Old Man Goriot

  Madame de Nucingen was taking her bath. Rastignac waited in the boudoir, burning with the understandable impatience of a hot-blooded young man who is in a hurry to possess a mistress he has desired for two years. Emotions such as these are experienced only once in a young man’s life. The first woman a man falls for who really is a woman, that is to say, one who appears before him in all the splendid trappings that fit her for Parisian society, that woman will never be rivalled. In Paris, love bears no resemblance at all to love elsewhere. Neither men nor women are fooled by the ornate caparison of commonplaces with which, for the sake of appearances, they cover up their so-called disinterested affections. In these surroundings, a woman must do more than please the heart and the senses: she knows perfectly well that she has a far greater duty to the thousand vanities life is made of. Here, more than anywhere else, love is essentially vainglorious, shameless, wasteful, flashy and false. If all the women at the court of Louis XIV envied Mademoiselle de La Vallière the great passion which made that noble prince forget that his cuffs cost a thousand écus apiece,197 when he tore them off to assist the Duc de Vermandois’ entry on the world-stage, what might we expect from the rest of humanity? Be young, rich, titled, be even better than that if you can: the more incense you burn before the idol, the more she’ll favour you – if you have an idol, that is. Love is a religion, one whose worship inevitably costs more than any other; it flies past swiftly, like a child who marks his passage by leaving devastation in his wake. The luxury of feeling is the poetry of the garret; without such wealth, what would become of love? If there are any exceptions to the draconian laws of the Parisian code of conduct, they are found in solitude, in spirits who have fought against the current of social doctrine, who live near some clear spring, elusive but unceasing; who, loyal to their green shade, content to listen to the language of infinity, which they find written in themselves and in everything, patiently await their wings, pitying those who are earthbound.

  But Rastignac, like most young men who have had a taste of greatness before their time, wanted to enter the lists of society fully armed; he was full of the spirit of combat, but while he may have felt strong enough to prevail, was still ignorant of either the means or the aim of his ambition. If you have no pure and sacred love to fill your life, this thirst for power can be a fine thing; simply cast off all self-interest and devote yourself to making your country great. But the student had not yet reached the vantage-point from which a man can look back on his life with a critical eye. Indeed, at this moment in time, he still hadn’t entirely freed himself of the charm of the fresh and pleasing ideas that wrap themselves like foliage around the childhood of a boy raised in the country. He had continually hesitated to cross the Parisian Rubicon.198 Even as he burned with all kinds of curiosity, he couldn’t quite let go of the attractive picture of a true gentleman leading a contented life in his castle. However, his last remaining scruples had vanished the previous evening when he found himself in his new rooms. Now that he enjoyed the material benefits of wealth, as he had for so long enjoyed the moral superiority of birth, he had shed his provincial skin and smoothly made a move that pointed to a promising future. So, as he waited for Delphine, lolling in a chair in the pretty boudoir he was coming to think of as his own, he felt so far removed from the Rastignac who had arrived in Paris a year ago, and who now appeared before him by some optical illusion of the mind, that he wondered if, at that precise moment, he bore any resemblance to himself at all.

  ‘Madame is in her room,’ Thérèse came in and announced, making him jump.

  He found Delphine resting on the love-seat by the fire, fresh and calm. Seeing her reclining there among billowing waves of muslin, it was impossible not to compare her to one of those beautiful Indian plants whose fruit is set inside the flower.

  ‘Ah, at last,’ she said, with emotion.

  ‘Guess what I’ve brought you,’ said Eugène, sitting down beside her and taking her arm to kiss her hand.

  Madame de Nucingen made a gesture of delight as she read the invitation. She looked at Eugène, her eyes moist with tears, and threw her arms around his neck to pull him closer to her, in raptures of gratified vanity.

  ‘So it’s to you, Monsieur’ (‘to you, my darling,’ she whispered in his ear; ‘but Thérèse is in my dressing-room, we must be careful!’), ‘to you, Monsieur, that I owe such bliss? Yes, I’ll venture to call this bliss. Since it has come through you, it must be more than just a triumph for my self-esteem. Nobody would introduce me to that set. Perhaps you’re thinking what a petty, frivolous, shallow Parisienne I am, at this moment; but you should know, dear friend, that I’m prepared to make any sacrifice for you, and that if my desire to gain access to the Faubourg Saint-Germain is stronger than ever, it’s because I will find you there.’

