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双语·欧也妮·葛朗台 吝啬鬼许的愿·情人起的誓

所属教程:译林版·欧也妮·葛朗台

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2022年05月17日

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IV

In her father’s absence Eugenie had the happiness of busying herself openly with her much-loved cousin, of spending upon him fearlessly the treasures of her pity—woman’s sublime superiority, the sole she desires to have recognized, the sole she pardons man for letting her assume. Three or four times the young girl went to listen to her cousin’s breathing, to know if he were sleeping or awake;then, when he had risen, she turned her thoughts to the cream, the eggs, the fruits, the plates, the glasses—all that was a part of his breakfast became the object of some special care. At length she ran lightly up the old staircase to listen to the noise her cousin made. Was he dressing? Did he still weep? She reached the door.

“My cousin!”

“Yes, cousin.”

“Will you breakfast downstairs, or in your room?”

“Where you like.”

“How do you feel?”

“Dear cousin, I am ashamed of being hungry.”

This conversation, held through the closed door, was like an episode in a poem to Eugenie.

“Well, then, we will bring your breakfast to your own room, so as not to annoy my father.”

She ran to the kitchen with the swiftness and lightness of a bird.

“Nanon, go and do his room!”

That staircase, so often traversed, which echoed to the slightest noise, now lost its decaying aspect in the eyes of Eugenie. It grew luminous; it had a voice and spoke to her; it was young like herself—young like the love it was now serving. Her mother, her kind, indulgent mother, lent herself to the caprices of the child’s love, and after the room was put in order, both went to sit with the unhappy youth and keep him company. Does not Christian charity make consolation a duty? The two women drew a goodly number of little sophistries from their religion wherewith to justify their conduct.

Charles was made the object of the tenderest and most loving care. His saddened heart felt the sweetness of the gentle friendship, the exquisite sympathy which these two souls, crushed under perpetual restraint, knew so well how to display when, for an instant, they were left unfettered in the regions of suffering, their natural sphere. Claiming the right of relationship, Eugenie began to fold the linen and put in order the toilet articles which Charles had brought;thus she could marvel at her ease over each luxurious bauble and the various knick-knacks of silver or chased gold, which she held long in her hand under a pretext of examining them. Charles could not see without emotion the generous interest his aunt and cousin felt in him; he knew society in Paris well enough to feel assured that, placed as he now was, he would find all hearts indifferent or cold. Eugenie thus appeared to him in the splendor of a special beauty, and from thenceforth he admired the innocence of life and manners which the previous evening he had been inclined to ridicule. So when Eugenie took from Nanon the bowl of coffee and cream, and began to pour it out for her cousin with the simplicity of real feeling, giving him a kindly glance, the eyes of the Parisian filled with tears;he took her hand and kissed it.

“What troubles you?” she said.

“Oh! These are tears of gratitude,” he answered.

Eugenie turned abruptly to the chimney-piece to take the candlesticks.

“Here, Nanon, carry them away!” she said.

When she looked again towards her cousin she was still blushing, but her looks could at least deceive, and did not betray the excess of joy which innundated her heart; yet the eyes of both expressed the same sentiment as their souls flowed together in one thought—the future was theirs.

This soft emotion was all the more precious to Charles in the midst of his heavy grief because it was wholly unexpected. The sound of the knocker recalled the women to their usual station. Happily they were able to run downstairs with sufficient rapidity to be seated at their work when Grandet entered; had he met them under the archway it would have been enough to rouse his suspicions. After breakfast, which the goodman took standing, the keeper from Froidfond, to whom the promised indemnity had never yet been paid, made his appearance, bearing a hare and some partridges shot in the park, with eels and two pike sent as tribute by the millers.

“Ha, ha! Poor Cornoiller; here he comes, like fish in Lent. Is all that fit to eat?”

“Yes, my dear, generous master; it has been killed for two days.”

“Come, Nanon, bestir yourself,” said Grandet; “take these things, they’ll do for dinner. I have invited the two Cruchots.”

Nanon opened her eyes, stupid with amazement, and looked at everybody in the room.

“Well!” she said, “And how am I to get the lard and the spices?”

“Wife,” said Grandet, “give Nanon six francs, and remind me to get some of the good wine out of the cellar.”

“Well, then, Monsieur Grandet,” said the keeper, who had come prepared with an harangue for the purpose of settling the question of the indemnity, “Monsieur Grandet—”

“Ta, ta, ta, ta!” said Grandet; “I know what you want to say. You are a good fellow; we will see about it to-morrow, I’m too busy to-day. Wife, give him five francs,” he added to Madame Grandet as he decamped.

The poor woman was only too happy to buy peace at the cost of eleven francs. She knew that Grandet would let her alone for a fortnight after he had thus taken back, franc by franc, the money he had given her.

“Here, Cornoiller,” she said, slipping ten francs into the man’s hand, “some day we will reward your services.”

Cornoiller could say nothing, so he went away.

“Madame,” said Nanon, who had put on her black coif and taken her basket, “I want only three francs. You keep the rest; it’ll go fast enough somehow.”

“Have a good dinner, Nanon; my cousin will come down,” said Eugenie.

“Something very extraordinary is going on, I am certain of it,” said Madame Grandet. “This is only the third time since our marriage that your father has given a dinner.”

About four o’clock, just as Eugenie and her mother had finished setting the table for six persons, and after the master of the house had brought up a few bottles of the exquisite wine which provincials cherish with true affection, Charles came down into the hall. The young fellow was pale; his gestures, the expression of his face, his glance, and the tones of his voice, all had a sadness which was full of grace. He was not pretending grief, he truly suffered; and the veil of pain cast over his features gave him an interesting air dear to the heart of women. Eugenie loved him the more for it. Perhaps she felt that sorrow drew him nearer to her. Charles was no longer the rich and distinguished young man placed in a sphere far above her, but a relation plunged into frightful misery. Misery begets equality. Women have this in common with the angels—suffering humanity belongs to them. Charles and Eugenie understood each other and spoke only with their eyes; for the poor fallen dandy, orphaned and impoverished, sat apart in a corner of the room, and was proudly calm and silent. Yet, from time to time, the gentle and caressing glance of the young girl shone upon him and constrained him away from his sad thoughts, drawing him with her into the fields of hope and of futurity, where she loved to hold him at her side.

At this moment the town of Saumur was more excited about the dinner given by Grandet to the Cruchots than it had been the night before at the sale of his vintage, though that constituted a crime of high-treason against the whole wine-growing community. If the politic old miser had given his dinner from the same idea that cost the dog of Alcibiades his tail, he might perhaps have been called a great man; but the fact is, considering himself superior to a community which he could trick on all occasions, he paid very little heed to what Saumur might say. The des Grassins soon learned the facts of the failure and the violent death of Guillaume Grandet, and they determined to go to their client’s house that very evening to commiserate his misfortune and show him some marks of friendship, with a view of ascertaining the motives which had led him to invite the Cruchots to dinner.

At precisely five o’clock Monsieur C. de Bonfons and his uncle the notary arrived in their Sunday clothes. The party sat down to table and began to dine with good appetites. Grandet was grave, Charles silent, Eugenie dumb, and Madame Grandet did not say more than usual; so that the dinner was, very properly, a repast of condolence.

When they rose from table Charles said to his aunt and uncle—

“Will you permit me to retire? I am obliged to undertake a long and painful correspondence.”

“Certainly, nephew.”

As soon as the goodman was certain that Charles could hear nothing and was probably deep in his letter-writing, he said, with a dissimulating glance at his wife—

“Madame Grandet, what we have to talk about will be Latin to you; it is half-past seven; you can go and attend to your household accounts. Good-night, my daughter.”

He kissed Eugenie, and the two women departed. A scene now took place in which Pere Grandet brought to bear, more than at any other moment of his life, the shrewd dexterity he had acquired in his intercourse with men, and which had won him from those whose flesh he sometimes bit too sharply the nickname of “the old dog.” If the mayor of Saumur had carried his ambition higher still, if fortunate circumstances, drawing him towards the higher social spheres, had sent him into congresses where the affairs of nations were discussed, and had he there employed the genius with which his personal interests had endowed him, he would undoubtedly have proved nobly useful to his native land. Yet it is perhaps equally certain that outside of Saumur the goodman would have cut a very sorry figure. Possibly there are minds like certain animals which cease to breed when transplanted from the climates in which they are born.

“M…m…mon…sieur le p…p…president, you said t…t…that b…b…bankruptcy—”

The stutter which for years the old miser had assumed when it suited him, and which, together with the deafness of which he sometimes complained in rainy weather, was thought in Saumur to be a natural defect, became at this crisis so wearisome to the two Cruchots that while they listened they unconsciously made faces and moved their lips, as if pronouncing the words over which he was hesitating and stuttering at will. Here it may be well to give the history of this impediment of the speech and hearing of Monsieur Grandet.

No one in Anjou heard better, or could pronounce more crisply the French language (with an Angevin accent) than the wily old cooper. Some years earlier, in spite of his shrewdness, he had been taken in by an Israelite, who in the course of the discussion held his hand behind his ear to catch sounds, and mangled his meaning so thoroughly in trying to utter his words that Grandet fell a victim to his humanity and was compelled to prompt the wily Jew with the words and ideas he seemed to seek, to complete himself the arguments of the said Jew, to say what that cursed Jew ought to have said for himself; in short, to be the Jew instead of being Grandet. When the cooper came out of this curious encounter he had concluded the only bargain of which in the course of a long commercial life he ever had occasion to complain. But if he lost at the time pecuniarily, he gained morally a valuable lesson; later, he gathered its fruits. Indeed, the goodman ended by blessing that Jew for having taught him the art of irritating his commercial antagonist and leading him to forget his own thoughts in his impatience to suggest those over which his tormentor was stuttering.

No affair had ever needed the assistance of deafness, impediments of speech, and all the incomprehensible circumlocutions with which Grandet enveloped his ideas, as much as the affair now in hand. In the first place, he did not mean to shoulder the responsibility of his own scheme; in the next, he was determined to remain master of the conversation and to leave his real intentions in doubt.

“M…m…monsieur de B…B…Bonfons,” —

For the second time in three years Grandet called the Cruchot nephew Monsieur de Bonfons; the president felt he might consider himself the artful old fellow’s son-in-law—

“You…ou said th…th…that b…b…bankruptcy c…c…could, in some c…c…cases, b…b…be p…p…prevented b…b…by—”

“By the courts of commerce themselves. It is done constantly,”said Monsieur C. de Bonfons, bestriding Grandet’s meaning, or thinking he guessed it, and kindly wishing to help him out with it.“Listen.”

“Y…yes,” said Grandet humbly, with the mischievous expression of a boy who is inwardly laughing at his teacher while he pays him the greatest attention.

“When a man so respected and important as, for example, your late brother—”

“M…my b…b…brother, yes.”

“Is threatened with insolvency—”

“They c…c…call it in…ins…s…solvency?”

“Yes; when his failure is imminent, the court of commerce, to which he is amenable (please follow me attentively), has the power, by a decree, to appoint a receiver. Liquidation, you understand, is not the same as failure. When a man fails, he is dishonored; but when he merely liquidates, he remains an honest man.”

“T…t…that’s very d…d…different, if it d…d…doesn’t c…c…cost m…m…more,” said Grandet.

“But a liquidation can be managed without having recourse to the courts at all. For,” said the president, sniffing a pinch of snuff,“don’t you know how failures are declared?”

“N…n…no, I n…n…never t…t…thought,” answered Grandet.

“In the first place,” resumed the magistrate, “by filing the schedule in the record office of the court, which the merchant may do himself, or his representative for him with a power of attorney duly certified. In the second place, the failure may be declared under compulsion from the creditors. Now if the merchant does not file his schedule, and if no creditor appears before the courts to obtain a decree of insolvency against the merchant, what happens?”

“W…w…what h…h…happens?”

“Why, the family of the deceased, his representatives, his heirs, or the merchant himself, if he is not dead, or his friends if he is only hiding, liquidate his business. Perhaps you would like to liquidate your brother’s affairs?”

“Ah! Grandet,” said the notary, “that would be the right thing to do. There is honor down here in the provinces. If you save your name—for it is your name—you will be a man—”

“A noble man!” cried the president, interrupting his uncle.

“Certainly,” answered the old man, “my b…b…brother’s name was G…G…Grandet, like m…m…mine. Th…that’s c…c…certain;I d…d…don’t d…d…deny it. And th…th…this l…l…liquidation might be, in m…m…many ways, v…v…very advan…t…t…tageous t…t…to the interests of m…m…my n…n…nephew, whom I l…l…love. But I must consider. I don’t k…k…know the t…t…tricks of P…P…Paris. I b…b…belong to Sau…m…mur, d…d…don’t you see? M…m…my vines, my d…d…drains—in short, I’ve my own b…b…business. I never g…g…give n…n…notes. What are n…n…notes? I t…t…take a good m…m…many, but I have never s…s…signed one. I d…d…don’t understand such things. I have h…h…heard say that n…n…notes c…c…can be b…b…bought up.”

“Of course,” said the president. “Notes can be bought in the market, less so much per cent. Don’t you understand?”

Grandet made an ear…trumpet of his hand, and the president repeated his words.

“Well, then,” replied the man, “there’s s…s…something to be g…g…got out of it? I k…know n…nothing at my age about such th…th…things. I l…l…live here and l…l…look after the v…v…vines. The vines g…g…grow, and it’s the w…w…wine that p…p…pays. L…l…look after the v…v…vintage, t…t…that’s my r…r…rule. My c…c…chief interests are at Froidfond. I c…c…can’t l…l…leave my h…h…house to m…m…muddle myself with a d…d…devilish b…b…business I kn…know n…n…nothing about. You say I ought to l…l…liquidate my b…b…brother’s af…f…fairs, to p…p…prevent the f…f…failure. I c…c…can’t be in two p…p…places at once, unless I were a little b…b…bird, and—”

“I understand,” cried the notary. “Well, my old friend, you have friends, old friends, capable of devoting themselves to your interests.”

“All right!” thought Grandet, “make haste and come to the point!”

“Suppose one of them went to Paris and saw your brother Guillaume’s chief creditor and said to him—”

“One m…m…moment,” interrupted the goodman, “said wh…wh…what? Something l…l…like this. Monsieur Gr…Grandet of Saumur this, Monsieur Grandet of Saumur that. He l…loves his b…b…brother, he loves his n…nephew. Grandet is a g…g…good uncle;he m…m…means well. He has sold his v…v…vintage. D…d…don’t declare a f…f…failure; c…c…call a meeting; l…l…liquidate;and then Gr…Gr…Grandet will see what he c…c…can do. B…b…better liquidate than l…let the l…l…law st…st…stick its n…n…nose in. Hein? isn’t it so?”

“Exactly so,” said the president.

“B…because, don’t you see, Monsieur de B…Bonfons, a man must l…l…look b…b…before he l…leaps. If you c…c…can’t, you c…c…can’t. M…m…must know all about the m…m…matter, all the resources and the debts, if you d…d…don’t want to be r…r…ruined. Hein? isn’t it so?”

“Certainly,” said the president. “I’m of opinion that in a few months the debts might be bought up for a certain sum, and then paid in full by an agreement. Ha! ha! you can coax a dog a long way if you show him a bit of lard. If there has been no declaration of failure, and you hold a lien on the debts, you come out of the business as white as the driven snow.”

“Sn…n…now,” said Grandet, putting his hand to his ear, “wh…wh…what about s…now?”

“But,” cried the president, “do pray attend to what I am saying.”

“I am at…t…tending.”

“A note is merchandise—an article of barter which rises and falls in prices. That is a deduction from Jeremy Bentham’s theory about usury. That writer has proved that the prejudice which condemned usurers to reprobation was mere folly.”

“Whew!” ejaculated the goodman.

“Allowing that money, according to Bentham, is an article of merchandise, and that whatever represents money is equally merchandise,” resumed the president; “allowing also that it is notorious that the commercial note, bearing this or that signature, is liable to the fluctuation of all commercial values, rises or falls in the market, is dear at one moment, and is worth nothing at another, the courts decide—ah! how stupid I am, I beg your pardon—I am inclined to think you could buy up your brother’s debts for twenty…five per cent.”

“D…d…did you c…c…call him Je…Je…Jeremy B…Ben?”

“Bentham, an Englishman.’

“That’s a Jeremy who might save us a lot of lamentations in business,” said the notary, laughing.

“Those Englishmen s…sometimes t…t…talk sense,” said Grandet. “So, ac…c…cording to Ben…Bentham, if my b…b…brother’s n…notes are worth n…n…nothing; if Je…Je—I’m c…c…correct, am I not? That seems c…c…clear to my m…m…mind—the c…c…creditors would be—No, would not be; I understand.”

“Let me explain it all,” said the president. “Legally, if you acquire a title to all the debts of the Maison Grandet, your brother or his heirs will owe nothing to any one. Very good.”

