“I think, monsieur, that you will undertake with pleasure to
interpret my sentiments to Mme. de Nucingen, so I am sending the
card for which you asked me to you. I shall be delighted to make
the acquaintance of Mme. de Restaud’s sister. Pray introduce that
charming lady to me, and do not let her monopolize all your
affection, for you owe me not a little in return for mine.
“VICOMTESSE DE BEAUSEANT.”
“Well,” said Eugene to himself, as he read the note a second time, “Mme.
de Beauseant says pretty plainly that she does not want the Baron de
Nucingen.”
He went to Delphine at once in his joy. He had procured this pleasure
for her, and doubtless he would receive the price of it. Mme. de
Nucingen was dressing. Rastignac waited in her boudoir, enduring as best
he might the natural impatience of an eager temperament for the reward
desired and withheld for a year. Such sensations are only known once
in a life. The first woman to whom a man is drawn, if she is really
a woman--that is to say, if she appears to him amid the splendid
accessories that form a necessary background to life in the world of
Paris--will never have a rival.
Love in Paris is a thing distinct and apart; for in Paris neither men
nor women are the dupes of the commonplaces by which people seek to
throw a veil over their motives, or to parade a fine affectation of
disinterestedness in their sentiments. In this country within a country,
it is not merely required of a woman that she should satisfy the senses
and the soul; she knows perfectly well that she has still greater
obligations to discharge, that she must fulfil the countless demands
of a vanity that enters into every fibre of that living organism called
society. Love, for her, is above all things, and by its very nature, a
vainglorious, brazen-fronted, ostentatious, thriftless charlatan. If
at the Court of Louis XIV. there was not a woman but envied Mlle. de la
Valliere the reckless devotion of passion that led the grand monarch to
tear the priceless ruffles at his wrists in order to assist the entry of
a Duc de Vermandois into the world--what can you expect of the rest
of society? You must have youth and wealth and rank; nay, you must, if
possible, have more than these, for the more incense you bring with you
to burn at the shrine of the god, the more favorably will he regard the
worshiper. Love is a religion, and his cult must in the nature of things
be more costly than those of all other deities; Love the Spoiler stays
for a moment, and then passes on; like the urchin of the streets, his
course may be traced by the ravages that he has made. The wealth of
feeling and imagination is the poetry of the garret; how should love
exist there without that wealth?
If there are exceptions who do not subscribe to these Draconian laws of
the Parisian code, they are solitary examples. Such souls live so far
out of the main current that they are not borne away by the doctrines
of society; they dwell beside some clear spring of everflowing water,
without seeking to leave the green shade; happy to listen to the echoes
of the infinite in everything around them and in their own souls,
waiting in patience to take their flight for heaven, while they look
with pity upon those of earth.
Rastignac, like most young men who have been early impressed by the
circumstances of power and grandeur, meant to enter the lists fully
armed; the burning ambition of conquest possessed him already; perhaps
he was conscious of his powers, but as yet he knew neither the end to
which his ambition was to be directed, nor the means of attaining it.
In default of the pure and sacred love that fills a life, ambition
may become something very noble, subduing to itself every thought of
personal interest, and setting as the end--the greatness, not of one
man, but of a whole nation.
But the student had not yet reached the time of life when a man surveys
the whole course of existence and judges it soberly. Hitherto he had
scarcely so much as shaken off the spell of the fresh and gracious
influences that envelop a childhood in the country, like green leaves
and grass. He had hesitated on the brink of the Parisian Rubicon, and
in spite of the prickings of ambition, he still clung to a lingering
tradition of an old ideal--the peaceful life of the noble in his
chateau. But yesterday evening, at the sight of his rooms, those
scruples had vanished. He had learned what it was to enjoy the material
advantages of fortune, as he had already enjoyed the social advantages
of birth; he ceased to be a provincial from that moment, and slipped
naturally and easily into a position which opened up a prospect of a
brilliant future.
So, as he waited for Delphine, in the pretty boudoir, where he felt
that he had a certain right to be, he felt himself so far away from the
Rastignac who came back to Paris a year ago, that, turning some power of
inner vision upon this latter, he asked himself whether that past self
bore any resemblance to the Rastignac of that moment.
“Madame is in her room,” Therese came to tell him. The woman’s voice
made him start.
He found Delphine lying back in her low chair by the fireside, looking
fresh and bright. The sight of her among the flowing draperies of muslin
suggested some beautiful tropical flower, where the fruit is set amid
the blossom.
