Father Goriot
little girl again, so light-hearted and gay. Her soul is recovering, and
her happiness is owing to you! Oh! I would do impossibilities for you.
Only just now she said to me, ‘I am very happy, papa!’ When they say
‘father’ stiffly, it sends a chill through me; but when they call me
‘papa,’ it brings all the old memories back. I feel most their father
then; I even believe that they belong to me, and to no one else.”
The good man wiped his eyes, he was crying.
“It is a long while since I have heard them talk like that, a long, long
time since she took my arm as she did to-day. Yes, indeed, it must be
quite ten years since I walked side by side with one of my girls. How
pleasant it was to keep step with her, to feel the touch of her gown,
the warmth of her arm! Well, I took Delphine everywhere this morning; I
went shopping with her, and I brought her home again. Oh! you must let
me live near you. You may want some one to do you a service some of
these days, and I shall be on the spot to do it. Oh! if only that great
dolt of an Alsatian would die, if his gout would have the sense to
attack his stomach, how happy my poor child would be! You would be my
son-in-law; you would be her husband in the eyes of the world. Bah! she
has known no happiness, that excuses everything. Our Father in heaven is
surely on the side of fathers on earth who love their children. How fond
of you she is!” he said, raising his head after a pause. “All the time
we were going about together she chatted away about you. ‘He is so
nice-looking, papa; isn’t he? He is kind-hearted! Does he talk to you
about me?’ Pshaw! she said enough about you to fill whole volumes;
between the Rue d’Artois and the Passage des Panoramas she poured her
heart out into mine. I did not feel old once during that delightful
morning; I felt as light as a feather. I told her how you had given the
banknote to me; it moved my darling to tears. But what can this be on
your chimney-piece?” said Father Goriot at last. Rastignac had showed no
sign, and he was dying of impatience.
Eugene stared at his neighbor in dumb and dazed bewilderment. He thought
of Vautrin, of that duel to be fought to-morrow morning, and of this
realization of his dearest hopes, and the violent contrast between the
two sets of ideas gave him all the sensations of nightmare. He went to
the chimney-piece, saw the little square case, opened it, and found
a watch of Breguet’s make wrapped in paper, on which these words were
written:
“I want you to think of me every hour, _because_...
“DELPHINE.”
That last word doubtless contained an allusion to some scene that
had taken place between them. Eugene felt touched. Inside the gold
watch-case his arms had been wrought in enamel. The chain, the key, the
workmanship and design of the trinket were all such as he had imagined,
for he had long coveted such a possession. Father Goriot was radiant. Of
course he had promised to tell his daughter every little detail of the
scene and of the effect produced upon Eugene by her present; he shared
in the pleasure and excitement of the young people, and seemed to be not
the least happy of the three. He loved Rastignac already for his own as
well as for his daughter’s sake.
“You must go and see her; she is expecting you this evening. That great
lout of an Alsatian is going to have supper with his opera-dancer. Aha!
he looked very foolish when my attorney let him know where he was. He
says he idolizes my daughter, does he? He had better let her alone, or I
will kill him. To think that my Delphine is his”--he heaved a sigh--“it
is enough to make me murder him, but it would not be manslaughter to
kill that animal; he is a pig with a calf’s brains.--You will take me
with you, will you not?”
“Yes, dear Father Goriot; you know very well how fond I am of you----”
“Yes, I do know very well. You are not ashamed of me, are you? Not you!
Let me embrace you,” and he flung his arms around the student’s neck.
“You will make her very happy; promise me that you will! You will go to
her this evening, will you not?”
“Oh! yes. I must go out; I have some urgent business on hand.”
“Can I be of any use?”
“My word, yes! Will you go to old Taillefer’s while I go to Mme. de
Nucingen? Ask him to make an appointment with me some time this evening;
it is a matter of life and death.”
“Really, young man!” cried Father Goriot, with a change of countenance;
“are you really paying court to his daughter, as those simpletons were
saying down below?... _Tonnerre de dieu!_ you have no notion what a tap
_a la Goriot_ is like, and if you are playing a double game, I shall put
a stop to it by one blow of the fist... Oh! the thing is impossible!”
“I swear to you that I love but one woman in the world,” said the
student. “I only knew it a moment ago.”
“Oh! what happiness!” cried Goriot.
“But young Taillefer has been called out; the duel comes off to-morrow
morning, and I have heard it said that he may lose his life in it.”
“But what business is it of yours?” said Goriot.
“Why, I ought to tell him so, that he may prevent his son from putting
in an appearance----”
Just at that moment Vautrin’s voice broke in upon them; he was standing
at the threshold of his door and singing:
“Oh! Richard, oh my king!
All the world abandons thee!
Broum! broum! broum! broum! broum!
The same old story everywhere,
A roving heart and a... tra la la.”
“Gentlemen!” shouted Christophe, “the soup is ready, and every one is
waiting for you.”
“Here,” Vautrin called down to him, “come and take a bottle of my
Bordeaux.”
“Do you think your watch is pretty?” asked Goriot. “She has good taste,
hasn’t she? Eh?”
Vautrin, Father Goriot, and Rastignac came downstairs in company, and,
all three of them being late, were obliged to sit together.
Eugene was as distant as possible in his manner to Vautrin during
dinner; but the other, so charming in Mme. Vauquer’s opinion, had never
been so witty. His lively sallies and sparkling talk put the whole
table in good humor. His assurance and coolness filled Eugene with
consternation.
