The Best Works of Balzac. Оноре де Бальзак

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СКАЧАТЬ feet lost,” said Grandet to Cruchot. “I had three hundred poplars in this one line, isn’t that so? Well, then, three h-h-hundred times thir-thirty-two lost m-m-me five hundred in h-h-hay; add twice as much for the side rows,—fifteen hundred; the middle rows as much more. So we may c-c-call it a th-thousand b-b-bales of h-h-hay—”

      “Very good,” said Cruchot, to help out his friend; “a thousand bales are worth about six hundred francs.”

      “Say t-t-twelve hundred, be-c-cause there’s three or four hundred francs on the second crop. Well, then, c-c-calculate that t-twelve thousand francs a year for f-f-forty years with interest c-c-comes to—”

      “Say sixty thousand francs,” said the notary.

      “I am willing; c-c-comes t-t-to sixty th-th-thousand. Very good,” continued Grandet, without stuttering: “two thousand poplars forty years old will only yield me fifty thousand francs. There’s a loss. I have found that myself,” said Grandet, getting on his high horse. “Jean, fill up all the holes except those at the bank of the river; there you are to plant the poplars I have bought. Plant ‘em there, and they’ll get nourishment from the government,” he said, turning to Cruchot, and giving a slight motion to the wen on his nose, which expressed more than the most ironical of smiles.

      “True enough; poplars should only be planted on poor soil,” said Cruchot, amazed at Grandet’s calculations.

      “Y-y-yes, monsieur,” answered the old man satirically.

      Eugenie, who was gazing at the sublime scenery of the Loire, and paying no attention to her father’s reckonings, presently turned an ear to the remarks of Cruchot when she heard him say,—

      “So you have brought a son-in-law from Paris. All Saumur is talking about your nephew. I shall soon have the marriage-contract to draw up, hey! Pere Grandet?”

      “You g-g-got up very early to t-t-tell me that,” said Grandet, accompanying the remark with a motion of his wen. “Well, old c-c-comrade, I’ll be frank, and t-t-tell you what you want t-t-to know. I would rather, do you see, f-f-fling my daughter into the Loire than g-g-give her to her c-c-cousin. You may t-t-tell that everywhere,—no, never mind; let the world t-t-talk.”

      This answer dazzled and blinded the young girl with sudden light. The distant hopes upspringing in her heart bloomed suddenly, became real, tangible, like a cluster of flowers, and she saw them cut down and wilting on the earth. Since the previous evening she had attached herself to Charles by those links of happiness which bind soul to soul; from henceforth suffering was to rivet them. Is it not the noble destiny of women to be more moved by the dark solemnities of grief than by the splendors of fortune? How was it that fatherly feeling had died out of her father’s heart? Of what crime had Charles been guilty? Mysterious questions! Already her dawning love, a mystery so profound, was wrapping itself in mystery. She walked back trembling in all her limbs; and when she reached the gloomy street, lately so joyous to her, she felt its sadness, she breathed the melancholy which time and events had printed there. None of love’s lessons lacked. A few steps from their own door she went on before her father and waited at the threshold. But Grandet, who saw a newspaper in the notary’s hand, stopped short and asked,—

      “How are the Funds?”

      “You never listen to my advice, Grandet,” answered Cruchot. “Buy soon; you will still make twenty per cent in two years, besides getting an excellent rate of interest,—five thousand a year for eighty thousand francs fifty centimes.”

      “We’ll see about that,” answered Grandet, rubbing his chin.

      “Good God!” exclaimed the notary.

      “Well, what?” cried Grandet; and at the same moment Cruchot put the newspaper under his eyes and said:

      “Read that!”

      “Monsieur Grandet, one of the most respected merchants in Paris,

       blew his brains out yesterday, after making his usual appearance

       at the Bourse. He had sent his resignation to the president of the

       Chamber of Deputies, and had also resigned his functions as a

       judge of the commercial courts. The failures of Monsieur Roguin

       and Monsieur Souchet, his broker and his notary, had ruined him.

       The esteem felt for Monsieur Grandet and the credit he enjoyed

       were nevertheless such that he might have obtained the necessary

       assistance from other business houses. It is much to be regretted

       that so honorable a man should have yielded to momentary despair,”

       etc.

      “I knew it,” said the old wine-grower to the notary.

      The words sent a chill of horror through Maitre Cruchot, who, notwithstanding his impassibility as a notary, felt the cold running down his spine as he thought that Grandet of Paris had possibly implored in vain the millions of Grandet of Saumur.

      “And his son, so joyous yesterday—”

      “He knows nothing as yet,” answered Grandet, with the same composure.

      “Adieu! Monsieur Grandet,” said Cruchot, who now understood the state of the case, and went off to reassure Monsieur de Bonfons.

      On entering, Grandet found breakfast ready. Madame Grandet, round whose neck Eugenie had flung her arms, kissing her with the quick effusion of feeling often caused by secret grief, was already seated in her chair on castors, knitting sleeves for the coming winter.

      “You can begin to eat,” said Nanon, coming downstairs four steps at a time; “the young one is sleeping like a cherub. Isn’t he a darling with his eyes shut? I went in and I called him: no answer.”

      “Let him sleep,” said Grandet; “he’ll wake soon enough to hear ill-tidings.”

      “What is it?” asked Eugenie, putting into her coffee the two little bits of sugar weighing less than half an ounce which the old miser amused himself by cutting up in his leisure hours. Madame Grandet, who did not dare to put the question, gazed at her husband.

      “His father has blown his brains out.”

      “My uncle?” said Eugenie.

      “Poor young man!” exclaimed Madame Grandet.

      “Poor indeed!” said Grandet; “he isn’t worth a sou!”

      “Eh! poor boy, and he’s sleeping like the king of the world!” said Nanon in a gentle voice.

      Eugenie stopped eating. Her heart was wrung, as the young heart is wrung when pity for the suffering of one she loves overflows, for the first time, the whole being of a woman. The poor girl wept.

      “What are you crying about? You didn’t know your uncle,” said her father, giving her one of those hungry tigerish looks he doubtless threw upon his piles of gold.

      “But, monsieur,” said Nanon, СКАЧАТЬ