“Very g…good,” repeated Grandet.

“In equity, if your brother’s notes are negotiated—negotiated, do you clearly understand the term?—negotiated in the market at a reduction of so much per cent in value, and if one of your friends happening to be present should buy them in, the creditors having sold them of their own free…will without constraint, the estate of the late Grandet is honorably released.”

“That’s t…true; b…b…business is b…business,” said the cooper. “B…b…but, st…still, you know, it is d…d…difficult. I h…have n…no m…m…money and n…no t…t…time.”

“Yes, but you need not undertake it. I am quite ready to go to Paris (you may pay my expenses, they will only be a trifle). I will see the creditors and talk with them and get an extension of time, and everything can be arranged if you will add something to the assets so as to buy up all title to the debts.”

“We…we’ll see about th…that. I c…c…can’t and I w…w…won’t bind myself without—He who c…c…can’t, can’t; don’t you see?”

“That’s very true.”

“I’m all p…p…put ab…b…bout by what you’ve t…t…told me. This is the f…first t…t…time in my life I have b…been obliged to th…th…think—”

“Yes, you are not a lawyer.”

“I’m only a p…p…poor wine…g…grower, and know n…nothing about wh…what you have just t…told me; I m…m…must th…think about it.”

“Very good,” said the president, preparing to resume his argument.

“Nephew!” said the notary, interrupting him in a warning tone.

“Well, what, uncle?” answered the president.

“Let Monsieur Grandet explain his own intentions. The matter in question is of the first importance. Our good friend ought to define his meaning clearly, and—”

A loud knock, which announced the arrival of the des Grassins family, succeeded by their entrance and salutations, hindered Cruchot from concluding his sentence. The notary was glad of the interruption, for Grandet was beginning to look suspiciously at him, and the wen gave signs of a brewing storm. In the first place, the notary did not think it becoming in a president of the Civil courts to go to Paris and manipulate creditors and lend himself to an underhand job which clashed with the laws of strict integrity;moreover, never having known old Grandet to express the slightest desire to pay anything, no matter what, he instinctively feared to see his nephew taking part in the affair. He therefore profited by the entrance of the des Grassins to take the nephew by the arm and lead him into the embrasure of the window—

“You have said enough, nephew; you’ve shown enough devotion. Your desire to win the girl blinds you. The devil! you mustn’t go at it tooth and nail. Let me sail the ship now; you can haul on the braces. Do you think it right to compromise your dignity as a magistrate in such a—”

He stopped, for he heard Monsieur des Grassins saying to the old cooper as they shook hands—

“Grandet, we have heard of the frightful misfortunes which have just befallen your family—the failure of the house of Guillaume Grandet and the death of your brother. We have come to express our grief at these sad events.”

“There is but one sad event,” said the notary, interrupting the banker—”the death of Monsieur Grandet, junior; and he would never have killed himself had he thought in time of applying to his brother for help. Our old friend, who is honorable to his finger-nails, intends to liquidate the debts of the Maison Grandet of Paris. To save him the worry of legal proceedings, my nephew, the president, has just offered to go to Paris and negotiate with the creditors for a satisfactory settlement.”

These words, corroborated by Grandet’s attitude as he stood silently nursing his chin, astonished the three des Grassins, who had been leisurely discussing the old man’s avarice as they came along, very nearly accusing him of fratricide.

“Ah! I was sure of it,” cried the banker, looking at his wife.“What did I tell you just now, Madame des Grassins? Grandet is honorable to the backbone, and would never allow his name to remain under the slightest cloud! Money without honor is a disease. There is honor in the provinces! Right, very right, Grandet. I’m an old soldier, and I can’t disguise my thoughts; I speak roughly. Thunder! it is sublime!”

“Th…then s…s…sublime th…things c…c…cost d…dear,”answered the goodman, as the banker warmly wrung his hand.

“But this, my dear Grandet—if the president will excuse me—is a purely commercial matter, and needs a consummate business man. Your agent must be some one fully acquainted with the markets—with disbursements, rebates, interest calculations, and so forth. I am going to Paris on business of my own, and I can take charge of—”

“We’ll see about t…t…trying to m…m…manage it b…b…between us, under the p…p…peculiar c…c…circumstances, b…b…but without b…b…binding m…m…myself to anything th…that I c…c…could not do,” said Grandet, stuttering; “because, you see, monsieur le president naturally expects me to pay the expenses of his journey.” The goodman did not stammer over the last words.

“Eh!” cried Madame des Grassins, “Why it is a pleasure to go to Paris. I would willingly pay to go myself.”

She made a sign to her husband, as if to encourage him in cutting the enemy out of the commission, coute que coute; then she glanced ironically at the two Cruchots, who looked chap…fallen.

Grandet seized the banker by a button and drew him into a corner of the room.

“I have a great deal more confidence in you than in the president,” he said; “besides, I’ve other fish to fry,” he added, wriggling his wen. “I want to buy a few thousand francs in the Funds while they are at eighty. They fall, I’m told, at the end of each month. You know all about these things, don’t you?”

“Bless me! Then, am I to invest enough to give you a few thousand francs a year?”

“That’s not much to begin with. Hush! I don’t want any one to know I am going to play that game. You can make the investment by the end of the month. Say nothing to the Cruchots; that’ll annoy them. If you are really going to Paris, we will see if there is anything to be done for my poor nephew.”

“Well, it’s all settled. I’ll start to…morrow by the mail…post,” said des Grassins aloud, “and I will come and take your last directions at—what hour will suit you?”

“Five o’clock, just before dinner,” said Grandet, rubbing his hands.

The two parties stayed on for a short time. Des Grassins said, after a pause, striking Grandet on the shoulder—

“It is a good thing to have a relation like him.”

“Yes, yes; without making a show,” said Grandet, “I am a g…good relation. I loved my brother, and I will prove it, unless it c…c…costs—”

“We must leave you, Grandet,” said the banker, interrupting him fortunately before he got to the end of his sentence. “If I hurry my departure, I must attend to some matters at once.”

“Very good, very good! I myself—in c…consequence of what I t…told you—I must retire to my own room and ‘d…d…deliberate,’ as President Cruchot says.”

“Plague take him! I am no longer Monsieur de Bonfons,”thought the magistrate ruefully, his face assuming the expression of a judge bored by an argument.

The heads of the two factions walked off together. Neither gave any further thought to the treachery Grandet had been guilty of in the morning against the whole wine-growing community; each tried to fathom what the other was thinking about the real intentions of the wily old man in this new affair, but in vain.

“Will you go with us to Madame Dorsonval’s?” said des Grassins to the notary.

“We will go there later,” answered the president. “I have promised to say good-evening to Mademoiselle de Gribeaucourt, and we will go there first, if my uncle is willing.”

“Farewell for the present!” said Madame des Grassins.

When the Cruchots were a few steps off, Adolphe remarked to his father—

“Are not they fuming, hein?”

“Hold your tongue, my son!” said his mother; “They might hear you. Besides, what you say is not in good taste—law-school language.”

“Well, uncle,” cried the president when he saw the des Grassins disappearing, “I began by being de Bonfons, and I have ended as nothing but Cruchot.”

“I saw that that annoyed you; but the wind has set fair for the des Grassins. What a fool you are, with all your cleverness! Let them sail off on Grandet’s ‘We’ll see about it,’ and keep yourself quiet,young man. Eugenie will none the less be your wife.”

In a few moments the news of Grandet’s magnanimous resolve was disseminated in three houses at the same moment, and the whole town began to talk of his fraternal devotion. Every one forgave Grandet for the sale made in defiance of the good faith pledged to the community; they admired his sense of honor, and began to laud a generosity of which they had never thought him capable. It is part of the French nature to grow enthusiastic, or angry, or fervent about some meteor of the moment. Can it be that collective beings, nationalities, peoples, are devoid of memory?

When Pere Grandet had shut the door he called Nanon.

“Don’t let the dog loose, and don’t go to bed; we have work to do together. At eleven o’clock Cornoiller will be at the door with the chariot from Froidfond. Listen for him and prevent his knocking;tell him to come in softly. Police regulations don’t allow nocturnal racket. Besides, the whole neighborhood need not know that I am starting on a journey.”

So saying, Grandet returned to his private room, where Nanon heard him moving about, rummaging, and walking to and fro, though with much precaution, for he evidently did not wish to wake his wife and daughter, and above all not to rouse the attention of his nephew, whom he had begun to anathematize when he saw a thread of light under his door.

About the middle of the night Eugenie, intent on her cousin, fancied she heard a cry like that of a dying person. It must be Charles, she thought; he was so pale, so full of despair when she had seen him last—could he have killed himself? She wrapped herself quickly in a loose garment—a sort of pelisse with a hood—and was about to leave the room when a bright light coming through the chinks of her door made her think of fire. But she recovered herself as she heard Nanon’s heavy steps and gruff voice mingling with the snorting of several horses. “Can my father be carrying off my cousin?” she said to herself, opening her door with great precaution lest it should creak, and yet enough to let her see into the corridor.

Suddenly her eye encountered that of her father; and his glance, vague and unnoticing as it was, terrified her. The goodman and Nanon were yoked together by a stout stick, each end of which rested on their shoulders; a stout rope was passed over it, on which was slung a small barrel or keg like those Pere Grandet still made in his bakehouse as an amusement for his leisure hours.

“Holy Virgin, how heavy it is!” said the voice of Nanon.

“What a pity that it is only copper sous!” answered Grandet.“Take care you don’t knock over the candlestick.”

The scene was lighted by a single candle placed between two rails of the staircase.

“Cornoiller,” said Grandet to his keeper in partibus, “have you brought your pistols?”

“No, monsieur. Mercy! what’s there to fear for your copper sous?”

“Oh! nothing,” said Pere Grandet.

“Besides, we shall go fast,” added the man; “your farmers have picked out their best horses.”

“Very good. You did not tell them where I was going?”

“I didn’t know where.”

“Very good. Is the carriage strong?”

“Strong? hear to that, now! Why, it can carry three thousand weight. How much does that old keg weigh?”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Nanon. “I ought to know! There’s pretty nigh eighteen hundred—”

“Will you hold your tongue, Nanon! You are to tell my wife I have gone into the country. I shall be back to dinner. Drive fast, Cornoiller; I must get to Angers before nine o’clock.”

The carriage drove off. Nanon bolted the great door, let loose the dog, and went off to bed with a bruised shoulder, no one in the neighborhood suspecting either the departure of Grandet or the object of his journey. The precautions of the old miser and his reticence were never relaxed. No one had ever seen a penny in that house, filled as it was with gold. Hearing in the morning, through the gossip of the port, that exchange on gold had doubled in price in consequence of certain military preparations undertaken at Nantes, and that speculators had arrived at Angers to buy coin, the old wine-grower, by the simple process of borrowing horses from his farmers, seized the chance of selling his gold and of bringing back in the form of treasury notes the sum he intended to put into the Funds, having swelled it considerably by the exchange.

“My father has gone,” thought Eugenie, who heard all that took place from the head of the stairs.

Silence was restored in the house, and the distant rumbling of the carriage, ceasing by degrees, no longer echoed through the sleeping town. At this moment Eugenie heard in her heart, before the sound caught her ears, a cry which pierced the partitions and came from her cousin’s chamber. A line of light, thin as the blade of a sabre, shone through a chink in the door and fell horizontally on the balusters of the rotten staircase.

“He suffers!” she said, springing up the stairs.

A second moan brought her to the landing near his room. The door was ajar, she pushed it open. Charles was sleeping; his head hung over the side of the old armchair, and his hand, from which the pen had fallen, nearly touched the floor. The oppressed breathing caused by the strained posture suddenly frightened Eugenie, who entered the room hastily.

“He must be very tired,” she said to herself, glancing at a dozen letters lying sealed upon the table. She read their addresses: “To Messrs. Farry, Breilmann, & Co., carriage-makers”; “To Monsieur Buisson, tailor,” etc.

“He has been settling all his affairs, so as to leave France at once,” she thought.

Her eyes fell upon two open letters. The words, “My dear Annette,” at the head of one of them, blinded her for a moment. Her heart beat fast, her feet were nailed to the floor.

“His dear Annette! He loves! he is loved! No hope! What does he say to her?”

These thoughts rushed through her head and heart. She saw the words everywhere, even on the bricks of the floor, in letters of fire.

“Resign him already? No, no! I will not read the letter. I ought to go away—What if I do read it?”

She looked at Charles, then she gently took his head and placed it against the back of the chair; he let her do so, like a child which, though asleep, knows its mother’s touch and receives, without awaking, her kisses and watchful care. Like a mother Eugenie raised the drooping hand, and like a mother she gently kissed the chestnut hair—“Dear Annette!” a demon shrieked the words in her ear.

“I am doing wrong; but I must read it, that letter,” she said.

She turned away her head, for her noble sense of honor reproached her. For the first time in her life good and evil struggled together in her heart. Up to that moment she had never had to blush for any action. Passion and curiosity triumphed. As she read each sentence her heart swelled more and more, and the keen glow which filled her being as she did so, only made the joys of first love still more precious.

My dear Annette—Nothing could ever have separated us but the great misfortune which has now overwhelmed me, and which no human foresight could have prevented. My father has killed himself; his fortune and mine are irretrievably lost. I am orphaned at an age when, through the nature of my education, I am still a child; and yet I must lift myself as a man out of the abyss into which I am plunged. I have just spent half the night in facing my position. If I wish to leave France an honest man—and there is no doubt of that—I have not a hundred francs of my own with which to try my fate in the Indies or in America. Yes, my poor Anna, I must seek my fortune in those deadly climates. Under those skies, they tell me, I am sure to make it. As for remaining in Paris, I cannot do so. Neither my nature nor my face are made to bear the affronts, the neglect, the disdain shown to a ruined man, the son of a bankrupt! Good God! think of owing two millions! I should be killed in a duel the first week;therefore I shall not return there. Your love—the most tender and devoted love which ever ennobled the heart of man—cannot draw me back. Alas! my beloved, I have no money with which to go to you, to give and receive a last kiss from which I might derive some strength for my forlorn

enterprise.

“Poor Charles! I did well to read the letter. I have gold; I will give it to him,” thought Eugenie.

She wiped her eyes, and went on reading.

I have never thought of the miseries of poverty. If I have the hundred louis required for the mere costs of the journey, I have not a sou for an outfit. But no, I have not the hundred louis, not even one louis. I don’t know that anything will be left after I have paid my debts in Paris. If I have nothing, I shall go quietly to Nantes and ship as a common sailor; and I will begin in the new world like other men who have started young without a sou and brought back the wealth of the Indies. During this long day I have faced my future coolly. It seems more horrible for me than for another, because I have been so petted by a mother who adored me, so indulged by the kindest of fathers, so blessed by meeting, on my entrance into life, with the love of an Anna! The flowers of life are all I have ever known. Such happiness could not last. Nevertheless, my dear Annette, I feel more courage than a careless young man is supposed to feel—above all a young man used to the caressing ways of the dearest woman in all Paris, cradled in family joys, on whom all things smiled in his home, whose wishes were a law to his father—oh, my father! Annette, he is dead!

Well, I have thought over my position, and yours as well. I have grown old in twenty-four hours. Dear Anna, if in order to keep me with you in Paris you were to sacrifice your luxury, your dress, your opera-box, we should even then not have enough for the expenses of my extravagant ways of living. Besides, I would never accept such sacrifices. No, we must part now and forever—

“He gives her up! Blessed Virgin! What happiness!”

Eugenie quivered with joy. Charles made a movement, and a chill of terror ran through her. Fortunately, he did not wake, and she resumed her reading.

When shall I return? I do not know. The climate of the West Indies ages a European, so they say; especially a European who works hard. Let us think what may happen ten years hence. In ten years, your daughter will be eighteen; she will be your companion, your spy. To you society will be cruel, and your daughter perhaps more cruel still. We have seen cases of the harsh social judgment and ingratitude of daughters; let us take warning by them. Keep in the depths of your soul, as I shall in mine, the memory of four years of happiness, and be faithful, if you can, to the memory of your poor friend. I cannot exact such faithfulness, because, do you see, dear Annette, I must conform to the exigencies of my new life; I must take a commonplace view of them and do the best I can.Therefore I must think of marriage, which becomes one of the necessities of my future existence; and I will admit to you that I have found, here in Saumur, in my uncle’s house, a cousin whose face, manners, mind, and heart would please you, and who, besides, seems to me—

“He must have been very weary to have ceased writing to her,”thought Eugenie, as she gazed at the letter which stopped abruptly in the middle of the last sentence.