“Why, what has come to you to-day?” inquired Mme. Vauquer. “You are as
merry as a skylark.”
“I am always in spirits after I have made a good bargain.”
“Bargain?” said Eugene.
“Well, yes, bargain. I have just delivered a lot of goods, and I shall
be paid a handsome commission on them--Mlle. Michonneau,” he went on,
seeing that the elderly spinster was scrutinizing him intently, “have
you any objection to some feature in my face, that you are making those
lynx eyes at me? Just let me know, and I will have it changed to oblige
you... We shall not fall out about it, Poiret, I dare say?” he added,
winking at the superannuated clerk.
“Bless my soul, you ought to stand as model for a burlesque Hercules,”
said the young painter.
“I will, upon my word! if Mlle. Michonneau will consent to sit as the
Venus of Pere-Lachaise,” replied Vautrin.
“There’s Poiret,” suggested Bianchon.
“Oh! Poiret shall pose as Poiret. He can be a garden god!” cried
Vautrin; “his name means a pear----”
“A sleepy pear!” Bianchon put in. “You will come in between the pear and
the cheese.”
“What stuff are you all talking!” said Mme. Vauquer; “you would do
better to treat us to your Bordeaux; I see a glimpse of a bottle there.
It would keep us all in a good humor, and it is good for the stomach
besides.”
“Gentlemen,” said Vautrin, “the Lady President calls us to order. Mme.
Couture and Mlle. Victorine will take your jokes in good part, but
respect the innocence of the aged Goriot. I propose a glass or two of
Bordeauxrama, rendered twice illustrious by the name of Laffite, no
political allusions intended.--Come, you Turk!” he added, looking at
Christophe, who did not offer to stir. “Christophe! Here! What, you
don’t answer to your own name? Bring us some liquor, Turk!”
“Here it is, sir,” said Christophe, holding out the bottle.
Vautrin filled Eugene’s glass and Goriot’s likewise, then he
deliberately poured out a few drops into his own glass, and sipped it
while his two neighbors drank their wine. All at once he made a grimace.
“Corked!” he cried. “The devil! You can drink the rest of this,
Christophe, and go and find another bottle; take from the right-hand
side, you know. There are sixteen of us; take down eight bottles.”
“If you are going to stand treat,” said the painter, “I will pay for a
hundred chestnuts.”
“Oh! oh!”
“Booououh!”
“Prrr!”
These exclamations came from all parts of the table like squibs from a
set firework.
“Come, now, Mama Vauquer, a couple of bottles of champagne,” called
Vautrin.
“_Quien!_ just like you! Why not ask for the whole house at once. A
couple of bottles of champagne; that means twelve francs! I shall never
see the money back again, I know! But if M. Eugene has a mind to pay for
it, I have some currant cordial.”
“That currant cordial of hers is as bad as a black draught,” muttered
the medical student.
“Shut up, Bianchon,” exclaimed Rastignac; “the very mention of black
draught makes me feel----. Yes, champagne, by all means; I will pay for
it,” he added.
“Sylvie,” called Mme. Vauquer, “bring in some biscuits, and the little
cakes.”
“Those little cakes are mouldy graybeards,” said Vautrin. “But trot out
the biscuits.”
The Bordeaux wine circulated; the dinner table became a livelier scene
than ever, and the fun grew fast and furious. Imitations of the cries
of various animals mingled with the loud laughter; the Museum official
having taken it into his head to mimic a cat-call rather like the
caterwauling of the animal in question, eight voices simultaneously
struck up with the following variations:
“Scissors to grind!”
“Chick-weeds for singing bir-ds!”
“Brandy-snaps, ladies!”
“China to mend!”
“Boat ahoy!”
“Sticks to beat your wives or your clothes!”
“Old clo’!”
“Cherries all ripe!”
But the palm was awarded to Bianchon for the nasal accent with which he
rendered the cry of “Umbrellas to me-end!”
A few seconds later, and there was a head-splitting racket in the
room, a storm of tomfoolery, a sort of cats’ concert, with Vautrin
as conductor of the orchestra, the latter keeping an eye the while on
Eugene and Father Goriot. The wine seemed to have gone to their heads
already. They leaned back in their chairs, looking at the general
confusion with an air of gravity, and drank but little; both of them
were absorbed in the thought of what lay before them to do that evening,
and yet neither of them felt able to rise and go. Vautrin gave a side
glance at them from time to time, and watched the change that came over
their faces, choosing the moment when their eyes drooped and seemed
about to close, to bend over Rastignac and to say in his ear:--
“My little lad, you are not quite shrewd enough to outwit Papa Vautrin
yet, and he is too fond of you to let you make a mess of your affairs.
When I have made up my mind to do a thing, no one short of Providence
can put me off. Aha! we were for going round to warn old Taillefer,
telling tales out of school! The oven is hot, the dough is kneaded, the
bread is ready for the oven; to-morrow we will eat it up and whisk away
the crumbs; and we are not going to spoil the baking? ... No, no, it is
all as good as done! We may suffer from a few conscientious scruples,
but they will be digested along with the bread. While we are having our
forty winks, Colonel Count Franchessini will clear the way to Michel
Taillefer’s inheritance with the point of his sword. Victorine will come
in for her brother’s money, a snug fifteen thousand francs a year. I
have made inquiries already, and I know that her late mother’s property