I once told you about; I can hear a fine lady’s step in the corridor; it
is she, no doubt;’ and, as a matter of fact, the young man came in with
a woman on his arm. I recognized the Countess, whose levee Gobseck had
described for me, one of old Goriot’s two daughters.
“The Countess did not see me at first; I stayed where I was in the
window bay, with my face against the pane; but I saw her give Maxime a
suspicious glance as she came into the money-lender’s damp, dark room.
So beautiful she was, that in spite of her faults I felt sorry for her.
There was a terrible storm of anguish in her heart; her haughty, proud
features were drawn and distorted with pain which she strove in vain
to disguise. The young man had come to be her evil genius. I admired
Gobseck, whose perspicacity had foreseen their future four years ago at
the first bill which she endorsed.
“‘Probably,’ said I to myself, ‘this monster with the angel face
controls every possible spring of action in her: rules her through
vanity, jealousy, pleasure, and the current of life in the world.’”
The Vicomtesse de Grandlieu broke in on the story.
“Why, the woman’s very virtues have been turned against her,” she
exclaimed. “He has made her shed tears of devotion, and then abused her
kindness and made her pay very dearly for unhallowed bliss.”
Derville did not understand the signs which Mme. de Grandlieu made to
him.
“I confess,” he said, “that I had no inclination to shed tears over the
lot of this unhappy creature, so brilliant in society, so repulsive to
eyes that could read her heart; I shuddered rather at the sight of her
murderer, a young angel with such a clear brow, such red lips and white
teeth, such a winning smile. There they stood before their judge, he
scrutinizing them much as some fifteenth-century Dominican inquisitor
might have peered into the dungeons of the Holy Office while the torture
was administered to two Moors.
“The Countess spoke tremulously. ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘is there any way
of obtaining the value of these diamonds, and of keeping the right of
repurchase?’ She held out a jewel-case.
“‘Yes, madame,’ I put in, and came forwards.
“She looked at me, and a shudder ran through her as she recognized me,
and gave me the glance which means, ‘Say nothing of this,’ all the world
over.
“‘This,’ said I, ‘constitutes a sale with faculty of redemption, as it
is called, a formal agreement to transfer and deliver over a piece of
property, either real estate or personalty, for a given time, on the
expiry of which the previous owner recovers his title to the property in
question, upon payment of a stipulated sum.’
“She breathed more freely. The Count looked black; he had grave doubts
whether Gobseck would lend very much on the diamonds after such a fall
in their value. Gobseck, impassive as ever, had taken up his magnifying
glass, and was quietly scrutinizing the jewels. If I were to live for
a hundred years, I should never forget the sight of his face at that
moment. There was a flush in his pale cheeks; his eyes seemed to have
caught the sparkle of the stones, for there was an unnatural glitter in
them. He rose and went to the light, holding the diamonds close to his
toothless mouth, as if he meant to devour them; mumbling vague words
over them, holding up bracelets, sprays, necklaces, and tiaras one after
another, to judge their water, whiteness, and cutting; taking them out
of the jewel-case and putting them in again, letting the play of the
light bring out all their fires. He was more like a child than an old
man; or, rather, childhood and dotage seemed to meet in him.
“‘Fine stones! The set would have fetched three hundred thousand
francs before the Revolution. What water! Genuine Asiatic diamonds from
Golconda or Visapur. Do you know what they are worth? No, no; no one in
Paris but Gobseck can appreciate them. In the time of the Empire such a
set would have cost another two hundred thousand francs!’
“He gave a disgusted shrug, and added:
“‘But now diamonds are going down in value every day. The Brazilians
have swamped the market with them since the Peace; but the Indian stones
are a better color. Others wear them now besides court ladies. Does
madame go to court?’
“While he flung out these terrible words, he examined one stone after
another with delight which no words can describe.
“‘Flawless!’ he said. ‘Here is a speck!... here is a flaw!... A fine
stone that!’
“His haggard face was so lighted up by the sparkling jewels, that it put
me in mind of a dingy old mirror, such as you see in country inns. The
glass receives every luminous image without reflecting the light, and
a traveler bold enough to look for his face in it beholds a man in an
apoplectic fit.
“‘Well?’ asked the Count, clapping Gobseck on the shoulder.
“The old boy trembled. He put down his playthings on his bureau, took
his seat, and was a money-lender once more--hard, cold, and polished as
a marble column.
“‘How much do you want?’
“‘One hundred thousand francs for three years,’ said the Count.
“‘That is possible,’ said Gobseck, and then from a mahogany box
(Gobseck’s jewel-case) he drew out a faultlessly adjusted pair of
scales!
“He weighed the diamonds, calculating the value of stones and setting
at sight (Heaven knows how!), delight and severity struggling in the
expression of his face the meanwhile. The Countess had plunged in a kind
of stupor; to me, watching her, it seemed that she was fathoming the
depths of the abyss into which she had fallen. There was remorse still
left in that woman’s soul. Perhaps a hand held out in human charity
might save her. I would try.
“‘Are the diamonds your personal property, madame?’ I asked in a clear
voice.
“‘Yes, monsieur,’ she said, looking at me with proud eyes.
“‘Make out the deed of purchase with power of redemption, chatterbox,’
said Gobseck to me, resigning his chair at the bureau in my favor.
“‘Madame is without doubt a married woman?’ I tried again.
“She nodded abruptly.
“‘Then I will not draw up the deed,’ said I.
“‘And why not?’ asked Gobseck.
“‘Why not?’ echoed I, as I drew the old man into the bay window so as
to speak aside with him. ‘Why not? This woman is under her husband’s
control; the agreement would be void in law; you could not possibly
assert your ignorance of a fact recorded on the very face of the
document itself. You would be compelled at once to produce the diamonds
deposited with you, according to the weight, value, and cutting therein
described.’
“Gobseck cut me short with a nod, and turned towards the guilty couple.
“‘He is right!’ he said. ‘That puts the whole thing in a different
light. Eighty thousand francs down, and you leave the diamonds with
me,’ he added, in the husky, flute-like voice. ‘In the way of property,
possession is as good as a title.’
“‘But----’ objected the young man.
“‘You can take it or leave it,’ continued Gobseck, returning the
jewel-case to the lady as he spoke.
“‘I have too many risks to run.’
“‘It would be better to throw yourself at your husband’s feet,’ I bent
to whisper in her ear.
“The usurer doubtless knew what I was saying from the movement of
my lips. He gave me a cool glance. The Count’s face grew livid. The
Countess was visibly wavering. Maxime stepped up to her, and, low as he
spoke, I could catch the words:
“‘Adieu, dear Anastasie, may you be happy! As for me, by to-morrow my
troubles will be over.’
