I might gratify 
 them all. I knew I was marching to a precipice, but 
 I went on crowned with joys of which a common heart 
 knows nothing. I have acted like those lovers who 
 take refuge in a cottage on the shores of some lake 
 for a year or two, resolved to kill themselves at last; 
 dying thus in all the glory of their illusions and their 
 iove. I bave always thought such persons infinitely 
 sensible. 
 
 You have known nothing of my pleasures or my 
 sacrifices. The greatest joy of all was to hide from 
 the one beloved the cost of her desires. I can reveal 
 these secrets to you now, for when you hold this 
 paper, heavy with love, I shall be far away. Though 
 1 lose the treasures of your gratitude, I do not suffer 
 that contraction of the heart which would disable me if 
 I spoke to you of these matters. Besides, my own 
 beloved, is there not a tender calculation in thus re- 
 vealing to you the history of the past? Does it not 
 extend our love into the future? — But we need no 
 such supports! We love each other with a love to 
 which proof is needless, — a love which takes no note 
 of time or distance, but lives of itself alone. 
 
151 
 
 The Marriage Qontfact. 
 
 Ah! Natalie, I have jiist looked at you asleep, trust- 
 ul, restful as a little child, your hand stretched toward 
 ne. I left a tear upon the pillow which has known 
 )ur precious joys. I leave you without fear, on the 
 'aith of that attitude; I go to win the future of our 
 ove by bringing home to you a fortune large enough 
 ,0 gratify your every taste, and let no shadow of 
 inxiety disturb our joys. Neither you nor I can do 
 vithout enjoyments in the life we live. To me be- 
 ongs the task of providing the necessary fortune. I 
 im a man; and I have courage. 
 
 Perhaps you might seek to follow me. For that 
 reason I conceal from you the name of the vessel, the 
 port from which I sail, and the day of sailing. After 
 I am gone, when too late to follow me, a friend will 
 tell you all. 
 
 Natalie! my affection is boundless. I love you as 
 a mother loves her child, as a lover loves his mistress, 
 with absolute unselfishness. To me the toil, to you 
 the pleasures; to me all sufferings, to you all hap- 
 piness. Amuse yourself; continue your habits of 
 iluxury ; go to theatres and operas, enjoy society and 
 I balls; I leave you free for all things. Dear angel, 
 when you return to this nest where for five years we 
 have tasted the fruits which love has ripened think of 
 your friend; think for a moment of me, and rest upon 
 my heart. 
 
 That is all I ask of you. For myself, dear eternal 
 thought of mine! whether under burning skies, toil- 
 ing for both of us, I face obstacles to vanquish, or 
 whether, weary with the struggle, I rest my mind on 
 hopes of a return, I shall think of you alone; of you 
 
152 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 who are my life, — my blessed life! Yes, I shall live 
 in you. I shall tell myself daily that you have m 
 troubles, no cares; that you are happy. As in oui 
 natural lives of day and night, of sleeping and wak- 
 ing, I shall have sunny days in Paris, and nights ol 
 toil in India, — a painful dream, a joyful reality; and 
 I shall live so utterly in that reality that rny actual 
 life will pass as a dream. I shall have memories! I 
 shall recall, line by line, strophe by strophe, our 
 glorious five years’ poem. I shall remember the days 
 of your pleasure in some new dress or some adornment 
 which made you to my eyes a fresh delight. Yes, 
 dear angel, I go like a man vowed to some great 
 emprize, the guerdon of which, if success attend him, 
 is the recovery of his beautiful mistress. Oh! my 
 precious love, my Natalie, keep me as a religion in 
 your heart. Be the child that I have just seen asleep! 
 If you betray my confidence, my blind confidence, you 
 need not fear my anger — be sure of that; I should 
 die silently. But a wife does not deceive the man 
 who leaves her free — for woman is never base. She 
 tricks a tyrant; but an easy treachery, which would 
 kill its victim, she will not commit — No, no ! I will 
 not think of it. Forgive this cry, this single cry, so 
 natural to the heart of man ! 
 
 Dear love, you will see de Marsay; he is now the 
 lessee of our house, and he will leave you in posses- 
 sion of it. This nominal lease was necessary to avoid 
 a useless loss. Our creditors, ignorant that their pay- 
 ment is a question of time only, would otherwise have 
 seized the furniture and the temporary possession of 
 the house. Be kind to de Marsay; I have the most 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 153 
 
 entire confidence in his capacity and his loyalty. 
 Take him as your defender and adviser, make him 
 your slave. However occupied, he will always find 
 time to be devoted to you. I have placed the liquida 
 tion of my affairs and the payment of the debts m his 
 hands. If he should advance some sum of which he 
 should later feel in need I rely on you to pay it back. 
 Remember, however, that I do not leave you to de 
 Marsay, but to yourself; I do not seek to impose him 
 upon you. 
 
 Alas ! I have but an hour more to stay beside you ; 
 
 1 1 cannot spend that hour in writing business— I 
 count your breaths; I try to guess your thoughts in 
 the slight motions of your sleep. I would I could 
 infuse my blood into your veins that you might be a 
 part of me, my thought your thought, and your heart 
 
 mine A murmur has just escaped your lips as 
 
 though it were a soft reply. Be calm and beautiful 
 forever as you are now! Ah! would that I possessed 
 that fabulous fairy power which, with a wand, could 
 make you sleep while I am absent, until, returning, I 
 should wake you with a kiss. 
 