“Well,” she said, with a tremor in her voice, “here you are.”
“Guess what I bring for you,” said Eugene, sitting down beside her. He
took possession of her arm to kiss her hand.
Mme. de Nucingen gave a joyful start as she saw the card. She turned
to Eugene; there were tears in her eyes as she flung her arms about his
neck, and drew him towards her in a frenzy of gratified vanity.
“And I owe this happiness to you--to _thee_” (she whispered the more
intimate word in his ear); “but Therese is in my dressing-room, let us
be prudent.--This happiness--yes, for I may call it so, when it comes
to me through _you_--is surely more than a triumph for self-love? No one
has been willing to introduce me into that set. Perhaps just now I may
seem to you to be frivolous, petty, shallow, like a Parisienne, but
remember, my friend, that I am ready to give up all for you; and that if
I long more than ever for an entrance into the Faubourg Saint-Germain,
it is because I shall meet you there.”
“Mme. de Beauseant’s note seems to say very plainly that she does not
expect to see the _Baron_ de Nucingen at her ball; don’t you think so?”
said Eugene.
“Why, yes,” said the Baroness as she returned the letter. “Those women
have a talent for insolence. But it is of no consequence, I shall go.
My sister is sure to be there, and sure to be very beautifully
dressed.--Eugene,” she went on, lowering her voice, “she will go to
dispel ugly suspicions. You do not know the things that people are
saying about her. Only this morning Nucingen came to tell me that they
had been discussing her at the club. Great heavens! on what does a
woman’s character and the honor of a whole family depend! I feel that
I am nearly touched and wounded in my poor sister. According to some
people, M. de Trailles must have put his name to bills for a hundred
thousand francs, nearly all of them are overdue, and proceedings are
threatened. In this predicament, it seems that my sister sold her
diamonds to a Jew--the beautiful diamonds that belonged to her husband’s
mother, Mme. de Restaud the elder,--you have seen her wearing them. In
fact, nothing else has been talked about for the last two days. So I can
see that Anastasie is sure to come to Mme. de Beauseant’s ball in tissue
of gold, and ablaze with diamonds, to draw all eyes upon her; and I will
not be outshone. She has tried to eclipse me all her life, she has never
been kind to me, and I have helped her so often, and always had money
for her when she had none.--But never mind other people now, to-day I
mean to be perfectly happy.”
At one o’clock that morning Eugene was still with Mme. de Nucingen. In
the midst of their lovers’ farewell, a farewell full of hope of bliss to
come, she said in a troubled voice, “I am very fearful, superstitious.
Give what name you like to my presentiments, but I am afraid that my
happiness will be paid for by some horrible catastrophe.”
“Child!” said Eugene.
“Ah! have we changed places, and am I the child to-night?” she asked,
laughingly.
Eugene went back to the Maison Vauquer, never doubting but that he
should leave it for good on the morrow; and on the way he fell to
dreaming the bright dreams of youth, when the cup of happiness has left
its sweetness on the lips.
“Well?” cried Goriot, as Rastignac passed by his door.
“Yes,” said Eugene; “I will tell you everything to-morrow.”
“Everything, will you not?” cried the old man. “Go to bed. To-morrow our
happy life will begin.”
Next day, Goriot and Rastignac were ready to leave the lodging-house,
and only awaited the good pleasure of a porter to move out of it;
but towards noon there was a sound of wheels in the Rue
Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, and a carriage stopped before the door of the
Maison Vauquer. Mme. de Nucingen alighted, and asked if her father was
still in the house, and, receiving an affirmative reply from Sylvie, ran
lightly upstairs.
It so happened that Eugene was at home all unknown to his neighbor. At
breakfast time he had asked Goriot to superintend the removal of
his goods, saying that he would meet him in the Rue d’Artois at four
o’clock; but Rastignac’s name had been called early on the list at
the Ecole de Droit, and he had gone back at once to the Rue
Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve. No one had seen him come in, for Goriot had gone
to find a porter, and the mistress of the house was likewise out. Eugene
had thought to pay her himself, for it struck him that if he left this,
Goriot in his zeal would probably pay for him. As it was, Eugene went
up to his room to see that nothing had been forgotten, and blessed his
foresight when he saw the blank bill bearing Vautrin’s signature lying
in the drawer where he had carelessly thrown it on the day when he had
repaid the amount. There was no fire in the grate, so he was about to
tear it into little pieces, when he heard a voice speaking in Goriot’s
room, and the speaker was Delphine! He made no more noise, and stood
still to listen, thinking that she should have no secrets from him;
but after the first few words, the conversation between the father
and daughter was so strange and interesting that it absorbed all his
attention.