“‘Sir!’ cried the lady, turning to Gobseck. ‘I accept your offer.’
“‘Come, now,’ returned Gobseck. ‘You have been a long time in coming to
it, my fair lady.’
“He wrote out a cheque for fifty thousand francs on the Bank of France,
and handed it to the Countess.
“‘Now,’ continued he with a smile, such a smile as you will see in
portraits of M. Voltaire, ‘now I will give you the rest of the amount in
bills, thirty thousand francs’ worth of paper as good as bullion. This
gentleman here has just said, “My bills will be met when they are due,”’
added he, producing certain drafts bearing the Count’s signature, all
protested the day before at the request of some of the confraternity,
who had probably made them over to him (Gobseck) at a considerably
reduced figure.
“The young man growled out something, in which the words ‘Old
scoundrel!’ were audible. Daddy Gobseck did not move an eyebrow. He drew
a pair of pistols out of a pigeon-hole, remarking coolly:
“‘As the insulted man, I fire first.’
“‘Maxime, you owe this gentleman an explanation,’ cried the trembling
Countess in a low voice.
“‘I had no intention of giving offence,’ stammered Maxime.
“‘I am quite sure of that,’ Gobseck answered calmly; ‘you had no
intention of meeting your bills, that was all.’
“The Countess rose, bowed, and vanished, with a great dread gnawing her,
I doubt not. M. de Trailles was bound to follow, but before he went he
managed to say:
“‘If either of you gentlemen should forget himself, I will have his
blood, or he will have mine.’
“‘Amen!’ called Daddy Gobseck as he put his pistols back in their place;
‘but a man must have blood in his veins though before he can risk it, my
son, and you have nothing but mud in yours.’
“When the door was closed, and the two vehicles had gone, Gobseck rose
to his feet and began to prance about.
“‘I have the diamonds! I have the diamonds!’ he cried again and again,
‘the beautiful diamonds! such diamonds! and tolerably cheaply. Aha! aha!
Werbrust and Gigonnet, you thought you had old Papa Gobseck! _Ego
sum papa_! I am master of the lot of you! Paid! paid, principal and
interest! How silly they will look to-night when I shall come out with
this story between two games of dominoes!’
“The dark glee, the savage ferocity aroused by the possession of a few
water-white pebbles, set me shuddering. I was dumb with amazement.
“‘Aha! There you are, my boy!’ said he. ‘We will dine together. We will
have some fun at your place, for I haven’t a home of my own, and these
restaurants, with their broths, and sauces, and wines, would poison the
Devil himself.’
“Something in my face suddenly brought back the usual cold, impassive
expression to his.
“‘You don’t understand it,’ he said, and sitting down by the hearth,
he put a tin saucepan full of milk on the brazier.--‘Will you breakfast
with me?’ continued he. ‘Perhaps there will be enough here for two.’
“‘Thanks,’ said I, ‘I do not breakfast till noon.’
“I had scarcely spoken before hurried footsteps sounded from the
passage. The stranger stopped at Gobseck’s door and rapped; there was
that in the knock which suggested a man transported with rage. Gobseck
reconnoitred him through the grating; then he opened the door, and in
came a man of thirty-five or so, judged harmless apparently in spite of
his anger. The newcomer, who was quite plainly dressed, bore a strong
resemblance to the late Duc de Richelieu. You must often have met him,
he was the Countess’ husband, a man with the aristocratic figure (permit
the expression to pass) peculiar to statesmen of your faubourg.
“‘Sir,’ said this person, addressing himself to Gobseck, who had quite
recovered his tranquillity, ‘did my wife go out of this house just now?’
“‘That is possible.’
“‘Well, sir? do you not take my meaning?’
“‘I have not the honor of the acquaintance of my lady your wife,’
returned Gobseck. ‘I have had a good many visitors this morning, women
and men, and mannish young ladies, and young gentlemen who look like
young ladies. I should find it very hard to say----’
“‘A truce to jesting, sir! I mean the woman who has this moment gone out
from you.’
“‘How can I know whether she is your wife or not? I never had the
pleasure of seeing you before.’
“‘You are mistaken, M. Gobseck,’ said the Count, with profound irony in
his voice. ‘We have met before, one morning in my wife’s bedroom. You
had come to demand payment for a bill--no bill of hers.’
“‘It was no business of mine to inquire what value she had received for
it,’ said Gobseck, with a malignant look at the Count. ‘I had come by
the bill in the way of business. At the same time, monsieur,’ continued
Gobseck, quietly pouring coffee into his bowl of milk, without a trace
of excitement or hurry in his voice, ‘you will permit me to observe that
your right to enter my house and expostulate with me is far from proven
to my mind. I came of age in the sixty-first year of the preceding
century.’
“‘Sir,’ said the Count, ‘you have just bought family diamonds, which do
not belong to my wife, for a mere trifle.’
“‘Without feeling it incumbent upon me to tell you my private affairs, I
will tell you this much M. le Comte--if Mme. la Comtesse has taken your
diamonds, you should have sent a circular around to all the jewelers,
giving them notice not to buy them; she might have sold them
separately.’
“‘You know my wife, sir!’ roared the Count.
“‘True.’
“‘She is in her husband’s power.’
“‘That is possible.’
“‘She had no right to dispose of those diamonds----’
“‘Precisely.’
“‘Very well, sir?’
“‘Very well, sir. I knew your wife, and she is in her husband’s power;
I am quite willing, she is in the power of a good many people;
but--I--do--_not_--know--your diamonds. If Mme. la Comtesse can put her
name to a bill, she can go into business, of course, and buy and sell
diamonds on her own account. The thing is plain on the face of it!’
“‘Good-day, sir!’ cried the Count, now white with rage. ‘There are
courts of justice.’
“‘Quite so.’
“‘This gentleman here,’ he added, indicating me, ‘was a witness of the
sale.’
“‘That is possible.’
“The Count turned to go. Feeling the gravity of the affair, I suddenly
put in between the two belligerents.
“‘M. le Comte,’ said I, ‘you are right, and M. Gobseck is by no means in
the wrong. You could not prosecute the purchaser without bringing your
wife into court, and the whole of the odium would not fall on her. I am
an attorney, and I owe it to myself, and still more to my professional
position, to declare that the diamonds of which you speak were purchased
by M. Gobseck in my presence; but, in my opinion, it would be unwise
to dispute the legality of the sale, especially as the goods are not
readily recognizable. In equity our contention would lie, in law it
would collapse. M. Gobseck is too honest a man to deny that the sale was
a profitable transaction, more especially as my conscience, no less than
my duty, compels me to make the admission. But once bring the case into
a court of law, M. le Comte, the issue would be doubtful. My advice to
you is to come to terms with M. Gobseck, who can plead that he bought
the diamonds in all good faith; you would be bound in any case to return
the purchase money. Consent to an arrangement, with power to redeem
at the end of seven or eight months, or a year even, or any convenient
lapse of time, for the repayment of the sum borrowed by Mme. la
Comtesse, unless you would prefer to repurchase them outright and give
security for repayment.’