  ‘Don’t you think’, said Eugène, ‘that Madame de Beauséant is saying she doesn’t expect to see Baron de Nucingen at the ball?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ said the baronne, returning the letter to Eugène. ‘There’s no one can match those women for impertinence. But no matter, I’ll go. My sister will be there; I’ve heard she’s having an exquisite outfit made. Eugène,’ she continued, lowering her voice, ‘she’s going because she has to clear some appalling suspicions. Haven’t you heard the rumours that are flying around about her? This morning Nucingen came in and told me that everyone was talking about it quite openly last night at the Club. What a thread it hangs on, dear God! the honour of women and families! I felt attacked, wounded on my poor sister’s behalf. They’re saying that Monsieur de Trailles has signed bills of exchange worth around a hundred thousand francs, most of which are now overdue, and so a process has been sued out against him. They’re saying that my sister, driven to extremity, sold her diamonds to a Jew, those beautiful diamonds you might have seen her wearing, which belonged to her mother-in-law, Madame de Restaud. No one has talked about anything else for the past two days. I can understand then why Anastasie might be having a splendid lamé dress made and wants all eyes to be drawn to her at Madame de Beauséant’s ball, when she appears in all her splendour and with her diamonds. But I won’t be looked down on by her. She has always tried to crush me; she has never done me a single good service, I who have done so many for her and have always given her money when she had none. But let’s forget society: I want to be happy today.’

  Rastignac was still at Madame de Nucingen’s house at one in the morning. As she tenderly bade him a lovers’ farewell, that adieu so full of the joys to come, she said to him with a melancholy air: ‘I’m so afraid, so superstitious; call my premonitions what you will, but I’m terrified that I’ll pay for my happiness with some terrible catastrophe.’

  ‘Child,’ said Eugène.

  ‘Ah! So I’m the child tonight,’ she said, laughing.

  Eugène returned to the Maison Vauquer knowing he would be leaving it the next day, and so, on his way back, sank into the blissful day-dreams of a young man who can still taste happiness on his lips.

  ‘Well?’ old Goriot called out to Rastignac, as he walked past his door.

  ‘Well,’ replied Eugène, ‘I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.’

  ‘Everything, you promise?’ cried the old fellow. ‘Go to bed. A life of happiness awaits us tomorrow.’

  The next day, all that was preventing Goriot and Rastignac from leaving the boarding house was the tardy arrival of the remover, when, around midday, the sound of a carriage stopping right outside the door of the Maison Vauquer was heard in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève. Madame de Nucingen stepped out and asked if her father was still at the boarding house. When Sylvie replied in the affirmative, she nimbly glided up the stairs. Eugène was in his room without his neighbour’s knowledge. During déjeuner, he had asked old man Goriot to take charge of his belongings, saying they would meet at four in the Rue d’Artois. However, while the old fellow was out looking for porters, Eugène, having swiftly answered the roll-call at the Ecole de Droit, had come back without anyone realiz
ing, to settle up with Madame Vauquer, not wanting to leave this to Goriot, who would, in an excess of enthusiasm, most likely have paid for him. But their landlady was out. Eugène went back up to his room to see if he had forgotten anything, and congratulated himself for having thought to do so, when, in the drawer of his desk, he found the blank bill made out to Vautrin, which he had thrown in there without thinking on the day he had paid it back. As he had no fire in the grate, he was about to tear it into tiny pieces when he recognized Delphine’s voice. Not wanting to make a sound, he stopped to listen to her, thinking that there should be no secrets between them. Then, as soon as she began to speak, he found the conversation between father and daughter of too much interest for him not to listen.

  ‘Ah! Dear Father,’ she said; ‘I hope to God that your idea of asking him to account for my fortune has come in time to prevent my ruin! May I speak freely?’