Already she defended him. How was it possible that an innocent girl should perceive the cold-heartedness evinced by this letter? To young girls religiously brought up, whose minds are ignorant and pure, all is love from the moment they set their feet within the enchanted regions of that passion. They walk there bathed in a celestial light shed from their own souls, which reflects its rays upon their lover; they color all with the flame of their own emotion and attribute to him their highest thoughts. A woman’s errors come almost always from her belief in good or her confidence in truth. In Eugenie’s simple heart the words, “My dear Annette, my loved one,”echoed like the sweetest language of love; they caressed her soul as, in childhood, the divine notes of the Venite adoremus, repeated by the organ, caressed her ear. Moreover, the tears which still lingered on the young man’s lashes gave signs of that nobility of heart by which young girls are rightly won.

How could she know that Charles, though he loved his father and mourned him truly, was moved far more by paternal goodness than by the goodness of his own heart? Monsieur and Madame Guillaume Grandet, by gratifying every fancy of their son, and lavishing upon him the pleasures of a large fortune, had kept him from making the horrible calculations of which so many sons in Paris become more or less guilty when, face to face with the enjoyments of the world, they form desires and conceive schemes which they see with bitterness must be put off or laid aside during the lifetime of their parents. The liberality of the father in this instance had shed into the heart of the son a real love, in which there was no afterthought of self-interest. Nevertheless, Charles was a true child of Paris, taught by the customs of society and by Annette herself to calculate everything; already an old man under the mask of youth. He had gone through the frightful education of social life, of that world where in one evening more crimes are committed in thought and speech than justice ever punishes at the assizes; where jests and clever sayings assassinate the noblest ideas; where no one is counted strong unless his mind sees clear: and to see clear in that world is to believe in nothing, neither in feelings, nor in men, nor even in events—for events are falsified. There, to “see clear”we must weigh a friend’s purse daily, learn how to keep ourselves adroitly on the top of the wave, cautiously admire nothing, neither works of art nor glorious actions, and remember that self-interest is the mainspring of all things here below. After committing many follies, the great lady—the beautiful Annette—compelled Charles to think seriously; with her perfumed hand among his curls, she talked to him of his future position; as she rearranged his locks, she taught him lessons of worldly prudence; she made him effeminate and materialized him—a double corruption, but a delicate and elegant corruption, in the best taste.

“You are very foolish, Charles,” she would say to him. “I shall have a great deal of trouble in teaching you to understand the world. You behaved extremely ill to Monsieur des Lupeaulx. I know very well he is not an honorable man; but wait till he is no longer in power, then you may despise him as much as you like. Do you know what Madame Campan used to tell us?—‘My dears, as long as a man is a minister, adore him; when he falls, help to drag him in the gutter. Powerful, he is a sort of god; fallen, he is lower than Marat in the sewer, because he is living, and Marat is dead. Life is a series of combinations, and you must study them and understand them if you want to keep yourselves always in good position.’”

Charles was too much a man of the world, his parents had made him too happy, he had received too much adulation in society, to be possessed of noble sentiments. The grain of gold dropped by his mother into his heart was beaten thin in the smithy of Parisian society; he had spread it superficially, and it was worn away by the friction of life. Charles was only twenty-one years old. At that age the freshness of youth seems inseparable from candor and sincerity of soul. The voice, the glance, the face itself, seem in harmony with the feelings; and thus it happens that the sternest judge, the most sceptical lawyer, the least complying of usurers, always hesitate to admit decrepitude of heart or the corruption of worldly calculation while the eyes are still bathed in purity and no wrinkles seam the brow. Charles, so far, had had no occasion to apply the maxims of Parisian morality; up to this time he was still endowed with the beauty of inexperience. And yet, unknown to himself, he had been inoculated with selfishness. The germs of Parisian political economy, latent in his heart, would assuredly burst forth, sooner or later, whenever the careless spectator became an actor in the drama of real life.

Nearly all young girls succumb to the tender promises such an outward appearance seems to offer: even if Eugenie had been as prudent and observing as provincial girls are often found to be, she was not likely to distrust her cousin when his manners, words, and actions were still in unison with the aspirations of a youthful heart. A mere chance—a fatal chance—threw in her way the last effusions of real feeling which stirred the young man’s soul; she heard as it were the last breathings of his conscience.

She laid down the letter—to her so full of love—and began smilingly to watch her sleeping cousin; the fresh illusions of life were still, for her at least, upon his face; she vowed to herself to love him always. Then she cast her eyes on the other letter, without attaching much importance to this second indiscretion; and though she read it, it was only to obtain new proofs of the noble qualities which, like all women, she attributed to the man her heart had chosen.

My dear Alphonse—When you receive this letter I shall be without friends; but let me assure you that while I doubt the friendship of the world, I have never doubted yours. I beg you therefore to settle all my affairs, and I trust to you to get as much as you can out of my possessions. By this time you know my situation. I have nothing left, and I intend to go at once to the Indies. I have just written to all the people to whom I think I owe money, and you will find enclosed a list of their names, as correct as I can make it from memory. My books, my furniture, my pictures, my horses, etc., ought, I think, to pay my debts. I do not wish to keep anything, except, perhaps, a few baubles which might serve as the beginning of an outfit for my enterprise. My dear Alphonse, I will send you a proper power of attorney under which you can make these sales. Send me all my weapons. Keep Briton for yourself; nobody would pay the value of that noble beast, and I would rather give him to you—like a mourning-ring bequeathed by a dying man to his executor. Farry, Breilmann, & Co. built me a very comfortable travelling-carriage, which they have not yet delivered; persuade them to keep it and not ask for any payment on it. If they refuse, do what you can in the matter, and avoid everything that might seem dishonorable in me under my present circumstances. I owe the British Islander six louis, which I lost at cards; don’t fail to pay him—

“Dear cousin!” whispered Eugenie, throwing down the letter and running softly back to her room, carrying one of the lighted candles.

A thrill of pleasure passed over her as she opened the drawer of an old oak cabinet, a fine specimen of the period called the Renaissance, on which could still be seen, partly effaced, the famous royal salamander. She took from the drawer a large purse of red velvet with gold tassels, edged with a tarnished fringe of gold wire—a relic inherited from her grandmother. She weighed it proudly in her hand, and began with delight to count over the forgotten items of her little hoard.

First she took out twenty portugaises, still new, struck in the reign of John V., 1725, worth by exchange, as her father told her, five lisbonnines, or a hundred and sixty-eight francs, sixty-four centimes each; their conventional value, however, was a hundred and eighty francs apiece, on account of the rarity and beauty of the coins, which shone like little suns.

Item, five genovines, or five hundred-franc pieces of Genoa;another very rare coin worth eighty-seven francs on exchange, but a hundred francs to collectors. These had formerly belonged to old Monsieur de la Bertelliere.

Item, three gold quadruples, Spanish, of Philip V., struck in 1729, given to her one by one by Madame Gentillet, who never failed to say, using the same words, when she made the gift, “This dear little canary, this little yellow-boy, is worth ninety-eight francs! Keep it, my pretty one, it will be the flower of your treasure.”

Item (that which her father valued most of all, the gold of these coins being twenty-three carats and a fraction), a hundred Dutch ducats, made in the year 1756, and worth thirteen francs apiece.

Item, a great curiosity, a species of medal precious to the soul of misers—three rupees with the sign of the Scales, and five rupees with the sign of the Virgin, all in pure gold of twenty-four carats; the magnificent money of the Great Mogul, each of which was worth by mere weight thirty-seven francs, forty centimes, but at least fifty francs to those connoisseurs who love to handle gold.

Item, the napoleon of forty francs received the day before, which she had forgotten to put away in the velvet purse.

This treasure was all in virgin coins, true works of art, which Grandet from time to time inquired after and asked to see, pointing out to his daughter their intrinsic merits—such as the beauty of the milled edge, the clearness of the flat surface, the richness of the lettering, whose angles were not yet rubbed off.

Eugenie gave no thought to these rarities, nor to her father’s mania for them, nor to the danger she incurred in depriving herself of a treasure so dear to him; no, she thought only of her cousin, and soon made out, after a few mistakes of calculation, that she possessed about five thousand eight hundred francs in actual value, which might be sold for their additional value to collectors for nearly six thousand. She looked at her wealth and clapped her hands like a happy child forced to spend its overflowing joy in artless movements of the body. Father and daughter had each counted up their fortune this night—he, to sell his gold; Eugenie to fling hers into the ocean of affection.

She put the pieces back into the old purse, took it in her hand, and ran upstairs without hesitation. The secret misery of her cousin made her forget the hour and conventional propriety; she was strong in her conscience, in her devotion, in her happiness.

As she stood upon the threshold of the door, holding the candle in one hand and the purse in the other, Charles woke, caught sight of her, and remained speechless with surprise. Eugenie came forward, put the candle on the table, and said in a quivering voice:

“My cousin, I must beg pardon for a wrong I have done you;but God will pardon me—if you—will help me to wipe it out.”

“What is it?” asked Charles, rubbing his eyes.

“I have read those letters.”

Charles colored.

“How did it happen?” she continued; “how came I here? Truly, I do not know. I am tempted not to regret too much that I have read them; they have made me know your heart, your soul, and—”

“And what?” asked Charles.

“Your plans, your need of a sum—”

“My dear cousin—”

“Hush, hush! My cousin, not so loud; we must not wake others. See,” she said, opening her purse, “here are the savings of a poor girl who wants nothing. Charles, accept them! This morning I was ignorant of the value of money; you have taught it to me. It is but a means, after all. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surely borrow the purse of your sister.”

Eugenie, as much a woman as a young girl, never dreamed of refusal; but her cousin remained silent.

“Oh! You will not refuse?” cried Eugenie, the beatings of whose heart could be heard in the deep silence.

Her cousin’s hesitation mortified her; but the sore need of his position came clearer still to her mind, and she knelt down.

“I will never rise till you have taken that gold!” she said. “My cousin, I implore you, answer me! let me know if you respect me, if you are generous, if—”

As he heard this cry of noble distress the young man’s tears fell upon his cousin’s hands, which he had caught in his own to keep her from kneeling. As the warm tears touched her, Eugenie sprang to the purse and poured its contents upon the table.

“Ah! yes, yes, you consent?” she said, weeping with joy.“Fear nothing, my cousin, you will be rich. This gold will bring you happiness; some day you shall bring it back to me—are we not partners? I will obey all conditions. But you should not attach such value to the gift.”

Charles was at last able to express his feelings. “Yes, Eugenie;my soul would be small indeed if I did not accept. And yet—gift for gift, confidence for confidence.”

“What do you mean?” she said, frightened.

“Listen, dear cousin; I have here—”

He interrupted himself to point out a square box covered with an outer case of leather which was on the drawers.

“There,” he continued, “is something as precious to me as life itself. This box was a present from my mother. All day I have been thinking that if she could rise from her grave, she would herself sell the gold which her love for me lavished on this dressing-case; but were I to do so, the act would seem to me a sacrilege.”

Eugenie pressed his hand as she heard these last words.

“No,” he added, after a slight pause, during which a liquid glance of tenderness passed between them, “no, I will neither sell it nor risk its safety on my journey. Dear Eugenie, you shall be its guardian. Never did friend commit anything more sacred to another. Let me show it to you.”

He went to the box, took it from its outer coverings, opened it, and showed his delighted cousin a dressing-case where the rich workmanship gave to the gold ornaments a value far above their weight.

“What you admire there is nothing,” he said, pushing a secret spring which opened a hidden drawer. “Here is something which to me is worth the whole world.”

He drew out two portraits, masterpieces of Madame Mirbel, richly set with pearls.

“Oh, how beautiful! Is it the lady to whom you wrote that—”

“No,” he said, smiling; “this is my mother, and here is my father, your aunt and uncle. Eugenie, I beg you on my knees, keep my treasure safely. If I die and your little fortune is lost, this gold and these pearls will repay you. To you alone could I leave these portraits; you are worthy to keep them. But destroy them at last, so that they may pass into no other hands.”

Eugenie was silent.

“Ah, yes, say yes! You consent?” he added with winning grace.

Hearing the very words she had just used to her cousin now addressed to herself, she turned upon him a look of love, her first look of loving womanhood—a glance in which there is nearly as much of coquetry as of inmost depth. He took her hand and kissed it.

“Angel of purity! between us two money is nothing, never can be anything. Feeling, sentiment, must be all henceforth.”

“You are like your mother—was her voice as soft as yours?”

“Oh! much softer—”

“Yes, for you,” she said, dropping her eyelids. “Come, Charles, go to bed; I wish it; you must be tired. Good-night.”

She gently disengaged her hand from those of her cousin, who followed her to her room, lighting the way. When they were both upon the threshold—

“Ah!” he said, “why am I ruined?”

“What matter?—my father is rich; I think so,” she answered.

“Poor child!” said Charles, making a step into her room and leaning his back against the wall, “If that were so, he would never have let my father die; he would not let you live in this poor way; he would live otherwise himself.”

“But he owns Froidfond.”

“What is Froidfond worth?”

“I don’t know; but he has Noyers.”

“Nothing but a poor farm!”

“He has vineyards and fields.”

“Mere nothing,” said Charles disdainfully. “If your father had only twenty-four thousand francs a year do you suppose you would live in this cold, barren room?” he added, making a step in advance.“Ah! there you will keep my treasures,” he said, glancing at the old cabinet, as if to hide his thoughts.

“Go and sleep,” she said, hindering his entrance into the disordered room.

Charles stepped back, and they bid each other good-night with a mutual smile.

Both fell asleep in the same dream; and from that moment the youth began to wear roses with his mourning.

The next day, before breakfast, Madame Grandet found her daughter in the garden in company with Charles. The young man was still sad, as became a poor fellow who, plunged in misfortune, measures the depths of the abyss into which he has fallen, and sees the terrible burden of his whole future life.

“My father will not be home till dinner-time,” said Eugenie, perceiving the anxious look on her mother’s face.

It was easy to trace in the face and manners of the young girl and in the singular sweetness of her voice a unison of thought between her and her cousin. Their souls had espoused each other, perhaps before they even felt the force of the feelings which bound them together. Charles spent the morning in the hall, and his sadness was respected. Each of the three women had occupations of her own. Grandet had left all his affairs unattended to, and a number of persons came on business—the plumber, the mason, the slater, the carpenter, the diggers, the dressers, the farmers; some to drive a bargain about repairs, others to pay their rent or to be paid themselves for services. Madame Grandet and Eugenie were obliged to go and come and listen to the interminable talk of all these workmen and country folk. Nanon put away in her kitchen the produce which they brought as tribute. She always waited for her master’s orders before she knew what portion was to be used in the house and what was to be sold in the market. It was the goodman’s custom, like that of a great many country gentlemen, to drink his bad wine and eat his spoiled fruit.

Towards five in the afternoon Grandet returned from Angers, having made fourteen thousand francs by the exchange on his gold, bringing home in his wallet good treasury-notes which bore interest until the day he should invest them in the Funds. He had left Cornoiller at Angers to look after the horses, which were well-nigh foundered, with orders to bring them home slowly after they were rested.

“I have got back from Angers, wife,” he said; “I am hungry.”

Nanon called out to him from the kitchen: “Haven’t you eaten anything since yesterday?”

“Nothing,” answered the old man.

Nanon brought in the soup. Des Grassins came to take his client’s orders just as the family sat down to dinner. Grandet had not even observed his nephew.

“Go on eating, Grandet,” said the banker; “we can talk. Do you know what gold is worth in Angers? They have come from Nantes after it? I shall send some of ours.”

“Don’t send any,” said Grandet; “they have got enough. We are such old friends, I ought to save you from such a loss of time.”

“But gold is worth thirteen francs fifty centimes.”

“Say was worth—”

“Where the devil have they got any?”

“I went to Angers last night,” answered Grandet in a low voice.

The banker shook with surprise. Then a whispered conversation began between the two, during which Grandet and des Grassins frequently looked at Charles. Presently des Grassins gave a start of astonishment; probably Grandet was then instructing him to invest the sum which was to give him a hundred thousand francs a year in the Funds.

“Monsieur Grandet,” said the banker to Charles, “I am starting for Paris; if you have any commissions—”

“None, monsieur, I thank you,” answered Charles.

“Thank him better than that, nephew. Monsieur is going to settle the affairs of the house of Guillaume Grandet.”

“Is there any hope?” said Charles eagerly.

“What!” exclaimed his uncle, with well-acted pride, “are you not my nephew? Your honor is ours. Is not your name Grandet?”

Charles rose, seized Pere Grandet, kissed him, turned pale, and left the room. Eugenie looked at her father with admiration.

“Well, good-bye, des Grassins; it is all in your hands. Decoy those people as best you can; lead ‘em by the nose.”

The two diplomatists shook hands. The old cooper accompanied the banker to the front door. Then, after closing it, he came back and plunged into his armchair, saying to Nanon—

“Get me some black-currant ratafia.”

Too excited, however, to remain long in one place, he got up, looked at the portrait of Monsieur de la Bertelliere, and began to sing, doing what Nanon called his dancing steps—

“Dans les gardes francaises

J’avais un bon papa.”

