الفصل الفصل 2 · 第2章

It is now easy to understand the full meaning of the term, “the house of

Monsieur Grandet,”--that cold, silent, pallid dwelling, standing above

the town and sheltered by the ruins of the ramparts. The two pillars and

the arch, which made the porte-cochere on which the door opened, were

built, like the house itself, of tufa,--a white stone peculiar to the

shores of the Loire, and so soft that it lasts hardly more than two

centuries. Numberless irregular holes, capriciously bored or eaten out

by the inclemency of the weather, gave an appearance of the vermiculated

stonework of French architecture to the arch and the side walls of this

entrance, which bore some resemblance to the gateway of a jail. Above

the arch was a long bas-relief, in hard stone, representing the four

seasons, the faces already crumbling away and blackened. This bas-relief

was surmounted by a projecting plinth, upon which a variety of chance

growths had sprung up,--yellow pellitory, bindweed, convolvuli, nettles,

plantain, and even a little cherry-tree, already grown to some height.

The door of the archway was made of solid oak, brown, shrunken, and

split in many places; though frail in appearance, it was firmly held

in place by a system of iron bolts arranged in symmetrical patterns.

A small square grating, with close bars red with rust, filled up the

middle panel and made, as it were, a motive for the knocker, fastened to

it by a ring, which struck upon the grinning head of a huge nail.

This knocker, of the oblong shape and kind which our ancestors called

_jaquemart_, looked like a huge note of exclamation; an antiquary who

examined it attentively might have found indications of the figure,

essentially burlesque, which it once represented, and which long usage

had now effaced. Through this little grating--intended in olden times

for the recognition of friends in times of civil war--inquisitive

persons could perceive, at the farther end of the dark and slimy vault,

a few broken steps which led to a garden, picturesquely shut in by

walls that were thick and damp, and through which oozed a moisture that

nourished tufts of sickly herbage. These walls were the ruins of the

ramparts, under which ranged the gardens of several neighboring houses.

The most important room on the ground-floor of the house was a large

hall, entered directly from beneath the vault of the porte-cochere.

Few people know the importance of a hall in the little towns of Anjou,

Touraine, and Berry. The hall is at one and the same time antechamber,

salon, office, boudoir, and dining-room; it is the theatre of domestic

life, the common living-room. There the barber of the neighborhood came,

twice a year, to cut Monsieur Grandet’s hair; there the farmers, the

cure, the under-prefect, and the miller’s boy came on business. This

room, with two windows looking on the street, was entirely of wood. Gray

panels with ancient mouldings covered the walls from top to bottom; the

ceiling showed all its beams, which were likewise painted gray, while

the space between them had been washed over in white, now yellow with

age. An old brass clock, inlaid with arabesques, adorned the mantel

of the ill-cut white stone chimney-piece, above which was a greenish

mirror, whose edges, bevelled to show the thickness of the glass,

reflected a thread of light the whole length of a gothic frame in

damascened steel-work. The two copper-gilt candelabra which decorated

the corners of the chimney-piece served a double purpose: by taking off

the side-branches, each of which held a socket, the main stem--which

was fastened to a pedestal of bluish marble tipped with copper--made a

candlestick for one candle, which was sufficient for ordinary occasions.

The chairs, antique in shape, were covered with tapestry representing

the fables of La Fontaine; it was necessary, however, to know that

writer well to guess at the subjects, for the faded colors and the

figures, blurred by much darning, were difficult to distinguish.

At the four corners of the hall were closets, or rather buffets,

surmounted by dirty shelves. An old card-table in marquetry, of which

the upper part was a chess-board, stood in the space between the two

windows. Above this table was an oval barometer with a black border

enlivened with gilt bands, on which the flies had so licentiously

disported themselves that the gilding had become problematical. On

the panel opposite to the chimney-piece were two portraits in pastel,

supposed to represent the grandfather of Madame Grandet, old Monsieur

de la Bertelliere, as a lieutenant in the French guard, and the deceased

Madame Gentillet in the guise of a shepherdess. The windows were draped

with curtains of red _gros de Tours_ held back by silken cords with

ecclesiastical tassels. This luxurious decoration, little in keeping

with the habits of Monsieur Grandet, had been, together with the steel

pier-glass, the tapestries, and the buffets, which were of rose-wood,

included in the purchase of the house.

