章节正文
difficult to guess. He took some plate himself this morning to
the melting-pot, and I saw him at Daddy Gobseck's in the Rue des
Gres. And now, mark what follows--he came back here, and gave a
letter for the Comtesse de Restaud to that noodle of a
Christophe, who showed us the address; there was a receipted bill
inside it. It is clear that it was an urgent matter if the
Countess also went herself to the old money lender. Father Goriot
has financed her handsomely. There is no need to tack a tale
together; the thing is self-evident. So that shows you, sir
student, that all the time your Countess was smiling, dancing,
flirting, swaying her peach-flower crowned head, with her gown
gathered into her hand, her slippers were pinching her, as they
say; she was thinking of her protested bills, or her lover's
protested bills."
"You have made me wild to know the truth," cried Eugene; "I will
go to call on Mme. de Restaud to-morrow."
"Yes," echoed Poiret; "you must go and call on Mme. de Restaud."
"And perhaps you will find Father Goriot there, who will take
payment for the assistance he politely rendered."
Eugene looked disgusted. "Why, then, this Paris of yours is a
slough."
"And an uncommonly queer slough, too," replied Vautrin. "The mud
splashes you as you drive through it in your carriage--you are a
respectable person; you go afoot and are splashed--you are a
scoundrel. You are so unlucky as to walk off with something or
other belonging to somebody else, and they exhibit you as a
curiosity in the Place du Palais-de-Justice; you steal a million,
and you are pointed out in every salon as a model of virtue. And
you pay thirty millions for the police and the courts of justice,
for the maintenance of law and order! A pretty slate of things it
is!"
"What," cried Mme. Vauquer, "has Father Goriot really melted down
his silver posset-dish?"
"There were two turtle-doves on the lid, were there not?" asked
Eugene.
"Yes, that there were."
"Then, was he fond of it?" said Eugene. "He cried while he was
breaking up the cup and plate. I happened to see him by
accident."
"It was dear to him as his own life," answered the widow.
"There! you see how infatuated the old fellow is!" cried Vautrin.
"The woman yonder can coax the soul out of him"
The student went up to his room. Vautrin went out, and a few
moments later Mme. Couture and Victorine drove away in a cab
which Sylvie had called for them. Poiret gave his arm to Mlle.
Michonneau, and they went together to spend the two sunniest
hours of the day in the Jardin des Plantes.
"Well, those two are as good as married," was the portly Sylvie's
comment. "They are going out together to-day for the first time.
They are such a couple of dry sticks that if they happen to
strike against each other they will draw sparks like flint and
steel."
"Keep clear of Mlle. Michonneau's shawl, then, said Mme. Vauquer,
laughing; "it would flare up like tinder."
At four o'clock that evening, when Goriot came in, he saw, by the
light of two smoky lamps, that Victorine's eyes were red. Mme.
Vauquer was listening to the history of the visit made that
morning to M. Taillefer; it had been made in vain. Taillefer was
tired of the annualapplication made by his daughter and her
elderly friend; he gave them a personal interview in order to
arrive at an understanding with them.
"My dear lady," said Mme. Couture, addressing Mme. Vauquer, "just
imagine it; he did not even ask Victorine to sit down, she was
standing the whole time. He said to me quite coolly, without
putting himself in a passion, that we might spare ourselves the
trouble of going there; that the young lady (he would not call
her his daughter) was injuring her cause by importuning him
(IMPORTUNING! once a year, the wretch!); that as Victorine's
mother had nothing when he married her, Victorine ought not to
expect anything from him; in fact, he said the most cruel things,
that made the poor child burst out crying. The little thing threw
herself at her father's feet and spoke up bravely; she said that
she only persevered in her visits for her mother's sake; that she
would obey him without a murmur, but that she begged him to read
her poor dead mother's farewell letter. She took it up and gave
it to him, saying the most beautiful things in the world, most
beautifully expressed; I do not know where she learned them; God
must have put them into her head, for the poor child was inspired
to speak so nicely that it made me cry like a fool to hear her
talk. And what do you think the monster was doing all the time?