Nanon, Madame Grandet, and Eugenie looked at each other in silence. The hilarity of the master always frightened them when it reached its climax.

The evening was soon over. Pere Grandet chose to go to bed early, and when he went to bed, everybody else was expected to go too; like as when Augustus drank, Poland was drunk. On this occasion Nanon, Charles, and Eugenie were not less tired than the master. As for Madame Grandet, she slept, ate, drank, and walked according to the will of her husband. However, during the two hours consecrated to digestion, the cooper, more facetious than he had ever been in his life, uttered a number of his own particular apothegms—a single one of which will give the measure of his mind. When he had drunk his ratafia, he looked at his glass and said—

“You have no sooner put your lips to a glass than it is empty! Such is life. You can’t have and hold. Gold won’t circulate and stay in your purse. If it were not for that, life would be too fine.”

He was jovial and benevolent. When Nanon came with her spinning-wheel, “You must be tired,” he said; “put away your hemp.”

“Ah, bah! then I shall get sleepy,” she answered.

“Poor Nanon! Will you have some ratafia?”

“I won’t refuse a good offer; madame makes it a deal better than the apothecaries. What they sell is all drugs.”

“They put too much sugar,” said the master; “you can’t taste anything else.”

The following day the family, meeting at eight o’clock for the early breakfast, made a picture of genuine domestic intimacy. Grief had drawn Madame Grandet, Eugenie, and Charles en rapport; even Nanon sympathized, without knowing why. The four now made one family. As to the old man, his satisfied avarice and the certainty of soon getting rid of the dandy without having to pay more than his journey to Nantes, made him nearly indifferent to his presence in the house.

He left the two children, as he called Charles and Eugenie, free to conduct themselves as they pleased, under the eye of Madame Grandet, in whom he had implicit confidence as to all that concerned public and religious morality. He busied himself in straightening the boundaries of his fields and ditches along the high-road, in his poplar-plantations beside the Loire, in the winter work of his vineyards, and at Froidfond. All these things occupied his whole time. For Eugenie the springtime of love had come. Since the scene at night when she gave her little treasure to her cousin, her heart had followed the treasure. Confederates in the same secret, they looked at each other with a mutual intelligence which sank to the depth of their consciousness, giving a closer communion, a more intimate relation to their feelings, and putting them, so to speak, beyond the pale of ordinary life. Did not their near relationship warrant the gentleness in their tones, the tenderness in their glances? Eugenie took delight in lulling her cousin’s pain with the pretty childish joys of a new-born love.

Are there no sweet similitudes between the birth of love and the birth of life? Do we not rock the babe with gentle songs and softest glances? Do we not tell it marvellous tales of the golden future? Hope herself, does she not spread her radiant wings above its head? Does it not shed, with infant fickleness, its tears of sorrow and its tears of joy? Does it not fret for trifles, cry for the pretty pebbles with which to build its shifting palaces, for the flowers forgotten as soon as plucked? Is it not eager to grasp the coming time, to spring forward into life? Love is our second transformation. Childhood and love were one and the same thing to Eugenie and to Charles; it was a first passion, with all its child-like play—the more caressing to their hearts because they now were wrapped in sadness.

Struggling at birth against the gloom of mourning, their love was only the more in harmony with the provincial plainness of that gray and ruined house. As they exchanged a few words beside the well in the silent court, or lingered in the garden for the sunset hour, sitting on a mossy seat saying to each other the infinite nothings of love, or mused in the silent calm which reigned between the house and the ramparts like that beneath the arches of a church, Charles comprehended the sanctity of love; for his great lady, his dear Annette, had taught him only its stormy troubles. At this moment he left the worldly passion, coquettish, vain, and showy as it was, and turned to the true, pure love. He loved even the house, whose customs no longer seemed to him ridiculous.

He got up early in the mornings that he might talk with Eugenie for a moment before her father came to dole out the provisions;when the steps of the old man sounded on the staircase he escaped into the garden. The small criminality of this morningtete-a-tete which Nanon pretended not to see, gave to their innocent love the lively charm of a forbidden joy. After breakfast, when Grandet had gone to his fields and his other occupations, Charles remained with the mother and daughter, finding an unknown pleasure in holding their skeins, in watching them at work, in listening to their quiet prattle. The simplicity of this half-monastic life, which revealed to him the beauty of these souls, unknown and unknowing of the world, touched him keenly. He had believed such morals impossible in France, and admitted their existence nowhere but in Germany;even so, they seemed to him fabulous, only real in the novels of Auguste Lafontaine. Soon Eugenie became to him the Margaret of Goethe—before her fall.

Day by day his words, his looks enraptured the poor girl, who yielded herself up with delicious non-resistance to the current of love; she caught her happiness as a swimmer seizes the overhanging branch of a willow to draw himself from the river and lie at rest upon its shore. Did no dread of a coming absence sadden the happy hours of those fleeting days? Daily some little circumstance reminded them of the parting that was at hand. Three days after the departure of des Grassins, Grandet took his nephew to the Civil courts, with the solemnity which country people attach to all legal acts, that he might sign a deed surrendering his rights in his father’s estate. Terrible renunciation! species of domestic apostasy! Charles also went before Maitre Cruchot to make two powers of attorney—one for des Grassins, the other for the friend whom he had charged with the sale of his belongings. After that he attended to all the formalities necessary to obtain a passport for foreign countries; and finally, when he received his simple mourning clothes from Paris, he sent for the tailor of Saumur and sold to him his useless wardrobe. This last act pleased Grandet exceedingly.

“Ah! Now you look like a man prepared to embark and make your fortune,” he said, when Charles appeared in a surtout of plain black cloth. “Good! Very good!”

“I hope you will believe, monsieur,” answered his nephew, “that I shall always try to conform to my situation.”

“What’s that?” said his uncle, his eyes lighting up at a handful of gold which Charles was carrying.

“Monsieur, I have collected all my buttons and rings and other superfluities which may have some value; but not knowing any one in Saumur, I wanted to ask you to—”

“To buy them?” said Grandet, interrupting him.

“No, uncle; only to tell me of an honest man who—”

“Give me those things, I will go upstairs and estimate their value; I will come back and tell you what it is to a fraction.Jeweller’s gold,” examining a long chain, “eighteen or nineteen carats.”

The goodman held out his huge hand and received the mass of gold, which he carried away.

“Cousin,” said Grandet, “may I offer you these two buttons? They can fasten ribbons round your wrists; that sort of bracelet is much the fashion just now.”

“I accept without hesitation,” she answered, giving him an understanding look.

“Aunt, here is my mother’s thimble; I have always kept it carefully in my dressing-case,” said Charles, presenting a pretty gold thimble to Madame Grandet, who for many years had longed for one.

“I cannot thank you; no words are possible, my nephew,” said the poor mother, whose eyes filled with tears. “Night and morning in my prayers I shall add one for you, the most earnest of all—for those who travel. If I die, Eugenie will keep this treasure for you.”

“They are worth nine hundred and eighty-nine francs, seventy-five centimes,” said Grandet, opening the door. “To save you the pain of selling them, I will advance the money—in livres.”

The word livres on the littoral of the Loire signifies that crown prices of six livres are to be accepted as six francs without deduction.

“I dared not propose it to you,” answered Charles; “but it was most repugnant to me to sell my jewels to some second-hand dealer in your own town. People should wash their dirty linen at home, as Napoleon said. I thank you for your kindness.”

Grandet scratched his ear, and there was a moment’s silence.

“My dear uncle,” resumed Charles, looking at him with an uneasy air, as if he feared to wound his feelings, “my aunt and cousin have been kind enough to accept a trifling remembrance of me. Will you allow me to give you these sleeve-buttons, which are useless to me now? They will remind you of a poor fellow who, far away, will always think of those who are henceforth all his family.”

“My lad, my lad, you mustn’t rob yourself this way! Let me see, wife, what have you got?” he added, turning eagerly to her. “Ah! a gold thimble. And you, little girl? What! diamond buttons? Yes, I’ll accept your present, nephew,” he answered, shaking Charles by the hand. “But—you must let me—pay—your—yes, your passage to the Indies. Yes, I wish to pay your passage because—d’ye see, my boy?—in valuing your jewels I estimated only the weight of the gold; very likely the workmanship is worth something. So let us settle it that I am to give you fifteen hundred francs—in livres;Cruchot will lend them to me. I haven’t got a copper farthing here—unless Perrotet, who is behindhand with his rent, should pay up. By the bye, I’ll go and see him.”

He took his hat, put on his gloves, and went out.

“Then you are really going?” said Eugenie to her cousin, with a sad look, mingled with admiration.

“I must,” he said, bowing his head.

For some days past, Charles’s whole bearing, manners, and speech had become those of a man who, in spite of his profound affliction, feels the weight of immense obligations and has the strength to gather courage from misfortune. He no longer repined, he became a man. Eugenie never augured better of her cousin’s character than when she saw him come down in the plain black clothes which suited well with his pale face and sombre countenance. On that day the two women put on their own mourning, and all three assisted at a Requiem celebrated in the parish church for the soul of the late Guillaume Grandet.

At the second breakfast Charles received letters from Paris and began to read them.

“Well, cousin, are you satisfied with the management of your affairs?” said Eugenie in a low voice.

“Never ask such questions, my daughter,” said Grandet. “What the devil! Do I tell you my affairs? Why do you poke your nose into your cousin’s? Let the lad alone!”

“Oh! I haven’t any secrets,” said Charles.

“Ta, ta, ta, ta, nephew; you’ll soon find out that you must hold your tongue in business.”

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree—

“I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done famously. He has managed my affairs with prudence and good faith. I now owe nothing in Paris. All my things have been sold; and he tells me that he has taken the advice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on a commercial outfit of European curiosities which will be sure to be in demand in the Indies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where a ship is loading for San Domingo. In five days, Eugenie, we must bid each other farewell—perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfit and ten thousand francs, which two of my friends send me, are a very small beginning. I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—”

“Do you love me?” she said.

“Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling.

“I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her.

She ran quickly under the archway. Charles followed her. When she saw him, she retreated to the foot of the staircase and opened the swing-door; then, scarcely knowing where she was going, Eugenie reached the corner near Nanon’s den, in the darkest end of the passage. There Charles caught her hand and drew her to his heart. Passing his arm about her waist, he made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie no longer resisted; she received and gave the purest, the sweetest, and yet, withal, the most unreserved of kisses.

“Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother, for he can marry you,” said Charles.

“So be it!” cried Nanon, opening the door of her lair.

The two lovers, alarmed, fled into the hall, where Eugenie took up her work and Charles began to read the litanies of the Virgin in Madame Grandet’s prayer-book.

“Mercy!” cried Nanon, “Now they’re saying their prayers.”

As soon as Charles announced his immediate departure, Grandet bestirred himself to testify much interest in his nephew. He became very liberal of all that cost him nothing; took pains to find a packer; declared the man asked too much for his cases; insisted on making them himself out of old planks; got up early in the morning to fit and plane and nail together the strips, out of which he made, to his own satisfaction, some strong cases, in which he packed all Charles’s effects; he also took upon himself to send them by boat down the Loire, to insure them, and get them to Nantes in proper time.

After the kiss taken in the passage, the hours fled for Eugenie with frightful rapidity. Sometimes she thought of following her cousin. Those who have known that most endearing of all passions—the one whose duration is each day shortened by time, by age, by mortal illness, by human chances and fatalities—they will understand the poor girl’s tortures. She wept as she walked in the garden, now so narrow to her, as indeed the court, the house, the town all seemed. She launched in thought upon the wide expanse of the ocean he was about to traverse.

At last the eve of his departure came. That morning, in the absence of Grandet and of Nanon, the precious case which contained the two portraits was solemnly installed in the only drawer of the old cabinet which could be locked, where the now empty velvet purse was lying. This deposit was not made without a goodly number of tears and kisses. When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

No promise made upon this earth was ever purer. The innocent sincerity of Eugenie had sanctified for a moment the young man’s love.

On the morrow the breakfast was sad. Nanon herself, in spite of the gold-embroidered robe and the Jeannette cross bestowed by Charles, had tears in her eyes.

“The poor dear monsieur who is going on the seas—oh, may God guide him!”

At half-past ten the whole family started to escort Charles to the diligence for Nantes. Nanon let loose the dog, locked the door, and insisted on carrying the young man’s carpet-bag. All the tradesmen in the tortuous old street were on the sill of their shop-doors to watch the procession, which was joined in the market-place by Maitre Cruchot.

“Eugenie, be sure you don’t cry,” said her mother.

“Nephew,” said Grandet, in the doorway of the inn from which the coach started, kissing Charles on both cheeks, “depart poor, return rich; you will find the honor of your father safe. I answer for that myself, I—Grandet; for it will only depend on you to—”

“Ah! My uncle, you soften the bitterness of my departure. Is it not the best gift that you could make me?”

Not understanding his uncle’s words which he had thus interrupted, Charles shed tears of gratitude upon the tanned cheeks of the old miser, while Eugenie pressed the hand of her cousin and that of her father with all her strength. The notary smiled, admiring the sly speech of the old man, which he alone had understood.

The family stood about the coach until it started; then as it disappeared upon the bridge, and its rumble grew fainter in the distance, Grandet said:

“Good-bye to you!”

Happily no one but Maitre Cruchot heard the exclamation. Eugenie and her mother had gone to a corner of the quay from which they could still see the diligence and wave their white handkerchiefs, to which Charles made answer by displaying his.

“Ah! mother, would that I had the power of God for a single moment,” said Eugenie, when she could no longer see her lover’s handkerchief.

Not to interrupt the current of events which are about to take place in the bosom of the Grandet family, it is necessary to cast a forestalling eye upon the various operations which the goodman carried on in Paris by means of Monsieur des Grassins. A month after the latter’s departure from Saumur, Grandet, became possessed of a certificate of a hundred thousand francs a year from his investment in the Funds, bought at eighty francs net. The particulars revealed at his death by the inventory of his property threw no light upon the means which his suspicious nature took to remit the price of the investment and receive the certificate thereof. Maitre Cruchot was of opinion that Nanon, unknown to herself, was the trusty instrument by which the money was transported; for about this time she was absent five days, under a pretext of putting things to rights at Froidfond—as if the goodman were capable of leaving anything lying about or out of order! In all that concerned the business of the house of Guillaume Grandet the old cooper’s intentions were fulfilled to the letter.

The Bank of France, as everybody knows, affords exact information about all the large fortunes in Paris and the provinces.The names of des Grassins and Felix Grandet of Saumur were well known there, and they enjoyed the esteem bestowed on financial celebrities whose wealth comes from immense and unencumbered territorial possessions. The arrival of the Saumur banker for the purpose, it was said, of honorably liquidating the affairs of Grandet of Paris, was enough to avert the shame of protested notes from the memory of the defunct merchant. The seals on the property were taken off in presence of the creditors, and the notary employed by Grandet went to work at once on the inventory of the assets. Soon after this, des Grassins called a meeting of the creditors, who unanimously elected him, conjointly with Francois Keller, the head of a rich banking-house and one of those principally interested in the affair, as liquidators, with full power to protect both the honor of the family and the interests of the claimants. The credit of Grandet of Saumur, the hopes he diffused by means of des Grassins in the minds of all concerned, facilitated the transactions. Not a single creditor proved recalcitrant; no one thought of passing his claim to his profit-and-loss account; each and all said confidently, “Grandet of Saumur will pay.”

Six months went by. The Parisians had redeemed the notes in circulation as they fell due, and held them under lock and key in their desks. First result aimed at by the old cooper!

Nine months after this preliminary meeting, the two liquidators distributed forty-seven per cent to each creditor on his claim. This amount was obtained by the sale of the securities, property, and possessions of all kinds belonging to the late Guillaume Grandet, and was paid over with scrupulous fidelity.

Unimpeachable integrity was shown in the transaction. The creditors gratefully acknowledged the remarkable and incontestable honor displayed by the Grandets. When these praises had circulated for a certain length of time, the creditors asked for the rest of their money. It became necessary to write a collective letter to Grandet of Saumur.

“Here it comes!” said the old man as he threw the letter into the fire. “Patience, my good friends!”

In answer to the proposals contained in the letter, Grandet of Saumur demanded that all vouchers for claims against the estate of his brother should be deposited with a notary, together with acquittances for the forty-seven per cent already paid; he made this demand under pretence of sifting the accounts and finding out the exact condition of the estate. It roused at once a variety of difficulties.

Generally speaking, the creditor is a species of maniac, ready to agree to anything one day, on the next breathing fire and slaughter;later on, he grows amicable and easy-going. To-day his wife is good-humored, his last baby has cut its first tooth, all is well at home, and he is determined not to lose a sou; on the morrow it rains, he can’t go out, he is gloomy, he says yes to any proposal that is made to him, so long as it will put an end to the affair; on the third day he declares he must have guarantees; by the end of the month he wants his debtor’s head, and becomes at heart an executioner. The creditor is a good deal like the sparrow on whose tail confiding children are invited to put salt—with this difference, that he applies the image to his claim, the proceeds of which he is never able to lay hold of.