By the window nearest to the door stood a straw chair, whose legs were

raised on castors to lift its occupant, Madame Grandet, to a height from

which she could see the passers-by. A work-table of stained cherry-wood

filled up the embrasure, and the little armchair of Eugenie Grandet

stood beside it. In this spot the lives had flowed peacefully onward for

fifteen years, in a round of constant work from the month of April to

the month of November. On the first day of the latter month they took

their winter station by the chimney. Not until that day did Grandet

permit a fire to be lighted; and on the thirty-first of March it was

extinguished, without regard either to the chills of the early spring or

to those of a wintry autumn. A foot-warmer, filled with embers from the

kitchen fire, which la Grande Nanon contrived to save for them, enabled

Madame and Mademoiselle Grandet to bear the chilly mornings and evenings

of April and October. Mother and daughter took charge of the family

linen, and spent their days so conscientiously upon a labor properly

that of working-women, that if Eugenie wished to embroider a collar for

her mother she was forced to take the time from sleep, and deceive her

father to obtain the necessary light. For a long time the miser had

given out the tallow candle to his daughter and la Grande Nanon just as

he gave out every morning the bread and other necessaries for the daily

consumption.

La Grande Nanon was perhaps the only human being capable of accepting

willingly the despotism of her master. The whole town envied Monsieur

and Madame Grandet the possession of her. La Grande Nanon, so called on

account of her height, which was five feet eight inches, had lived with

Monsieur Grandet for thirty-five years. Though she received only sixty

francs a year in wages, she was supposed to be one of the richest

serving-women in Saumur. Those sixty francs, accumulating through

thirty-five years, had recently enabled her to invest four thousand

francs in an annuity with Maitre Cruchot. This result of her long and

persistent economy seemed gigantic. Every servant in the town, seeing

that the poor sexagenarian was sure of bread for her old age, was

jealous of her, and never thought of the hard slavery through which it

had been won.

At twenty-two years of age the poor girl had been unable to find a

situation, so repulsive was her face to almost every one. Yet the

feeling was certainly unjust: the face would have been much admired on

the shoulders of a grenadier of the guard; but all things, so they say,

should be in keeping. Forced to leave a farm where she kept the cows,

because the dwelling-house was burned down, she came to Saumur to find

a place, full of the robust courage that shrinks from no labor. Le Pere

Grandet was at that time thinking of marriage and about to set up his

household. He espied the girl, rejected as she was from door to door.

A good judge of corporeal strength in his trade as a cooper, he guessed

the work that might be got out of a female creature shaped like a

Hercules, as firm on her feet as an oak sixty years old on its roots,

strong in the hips, square in the back, with the hands of a cartman and

an honesty as sound as her unblemished virtue. Neither the warts which

adorned her martial visage, nor the red-brick tints of her skin, nor the

sinewy arms, nor the ragged garments of la Grande Nanon, dismayed the

cooper, who was at that time still of an age when the heart shudders.

He fed, shod, and clothed the poor girl, gave her wages, and put her to

work without treating her too roughly. Seeing herself thus welcomed,

la Grande Nanon wept secretly tears of joy, and attached herself in all

sincerity to her master, who from that day ruled her and worked her with

feudal authority. Nanon did everything. She cooked, she made the lye,

she washed the linen in the Loire and brought it home on her shoulders;

she got up early, she went to bed late; she prepared the food of the

vine-dressers during the harvest, kept watch upon the market-people,

protected the property of her master like a faithful dog, and even, full

of blind confidence, obeyed without a murmur his most absurd exactions.

