THE TWO DAUGHTERS

At around twelve, by which time postmen make it up to the Panthéon and its surrounding area, Eugène received a letter in an elegant envelope, embossed with the de Beauséant coat-of-arms. It contained an invitation, addressed to Monsieur and Madame de Nucingen, to the great ball announced a month previously, which would be held at the vicomtesse’s house. Also enclosed was a short note for Eugène:

‘I see,’ Eugène said to himself, as he read the note a second time; ‘Madame de Beauséant is quite clearly telling me that she wants nothing to do with the Baron de Nucingen.’ He promptly set off for Delphine’s house, happy to be procuring her a pleasure for which he would no doubt be rewarded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Child,’ said Eugène.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Good,’ replied old man Goriot.

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

‘And you believe his nonsense,’ cried old Goriot. ‘He’s putting it on! I’ve dealt with Germans in business before: most are men of good faith and integrity, but when they start being tricksy and cunning beneath that sincere and good-natured air, they’re better at it than anyone else. Your husband is fooling you. He can feel the hounds closing in, he’s playing dead; he has more control in your name than in his own and wants to keep it that way. He’ll make the most of the situation to cover himself against the risks of his profession. He’s as devious as he is dishonest; he’s a bad lot. No, no, I won’t end up in Père Lachaise¹⁹⁹ and leave my daughters destitute. I still know a thing or two about business. He has, so he says, invested in a number of ventures. Well, in that case, the interests he holds correspond to securities, surveys, contracts! Let him show them and come to a settlement with you. We’ll choose the best speculations, run the risks ourselves and have the shares marked in our name as Delphine Goriot, wife of Baron de Nucingen, with separate assets.²⁰⁰ Does the man take me for a fool? Does he really think that I could stand the thought of leaving you without money, without bread, for even two days? I couldn’t bear it for a single day, for a night, two hours! If I thought there was any truth in the idea, it would be the end of me. What! Are you telling me that I’ve worked for forty years, broken my back lugging sacks around, poured with sweat, done without all my life for you, my angels, who made any burden, any toil seem light, only to see my entire fortune, my whole life, go up in smoke today! I could die of rage. By all that’s most sacred in heaven and on earth, we’ll get to the bottom of this; we’ll check his books, his coffers, his business ventures! I won’t sleep, I won’t rest, I won’t eat, until I’ve found proof that your fortune is intact. Thank God your estate is separate and Maître Derville will represent you – luckily he’s an honest man. As God’s my witness, you’ll keep hold of your sweet little nest-egg million, your fifty thousand livres a year, until the end of your days, or I’ll kick up such a rumpus in Paris! Hah! And if the tribunals brushed us off, I’d take it to the Chamber of Deputies. Knowing that you had no worries or concerns about money soothed all my ills and eased my grief. Money is life. If you have cash, you can do anything. What’s he playing at, that great lump of an Alsatian? Delphine, don’t give so much as a quarter of a liard to that monster, who has shackled you and brought you down. If he needs you, we’ll knock him into shape and make him walk the straight and narrow. Lord, my head is on fire, there’s a burning inside my skull. My Delphine, without a penny! Oh! my Fifine, you of all people! Sapristi! Where are my gloves? Come on! Let’s go, I want to see it all immediately: books, business, accounts and correspondence. I won’t have any peace until I have proof that your fortune is no longer at risk and have seen it with my own eyes.’

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

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

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

‘But we have laws! But we have a Place de Grève²⁰¹ for sons-in-law who behave like that,’ cried old man Goriot; ‘why, I’d guillotine him myself if there was no executioner to be had.’

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

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

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

‘Yes, if I’m ruined, perhaps it is partly your fault,’ said Delphine. ‘We have so little sense when we marry! Do we know anything about the world, business, men or morals? Our fathers should think for us. Dear Father, I don’t blame you at all, forgive me for what I said. This is all my fault. No, don’t cry, Papa,’ she said, kissing her father on the forehead.

‘Don’t you cry either, my little Delphine. Bring yourself over here and I’ll kiss the tears from your eyes. There! I’m going to screw my head back on and untangle this web of affairs your husband has been weaving.’

‘No, let me do things my way; I’ll know how to bring him round. So he loves me – well then, I’ll use the hold I have on him to make him invest some capital in properties for me, as soon as possible. Perhaps I’ll make him buy Nucingen, in Alsace, in my name: he loves that place. But come tomorrow to examine his books, his affairs. Maître Derville doesn’t know anything about commerce. No, don’t come tomorrow. I don’t want to get in a fret. Madame de Beauséant’s ball is the day after tomorrow: I must do everything I can to be beautiful and rested when I go, so I’ll be a credit to my darling Eugène! Let’s go and look at his room.’

At this point another carriage stopped in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève and Madame de Restaud’s voice was heard in the stairwell, asking Sylvie: ‘Is my father here?’ This fortunate circumstance saved Eugène, who was already thinking about leaping into bed and pretending to be asleep.

‘Ah! Father, have you heard about Anastasie?’ asked Delphine, recognizing her sister’s voice. ‘Apparently there are some strange goings-on in her domestic life too.’

‘What!’ said old man Goriot; ‘this will be the death of me. My poor head can’t take a double dose of misfortune.’

‘Good morning, Father,’ said the comtesse, as she came in. ‘Ah! You’re here, Delphine.’

Madame de Restaud seemed disconcerted by her sister’s presence.

‘Good morning, Nasie,’ said the baronne. ‘You’re surprised to find me here? I see Father every day.’

‘Since when?’

‘If you ever came to see him, you’d know.’

‘Don’t goad me, Delphine,’ said the comtesse in a pitiful voice. ‘I’m quite wretched. I’m lost, dear Father! Oh yes, well and truly lost this time!’

‘What’s the matter, Nasie?’ cried old Goriot. ‘Tell us everything, child. She’s gone white. Delphine, quickly, help her. Be good to her and I’ll love you even more than I do already, if that’s possible!’

‘Poor Nasie,’ said Madame de Nucingen, helping her sister to a seat; ‘speak. You have in us the only two people who’ll always love you enough to forgive you everything. You see, family ties are the strongest.’ She held smelling salts under her nose and the comtesse came round.