Grandet had studied the atmospheric variations of creditors, and the creditors of his brother justified all his calculations. Some were angry, and flatly refused to give in their vouchers.

“Very good; so much the better,” said Grandet, rubbing his hands over the letter in which des Grassins announced the fact.

Others agreed to the demand, but only on condition that their rights should be fully guaranteed; they renounced none, and even reserved the power of ultimately compelling a failure. On this began a long correspondence, which ended in Grandet of Saumur agreeing to all conditions. By means of this concession the placable creditors were able to bring the dissatisfied creditors to reason. The deposit was then made, but not without sundry complaints.

“Your goodman,” they said to des Grassins, “is tricking us.”

Twenty-three months after the death of Guillaume Grandet many of the creditors, carried away by more pressing business in the markets of Paris, had forgotten their Grandet claims, or only thought of them to say: “I begin to believe that forty-seven per cent is all I shall ever get out of that affair.”

The old cooper had calculated on the power of time, which, as he used to say, is a pretty good devil after all. By the end of the third year des Grassins wrote to Grandet that he had brought the creditors to agree to give up their claims for ten per cent on the two million four hundred thousand francs still due by the house of Grandet.

Grandet answered that the notary and the broker whose shameful failures had caused the death of his brother were still living, that they might now have recovered their credit, and that they ought to be sued, so as to get something out of them towards lessening the total of the deficit.

By the end of the fourth year the liabilities were definitely estimated at a sum of twelve hundred thousand francs. Many negotiations, lasting over six months, took place between the creditors and the liquidators, and between the liquidators and Grandet. To make a long story short, Grandet of Saumur, anxious by this time to get out of the affair, told the liquidators, about the ninth month of the fourth year, that his nephew had made a fortune in the Indies and was disposed to pay his father’s debts in full; he therefore could not take upon himself to make any settlement without previously consulting him; he had written to him, and was expecting an answer.

The creditors were held in check until the middle of the fifth year by the words, “payment in full,” which the wily old miser threw out from time to time as he laughed in his beard, saying with a smile and an oath, “Those Parisians!” But the creditors were reserved for a fate unexampled in the annals of commerce. When the events of this history bring them once more into notice, they will be found still in the position Grandet had resolved to force them into from the first.

As soon as the Funds reached a hundred and fifteen, Pere Grandet sold out his interests and withdrew two million four hundred thousand francs in gold, to which he added, in his coffers, the six hundred thousand francs compound interest which he had derived from the capital. Des Grassins now lived in Paris. In the first place he had been made a deputy; then he became infatuated (father of a family as he was, though horribly bored by the provincial life of Saumur) with a pretty actress at the Theatre de Madame, known as Florine, and he presently relapsed into the old habits of his army life. It is useless to speak of his conduct; Saumur considered it profoundly immoral. His wife was fortunate in the fact of her property being settled upon herself, and in having sufficient ability to keep up the banking-house in Saumur, which was managed in her name and repaired the breach in her fortune caused by the extravagance of her husband. The Cruchotines made so much talk about the false position of the quasi-widow that she married her daughter very badly, and was forced to give up all hope of an alliance between Eugenie Grandet and her son. Adolphe joined his father in Paris and became, it was said, a worthless fellow. The Cruchots triumphed.

“Your husband hasn’t common sense,” said Grandet as he lent Madame des Grassins some money on a note securely endorsed. “I am very sorry for you, for you are a good little woman.”

“Ah, monsieur,” said the poor lady, “who could have believed that when he left Saumur to go to Paris on your business he was going to his ruin?”

“Heaven is my witness, madame, that up to the last moment I did all I could to prevent him from going. Monsieur le president was most anxious to take his place; but he was determined to go, and now we all see why.”

In this way Grandet made it quite plain that he was under no obligation to des Grassins.

吝啬鬼许的愿·情人起的誓

父亲不在家,欧也妮就不胜欣喜地可以公然关切她心爱的堂兄弟,可以放心大胆把胸中蕴蓄着的怜悯,对他尽量发泄了。怜悯是女子胜过男子的德行之一,是她愿意让人家感觉到的唯一的情感,是她肯让男人挑逗起来而不怨怪的唯一的情感。欧也妮跑去听堂兄弟的呼吸,听了三四次,要知道他睡着还是醒了;之后,他起床了,于是咖啡、乳酪、鸡蛋、水果、盘子、杯子,一切有关早餐的东西,都成为她费心照顾的对象。她轻快地爬上破旧的楼梯,听堂兄弟的响动。他是不是在穿衣呀?他还在哭吗?她一直跑到房门外面。

“喂,弟弟!”

“哎,大姊!”

“你喜欢在哪儿用早餐,堂屋里还是你房里?”

“随便。”

“你好吗?”

“大姊,说来惭愧,我肚子饿了。”

这段隔着房门的谈话,在欧也妮简直是小说之中大段的穿插。

“那么我们把早餐端到你房里来吧,免得父亲不高兴。”

她身轻如燕地跑下厨房。

“拿侬,去替他收拾卧房。”

这座上上下下不知跑了多少次的楼梯,一点儿声音就会咯咯作响的,在欧也妮眼中忽然变得不破旧了;她觉得楼梯明晃晃的,会说话,像她自己一样年轻,像她的爱情一样年轻,同时又为她的爱情服务。还有她母亲,慈祥而宽容的母亲,也乐意受她爱情的幻想驱遣。查理的卧房收拾好了,她俩一齐进去,替不幸的孩子做伴:基督教的慈悲,不是叫人安慰受难者吗?两个女子在宗教中寻出许多似是而非的怪论,为她们有失体统的行为做借口。

因此查理·葛朗台受到最亲切最温柔的款待。他为了痛苦而破碎的心,清清楚楚地感到这种体贴入微的友谊,这种美妙的同情的甜蜜;那是母女俩被压迫的心灵,在痛苦的领域——它们的日常天地——内心能有一刻儿自由就会流露的。既然是至亲骨肉,欧也妮就不妨把堂兄弟的内衣和随身带来的梳妆用具整理一下,顺便把手头捡到的小玩意儿,镂金镂银的东西,称心如意地逐件玩赏,并且以察看做工为名,拿在手里不放。查理看到伯母与堂姊对他古道热肠的关切,不由得大为感动;他对巴黎社会有相当的认识,知道以他现在的处境,照例只能受人冷淡。他发觉欧也妮那种特殊的美,光艳照人;隔夜他认为可笑的生活习惯,从此他赞美她的纯朴了。所以当欧也妮从拿侬手中接过一只珐琅的碗,满满盛着咖啡和乳酪,很亲热地端给堂兄弟,不胜怜爱地望了他一眼时,查理便含着泪拿起她的手亲吻。

“哎哟,你又怎么啦?”她问。

“哦!我感激得流泪了。”

欧也妮突然转身跑向壁炉架拿烛台。

“拿侬,”她说,“来,把烛台拿走。”

她回头再瞧堂兄弟的时候,脸上还有一片红晕,但眼神已经镇定,不致把衷心洋溢的快乐泄露了;可是两人的目光都表现同样的情绪,正如他们的心灵交融在同一的思想中:未来是属于他们的了。

这番柔情,查理觉得特别甘美,因为他遭了大难,早已不敢存什么希望。大门上锤子响了一下,立刻把两个女子召归原位。幸而她们下楼相当快,在葛朗台进来的时候,手里已经拿上活计;如果他在楼下环洞那边碰到她们是准会疑心的。老头儿急急忙忙吃完午餐之后,来了法劳丰田上看庄子的,早先说好的津贴至今没拿到。他带来一只野兔、几只鹧鸪,都是大花园里打到的,还有磨坊司务欠下的鳗鱼与两条梭鱼。

“哎!哎!来得正好,这高诺阿莱。这东西好吃吗,你说?”

“好吃得很呢,好心的先生;打下来有两天了。”

“喂,拿侬,快来!”好家伙说,“把这些东西拿去,做晚饭菜;我要请两位克罗旭吃饭呢。”

拿侬瞪着眼发呆,对大家望着。

“可是,”她说,“叫我哪儿来肥肉跟香料呢?”

“太太,”葛朗台说,“给拿侬六法郎。等会儿我要到地窖里去找好酒,别忘了提醒我一声。”

看庄子的久已预备好一套话,想解决工资问题:

“这么说来,葛朗台先生……”

“咄,咄,咄,咄!”葛朗台答道,“我知道你的意思,你是一个好小子。今天我忙得很,咱们明儿谈吧。太太,先给他五法郎。”

他说完赶紧跑了。可怜的女人觉得花上十一法郎求一个清静,高兴得很。她知道葛朗台把给她的钱一个一个逼回去之后,准有半个月不寻事。

“哎,高诺阿莱,”她把十法郎塞在他手里说,“回头我们再重重谢你吧。”

高诺阿莱没有话说,走了。拿侬戴上黑头巾,抓起篮子说:

“太太,我只要三法郎就够了,多下的你留着吧。行了,我照样会对付的。”

“拿侬,饭菜弄好一些呀,堂兄弟下来吃饭的呢。”欧也妮吩咐。

“真是,家里有了大事了,”葛朗台太太说,“我结婚到现在,这是你父亲第三次请客。”

四点左右,欧也妮和母亲摆好了六个人的刀叉,屋主把内地人那么珍视的旧藏佳酿,提了几瓶出来,查理也进了堂屋。他脸色苍白,举动,态度,目光,说话的音调,在悲苦中别有一番妩媚。他并没假装悲伤,他的难受是真实的,痛苦罩在他脸上的阴影,有一副为女子特别喜爱的神情。欧也妮因之愈加爱他了。或许苦难替欧也妮把他拉近了些。查理不再是那个高不可攀的、有钱的美少年,而是一个遭难的穷亲戚。苦难生平等。救苦救难是女子与天使相同的地方。查理和欧也妮彼此用眼睛说话,靠眼睛了解;那个落难公子,可怜的孤儿,躲在一边不出一声,沉着,高傲;但堂姊温柔慈爱的目光不时落在他身上,逼他抛开愁苦的念头,跟她一起神游于未来与希望之中,那是她最乐意的事。

葛朗台请克罗旭吃饭的消息,这时轰动了全城;他前一天出售当年的收成,对全体种葡萄的背信的罪行,倒没有把人心刺激得这么厉害。苏格拉底的弟子阿契皮阿特,为了惊世骇俗,曾经把自己的狗割掉尾巴;如果这老奸巨猾的葡萄园主以同样的心思请客,或许他也可成为一个大人物;可是他老是玩弄城里的人,没有遇到过一个对手,所以从不把索漠人放在心上。台·格拉桑他们,知道了查理的父亲暴卒与可能破产的新闻,决意当天晚上就到他们的主雇家吊唁一番,慰问一番,同时探听一下他们为什么事,在这种情形之下请几位克罗旭吃饭。

五点整,特·篷风所长跟他的叔叔老克罗旭公证人,浑身上下穿得齐齐整整地来了。大家立刻入席,开始大嚼。葛朗台严肃,查理静默,欧也妮一声不出,葛朗台太太不比平时多开口,真是一顿款待吊客的丧家饭。

大家离席的时候,查理对伯父伯母说:

“对不起,我先告退了,有些极不愉快的长信要写。”

“请吧请吧,侄儿。”

他一走,葛朗台认为查理一心一意地去写信,什么都听不见的了,便狡狯地望着妻子说:

“太太,我们要谈的话,对你们简直是天书,此刻七点半,还是钻进你们的被窝去吧。明儿见,欧也妮。”

他拥抱了女儿,两位女子离开了堂屋。葛朗台与人交接的结果,早已磨炼得诡计多端,使一般被他咬得太凶的人常常暗里叫他老狗。那天晚上,他比平生任何时候都运用更多的机巧。倘使索漠前任区长的野心放得远大一些,再加机缘凑巧,爬上高位,奉派到国际会议中去,把他保护私人利益的长才在那里表现一番的话,毫无疑问他会替法国立下大功。但也说不定一离开索漠,老头儿只是一个毫无出息的可怜虫。有些人的头脑,或许像有些动物一般,从本土移到了另一个地方,离开了当地的水土,就没法繁殖。

“所……所长……先……先……先生,你你你……说……说说说过破破破产……”

他假装了多少年而大家久已当真的口吃,和他在雨天常常抱怨的耳聋,在这个场合使两位克罗旭难受死了,他们一边听一边不知不觉地扯动嘴脸,仿佛要把他故意卷在舌尖上的字眼代为补足。在此我们应当追叙一下葛朗台的口吃与耳聋的故事。

在安育地区,对当地的土话懂得那么透彻,讲得那么清楚的,谁都比不上这狡狯的葡萄园主。但他虽是精明透顶,从前却上过一个犹太人的当。在谈判的时候,那犹太人老把两手捧着耳朵,假装听不清,同时结结巴巴的,口吃得厉害,永远说不出适当的字眼,以致葛朗台竟吃了善心的亏,自动替狡猾的犹太人寻找他心中的思想与字眼,结果把犹太人的理由代说了,他说的话倒像是该死的犹太人应该说的,他终于变了犹太人而不是葛朗台了。那场古怪的辩论所做成的交易,是老箍桶匠平生唯一吃亏的买卖。但他虽然经济上受了损失,精神上却得了一次很好的教训,从此得益匪浅。葛朗台临了还祝福那个犹太人,因为他学会了一套本领,在生意上叫敌人不耐烦,逼对方老是替我这方面打主意,而忘掉他自身的观点。

那天晚上所要解决的问题,的确最需要耳聋与口吃,最需要莫名其妙地兜圈子,把自己的思想深藏起来:第一他不愿对自己的计划负责;第二他不愿授人话柄,要人家猜不透他的真主意。

“特·篷……篷……篷风先生。”

葛朗台称克罗旭公证人的侄子为篷风先生,三年以来这是第二次。所长听了很可能当作那奸刁的老头儿已经选定他做女婿。

“你你你……真的说……说破破破产,在……在某某……某些情形中可……可可以……由……由……”

“可以由商事裁判出面阻止。这是常有的事。”特·篷风先生这么说,自以为把葛朗台老头的思想抓住了,或者猜到了,预备诚诚恳恳替他解释一番,便又道,“你听我说。”

“我听……听……听着。”老头儿不胜惶恐地回答,狡猾的神气,像一小学生面上装作静听老师的话,暗地里却在讪笑。

“一个受人尊敬而重要的人物,譬如像你已故的令弟……”

“舍弟……是的。”

“有周转不灵的危险……”

“那……那那叫……叫作……周周周转不灵吗?”

“是的。……以致免不了破产的时候,有管辖权的(请你注意)商事裁判所,可以凭它的判决,委任几个当事人所属的商会中人做清理委员。清理并非破产,懂不懂?一个破产的人名誉扫地,但宣告清理的人是清白的。”

“那相相差……太大了,要是……那……那并并并不……花……花……花更……更……更多的钱。”葛朗台说。

“可是即使没有商事裁判所帮忙,仍旧可以宣告清理的,因为,”所长吸了一撮鼻烟,接着说,“你知道宣告破产要经过怎样的手续吗?”

“是呀,我从来没有想……想……想过。”葛朗台回答。

“第一,”法官往下说,“当事人或者他的合法登记的代理人,要亲自造好一份资产负债表,送往法院书记室。第二,由债权人出面申请。可是如果当事人不提出资产负债表,或者债权人不申请法院把当事人宣告破产,那么怎么办呢?”

“对……对对对啦,怎……怎……怎么办呢?”

“那么死者亲族,代表人,承继人,或者当事人自己,如果他没有死,或者他的朋友,如果他避不见面,可以办清理。也许你想把令弟的债务宣告清理吧?”所长问。

“啊!葛朗台!”公证人嚷道,“那可好极了。我们偏僻的内地还知道名誉的可贵。要是你保得身家清白,因为这的确与你的身家有关,那你真是大丈夫了……”

“伟大极了!”所长插嘴道。

“当……当然,”老头儿答道,“我兄兄兄弟姓……姓……姓葛朗台,跟……跟我我……我……我一样,还……还……还还用说吗?我……我……我……我没有说不。清清……清……清……清理,在在……无……无论何……何种情……情形之下,从从……各各……各……各方面看看看,对我侄……侄……侄儿是很……很……很有有有利的,侄……侄侄儿又又又是我……我喜……喜欢的。可是先……先要弄清楚。我不认……认……认得那些巴黎的坏蛋。我……我是在索……索漠,对不对?我的葡葡葡萄秧,沟沟渠,总总……总之,我有我的事事事情。我从没出过约……约……约期票。什么叫作约期票?我收收收……收到过很……很多,从来没有……出……出给人家。我只……只……只知道约期票可……可可可以兑现,可……可可以贴贴贴现。听……听说约……约……约期票可可以赎赎赎回……”

“是的,”所长说,“约期票可以打一个折扣从市场上收回来。你懂吗?”