In the famous year of 1811, when the grapes were gathered with

unheard-of difficulty, Grandet resolved to give Nanon his old

watch,--the first present he had made her during twenty years of

service. Though he turned over to her his old shoes (which fitted her),

it is impossible to consider that quarterly benefit as a gift, for the

shoes were always thoroughly worn-out. Necessity had made the poor girl

so niggardly that Grandet had grown to love her as we love a dog, and

Nanon had let him fasten a spiked collar round her throat, whose spikes

no longer pricked her. If Grandet cut the bread with rather too much

parsimony, she made no complaint; she gaily shared the hygienic benefits

derived from the severe regime of the household, in which no one was

ever ill. Nanon was, in fact, one of the family; she laughed when

Grandet laughed, felt gloomy or chilly, warmed herself, and toiled as he

did. What pleasant compensations there were in such equality! Never did

the master have occasion to find fault with the servant for pilfering

the grapes, nor for the plums and nectarines eaten under the trees.

“Come, fall-to, Nanon!” he would say in years when the branches bent

under the fruit and the farmers were obliged to give it to the pigs.

To the poor peasant who in her youth had earned nothing but harsh

treatment, to the pauper girl picked up by charity, Grandet’s ambiguous

laugh was like a sunbeam. Moreover, Nanon’s simple heart and narrow head

could hold only one feeling and one idea. For thirty-five years she had

never ceased to see herself standing before the wood-yard of Monsieur

Grandet, ragged and barefooted, and to hear him say: “What do you want,

young one?” Her gratitude was ever new. Sometimes Grandet, reflecting

that the poor creature had never heard a flattering word, that she was

ignorant of all the tender sentiments inspired by women, that she might

some day appear before the throne of God even more chaste than the

Virgin Mary herself,--Grandet, struck with pity, would say as he

looked at her, “Poor Nanon!” The exclamation was always followed by an

undefinable look cast upon him in return by the old servant. The words,

uttered from time to time, formed a chain of friendship that nothing

ever parted, and to which each exclamation added a link. Such compassion

arising in the heart of the miser, and accepted gratefully by the old

spinster, had something inconceivably horrible about it. This cruel

pity, recalling, as it did, a thousand pleasures to the heart of the old

cooper, was for Nanon the sum total of happiness. Who does not likewise

say, “Poor Nanon!” God will recognize his angels by the inflexions of

their voices and by their secret sighs.

There were very many households in Saumur where the servants were better

treated, but where the masters received far less satisfaction in return.

Thus it was often said: “What have the Grandets ever done to make their

Grande Nanon so attached to them? She would go through fire and water

for their sake!” Her kitchen, whose barred windows looked into the

court, was always clean, neat, cold,--a true miser’s kitchen, where

nothing went to waste. When Nanon had washed her dishes, locked up the

remains of the dinner, and put out her fire, she left the kitchen, which

was separated by a passage from the living-room, and went to spin

hemp beside her masters. One tallow candle sufficed the family for the

evening. The servant slept at the end of the passage in a species of

closet lighted only by a fan-light. Her robust health enabled her to

live in this hole with impunity; there she could hear the slightest

noise through the deep silence which reigned night and day in that

dreary house. Like a watch-dog, she slept with one ear open, and took

her rest with a mind alert.

A description of the other parts of the dwelling will be found connected

with the events of this history, though the foregoing sketch of the

hall, where the whole luxury of the household appears, may enable the

reader to surmise the nakedness of the upper floors.

In 1819, at the beginning of an evening in the middle of November, la

Grande Nanon lighted the fire for the first time. The autumn had

been very fine. This particular day was a fete-day well known to the

Cruchotines and the Grassinists. The six antagonists, armed at all

points, were making ready to meet at the Grandets and surpass each other

in testimonials of friendship. That morning all Saumur had seen Madame

and Mademoiselle Grandet, accompanied by Nanon, on their way to hear

Mass at the parish church, and every one remembered that the day was

the anniversary of Mademoiselle Eugenie’s birth. Calculating the hour at

which the family dinner would be over, Maitre Cruchot, the Abbe Cruchot,

and Monsieur C. de Bonfons hastened to arrive before the des Grassins,

and be the first to pay their compliments to Mademoiselle Eugenie. All

three brought enormous bouquets, gathered in their little green-houses.