 How much I must love you, how much energy of 
 soul I must possess, to leave you as I see you now ! 
 Adieu, my cherished one. Your poor Pink of Fashion 
 is blown away by stormy winds, but — the wings of 
 his good luck shall waft him back to you. No, my 
 Ninie, I am not bidding you farewell, for 1 shall never 
 leave you. Are you not the soul of my actions? Is 
 not the hope of returning wdth happiness indestructible 
 for you the end and aim of my endeavor? Does it not 
 lead my every step? You will be with me every- 
 
154 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 where. Ah! it will not be the sun of India, but the 
 file of your eyes that lights my way. Therefore be 
 happy — as happy as a woman can be without hei 
 lover. ^ I would the last kiss that I take from those 
 dear lips were not a passive one; but, my Ninie, my 
 adored one, I will not wake you. When you wake, 
 you will find a tear upon your forehead — make it a 
 talisman! Think, think of him who may, perhaps, 
 die for you, far from you ; think less of the husband} 
 than of the lover who confides you to God. 
 
 From, the Comtesse de Manerville to her husband : 
 
 Dear, beloved one, — Your letter has plunged me 
 into affliction. Had you the right to take this course, 
 which must affect us equally, without consulting me? 
 Are you free? Do you not belong to me? If you 
 must go, why should I not follow you? You show 
 me, Paul, that I am not indispensable to you. What 
 -have I done, to be deprived of my rights? Surely I 
 count for something in this ruin. My luxuries have 
 weighed somewhat in the scale. You make me curse 
 the happy, careless life we have led for the last five 
 years. To know that you are banished from France 
 for years is enough to kill me. How soon can a 
 f 01 tune be made in India? ^Yill you ever return? 
 
 I was right when I refused, with instinctive obsti- 
 nacy, that separation as to property which my mother 
 and you were so determined to carry out. What did 
 I tell you then ? Did I not warn you that it was cast- 
 ing a reflection upon you, and would ruin your credit? 
 
 It was not until you were really angry that I gave 
 Way 
 
155 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 My tlear Paul, never have you been so noble in my 
 eyes as you are at this moment. To despair of noth- 
 ing, to start courageously to seek a fortune! Only your 
 character, your strength of mind could do it. I sit 
 at your feet. A man who avows his weakness with 
 your good faith, who rebuilds his fortune from the 
 same motive that made him wreck it, for love’s sake, 
 for the sake of an irresistible passion, oh, Paul, that 
 man is sublime! Therefore, fear nothing; go on, 
 through all obstacles, not doubting your Natalie — for 
 that would be doubting yourself. Poor darling, you 
 mean to live in me? And I shall ever be in you. I 
 shall not be here; I shall be wherever you are, where- 
 
 ever you go. , , ^ • 
 
 Though your letter has caused me the keenest pain, 
 
 it has also filled me with joy - you have made me 
 know those two extremes ! Seeing how you love me, 
 
 I have been proud to learn that my love is truly felt. 
 Sometimes I have thought that I loved you more than 
 you loved me. Now, L admit myself vanquished, you 
 have added the delightful superiority — of loving — to 
 all the others with which you are blest. That precious 
 letter in which your soul reveals itself will lie upon 
 my heart during all your absence; for my soul, too, 
 is in it; that letter is my glory. 
 
 I shall go to live at Lanstrac with my mother. I 
 die to the world; I will economize my income and 
 pay your debts to their last farthing. From this day 
 forth, Paul, I am another woman. I bid farewell for- 
 ever to society; I will have no pleasures that you 
 cannot share. Besides, Paul, I ought to leave Pans 
 and live in retirement. Dear friend, you will soon 
 
156 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 have a double reason to make youi’ fortune. If your 
 courage needed a spur you would find it in this. 
 Cannot you guess? We shall have a child. Your 
 cherished desires are granted. I feared to give you 
 one of those false hopes which hurt so much — have 
 we not had grief enough already on that score? I was 
 determined not to be mistaken in this good news. 
 To-day I feel certain, and it makes me happy to shed 
 this joy upon your sorrows. 
 
 This morning, fearing nothing and thinking you 
 still at home, I went to the Assumption; all things 
 smiled upon me; how could I foresee misfortune? As 
 I left the church I met my mother; she had heard of 
 your distress, and came, by post, with all her savings, 
 thirty thousand francs, hoping to help you. Ah! 
 what a heart is hers, Paul! I felt joyful, and hurried 
 home to tell you this good news, and to breakfast 
 with you in the greenhouse, where I ordered just the 
 dainties that you like. Well, Augustine brought me 
 your letter, — a letter from you, when we had slept 
 together! A cold fear seized me; it was like a dream! 
 I read your letter! I read it weeping, and my mother 
 shared my tears. I was half-dead. Such love, such 
 courage, such happiness, such misery! The richest 
 fortunes of the heart, and the momentary ruin of all 
 interests! To lose you at a moment when my admira- 
 tion of your greatness thrilled me ! what woman could 
 have resisted such a tempest of emotion? To know 
 you far away when your hand upon my heart would 
 have stilled its throbbings; to feel that you were not 
 here to give me that look so precious to me, to re- 
 joice in our new hopes; that I was not with you to 
 
The Marriage Contract. ISl 
 
 soften your sorrows by those caresses which made your 
 Natalie so dear to you! I wished to start, to follow 
 you, to fly to you. But my mother told me you had 
 taken passage in a ship which leaves Bordeaux to- 
 morrow, that I could not reach you except by post, 
 and, moreover, that it was madness in my present 
 state to risk our future by attempting to follow you. 
 
