Gobseck | Page 8

days later. What is all
this but Parisian life summed up in a few phrases? Let us find a higher
outlook on life than theirs. Happiness consists either in strong emotions
which drain our vitality, or in methodical occupation which makes
existence like a bit of English machinery, working with the regularity
of clockwork. A higher happiness than either consists in a curiosity,
styled noble, a wish to learn Nature's secrets, or to attempt by artificial
means to imitate Nature to some extent. What is this in two words but
Science and Art, or passion or calm?--Ah! well, every human passion
wrought up to its highest pitch in the struggle for existence comes to
parade itself before me--as I live in calm. As for your scientific
curiosity, a kind of wrestling bout in which man is never uppermost, I
replace it by an insight into all the springs of action in man and woman.
To sum up, the world is mine without effort of mine, and the world has
not the slightest hold on me. Listen to this,' he went on, 'I will tell you
the history of my morning, and you will divine my pleasures.'
"He got up, pushed the bolt of the door, drew a tapestry curtain across it
with a sharp grating sound of the rings on the rod, then he sat down
again.
" 'This morning,' he said, 'I had only two amounts to collect; the rest of
the bills that were due I gave away instead of cash to my customers
yesterday. So much saved, you see, for when I discount a bill I always
deduct two francs for a hired brougham--expenses of collection. A
pretty thing it would be, would it not, if my clients were to set ME
trudging all over Paris for half-a-dozen francs of discount, when no

man is my master, and I only pay seven francs in the shape of taxes?
" 'The first bill for a thousand francs was presented by a young fellow,
a smart buck with a spangled waistcoat, and an eyeglass, and a tilbury
and an English horse, and all the rest of it. The bill bore the signature of
one of the prettiest women in Paris, married to a Count, a great
landowner. Now, how came that Countess to put her name to a bill of
exchange, legally not worth the paper it was written upon, but
practically very good business; for these women, poor things, are afraid
of the scandal that a protested bill makes in a family, and would give
themselves away in payment sooner than fail? I wanted to find out what
that bill of exchange really represented. Was it stupidity, imprudence,
love or charity?
" 'The second bill, bearing the signature "Fanny Malvaut," came to me
from a linen-draper on the highway to bankruptcy. Now, no creature
who has any credit with a bank comes to ME. The first step to my door
means that a man is desperately hard up; that the news of his failure
will soon come out: and, most of all, it means that he has been
everywhere else first. The stag is always at bay when I see him, and a
pack of creditors are hard upon his track. The Countess lived in the Rue
du Helder, and my Fanny in the Rue Montmartre. How many
conjectures I made as I set out this morning! If these two women were
not able to pay, they would show me more respect than they would
show their own fathers. What tricks and grimaces would not the
Countess try for a thousand francs! She would be so nice to me, she
would talk to me in that ingratiating tone peculiar to endorsers of bills,
she would pour out a torrent of coaxing words, perhaps she would beg
and pray, and I . . .' (here the old man turned his pale eyes upon
me)--'and I not to be moved, inexorable!' he continued. 'I am there as
the avenger, the apparition of Remorse. So much for hypotheses. I
reached the house.
" ' "Madame la Comtesse is asleep," says the maid.
" ' "When can I see her?"
" ' "At twelve o'clock."

" ' "Is Madame la Comtesse ill?"
" ' "No, sir, but she only came home at three o'clock this morning from
a ball."
" ' "My name is Gobseck, tell her that I shall call again at twelve
o'clock," and I went out, leaving traces of my muddy boots on the
carpet which covered the paved staircase. I like to leave mud on a rich
man's carpet; it is not petty spite; I like to make them feel a touch of the
claws of Necessity. In the Rue Montmartre I thrust open the old
gateway of a poor-looking