The stalks of the flowers which the president intended to present were

ingeniously wound round with a white satin ribbon adorned with gold

fringe. In the morning Monsieur Grandet, following his usual custom on

the days that commemorated the birth and the fete of Eugenie, went to

her bedside and solemnly presented her with his paternal gift,--which

for the last thirteen years had consisted regularly of a curious

gold-piece. Madame Grandet gave her daughter a winter dress or a summer

dress, as the case might be. These two dresses and the gold-pieces,

of which she received two others on New Year’s day and on her father’s

fete-day, gave Eugenie a little revenue of a hundred crowns or

thereabouts, which Grandet loved to see her amass. Was it not putting

his money from one strong-box to another, and, as it were, training the

parsimony of his heiress? from whom he sometimes demanded an account

of her treasure (formerly increased by the gifts of the Bertellieres),

saying: “It is to be your marriage dozen.”

The “marriage dozen” is an old custom sacredly preserved and still in

force in many parts of central France. In Berry and in Anjou, when a

young girl marries, her family, or that of the husband, must give her a

purse, in which they place, according to their means, twelve pieces,

or twelve dozen pieces, or twelve hundred pieces of gold. The poorest

shepherd-girl never marries without her dozen, be it only a dozen

coppers. They still tell in Issoudun of a certain “dozen” presented to

a rich heiress, which contained a hundred and forty-four _portugaises

d’or_. Pope Clement VII., uncle of Catherine de’ Medici, gave her when

he married her to Henri II. a dozen antique gold medals of priceless

value.

During dinner the father, delighted to see his Eugenie looking well in a

new gown, exclaimed: “As it is Eugenie’s birthday let us have a fire; it

will be a good omen.”

“Mademoiselle will be married this year, that’s certain,” said la

Grande Nanon, carrying away the remains of the goose,--the pheasant of

tradesmen.

“I don’t see any one suitable for her in Saumur,” said Madame Grandet,

glancing at her husband with a timid look which, considering her years,

revealed the conjugal slavery under which the poor woman languished.

Grandet looked at his daughter and exclaimed gaily,--

“She is twenty-three years old to-day, the child; we must soon begin to

think of it.”

Eugenie and her mother silently exchanged a glance of intelligence.

Madame Grandet was a dry, thin woman, as yellow as a quince, awkward,

slow, one of those women who are born to be down-trodden. She had big

bones, a big nose, a big forehead, big eyes, and presented at first

sight a vague resemblance to those mealy fruits that have neither savor

nor succulence. Her teeth were black and few in number, her mouth was

wrinkled, her chin long and pointed. She was an excellent woman, a true

la Bertelliere. L’abbe Cruchot found occasional opportunity to tell her

that she had not done ill; and she believed him. Angelic sweetness,

the resignation of an insect tortured by children, a rare piety, a good

heart, an unalterable equanimity of soul, made her universally pitied

and respected. Her husband never gave her more than six francs at a time

for her personal expenses. Ridiculous as it may seem, this woman, who by

her own fortune and her various inheritances brought Pere Grandet

more than three hundred thousand francs, had always felt so profoundly

humiliated by her dependence and the slavery in which she lived, against

which the gentleness of her spirit prevented her from revolting, that

she had never asked for one penny or made a single remark on the deeds

which Maitre Cruchot brought for her signature. This foolish secret

pride, this nobility of soul perpetually misunderstood and wounded by

Grandet, ruled the whole conduct of the wife.

Madame Grandet was attired habitually in a gown of greenish levantine

silk, endeavoring to make it last nearly a year; with it she wore a

large kerchief of white cotton cloth, a bonnet made of plaited straws

sewn together, and almost always a black-silk apron. As she seldom left

the house she wore out very few shoes. She never asked anything for

herself. Grandet, seized with occasional remorse when he remembered how

long a time had elapsed since he gave her the last six francs, always

stipulated for the “wife’s pin-money” when he sold his yearly vintage.

The four or five louis presented by the Belgian or the Dutchman who

purchased the wine were the chief visible signs of Madame Grandet’s

annual revenues. But after she had received the five louis, her husband

would often say to her, as though their purse were held in common:

“Can you lend me a few sous?” and the poor woman, glad to be able to do

something for a man whom her confessor held up to her as her lord and

master, returned him in the course of the winter several crowns out of

the “pin-money.” When Grandet drew from his pocket the five-franc piece

which he allowed monthly for the minor expenses,--thread, needles, and

toilet,--of his daughter, he never failed to say as he buttoned his

breeches’ pocket: “And you, mother, do you want anything?”