“Gobseck dipped his bread into the bowl of coffee, and ate with perfect
indifference; but at the words ‘come to terms,’ he looked at me as
who should say, ‘A fine fellow that! he has learned something from
my lessons!’ And I, for my part, riposted with a glance, which he
understood uncommonly well. The business was dubious and shady; there
was pressing need of coming to terms. Gobseck could not deny all
knowledge of it, for I should appear as a witness. The Count thanked me
with a smile of good-will.
“In the debate which followed, Gobseck showed greed enough and skill
enough to baffle a whole congress of diplomatists; but in the end I
drew up an instrument, in which the Count acknowledged the receipt of
eighty-five thousand francs, interest included, in consideration of
which Gobseck undertook to return the diamonds to the Count.
“‘What waste!’ exclaimed he as he put his signature to the agreement.
‘How is it possible to bridge such a gulf?’
“‘Have you many children, sir?’ Gobseck asked gravely.
“The Count winced at the question; it was as if the old money-lender,
like an experienced physician, had put his finger at once on the sore
spot. The Comtesse’s husband did not reply.
“‘Well,’ said Gobseck, taking the pained silence for answer, ‘I know
your story by heart. The woman is a fiend, but perhaps you love her
still; I can well believe it; she made an impression on me. Perhaps,
too, you would rather save your fortune, and keep it for one or two of
your children? Well, fling yourself into the whirlpool of society, lose
that fortune at play, come to Gobseck pretty often. The world will say
that I am a Jew, a Tartar, a usurer, a pirate, will say that I have
ruined you! I snap my fingers at them! If anybody insults me, I lay my
man out; nobody is a surer shot nor handles a rapier better than your
servant. And every one knows it. Then, have a friend--if you can find
one--and make over your property to him by a fictitious sale. You call
that a _fidei commissum_, don’t you?’ he asked, turning to me.
“The Count seemed to be entirely absorbed in his own thoughts.
“‘You shall have your money to-morrow,’ he said, ‘have the diamonds in
readiness,’ and he went.
“‘There goes one who looks to me to be as stupid as an honest man,’
Gobseck said coolly when the Count had gone.
“‘Say rather stupid as a man of passionate nature.’
“‘The Count owes you your fee for drawing up the agreement!’ Gobseck
called after me as I took my leave.”
“One morning, a few days after the scene which initiated me into the
terrible depths beneath the surface of the life of a woman of fashion,
the Count came into my private office.
“‘I have come to consult you on a matter of grave moment,’ he said, ‘and
I begin by telling you that I have perfect confidence in you, as I
hope to prove to you. Your behavior to Mme. de Grandlieu is above all
praise,’ the Count went on. (You see, madame, that you have paid me a
thousand times over for a very simple matter.)
“I bowed respectfully, and replied that I had done nothing but the duty
of an honest man.
“‘Well,’ the Count went on, ‘I have made a great many inquiries about
the singular personage to whom you owe your position. And from all that
I can learn, Gobseck is a philosopher of the Cynic school. What do you
think of his probity?’
“‘M. le Comte,’ said I, ‘Gobseck is my benefactor--at fifteen per cent,’
I added, laughing. ‘But his avarice does not authorize me to paint him
to the life for a stranger’s benefit.’
“‘Speak out, sir. Your frankness cannot injure Gobseck or yourself. I do
not expect to find an angel in a pawnbroker.’
“‘Daddy Gobseck,’ I began, ‘is intimately convinced of the truth of the
principle which he takes for a rule of life. In his opinion, money is a
commodity which you may sell cheap or dear, according to circumstances,
with a clear conscience. A capitalist, by charging a high rate of
interest, becomes in his eyes a secured partner by anticipation. Apart
from the peculiar philosophical views of human nature and financial
principles, which enable him to behave like a usurer, I am fully
persuaded that, out of his business, he is the most loyal and upright
soul in Paris. There are two men in him; he is petty and great--a miser
and a philosopher. If I were to die and leave a family behind me, he
would be the guardian whom I should appoint. This was how I came to see
Gobseck in this light, monsieur. I know nothing of his past life. He
may have been a pirate, may, for anything I know, have been all over the
world, trafficking in diamonds, or men, or women, or State secrets; but
this I affirm of him--never has human soul been more thoroughly
tempered and tried. When I paid off my loan, I asked him, with a little
circumlocution of course, how it was that he had made me pay such an
exorbitant rate of interest; and why, seeing that I was a friend, and
he meant to do me a kindness, he should not have yielded to the wish and
made it complete.--“My son,” he said, “I released you from all need to
feel any gratitude by giving you ground for the belief that you owed
me nothing.”--So we are the best friends in the world. That answer,
monsieur, gives you the man better than any amount of description.’
“‘I have made up my mind once and for all,’ said the Count. ‘Draw up the
necessary papers; I am going to transfer my property to Gobseck. I have
no one but you to trust to in the draft of the counter-deed, which will
declare that this transfer is a simulated sale, and that Gobseck as
trustee will administer my estate (as he knows how to administer), and
undertakes to make over my fortune to my eldest son when he comes of
age. Now, sir, this I must tell you: I should be afraid to have that
precious document in my own keeping. My boy is so fond of his mother,
that I cannot trust him with it. So dare I beg of you to keep it for me?
In case of death, Gobseck would make you legatee of my property. Every
contingency is provided for.’
“The Count paused for a moment. He seemed greatly agitated.
“‘A thousand pardons,’ he said at length; ‘I am in great pain, and have
very grave misgivings as to my health. Recent troubles have disturbed me
very painfully, and forced me to take this great step.’
“‘Allow me first to thank you, monsieur,’ said I, ‘for the trust you
place me in. But I am bound to deserve it by pointing out to you that
you are disinheriting your--other children. They bear your name. Merely
as the children of a once-loved wife, now fallen from her position, they
have a claim to an assured existence. I tell you plainly that I cannot
accept the trust with which you propose to honor me unless their future
is secured.’
“The Count trembled violently at the words, and tears came into his eyes
as he grasped my hand, saying, ‘I did not know my man thoroughly.
You have made me both glad and sorry. We will make provision for the
children in the counter-deed.’
“I went with him to the door; it seemed to me that there was a glow of
satisfaction in his face at the thought of this act of justice.