‘This will be the death of me,’ said old Goriot. ‘Now,’ he continued, poking his tan-turf fire, ‘come closer both of you. I’m cold. What’s the matter Nasie? Tell me quickly, you’re killing me …’

‘Well,’ said the poor woman, ‘my husband knows everything. Think back, Father, some time ago: do you remember that bill of exchange of Maxime’s? Well, it wasn’t the first. I’d already paid many more. At the beginning of January, Monsieur de Trailles seemed terribly low. He didn’t say anything to me, but it’s so easy to see into the heart of someone you love; it takes just the slightest thing – and then, you have premonitions. Well, I’d never known him more loving, more tender, I couldn’t have been happier. Poor Maxime! In his head, he was saying goodbye; he told me that he wanted to blow his brains out. So I pleaded with him and begged him relentlessly; once I even spent two hours on my knees. He told me he owed a hundred thousand francs! Oh Papa! A hundred thousand francs! I was out of my mind. You didn’t have them; I’d swallowed up everything you had.’

‘No,’ said old man Goriot, ‘I wouldn’t have been able to raise that kind of money, short of stealing it. But I would have done it, Nasie! I will.’

When they heard how mournfully he gasped out these words, with a groan like the rattle of a dying man, laying bare the agony of a father who finds himself powerless, the two sisters paused. Who, however selfish, could have remained indifferent to this cry of despair, which, like a stone thrown into a chasm, revealed its depth?

‘I raised it by selling something which didn’t belong to me, Father,’ said the comtesse, bursting into tears.

Delphine, moved, wept with her head pressed against her sister’s neck.

‘So it’s all true,’ she said to her.

Anastasie bowed her head; Madame de Nucingen threw her arms around her and kissed her tenderly, pressing her against her heart: ‘In here, you will always be loved without being judged,’ she said to her.

‘My sweet angels,’ said Goriot weakly, ‘why do you only ever embrace each other in times of misfortune?’

‘To save Maxime’s life, which is to say, everything my happiness depends on,’ the comtesse went on, encouraged by these signs of warm and heartfelt tenderness, ‘I went to that pawnbroker you know, Monsieur Gobseck, a man made in hell, for nothing can soften his heart, and took him the family diamonds which Monsieur de Restaud holds so dear: his, mine, the lot, I sold them. Sold them! Do you hear me? He was saved. But, as for me, I’m dead. Restaud knows everything.’

‘Who told him? How? I could kill them!’ cried old Goriot.

‘Yesterday, he called me into his room. I went in … “Anastasie,” he said to me in a certain tone … (oh! his voice was enough, I guessed immediately) … “Where are your diamonds?” “In my room.” “No,” he said, looking at me, “they’re over there on my dresser.” And he showed me the jewel case, which he’d covered with his handkerchief. “Do you know where they came from?” he asked me. I fell to my knees … I wept, I asked him what death he would have me die.’

‘You said that!’ shouted old Goriot. ‘In the sacred name of God, any man who lays a finger on either of you, for as long as I live, may rest assured that I’ll roast him alive! Yes, I’ll rip him to pieces like …’

Old man Goriot ran out of breath, his words rasping in his throat.

‘In the end, dear Sister, he asked me to do something harder than dying. May heaven spare any other woman from having to hear what I did!’

‘I’ll murder that man,’ muttered old Goriot. ‘But he only has one life and he owes me two. Tell us, what was it?’ he continued, looking at Anastasie.

‘Well,’ continued the comtesse after a pause; ‘he looked at me: “Anastasie,” he said, “I’ll draw a veil over this affair, we’ll stay together, we have children. I won’t call out Monsieur de Trailles, I might miss, and if I rid myself of him any other way I’d have human justice to answer to. To kill him in your arms would bring dishonour on the children. But if you don’t want to see either your children, their father or myself destroyed by this, you must meet two conditions. Tell me: are either of the children mine?” I said yes. “Which one?” he asked. “Ernest, the eldest.” “Good,” he said. “Now, swear to me that you will obey me in one respect.” I swore that I would. “You will sign your assets over to me when I ask you to do so.” ’

‘Don’t sign,’ cried old Goriot. ‘Never sign such a thing. Hah! Pah! You, Monsieur de Restaud, have no idea how to make a woman happy: she’ll find happiness where she can, and you think you can punish her for your own pathetic impotence? Enough; what about me, I’m still here! He’ll find me blocking his way, Nasie, you can rest assured. Ah, so he values his heir, does he? Well, well. I’ll kidnap his son, who after all, dammit, is my grandson. Don’t I have a right to see him, the brat? I’ll take him to my village, I’ll make sure he’s well looked after, you can be sure of that. I’ll bring that monster to his knees, I’ll say to him: “This is between the two of us! If you want your son, give my daughter back her fortune and let her do exactly what she wants.” ’

‘Father!’

‘That’s right, your father, that’s who I am! Ah! I’m a true father. I won’t let that rascally toff mistreat my daughters. Damn it! I must have the blood of a tiger in my veins, I could eat them both alive. Oh children! Is this your life? It will be the death of me. How will you fare when I’m no longer here? Fathers should live as long as their children. Lord, this world of yours is so badly made! And yet you have a son yourself, or so we’re told. You should prevent us from suffering for our children. My dearest angels, how can it be! You only come here when you’re in trouble. You only ever tell me about your tears. Yes, yes, you love me, I can see that. Very well, bring your sorrows here! My heart is vast, there’s room for them all. Yes, go ahead and tear it to shreds: each shard will become a whole new father’s heart. I want to bear your burdens, to suffer for you. Ah! You were so happy when you were little …’

‘Those were our only good times,’ said Delphine. ‘Do you remember how we’d tumble down off the sacks in the big granary?’

‘Father! There’s more,’ said Anastasie in Goriot’s ear, making him jump. ‘I didn’t get a hundred thousand francs for the diamonds. Maxime has been served with a writ. We only have twelve thousand francs left to pay. He has promised to be good, to stop gambling. His love is all I have left in the world and I’ve paid for it so dearly I would die if I should lose that too. I’ve sacrificed fortune, honour, peace of mind and children for him. Oh! At least let Maxime keep his freedom and his honour, so he can remain in society where he’ll be able to make a name for himself. He doesn’t just owe me my happiness now: we have children who could be fortuneless. If he ends up in Sainte-Pélagie,²⁰³ all is lost!’