Cutting his nails! He took the letter that poor Mme. Taillefer
had soaked with tears, and flung it on to the chimney-piece.
'That is all right,' he said. He held out his hands to raise his
daughter, but she covered them with kisses, and he drew them away
again. Scandalous, isn't it? And his great booby of a son came in
and took no notice of his sister."
"What inhuman wretches they must be!" said Father Goriot.
"And then they both went out of the room," Mme. Couture went on,
without heeding the worthy vermicelli maker's exclamation;
"father and son bowed to me, and asked me to excuse them on
account of urgent business! That is the history of our call.
Well, he has seen his daughter at any rate. How he can refuse to
acknowledge her I cannot think, for they are as alike as two
peas."
The boarders dropped in one after another, interchanging
greetings and empty jokes that certain classes of Parisians
regard as humorous and witty. Dulness is their prevailing
ingredient, and the whole point consists in mispronouncing a word
or a gesture. This kind of argot is always changing. The essence
of the jest consists in some catchword suggested by a political
event, an incident in the police courts, a street song, or a bit
of burlesque at some theatre, and forgotten in a month. Anything
and everything serves to keep up a game of battledore and
shuttlecock with words and ideas. The diorama, a recent
invention, which carried an optical illusion a degree further
than panoramas, had given rise to a mania among art students for
ending every word with RAMA. The Maison Vauquer had caught the
infection from a young artist among the boarders.
"Well, Monsieur-r-r Poiret," said the employe from the Museum,
"how is your health-orama?" Then, without waiting for an answer,
he turned to Mme. Couture and Victorine with a "Ladies, you seem
melancholy."
"Is dinner ready?" cried Horace Bianchon, a medical student, and
a friend of Rastignac's; "my stomach is sinking usque ad
talones."
"There is an uncommon frozerama outside," said Vautrin. "Make
room there, Father Goriot! Confound it, your foot covers the
whole front of the stove."
"Illustrious M. Vautrin," put in Bianchon, "why do you say
frozerama? It is incorrect; it should be frozenrama."
"No, it shouldn't," said the official from the Museum; "frozerama
is right by the same rule that you say 'My feet are froze.' "
"Ah! ah!"
"Here is his Excellency the Marquis de Rastignac, Doctor of the
Law of Contraries," cried Bianchon, seizing Eugene by the throat,
and almost throttling him.
"Hallo there! hallo!"
Mlle. Michonneau came noiselessly in, bowed to the rest of the
party, and took her place beside the three women without saying a
word.
"That old bat always makes me shudder," said Bianchon in a low
voice, indicating Mlle. Michonneau to Vautrin. "I have studied
Gall's system, and I am sure she has the bump of Judas."
"Then you have seen a case before?" said Vautrin.
"Who has not?" answered Bianchon. "Upon my word, that ghastly old
maid looks just like one of the long worms that will gnaw a beam
through, give them time enough."
"That is the way, young man," returned he of the forty years and
the dyed whiskers:
"The rose has lived the life of a rose--
A morning's space."
"Aha! here is a magnificent soupe-au-rama," cried Poiret as
Christophe came in bearing the soup with cautious heed.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Mme. Vauquer; "it is soupe aux
choux."
All the young men roared with laughter.
"Had you there, Poiret!"
"Poir-r-r-rette! she had you there!"
"Score two points to Mamma Vauquer," said Vautrin.
"Did any of you notice the fog this morning?" asked the official.
"It was a frantic fog," said Bianchon, "a fog unparalleled,
doleful, melancholy, sea-green, asthmatical--a Goriot of a fog!"
"A Goriorama," said the art student, "because you couldn't see a
thing in it."
"Hey! Milord Gaoriotte, they air talking about yoo-o-ou!"
Father Goriot, seated at the lower end of the table, close to the
door through which the servant entered, raised his face; he had
smelt at a scrap of bread that lay under his table napkin, an old
trick acquired in his commercialcapacity, that still showed
itself at times.