“Now, Camille, this is how a young wife takes the first step to the
brink of a precipice. A quadrille, a ballad, a picnic party is
sometimes cause sufficient of frightful evils. You are hurried on by
the presumptuous voice of vanity and pride, on the faith of a smile,
or through giddiness and folly! Shame and misery and remorse are three
Furies awaiting every woman the moment she oversteps the limits----”
“Poor Camille can hardly keep awake,” the Vicomtesse hastily broke
in.--“Go to bed, child; you have no need of appalling pictures to keep
you pure in heart and conduct.”
Camille de Grandlieu took the hint and went.
“You were going rather too far, dear M. Derville,” said the Vicomtesse,
“an attorney is not a mother of daughters nor yet a preacher.”
“But any newspaper is a thousand times----”
“Poor Derville!” exclaimed the Vicomtesse, “what has come over you?
Do you really imagine that I allow a daughter of mine to read the
newspapers?--Go on,” she added after a pause.
“Three months after everything was signed and sealed between the Count
and Gobseck----”
“You can call him the Comte de Restaud, now that Camille is not here,”
said the Vicomtesse.
“So be it! Well, time went by, and I saw nothing of the counter-deed,
which by rights should have been in my hands. An attorney in Paris lives
in such a whirl of business that with certain exceptions which we make
for ourselves, we have not the time to give each individual client the
amount of interest which he himself takes in his affairs. Still, one day
when Gobseck came to dine with me, I asked him as we left the table if
he knew how it was that I had heard no more of M. de Restaud.
“‘There are excellent reasons for that,’ he said; ‘the noble Count is at
death’s door. He is one of the soft stamp that cannot learn how to put
an end to chagrin, and allow it to wear them out instead. Life is a
craft, a profession; every man must take the trouble to learn
that business. When he has learned what life is by dint of painful
experiences, the fibre of him is toughened, and acquires a certain
elasticity, so that he has his sensibilities under his own control; he
disciplines himself till his nerves are like steel springs, which
always bend, but never break; given a sound digestion, and a man in
such training ought to live as long as the cedars of Lebanon, and famous
trees they are.’
“‘Then is the Count actually dying?’ I asked.
“‘That is possible,’ said Gobseck; ‘the winding up of his estate will be
a juicy bit of business for you.’
“I looked at my man, and said, by way of sounding him:
“‘Just explain to me how it is that we, the Count and I, are the only
men in whom you take an interest?’
“‘Because you are the only two who have trusted me without finessing,’
he said.
“Although this answer warranted my belief that Gobseck would act fairly
even if the counter-deed were lost, I resolved to go to see the Count. I
pleaded a business engagement, and we separated.
“I went straight to the Rue du Helder, and was shown into a room where
the Countess sat playing with her children. When she heard my name, she
sprang up and came to meet me, then she sat down and pointed without a
word to a chair by the fire. Her face wore the inscrutable mask beneath
which women of the world conceal their most vehement emotions. Trouble
had withered that face already. Nothing of its beauty now remained, save
the marvelous outlines in which its principal charm had lain.
“‘It is essential, madame, that I should speak to M. le Comte----”
“‘If so, you would be more favored than I am,’ she said, interrupting
me. ‘M. de Restaud will see no one. He will hardly allow his doctor to
come, and will not be nursed even by me. When people are ill, they have
such strange fancies! They are like children, they do not know what they
want.’
“‘Perhaps, like children, they know very well what they want.’
“The Countess reddened. I almost repented a thrust worthy of Gobseck.
So, by way of changing the conversation, I added, ‘But M. de Restaud
cannot possibly lie there alone all day, madame.’
“‘His oldest boy is with him,’ she said.
“It was useless to gaze at the Countess; she did not blush this time,
and it looked to me as if she were resolved more firmly than ever that I
should not penetrate into her secrets.
“‘You must understand, madame, that my proceeding is no way indiscreet.
It is strongly to his interest--’ I bit my lips, feeling that I had gone
the wrong way to work. The Countess immediately took advantage of my
slip.
“‘My interests are in no way separate from my husband’s, sir,’ said she.
‘There is nothing to prevent your addressing yourself to me----’
“‘The business which brings me here concerns no one but M. le Comte,’ I
said firmly.
“‘I will let him know of your wish to see him.’
“The civil tone and expression assumed for the occasion did not impose
upon me; I divined that she would never allow me to see her husband. I
chatted on about indifferent matters for a little while, so as to study
her; but, like all women who have once begun to plot for themselves, she
could dissimulate with the rare perfection which, in your sex, means the
last degree of perfidy. If I may dare to say it, I looked for anything
from her, even a crime. She produced this feeling in me, because it was
so evident from her manner and in all that she did or said, down to
the very inflections of her voice, that she had an eye to the future. I
went.
“Now, I will pass on to the final scenes of this adventure, throwing in
a few circumstances brought to light by time, and some details guessed
by Gobseck’s perspicacity or by my own.
“When the Comte de Restaud apparently plunged into the vortex of
dissipation, something passed between the husband and wife, something
which remains an impenetrable secret, but the wife sank even lower in
the husband’s eyes. As soon as he became so ill that he was obliged to
take to his bed, he manifested his aversion for the Countess and the two
youngest children. He forbade them to enter his room, and any attempt
to disobey his wishes brought on such dangerous attacks that the doctor
implored the Countess to submit to her husband’s wish.
“Mme. de Restaud had seen the family estates and property, nay, the very
mansion in which she lived, pass into the hands of Gobseck, who appeared
to play the fantastic ogre so far as their wealth was concerned.
She partially understood what her husband was doing, no doubt. M. de
Trailles was traveling in England (his creditors had been a little too
pressing of late), and no one else was in a position to enlighten the
lady, and explain that her husband was taking precautions against her
at Gobseck’s suggestion. It is said that she held out for a long while
before she gave the signature required by French law for the sale of
the property; nevertheless the Count gained his point. The Countess was
convinced that her husband was realizing his fortune, and that somewhere
or other there would be a little bunch of notes representing the amount;
they had been deposited with a notary, or perhaps at the bank, or in
some safe hiding-place. Following out her train of thought, it was
evident that M. de Restaud must of necessity have some kind of document
in his possession by which any remaining property could be recovered and
handed over to his son.
