turned his dull eyes upon Eugene, looked at him attentively, and
did not recognize him. It was more than the student could bear;
the tears came into his eyes.
"Bianchon, ought we to have the curtains put up in the windows?"
"No, the temperature and the light do not
affect him now. It
would be a good thing for him if he felt heat or cold; but we
must have a fire in any case to make tisanes and heat the other
things. I will send round a few sticks; they will last till we
can have in some
firewood. I burned all the bark fuel you had
left, as well as his, poor man,
yesterday and during the night.
The place is so damp that the water stood in drops on the walls;
I could hardly get the room dry. Christophe came in and swept the
floor, but the place is like a
stable; I had to burn juniper, the
smell was something horrible.
"MON DIEU!" said Rastignac. "To think of those daughters of his."
"One moment, if he asks for something to drink, give him this,"
said the house student, pointing to a large white jar. "If he
begins to groan, and the belly feels hot and hard to the touch,
you know what to do; get Christophe to help you. If he should
happen to grow much excited, and begin to talk a good deal and
even to
ramble in his talk, do not be alarmed. It would not be a
bad
symptom. But send Christophe to the Hospice Cochin. Our
doctor, my chum, or I will come and apply moxas. We had a great
consultation this morning while you were asleep. A
surgeon, a
pupil of Gall's came, and our house
surgeon, and the head
physician from the Hotel-Dieu. Those gentlemen considered that
the
symptoms were very
unusual and interesting; the case must be
carefully watched, for it throws a light on several obscure and
rather important
scientific problems. One of the authorities says
that if there is more
pressure of serum on one or other portion
of the brain, it should
affect his
mental capacities in such and
such directions. So if he should talk, notice very carefully what
kind of ideas his mind seems to run on; whether memory, or
penetration, or the
reasoning faculties are exercised; whether
sentiments or practical questions fill his thoughts; whether he
makes forecasts or dwells on the past; in fact; you must be
prepared to give an
accurate report of him. It is quite likely
that the extravasation fills the whole brain, in which case he
will die in the imbecile state in which he is lying now. You
cannot tell anything about these
mysteriousnervous diseases.
Suppose the crash came here," said Bianchon,
touching the back of
the head, "very strange things have been known to happen; the
brain sometimes
partially recovers, and death is delayed. Or the
congested matter may pass out of the brain
altogether through
channels which can only be determined by a post-mortem
examination. There is an old man at the Hospital for Incurables,
an imbecile patient, in his case the effusion has followed the
direction of the
spinal cord; he suffers
horrid agonies, but he
lives."
"Did they enjoy themselves?" It was Father Goriot who spoke. He
had recognized Eugene.
"Oh! he thinks of nothing but his daughters," said Bianchon.
"Scores of times last night he said to me, 'They are dancing now!
She has her dress.' He called them by their names. He made me
cry, the devil take it,
calling with that tone in his voice, for
'Delphine! my little Delphine! and Nasie!' Upon my word," said
the
medical student, "it was enough to make any one burst out
crying."
"Delphine," said the old man, "she is there, isn't she? I knew
she was there," and his eyes sought the door.
"I am going down now to tell Sylvie to get the poultices ready,"
said Bianchon. "They ought to go on at once."
Rastignac was left alone with the old man. He sat at the foot of
the bed, and gazed at the face before him, so
horribly changed
that it was
shocking to see.
"Noble natures cannot dwell in this world," he said; "Mme de
Beauseant has fled from it, and there he lies dying. What place
indeed is there in the
shallow petty
frivolous thing called
society for noble thoughts and feelings?"
Pictures of
yesterday's ball rose up in his memory, in strange
contrast to the deathbed before him. Bianchon suddenly appeared.
"I say, Eugene, I have just seen our head
surgeon at the
hospital, and I ran all the way back here. If the old man shows
any signs of reason, if he begins to talk, cover him with a
mustard poultice from the neck to the base of the spine, and send
round for us."
"Dear Bianchon," exclaimed Eugene.
"Oh! it is an interesting case from a
scientific point of view,"
said the
medical student, with all the
enthusiasm of a neophyte.
"So!" said Eugene. "Am I really the only one who cares for the
poor old man for his own sake?"
"You would not have said so if you had seen me this morning,"
returned Bianchon, who did not take offence at this speech.
"Doctors who have seen a good deal of practice never see anything
but the disease, but, my dear fellow, I can see the patient
still."
He went. Eugene was left alone with the old man, and with an
apprehension of a
crisis that set in, in fact, before very long.
"Ah! dear boy, is that you?" said Father Goriot, recognizing
Eugene.
"Do you feel better?" asked the law student,
taking his hand.
"Yes. My head felt as if it were being screwed up in a vise, but
now it is set free again. Did you see my girls? They will be here
directly; as soon as they know that I am ill they will hurry here
at once; they used to take such care of me in the Rue de la
Jussienne! Great Heavens! if only my room was fit for them to
come into! There has been a young man here, who has burned up all
my bark fuel."
"I can hear Christophe coming upstairs," Eugene answered. "He is
bringing up some
firewood that that young man has sent you."
"Good, but how am I to pay for the wood. I have not a penny left,
dear boy. I have given everything, everything. I am a pauper now.