‘I don’t have the money, Nasie. Nothing left, nothing, nothing at all! The end of the world has come. Oh! The world is falling to pieces, there’s no doubt about it. Run, save yourselves! Ah! I still have my silver buckles, and six pieces of cutlery, the first I ever owned in my life. After that, all I have left is a life annuity of twelve hundred francs …’

‘What have you done with your perpetuity?’

‘I sold it and kept back this little bit of income for my needs. I had to find twelve thousand francs to furnish some rooms for Fifine.’

‘At home, Delphine?’ Madame de Restaud said to her sister.

‘Oh! What does that matter!’ old Goriot went on; ‘the twelve thousand francs have gone.’

‘I can guess,’ said the comtesse. ‘For Monsieur de Rastignac. Ah! Poor Delphine, don’t do it. Look what has become of me.’

‘My dear, Monsieur de Rastignac is not the kind of young man who would ruin his mistress.’

‘Thank you, Delphine. Given the dire straits I’m in, I might have expected better from you; but then, you’ve never loved me.’

‘Of course she loves you, Nasie,’ cried old Goriot; ‘she told me so just before you arrived. We were talking about you and she said that you were beautiful, whereas she was just pretty!’

‘Pretty, her!’ retorted the comtesse; ‘she’s as cold as charity.’

‘That’s as may be,’ said Delphine, flushing, ‘and what of your conduct towards me? You disowned me, you made sure every door would be closed to me, wherever I wanted to go; in short, you’ve never passed over the slightest opportunity to hurt me. And as for me, have I been coming here, as you have, to bleed our poor father – a thousand francs here, a thousand francs there – of his entire fortune and reduce him to the state he’s in now? This is your handiwork, Sister. I have seen father as often as I could, I never showed him the door and I didn’t come and suck up to him whenever I needed something. I didn’t even know that he’d spent those twelve thousand francs on me. I live within my means, as you know. What’s more, I’ve never angled for the gifts Papa has given me.’

‘You were luckier than me: Monsieur de Marsay was rich, as you have reason to know. You’ve always been as filthy as lucre. Farewell. I have neither sister, nor …’

‘Hold your tongue, Nasie!’ shouted old Goriot.

‘What kind of a sister repeats gossip that everyone knows to be unfounded? You’re a monster,’ Delphine said to her.

‘Children, children, hold your tongues, or I’ll kill myself here and now.’

‘Come, Nasie, I forgive you,’ continued Madame de Nucingen; ‘you’re upset. But I won’t stoop to your level. To say that to me at a time when I was prepared to do anything to help you, even share my husband’s bed, something I wouldn’t do for myself nor … That’s on a par with every other wrong you’ve done me these past nine years.’

‘Children, children, give each other a kiss and be done!’ said their father. ‘You’re angels, both of you.’

‘No, let go of me,’ cried the comtesse, brushing her father’s hand off her arm as he tried to hug her. ‘She cares about me even less than my husband does. To hear her talk, you’d think she was a model of all the virtues!’

‘I’d rather people thought I owed money to Monsieur de Marsay, than have to confess that Monsieur de Trailles has cost me over two hundred thousand francs,’ replied Madame de Nucingen.

‘Delphine!’ cried the comtesse, moving towards her.

‘I’m telling you the truth, whereas you are slandering me,’ retaliated the baronne, coldly.

‘Delphine! You …’

Old Goriot sprang forward to restrain the comtesse and put his hand over her mouth to stop her finishing her sentence.

‘Good Lord, Father! Whatever have you been handling this morning?’ Anastasie asked him.

‘You’re right, that was a mistake,’ said her poor father, wiping his hands on his trousers. ‘But I didn’t know you were coming. I’m moving out.’

He was happy to have earned himself a reproach which would deflect his daughter’s anger onto him.

‘Ah!’ he went on, sitting down, ‘you’ve split my heart in two. I’m dying, children! The inside of my skull feels as if it’s on fire. Be good now, be kind to each other! You’ll be the death of me. Delphine, Nasie, come: you’re both right, you’re both wrong. Now, Dedel,’ he went on, turning to the baronne, his eyes full of tears, ‘she needs twelve thousand francs, let’s see if we can find them. Don’t look at each other like that.’ He went down on his knees before Delphine. ‘Do it to make me happy, ask her to forgive you,’ he said in her ear; ‘she’s the worst off here, isn’t she?’

‘Dearest Nasie,’ said Delphine, horrified by her father’s wild, stricken look, pain written all over his face; ‘I’ve wronged you, kiss me …’

‘Ah! balm for my bleeding heart,’ cried old man Goriot. ‘But where will we find twelve thousand francs? What if I enlisted in the reserves?’

‘Ah! Father!’ said the two daughters, putting their arms around him; ‘no, no.’

‘God will reward you for that thought; we could never do so in our lifetimes! Isn’t that so, Nasie?’ said Delphine.

‘Poor Father, it would in any case be a drop in the ocean,’ the comtesse pointed out.

‘Can nothing be done then, with this blood of mine?’ the old man cried out in desperation. ‘I’ll swear allegiance to the man who saves you, Nasie! I’ll kill a man for him. I’ll be like Vautrin, I’ll do time! I …’ He stopped as if struck by lightning. ‘Nothing left!’ he said, tearing his hair out. ‘If only I knew a place to rob, but even then it’s hard to know what to steal. And you need time and people to take on the Bank.²⁰⁴ Well, all that’s left is death. I may as well die. Yes, I’m a wreck. I’m no longer a father! She asks, she needs! And I have nothing, wretch that I am. “Ah! You’ve money tied up in your life annuity, you mean old rascal, and you have daughters! Why, don’t you love them? Die, die, like a dog, for that’s what you are!” Yes, I’m worse than a dog – a dog wouldn’t be capable of this! Argh! My head! It’s boiling!’

‘Why, Papa,’ cried the two young women, putting their arms around him to stop him banging his head against the wall; ‘pull yourself together.’

He started sobbing. Eugène, in horror, snatched up the bill endorsed to Vautrin,²⁰⁵ stamped as valid for a larger amount; he corrected the figure and made it out to Goriot, turning it into a genuine bill of exchange for twelve thousand francs, then went in.

‘Your money, Madame, in full,’ he said, handing her the paper. ‘I was asleep; your conversation woke me and so I found out what I owed Monsieur Goriot. Here’s the security, which you can convert into cash; I’ll pay it off faithfully.’