 I could not bear such violent emotions; I was taken 
 ill, and am writing to you now in bed. 
 
 My mother is doing all she can to stop certain 
 calumnies which seem to have got about on your dis- 
 aster. The Vandenesses, Charles and Felix, have 
 earnestly defended you; but your friend de Marsay 
 treats the affair satirically. He laughs at your 
 accusers instead of replying to them. I do not like 
 his way of lightly brusliing aside such serious attacks. 
 Are you not deceived in him? However, I will obey 
 you ; I will make him my friend. Do not be anxious, 
 my adored one, on the points that concern your honor; 
 is it not mine as well? My diamonds shall be 
 pledged ; we intend, mamma and I, to employ our 
 utmost resources in the payment of your debts ; and 
 we shall try to buy back your vineyard at Belle-Rose. 
 My mother, who understands business like a lawyer, 
 blames you very much for not having told her of your 
 embarrassments. She would not have bought think- 
 ing to please you — the Grainrouge domain, and then 
 she could have lent you that money as well as the 
 thirty thousand francs she brought with her. She is 
 in despair at your decision ; she feai’s the climate of 
 India for your health. She entreats you to be sober, 
 and not to let yourself be trapped by women — That 
 
158 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 made me laugh; I am as sure of you as I am of j 
 myself. You will return to me rich and faithful. I j 
 alone know your feminine delicacy, and the secret 
 sentiments which make you a human flower worthy of 
 the gardens of heaven. The Bordeaux people were 
 right when they gave you your floral nickname. 
 
 But alas! who will take care of my delicate flower? 
 My heart is rent with dreadful ideas. I, his wife, 
 Natalie, I am here, and perhaps he suffers far away | 
 from me! And not to share your pains, your vexa- 
 tions, your dangers! In whom will you confide? how ; 
 will you live without that ear into which you have ; 
 hitherto poured all? Dear, sensitive plant, swept 
 away by this storm, will you be able to survive in 
 another soil than your native land? 
 
 It seems to me that I have been alone for centuries. 
 
 I have wept sorely. To be the cause of your ruin! ; 
 What a text for the thoughts of a loving woman! ] 
 You treated me like a child to whom we give all it i 
 asks, or like a courtesan, allowed by some thoughtless ; 
 youth to squander his fortune. Ah! such indulgence 
 was, in truth, an insult. Did you think I could not 
 live without fine dresses, balls and operas and social 
 triumphs? Am I so frivolous a woman? Do you 
 think me incapable of serious thought, of ministering 
 to your fortune as I have to your pleasures ? If you 
 were not so far away, and so unhappy, I would blame 
 you for that impertinence. Why lower your wife in 
 that way? Good heavens! what induced me to go 
 into society at all ? — to flatter your vanity ; I adorned 
 myself for you, as you well know. If I did wrong, 
 
 I am punished, cruelly; your absence is a harsh 
 expiation of our utual life. 
 
159 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Perhaps my happiness was too complete; it had to 
 be paid by some great trial — and here it is. There 
 is nothing now for me but solitude. Yes, I shall live 
 at Lanstrac, the place your father laid out, the house 
 you yourself refurnished so luxuriously. There I 
 shall live, with my mother and my child, and await 
 you, — sending you daily, night and morning, the 
 prayers of all. Remember that our love is a talisman 
 against all evil. I have no more doubt of you than 
 you can have of me. What comfort can I put into 
 this letter, — I so desolate, so broken, with the 
 lonely years before me, like a desert to cross. But 
 no! I am not utterly unhappy; the desert will be 
 brightened by our son, — yes, it must be a son^ must 
 it not? 
 
 And now, adieu, my own beloved; our love and 
 prayers will follow you. The tears you see upon this 
 paper will tell you much that I cannot write. I kiss 
 you on this little square of paper, see! below. Take 
 those kisses from 
 
 Your Natalie. 
 
 This letter threw Paul into a revery caused as much 
 by memories of the past as by these fresh assurances 
 of love. The happier a man is, the more he trembles. 
 
 , In souls which are exclusively tender — and exclusive 
 I tenderness carries with it a certain amount of weak- 
 I ness — jealousy and uneasiness exist in direct pro- 
 portion to the amount of the happiness and its extent. 
 : Strong souls are neither jealous nor fearful; jealousy 
 
160 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 is doubt, fear is meanness. Unlimited belief is tho 
 principal attribute of a great man. If he is deceived 
 (for strength as well as weakness may make a man a 
 dupe) his contempt will serve him as an axe with 
 which to cut through all. This greatness, however, 
 is the exception. Which of us has not known what 
 it is to be abandoned by the spirit which sustains our 
 frail machine, and to hearken to that mysterious Voice 
 denying all? Paul, his mind going over the past, and 
 caught here and there by irrefutable facts, believed 
 and doubted all. Lost in thought, a prey to an awful 
 and involuntary incredulity, which was combated by 
 the instincts of his own pure love and his faith in 
 Natalie, he read and re-read that wordy letter, unable 
 to decide the question which it raised either for or 
 against his wife. Love is sometimes as great and 
 true when smothered in words as it is in brief, strong 
 sentences. 
 