  ‘Yes, the house is empty,’ said old Goriot, in a choked voice.

  ‘What’s the matter, Father?’ asked Madame de Nucingen.

  ‘You’ve just dealt me a terrible blow,’ said the old man. ‘God forgive you, child! You can’t know how much I love you; if you did, you wouldn’t have said such a thing with so little warning, especially if the situation isn’t desperate. Tell me: what has happened that is so urgent you had to come and find me here, when we were to meet later today at the Rue d’Artois?’

  ‘Why Father! Is anyone in control of their first reaction in a catastrophe? I’m out of my mind! Your solicitor has helped us find out a little earlier about the disaster which is bound to strike later. Your long business experience will need to serve us well, and I ran to find you here, as a drowning man clings to a branch. When he found that Nucingen kept throwing endless obstacles in his way, Maître Derville threatened to sue him, saying that he would shortly obtain authorization from the magistrate. Nucingen came to see me this morning and asked me if I wanted to bring about both his ruin and my own. I replied that I didn’t know what he was talking about, that I had a fortune, that I ought to be in possession of my fortune and that everything to do with this affair was being handled by my solicitor, that I knew nothing at all about anything and was therefore unable to discuss the slightest detail. Wasn’t that what you told me to say?’

  ‘Good,’ replied old man Goriot.

  ‘Well,’ continued Delphine, ‘he let me know the state of his affairs. He has invested all his capital and mine in ventures which are only just starting out and for which he has had to put aside vast sums of money. If I were to force him to pay me back my dowry, he’d be obliged to declare himself bankrupt; whereas if I decide to wait another year, he has promised on his honour to repay me with a fortune double or triple my own, by investing my capital in property schemes, leaving me in possession of all the assets upon completion. Dear Father, he meant what he said; he has frightened me. He asked me to forgive him for what he’d done, he gave me back my freedom, he said I could do whatever I want, as long as I let him manage the business concerns in my name. To prove his good faith, he promised to consult Maître Derville as often as I like, to judge whether the deeds making the property over to me are properly drawn up. In other words, he has placed himself in my hands, bound hand and foot. He wants to run the household for another two years and has begged me not to spend any more on myself than my allowance permits. He assured me that it’s all he can do to keep up appearances, that he’s sent away his dancer and that he’s going to have to exercise the strictest economy, if his speculations are to come to maturity without his credit being affected. I made it hard for him, I cast doubt on everything, pushed him to the limit so I’d find out more: he showed me his books, he even cried. I’ve never seen a man in such a state. He lost his head, said he’d kill himself, he was beside himself. I felt sorry for him.’

  ‘And you believe his nonsense,’ cried old Goriot. ‘He’s putting it on! I’ve dealt with Germans in business before: most are men of good faith and integrity, but when they start being tricksy and cunning beneath that sincere and good-natured air, they’re better at it than anyone else. Your husband is fooling you. He can feel the hounds closing in, he’s playing dead; he has more control in your name than in his own and wants to keep it that way. He’ll make the most of the situation to cover himself against the risks of his profession. He’s as devious as he is dishonest; he’s a bad lot. No, no, I won’t end up in Père Lachaise199 and leave my daughters destitute. I still know a thing or two about business. He has, so he says, invested in a number of ventures. Well, in that case, the interests he holds correspond to securities, surveys, contracts! Let him show them and come to a settlement with you. We’ll choose the best speculations, run the risks ourselves and have the shares marked in our name as Delphine Goriot, wife of Baron de Nucingen, with separate

