Gobseck

“’You have filled my life to the full with trouble, and now you are trying to vex my deathbed, to warp my boy’s mind, and make a depraved man of him!’ he cried, hoarsely.

“The Countess flung herself at his feet.  His face, working with the last emotions of life, was almost hideous to see.

“‘Mercy! mercy!’ she cried aloud, shedding a torrent of tears.

“‘Have you shown me any pity?’ he asked.  ’I allowed you to squander your own money, and now do you mean to squander my fortune, too, and ruin my son?’

“‘Ah! well, yes, have no pity for me, be merciless to me!’ she cried.  ’But the children?  Condemn your widow to live in a convent; I will obey you; I will do anything, anything that you bid me, to expiate the wrong I have done you, if that so the children may be happy!  The children!  Oh, the children!’

“‘I have only one child,’ said the Count, stretching out a wasted arm, in his despair, towards his son.

“‘Pardon a penitent woman, a penitent woman! . . .’ wailed the Countess, her arms about her husband’s damp feet.  She could not speak for sobbing; vague, incoherent sounds broke from her parched throat.

“‘You dare to talk of penitence after all that you said to Ernest!’ exclaimed the dying man, shaking off the Countess, who lay groveling over his feet.—­’You turn me to ice!’ he added, and there was something appalling in the indifference with which he uttered the words.  ’You have been a bad daughter; you have been a bad wife; you will be a bad mother.’

“The wretched woman fainted away.  The dying man reached his bed and lay down again, and a few hours later sank into unconsciousness.  The priests came and administered the sacraments.

“At midnight he died; the scene that morning had exhausted his remaining strength, and on the stroke of midnight I arrived with Daddy Gobseck.  The house was in confusion, and under cover of it we walked up into the little salon adjoining the death-chamber.  The three children were there in tears, with two priests, who had come to watch with the dead.  Ernest came over to me, and said that his mother desired to be alone in the Count’s room.

“‘Do not go in,’ he said; and I admired the child for his tone and gesture; ‘she is praying there.’

“Gobseck began to laugh that soundless laugh of his, but I felt too much touched by the feeling in Ernest’s little face to join in the miser’s sardonic amusement.  When Ernest saw that we moved towards the door, he planted himself in front of it, crying out, ’Mamma, here are some gentlemen in black who want to see you!’

“Gobseck lifted Ernest out of the way as if the child had been a feather, and opened the door.

“What a scene it was that met our eyes!  The room was in frightful disorder; clothes and papers and rags lay tossed about in a confusion horrible to see in the presence of Death; and there, in the midst, stood the Countess in disheveled despair, unable to utter a word, her eyes glittering.  The Count had scarcely breathed his last before his wife came in and forced open the drawers and the desk; the carpet was strewn with litter, some of the furniture and boxes were broken, the signs of violence could be seen everywhere.  But if her search had at first proved fruitless, there was that in her excitement and attitude which led me to believe that she had found the mysterious documents at last.  I glanced at the bed, and professional instinct told me all that had happened.  The mattress had been flung contemptuously down by the bedside, and across it, face downwards, lay the body of the Count, like one of the paper envelopes that strewed the carpet—­he too was nothing now but an envelope.  There was something grotesquely horrible in the attitude of the stiffening rigid limbs.

“The dying man must have hidden the counter-deed under his pillow to keep it safe so long as life should last; and his wife must have guessed his thought; indeed, it might be read plainly in his last dying gesture, in the convulsive clutch of his claw-like hands.  The pillow had been flung to the floor at the foot of the bed; I could see the print of her heel upon it.  At her feet lay a paper with the Count’s arms on the seals; I snatched it up, and saw that it was addressed to me.  I looked steadily at the Countess with the pitiless clear-sightedness of an examining magistrate confronting a guilty creature.  The contents were blazing in the grate; she had flung them on the fire at the sound of our approach, imagining, from a first hasty glance at the provisions which I had suggested for her children, that she was destroying a will which disinherited them.  A tormented conscience and involuntary horror of the deed which she had done had taken away all power of reflection.  She had been caught in the act, and possibly the scaffold was rising before her eyes, and she already felt the felon’s branding iron.

“There she stood gasping for breath, waiting for us to speak, staring at us with haggard eyes.

“I went across to the grate and pulled out an unburned fragment.  ’Ah, madame!’ I exclaimed, ’you have ruined your children!  Those papers were their titles to their property.’

“Her mouth twitched, she looked as if she were threatened by a paralytic seizure.

“‘Eh! eh!’ cried Gobseck; the harsh, shrill tone grated upon our ears like the sound of a brass candlestick scratching a marble surface.

“There was a pause, then the old man turned to me and said quietly: 

“’Do you intend Mme. la Comtesse to suppose that I am not the rightful owner of the property sold to me by her late husband?  This house belongs to me now.’

“A sudden blow on the head from a bludgeon would have given me less pain and astonishment.  The Countess saw the look of hesitation in my face.

“‘Monsieur,’ she cried, ‘Monsieur!’ She could find no other words.

“‘You are a trustee, are you not?’ I asked.