 To understand the situation into which Paul de 
 Manerville was about to enter we must think of him 
 as he was at this moment, floating upon the ocean as 
 he floated upon his past, looking back upon the years 
 of his life as he looked at the limitless water and 
 cloudless sky about him, and ending his revery by 
 returning, through tumults of doubt, to faith, the 
 pure, unalloyed and perfect faith of the Christian 
 and the lover, which enforced the voice of his faithful 
 heart. 
 
 It is necessary to give here his own letter to 
 de Marsay written on leaving Paris, to which his 
 friend replied in the letter he received through old 
 Mathias from the dock : — 
 
161 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 From Comte Paul de Manerville to Monsieur le 
 
 Marquis Henri de Marsay : 
 
 Henki, — I have to say to you one of the most vital 
 jwords a man can say to his friend ; — I am ruined. 
 jWhen you read this I shall be on the point of sail- 
 iing from Bordeaux for Calcutta on the brig ‘ Belle- 
 Amelie.” 
 
 You will find in the hands of your notary a deed 
 which only needs your signature to be legal. In it, I 
 lease my house to you for six years at a nominal rent. 
 Send a duplicate of that deed to my wife. I am 
 forced to take this precaution that Natalie may con- 
 tinue to live in her own home without fear of being 
 driven out by creditors. 
 
 I also convey to you by deed the income of my share 
 of the entailed property for four years; the whole 
 amounting to one hundred and fifty thousand francs, 
 which sum I beg you to lend me and to send in a bill 
 of exchange on some house in Bordeaux to my notary, 
 Maitre Mathias. My wife will give you her signature 
 to this paper as an endorsement of your claim to my 
 income. If the revenues of the entail do not pay this 
 loan as quickly as I now expect, you and I will settle 
 on my return. The sum I ask for is absolutely neces- 
 sary to enable me to seek my fortune in India; and if 
 I know you, I shall receive it in Bordeaux the night 
 before 1 sail. 
 
 1 have acted as you would have acted in my place. 
 I held firm to the last moment, letting no one suspect 
 my ruin. Before the news of the seizure of my prop- 
 erty at Bordeaux reached Paris, I had attempted, with 
 hundred thousand francs which I obtained on 
 11 
 
 one 
 
162 
 
 The Marriaye Contract, 
 
 notes, to recover myself by play. Some lucky stroke ! 
 might still have saved me. I lost. I 
 
 ^ How have 1 ruined myself ? By my own will, Henri, j 
 From the first month of my married life 1 saw that I j 
 could not keep up the style in which I started. 1 1 
 knew the result; but I chose to shut my eyes; I could i 
 not say to my wife, “We must leave Paris and live? 
 at Laiistrac.” I have ruined myself for her as men : 
 rum themselves for a mistress, but I knew it all ' 
 along. Between ourselves, I am neither a fool nor a j 
 weak man. A fool does not let himself be ruled with 1 
 his eyes open by a passion ; and a man who starts for ’ 
 India to reconstruct his fortune, instead of blowing 
 out his brains, is not weak. : 
 
 I shall return rich, or I shall never return at all. | 
 Only, my dear friend, as I want wealth solely for hei\ ' 
 as 1 must be absent six years at least, and as I will i 
 not risk being duped in any way, I confide to you my , 
 wife. 1 know no better guardian. Being childless, I 
 a lover might be dangerous to her. Henri! I love her ^ 
 madly, basely, without proper pride. I would forgive 
 her, I think, an infidelity, not because 1 am certain of 
 avenging it, but because 1 would kill myself to leave 
 her free and happy — since I could not make her 
 happiness myself. But what have I to fear? Natalie 
 feels for me that friendship which is independent of 
 love, but which preserves love. I have treated her 
 like a petted child. I took such delight in my sacri- 
 fices, one led so naturally to another, that she can 
 never be false ; she would be a monster if she were. 
 Love begets love. 
 
 Alas! shall I tell you all, my dear Henri? I have 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 163 
 
 ust written her a letter in which 1 let her think that 
 go with heart of hope and brow serene; that neither 
 ealousy, nor doubt, nor fear is in my soul, — a letter, 
 a short, such as a son might write to his mother, 
 iware that he was going to his death. Good God! de 
 Vlarsay, as I wrote it hell was in my soul! I am the 
 nost wretched man on earth. Yes, yes, to you the 
 ;ries, to you the grinding of my teeth! I avow my- 
 self to you a despairing lover; I would rather live 
 :hese six years sweeping the streets beneath her 
 endows than return a millionnaire at the end of 
 them — if I could choose. I suffer agony; I shall 
 pass from pain to pain until I hear from you t^at 
 you will take tlie trust which you alone can fulh or 
 
 accomplish. . . 
 
 Oh' my dear de Marsay, this woman is indispen- 
 sable to my life; she is my sun, my atmosphere. 
 Take her under your shield and buckler, keep her 
 faithful to me, even if she wills it not. Yes, I cou 
 be satisfied with a half-happiness. Be her guardian, 
 her chaperon, for I could have no distrust of you. 
 Prove to her that in betraying me she would do a low 
 and vulgar thing, and be no better than the common 
 run of women; tell her that faithfulness wi prove 
 
 her lofty spirit. . , 
 
 She probably has fortune enough to continue uer lite 
 of luxury and ease. But if she lacks a pleasure, if 
 she has caprices which she cannot satisfy, be her 
 banker, and do not fear, I will return with wealth. 
 