"Well," Madame Vauquer cried in sharp tones, that rang above the
rattle of spoons and plates and the sound of other voices, "and
is there anything the matter with the bread?"
"Nothing whatever, madame," he answered; "on the contrary, it is
made of the best quality of corn; flour from Etampes."
"How could you tell?" asked Eugene.
"By the color, by the flavor."
"You knew the flavor by the smell, I suppose," said Mme. Vauquer.
"You have grown so economical, you will find out how to live on
the smell of cooking at last."
"Take out a patent for it, then," cried the Museum official; "you
would make a handsome fortune."
"Never mind him," said the artist; "he does that sort of thing to
delude us into thinking that he was a vermicelli maker."
"Your nose is a corn-sampler, it appears?" inquired the official.
"Corn WHAT?" asked Bianchon.
"Corn-el."
"Corn-et."
"Corn-elian."
"Corn-ice."
"Corn-ucopia."
"Corn-crake."
"Corn-cockle."
"Corn-orama."
The eight responses came like a rolling fire from every part of
the room, and the laughter that followed was the more uproarious
because poor Father Goriot stared at the others with a puzzled
look, like a foreignertrying to catch the meaning of words in a
language which he does not understand.
"Corn? . . ." he said, turning to Vautrin, his next neighbor.
"Corn on your foot, old man!" said Vautrin, and he drove Father
Goriot's cap down over his eyes by a blow on the crown.
The poor old man thus suddenly attacked was for a moment too
bewildered to do anything. Christophe carried off his plate,
thinking that he had finished his soup, so that when Goriot had
pushed back his cap from his eyes his spoon encountered the
table. Every one burst out laughing. "You are a disagreeable
joker, sir," said the old man, "and if you take any further
liberties with me----"
"Well, what then, old boy?" Vautrin interrupted.
"Well, then, you shall pay dearly for it some day----"
the melting-pot, and I saw him at Daddy Gobseck's in the Rue des
Gres. And now, mark what follows--he came back here, and gave a
letter for the Comtesse de Restaud to that noodle of a
Christophe, who showed us the address; there was a receipted bill
inside it. It is clear that it was an urgent matter if the
Countess also went herself to the old money lender. Father Goriot
has financed her handsomely. There is no need to tack a tale
together; the thing is self-evident. So that shows you, sir
student, that all the time your Countess was smiling, dancing,
flirting, swaying her peach-flower crowned head, with her gown
gathered into her hand, her slippers were pinching her, as they
say; she was thinking of her protested bills, or her lover's
protested bills."
"You have made me wild to know the truth," cried Eugene; "I will
go to call on Mme. de Restaud to-morrow."
"Yes," echoed Poiret; "you must go and call on Mme. de Restaud."
"And perhaps you will find Father Goriot there, who will take
payment for the assistance he politely rendered."
Eugene looked disgusted. "Why, then, this Paris of yours is a
slough."
"And an uncommonly queer slough, too," replied Vautrin. "The mud
splashes you as you drive through it in your carriage--you are a
respectable person; you go afoot and are splashed--you are a
scoundrel. You are so unlucky as to walk off with something or
other belonging to somebody else, and they exhibit you as a
curiosity in the Place du Palais-de-Justice; you steal a million,
and you are pointed out in every salon as a model of virtue. And
you pay thirty millions for the police and the courts of justice,
for the maintenance of law and order! A pretty slate of things it
is!"
"What," cried Mme. Vauquer, "has Father Goriot really melted down
his silver posset-dish?"
"There were two turtle-doves on the lid, were there not?" asked
Eugene.
"Yes, that there were."
"Then, was he fond of it?" said Eugene. "He cried while he was
breaking up the cup and plate. I happened to see him by
accident."
"It was dear to him as his own life," answered the widow.
"There! you see how infatuated the old fellow is!" cried Vautrin.