“‘That is possible.’

“‘Then do you mean to take advantage of this crime of hers?’

“‘Precisely.’

“I went at that, leaving the Countess sitting by her husband’s bedside, shedding hot tears.  Gobseck followed me.  Outside in the street I separated from him, but he came after me, flung me one of those searching glances with which he probed men’s minds, and said in the husky flute-tones, pitched in a shriller key: 

“‘Do you take it upon yourself to judge me?’

“From that time forward we saw little of each other.  Gobseck let the Count’s mansion on lease; he spent the summers on the country estates.  He was a lord of the manor in earnest, putting up farm buildings, repairing mills and roadways, and planting timber.  I came across him one day in a walk in the Jardin des Tuileries.

“‘The Countess is behaving like a heroine,’ said I; ’she gives herself up entirely to the children’s education; she is giving them a perfect bringing up.  The oldest boy is a charming young fellow——­’

“‘That is possible.’

“‘But ought you not to help Ernest?’ I suggested.

“‘Help him!’ cried Gobseck.  ’Not I. Adversity is the greatest of all teachers; adversity teaches us to know the value of money and the worth of men and women.  Let him set sail on the seas of Paris; when he is a qualified pilot, we will give him a ship to steer.’

“I left him without seeking to explain the meaning of his words.

“M. de Restaud’s mother has prejudiced him against me, and he is very far from taking me as his legal adviser; still, I went to see Gobseck last week to tell him about Ernest’s love for Mlle. Camille, and pressed him to carry out his contract, since that young Restaud is just of age.

“I found the old bill-discounter had been kept to his bed for a long time by the complaint of which he was to die.  He put me off, saying that he would give the matter his attention when he could get up again and see after his business; his idea being no doubt that he would not give up any of his possessions so long as the breath was in him; no other reason could be found for his shuffling answer.  He seemed to me to be much worse than he at all suspected.  I stayed with him long enough to discern the progress of a passion which age had converted into a sort of craze.  He wanted to be alone in the house, and had taken the rooms one by one as they fell vacant.  In his own room he had changed nothing; the furniture which I knew so well sixteen years ago looked the same as ever; it might have been kept under a glass case.  Gobseck’s faithful old portress, with her husband, a pensioner, who sat in the entry while she was upstairs, was still his housekeeper and charwoman, and now in addition his sick-nurse.  In spite of his feebleness, Gobseck saw his clients himself as heretofore, and received sums of money; his affairs had been so simplified, that he only needed to send his pensioner out now and again on an errand, and could carry on business in his bed.

“After the treaty, by which France recognized the Haytian Republic, Gobseck was one of the members of the commission appointed to liquidate claims and assess repayments due by Hayti; his special knowledge of old fortunes in San Domingo, and the planters and their heirs and assigns to whom the indemnities were due, had led to his nomination.  Gobseck’s peculiar genius had then devised an agency for discounting the planters’ claims on the government.  The business was carried on under the names of Werbrust and Gigonnet, with whom he shared the spoil without disbursements, for his knowledge was accepted instead of capital.  The agency was a sort of distillery, in which money was extracted from doubtful claims, and the claims of those who knew no better, or had no confidence in the government.  As a liquidator, Gobseck could make terms with the large landed proprietors; and these, either to gain a higher percentage of their claims, or to ensure prompt settlements, would send him presents in proportion to their means.  In this way presents came to be a kind of percentage upon sums too large to pass through his control, while the agency bought up cheaply the small and dubious claims, or the claims of those persons who preferred a little ready money to a deferred and somewhat hazy repayment by the Republic.  Gobseck was the insatiable boa constrictor of the great business.  Every morning he received his tribute, eyeing it like a Nabob’s prime minister, as he considers whether he will sign a pardon.  Gobseck would take anything, from the present of game sent him by some poor devil or the pound’s weight of wax candles from devout folk, to the rich man’s plate and the speculator’s gold snuff-box.  Nobody knew what became of the presents sent to the old money-lender.  Everything went in, but nothing came out.

“‘On the word of an honest woman,’ said the portress, an old acquaintance of mine, ’I believe he swallows it all and is none the fatter for it; he is as thin and dried up as the cuckoo in the clock.’

“At length, last Monday, Gobseck sent his pensioner for me.  The man came up to my private office.

“‘Be quick and come, M. Derville,’ said he, ’the governor is just going to hand in his checks; he has grown as yellow as a lemon; he is fidgeting to speak with you; death has fair hold of him; the rattle is working in his throat.’

“When I entered Gobseck’s room, I found the dying man kneeling before the grate.  If there was no fire on the hearth, there was at any rate a monstrous heap of ashes.  He had dragged himself out of bed, but his strength had failed him, and he could neither go back nor find the voice to complain.

“‘You felt cold, old friend,’ I said, as I helped him back to his bed; ‘how can you do without a fire?’