 But, after all, these fears are vain! Natalie is an 
 angel of purity and virtue. When Fehx de Vande- 
 i nesse fell deeply in love with her and began to show 
 
164 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 her certain attentions, I had only to let her see the 
 danger, and she instantly thanked me so affectionately! 
 that I was moved to tears. She said that her dignity 
 and reputation demanded that she should not close her 
 doors abruptly to any man, but that she knew well] 
 how to dismiss him. She did, in fact, receive him soi 
 coldly that the affair all ended for the best. We have' 
 never had any other subject of dispute — if, indeed, a 
 friendly talk could be called a dispute — in all our 
 married life. 
 
 And now, my dear Henri, I bid you farewell in the 
 spirit of a man. Misfortune has come. No matter 
 what the cause, it is here. I strip to meet it. Pov- 
 erty and Natalie are two irreconcilable terms. The 
 balance may be close between my assets and my lia- 
 bilities, but no one shall have cause to complain of 
 me. But, should any unforeseen event occur to im- 
 peril my honor, I count on you. 
 
 Send letters under cover to the Governor of India at 
 Calcutta. I have friendly relations with his family, 
 and some one there will care for all letters that come 
 to me from Europe. Dear friend, I hope to find you 
 the same de Marsay on my return, — the man who 
 scoffs at everything and yet is receptive of the feelings 
 of others when they accord with the grandeur he is 
 conscious of in himself. You stay in Paris, friend; 
 but when you read these words, I shall be crying out, 
 '‘To Carthage! ” 
 
The Marriage Contract. 165 
 
 The Marquis Henri de Marsay to Comte Paul de 
 Manerville : 
 
 So, so, Monsieur le comte, you have made a wreck of 
 tl Monsieur I’ambassadeur has gone to the bottom! 
 Ire these the fine things that you were doing? 
 
 Why, Paul, why have you kept away from me? If 
 i,rou had said a single word, my poor old fellow, I 
 fvould have made your position plain to you. Your 
 Wife has refused me her endorsement. May that one 
 word unseal your eyes ! But, if that does not suffice, 
 siearn that your notes have been protested at the insti- 
 igation of a Sieur Lecuyer, formerly head-clerk to 
 Maitre Solonet, a notary in Bordeaux. That usurer 
 in embryo (who came from Gascony for jobbery) is 
 the proxy of your very honorable mother-in-law, who 
 is the actual holder of your notes for one hundred 
 ithousand francs, on which 1 am told that worthy 
 woman doled out to you only seventy thousand. 
 Compared with Madame Evangelista, papa Gobseck 
 is flannel, velvet, vanilla cream, a sleeping draught. 
 Your vineyard of Belle-Rose is to fall into the clutches 
 of your wife, to whom her mother pays the difference 
 between the price it goes for at the auction sale and 
 the amount of her dower claim upon it. Madame 
 Evangelista will also have the farms at Guadet and 
 , Grassol, and the mortgages on your house in Bor- 
 li deaux already belong to her, in the names of straw 
 men provided by Solonet. 
 
 Thus these two excellent women will make for 
 ! themselves a united income of one hundred and 
 twenty thousand francs a year out of your misfortunes 
 and forced sale of property, added to the revenue of 
 
166 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 some thirty-odd thousand on the Grand-livre whic 
 these cats already possess. 
 
 The endorsement of your wife was not needed ; fo 
 this morning the said Sieur Lecuyer came to offer m 
 a return of the sum I lent you in exchange for a lega 
 transfer of my rights. The vintage of 1825 whicl 
 your mother-in-law keeps in the cellars at Lanstrai 
 will suffice to pay me. j 
 
 These two women have calculated, evidently, thaj 
 you are now upon the ocean; but I send this lettej| 
 by courier, so that you may have time to follow the 
 advice I now give you. 
 
 ^ I made Lecuyer talk. I disentangled from his lies, 
 his language, and his reticence, the threads I lacked 
 to bring to light the whole plot of the domestic con-^ 
 spiracy hatched against you. This evening, at the 
 Spanish embassy, I shall offer my admiring compli- 
 ments to your mother-in-law and your wife. I shall 
 pay court to Madame Evangelista; I intend to desert 
 you basely, and say sly things to your discredit, — 
 nothing openly, or that Mascarille in petticoats would 
 detect my purpose. How did you make her such an 
 enemy ? That is what I want to know. If you had 
 had the wit to be in love with that woman before you 
 married her daughter, you would to-day be peer of 
 France, Hue de Mauerville, and, possibly, ambassador 
 to Madrid. 
 
 If you had come to me at the time of your marriage, 
 
 I would have helped you to analyze and know the 
 women to whom you were binding yourself; out of 
 our mutual observations safety might have been yours. 
 But, instead of that, these women judged me, became 
 
167 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 ifraid of me, and separated us. If you had not 
 stupidly given in to them and turned me the cold . 
 
 shoulder, they would never have been able to ruin I 
 
 ^ou. Your wife brought on the coldness between us, ‘ 
 
 instigated by her mother, to whom she wrote two 
 setters a week, — a fact to which you paid no atten- 
 tion. I recognized my Paul when I heard that 
 {detail. 
 
 I Within a month I shall be so intimate with your 
 I mother-in-law that I shall hear from her the reasons of 
 jthe hispano-italiano hatred which she feels for you, 
 
 — for you, one of the best and kindest men on earth! 
 