"The woman yonder can coax the soul out of him"
The student went up to his room. Vautrin went out, and a few
moments later Mme. Couture and Victorine drove away in a cab
which Sylvie had called for them. Poiret gave his arm to Mlle.
Michonneau, and they went together to spend the two sunniest
hours of the day in the Jardin des Plantes.
"Well, those two are as good as married," was the portly Sylvie's
comment. "They are going out together to-day for the first time.
They are such a couple of dry sticks that if they happen to
strike against each other they will draw sparks like flint and
steel."
"Keep clear of Mlle. Michonneau's shawl, then, said Mme. Vauquer,
laughing; "it would flare up like tinder."
At four o'clock that evening, when Goriot came in, he saw, by the
light of two smoky lamps, that Victorine's eyes were red. Mme.
Vauquer was listening to the history of the visit made that
morning to M. Taillefer; it had been made in vain. Taillefer was
tired of the annualapplication made by his daughter and her
elderly friend; he gave them a personal interview in order to
arrive at an understanding with them.
"My dear lady," said Mme. Couture, addressing Mme. Vauquer, "just
imagine it; he did not even ask Victorine to sit down, she was
standing the whole time. He said to me quite coolly, without
putting himself in a passion, that we might spare ourselves the
trouble of going there; that the young lady (he would not call
her his daughter) was injuring her cause by importuning him
(IMPORTUNING! once a year, the wretch!); that as Victorine's
mother had nothing when he married her, Victorine ought not to
expect anything from him; in fact, he said the most cruel things,
that made the poor child burst out crying. The little thing threw
herself at her father's feet and spoke up bravely; she said that
she only persevered in her visits for her mother's sake; that she
would obey him without a murmur, but that she begged him to read
her poor dead mother's farewell letter. She took it up and gave
it to him, saying the most beautiful things in the world, most
beautifully expressed; I do not know where she learned them; God
must have put them into her head, for the poor child was inspired
to speak so nicely that it made me cry like a fool to hear her
talk. And what do you think the monster was doing all the time?
Cutting his nails! He took the letter that poor Mme. Taillefer
had soaked with tears, and flung it on to the chimney-piece.
'That is all right,' he said. He held out his hands to raise his
daughter, but she covered them with kisses, and he drew them away
again. Scandalous, isn't it? And his great booby of a son came in
and took no notice of his sister."
"What inhuman wretches they must be!" said Father Goriot.
"And then they both went out of the room," Mme. Couture went on,
without heeding the worthy vermicelli maker's exclamation;
"father and son bowed to me, and asked me to excuse them on
account of urgent business! That is the history of our call.
Well, he has seen his daughter at any rate. How he can refuse to
acknowledge her I cannot think, for they are as alike as two
peas."
The boarders dropped in one after another, interchanging
greetings and empty jokes that certain classes of Parisians
regard as humorous and witty. Dulness is their prevailing
ingredient, and the whole point consists in mispronouncing a word
or a gesture. This kind of argot is always changing. The essence
of the jest consists in some catchword suggested by a political
event, an incident in the police courts, a street song, or a bit
of burlesque at some theatre, and forgotten in a month. Anything
and everything serves to keep up a game of battledore and
shuttlecock with words and ideas. The diorama, a recent
invention, which carried an optical illusion a degree further
than panoramas, had given rise to a mania among art students for
ending every word with RAMA. The Maison Vauquer had caught the
infection from a young artist among the boarders.
"Well, Monsieur-r-r Poiret," said the employe from the Museum,
"how is your health-orama?" Then, without waiting for an answer,
he turned to Mme. Couture and Victorine with a "Ladies, you seem
melancholy."
"Is dinner ready?" cried Horace Bianchon, a medical student, and
a friend of Rastignac's; "my stomach is sinking usque ad
talones."
"There is an uncommon frozerama outside," said Vautrin. "Make
room there, Father Goriot! Confound it, your foot covers the
whole front of the stove."
"Illustrious M. Vautrin," put in Bianchon, "why do you say
frozerama? It is incorrect; it should be frozenrama."