The comtesse, rigid, held the paper in her hand.

‘Delphine,’ she said, pale and shaking with fury, rage and wrath, ‘I would have forgiven you everything, as God is my witness, but now this! What? Monsieur was here and you knew it? You were petty enough to take your revenge by letting me reveal my every secret, every detail of my life, my children, my shame, my honour! Hah! You mean nothing to me now, I hate you, I’ll do you as much harm as I can, I …’ She choked, her throat dry with rage.

‘Why, he’s my son, our child, your brother, your saviour,’ cried old Goriot. ‘Kiss him, Nasie! Look, I’ll kiss him,’ he continued, throwing his arms around Eugène in a kind of frenzy. ‘Oh! child! I’ll be more than a father to you: I’ll be a whole family. If only I were God, I’d throw the universe at your feet. Go on, Nasie, kiss him! He’s no mere mortal, but an angel, truly an angel.’

‘Ignore her, Father, she’s acting like a madwoman at the moment,’ said Delphine.

‘Madwoman! Madwoman! What does that make you, then?’ retorted Madame de Restaud.

‘Children, I’ll die if you go on like this,’ cried the old man, falling onto his bed as if struck by a bullet. ‘They’re killing me!’ he murmured.

The comtesse looked at Eugène, who stood there, stunned at the violence of the scene: ‘Monsieur,’ she said, with a challenging gesture, tone of voice and expression, paying no attention to her father, whose waistcoat Delphine had quickly unbuttoned.

‘Madame, I’ll pay up and say nothing,’ he replied, before she could phrase her question.

‘You’ve killed our father, Nasie!’ said Delphine, showing the old man, unconscious, to her sister, who ran out of the room.

‘I’ll willingly forgive her,’ said the old fellow, opening his eyes; ‘she’s in a dreadful mess and it would muddle a stronger head than hers. Console Nasie, be gentle with her, promise your poor dying father that?’ he asked Delphine, squeezing her hand.

‘Why, what’s the matter with you?’ she asked, frightened.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ replied her father, ‘it will pass. There’s something pressing against my forehead, a migraine. Poor Nasie, what a future!’

At this point, the comtesse came back and threw herself at her father’s knees: ‘Forgive me!’ she cried.

‘Stop it’, said old man Goriot, ‘or you’ll hurt me even more.’

‘Monsieur,’ said the comtesse to Rastignac, her eyes misted with tears, ‘my suffering made me unjust. Will you be a brother to me?’ she went on, holding out her hand to him.

‘Nasie,’ Delphine said, hugging her, ‘little Nasie, let’s forget all this.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I will always remember!’

‘Angels,’ cried old Goriot, ‘you are lifting the fog that covered my eyes, your voices are bringing me back to life. Kiss each other again. Well, Nasie, will this bill of exchange save you?’

‘I hope so. Now, Papa, would you be so good as to sign it?’

‘Dear, dear, how stupid of me to forget that! But I didn’t feel so good, Nasie; don’t hold it against me. Send someone to let me know that you’re out of trouble. No, I’ll go myself. No, no, I won’t go; I’ll never be able to look your husband in the eye without killing him on the spot. As for carving up your assets, I’ll be there. Go quickly, child, and make that Maxime of yours behave himself.’

Eugène was dumbfounded.

‘Poor Anastasie has always had a violent streak,’ said Madame de Nucingen, ‘but her heart’s in the right place.’

‘She only came back for the signature,’ Eugène muttered in Delphine’s ear.

‘Do you think so?’

‘I wish I didn’t. Don’t trust her,’ he replied, looking heavenwards as if confiding in God the thoughts he dared not speak aloud.

‘Yes, she has always been a bit of an actress, and my poor father allows himself to be taken in by her grimacing.’

‘How are you, dear old Goriot?’ Rastignac asked the old man.

‘I feel sleepy,’ he replied.

Eugène helped Goriot to lie down. Then, once the old man had fallen asleep holding her hand, his daughter withdrew.

‘We’ll meet at the Italiens this evening,’ she said to Eugène, ‘and you’ll tell me how he is. Tomorrow, Monsieur, you’ll be moving. Let me see your lodgings. Oh! how dreadful!’ she said, going in. ‘Why, your room is even worse than my father’s. Eugène, you behaved well. I’d love you even more if it was possible; but, child, if you want to make your fortune, you can’t just throw twelve thousand francs out of the window like that. The Comte de Trailles is a gambler. My sister refuses to see it. He’d have gone in search of his twelve thousand francs wherever it is he always goes to win or lose mountains of gold.’

A groan brought them back to Goriot’s room; he looked as if he was sleeping, but when the two lovers came nearer, they heard him say: ‘They aren’t happy!’ Whether he was asleep or awake, the intonation of this phrase touched his daughter’s heart so deeply that she approached the pallet on which her father was sleeping and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes, saying: ‘It’s Delphine!’

‘So, how are you feeling?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘There’s no need for you to worry, I’ll get over it. Off you go, children; off you go, enjoy yourselves.’

Eugène escorted Delphine home, but, concerned by the state in which he had left Goriot, he chose not to dine with her and instead returned to the Maison Vauquer. He found old Goriot up and about, well enough to sit down to dinner. Bianchon had positioned himself so that he could study the old vermicelli dealer’s face carefully. As he watched him pick up his bread and sniff it to work out what flour it was made from, the student, noting the total absence of what you might call conscious design in this gesture, shook his head ominously.

‘Come and sit next to me, dear doctor,’ said Eugène.

Bianchon came over all the more willingly as it brought him closer to the elderly lodger.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked Rastignac.

‘Unless I’m mistaken, it’s all over for him! Some extraordinary event must have taken place inside him; I’d say he seems to be at risk of suffering an imminent serous apoplexy.²⁰⁶ Although the lower part of his face is relatively peaceful, look how his upper facial features are being pulled up towards his forehead, involuntarily! And then, his eyes have that particular condition which indicates an effusion of serum in the brain. They look as if they’re full of fine dust, wouldn’t you say? I’ll know more tomorrow.’

‘Is there no cure?’

‘None whatsoever. We might be able to delay his death, if we find a way to provoke a reaction in the extremities, in the legs; but if he still has these symptoms tomorrow evening, the poor old fellow is lost. Do you know what has caused his illness? He must have suffered some violent shock which has sapped his mind.’