“So she made up her mind to keep the strictest possible watch over the
sick-room. She ruled despotically in the house, and everything in it
was submitted to this feminine espionage. All day she sat in the salon
adjoining her husband’s room, so that she could hear every syllable that
he uttered, every least movement that he made. She had a bed put there
for her of a night, but she did not sleep very much. The doctor was
entirely in her interests. Such wifely devotion seemed praiseworthy
enough. With the natural subtlety of perfidy, she took care to disguise
M. de Restaud’s repugnance for her, and feigned distress so perfectly
that she gained a sort of celebrity. Strait-laced women were even found
to say that she had expiated her sins. Always before her eyes she
beheld a vision of the destitution to follow on the Count’s death if her
presence of mind should fail her; and in these ways the wife, repulsed
from the bed of pain on which her husband lay and groaned, had drawn
a charmed circle round about it. So near, yet kept at a distance;
all-powerful, but in disgrace, the apparently devoted wife was lying
in wait for death and opportunity; crouching like the ant-lion at the
bottom of his spiral pit, ever on the watch for the prey that cannot
escape, listening to the fall of every grain of sand.
“The strictest censor could not but recognize that the Countess pushed
maternal sentiment to the last degree. Her father’s death had been a
lesson to her, people said. She worshiped her children. They were so
young that she could hide the disorders of her life from their eyes,
and could win their love; she had given them the best and most brilliant
education. I confess that I cannot help admiring her and feeling sorry
for her. Gobseck used to joke me about it. Just about that time she had
discovered Maxime’s baseness, and was expiating the sins of the past in
tears of blood. I was sure of it. Hateful as were the measures which
she took for regaining control of her husband’s money, were they not
the result of a mother’s love, and a desire to repair the wrongs she
had done her children? And again, it may be, like many a woman who has
experienced the storm of lawless love, she felt a longing to lead a
virtuous life again. Perhaps she only learned the worth of that life
when she came to reap the woeful harvest sown by her errors.
“Every time that little Ernest came out of his father’s room, she put
him through a searching examination as to all that his father had done
or said. The boy willingly complied with his mother’s wishes, and told
her even more than she asked in her anxious affection, as he thought.
“My visit was a ray of light for the Countess. She was determined to
see in me the instrument of the Count’s vengeance, and resolved that
I should not be allowed to go near the dying man. I augured ill of all
this, and earnestly wished for an interview, for I was not easy in my
mind about the fate of the counter-deed. If it should fall into the
Countess’ hands, she might turn it to her own account, and that would
be the beginning of a series of interminable lawsuits between her and
Gobseck. I knew the usurer well enough to feel convinced that he would
never give up the property to her; there was room for plenty of legal
quibbling over a series of transfers, and I alone knew all the ins and
outs of the matter. I was minded to prevent such a tissue of misfortune,
so I went to the Countess a second time.
“I have noticed, madame,” said Derville, turning to the Vicomtesse, and
speaking in a confidential tone, “certain moral phenomena to which we
do not pay enough attention. I am naturally an observer of human nature,
and instinctively I bring a spirit of analysis to the business that I
transact in the interest of others, when human passions are called into
lively play. Now, I have often noticed, and always with new wonder, that
two antagonists almost always divine each other’s inmost thoughts and
ideas. Two enemies sometimes possess a power of clear insight into
mental processes, and read each other’s minds as two lovers read in
either soul. So when we came together, the Countess and I, I understood
at once the reason of her antipathy for me, disguised though it was by
the most gracious forms of politeness and civility. I had been forced to
be her confidant, and a woman cannot but hate the man before whom she
is compelled to blush. And she on her side knew that if I was the man in
whom her husband placed confidence, that husband had not as yet given up
his fortune.
“I will spare you the conversation, but it abides in my memory as one of
the most dangerous encounters in my career. Nature had bestowed on her
all the qualities which, combined, are irresistibly fascinating; she
could be pliant and proud by turns, and confiding and coaxing in
her manner; she even went so far as to try to subjugate me. It was a
failure. As I took my leave of her, I caught a gleam of hate and rage
in her eyes that made me shudder. We parted enemies. She would fain have
crushed me out of existence; and for my own part, I felt pity for her,
and for some natures pity is the deadliest of insults. This feeling
pervaded the last representations I put before her; and when I left her,
I left, I think, dread in the depths of her soul, by declaring that,
turn which way she would, ruin lay inevitably before her.
“‘If I were to see M. le Comte, your children’s property at any rate
would----’
“‘I should be at your mercy,’ she said, breaking in upon me, disgust in
her gesture.
“Now that we had spoken frankly, I made up my mind to save the family
from impending destitution. I resolved to strain the law at need to gain
my ends, and this was what I did. I sued the Comte de Restaud for a sum
of money, ostensibly due to Gobseck, and gained judgment. The Countess,
of course, did not allow him to know of this, but I had gained on my
point, I had a right to affix seals to everything on the death of the
Count. I bribed one of the servants in the house--the man undertook to
let me know at any hour of the day or night if his master should be
at the point of death, so that I could intervene at once, scare
the Countess with a threat of affixing seals, and so secure the
counter-deed.
“I learned later on that the woman was studying the Code, with her
husband’s dying moans in her ears. If we could picture the thoughts of
those who stand about a deathbed, what fearful sights should we not see?
Money is always the motive-spring of the schemes elaborated, of all the
plans that are made and the plots that are woven about it! Let us leave
these details, nauseating in the nature of them; but perhaps they may
have given you some insight into all that this husband and wife endured;
perhaps too they may unveil much that is passing in secret in other
houses.
“For two months the Comte de Restaud lay on his bed, alone, and resigned
to his fate. Mortal disease was slowly sapping the strength of mind and
body. Unaccountable and grotesque sick fancies preyed upon him; he would
not suffer them to set his room in order, no one could nurse him, he
would not even allow them to make his bed. All his surroundings bore the
marks of this last degree of apathy, the furniture was out of place, the
daintiest trifles were covered with dust and cobwebs. In health he had
been a man of refined and expensive tastes, now he positively delighted
in the comfortless look of the room. A host of objects required in
illness--rows of medicine bottles, empty and full, most of them dirty,
crumpled linen, and broken plates, littered the writing-table, chairs,
and chimney-piece. An open warming-pan lay on the floor before the
grate; a bath, still full of mineral water had not been taken away. The
sense of coming dissolution pervaded all the details of an unsightly
chaos. Signs of death appeared in things inanimate before the Destroyer
came to the body on the bed. The Comte de Restaud could not bear the
daylight, the Venetian shutters were closed, darkness deepened the gloom
in the dismal chamber. The sick man himself had wasted greatly. All the
life in him seemed to have taken refuge in the still brilliant eyes. The
livid whiteness of his face was something horrible to see, enhanced as
it was by the long dank locks of hair that straggled along his cheeks,
for he would never suffer them to cut it. He looked like some religious
fanatic in the desert. Mental suffering was extinguishing all human
instincts in this man of scarce fifty years of age, whom all Paris had
known as so brilliant and so successful.