葛朗台两手捧着耳朵,所长把话再说了一遍。

“那么,”老头儿答道,“这些事情也……也有好有坏喽?我……我……我老了,这这这些都……都弄弄……弄不清。我得留……留在这儿看……看……看守谷子。谷子快……快收了,咱们靠……靠……靠谷子开……开开销。最要紧的是,看……看好收成,在法劳丰我我……我有重……重要的收入。我不能放……放……放弃了家去去对对……对付那鬼……鬼……鬼……鬼事,我又搅搅不清。你你说……要避免破产,要办办……办清……清……清理,我得去巴黎。一个人又不不……不是一只鸟,怎怎……怎么能同时在……在……在两个地方……”

“我明白你的意思,”公证人嚷道,“可是老朋友,你有的是朋友,有的是肯替你尽心出力的朋友。”

“得啦,”老头儿心里想,“那么你自己提议呀!”

“倘使派一个人到巴黎去,找到令弟琪奥默最大的债主,对他说……”

“且慢,”老头儿插嘴道,“对他说……说什么?是……是不是这……这样:‘索漠的葛朗台长……索漠……的葛朗台短,他爱他的兄弟,爱他的侄……侄……侄子。葛朗台是一个好哥……哥哥,有一番很好的意思。他的收……收……收成卖了好价。你们不要宣告破……破……破……破产,你们集集集合起来,委……委……委托几个清……清……清理人。那那时葛朗台再……再……再瞧着办。与其让法院里的人沾……沾……沾手,不如清理来……来……来得上算……’嗯,是不是这么说?”

“对!”所长回答。

“因为,你瞧,篷……篷……篷……篷风先生,我们要三……三思而行。做……做不到总……总是做……做不到。凡是花……花……花钱的事,先得把收支搞清楚,才才才不至于倾……倾……倾家荡产。嗯,对不对?”

“当然喽,”所长说,“我嘛,我认为花几个月的时间,出一笔钱,以协议的方式付款,可以把债券全部赎回。啊啊!你手里拿块肥肉,那些狗还不跟你跑吗?只要不宣告破产,把债权证件抓在你手里,你就是白璧无瑕。”

“白……白……白璧?”葛朗台又把两手捧着耳朵,“我不懂什么白……白……白璧。”

“哎,”所长嚷道,“你听我说呀。”

“我……我我听着。”

“债券是一种商品,也有市价涨落。这是根据英国法学家虞莱弥·朋撒姆关于高利贷的理论推演出来的。他曾经证明,大家谴责高利贷的成见是荒谬的。”

“嗯!”好家伙哼了一声。

“据朋撒姆的看法,既然原则上金钱是一种商品,代表金钱的东西也是一种商品,既然是商品,就免不了市价涨落;那么契据这种商品,有某某人签字的文件,也像旁的货物一样,市场会忽而多忽而少,它们的价值也就忽而高忽而低,法院可以要人家……(哦,我多糊涂,对不起……)我认为你可以把令弟的债券打个二五折赎回来。”

“他叫……叫……叫作虞……虞……虞莱弥·朋……”

“朋撒姆,是个英国人。”

“这个虞莱弥,使我们在生意上再也用不到怨气冲天。”公证人笑着说。

“这些英国人有……有……有时真讲情……情理,”葛朗台说,“那么,照朋……朋……朋撒姆的看法,要是我兄弟的债券值……值……值多少……实际是并不值!我我……我……我说得对不对?我觉得明白得很……债主可能……不,不可能……我懂……懂懂得。”

“认我解释给你听吧,”所长说,“在法律上要是你拿到葛朗台号子所有欠人的债券,令弟和他的继承人就算跟大家两讫了,行了。”

“行了。”老头儿也跟着说了一遍。

“以公道而论,要是令弟的债券,在市场上谈判好,(谈判,你明白这两个字的意思吗?)谈判好打多少折扣;要是你朋友中有人在场收买了下来,既然债权人自愿出售而并没受暴力胁迫,那么令弟的遗产就光明正大地没有什么负债了。”

“不错……生……生……生意是生意,这是老话,”箍桶匠说,“可是,你明……明……明……明白,这很……很……很难。我……我……我没有钱钱钱,也……也……也没有空,没有空也没……”

“是的,你不能分身。那么我代你上巴黎。(旅费归你,那是小意思。)我去找那些债权人,跟他们谈,把债券收回,把付款的期限展缓,只要在清算的总数上多付一笔钱,一切都好商量的。”

“咱咱咱们再谈,我不……不……不……能,我不愿随……随……随便答应,在在在……没……没有……做……做不到,总是做……做不到。你你你明白?”

“那不错。”

“你跟……跟……跟我讲……讲……讲的这一套,把我……我……我头都涨……涨……涨昏了。我活到现在,第……第……第一次要想……想到这这……”

“对,你不是法学家。”

“不过是一个可……可……可怜的种葡萄的,你……你……你刚才说的,我一点儿不知道;我……我……我得研……研……研究一一一下。”

“那么……”所长似乎想把他们的谈话归纳出一个结论来。公证人带着埋怨的口吻插嘴道:

“老侄!……”

“哦,叔叔?”

“你应当让葛朗台先生说明他的意思。委托这样一件事不是小事。咱们的朋友应当把范围说清……”

大门上一声锤响,报告台·格拉桑一家来了,他们的进场和寒暄,打断了克罗旭的话。这一打岔,公证人觉得很高兴,葛朗台已经在冷眼觑他,肉瘤颤巍巍地表示心中的激动。可是首先,小心谨慎的公证人认为一个初级裁判所所长根本不宜于上巴黎去钓债权人上钩,牵入与法律抵触而不清不白的阴谋中去;其次,葛朗台老头肯不肯出钱还一点儿没有表示,侄儿就冒冒失地参与,也使公证人莫名其妙地觉得害怕。所以他趁台·格拉桑他们进来的当儿,抓着所长的胳膊,把他拉到一个窗洞下面:

“老侄,你的意思表示得够了,献殷勤也应当适可而止。你想他的女儿想昏了。不要见鬼,没头没脑地乱冲乱撞。现在让我来把舵,你只要从旁边助我一臂就行。难道你值得以堂堂法官之尊,去参与这样一件……”

他没有说完,听见台·格拉桑向老箍桶匠伸着手说:

“葛朗台,我们知道府上遭了不幸,琪奥默·葛朗台的号子出了事,令弟去世了,我们特地来表示哀悼。”

公证人插嘴道:

“最不幸的是二爷的死。要是他想到向兄长求救,就不至于自杀了。咱们的老朋友爱名誉,连指甲缝里都爱到家,他想出面清理巴黎葛朗台的债务呢。舍侄为免得葛朗台在这桩涉及司法的交涉中遇到麻烦,提议立刻代他去巴黎跟债权人磋商,使他们相当地满足。”

这段话,加上葡萄园主摸着下巴的态度,叫三位台·格拉桑诧异到万分。他们一路来的时候还在称心如意地骂葛朗台守财奴,差不多认为兄弟就是给他害死的。这时银行家却望着他的太太嚷道:

“啊!我早知道的!喂,太太,我路上跟你怎么说的?葛朗台连头发根里都是爱惜名誉的,绝不肯让他们的姓氏有一点儿玷污。有钱而没有名誉是一种病。咱们内地还有人爱名誉呢!葛朗台,你这个态度好极了,好极了。我是一个老军人,装不了假,只晓得把心里的话直说。这真是,我的天!伟大极了。”说着银行家热烈地握着他的手。

“可可可是伟……伟……伟大要花大……大……大钱呀。”老头儿回答。

“但是,亲爱的葛朗台,”台·格拉桑接着说,“请所长先生不要生气,这纯粹是件生意上的事,要一个生意上的老手去交涉的。什么回复权,预支,利息的计算,全得内行。我有些事上巴黎,可以附带代你……”

“咱们慢慢地来考虑,怎怎……怎么样想出一个可……可……可能的办法,使我不……不……不至于贸贸然答……答……答应我……我……我不愿愿愿意做的事,”葛朗台结结巴巴地回答,“因为,你瞧,所长先生当然要我负担旅费的。”说这最后几句时他不口吃了。台·格拉桑太太便说:

“哎!到巴黎去是一种享受,我愿意自己花旅费去呢。”

她对丈夫丢了一个眼色,似乎鼓励他不惜代价把这件差事从敌人手里抢过来;她又带着嘲弄的神气望望两位脸色沮丧的克罗旭。

于是葛朗台抓住了银行家的衣纽,拉他到一边对他说:

“在你跟所长中间,我自然更信任你。而且,”他的肉瘤牵动了几下,“其中还有文章呢。我想买公债,大概有好几万法郎的数目,可是只预备出八十法郎的价钱。据说月底行市会跌。你是内行,是不是?”

“嘿!岂敢!这样说来,我得替你收进几万法郎的公债啰?”

“嘘!开场小做做。我玩这个,谁都不让知道。你可以买月底的期货;可是不能叫克罗旭他们得知,他们会不高兴。既然你上巴黎去,你替我可怜的侄儿探探风色。”

“就这样吧,”台·格拉桑提高了嗓音,“明天我搭驿车动身,几点钟再来请示细节呢?”

“明天五点吧,吃晚饭以前。”葡萄园主搓着手。

两家客人又一起坐了一会儿。台·格拉桑趁谈话停顿的当儿拍拍葛朗台的肩膀说:

“有这样的同胞兄弟,叫人看了也痛快……”

“是呀是呀,”葛朗台回答说,“表面上看不出,我可是极重骨……骨肉之情。我对兄弟很好,可以向大家证明,要是花……花……花钱不……不多……”银行家不等他说完,很识趣地插嘴道:

“咱们告辞了,葛朗台。我要提早动身的话,还得把事情料理料理。”

“好,好,为了刚才和你谈的那件事,我……我要进……进……进我的‘评评……评……评议室’去,像克罗旭所长说的。”

“该死!一下子我又不是特·篷风先生了。”法官郁郁不乐地想,脸上的表情好像在庭上给辩护律师弄得不耐烦似的。

两家敌对的人物一齐走了。早上葛朗台出卖当地葡萄园主的行为,都给忘掉了,彼此只想刺探对方:对于好家伙在这件新发生的事情上存什么心,是怎么一个看法。可是谁也不肯表示。

“你跟我们上特·奥松华太太家去吗?”台·格拉桑问公证人。

“咱们过一会儿去,”所长回答,“要是家叔允许的话,我答应特·格里鲍果小姐到她那边转一转的,我们要先上那儿。”

“那么再见啰,诸位。”台·格拉桑太太说。

他们别过了两位克罗旭,才走了几步,阿道夫便对他的父亲说:

“他们这一下可冒火呢,嗯?”

“别胡说,孩子,”他母亲回答道,“他们还听得见。而且你的话不登大雅,完全是法科学生的味儿。”

法官眼看台·格拉桑一家走远之后,嚷道:

“喂,叔叔!开场我是特·篷风所长,结果仍旧是光杆儿的克罗旭。”

“我知道你会生气,不过风向的确对台·格拉桑有利。你聪明人怎么糊涂起来了!葛朗台老头‘咱们再谈’那一套,由他们去相信吧。孩子,你放心,欧也妮还不一样是你的?”

不多一会儿,葛朗台慷慨的决心同时在三份人家传布开去,城里的人只谈着这桩手足情深的义举。葛朗台破坏了葡萄园主的誓约而出卖存酒的事,大家都加以原谅,一致佩服他的诚实,赞美他的义气,那是出于众人意料之外的。法国人的性格,就是喜欢捧一时的红角儿,为新鲜事儿上劲。那些群众竟是健忘得厉害。

葛朗台一关上大门,就叫唤拿侬:

“你别把狗放出来,等会儿睡觉,咱们还得一起干事呢。十一点钟的时候,高诺阿莱会赶着法劳丰的破车到这儿来。你留心听着,别让他敲门,叫他轻轻地进来。警察局不许人家黑夜里高声大气地闹。再说,乡邻也用不到知道我出门。”

说完之后,葛朗台走进他的工作室,拿侬听着他走动,找东西,来来去去,可是小心得很。显而易见他不愿惊醒太太和女儿,尤其不愿惹起侄儿的注意。他瞧见侄儿屋内还有灯光,已经在私下咒骂了。

半夜里,一心想着堂兄弟的欧也妮,似乎听见一个快要死去的人在那里呻吟,而这个快要死去的人,对她便是查理:他和她分手的时候脸色不是那么难看,那么垂头丧气吗?也许他自杀呢!她突然之间披了一件有风兜的大氅想走出去。先是她房门的隙缝中透进一道强烈的光,把她吓了一跳,以为是失了火;后来她放心了,因为听见拿侬沉重的脚步与说话的声音,还夹着好几匹马嘶叫的声音。她极其小心地把门打开一点儿,免得发出声响,但开到正好瞧见甬道里的情形。她心里想:“难道父亲把堂兄弟架走了不成?”

冷不防她的眼睛跟父亲的眼睛碰上了,虽然不是瞧着她,而且也毫不疑心她在门后偷看,欧也妮却吓坏了。老头儿和拿侬两个,右肩上架着一根又粗又短的棍子,棍子上系了一条绳索,扣着一只木桶,正是葛朗台闲着没事的辰光在面包房里做着玩的那种。

“圣母玛利亚!好重噢!先生。”拿侬轻声地说。

“可惜只是一些大铜钱!”老头儿回答,“当心碰到烛台。”

楼梯扶手的两根柱子中间,只照着一根蜡烛。

“高诺阿莱,”葛朗台对那个虚有其名的看庄子的说,“你带了手枪没有?”

“没有,先生。嘿!你那些大钱怕什么?……”

“噢!不怕。”葛朗台回答。

“再说,我们走得很快,”看庄子的又道,“你的佃户替你预备了最好的马。”

“行,行。你没有跟他们说我上哪儿去吗?”

“我压根儿不知道。”

“好吧。车子结实吗?”

“结实?嘿,能装三千斤。你那些破酒桶有多重?”

“哦,那我知道!”拿侬说,“总该有一千八百斤。”

“别多嘴,拿侬!跟太太说我下乡去了,回来吃夜饭。——高诺阿莱,快一点儿,九点以前要赶到安越。”

车子走了。拿侬锁上大门,放了狗,肩头酸痛地睡下,街坊上没有一个人知道葛朗台出门,更没有人知道他出门的目的。老头儿真是机密透顶。在这座堆满黄金的屋子里,谁也没有见过一个大钱。早晨他在码头上听见人家闲话,说南德城里接了大批装配船只的生意,金价涨了一倍,投机商都到安越来收买黄金,他听了便向佃户借了几匹马,预备把家里的藏金装到安越去抛售,拿回一笔库券,作为买公债的款子,而且趁金价暴涨的机会又好赚一笔外快。

“父亲走了。”欧也妮心里想,她在楼梯高头把一切都听清楚了。

屋子里又变得寂静无声,逐渐远去的车轮声,在万家酣睡的索漠城中已经听不见了。这时欧也妮在没有用耳朵谛听之前,先在心中听到一声呻吟从查理房中传来,一直透过她卧房的板壁。三楼门缝里漏出一道像刀口一般细的光,横照在破楼梯的栏杆上。她爬上两级,心里想:

“他不好过哩。”

第二次的呻吟使她爬到了楼梯高头,把虚掩着的房门推开了。查理睡着,脑袋倒在旧靠椅外面;笔已经掉下,手几乎碰到了地。他在这种姿势中呼吸困难的模样,叫欧也妮突然害怕起来,赶紧走进卧房。

“他一定累死了。”她看到十几封封好的信,心里想。她看见信封上写着——法莱—勃莱曼车行——蒲伊松成衣铺,等等。

“他一定在料理事情,好早点儿出国。”

她又看到两封打开的信,开头写着“我亲爱的阿纳德……”几个字,使她不由得一阵眼花,心儿直跳,双脚钉在地上不能动了。

“他亲爱的阿纳德!他有爱人了,有人爱他了!没有希望喽!……他对她说些什么呢?”

这些念头在她脑子里心坎里闪过,到处都看到这几个像火焰一般的字,连地砖上都有。

“没有希望了!我不能看这封信。应当走开……可是看了又怎么呢?”