“Ah! thank heaven that you thought of asking him to give an account of
the money settled on me before I was utterly ruined, father. Is it safe
to talk?” she added.
“Yes, there is no one in the house,” said her father faintly.
“What is the matter with you?” asked Mme. de Nucingen.
“God forgive you! you have just dealt me a staggering blow, child!” said
the old man. “You cannot know how much I love you, or you would not have
burst in upon me like this, with such news, especially if all is not
lost. Has something so important happened that you must come here about
it? In a few minutes we should have been in the Rue d’Artois.”
“Eh! does one think what one is doing after a catastrophe? It has turned
my head. Your attorney has found out the state of things now, but it
was bound to come out sooner or later. We shall want your long business
experience; and I come to you like a drowning man who catches at a
branch. When M. Derville found that Nucingen was throwing all sorts of
difficulties in his way, he threatened him with proceedings, and told
him plainly that he would soon obtain an order from the President of the
Tribunal. So Nucingen came to my room this morning, and asked if I meant
to ruin us both. I told him that I knew nothing whatever about it, that
I had a fortune, and ought to be put into possession of my fortune, and
that my attorney was acting for me in the matter; I said again that I
knew absolutely nothing about it, and could not possibly go into the
subject with him. Wasn’t that what you told me to tell him?”
“Yes, quite right,” answered Goriot.
“Well, then,” Delphine continued, “he told me all about his affairs.
He had just invested all his capital and mine in business speculations;
they have only just been started, and very large sums of money are
locked up. If I were to compel him to refund my dowry now, he would be
forced to file his petition; but if I will wait a year, he undertakes,
on his honor, to double or treble my fortune, by investing it in
building land, and I shall be mistress at last of the whole of my
property. He was speaking the truth, father dear; he frightened me! He
asked my pardon for his conduct; he has given me my liberty; I am free
to act as I please on condition that I leave him to carry on my business
in my name. To prove his sincerity, he promised that M. Derville might
inspect the accounts as often as I pleased, so that I might be assured
that everything was being conducted properly. In short, he put himself
in my power, bound hand and foot. He wishes the present arrangements
as to the expenses of housekeeping to continue for two more years, and
entreated me not to exceed my allowance. He showed me plainly that it
was all that he could do to keep up appearances; he has broken with his
opera dancer; he will be compelled to practise the most strict economy
(in secret) if he is to bide his time with unshaken credit. I scolded, I
did all I could to drive him to desperation, so as to find out more. He
showed me his ledgers--he broke down and cried at last. I never saw
a man in such a state. He lost his head completely, talked of killing
himself, and raved till I felt quite sorry for him.”
“Do you really believe that silly rubbish?”... cried her father. “It was
all got up for your benefit! I have had to do with Germans in the way
of business, honest and straightforward they are pretty sure to be, but
when with their simplicity and frankness they are sharpers and humbugs
as well, they are the worst rogues of all. Your husband is taking
advantage of you. As soon as pressure is brought to bear on him he shams
dead; he means to be more the master under your name than in his own. He
will take advantage of the position to secure himself against the risks
of business. He is as sharp as he is treacherous; he is a bad lot! No,
no; I am not going to leave my girls behind me without a penny when I go
to Pere-Lachaise. I know something about business still. He has sunk
his money in speculation, he says; very well then, there is something to
show for it--bills, receipts, papers of some sort. Let him produce them,
and come to an arrangement with you. We will choose the most promising
of his speculations, take them over at our own risk, and have the
securities transferred into your name; they shall represent the separate
estate of Delphine Goriot, wife of the Baron de Nucingen. Does that
fellow really take us for idiots? Does he imagine that I could stand
the idea of your being without fortune, without bread, for forty-eight
hours? I would not stand it a day--no, not a night, not a couple of
hours! If there had been any foundation for the idea, I should never get
over it. What! I have worked hard for forty years, carried sacks on
my back, and sweated and pinched and saved all my life for you, my
darlings, for you who made the toil and every burden borne for you seem
light; and now, my fortune, my whole life, is to vanish in smoke! I
should die raving mad if I believed a word of it. By all that’s holiest
in heaven and earth, we will have this cleared up at once; go through
the books, have the whole business looked thoroughly into! I will not
sleep, nor rest, nor eat until I have satisfied myself that all your
fortune is in existence. Your money is settled upon you, God be thanked!
and, luckily, your attorney, Maitre Derville, is an honest man. Good
Lord! you shall have your snug little million, your fifty thousand
francs a year, as long as you live, or I will raise a racket in Paris, I
will so! If the Tribunals put upon us, I will appeal to the Chambers.