“One morning at the beginning of December 1824, he looked up at Ernest,
who sat at the foot of his bed gazing at his father with wistful eyes.
“‘Are you in pain?’ the little Vicomte asked.
“‘No,’ said the Count, with a ghastly smile, ‘it all lies _here and
about my heart_!’
“He pointed to his forehead, and then laid his wasted fingers on his
hollow chest. Ernest began to cry at the sight.
“‘How is it that M. Derville does not come to me?’ the Count asked his
servant (he thought that Maurice was really attached to him, but the man
was entirely in the Countess’ interest)--‘What! Maurice!’ and the dying
man suddenly sat upright in his bed, and seemed to recover all his
presence of mind, ‘I have sent for my attorney seven or eight times
during the last fortnight, and he does not come!’ he cried. ‘Do you
imagine that I am to be trifled with? Go for him, at once, this very
instant, and bring him back with you. If you do not carry out my orders,
I shall get up and go myself.’
“‘Madame,’ said the man as he came into the salon, ‘you heard M. le
Comte; what ought I to do?’
“‘Pretend to go to the attorney, and when you come back tell your
master that his man of business is forty leagues away from Paris on
an important lawsuit. Say that he is expected back at the end of the
week.--Sick people never know how ill they are,’ thought the Countess;
‘he will wait till the man comes home.’
“The doctor had said on the previous evening that the Count could
scarcely live through the day. When the servant came back two hours
later to give that hopeless answer, the dying man seemed to be greatly
agitated.
“‘Oh God!’ he cried again and again, ‘I put my trust in none but Thee.’
“For a long while he lay and gazed at his son, and spoke in a feeble
voice at last.
“‘Ernest, my boy, you are very young; but you have a good heart; you can
understand, no doubt, that a promise given to a dying man is sacred;
a promise to a father... Do you feel that you can be trusted with a
secret, and keep it so well and so closely that even your mother herself
shall not know that you have a secret to keep? There is no one else in
this house whom I can trust to-day. You will not betray my trust, will
you?’
“‘No, father.’
“‘Very well, then, Ernest, in a minute or two I will give you a sealed
packet that belongs to M. Derville; you must take such care of it that
no one can know that you have it; then you must slip out of the house
and put the letter into the post-box at the corner.’
“‘Yes, father.’
“‘Can I depend upon you?’
“‘Yes, father.’
“‘Come and kiss me. You have made death less bitter to me, dear boy.
In six or seven years’ time you will understand the importance of
this secret, and you will be well rewarded then for your quickness and
obedience, you will know then how much I love you. Leave me alone for a
minute, and let no one--no matter whom--come in meanwhile.’
“Ernest went out and saw his mother standing in the next room.
“‘Ernest,’ said she, ‘come here.’
“She sat down, drew her son to her knees, and clasped him in her arms,
and held him tightly to her heart.
“‘Ernest, your father said something to you just now.’
“‘Yes, mamma.’
“‘What did he say?’
“‘I cannot repeat it, mamma.’
“‘Oh, my dear child!’ cried the Countess, kissing him in rapture. ‘You
have kept your secret; how glad that makes me! Never tell a lie; never
fail to keep your word--those are two principles which should never be
forgotten.’
“‘Oh! mamma, how beautiful you are! _You_ have never told a lie, I am
quite sure.’
“‘Once or twice, Ernest dear, I have lied. Yes, and I have not kept my
word under circumstances which speak louder than all precepts. Listen,
my Ernest, you are big enough and intelligent enough to see that your
father drives me away, and will not allow me to nurse him, and this is
not natural, for you know how much I love him.’
“‘Yes, mamma.’
“The Countess began to cry. ‘Poor child!’ she said, ‘this misfortune
is the result of treacherous insinuations. Wicked people have tried to
separate me from your father to satisfy their greed. They mean to take
all our money from us and to keep it for themselves. If your father were
well, the division between us would soon be over; he would listen to
me; he is loving and kind; he would see his mistake. But now his mind is
affected, and his prejudices against me have become a fixed idea, a
sort of mania with him. It is one result of his illness. Your father’s
fondness for you is another proof that his mind is deranged. Until
he fell ill you never noticed that he loved you more than Pauline and
Georges. It is all caprice with him now. In his affection for you he
might take it into his head to tell you to do things for him. If you do
not want to ruin us all, my darling, and to see your mother begging her
bread like a pauper woman, you must tell her everything----’
“‘Ah!’ cried the Count. He had opened the door and stood there, a
sudden, half-naked apparition, almost as thin and fleshless as a
skeleton.
“His smothered cry produced a terrible effect upon the Countess; she
sat motionless, as if a sudden stupor had seized her. Her husband was as
white and wasted as if he had risen out of his grave.
“‘You have filled my life to the full with trouble, and now you are
trying to vex my deathbed, to warp my boy’s mind, and make a depraved
man of him!’ he cried, hoarsely.
“The Countess flung herself at his feet. His face, working with the last
emotions of life, was almost hideous to see.
“‘Mercy! mercy!’ she cried aloud, shedding a torrent of tears.
“‘Have you shown me any pity?’ he asked. ‘I allowed you to squander your
own money, and now do you mean to squander my fortune, too, and ruin my
son?’
“‘Ah! well, yes, have no pity for me, be merciless to me!’ she cried.
‘But the children? Condemn your widow to live in a convent; I will obey
you; I will do anything, anything that you bid me, to expiate the wrong
I have done you, if that so the children may be happy! The children! Oh,
the children!’
“‘I have only one child,’ said the Count, stretching out a wasted arm,
in his despair, towards his son.
“‘Pardon a penitent woman, a penitent woman!...’ wailed the Countess,
her arms about her husband’s damp feet. She could not speak for sobbing;
vague, incoherent sounds broke from her parched throat.
“‘You dare to talk of penitence after all that you said to Ernest!’
exclaimed the dying man, shaking off the Countess, who lay groveling
over his feet.--‘You turn me to ice!’ he added, and there was something
appalling in the indifference with which he uttered the words. ‘You
have been a bad daughter; you have been a bad wife; you will be a bad
mother.’
“The wretched woman fainted away. The dying man reached his bed and lay
down again, and a few hours later sank into unconsciousness. The priests
came and administered the sacraments.
“At midnight he died; the scene that morning had exhausted his remaining
strength, and on the stroke of midnight I arrived with Daddy Gobseck.
The house was in confusion, and under cover of it we walked up into the
little salon adjoining the death-chamber. The three children were there
in tears, with two priests, who had come to watch with the dead. Ernest
came over to me, and said that his mother desired to be alone in the
Count’s room.
“‘Do not go in,’ he said; and I admired the child for his tone and
gesture; ‘she is praying there.’