‘Yes,’ said Rastignac, remembering how the two daughters had fought tooth and nail over their father’s heart.

‘At least Delphine loves her father,’ Eugène said to himself.

That evening, at the Italiens, Rastignac chose his words carefully, so as not to cause Madame de Nucingen undue alarm.

‘Don’t worry,’ she replied, as soon as Eugène began to speak; ‘my father is as strong as a horse. We just shook him a little this morning. Our fortunes are in jeopardy, can you not see the scale of the catastrophe? If my life is still worth living, it’s because your affection has made me impervious to what I once would have considered to be mortal fear. Today, the only fear, the only catastrophe that could strike me, would be to lose the love which has made me feel the joy of being alive. I’m indifferent to everything except that feeling, I care for nothing else in the world. You’re everything to me. My wealth only brings me happiness inasmuch as it allows me to bring you greater pleasure. To my shame, I’m more of a lover than a daughter. Why? I don’t know. My entire life is in you. My father gave me a heart, but you made it beat. Let the whole world judge me, what do I care! As long as you, who aren’t permitted to hate me for the crimes which the strength of my feeling compels me to commit, find me not guilty. Do you think I’m an unnatural daughter? Oh, no, it’s impossible not to love a father as good as ours. Could I have prevented him from seeing the inevitable consequences of our lamentable marriages? Why didn’t he stop them? Shouldn’t he have done our thinking for us? Today, I know, he’s suffering as much as we are; but what can we do about it? Comfort him! We have no comfort to offer him. Our resignation has cost him more pain than the harm our reproaches and complaints would cause him. Some situations in life are bitter through and through.’

Eugène was struck dumb, stirred to tenderness by this candid outpouring of true feeling. Parisian women may often be artificial, drunk on vanity, self-centred, coquettish, cold, but you can be sure that when they truly love, they sacrifice more feelings in the flames of their passions than other women; they rise above their pettinesses and become sublime. Eugène was struck, too, by the depth and soundness of judgement a woman shows towards her most natural feelings, when a propitious state of mind separates her from them and gives her some distance. Madame de Nucingen was unsettled by Eugène’s prolonged silence.

‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ she asked him.

‘I’m still listening to what you’ve just said. Up until now, I thought I loved you more than you loved me.’

She smiled and steeled herself against the pleasure she felt, so as to keep their conversation within the bounds of propriety. She’d never heard an impassioned declaration of youthful, sincere love like this before. A few more words and she’d have been unable to contain herself.

‘Eugène,’ she said, changing the subject, ‘have you heard what’s happening? The whole of Paris will be at Madame de Beauséant’s tomorrow. The Rochefides and the Marquis d’Ajuda have agreed to keep it to themselves, but the King is going to sign the marriage contract tomorrow and your poor cousin still knows nothing about it. She’ll have no choice but to play the hostess and the marquis won’t be at the ball. No one can talk about anything but this affair.’

‘And society finds such infamy amusing and wallows in it! Don’t you see that this will be the death of Madame de Beauséant?’

‘No,’ said Delphine, smiling, ‘you don’t know the kind of woman she is. But all Paris will be at her house, and so will I! I owe that pleasure to you.’

‘But’, said Rastignac, ‘couldn’t it just be one of those absurd rumours that are always doing the rounds in Paris?’

‘We’ll find out the truth of the matter tomorrow.’

Eugène did not go back to the Maison Vauquer. He was unable to resist the lure of his new rooms. Whereas the night before he had had to leave Delphine at one in the morning, this time it was Delphine who, at around two, left him to go home. The next day he slept late and waited in for Madame de Nucingen, who came to take déjeuner with him at around midday. As eager to enjoy these sweet pleasures as a young man will be, he had almost forgotten old Goriot. The day was one long celebration for him, as he acquainted himself with each and every one of his elegant new belongings. Madame de Nucingen’s presence made everything all the more precious. However, at around four, the two lovers spared a thought for old man Goriot, remembering the happiness he was hoping for on coming to live in this house. Eugène remarked that they’d need to bring the old fellow there as soon as possible, should he be ill, and, leaving Delphine, he went straight to the Maison Vauquer. Neither old Goriot nor Bianchon had come down to dinner.

‘Well now,’ the painter said to him; ‘old man Goriot has been wounded in action. Bianchon is tending to him upstairs. The old fellow saw one of his daughters, the Comtesse de Restaurama. Then he decided to go out and took a turn for the worse. Society is about to be deprived of one of its finest ornaments.’

Rastignac rushed towards the stairs.

‘Hey! Monsieur Eugène!’

‘Monsieur Eugène! Madame is calling you,’ shouted Sylvie.

‘Monsieur,’ said the widow; ‘you and Monsieur Goriot, you were meant to leave on the fifteenth of February. We’re three days past the fifteenth, it’s the eighteenth; you’ll need to pay me another month’s rent, for you and for him, but, if you can vouch for old man Goriot, your word will be enough.’

‘Why? Don’t you trust him?’

‘Trust! If the old chap lost his marbles and died, his daughters wouldn’t give me a single liard and his worldly possessions wouldn’t even fetch ten francs. This morning he sold the last of his silver, I don’t know why. He was all got up like a young man. God forgive me, I’ll swear he was wearing rouge, he looked younger to me.’

‘I’ll vouch for everything,’ said Eugène, with a shiver of dread, sensing a catastrophe.

He went up to Goriot’s room. The old man was recumbent on his bed and Bianchon was sitting with him.

‘Hello, Father,’ said Eugène.

The old man gave him a gentle smile, turned his glazed eyes towards him and responded, ‘How is she?’

‘Well. And you?’

‘Not bad.’

‘Don’t tire him out,’ said Bianchon, leading Eugène into a corner of the room.

‘So?’ Rastignac said to him.

‘Only a miracle could save him; he’s displaying all the symptoms of serous congestion. We’re applying mustard poultices;²⁰⁷ he can feel them, which is a good sign they’re having some effect.’

‘Can we move him?’

‘Impossible. He must stay here and avoid any physical exertion or emotional upheaval …’

‘Bianchon, dear friend,’ said Eugène, ‘we’ll look after him together.’

‘I’ve already called out the senior doctor from the hospital.’

‘And?’

