Chapter Chapter 30 · 第30章

One rule holds good of most young men--whether rich or poor. They never

have money for the necessaries of life, but they have always money to

spare for their caprices--an anomaly which finds its explanation in

their youth and in the almost frantic eagerness with which youth grasps

at pleasure. They are reckless with anything obtained on credit, while

everything for which they must pay in ready money is made to last as

long as possible; if they cannot have all that they want, they make

up for it, it would seem, by squandering what they have. To state the

matter simply--a student is far more careful of his hat than of his

coat, because the latter being a comparatively costly article of dress,

it is in the nature of things that a tailor should be a creditor; but

it is otherwise with the hatter; the sums of money spent with him are so

modest, that he is the most independent and unmanageable of his tribe,

and it is almost impossible to bring him to terms. The young man in the

balcony of a theatre who displays a gorgeous waistcoat for the benefit

of the fair owners of opera glasses, has very probably no socks in his

wardrobe, for the hosier is another of the genus of weevils that nibble

at the purse. This was Rastignac’s condition. His purse was always

empty for Mme. Vauquer, always full at the demand of vanity; there was

a periodical ebb and flow in his fortunes, which was seldom favorable

to the payment of just debts. If he was to leave that unsavory and mean

abode, where from time to time his pretensions met with humiliation, the

first step was to pay his hostess for a month’s board and lodging, and

the second to purchase furniture worthy of the new lodgings he must take

in his quality of dandy, a course that remained impossible. Rastignac,

out of his winnings at cards, would pay his jeweler exorbitant prices

for gold watches and chains, and then, to meet the exigencies of play,

would carry them to the pawnbroker, that discreet and forbidding-looking

friend of youth; but when it was a question of paying for board or

lodging, or for the necessary implements for the cultivation of his

Elysian fields, his imagination and pluck alike deserted him. There was

no inspiration to be found in vulgar necessity, in debts contracted for

past requirements. Like most of those who trust to their luck, he put

off till the last moment the payment of debts that among the bourgeoisie

are regarded as sacred engagements, acting on the plan of Mirabeau,

who never settled his baker’s bill until it underwent a formidable

transformation into a bill of exchange.

It was about this time when Rastignac was down on his luck and fell into

debt, that it became clear to the law student’s mind that he must have

some more certain source of income if he meant to live as he had been

doing. But while he groaned over the thorny problems of his precarious

situation, he felt that he could not bring himself to renounce the

pleasures of this extravagant life, and decided that he must continue it

at all costs. His dreams of obtaining a fortune appeared more and more

chimerical, and the real obstacles grew more formidable. His initiation

into the secrets of the Nucingen household had revealed to him that if

he were to attempt to use this love affair as a means of mending his

fortunes, he must swallow down all sense of decency, and renounce all

the generous ideas which redeem the sins of youth. He had chosen this

life of apparent splendor, but secretly gnawed by the canker worm of

remorse, a life of fleeting pleasure dearly paid for by persistent pain;

like _Le Distrait_ of La Bruyere, he had descended so far as to make

his bed in a ditch; but (also like _Le Distrait_) he himself was

uncontaminated as yet by the mire that stained his garments.

“So we have killed our mandarin, have we?” said Bianchon one day as they

left the dinner table.

“Not yet,” he answered, “but he is at his last gasp.”

The medical student took this for a joke, but it was not a jest. Eugene

had dined in the house that night for the first time for a long while,

and had looked thoughtful during the meal. He had taken his place beside

Mlle. Taillefer, and stayed through the dessert, giving his neighbor an

expressive glance from time to time. A few of the boarders discussed

the walnuts at the table, and others walked about the room, still taking

part in the conversation which had begun among them. People usually went

when they chose; the amount of time that they lingered being determined

by the amount of interest that the conversation possessed for them, or

by the difficulty of the process of digestion. In winter-time the room

was seldom empty before eight o’clock, when the four women had it all to

themselves, and made up for the silence previously imposed upon them by

the preponderating masculine element. This evening Vautrin had noticed

Eugene’s abstractedness, and stayed in the room, though he had seemed

to be in a hurry to finish his dinner and go. All through the talk

afterwards he had kept out of the sight of the law student, who quite

believed that Vautrin had left the room. He now took up his position

cunningly in the sitting-room instead of going when the last boarders

went. He had fathomed the young man’s thoughts, and felt that a crisis

was at hand. Rastignac was, in fact, in a dilemma, which many another

young man must have known.