“My friend,” Madame Grandet would answer, moved by a sense of maternal

dignity, “we will see about that later.”

Wasted dignity! Grandet thought himself very generous to his wife.

Philosophers who meet the like of Nanon, of Madame Grandet, of Eugenie,

have surely a right to say that irony is at the bottom of the ways of

Providence.

After the dinner at which for the first time allusion had been made

to Eugenie’s marriage, Nanon went to fetch a bottle of black-currant

ratafia from Monsieur Grandet’s bed-chamber, and nearly fell as she came

down the stairs.

“You great stupid!” said her master; “are you going to tumble about like

other people, hey?”

“Monsieur, it was that step on your staircase which has given way.”

“She is right,” said Madame Grandet; “it ought to have been mended long

ago. Yesterday Eugenie nearly twisted her ankle.”

“Here,” said Grandet to Nanon, seeing that she looked quite pale, “as it

is Eugenie’s birthday, and you came near falling, take a little glass of

ratafia to set you right.”

“Faith! I’ve earned it,” said Nanon; “most people would have broken the

bottle; but I’d sooner have broken my elbow holding it up high.”

“Poor Nanon!” said Grandet, filling a glass.

“Did you hurt yourself?” asked Eugenie, looking kindly at her.

“No, I didn’t fall; I threw myself back on my haunches.”

“Well! as it is Eugenie’s birthday,” said Grandet, “I’ll have the step

mended. You people don’t know how to set your foot in the corner where

the wood is still firm.”

Grandet took the candle, leaving his wife, daughter, and servant without

any other light than that from the hearth, where the flames were lively,

and went into the bakehouse to fetch planks, nails, and tools.

“Can I help you?” cried Nanon, hearing him hammer on the stairs.

“No, no! I’m an old hand at it,” answered the former cooper.

At the moment when Grandet was mending his worm-eaten staircase and

whistling with all his might, in remembrance of the days of his youth,

the three Cruchots knocked at the door.

“Is it you, Monsieur Cruchot?” asked Nanon, peeping through the little

grating.

“Yes,” answered the president.

Nanon opened the door, and the light from the hearth, reflected on the

ceiling, enabled the three Cruchots to find their way into the room.

“Ha! you’ve come a-greeting,” said Nanon, smelling the flowers.

“Excuse me, messieurs,” cried Grandet, recognizing their voices; “I’ll

be with you in a moment. I’m not proud; I am patching up a step on my

staircase.”

“Go on, go on, Monsieur Grandet; a man’s house is his castle,” said the

president sententiously.

Madame and Mademoiselle Grandet rose. The president, profiting by the

darkness, said to Eugenie:

“Will you permit me, mademoiselle, to wish you, on this the day of your

birth, a series of happy years and the continuance of the health which

you now enjoy?”

He offered her a huge bouquet of choice flowers which were rare in

Saumur; then, taking the heiress by the elbows, he kissed her on each

side of her neck with a complacency that made her blush. The president,

who looked like a rusty iron nail, felt that his courtship was

progressing.

“Don’t stand on ceremony,” said Grandet, entering. “How well you do

things on fete-days, Monsieur le president!”

“When it concerns mademoiselle,” said the abbe, armed with his own

bouquet, “every day is a fete-day for my nephew.”

The abbe kissed Eugenie’s hand. As for Maitre Cruchot, he boldly kissed

her on both cheeks, remarking: “How we sprout up, to be sure! Every year

is twelve months.”

As he replaced the candlestick beside the clock, Grandet, who never

forgot his own jokes, and repeated them to satiety when he thought them

funny, said,--

“As this is Eugenie’s birthday let us illuminate.”

He carefully took off the branches of the candelabra, put a socket on

each pedestal, took from Nanon a new tallow candle with paper twisted

round the end of it, put it into the hollow, made it firm, lit it, and

then sat down beside his wife, looking alternately at his friends, his

daughter, and the two candles. The Abbe Cruchot, a plump, puffy little

man, with a red wig plastered down and a face like an old female

gambler, said as he stretched out his feet, well shod in stout shoes

with silver buckles: “The des Grassins have not come?”