‘He’ll be able to tell us more tomorrow evening. He’s promised to come as soon as he’s finished his rounds for the day. Unfortunately, the blessed old chap went and did something rash this morning and is refusing to tell me anything about it. He’s as stubborn as a mule. Whenever I open my mouth, he pretends not to hear and goes to sleep so he won’t have to reply; or if he has his eyes open, he starts groaning. He left first thing and went somewhere in Paris on foot, we don’t know where. He took everything he owned of any value and seems to have been on some fool’s errand that was quite beyond his strength! One of his daughters came to see him.’

‘The comtesse?’ asked Eugène. ‘A tall brunette, with bright, deep-set eyes, dainty feet and a slim waist?’

‘Yes.’

‘Give me a moment alone with him,’ said Rastignac. ‘I’ll get him to talk; he’ll tell me everything.’

‘I’ll go and have my dinner in the meantime. But try not to over-excite him; there’s still a glimmer of hope.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

‘They’re going to have such a good time tomorrow,’ said old Goriot to Eugène, as soon as they were on their own. ‘They’re going to a grand ball.’

‘So what did you do this morning, Papa, that has made you so poorly this evening that you have to stay in bed?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Has Anastasie been to see you?’

‘Yes,’ answered old man Goriot.

‘Come, don’t hide anything from me. What did she ask you for this time?’

‘Ah!’ he went on, summoning up the strength to speak; ‘she was terribly upset, the poor child! Nasie hasn’t had a sou since that business with the diamonds. She has ordered – especially for the ball – a lamé gown which is bound to suit her down to the ground. Her dressmaker, a nasty piece of work, wouldn’t let her have it on credit and so her maid put down a thousand-franc deposit on the dress. Poor Nasie, to be reduced to that! It broke my heart. But when the maid saw that Nasie had lost Restaud’s trust, she was afraid she would lose her money and made a deal with the dressmaker not to hand over the gown unless the thousand francs were repaid. The ball is tomorrow, the dress is ready. Nasie is in despair. She wanted to borrow my silver to pawn. Her husband wishes her to go to the ball and show all Paris the diamonds she’s rumoured to have sold. Can she now say to that monster: “I owe a thousand francs, will you pay them for me?” No. I understood that perfectly. Her sister Delphine will be there, superbly dressed; Anastasie mustn’t be beneath her younger sister. And she can’t stop crying, my poor daughter! I was so ashamed not to have had the twelve thousand francs yesterday that I’d have given what’s left of my wretched life to make good that wrong. Do you see? I’d been strong enough to take anything, but not having the money was the last straw, it broke my heart. Oh! Why! I didn’t even stop to count to two, to one. I pulled myself together and smartened myself up. I sold my silver and buckles for six hundred francs, then I made over a year’s annuity payments to uncle Gobseck, for a one-off payment of four hundred francs. Pah! I’ll eat bread! That was good enough when I was young, that will do me now. At least my Nasie will have a wonderful evening. She’ll be there in all her finery. I’ve put the thousand-franc note under my pillow. It makes me feel warm to know that here beneath my head I have something that will make poor Nasie happy. She’ll be able to sack that no-good Victoire of hers. What’s the world coming to when servants no longer trust their masters! I’ll be better tomorrow, Nasie is coming at ten. I wouldn’t want them to think I was ill, or they wouldn’t go to the ball: they’d stay and look after me. Tomorrow Nasie will kiss me as she would her child, her caresses will cure me. After all, I’d have spent a thousand francs at the apothecary’s, wouldn’t I? I’d rather give them to my Heal-All, my Nasie. At least I’ll bring her some solace, in the wretched state she’s in. That will make up for the wrong I did her when I got myself an annuity. She’s at the bottom of the pit and I’m not strong enough any more to pull her out. Oh! I’ll go back into business. I’ll go to Odessa to buy grain. Wheat costs three times as much here as it does there. They may have banned grain imports as natural produce, but the clever lot who made the laws didn’t think to ban by-products made of wheat. Heh heh! … I came up with that one this morning! There are some good moves to be made in the starch trade.’

‘He’s mad,’ Eugène said to himself as he looked at the old man. ‘Come, rest now, no more talking …’

Eugène went down to dinner when Bianchon came back up. Then, throughout the night, they took it in turns to care for the sick man, keeping themselves busy, the one reading his medical books, the other writing to his mother and sisters. The next day, the patient’s symptoms, according to Bianchon, tended towards a favourable prognosis, but required constant treatments that could only be administered by the two students and which it is impossible to describe without offending against the euphemistic phraseology of the day. The leeches fixed on the old man’s wasted body were accompanied by poultices, foot baths and medical procedures that required all the strength and devotion of the two young men. Madame de Restaud didn’t come; she sent a messenger to pick up her money.

‘I thought she’d come in person. But perhaps it’s just as well; it would only have upset her,’ said the father, seeming to view this in a positive light.

Thérèse came at seven in the evening, bringing a letter from Delphine.

Rastignac picked up his pen and replied as follows:

The doctor came at half past eight and, although his opinion wasn’t favourable, didn’t think that death was imminent. He predicted alternating recoveries and relapses on which the old man’s life and faculties would be contingent.

‘It would be better for him if he died quickly,’ were the doctor’s final words.

Eugène left old Goriot in Bianchon’s care and set off to bring Madame de Nucingen the sad news, which, to his mind, still imbued with a sense of family duty, must surely defer all pleasure.

‘Tell her to enjoy herself no matter what,’ old Goriot called after him, sitting up despite his drowsiness, just as Rastignac was leaving.

The young man arrived at Delphine’s house with a heavy heart, to find her with her shoes on and her hair done, ready and dressed apart from her ballgown. But, like the final brushstrokes a painter applies to a picture, the finishing touches were taking longer than the actual composition of the canvas.

‘What, aren’t you dressed yet?’ she said.

‘But Madame, your father …’

‘My father again,’ she cried, cutting in. ‘Why, it’s not for you to tell me what I owe my father. I’ve known my father a long time. Not a word, Eugène. I won’t listen to you until you’re dressed. Thérèse has laid everything out for you in your rooms; my carriage is ready, take it; come straight back. We’ll talk about my father on the way to the ball. We must leave in good time; if we get stuck in the queue of carriages, we’ll be lucky if we make our entrance before eleven.’

‘Madame!’

‘Hurry! Not a word,’ she said, running into her boudoir to fetch a necklace.