“‘I am not cold at all,’ he said.  ’No fire here! no fire!  I am going, I know not where, lad,’ he went on, glancing at me with blank, lightless eyes, ‘but I am going away from this.—­I have carpology,’ said he (the use of the technical term showing how clear and accurate his mental processes were even now).  ’I thought the room was full of live gold, and I got up to catch some of it.—­To whom will all mine go, I wonder?  Not to the crown; I have left a will, look for it, Grotius. La belle Hollandaise had a daughter; I once saw the girl somewhere or other, in the Rue Vivienne, one evening.  They call her “La Torpille,” I believe; she is as pretty as pretty can be; look her up, Grotius.  You are my executor; take what you like; help yourself.  There are Strasburg pies, there, and bags of coffee, and sugar, and gold spoons.  Give the Odiot service to your wife.  But who is to have the diamonds?  Are you going to take them, lad?  There is snuff too —­sell it at Hamburg, tobaccos are worth half as much again at Hamburg.  All sorts of things I have in fact, and now I must go and leave them all.—­Come, Papa Gobseck, no weakness, be yourself!’

“He raised himself in bed, the lines of his face standing out as sharply against the pillow as if the profile had been cast in bronze; he stretched out a lean arm and bony hand along the coverlet and clutched it, as if so he would fain keep his hold on life, then he gazed hard at the grate, cold as his own metallic eyes, and died in full consciousness of death.  To us—­the portress, the old pensioner, and myself—­he looked like one of the old Romans standing behind the Consuls in Lethiere’s picture of the Death of the Sons of Brutus.

“‘He was a good-plucked one, the old Lascar!’ said the pensioner in his soldierly fashion.

“But as for me, the dying man’s fantastical enumeration of his riches still sounding in my ears, and my eyes, following the direction of his, rested on that heap of ashes.  It struck me that it was very large.  I took the tongs, and as soon as I stirred the cinders, I felt the metal underneath, a mass of gold and silver coins, receipts taken during his illness, doubtless, after he grew too feeble to lock the money up, and could trust no one to take it to the bank for him.

“‘Run for the justice of the peace,’ said I, turning to the old pensioner, ‘so that everything can be sealed here at once.’

“Gobseck’s last words and the old portress’ remarks had struck me.  I took the keys of the rooms on the first and second floor to make a visitation.  The first door that I opened revealed the meaning of the phrases which I took for mad ravings; and I saw the length to which covetousness goes when it survives only as an illogical instinct, the last stage of greed of which you find so many examples among misers in country towns.

“In the room next to the one in which Gobseck had died, a quantity of eatables of all kinds were stored—­putrid pies, mouldy fish, nay, even shell-fish, the stench almost choked me.  Maggots and insects swarmed.  These comparatively recent presents were put down, pell-mell, among chests of tea, bags of coffee, and packing-cases of every shape.  A silver soup tureen on the chimney-piece was full of advices of the arrival of goods consigned to his order at Havre, bales of cotton, hogsheads of sugar, barrels of rum, coffees, indigo, tobaccos, a perfect bazaar of colonial produce.  The room itself was crammed with furniture, and silver-plate, and lamps, and vases, and pictures; there were books, and curiosities, and fine engravings lying rolled up, unframed.  Perhaps these were not all presents, and some part of this vast quantity of stuff had been deposited with him in the shape of pledges, and had been left on his hands in default of payment.  I noticed jewel-cases, with ciphers and armorial bearings stamped upon them, and sets of fine table-linen, and weapons of price; but none of the things were docketed.  I opened a book which seemed to be misplaced, and found a thousand-franc note in it.  I promised myself that I would go through everything thoroughly; I would try the ceilings, and floors, and walls, and cornices to discover all the gold, hoarded with such passionate greed by a Dutch miser worthy of a Rembrandt’s brush.  In all the course of my professional career I have never seen such impressive signs of the eccentricity of avarice.

“I went back to his room, and found an explanation of this chaos and accumulation of riches in a pile of letters lying under the paper-weights on his desk—­Gobseck’s correspondence with the various dealers to whom doubtless he usually sold his presents.  These persons had, perhaps, fallen victims to Gobseck’s cleverness, or Gobseck may have wanted fancy prices for his goods; at any rate, every bargain hung in suspense.  He had not disposed of the eatables to Chevet, because Chevet would only take them of him at a loss of thirty per cent.  Gobseck haggled for a few francs between the prices, and while they wrangled the goods became unsalable.  Again, Gobseck had refused free delivery of his silver-plate, and declined to guarantee the weights of his coffees.  There had been a dispute over each article, the first indication in Gobseck of the childishness and incomprehensible obstinacy of age, a condition of mind reached at last by all men in whom a strong passion survives the intellect.

“I said to myself, as he had said, ‘To whom will all these riches go?’ . . .  And then I think of the grotesque information he gave me as to the present address of his heiress, I foresee that it will be my duty to search all the houses of ill-fame in Paris to pour out an immense fortune on some worthless jade.  But, in the first place, know this —­that in a few days time Ernest de Restaud will come into a fortune to which his title is unquestionable, a fortune which will put him in a position to marry Mlle. Camille, even after adequate provision has been made for his mother the Comtesse de Restaud and his sister and brother.”