“Not yet,” said Grandet.

“But are they coming?” asked the old notary, twisting his face, which

had as many holes as a collander, into a queer grimace.

“I think so,” answered Madame Grandet.

“Are your vintages all finished?” said Monsieur de Bonfons to Grandet.

“Yes, all of them,” said the old man, rising to walk up and down the

room, his chest swelling with pride as he said the words, “all of them.”

Through the door of the passage which led to the kitchen he saw la

Grande Nanon sitting beside her fire with a candle and preparing to spin

there, so as not to intrude among the guests.

“Nanon,” he said, going into the passage, “put out that fire and that

candle, and come and sit with us. Pardieu! the hall is big enough for

all.”

“But monsieur, you are to have the great people.”

“Are not you as good as they? They are descended from Adam, and so are

you.”

Grandet came back to the president and said,--

“Have you sold your vintage?”

“No, not I; I shall keep it. If the wine is good this year, it will

be better two years hence. The proprietors, you know, have made an

agreement to keep up the price; and this year the Belgians won’t get the

better of us. Suppose they are sent off empty-handed for once, faith!

they’ll come back.”

“Yes, but let us mind what we are about,” said Grandet in a tone which

made the president tremble.

“Is he driving some bargain?” thought Cruchot.

At this moment the knocker announced the des Grassins family, and

their arrival interrupted a conversation which had begun between Madame

Grandet and the abbe.

Madame des Grassins was one of those lively, plump little women, with

pink-and-white skins, who, thanks to the claustral calm of the provinces

and the habits of a virtuous life, keep their youth until they are

past forty. She was like the last rose of autumn,--pleasant to the

eye, though the petals have a certain frostiness, and their perfume is

slight. She dressed well, got her fashions from Paris, set the tone to

Saumur, and gave parties. Her husband, formerly a quartermaster in the

Imperial guard, who had been desperately wounded at Austerlitz, and had

since retired, still retained, in spite of his respect for Grandet, the

seeming frankness of an old soldier.

“Good evening, Grandet,” he said, holding out his hand and affecting

a sort of superiority, with which he always crushed the Cruchots.

“Mademoiselle,” he added, turning to Eugenie, after bowing to Madame

Grandet, “you are always beautiful and good, and truly I do not know

what to wish you.” So saying, he offered her a little box which his

servant had brought and which contained a Cape heather,--a flower lately

imported into Europe and very rare.

Madame des Grassins kissed Eugenie very affectionately, pressed her

hand, and said: “Adolphe wishes to make you my little offering.”

A tall, blond young man, pale and slight, with tolerable manners and

seemingly rather shy, although he had just spent eight or ten thousand

francs over his allowance in Paris, where he had been sent to study

law, now came forward and kissed Eugenie on both cheeks, offering her a

workbox with utensils in silver-gilt,--mere show-case trumpery, in

spite of the monogram E.G. in gothic letters rather well engraved,

which belonged properly to something in better taste. As she opened it,

Eugenie experienced one of those unexpected and perfect delights which

make a young girl blush and quiver and tremble with pleasure. She

turned her eyes to her father as if to ask permission to accept it, and

Monsieur Grandet replied: “Take it, my daughter,” in a tone which would

have made an actor illustrious.

The three Cruchots felt crushed as they saw the joyous, animated look

cast upon Adolphe des Grassins by the heiress, to whom such riches were

unheard-of. Monsieur des Grassins offered Grandet a pinch of snuff,

took one himself, shook off the grains as they fell on the ribbon of

the Legion of honor which was attached to the button-hole of his blue

surtout; then he looked at the Cruchots with an air that seemed to say,

“Parry that thrust if you can!” Madame des Grassins cast her eyes on the

blue vases which held the Cruchot bouquets, looking at the enemy’s

gifts with the pretended interest of a satirical woman. At this delicate

juncture the Abbe Cruchot left the company seated in a circle round the

fire and joined Grandet at the lower end of the hall. As the two men

reached the embrasure of the farthest window the priest said in the

miser’s ear: “Those people throw money out of the windows.”