  assets.200 Does the man take me for a fool? Does he really think that I could stand the thought of leaving you without money, without bread, for even two days? I couldn’t bear it for a single day, for a night, two hours! If I thought there was any truth in the idea, it would be the end of me. What! Are you telling me that I’ve worked for forty years, broken my back lugging sacks around, poured with sweat, done without all my life for you, my angels, who made any burden, any toil seem light, only to see my entire fortune, my whole life, go up in smoke today! I could die of rage. By all that’s most sacred in heaven and on earth, we’ll get to the bottom of this; we’ll check his books, his coffers, his business ventures! I won’t sleep, I won’t rest, I won’t eat, until I’ve found proof that your fortune is intact. Thank God your estate is separate and Maître Derville will represent you – luckily he’s an honest man. As God’s my witness, you’ll keep hold of your sweet little nest-egg million, your fifty thousand livres a year, until the end of your days, or I’ll kick up such a rumpus in Paris! Hah! And if the tribunals brushed us off, I’d take it to the Chamber of Deputies. Knowing that you had no worries or concerns about money soothed all my ills and eased my grief. Money is life. If you have cash, you can do anything. What’s he playing at, that great lump of an Alsatian? Delphine, don’t give so much as a quarter of a liard to that monster, who has shackled you and brought you down. If he needs you, we’ll knock him into shape and make him walk the straight and narrow. Lord, my head is on fire, there’s a burning inside my skull. My Delphine, without a penny! Oh! my Fifine, you of all people! Sapristi! Where are my gloves? Come on! Let’s go, I want to see it all immediately: books, business, accounts and correspondence. I won’t have any peace until I have proof that your fortune is no longer at risk and have seen it with my own eyes.’

  ‘My dear Father! We must be cautious. If you show even the slightest desire for vengeance in this matter and reveal that your intentions are hostile, I’ll be lost. He knows you, he thought it only natural for me to be concerned about my fortune, when prompted by you; but I swear to you, my money is in his hands and that’s exactly where he wants it to be. I wouldn’t put it past him to make off with the capital and leave us stranded, the scoundrel! He knows full well that I won’t bring my own name into disrepute by taking him to court. His position is both strong and weak. I’ve looked at it from every angle. If we push him to the limit, I’ll be ruined.’

  ‘Why then, he’s nothing short of a rogue?’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ she said, throwing herself onto a chair and weeping. ‘I didn’t want to tell you, to spare you the sorrow of having married me to such a man! His conscience and his private behaviour, his body and soul, they all lead to the same conclusion! It’s dreadful: I detest and despise him. Yes, I can no longer respect that crook Nucingen, after all that he’s told me. Any man who’s mixed up in the kind of underhand schemes he’s told me about must be entirely lacking in scruples, and if I’m afraid, it’s because I’ve seen what’s in his soul. That man, my own husband, explicitly offered me my freedom – you know what that means? – if I was willing to be a tool in his hands should his plans go awry, in other words, as long as I let him use my name as cover.?
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  ‘But we have laws! But we have a Place de Grève201 for sons-in-law who behave like that,’ cried old man Goriot; ‘why, I’d guillotine him myself if there was no executioner to be had.’

  ‘No, Father, there are no laws against him. Listen to what he’s really saying when you strip his words of all their niceties: “Either you lose everything, you end up penniless, you’re ruined – because I couldn’t possibly find another accomplice – or you allow my projects to come to fruition.” Is that clear enough? He still needs me. Having a wife who has integrity reassures him; he knows that I’ll leave him to his fortune and be content with my own. I must consent to this dishonest, wicked association or be ruined. He’s buying my conscience and paying for it by allowing me to be Eugène’s wife, in my own way. “I’ll let you commit misdemeanours; let me commit crimes and ruin the poor!” Is that plain enough language for you? Do you know what he calls a deal? He buys up vacant lots in his own name, then has men of straw build houses on them. These men strike deals for the buildings with contractors, paying the latter in long-dated bills of exchange. Then, for a small fee, the men of straw acknowledge receipt of payment by my husband – making him the owner of the houses – and then liquidate their debt towards the duped contractors by going bankrupt. The name of the firm of Nucingen is used to dazzle the poor contractors. I understood that much. I also understood that, in the event that he should ever need to prove he had paid out vast sums of money, Nucingen has transferred huge amounts of securities to Amsterdam, London, Naples, Vienna.202 How would we ever get hold of them?’

  Eugène heard a heavy thud as old Goriot fell to his knees on the tiled floor.

  ‘Lord, what have I done to you? My daughter at the mercy of this wretch; he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Forgive me, Daughter!’ cried the old man.