‘Well, what are you waiting for, Monsieur Eugène, you’ll vex Madame,’ said Thérèse, giving the young man a push that sent him on his way, appalled by this parricide committed in the name of fashion.

He went off to dress, his head full of the saddest and most dispiriting thoughts. Society now looked much like an ocean of mud into which a man sank up to his neck if he so much as dipped a toe in. ‘Only the pettiest crimes are committed here!’ he said to himself. ‘Vautrin was greater than that!’ He had now seen the three main factions of society: Obedience, Struggle and Rebellion; the Family, the World and Vautrin. And he didn’t know which to join. Obedience was tedious, Rebellion impossible and Struggle uncertain. His thoughts took him back to the bosom of his family. He remembered the pure feelings of that quiet life, he thought of the days he had spent surrounded by people who loved him. By conforming to the natural laws of domestic life, those dear creatures found a happiness that was whole, constant and free of care. Despite his fine thoughts, he wasn’t quite brave enough to go to Delphine and profess his faith in the purity of souls, while ordaining her to the office of Virtue in the name of Love.

The education upon which he had embarked was bearing fruit. His love was already selfish. His intuition allowed him to recognize the nature of Delphine’s heart. He sensed that she would walk over her father’s dead body to get to the ball, and he had neither the strength to play the role of reasoner, nor the courage to displease her, nor sufficient honour to leave her. ‘She’d never forgive me for proving her wrong in this particular case,’ he said to himself. Then he reinterpreted the doctor’s words: he convinced himself that old Goriot wasn’t as seriously ill as he thought; in all, he stacked up one seductive argument after the other to vindicate Delphine. She was unaware of her father’s state of health. The old man would send her off to the ball himself if she went to see him. The laws of society, so implacably formulated, frequently condemn in cases where an apparent crime may be excused by any number of extenuating circumstances within a family, arising from differences in personality or divergent interests and situations. Eugène wanted to deceive himself, he was ready to sacrifice his conscience for his mistress.

In two days, everything in his life had changed. The woman had wreaked havoc, she had eclipsed his family, she had seized everything for herself. Rastignac and Delphine had met in the right conditions for them to afford each other the greatest pleasure. Their well-prepared passion had finally reached maturity through that which tends to deaden passions: gratification. Possessing this woman had made Eugène realize that he had merely desired her up to that point; he only loved her the day after she had made him happy: perhaps love is simply the acknowledgement of pleasure. Whether despicable or sublime, he adored this woman for the dowry of sensual pleasures he had given her, and for all those he had received in return; similarly, Delphine loved Rastignac much as Tantalus²⁰⁹ would have loved the angel that came to satisfy his hunger or to quench the thirst of his parched throat.

‘So, how is my father?’ Madame de Nucingen asked him, when he returned dressed for the ball.

‘Seriously ill,’ he replied. ‘If you want to prove that you love me, let us hurry and go to him.’

‘Very well,’ she said, ‘but after the ball. Dear Eugène, be kind: don’t lecture me, it’s time to go.’

They left. Eugène remained silent for part of the way.

‘What’s the matter?’ she said.

‘I can hear your father’s death-rattle,’ he replied, angrily. And, with the heated eloquence of youth, he recounted the destructive course of action to which Madame de Restaud’s vanity had driven her, the fatal crisis triggered by her father’s final act of devotion and what Anastasie’s lamé gown had cost. Delphine wept.

‘I’m going to look ugly,’ she thought. Her tears dried. ‘I’ll go and look after my father, I won’t leave his bedside,’ she said.

‘Ah! That’s how I wanted you to be,’ cried Rastignac.

The lanterns of five hundred carriages illuminated the approach to the Hôtel de Beauséant. Two gendarmes guarded the brightly lit door, mounted on spirited horses. The beau monde had turned out in such great numbers, and everyone was so eager to see this fashionable woman at the moment of her downfall, that the reception rooms on the ground floor of the mansion were already full by the time Madame de Nucingen and Rastignac were announced. Not since the time the whole court rushed to see the Grande Mademoiselle,²¹⁰ when Louis XIV snatched her lover away from her, had there been an affair of the heart as spectacularly catastrophic as that of Madame de Beauséant. In this case, the last daughter of the near-royal House of Burgundy showed herself to be superior to the wrongs done to her, and, to the last, held sway over the society whose vanities she had only tolerated as long as they served the triumph of her passion. The most beautiful women in Paris made her reception rooms sparkle with their dresses and their smiles. The most distinguished courtiers, ambassadors, ministers, all kinds of illustrious figures, decorated with crosses, medals and many-coloured sashes, thronged around the vicomtesse. The melodies played by the orchestra echoed off the gilt mouldings of this palace, which, as far as its queen was concerned, was deserted.

Madame de Beauséant stood at the entrance to her outer drawing room to receive her so-called friends. Dressed in white, without a single ornament in her simply braided hair, she seemed calm and showed neither pain, nor pride, nor feigned gaiety. No one could read what was in her soul. She might have been a Niobe made of marble.²¹¹ The smiles she gave her closest friends may have been a little derisive at times; but she seemed to everyone to be so very much herself, and did such a good job of appearing just as she was when at her happiest, that even the hardest-hearted were full of admiration for her, just as young Roman women would applaud the gladiator who managed a smile as he took his last breath. Fashionable society appeared to have turned out in all its finery to bid farewell to one of its sovereigns.

‘I was afraid you wouldn’t come,’ she said to Rastignac.

‘Madame,’ he replied, in a voice choked with emotion, hearing a reproach in her words; ‘I have come and will be the last to leave.’

‘Good,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘You’re possibly the only person here that I can trust. Dear friend, be sure to fall in love with a woman you’ll always be able to love. Never leave a woman in the lurch.’

She took Rastignac’s arm and led him to a sofa in the drawing room where the gaming tables were.

‘Go and call on the marquis,’ she said. ‘Jacques, my valet, will take you there and give you a letter for him. I’m asking him to return my correspondence. I’d like to believe that he’ll give you all of it. If you come back with my letters, go up to my room. Someone will come and tell me.’

She rose to greet the Duchesse de Langeais, her best friend, who had also just arrived. Rastignac left and asked for the Marquis d’Ajuda at the Hôtel de Rochefide, where he was due to spend the evening, and where he found him. The marquis took him to his house, handed the student a box and said: ‘They’re all in there.’ He seemed inclined to talk to Eugène, perhaps to ask him about the events of the ball and the vicomtesse, perhaps to confess that he was already in despair at his marriage, as he would be, later; but his eyes had a proud glint in them and he was, regrettably, brave enough to keep his finest feelings to himself. He clasped Eugène’s hand with sadness and affection and sent him on his way.