"No, it shouldn't," said the official from the Museum; "frozerama
is right by the same rule that you say 'My feet are froze.' "
"Ah! ah!"
"Here is his Excellency the Marquis de Rastignac, Doctor of the
Law of Contraries," cried Bianchon, seizing Eugene by the throat,
and almost throttling him.
"Hallo there! hallo!"
Mlle. Michonneau came noiselessly in, bowed to the rest of the
party, and took her place beside the three women without saying a
word.
"That old bat always makes me shudder," said Bianchon in a low
voice, indicating Mlle. Michonneau to Vautrin. "I have studied
Gall's system, and I am sure she has the bump of Judas."
"Then you have seen a case before?" said Vautrin.
"Who has not?" answered Bianchon. "Upon my word, that ghastly old
maid looks just like one of the long worms that will gnaw a beam
through, give them time enough."
"That is the way, young man," returned he of the forty years and
the dyed whiskers:
"The rose has lived the life of a rose--
A morning's space."
"Aha! here is a magnificent soupe-au-rama," cried Poiret as
Christophe came in bearing the soup with cautious heed.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Mme. Vauquer; "it is soupe aux
choux."
All the young men roared with laughter.
"Had you there, Poiret!"
"Poir-r-r-rette! she had you there!"
"Score two points to Mamma Vauquer," said Vautrin.
"Did any of you notice the fog this morning?" asked the official.
"It was a frantic fog," said Bianchon, "a fog unparalleled,
doleful, melancholy, sea-green, asthmatical--a Goriot of a fog!"
"A Goriorama," said the art student, "because you couldn't see a
thing in it."
"Hey! Milord Gaoriotte, they air talking about yoo-o-ou!"
Father Goriot, seated at the lower end of the table, close to the
door through which the servant entered, raised his face; he had
smelt at a scrap of bread that lay under his table napkin, an old
trick acquired in his commercialcapacity, that still showed
itself at times.
"Well," Madame Vauquer cried in sharp tones, that rang above the
rattle of spoons and plates and the sound of other voices, "and
is there anything the matter with the bread?"
"Nothing whatever, madame," he answered; "on the contrary, it is
made of the best quality of corn; flour from Etampes."
"How could you tell?" asked Eugene.
"By the color, by the flavor."
"You knew the flavor by the smell, I suppose," said Mme. Vauquer.
"You have grown so economical, you will find out how to live on
the smell of cooking at last."
"Take out a patent for it, then," cried the Museum official; "you
would make a handsome fortune."
"Never mind him," said the artist; "he does that sort of thing to
delude us into thinking that he was a vermicelli maker."
"Your nose is a corn-sampler, it appears?" inquired the official.
"Corn WHAT?" asked Bianchon.
"Corn-el."
"Corn-et."
"Corn-elian."
"Corn-ice."
"Corn-ucopia."
"Corn-crake."
"Corn-cockle."
"Corn-orama."
The eight responses came like a rolling fire from every part of
the room, and the laughter that followed was the more uproarious
because poor Father Goriot stared at the others with a puzzled
look, like a foreignertrying to catch the meaning of words in a
language which he does not understand.
"Corn? . . ." he said, turning to Vautrin, his next neighbor.
"Corn on your foot, old man!" said Vautrin, and he drove Father
Goriot's cap down over his eyes by a blow on the crown.
The poor old man thus suddenly attacked was for a moment too
bewildered to do anything. Christophe carried off his plate,
thinking that he had finished his soup, so that when Goriot had
pushed back his cap from his eyes his spoon encountered the
table. Every one burst out laughing. "You are a disagreeable
joker, sir," said the old man, "and if you take any further
liberties with me----"
"Well, what then, old boy?" Vautrin interrupted.