她望着查理,轻轻地把他脑袋安放在椅背上,他像孩子一般听人摆布,仿佛睡熟的时候也认得自己的母亲,让她照料,受她亲吻。欧也妮也像做母亲的一样,把他垂下的手拿起,轻轻地吻了吻他的头发。“亲爱的阿纳德!”仿佛有一个鬼在她耳畔叫着这几个字。她想:

“我知道也许是不应该的,可是那封信,我还是要看。”

欧也妮转过头去,良心在责备她。善恶第一次在她心中照了面。至此为止,她从没做过使自己脸红的事。现在可是热情与好奇心把她战胜了。每读一句,她的心就膨胀一点儿,看信时身心兴奋的情绪,把她初恋的快感刺激得愈加尖锐了:

亲爱的阿纳德,什么都不能使我们分离,除了我这次遭到的大难,那是尽管谨慎小心也是预料不到的。我的父亲自杀了,我和他的财产全部丢了。由于我所受的教育,在这个年纪上我还是一个孩子,可是已经成了孤儿:虽然如此,我得像成人一样从深渊中爬起来。刚才我花了半夜工夫做了一番盘算。要是我愿意清清白白地离开法国——我一定得办到这一点——我还没有一百法郎的钱好拿了上印度或美洲去碰运气。是的,可怜的阿娜,我要到气候最恶劣的地方去找发财的机会。据说在那些地方,发财又快又稳。留在巴黎嘛,根本不可能。一个倾家荡产的人,一个破产的人的儿子,天哪,亏空了两百万!……一个这样的人所能受到的羞辱,冷淡,鄙薄,我的心和我的脸都受不了的。不到一星期,我就会在决斗中送命。所以我绝不回巴黎。你的爱,一个男人从没受到过的最温柔最忠诚的爱,也不能摇动我不去巴黎的决心。可怜啊!我最亲爱的,我没有旅费上你那儿,来给你一个,受你一个最后的亲吻,一个使我有勇气奔赴前程的亲吻……

——可怜的查理,幸亏我看了这封信!我有金子,可以给他啊,欧也妮想。她抹了抹眼泪又念下去:

我从没想到过贫穷的苦难。要是我有了必不可少的一百路易旅费,就没有一个铜子买那些起码货去做生意。不要说一百路易,连一个路易也没有。要等我把巴黎的私债清偿之后,才能知道我还剩多少钱。倘使一文不剩,我也就心平气和地上南德,到船上当水手,一到那里,我学那些苦干的人的榜样,年轻时身无分文地上印度,变了巨富回来。从今儿早上起,我把前途冷静地想过了。那对我比对旁人更加可怕,因为我受过母亲的娇养,受过最慈祥的父亲的疼爱,刚踏进社会又遇到了阿娜的爱!我一向只看见人生的鲜花,而这种福气是不会长久的。可是亲爱的阿纳德,我还有足够的勇气,虽然我一向是个无愁无虑的青年,受惯一个巴黎最迷人的女子的爱抚,享尽家庭之乐,有一个百依百顺的父亲……哦!阿纳德,我的父亲,他死了啊……

是的,我把我的处境想过了,也把你的想过了。二十四小时以来,我老了许多。亲爱的阿娜,即使为了把我留在巴黎,留在你身旁,而你牺牲一切豪华的享受,牺牲你的衣着,牺牲你在歌剧院的包厢,咱们也没法张罗一笔最低的费用,来维持我挥霍惯的生活。而且我不能接受你那么多的牺牲。因此咱们今天只能诀别。

——他离开她了,圣母玛利亚!哦,好运气!

欧也妮快乐得跳起来。查理身子动了一下,把她吓得浑身发冷;幸而他并没有醒。她又往下念:

我什么时候回来?不知道。印度的气候很容易使一个欧洲人衰老,尤其是一个辛苦的欧洲人。就说是十年吧。十年以后,你的女儿十八岁,已经是你的伴侣,会刺探你的秘密了。对你,社会已经够残酷,而你的女儿也许对你更残酷。社会的批判,少女的忘恩负义,那些榜样我们已看得不少,应当知所警惕。希望你像我一样,心坎里牢牢记着这四年幸福的回忆,别负了你可怜的朋友,如果可能的话。可是我不敢坚决要求,因为亲爱的阿纳德,我必须适应我的处境,用平凡的眼光看人生,一切都得打最实际的算盘。所以我要想到结婚,在我以后的生涯中那是一项应有的节目。而且我可以告诉你,在这里,在我索漠的伯父家里,我遇到一个堂姊,她的举动,面貌,头脑,心地,都会使你喜欢的,并且我觉得她……

欧也妮看到信在这里中断,便想:“他一定是疲倦极了,才没有写完。”

她替他找辩护的理由!当然,这封信的冷淡无情,叫这个无邪的姑娘怎么猜得透?在虔诚的气氛中长大的少女,天真,纯洁,一朝踏入了迷人的爱情世界,便觉得一切都是爱情了。她们徜徉于天国的光明中,而这光明是她们的心灵放射的,光辉所布,又照耀到她们的爱人。她们把胸中如火如荼的热情点染爱人,把自己崇高的思想当作他们的。女人的错误,差不多老是因为相信善,或是相信真。“我亲爱的阿纳德,我最亲爱的”这些字眼,传到欧也妮心中竟是爱情的最美的语言,把她听得飘飘然,好像童年听到大风琴上再三奏着“来啊,咱们来崇拜上帝”这几个庄严的音符,觉得万分悦耳一样。并且查理眼中还噙着泪水,更显出他的心地高尚,而心地高尚是最容易使少女着迷的。

她又怎么知道查理这样地爱父亲,这样真诚地哭他,并非出于什么了不得的至情至性,而是因为做父亲的实在太好的缘故。在巴黎,一般做儿女的,对父母多少全有些可怕的打算,或者看到了巴黎生活的繁华,有些欲望、有些计划老是因父母在堂而无法实现,觉得苦闷。琪奥默·葛朗台夫妇却对儿子永远百依百顺,让他穷奢极侈地享尽富贵,所以查理才不至于对父母想到那些可怕的念头。父亲不惜为了儿子挥金如土,终于在儿子心中培养起一点纯粹的孝心。然而查理究竟是一个巴黎青年,当地的风气与阿纳德的陶冶,把他训练得对什么都得计算一下;表面上年轻,他实际已经是一个深谙世故的老人。他受到巴黎社会的可怕的教育,眼见一个夜晚在思想上说话上所犯的罪,可能比重罪法庭所惩罚的还要多;信口雌黄,把最伟大的思想诋毁无余,而美其名曰妙语高论;风气所播,竟以目光准确为强者之道;所谓目光准确,乃是全无信念,既不信情感,也不信人物,也不信事实,而假造事实。在这个社会里,要目光准确就得每天早上把朋友的钱袋掂过斤两,对任何事情都得像政客一般不动感情;眼前对什么都不能钦佩赞美,既不可赞美艺术品,也不可赞美高尚的行为;对什么事都应当把个人的利益看作高于一切。那位贵族太太,美丽的阿纳德,在疯疯癫癫调情卖俏之后,教查理一本正经地思索了:她用香喷喷的手摸着他的头发,跟他讨论他的前程;一边替他重做发卷,一边教他为人生打算。她把他变得女性化而又实际化。那是从两方面使他腐化,可是使他腐化的手段,做得高雅巧妙,不同凡俗。

“查理,你真傻,”她对他说,“叫你懂得人生,真不容易。你对台·吕博先生的态度很不好。我知道他是一个不大高尚的人;可是等他失势之后你再称心如意地鄙薄他呀。你知道刚榜太太的教训吗?——孩子们,只要一个人在台上,就得尽量崇拜他;一朝下了台,赶快把他拖上垃圾堆。有权有势的时候,他等于上帝;给人家挤倒了,还不如石像被塞在阴沟里的马拉[1],因为马拉已经死了,而他还活着。人生是一连串纵横捭阖的把戏,要研究,要时时刻刻地注意,一个人才能维持他优越的地位。”

以查理那样的一个时髦人物,父母太溺爱他,社会太奉承他,根本谈不到有何伟大的情感。母亲种在他心里的一点点真金似的品性,散到巴黎这架螺旋机中去了;这点儿品性,他平时就应用得很浅薄,而且多次摩擦之后,迟早要磨蚀完的。但那时查理只有二十一岁。在这个年纪上,生命的朝气似乎跟心灵的坦白还分不开。声音,目光,面貌,都显得与情感调和。所以当一个人眼神清澈如水,额上还没有一道皱纹的时候,纵使最无情的法官,最不轻信人的讼师,最难相与的债主,也不敢贸然断定他的心已老于世故,工于算计。巴黎哲学的教训,查理从没机会实地应用过,至此为止,他的美是美在没有经验。可是不知不觉之间,他血里已经种下了自私自利的疫苗。巴黎人的那套政治经济,已经潜伏在他心头,只要他从悠闲的旁观者一变而为现实生活中的演员,这些潜在的根苗便会立刻开花。

几乎所有的少女都会相信外貌的暗示,以为人家的心地和外表一样的美;但即使欧也妮像某些内地姑娘一样的谨慎小心,一样的目光深远,在堂兄弟的举动、言语、行为与心中憧憬还内外一致的时候,欧也妮也不见得会防他。一个偶然的机会,对欧也妮是致命伤,使她在堂兄弟年轻的心中,看到他最后一次的流露真情,听到他良心的最后几声叹息。

她把这封她认为充满爱情的信放下,心满意足地端详着睡熟的堂兄弟:她觉得这张脸上还有人生的新鲜的幻象;她先暗暗发誓要始终不渝地爱他。末了她的眼睛又转到另一封信上,再也不觉得这种冒昧的举动有什么了不得了。并且她看这封信,主要还是想对堂兄弟高尚的人格多找些新证据;而这高尚的人格,原是她像所有的女子一样推己及人地假借给爱人的:

亲爱的阿风斯,你读到这封信的时候,我已经没有朋友了;可是我尽管怀疑那班满口友谊的俗人,却没有怀疑你的友谊。所以我托你料理事情,相信你会把我所有的东西卖个好价。我的情形,想你已经知道。我一无所有了,想到印度去。刚才我写信给所有我有些欠账的人,凭我记忆所及,附上清单一纸,我的藏书、家具、车辆、马匹等等,大概足以抵偿我的私债。凡是没有什么价值的玩意儿,可以作为我做买卖的底子的,都请留下。亲爱的阿风斯,为出售那些东西,我稍缓当有正式的委托书寄上,以免有人异议。请你把我全部的枪械寄给我。至于勃列东,你可以留下自用。这匹骏马是没有人肯出足价钱的,我宁愿送给你,好像一个临死的人把常戴的戒指送给他的遗嘱执行人一样。法莱—勃莱曼车行给我造了一辆极舒服的旅行车,还没有交货,你想法叫他们留下车子,不再要我补偿损失。倘使不肯,另谋解决也可以,总以不损害我目前处境中的名誉为原则。我欠那个岛国人六路易赌债,不要忘记还给他……

“好弟弟。”欧也妮暗暗叫着,丢下了信,拿了蜡烛踅着小步溜回卧房。

到了房里,她快活得什么似的打开旧橡木柜的抽斗——文艺复兴时期最美的家具之一,上面还模模糊糊看得出法朗梭阿一世的王徽。她从抽斗内拿出一个金线坠子、金银线绣花的红丝绒钱袋,外祖母遗产里的东西。然后她很骄傲地掂了掂钱袋的分量,把她已经忘了数目的小小的积蓄检点一番。

她先理出簇新的二十枚葡萄牙金洋,一七二五年约翰五世铸造,兑换率是每枚值葡币五元,或者据她父亲说,等于一百六十八法郎六十四生丁,但一般公认的市价可以值到一百八十法郎,因为这些金洋是罕有之物,铸造极精,黄澄澄的光彩像太阳一般。

其次,是热那亚币一百元一枚的金洋五枚,也是稀见的古钱,每枚值八十七法郎,古钱收藏家可以出到一百法郎。那是从外曾祖特·拉·斐德里埃那儿来的。

其次,是三枚西班牙金洋,一七二九年斐列浦五世铸造。香蒂埃太太给她的时候老是说:“这小玩意儿,这小人头,值到九十八法郎!好娃娃,你得好好保存,将来是你私库里的宝物。”

其次,是她父亲最看重的一百荷兰杜加,一七五六年铸造,每枚约值十三法郎。成色是二十三开又零,差不多是十足的纯金。

其次,是一批罕见的古物……一般守财奴最珍视的金徽章,三枚刻着天平的卢比,五枚刻着圣母的卢比[2],都是二十四开的纯金,蒙古大帝的货币,本身的价值是每枚三十七法郎四十生丁,玩赏黄金的收藏家至少可以出到五十法郎。

其次,是前天才拿到,她随便丢在袋里的四十法郎一枚的拿破仑。

这批宝物中间,有的是全新的,从未用过的金洋,真正的艺术品,葛朗台不时要问到,要拿出来瞧瞧,以便向女儿指出它们本身的美点,例如边缘的做工如何细巧,底子如何光亮,字体如何丰满,笔画的轮廓都没有磨蚀分毫,等等。但欧也妮那天夜里既没想到金洋的珍贵,也没想到父亲的癖性,更没想到把父亲这样珍爱的宝物脱手是如何危险;不,她只想到堂兄弟,计算之下——算法上自然不免有些小错——她终于发觉她的财产大概值到五千八百法郎,照一般的市价可以卖到六千法郎。

看到自己这么富有,她不禁高兴得拍起手来,有如一个孩子快活到了极点,必须用肉体的动作来发泄一下。这样,父女俩都盘过了自己的家私:他是为了拿黄金去卖,欧也妮是为了把黄金丢入爱情的大海。

她把金币重新装入钱袋,毫不迟疑地提了上楼。堂兄弟瞒着不给人知道的窘况,使她忘了黑夜,忘了体统,而且她的良心,她的牺牲精神,她的快乐,一切都在壮她的胆。

正当她一手蜡烛一手钱袋,踏进门口的时候,查理醒了,一看他的堂姊,便愣住了。欧也妮进房把烛火放在桌上,声音发抖地说:

“弟弟,我做了一桩非常对不起你的事;但要是你肯宽恕的话,上帝也会原谅我的罪过。”

“什么事呀?”查理擦着眼睛问。

“我把这两封信都念过了。”

查理脸红了。

“怎么会念的,”她往下说,“我为什么上楼的,老实说,我现在都想不起了。可是我念了这两封信觉得也不必后悔,因为我识得了你的灵魂,你的心,还有……”

“还有什么?”查理问。

“还有你的计划,你需要一笔款子……”

“亲爱的大姊……”

“嘘,嘘,弟弟,别高声,别惊动了人。”她一边打开钱袋一边说,“这是一个可怜的姑娘的积蓄,她根本没有用处。查理,你收下吧。今天早上,我还不知道什么叫作金钱,是你教我弄明白了,钱不过是一种工具。堂兄弟就跟兄弟差不多,你总可以借用姊姊的钱吧?”

一半还是少女一半已经成人的欧也妮,不曾防到他会拒绝,可是堂兄弟一声不出。

“哎,你不肯收吗?”欧也妮问。静寂中可以听到她的心跳。

堂兄弟的迟疑不决使她着了慌;但他身无分文的窘况,在她脑海里愈加显得清楚了,她便双膝跪下,说道:

“你不收,我就不起来!弟弟,求你开一声口,回答我呀!让我知道你肯不肯赏脸,肯不肯大度包容,是不是……”

一听到这高尚的心灵发出这绝望的呼声,查理不由得落下泪来,掉在欧也妮手上,他正握着她的手不许她下跪。欧也妮受到这几颗热泪,立刻跳过去抓起钱袋,把钱倒在桌上。

“那么你收下了,嗯?”她快活得哭着说,“不用怕,弟弟,你将来会发财的,这些金子对你有利的,将来你可以还我,而且我们可以合伙,什么条件都行。可是你不用把这笔礼看得那么重啊。”

这时查理才能够把心中的情感表白出来:“是的,欧也妮,我再不接受,未免太小心眼了。可是不能没有条件,你信托我,我也得信托你。”

“什么意思?”她害怕地问。

“听我说,好姊姊,我这里有……”

他没有说完,指着衣柜上装在皮套里的一口方匣子。

“你瞧,这里有一样东西,我看得和性命一样宝贵。这匣子是母亲给我的。从今天早上起我就想到,要是她能从坟墓里走出来,她一定会亲自把这匣上的黄金卖掉,你看她当初为了爱我,花了多少金子;但要我自己来卖,真是太亵渎了。”

欧也妮听到最后一句,不禁颤巍巍地握着堂兄弟的手。

他们静默了一会儿,彼此用水汪汪的眼睛望着,然后他又说:

“不,我既不愿把它毁掉,又不愿带着去冒路上的危险。亲爱的欧也妮,我把它交托给你。朋友之间,从没有交托一件比这个更神圣的东西。你瞧过便知道。”

他过去拿起匣子,卸下皮套,揭开盖子,伤心地给欧也妮看。手工的精巧,使黄金的价值超过了本身重量的价值,把欧也妮看得出神了。

“这还不算稀罕,”他说着揿了一下暗钮,又露出一个夹底,“瞧,我的无价之宝在这里呢。”

他掏出两张肖像,都是特·弥尔贝夫人[3]的杰作,四周镶满了珠子。

“哦,多漂亮的人!这位太太不就是你写信去……”

“不,”他微微一笑,“是我的母亲,那是父亲,就是你的叔父叔母。欧也妮,我真要跪着求你替我保存这件宝物。要是我跟你小小的家私一齐断送了,这些金子可以补偿你的损失;两张肖像我只肯交给你,你才有资格保留;可是你宁可把它们毁掉,绝不能落在第二个人手中……”

欧也妮一声不出。

“那么你答应了,是不是?”他妩媚地补上一句。

听了堂兄弟这些话,她对他望了一眼,那是钟情的女子第一次瞧爱人的眼风,又爱娇又深沉;查理拿她的手吻了一下。

“纯洁的天使!咱们之间,钱永远是无所谓的,是不是?只有感情才有价值,从今以后应当是感情高于一切。”

“你很像你的母亲。她的声音是不是像你的一样温柔?”