“Gobseck began to laugh that soundless laugh of his, but I felt too much
touched by the feeling in Ernest’s little face to join in the miser’s
sardonic amusement. When Ernest saw that we moved towards the door,
he planted himself in front of it, crying out, ‘Mamma, here are some
gentlemen in black who want to see you!’
“Gobseck lifted Ernest out of the way as if the child had been a
feather, and opened the door.
“What a scene it was that met our eyes! The room was in frightful
disorder; clothes and papers and rags lay tossed about in a confusion
horrible to see in the presence of Death; and there, in the midst, stood
the Countess in disheveled despair, unable to utter a word, her eyes
glittering. The Count had scarcely breathed his last before his wife
came in and forced open the drawers and the desk; the carpet was strewn
with litter, some of the furniture and boxes were broken, the signs of
violence could be seen everywhere. But if her search had at first proved
fruitless, there was that in her excitement and attitude which led me to
believe that she had found the mysterious documents at last. I glanced
at the bed, and professional instinct told me all that had happened. The
mattress had been flung contemptuously down by the bedside, and across
it, face downwards, lay the body of the Count, like one of the paper
envelopes that strewed the carpet--he too was nothing now but an
envelope. There was something grotesquely horrible in the attitude of
the stiffening rigid limbs.
“The dying man must have hidden the counter-deed under his pillow to
keep it safe so long as life should last; and his wife must have guessed
his thought; indeed, it might be read plainly in his last dying gesture,
in the convulsive clutch of his claw-like hands. The pillow had been
flung to the floor at the foot of the bed; I could see the print of
her heel upon it. At her feet lay a paper with the Count’s arms on the
seals; I snatched it up, and saw that it was addressed to me. I looked
steadily at the Countess with the pitiless clear-sightedness of an
examining magistrate confronting a guilty creature. The contents were
blazing in the grate; she had flung them on the fire at the sound of our
approach, imagining, from a first hasty glance at the provisions which
I had suggested for her children, that she was destroying a will which
disinherited them. A tormented conscience and involuntary horror of the
deed which she had done had taken away all power of reflection. She had
been caught in the act, and possibly the scaffold was rising before her
eyes, and she already felt the felon’s branding iron.
“There she stood gasping for breath, waiting for us to speak, staring at
us with haggard eyes.
“I went across to the grate and pulled out an unburned fragment. ‘Ah,
madame!’ I exclaimed, ‘you have ruined your children! Those papers were
their titles to their property.’
“Her mouth twitched, she looked as if she were threatened by a paralytic
seizure.
“‘Eh! eh!’ cried Gobseck; the harsh, shrill tone grated upon our ears
like the sound of a brass candlestick scratching a marble surface.
“There was a pause, then the old man turned to me and said quietly:
“‘Do you intend Mme. la Comtesse to suppose that I am not the rightful
owner of the property sold to me by her late husband? This house belongs
to me now.’
“A sudden blow on the head from a bludgeon would have given me less pain
and astonishment. The Countess saw the look of hesitation in my face.
“‘Monsieur,’ she cried, ‘Monsieur!’ She could find no other words.
“‘You are a trustee, are you not?’ I asked.
“‘That is possible.’
“‘Then do you mean to take advantage of this crime of hers?’
“‘Precisely.’
“I went at that, leaving the Countess sitting by her husband’s bedside,
shedding hot tears. Gobseck followed me. Outside in the street I
separated from him, but he came after me, flung me one of those
searching glances with which he probed men’s minds, and said in the
husky flute-tones, pitched in a shriller key:
“‘Do you take it upon yourself to judge me?’”
“From that time forward we saw little of each other. Gobseck let the
Count’s mansion on lease; he spent the summers on the country estates.
He was a lord of the manor in earnest, putting up farm buildings,
repairing mills and roadways, and planting timber. I came across him one
day in a walk in the Jardin des Tuileries.
“‘The Countess is behaving like a heroine,’ said I; ‘she gives herself
up entirely to the children’s education; she is giving them a perfect
bringing up. The oldest boy is a charming young fellow----’
“‘That is possible.’
“‘But ought you not to help Ernest?’ I suggested.
“‘Help him!’ cried Gobseck. ‘Not I. Adversity is the greatest of all
teachers; adversity teaches us to know the value of money and the worth
of men and women. Let him set sail on the seas of Paris; when he is a
qualified pilot, we will give him a ship to steer.’
“I left him without seeking to explain the meaning of his words.
“M. de Restaud’s mother has prejudiced him against me, and he is very
far from taking me as his legal adviser; still, I went to see Gobseck
last week to tell him about Ernest’s love for Mlle. Camille, and pressed
him to carry out his contract, since that young Restaud is just of age.
“I found the old bill-discounter had been kept to his bed for a long
time by the complaint of which he was to die. He put me off, saying that
he would give the matter his attention when he could get up again and
see after his business; his idea being no doubt that he would not give
up any of his possessions so long as the breath was in him; no other
reason could be found for his shuffling answer. He seemed to me to be
much worse than he at all suspected. I stayed with him long enough to
discern the progress of a passion which age had converted into a sort of
craze. He wanted to be alone in the house, and had taken the rooms one
by one as they fell vacant. In his own room he had changed nothing;
the furniture which I knew so well sixteen years ago looked the same as
ever; it might have been kept under a glass case. Gobseck’s faithful old
portress, with her husband, a pensioner, who sat in the entry while
she was upstairs, was still his housekeeper and charwoman, and now in
addition his sick-nurse. In spite of his feebleness, Gobseck saw his
clients himself as heretofore, and received sums of money; his affairs
had been so simplified, that he only needed to send his pensioner out
now and again on an errand, and could carry on business in his bed.
“After the treaty, by which France recognized the Haytian Republic,
Gobseck was one of the members of the commission appointed to liquidate
claims and assess repayments due by Hayti; his special knowledge of old
fortunes in San Domingo, and the planters and their heirs and assigns
to whom the indemnities were due, had led to his nomination. Gobseck’s
peculiar genius had then devised an agency for discounting the planters’
claims on the government. The business was carried on under the names
of Werbrust and Gigonnet, with whom he shared the spoil without
disbursements, for his knowledge was accepted instead of capital. The
agency was a sort of distillery, in which money was extracted from
doubtful claims, and the claims of those who knew no better, or had no
confidence in the government. As a liquidator, Gobseck could make terms
with the large landed proprietors; and these, either to gain a higher
percentage of their claims, or to ensure prompt settlements, would send
him presents in proportion to their means. In this way presents came to
be a kind of percentage upon sums too large to pass through his control,
while the agency bought up cheaply the small and dubious claims, or the
claims of those persons who preferred a little ready money to a deferred
and somewhat hazy repayment by the Republic. Gobseck was the insatiable
boa constrictor of the great business. Every morning he received his
tribute, eyeing it like a Nabob’s prime minister, as he considers
whether he will sign a pardon. Gobseck would take anything, from the
present of game sent him by some poor devil or the pound’s weight of wax
candles from devout folk, to the rich man’s plate and the speculator’s
gold snuff-box. Nobody knew what became of the presents sent to the old
money-lender. Everything went in, but nothing came out.