“What does that matter if it gets into my cellar?” retorted the old

wine-grower.

“If you want to give gilt scissors to your daughter, you have the

means,” said the abbe.

“I give her something better than scissors,” answered Grandet.

“My nephew is a blockhead,” thought the abbe as he looked at the

president, whose rumpled hair added to the ill grace of his brown

countenance. “Couldn’t he have found some little trifle which cost

money?”

“We will join you at cards, Madame Grandet,” said Madame des Grassins.

“We might have two tables, as we are all here.”

“As it is Eugenie’s birthday you had better play loto all together,”

said Pere Grandet: “the two young ones can join”; and the old cooper,

who never played any game, motioned to his daughter and Adolphe. “Come,

Nanon, set the tables.”

“We will help you, Mademoiselle Nanon,” said Madame des Grassins gaily,

quite joyous at the joy she had given Eugenie.

“I have never in my life been so pleased,” the heiress said to her; “I

have never seen anything so pretty.”

“Adolphe brought it from Paris, and he chose it,” Madame des Grassins

whispered in her ear.

“Go on! go on! damned intriguing thing!” thought the president. “If you

ever have a suit in court, you or your husband, it shall go hard with

you.”

The notary, sitting in his corner, looked calmly at the abbe, saying

to himself: “The des Grassins may do what they like; my property and my

brother’s and that of my nephew amount in all to eleven hundred thousand

francs. The des Grassins, at the most, have not half that; besides,

they have a daughter. They may give what presents they like; heiress and

presents too will be ours one of these days.”

At half-past eight in the evening the two card-tables were set out.

Madame des Grassins succeeded in putting her son beside Eugenie. The

actors in this scene, so full of interest, commonplace as it seems, were

provided with bits of pasteboard striped in many colors and numbered,

and with counters of blue glass, and they appeared to be listening

to the jokes of the notary, who never drew a number without making

a remark, while in fact they were all thinking of Monsieur Grandet’s

millions. The old cooper, with inward self-conceit, was contemplating

the pink feathers and the fresh toilet of Madame des Grassins, the

martial head of the banker, the faces of Adolphe, the president, the

abbe, and the notary, saying to himself:--

“They are all after my money. Hey! neither the one nor the other shall

have my daughter; but they are useful--useful as harpoons to fish with.”

This family gaiety in the old gray room dimly lighted by two

tallow candles; this laughter, accompanied by the whirr of Nanon’s

spinning-wheel, sincere only upon the lips of Eugenie or her mother;

this triviality mingled with important interests; this young girl, who,

like certain birds made victims of the price put upon them, was

now lured and trapped by proofs of friendship of which she was the

dupe,--all these things contributed to make the scene a melancholy

comedy. Is it not, moreover, a drama of all times and all places, though

here brought down to its simplest expression? The figure of Grandet,

playing his own game with the false friendship of the two families and

getting enormous profits from it, dominates the scene and throws

light upon it. The modern god,--the only god in whom faith is

preserved,--money, is here, in all its power, manifested in a single

countenance. The tender sentiments of life hold here but a secondary

place; only the three pure, simple hearts of Nanon, of Eugenie, and of

her mother were inspired by them. And how much of ignorance there was in

the simplicity of these poor women! Eugenie and her mother knew nothing

of Grandet’s wealth; they could only estimate the things of life by the

glimmer of their pale ideas, and they neither valued nor despised money,

because they were accustomed to do without it. Their feelings, bruised,

though they did not know it, but ever-living, were the secret spring of

their existence, and made them curious exceptions in the midst of these

other people whose lives were purely material. Frightful condition of

the human race! there is no one of its joys that does not come from some

species of ignorance.

At the moment when Madame Grandet had won a loto of sixteen sous,--the

largest ever pooled in that house,--and while la Grande Nanon was

laughing with delight as she watched madame pocketing her riches, the

knocker resounded on the house-door with such a noise that the women all

jumped in their chairs.

“There is no man in Saumur who would knock like that,” said the notary.

“How can they bang in that way!” exclaimed Nanon; “do they want to break

in the door?”

“Who the devil is it?” cried Grandet.