Well, at least the golden gown was grand, was it not? (Ah! what
pain this is!) Thanks, Christophe! God will
reward you, my boy; I
have nothing left now."
Eugene went over to Christophe and whispered in the man's ear, "I
will pay you well, and Sylvie too, for your trouble."
"My daughters told you that they were coming, didn't they,
Christophe? Go again to them, and I will give you five francs.
Tell them that I am not feeling well, that I should like to kiss
them both and see them once again before I die. Tell them that,
but don't alarm them more than you can help."
Rastignac signed to Christophe to go, and the man went.
"They will come before long," the old man went on. "I know them
so well. My tender-hearted Delphine! If I am going to die, she
will feel it so much! And so will Nasie. I do not want to die;
they will cry if I die; and if I die, dear Eugene, I shall not
see them any more. It will be very
dreary there where I am going.
For a father it is hell to be without your children; I have
served my
apprenticeship already since they married. My heaven
was in the Rue de la Jussienne. Eugene, do you think that if I go
to heaven I can come back to earth, and be near them in spirit? I
have heard some such things said. It is true? It is as if I could
see them at this moment as they used to be when we all lived in
the Rue de la Jussienne. They used to come
downstairs of a
morning. 'Good-morning, papa!' they used to say, and I would take
them on my knees; we had all sorts of little games of play
together, and they had such pretty coaxing ways. We always had
breakfast together, too, every morning, and they had dinner with
me--in fact, I was a father then. I enjoyed my children. They did
not think for themselves so long as they lived in the Rue de la
Jussienne; they knew nothing of the world; they loved me with all
their hearts. MON DIEU! why could they not always be little
girls? (Oh! my head! this racking pain in my head!) Ah! ah!
forgive me, children, this pain is
fearful; it must be agony
indeed, for you have used me to
endure pain. MON DIEU! if only I
held their hands in mine, I should not feel it at all.--Do you
think that they are on the way? Christophe is so
stupid; I ought
to have gone myself. HE will see them. But you went to the ball
yesterday; just tell me how they looked. They did not know that I
was ill, did they, or they would not have been dancing, poor
little things? Oh! I must not be ill any longer. They stand too
much in need of me; their fortunes are in danger. And such
husbands as they are bound to! I must get well! (Oh! what pain
this is! what pain this is! . . . ah! ah!)--I must get well, you
see; for they MUST have money, and I know how to set about making
some. I will go to Odessa and manufacture
starch there. I am an
old hand, I will make millions. (Oh! this is agony!)"
Goriot was silent for a moment; it seemed to require his whole
strength to
endure the pain.
"If they were here, I should not
complain," he said. "So why
should I
complain now?"
He seemed to grow
drowsy with
exhaustion, and lay quietly for a
long time. Christophe came back; and Rastignac, thinking that
Goriot was asleep, allowed the man to give his story aloud.
"First of all, sir, I went to Madame la Comtesse," he said; "but
she and her husband were so busy that I couldn't get to speak to
her. When I insisted that I must see her, M. de Restaud came out
to me himself, and went on like this: 'M. Goriot is dying, is he?
Very well, it is the best thing he can do. I want Mme. de Restaud
to
transact some important business, when it is all finished she
can go.' The gentleman looked angry, I thought. I was just going
away when Mme. de Restaud came out into an ante-chamber through a
door that I did not notice, and said, 'Christophe, tell my father
that my husband wants me to discuss some matters with him, and I
cannot leave the house, the life or death of my children is at
stake; but as soon as it is over, I will come.' As for Madame la
Baronne, that is another story! I could not speak to her either,
and I did not even see her. Her waiting-woman said, 'Ah yes, but
madame only came back from a ball at a quarter to five this
morning; she is asleep now, and if I wake her before mid-day she
will be cross. As soon as she rings, I will go and tell her that
her father is worse. It will be time enough then to tell her bad
news!' I begged and I prayed, but, there! it was no good. Then I
asked for M. le Baron, but he was out."
"To think that neither of his daughters should come!" exclaimed
Rastignac. "I will write to them both."
"Neither of them!" cried the old man, sitting
upright in bed.
"They are busy, they are asleep, they will not come! I knew that
they would not. Not until you are dying do you know your
children. . . . Oh! my friend, do not marry; do not have
children! You give them life; they give you your deathblow. You
bring them into the world, and they send you out of it. No, they
will not come. I have known that these ten years. Sometimes I
have told myself so, but I did not dare to believe it."
The tears gathered and stood without overflowing the red sockets.
"Ah! if I were rich still, if I had kept my money, if I had not
given all to them, they would be with me now; they would fawn on
me and cover my cheeks with their kisses! I should be living in a
great
mansion; I should have grand apartments and servants and a
fire in my room; and THEY would be about me all in tears, and
their husbands and their children. I should have had all that;
now--I have nothing. Money brings everything to you; even your
daughters. My money. Oh! where is my money? If I had plenty of
money to leave behind me, they would nurse me and tend me; I
should hear their voices, I should see their faces. Ah, God! who
knows? They both of them have hearts of stone. I loved them too
much; it was not likely that they should love me. A father ought
always to be rich; he ought to keep his children well in hand,
like
unruly horses. I have gone down on my knees to them.
Wretches! this is the crowning act that brings the last ten years