Eugène went back to the Hôtel de Beauséant and was let into the vicomtesse’s room, where he watched the final preparations for her departure. He sat down by the fire, stared at the cedarwood casket and sank into the deepest melancholy. In his eyes, Madame de Beauséant had taken on the dimension of a goddess in the Iliad.

‘Ah! Dear friend,’ said the vicomtesse as she came in, pressing Rastignac’s shoulder with her hand.

He turned to see his cousin in tears, her eyes raised, one hand trembling, the other lifted. She abruptly took hold of the box, put it on the fire and watched it burn.

‘Everyone is dancing! They arrived on time, but death will come late. Sshh! dear friend,’ she said, putting her finger to Rastignac’s lips to stop him speaking. ‘This is the last I’ll see of Paris and fashionable society. At five o’clock in the morning, I’m going to leave and bury myself in deepest Normandy. I’ve had since three o’clock this afternoon to make my preparations, sign documents, see to my affairs; I’ve been unable to send anyone to …’ She stopped. ‘I never doubted that he’d be with …’ She stopped again, overcome with grief. At times like these, all is suffering and certain words cannot be spoken aloud. ‘Anyhow,’ she went on, ‘I was counting on you for this final service tonight. I’d like to give you a token of my friendship. I’ll think of you often, you who have seemed to me so good and noble, so young and candid, in a world where these qualities are so hard to find. I hope you will think of me from time to time. I’d like you to have this,’ she said, looking round; ‘it’s the box I kept my gloves in. Each time I took a pair from it on my way out to a ball or to the opera, I felt beautiful, because I was happy, and only ever left some pleasant thought inside when I touched it: there’s a lot of me in there, a whole other Madame de Beauséant who no longer exists. Please accept it; I’ll have it brought to your rooms in the Rue d’Artois. Madame de Nucingen is on fine form this evening, love her well. Although we’ll never see each other again, dear friend, you who have been so good to me, be sure that I’ll pray for you. Let’s go down; I don’t want them to think I’m crying. All eternity lies before me, I’ll be alone there and no one will ask me to account for my tears. Let me take one last look at this room.’ She paused. Then, after covering her eyes with a hand for a moment, she dabbed them, bathed them in cold water and took the student’s arm. ‘Onwards!’ she said.

Rastignac had never felt such strong emotion as he did now, sensing so much nobly contained suffering in the pressure of her hand on his arm. On returning to the ball, Eugène accompanied Madame de Beauséant on a turn around the room, a last, thoughtful gesture on the part of that generous woman.

He soon spotted the two sisters, Madame de Restaud and Madame de Nucingen. The comtesse looked magnificent with all her diamonds on display, although they must have been burning into her; this was the last time she would ever wear them. Despite the strength of her pride and her love, she was finding it hard to hold her head up high with her husband’s eyes upon her. It was a sight which did nothing to lessen the sadness of Rastignac’s thoughts. Behind the two sisters’ jewels, he could see the pallet on which old man Goriot lay dying. The comtesse, mistaking his melancholy air, took her arm out of his.

‘Off you go! Don’t let me stand in the way of your pleasure,’ she said.

Eugène was soon claimed by Delphine, delighted with her success and keen to lay at his feet the tributes she had received from these people whom she hoped would accept her.

‘What do you think of Nasie?’ she asked him.

‘She has cashed in²¹² everything up to and including her father’s death.’

At around four in the morning, the crowds in the reception rooms began to thin. The music petered out soon after. Rastignac and the Duchesse de Langeais found themselves alone in the main drawing room. The vicomtesse, thinking to find the student alone there, came in after bidding farewell to Monsieur de Beauséant, who eventually went to bed, still saying to her: ‘You’re wrong, my dear, to go and shut yourself away at your age! Stay here with us.’

When she saw the duchesse, Madame de Beauséant was unable to suppress a cry.

‘I’ve found you out, Clara,’ said Madame de Langeais. ‘You’re leaving, never to return; but I won’t let you go before you’ve heard what I have to say and we’ve understood each other.’ She took her friend by the arm, led her into the next room and there, looking at her with tears in her eyes, put her arms around her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I don’t want to bid you a cold farewell, my dear; the remorse would be too heavy to bear. You may count on me as you would yourself. You showed true greatness this evening, I felt worthy of you and want to prove it. I have done you wrong at times, I haven’t always behaved well towards you. Forgive me, my dear: I disavow everything that might have wounded you, I wish I could take back my words. Our souls are united by a common grief and I don’t know which of us will suffer more. Monsieur de Montriveau wasn’t here this evening and you know what that means. No one who has seen you tonight at the ball, Clara, will ever forget you. I myself shall make one last attempt.²¹³ If I fail, I’ll enter a convent! Where will you go?’

‘To Normandy, to Courcelles, to love and to pray, until the day when God releases me from the world.

‘Come in, Monsieur de Rastignac,’ said the vicomtesse, her voice choked with emotion, remembering that the young man was waiting. The student went down on one knee, took his cousin’s hand and kissed it. ‘Farewell Antoinette!’ Madame de Beauséant went on; ‘be happy. As for you, you are happy, you’re young, you have something to believe in,’ she said to the student. ‘I’ll depart this world with sacred, sincere feelings around me, as the dying sometimes do, if they have that good fortune.’

Rastignac left at around five o’clock in the morning, after seeing Madame de Beauséant into the berlin she was to travel in and after she’d bid him a last tear-washed adieu, proving that not even the highest-ranking members of society are exempt from the laws of the heart and do not live free of all sorrows, as those who pay court to the common people would have them believe. Eugène returned to the Maison Vauquer on foot, in cold, wet weather. His education was coming to an end.

‘There’s no hope for poor old Goriot,’ Bianchon said to Rastignac when he stepped into his neighbour’s room.

‘My friend,’ Eugène said to him, watching the old man sleeping, ‘keep on following the humble destiny to which you have limited your desires. I myself am in hell and must stay there. Whatever terrible things you hear about society, believe them all! Not even a Juvenal could do justice to the horrors that lurk beneath its gold and jewels.’