 ■Did she hate you before her daughter fell in love with 
 iFelix de Vandenesse; that’s a question in my mind. 
 
 Ilf I had not taken a fancy to go to the East with 
 jMontriveau, Ronquerolles, and a few other good fel- 
 lows of your acquaintance, I should have been in a 
 position to tell you something about that affair, which 
 was beginning just as I left Paris. I saw the first 
 gleams even then of your misfortune. But what 
 gentleman is base enough to open such a subject 
 unless appealed to? Who shall dare to injuie a 
 woman, or break that illusive mirror in which his 
 friend delights in gazing at the fairy scenes of a happy 
 marriage? Illusions are the riches of the heart. 
 
 Your wife, dear friend, is, I believe I may say, in 
 the fullest acceptation of the word, a fashionable 
 woman. She thinks of nothing but her social suc- 
 cess, her dress, her pleasures; she goes to opera and 
 theatre and balls; she rises late and drives to the 
 Bois, dines out, or gives a dinner-party. Such a life 
 seems to me for women very much what war is for 
 
168 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 men; the public sees only the victors; it forgets the 
 dead. Many delicate women perish in this conflict; 
 those who come out of it have iron constitutions, con- 
 sequently no heart, but good stomachs. There lies 
 the reason of the cold insensibility of social life. 
 Fine souls keep themselves reserved, weak and tender 
 natures succumb ; the rest are cobblestones which hold 
 the social ocean in its place, water-worn and rounded 
 by the tide, but never worn-out. Your wife has 
 maintained that life with ease; she looks made for it; 
 she is always fresh and beautiful. To my mind the 
 deduction is plain, — she has never loved you; and 
 you have loved her like a madman. 
 
 To strike out love from that silicious nature a man of 
 iron was needed. After standing, but without endur- 
 ing, the shock of Lady Dudley, Felix was the fitting 
 mate to Natalie. There is no great merit in divining 
 that to you she was indifferent. In love with her your- 
 self, you have been incapable of perceiving the cold 
 nature of a young woman whom you have fashioned 
 and trained for a man like Vandenesse. The cold- 
 ness of your wife, if you perceived it, you set down, 
 with the stupid jurisprudence of married people, to 
 the honor of her reserve and her innocence. Like all 
 husbands, you thought you could keep her virtuous 
 in a society where women whisper from ear to ear 
 that which men are afraid to say. 
 
 No, your wife has liked the social benefits she 
 derived from marriage, but the private burdens of it 
 she found rather heavy. Those burdens, that tax was 
 — you! Seeing nothing of all this, you have gone on 
 digging your abysses (to use the hackneyed words of 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 169 
 
 rhetoric) and covering them with flowers. You have 
 mildly obeyed the law which rules the ruck of men ; 
 from which I desired to pi’otect you. Dear fellow! 
 only one thing was wanting to make you as dull as the 
 bourgeois deceived by his wife, who is all astonish- 
 ment or wrath, and that is that you should talk to me 
 0 f your sacrifices, your love for Natalie, and chant that 
 psalm: “Ungrateful would she be if she betrayed me; 
 I have done this, I have done that, and more will I 
 do; I will go to the ends of the earth, to the Indies 
 for her sake. 1 — I — ” etc. My dear Paul, have 
 you never lived in Paris, have you never had the 
 honor of belonging by the ties of friendship to Henri 
 de Marsay, that you should be so ignorant of the 
 commonest things, the primUive principles that move 
 the feminine mechanism, the a-b-c of their hearts? 
 Then hear me : — 
 
 Suppose you exterminate yourself, suppose you go 
 to Saint-Pelagie for a woman’s debts, suppose you 
 ; kill a score of men, desert a dozen women, serve like 
 Laban, cross the deserts, skirt the galleys, cover your- 
 self with glory, cover yourself with shame, refuse, 
 like Nelson, to fight a battle till you have kissed the 
 shoulder of Lady Hamilton, dash yourself, like Bona- 
 parte, upon the bridge at Areola, go mad like Roland, 
 risk your life to dance five minutes with a woman 
 my dear fellow, what have all those things to do with 
 ^ love? If love were won by samples such as those 
 mankind would be too happy. A spurt of prowess at 
 I the moment of desire would give a man the woman 
 I that he wanted. But love, love., my good Paul, is a 
 faith like that in the Immaculate conception of the 
 
170 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 Holy Virgin; it comes, or it does not come. Wil 
 the mines of Potosi, or the shedding of our blood, oi 
 the making of our fame serve to waken an involuntary, 
 an inexplicable sentiment? Young men like you, who 
 expect to be loved as the balance of your account, are 
 nothing else than usurers. Our legitimate wives owe 
 us virtue and children, but they don’t owe us love. 
 
 Lo\e, my dear Paul, is the sense of pleasure given 
 and received, and the certainty of giving and receiv- 
 ing it; love is a desire incessantly moving and grow- 
 ing, incessantly satisfied and insatiable. The day 
 when Vandenesse stirred the cord of a desire in your 
 wife’s heart which you had left untouched, all 
 your self-satisfied affection, your gifts, your deeds, 
 your money, ceased to be even memories; one emo- 
 tion of love in your wife’s heart has cast out the 
 treasures of your own passion, which are now nothing 
 better than old iron. Felix has the virtues and the 
 beauties in her eyes, and the simple moral is that 
 blinded by your own love you never made her love you. 
 