“‘On the word of an honest woman,’ said the portress, an old
acquaintance of mine, ‘I believe he swallows it all and is none the
fatter for it; he is as thin and dried up as the cuckoo in the clock.’
“At length, last Monday, Gobseck sent his pensioner for me. The man came
up to my private office.
“‘Be quick and come, M. Derville,’ said he, ‘the governor is just
going to hand in his checks; he has grown as yellow as a lemon; he is
fidgeting to speak with you; death has fair hold of him; the rattle is
working in his throat.’
“When I entered Gobseck’s room, I found the dying man kneeling before
the grate. If there was no fire on the hearth, there was at any rate
a monstrous heap of ashes. He had dragged himself out of bed, but his
strength had failed him, and he could neither go back nor find the voice
to complain.
“‘You felt cold, old friend,’ I said, as I helped him back to his bed;
‘how can you do without a fire?’
“‘I am not cold at all,’ he said. ‘No fire here! no fire! I am going, I
know not where, lad,’ he went on, glancing at me with blank, lightless
eyes, ‘but I am going away from this.--I have _carpology_,’ said he
(the use of the technical term showing how clear and accurate his mental
processes were even now). ‘I thought the room was full of live gold, and
I got up to catch some of it.--To whom will all mine go, I wonder?
Not to the crown; I have left a will, look for it, Grotius. _La belle
Hollandaise_ had a daughter; I once saw the girl somewhere or other, in
the Rue Vivienne, one evening. They call her “_La Torpille_,” I believe;
she is as pretty as pretty can be; look her up, Grotius. You are my
executor; take what you like; help yourself. There are Strasburg pies,
there, and bags of coffee, and sugar, and gold spoons. Give the Odiot
service to your wife. But who is to have the diamonds? Are you going
to take them, lad? There is snuff too--sell it at Hamburg, tobaccos are
worth half as much again at Hamburg. All sorts of things I have in fact,
and now I must go and leave them all.--Come, Papa Gobseck, no weakness,
be yourself!’
“He raised himself in bed, the lines of his face standing out as
sharply against the pillow as if the profile had been cast in bronze; he
stretched out a lean arm and bony hand along the coverlet and clutched
it, as if so he would fain keep his hold on life, then he gazed hard at
the grate, cold as his own metallic eyes, and died in full consciousness
of death. To us--the portress, the old pensioner, and myself--he looked
like one of the old Romans standing behind the Consuls in Lethiere’s
picture of the _Death of the Sons of Brutus_.
“‘He was a good-plucked one, the old Lascar!’ said the pensioner in his
soldierly fashion.
“But as for me, the dying man’s fantastical enumeration of his riches
still sounding in my ears, and my eyes, following the direction of his,
rested on that heap of ashes. It struck me that it was very large. I
took the tongs, and as soon as I stirred the cinders, I felt the metal
underneath, a mass of gold and silver coins, receipts taken during his
illness, doubtless, after he grew too feeble to lock the money up, and
could trust no one to take it to the bank for him.
“‘Run for the justice of the peace,’ said I, turning to the old
pensioner, ‘so that everything can be sealed here at once.’
“Gobseck’s last words and the old portress’ remarks had struck me.
I took the keys of the rooms on the first and second floor to make a
visitation. The first door that I opened revealed the meaning of the
phrases which I took for mad ravings; and I saw the length to which
covetousness goes when it survives only as an illogical instinct, the
last stage of greed of which you find so many examples among misers in
country towns.
“In the room next to the one in which Gobseck had died, a quantity of
eatables of all kinds were stored--putrid pies, mouldy fish, nay, even
shell-fish, the stench almost choked me. Maggots and insects swarmed.
These comparatively recent presents were put down, pell-mell, among
chests of tea, bags of coffee, and packing-cases of every shape. A
silver soup tureen on the chimney-piece was full of advices of the
arrival of goods consigned to his order at Havre, bales of cotton,
hogsheads of sugar, barrels of rum, coffees, indigo, tobaccos, a perfect
bazaar of colonial produce. The room itself was crammed with furniture,
and silver-plate, and lamps, and vases, and pictures; there were books,
and curiosities, and fine engravings lying rolled up, unframed. Perhaps
these were not all presents, and some part of this vast quantity of
stuff had been deposited with him in the shape of pledges, and had been
left on his hands in default of payment. I noticed jewel-cases, with
ciphers and armorial bearings stamped upon them, and sets of fine
table-linen, and weapons of price; but none of the things were docketed.
I opened a book which seemed to be misplaced, and found a thousand-franc
note in it. I promised myself that I would go through everything
thoroughly; I would try the ceilings, and floors, and walls, and
cornices to discover all the gold, hoarded with such passionate greed
by a Dutch miser worthy of a Rembrandt’s brush. In all the course of
my professional career I have never seen such impressive signs of the
eccentricity of avarice.
“I went back to his room, and found an explanation of this chaos
and accumulation of riches in a pile of letters lying under the
paper-weights on his desk--Gobseck’s correspondence with the various
dealers to whom doubtless he usually sold his presents. These persons
had, perhaps, fallen victims to Gobseck’s cleverness, or Gobseck may
have wanted fancy prices for his goods; at any rate, every bargain hung
in suspense. He had not disposed of the eatables to Chevet, because
Chevet would only take them of him at a loss of thirty per cent. Gobseck
haggled for a few francs between the prices, and while they wrangled the
goods became unsalable. Again, Gobseck had refused free delivery of
his silver-plate, and declined to guarantee the weights of his coffees.
There had been a dispute over each article, the first indication in
Gobseck of the childishness and incomprehensible obstinacy of age, a
condition of mind reached at last by all men in whom a strong passion
survives the intellect.
“I said to myself, as he had said, ‘To whom will all these riches go?’
... And then I think of the grotesque information he gave me as to the
present address of his heiress, I foresee that it will be my duty
to search all the houses of ill-fame in Paris to pour out an immense
fortune on some worthless jade. But, in the first place, know this--that
in a few days time Ernest de Restaud will come into a fortune to which
his title is unquestionable, a fortune which will put him in a position
to marry Mlle. Camille, even after adequate provision has been made for
his mother the Comtesse de Restaud and his sister and brother.”