"Well, then, you shall pay dearly for it some day----"
- assistance [ə´sistəns]
n.协作；援助；帮助 (初中英语单词) - exhibit [ig´zibit] vt.展出 n.展览品 (初中英语单词)
- pointed [´pɔintid] a.尖(锐)的；中肯的 (初中英语单词)
- virtue [´və:tʃu:] n.美德；贞操；长处 (初中英语单词)
- annual [´ænjuəl] a.每年的 n.年刊 (初中英语单词)
- application [,æpli´keiʃən] n.申请；申请书；应用 (初中英语单词)
- interview [´intəvju:] n.&vt.接见；会见；交谈 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- farewell [feə´wel] int.再见 n.&a.告别 (初中英语单词)
- nicely [naisli] ad.恰好地；谨慎地 (初中英语单词)
- monster [´mɔnstə] n.怪物 a.大得异常的 (初中英语单词)
- worthy [´wə:ði] a.有价值的；值得的 (初中英语单词)
- gesture [´dʒestʃə] n.手势 v.打手势 (初中英语单词)
- incident [´insidənt] n.小事件；事变 (初中英语单词)
- employe [,emplɔi´i:] n.雇员，雇工，店员 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- medical [´medikəl] a.医学的；医疗的 (初中英语单词)
- stomach [´stʌmək] n.胃；胃口，食欲 (初中英语单词)
- system [´sistəm] n.系统，体系，制度 (初中英语单词)
- magnificent [mæg´nifisənt] a.壮丽的；豪华的 (初中英语单词)
- pardon [´pɑ:dən] n.&vt.原谅；饶恕；赦免 (初中英语单词)
- commercial [kə´mə:ʃəl] a.商业的 n.广告节目 (初中英语单词)
- capacity [kə´pæsiti] n.容量；智能；能力 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- contrary [´kɔntrəri] a.相反的 n.相反 (初中英语单词)
- flavor [´fleivə] n.滋味 vt.给....调味 (初中英语单词)
- patent [´peitənt, ´pæ-] a.专利的 n.专利品 (初中英语单词)
- laughter [´lɑ:ftə] n.笑，笑声 (初中英语单词)
- foreigner [´fɔrinə] n.外国人 (初中英语单词)
- politely [pə´laitli] ad.温和地；文雅地 (高中英语单词)
- maintenance [´meintinəns] n.保持；主张；保养 (高中英语单词)
- bravely [´breivli] ad.勇敢地；毅然 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- illusion [i´lu:ʒən] n.幻觉；幻影；错觉 (高中英语单词)
- confound [kən´faund] v.混淆；使惊惶 (高中英语单词)
- marquis [´mɑ:kwis] n.侯爵 (高中英语单词)
- ghastly [´gɑ:stli] a.苍白的；可怕的 (高中英语单词)
- bearing [´beəriŋ] n.举止；忍耐；关系 (高中英语单词)
- frantic [´fræntik] a.发狂的；急忙的 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- napkin [´næpkin] n.餐巾；手帕；尿布 (高中英语单词)
- urgent [´ə:dʒənt] a.急迫的，紧急的 (英语四级单词)
- unlucky [ʌn´lʌki] a.倒霉的，不幸的 (英语四级单词)
- coolly [´ku:li] ad.冷(静地)，沉着地 (英语四级单词)
- humorous [´hju:mərəs] a.富于幽默的，诙谐的 (英语四级单词)
- uncommon [ʌn´kɔmən] a.非常的，非凡的，罕见的 (英语四级单词)
- noiselessly [´nɔizlisli] ad.静静地，轻轻地 (英语四级单词)
- cautious [´kɔ:ʃəs] a.小心的；谨慎的 (英语四级单词)
- economical [,i:kə´nɔmikəl] a.节俭的；经济的 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- dearly [´diəli] ad.深深地(爱等)；昂贵 (英语四级单词)
- countess [´kauntis] n.伯爵夫人；女伯爵 (英语六级单词)
- burlesque [bə:´lesk] n.&a.滑稽戏(的) (英语六级单词)
- incorrect [,inkə´rekt] a.不正确的，错误的 (英语六级单词)
- excellency [´eksələnsi] n.阁下 (英语六级单词)
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