Mme. de Nucingen might love him, or might merely be playing with

him, but in either case Rastignac had been made to experience all

the alternations of hope and despair of genuine passion, and all

the diplomatic arts of a Parisienne had been employed on him. After

compromising herself by continually appearing in public with Mme. de

Beauseant’s cousin she still hesitated, and would not give him the

lover’s privileges which he appeared to enjoy. For a whole month she had

so wrought on his senses, that at last she had made an impression on

his heart. If in the earliest days the student had fancied himself to be

master, Mme. de Nucingen had since become the stronger of the two, for

she had skilfully roused and played upon every instinct, good or bad, in

the two or three men comprised in a young student in Paris. This was not

the result of deep design on her part, nor was she playing a part, for

women are in a manner true to themselves even through their grossest

deceit, because their actions are prompted by a natural impulse. It may

have been that Delphine, who had allowed this young man to gain such an

ascendency over her, conscious that she had been too demonstrative, was

obeying a sentiment of dignity, and either repented of her concessions,

or it pleased her to suspend them. It is so natural to a Parisienne,

even when passion has almost mastered her, to hesitate and pause before

taking the plunge; to probe the heart of him to whom she intrusts her

future. And once already Mme. de Nucingen’s hopes had been betrayed,

and her loyalty to a selfish young lover had been despised. She had good

reason to be suspicious. Or it may have been that something in Eugene’s

manner (for his rapid success was making a coxcomb of him) had warned

her that the grotesque nature of their position had lowered her somewhat

in his eyes. She doubtless wished to assert her dignity; he was young,

and she would be great in his eyes; for the lover who had forsaken her

had held her so cheap that she was determined that Eugene should not

think her an easy conquest, and for this very reason--he knew that

de Marsay had been his predecessor. Finally, after the degradation of

submission to the pleasure of a heartless young rake, it was so sweet

to her to wander in the flower-strewn realms of love, that it was not

wonderful that she should wish to dwell a while on the prospect, to

tremble with the vibrations of love, to feel the freshness of the breath

of its dawn. The true lover was suffering for the sins of the false.

This inconsistency is unfortunately only to be expected so long as men

do not know how many flowers are mown down in a young woman’s soul by

the first stroke of treachery.

Whatever her reasons may have been, Delphine was playing with Rastignac,

and took pleasure in playing with him, doubtless because she felt sure

of his love, and confident that she could put an end to the torture

as soon as it was her royal pleasure to do so. Eugene’s self-love was

engaged; he could not suffer his first passage of love to end in a

defeat, and persisted in his suit like a sportsman determined to

bring down at least one partridge to celebrate his first Feast of

Saint-Hubert. The pressure of anxiety, his wounded self-love, his

despair, real or feigned, drew him nearer and nearer to this woman. All

Paris credited him with this conquest, and yet he was conscious that he

had made no progress since the day when he saw Mme. de Nucingen for the

first time. He did not know as yet that a woman’s coquetry is sometimes

more delightful than the pleasure of secure possession of her love, and

was possessed with helpless rage. If, at this time, while she denied

herself to love, Eugene gathered the springtide spoils of his life,

the fruit, somewhat sharp and green, and dearly bought, was no less

delicious to the taste. There were moments when he had not a sou in

his pockets, and at such times he thought in spite of his conscience of

Vautrin’s offer and the possibility of fortune by a marriage with Mlle.

Taillefer. Poverty would clamor so loudly that more than once he was on

the point of yielding to the cunning temptations of the terrible sphinx,

whose glance had so often exerted a strange spell over him.

Poiret and Mlle. Michonneau went up to their rooms; and Rastignac,

thinking that he was alone with the women in the dining-room, sat

between Mme. Vauquer and Mme. Couture, who was nodding over the woolen

cuffs that she was knitting by the stove, and looked at Mlle. Taillefer

so tenderly that she lowered her eyes.

“Can you be in trouble, M. Eugene?” Victorine said after a pause.

“Who has not his troubles?” answered Rastignac. “If we men were sure

of being loved, sure of a devotion which would be our reward for the

sacrifices which we are always ready to make, then perhaps we should

have no troubles.”