“哦!温柔多了……”

“对你是当然喽,”她垂下眼皮说,“喂,查理,睡觉吧,我要你睡,你累了。明儿见。”

他拿着蜡烛送她,她轻轻地把手从堂兄弟手里挣脱。两人一齐走到门口,他说:

“啊!为什么我的家败光了呢?”

“不用急,我父亲有钱呢,我相信。”她回答说。

查理在房内走前了一步,背靠着墙壁:

“可怜的孩子,他有钱就不会让我的父亲死了,也不会让你日子过得这么苦,总之他不是这么生活的。”

“可是他有法劳丰呢。”

“法劳丰能值多少?”

“我不知道,可是他还有诺阿伊哀。”

“一些起码租田!”

“还有葡萄园跟草原……”

“那更谈不上了,”查理满脸瞧不起的神气,“只要你父亲一年有两万四千法郎收入,你还会住这间又冷又寒酸的卧房吗?”他一边说一边提起左脚向前走了一步,“我的宝贝就得藏在这里面吗?”他指着一口旧箱子问,借此掩饰一下他的思想。

“去睡吧。”她不许他走进凌乱的卧房。

查理退了出去,彼此微微一笑,表示告别。

两人做着同样的梦睡去,从此查理在守丧的心中点缀了几朵蔷薇。

下一天早上,葛朗台太太看见女儿在午饭之前陪着查理散步。他还是愁容满面,正如一个不幸的人堕入了忧患的深渊、估量到苦海的深度、感觉到将来的重担以后的表情。

欧也妮看见母亲脸上不安的神色,便说:

“父亲要到吃晚饭的时候才回来呢。”

欧也妮的神色,举动,显得特别温柔的声音,都表示她与堂兄弟精神上有了默契。也许爱情的力量双方都没有深切地感到,可是他们的精神已经热烈地融成一片。查理坐在堂屋里暗自忧伤,谁也不去惊动他。三个女子都有些事情忙着。葛朗台忘了把事情交代好,家中来了不少人。瓦匠,铅管匠,泥水匠,土方工人,木匠,种园子的,管庄稼的,有的来谈判修理费,有的来付田租,有的来收账。葛朗台太太与欧也妮不得不来来往往,跟唠叨不已的工人与乡下人答话。拿侬把人家送来抵租的东西搬进厨房。她老是要等主人发令,才能知道哪些该留在家里,哪些该送到菜场上去卖。葛朗台老头的习惯,和内地大多数的乡绅一样,喝的老是坏酒,吃的老是烂果子。

傍晚五点光景,葛朗台从安越回来了,他把金子换了一万四千法郎,荷包里藏着王家库券,在没有拿去购买公债以前还有利息可拿。他把高诺阿莱留在安越,照顾那几匹累得要死的马,等它们将养好了再慢慢赶回。

“太太,我从安越回来啦,”他说,“我肚子饿了。”

“从昨天到现在没有吃过东西吗?”拿侬在厨房里嚷着问。

“没有。”老头儿回答。

拿侬端上菜汤。全家正在用饭,台·格拉桑来听取他主顾的指示了。葛朗台老头简直没有看到他的侄儿。

“你先吃饭吧,葛朗台,”银行家说,“咱们等会儿再谈。你知道安越的金价吗?有人特地从南德赶去收买。我想送一点儿去抛售。”

“不必了,”老家伙回答说,“已经到了很多。咱们是好朋友,不能让你白跑一趟。”

“可是金价到了十三法郎五十生丁呢。”

“应当说到过这个价钱。”

“你鬼使神差地又从哪儿听来的呀?”

“昨天夜里我到了安越。”葛朗台低声回答。

银行家惊讶得打了一个寒噤。随后两人咬着耳朵交谈,谈话中,台·格拉桑与葛朗台对查理望了好几次。大概是老箍桶匠说出要银行家买进十万法郎公债的时候吧,台·格拉桑又做了一个惊讶的动作。他对查理说:

“葛朗台先生,我要上巴黎去;要是你有什么事叫我办……”

“没有什么事,先生,谢谢你。”查理回答。

“能不能再谢得客气一点儿,侄儿?他是去料理琪奥默·葛朗台号子的事情的。”

“难道还有什么希望吗?”查理问。

“哎,”老箍桶匠骄傲的神气装得逼真,“你不是我的侄儿吗?你的名誉便是我们的。你不是姓葛朗台吗?”

查理站起来,抓着葛朗台老头拥抱了一下,然后脸色发白地走了出去。欧也妮望着父亲,钦佩到了万分。

“行了,再会吧,好朋友;一切拜托,把那班人灌饱迷汤再说。”

两位军师握了握手,老箍桶匠把银行家一直送到大门外,然后关了门回来,埋在安乐椅里对拿侬说:

“把果子酒拿来!”

但他过于兴奋了,没法坐下,起身瞧了瞧特·拉·斐德里埃先生的肖像,踏着拿侬所谓的舞步,嘴里唱起歌来:

法兰西的帝国军队中哎

我有过一个好爸爸……

拿侬,葛朗台太太,欧也妮,不声不响地彼此瞪了一眼。老头儿快乐到极点的时候,她们总有些害怕。

晚会不久就告结束。先是葛朗台老头要早睡;而他一睡觉,家里便应当全体睡觉:正好像奥古斯德一喝酒,波兰全国都该醉倒[4]。其次,拿侬,查理,欧也妮,疲倦也不下于主人。至于葛朗台太太,一向是依照丈夫的意志睡觉、吃喝、走路的。可是在饭后等待消化的两小时中间,从来没有那么高兴的老箍桶匠,发表了他的不少怪论,我们只要举出一两句,就可见出他的思想。他喝完了果子酒,望着杯子说:

“嘴唇刚刚碰到,杯子就干了!做人也是这样。不能要了现在,又要过去。钱不能又花出去又留在你袋里。要不然人生真是太美了。”

他说说笑笑,和气得很。拿侬搬纺车来的时候,他说:

“你也累,不用绩麻了。”

“啊,好!……不过我要厌烦呢。”女佣回答。

“可怜的拿侬,要不要来一杯果子酒?”

“啊!果子酒,我不反对;太太比药剂师做得还要好。他们卖的哪里是酒,竟是药。”

“他们糖放得太多,一点儿酒味儿都没有了。”老头儿说。

下一天早上八点钟,全家聚在一块用早餐的时候,第一次有了融融的气象。苦难已经使葛朗台太太、欧也妮和查理精神上有了联系,连拿侬也不知不觉地同情他们。四个人变了一家。至于葛朗台老头,吝啬的欲望满足了,眼见花花公子不久就要动身,除了到南德的旅费以外不用他多花一个钱,所以虽然家里住着这个客,他也不放在心上了。

他听任两个孩子——对欧也妮与查理他是这样称呼的——在葛朗台太太监督之下自由行动;关于礼教的事,他是完全信任太太的。草原与路旁的土沟要整理,洛阿河畔要种白杨,法劳丰和庄园有冬天的工作,使他没有功夫再管旁的事。从此,欧也妮进入了爱情里的春天。自从她半夜里把财宝送给了堂兄弟之后,她的心也跟着财宝一起去了。两人怀着同样的秘密,彼此瞧望的时候都表示出心心相印的了解,把他们的情感加深了,更亲密,更相契,使他们差不多生活在另一个世界上。亲族之间不作兴有温柔的口吻与含情的目光吗?因此欧也妮竭力使堂兄弟领略爱情初期的、儿童般的欢喜,来忘掉他的痛苦。

爱情的开始与生命的开始,颇有些动人的相似之处。我们不是用甜蜜的歌声与和善的目光催眠孩子吗?我们不是对他讲奇妙的故事,点缀他的前程吗?希望不是对他老展开着光明的翅翼吗?他不是忽而乐极而涕,忽而痛极而号吗?他不是为了一些无聊的小事争吵吗,或是为了造活动宫殿的石子,或是为了摘下来就忘掉的鲜花?他不是拼命要抓住时间,急于长大吗?恋爱是我们第二次的脱胎换骨。在欧也妮与查理之间,童年与爱情简直是同一桩事情:初恋的狂热,附带着一切应有的疯癫,使原来被哀伤包裹的心格外觉得安慰。

这爱情的诞生是在丧服之下挣扎出来的,所以跟这所破旧的屋子,与朴素的内地气息更显得调和。在静寂的院子里,靠井边与堂姊交谈几句;坐在园中长满青苔的凳上,一本正经地谈着废话,直到日落时分;或者在围墙下宁静的气氛中,好似在教堂的拱廊下面,一同默想:查理这才懂得了爱情的圣洁。因为他的贵族太太,他亲爱的阿纳德,只给他领略到爱情中暴风雨般的骚动。这时他离开了爱娇的、虚荣的、热闹的、巴黎式的情欲,来体味真正而纯粹的爱。他喜欢这屋子,也不觉得这屋里的生活习惯如何可笑了。

他清早就下楼,趁葛朗台来分配粮食之前,跟欧也妮谈一会儿;一听到老头儿的脚步声在楼梯上响,他马上溜进花园。这种清晨的约会,连母亲也不知道而拿侬装作看不见的约会,使他们有一点儿小小的犯罪感觉,为最纯洁的爱情添上几分偷尝禁果似的快感。等到用过早餐,葛朗台出门视察田地与种植的时光,查理便跟母女俩在一起,帮她们绕线团,看她们做活,听她们闲话,体味那从来未有的快乐。这种近乎修道院生活的朴素,把他看得大为感动,从而认识这两个不知世界为何物的灵魂之美。他本以为法国不可能再有这种风气,要就在德国,而且只是荒唐无稽的存在于奥古斯德·拉封丹[5]的小说之中。可是不久他发觉欧也妮竟是理想中的歌德的玛葛丽德,而且还没有玛葛丽德的缺点。

一天又一天,他的眼神,说话,把可怜的姑娘迷住了,一任爱情的热浪摆布;她抓着她的幸福,犹如游泳的人抓着一根杨柳枝条想上岸休息。日子飞一般地过去,其间最愉快的时光,不是已经为了即将临到的离别而显得凄凉黯淡吗?每过一天,总有一些事提醒他们。台·格拉桑走了三天之后,葛朗台带了查理上初级裁判所,庄严得了不得,那是内地人在这种场合惯有的态度;他叫查理签了一份抛弃继承权的声明书。可怕的声明!简直是离宗叛教似的文件。他又到克罗旭公证人那儿,缮就两份委托书,一份给台·格拉桑,一份给代他出售家具的朋友。随后他得填写申请书领取出国的护照。末了当查理定做的简单的孝服从巴黎送来之后,他在索漠城里叫了一个裁缝来,把多余的衣衫卖掉。这件事叫葛朗台老头大为高兴。他看见侄儿穿着粗呢的黑衣服时,便说:

“这样才像一个想出门发财的人哩。好,很好!”

“放心,伯父,”查理回答,“我知道在我现在的地位怎样做人。”

老头儿看见查理手中捧着金子,不由得眼睛一亮,问道:

“做什么?”

“伯父,我把纽扣,戒指,所有值几个钱的小东西集了起来;可是我在索漠一个人都不认识,想请你……”

“叫我买下来吗?”葛朗台打断了他的话。

“不是的,伯父,想请你介绍一个规规矩矩的人……”

“给我吧,侄儿,我到上面去替你估一估,告诉你一个准确的价值,差不了一生丁。”他把一条长的金链瞧了瞧说:

“这是首饰金,十八开到十六开。”

老头儿伸出大手把大堆金子拿走了。

“大姊,”查理说,“这两颗纽子送给你,系上一根丝带,正好套在手腕里。现在正时兴这种手镯。”

“我不客气,收下了,弟弟。”她说着对他会心地望了一眼。

“伯母,这是先母的针箍,我一向当作宝贝般放在旅行梳妆匣里的。”查理说着,把一个玲珑可爱的金顶针送给葛朗台太太,那是她想了十年而没有到手的东西。老母亲眼中含着泪,回答说:

“真不知道怎样谢你才好呢,侄儿。我做早课夜课的时候,要极诚心地祷告出门人的平安。我不在之后,欧也妮会把它保存的。”

“侄儿,一共值九百八十九法郎七十一生丁,”葛朗台推门进来说,“免得你麻烦去卖给人家,我来给你现款吧……里佛作十足算。”

在洛阿河一带,里佛作十足算的意思,是指六法郎一枚的银币,不扣成色,算足六法郎。

“我不敢开口要你买,”查理回答,“可是在你的城里变卖首饰,真有点儿不好意思。拿破仑说过,脏衣服得躲在家里洗。所以我得谢谢你的好意。”

葛朗台搔搔耳朵,一忽儿大家都没有话说。

“亲爱的伯父,”查理不安地望着他,似乎怕他多疑,“大姊跟伯母,都赏脸收了我一点儿小意思做纪念;你能不能也收下这副袖扣,我已经用不着了,可是能叫你想起一个可怜的孩子在外面没有忘掉他的骨肉。从今以后他的亲人只剩你们了。”

“我的孩子,我的孩子,你怎么能把东西送光呢?……你拿了什么,太太?”他馋痨似的转过身来问,“啊!一个金顶针。——你呢,小乖乖?噢,钻石搭扣。——好吧,孩子,你的袖扣我拿了,”他握着查理的手,“可是答应我……替你付……你的……是呀……上印度去的旅费。是的,你的路费由我来。尤其是,孩子,替你估首饰的时候,我只算了金子,也许手工还值点儿钱。所以,就这样办吧。我给你一千五百法郎……里佛作十足算,那是问克罗旭借的,家里一个铜子都没有了,除非班罗德把欠租送来。对啦,对啦,我就得找他去。”

他拿了帽子,戴上手套,走了。

“你就走了吗?”欧也妮说着,对他又悲哀又钦佩地望了一眼。

“该走了。”他低下头回答。

几天以来,查理的态度,举动,言语,显出他悲痛到了极点,可是鉴于责任的重大,已经在忧患中磨炼出簇新的勇气。他不再长吁短叹,他变为大人了。所以看到他穿着粗呢的黑衣服下楼,跟苍白的脸色与忧郁不欢的神态非常调和的时候,欧也妮把堂兄弟的性格看得更清楚了。这一天,母女俩开始戴孝,和查理一同到本区教堂去参加为琪奥默·葛朗台举行的追思弥撒。

午饭时分,查理收到几封巴黎的来信,一齐看完了。

“喂,弟弟,事情办得满意吗?”欧也妮低声问。

“女儿,不作兴问这些话,”葛朗台批评道,“嘿!我从来不说自己的事,干吗你要管堂兄弟的闲事?别打搅他。”

“噢!我没有什么秘密哪。”查理说。

“咄,咄,咄,咄!侄儿,以后你会知道,做买卖就得嘴紧。”

等到两个情人走在花园里的时候,查理挽着欧也妮坐在胡桃树下的破凳上对她说:

“我没有把阿风斯看错,他态度好极了,把我的事办得很谨慎、很忠心。我巴黎的私债全还清了,所有的家具都卖了好价钱;他又告诉我,他请教了一个走远洋的船主,把剩下的三千法郎买了一批欧洲的小玩意,可以在印度大大地赚一笔钱的货。他把我的行李都发送到南德,那边有一条船开往爪哇。不出五天,欧也妮,我们得分别了,也许是永别,至少也很长久。我的货,跟两个朋友寄给我的一万法郎,不过是小小的开头。没有好几年我休想回来。亲爱的大姊,别把你的一生跟我的放在一起,我可能死在外边,也许你有机会遇到有钱的亲事……”

“你爱我吗?……”她问。

“噢!我多爱你。”音调的深沉显得感情也是一样的深。

“我等你,查理。哟,天哪!父亲在二楼窗口。”她把逼近来想拥抱她的堂兄弟推开。

她逃到门洞下面,查理一路跟着;她躲到楼梯脚下,打开了过道里的门;后来不知怎的,欧也妮到了靠近拿侬的小房间,走道里最黑的地方;一路跟着来的查理,抓住她的手放在他心口,挽了她的腰把她轻轻地贴在自己身上。欧也妮不再抗拒了,她受了,也给了一个最纯洁、最温

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