 Your mother-in-law is on the side of the lover 
 against the husband, — secretly or not; she may have 
 closed her eyes, or she may have opened them ; I know 
 not what she has done — but one thing is certain, she 
 is for her daughter, and against you. During the 
 fifteen years that I have observed society, I have 
 nevei yet seen a mother who, under such circum- 
 stances, abandons her daughter. This indulgence 
 seems to be an inheritance transmitted in the female 
 line. What man can blame it? Some copyist of the 
 Civil code, perhaps, who sees formulas only in the place 
 of feelings. 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 171 
 
 As for your present position, the dissipation into 
 which the life of a fashionable woman cast you, and 
 your own easy nature, possibly your vanity, have 
 opened the way for your wife and her mother to get 
 rid of you by this ruin so skilfully contrived. From all 
 of which you will conclude, my good friend, that the 
 mission you intrusted to me, and which I would all 
 the more faithfully fulfil because it amused me, is, 
 necessarily, null and void. The evil you wish me to 
 prevent is accomplished, — consummatum, est. 
 
 Forgive me, dear friend, if I write to you, as you 
 say, a la de Marsay on subjects which must seem to 
 you very serious. Far be it from me to dance upon 
 the grave of a friend, like heirs upon that of a pro- 
 genitor. But you have written to me that you mean 
 to act the part of a man, and I believe you ; I there- 
 fore treat you as a man of the world, and not as a 
 lover. For you, this blow ought to be like the braud 
 on the shoulder of a galley-slave, which flings him 
 forever into a life of systematic opposition to society. 
 You are now freed cf one evil: marriage possessed 
 you; it now behooves you to turn round and possess 
 marriage. 
 
 Paul, I am your friend in the fullest acceptation ^of 
 the word. If you had a brain in an iron skull, if you 
 had the energy which has come tp you too late, I 
 would have proved my friendship by telling you things 
 that would have made you walk upon hnmanity as 
 i upon a carpet. But when 1 did talk to you guardedly 
 of Parisian civilization, when I told you in the dis- 
 guise of fiction some of the actual adventures of my 
 youth, you regai’ded them as mere romance and would 
 
172 
 
 The Marriage Contract, 
 
 not see their bearing. When I told you that histon 
 of a lawyer at the galleys branded for forgery, wh( 
 committed the crime to give his wife, adored liki 
 youis, an income of thirty thousand francs, and whon: 
 his wife denounced that she might be rid of him and 
 free to love another man, you exclaimed, and other 
 fools who were supping with us exclaimed against 
 me. Well, my dear Paul, you were that lawyer, less 
 the galleys. 
 
 Your friends here are not sparing you. The sister 
 of the two Vandenesses, the Marquise de Listomere 
 and all her set, in which, by the bye, that little 
 Rastignac has enrolled himself, — the scamp will 
 make his way! — Madame d’Aiglemont and her salon, 
 the Lenoncourts, the Comtesse Ferraud, Madame 
 d Espard, the Nucingens, the Spanish ambassador, in 
 short, all the cliques in society are flinging mud upon 
 you. You are a bad man, a gambler, a dissipated 
 fellow who has squandered his property. After pay- 
 ing your debts a great many times, your wife, an angel 
 of virtue, has just redeemed your notes for one hun- 
 dred thousand francs, although her property was sep- 
 arate from yours. Luckily, you had done the best 
 you could do by disappearing. If you had stayed 
 here you would have made her bed in the straw; the 
 poor woman would have been the victim of her 
 conjugal devotion! 
 
 When a man attains to power, my dear Paul, he 
 has all the virtues of an epitaph ; let him fall into 
 poverty, and he has more sins than the Prodigal Son; 
 society at the present moment gives you the vices of 
 a Don Juan. You gambled at the Bourse, you had 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 175 
 
 lieus, La Roche-Hugon, Serisy, Feraud, and Granvdle, 
 have allied ourselves against the “parti-pretre,” as 
 the party-ninny represented by the “Constitutionnel 
 has ingeniously said. We intend to overturn the 
 Navarre, ins, Lenoncourts, Vandenesses, and the Grand 
 Almoi^y. In order to succeed we shall even ally our- 
 selve^ith Lafayette, the Orleanists, and the Left, — 
 people whom we can throttle on the morrow of victory, 
 for no government in the world is possible with their 
 principles. We are capable of anything for the good 
 of the country — and our own. 
 
 Now, then, my dear Paul, instead of setting sail for 
 India you would do a much wiser thing to navigate 
 with me the waters of the Seine. Believe me, Paris 
 is still the place where fortune, abundant fortune, can 
 be won. Potosi is in the rue Vivienne, the rue de la 
 Paix, the Place Vendome, the rue de Rivoli. In all 
 other places and countries material works and labors, 
 marches and counter-marches, and sweatings of the 
 brow are necessary to the building up of fortune; but 
 in Paris thought suffices. Here, every man even 
 mentally mediocre, can see a mine of wealth as he 
 puts on his slippers, or picks his teeth after dinner, in 
 his down-sitting and his up-rising. Find me another 
 place on the globe where a good round stupid idea 
 brings in more money, or is sooner understood than 
 it is here. 
 
 If I reach the top of the ladder, as I shall, am I the 
 man to refuse you a helping hand, an influence, a 
 signature? We shall want, we young roues, a faith- 
 ful friend on whom to count, if only to compromise 
 him and make him a scape-goat, or send him to die 
 
176 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 like a common soldier to save his general. Govern- 
 ment is impossible without a man of honor at one’s 
 side, in whom to confide and with whom we can do ' 
 and say everything. 
 