If I knew that you were well and comfortably off as far as money is
concerned, that thought would keep me easy in spite of bad health and
troubles. Money? why, it is life! Money does everything. That great dolt
of an Alsatian shall sing to another tune! Look here, Delphine, don’t
give way, don’t make a concession of half a quarter of a farthing to
that fathead, who has ground you down and made you miserable. If he
can’t do without you, we will give him a good cudgeling, and keep him
in order. Great heavens! my brain is on fire; it is as if there were
something redhot inside my head. My Delphine lying on straw! You! my
Fifine! Good gracious! Where are my gloves? Come, let us go at once;
I mean to see everything with my own eyes--books, cash, and
correspondence, the whole business. I shall have no peace until I know
for certain that your fortune is secure.”
“Oh! father dear, be careful how you set about it! If there is the least
hint of vengeance in the business, if you show yourself openly hostile,
it will be all over with me. He knows whom he has to deal with; he
thinks it quite natural that if you put the idea into my head, I should
be uneasy about my money; but I swear to you that he has it in his own
hands, and that he had meant to keep it. He is just the man to abscond
with all the money and leave us in the lurch, the scoundrel! He knows
quite well that I will not dishonor the name I bear by bringing him into
a court of law. His position is strong and weak at the same time. If we
drive him to despair, I am lost.”
“Why, then, the man is a rogue?”
“Well, yes, father,” she said, flinging herself into a chair, “I wanted
to keep it from you to spare your feelings,” and she burst into tears;
“I did not want you to know that you had married me to such a man as
he is. He is just the same in private life--body and soul and
conscience--the same through and through--hideous! I hate him; I despise
him! Yes, after all that that despicable Nucingen has told me, I cannot
respect him any longer. A man capable of mixing himself up in such
affairs, and of talking about them to me as he did, without the
slightest scruple,--it is because I have read him through and through
that I am afraid of him. He, my husband, frankly proposed to give me my
liberty, and do you know what that means? It means that if things
turn out badly for him, I am to play into his hands, and be his
stalking-horse.”
“But there is law to be had! There is a Place de Greve for sons-in-law
of that sort,” cried her father; “why, I would guillotine him myself if
there was no headsman to do it.”
“No, father, the law cannot touch him. Listen, this is what he says,
stripped of all his circumlocutions--‘Take your choice, you and no one
else can be my accomplice; either everything is lost, you are ruined
and have not a farthing, or you will let me carry this business through
myself.’ Is that plain speaking? He _must_ have my assistance. He is
assured that his wife will deal fairly by him; he knows that I shall
leave his money to him and be content with my own. It is an unholy and
dishonest compact, and he holds out threats of ruin to compel me to
consent to it. He is buying my conscience, and the price is liberty to
be Eugene’s wife in all but name. ‘I connive at your errors, and you
allow me to commit crimes and ruin poor families!’ Is that sufficiently
explicit? Do you know what he means by speculations? He buys up land in
his own name, then he finds men of straw to run up houses upon it. These
men make a bargain with a contractor to build the houses, paying them by
bills at long dates; then in consideration of a small sum they leave
my husband in possession of the houses, and finally slip through the
fingers of the deluded contractors by going into bankruptcy. The name of
the firm of Nucingen has been used to dazzle the poor contractors. I saw
that. I noticed, too, that Nucingen had sent bills for large amounts to
Amsterdam, London, Naples, and Vienna, in order to prove if necessary
that large sums had been paid away by the firm. How could we get
possession of those bills?”
Eugene heard a dull thud on the floor; Father Goriot must have fallen on
his knees.
“Great heavens! what have I done to you? Bound my daughter to this
scoundrel who does as he likes with her!--Oh! my child, my child!
forgive me!” cried the old man.
“Yes, if I am in the depths of despair, perhaps you are to blame,” said
Delphine. “We have so little sense when we marry! What do we know of the
world, of business, or men, or life? Our fathers should think for us!
Father dear, I am not blaming you in the least, forgive me for what
I said. This is all my own fault. Nay, do not cry, papa,” she said,
kissing him.
“Do not cry either, my little Delphine. Look up and let me kiss away
the tears. There! I shall find my wits and unravel this skein of your
husband’s winding.”