 Here is what I propose. Let the ‘ ‘ Belle- Amelie ” 
 sail without you; come back here like a thunderbolt; 
 
 I ’ll arrange a duel for you with Vandenesse in which 
 you shall have the first shot, and you can wing him 
 like a pigeon. In France the husband who shoots his 
 rival becomes at once respectable and respected. No 
 one ever cavils at him again. Fear, my dear fellow, 
 is a valuable social element, a means of success for 
 those who lower their eyes before the gaze of no man 
 living. I who care as little to live as to drink a glass 
 of milk, and who have never felt the emotion of fear, 
 
 I have remarked the strange effects produced by that 
 sentiment upon our modern manners. Some men 
 tremble to lose the enjoyments to which they are 
 attached, others dread to leave a woman. The old 
 adventurous habits of other days when life was flung 
 away like a garment exist no longer. The bravery 
 of a great many men is nothing more than a clever 
 calculation on the fear of their adversary. The Poles 
 are the only men in Europe who fight for the pleasure 
 of fighting; they cultivate the art for the art’s sake, 
 and not for speculation. 
 
 Now hear me: kill Vandenesse, and your wife 
 trembles, your mother-in-law trembles, the public 
 trembles, and you recover your position, you prove 
 your grand passion for your wife, you subdue society, 
 you subdue your wife, you become a hero. Such is 
 France. As for your embarrassments, I hold a hun- 
 
The Marriage Contract. 
 
 177 
 
 dred thousand francs for you ; you can pay your prin- 
 cipal debts, and sell what property you have left with 
 a power of redemption, for you will soon obtain an 
 office which will enable you by degrees to pay off your 
 creditors. Then, as for your wife, once enlightened 
 as to her character you can rule her. When you loved 
 her you had no power to manage her; not loving her, 
 you will have an unconquerable force. I will under- 
 take, myself, to make your mother-in-law as supple as 
 a glove ; for you must recover the use of the hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs a year those two women have 
 squeezed out of you. 
 
 Therefore, I say, renounce this expatriation which 
 seems to me no better than a pan of charcoal or a 
 pistol to your head. To go away is to justify all 
 calumnies. The gambler who leaves the table to get 
 his money loses it when he returns ; we must have our 
 gold in our pockets. Let us now, you and I, be two 
 gamblers on the green baize of politics; between us 
 loans are in order. Therefore take post-horses, come 
 back instantly, and renew the game. You ’ll win it 
 with Henri de Ivlarsay for your partner, for Henri de 
 Marsay knows how to will, and how to strike. 
 
 See how we stand politically. My father is in the 
 British ministry; we shall have close relations with 
 Spain through the Evangelistas, for, as soon as your 
 mother-in-law and I have measured claws she will find 
 there is nothing to gain by fighting the devil. Mon- 
 triveau is our lieutenant-general; he will certainly 
 be minister of war before long, and his eloquence will 
 give him great ascendency in the Chamber. Ron- 
 querolles will be minister of State and privy-coun- 
 
 U 
 
178 
 
 The Marriage Contract. 
 
 cillor; Martial de la Koche-Hugon is minister to 
 Germany and peer of France; Serisy leads the Coun- 
 cil of State, to which he is indispensable; Granville 
 holds the magistracy, to which his sons belong ; the 
 Grandlieus stand well at court; Ferraud is the soul 
 of the Goiidreville coterie, — low intriguers who are 
 always on the surface of things, I m sure I don t 
 know why. Thus supported, what have we to fear? 
 The money question is a mere nothing when this great 
 wheel of fortune rolls for us. What is a woman? — 
 you are not a schoolboy. What is life, my dear fel- 
 low, if you let a woman be the whole of it? A boat 
 you can’t command, without a rudder, but not with- 
 out a magnet, and tossed by every wind that blows. 
 Pah! 
 
 The great secret of social alchemy, my dear Paul, is 
 lo get the most we can out of each age of life through 
 which we pass ; to have and to hold the buds of our 
 spring, the flowers of our summer, the fruits of our 
 autumn. We amused ourselves once, a few" good fel- 
 lows and I, for a dozen or more years, like mousque- 
 taires, black, red, and gray; we denied ourselves 
 nothing, not even an occasional filibustering here and 
 there. Now we are going to shake dowm the plums 
 which age and experience have ripened. Be one of 
 us ; you shall have your share in the xjudding we are 
 going to cook. 
 
 Come; you will find a friend all yours in the skin of 
 
 H. DE Marsay. 
 
 As Paul de Manerville ended the reading of this 
 letter, which fell like the blows of a pickaxe on the 
 
hie Marriage Contract. 
 
 179 
 
 edifice of his hopes, his illusions, and his love, the ves- 
 sel which bore him from France was beyond the 
 Azores. In the midst of this utter devastation a cold 
 and impotent anger laid hold of him. 
 
 What had I done to them ? ’’ he said to himself. 
 
 That is the question of fools, of feeble beings, who, 
 seeing nothing, can nothing foresee. Then he cried 
 aloud: “Henri! Henri!” to his loyal friend. Many 
 a man would have gone mad ; Paul went to bed and 
 slept that heavy sleep which follows immense disas- 
 ters, — the sleep that seized Napoleon after Waterloo. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA