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A Daughter of Eve-Part16_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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fortune.'" (And again he laughed like a merry child.) "But, ah!" he

said, changing to melancholy, "you come for the music, and not for a



poor old man like me. Yes, I know that; but come for what you will, I

am yours, you know, body and soul and all I have!"



This was said in his unspeakable German accent, a rendition of which

we spare the reader.



He took the countess's hand, kissed it and left a tear there, for the

worthy soul was always on the morrow of her benefit. Then he seized a



bit of chalk, jumped on a chair in front of the piano, and wrote upon

the wall in big letters, with the rapidity of a young man, "February



17th, 1835." This pretty, artless action, done in such a passion of

gratitude, touched the countess to tears.



"My sister will come too," she said.

"The other, too! When? when? God grant it be before I die!"



"She will come to thank you for a great service I am now here to ask

of you."



"Quick! quick! tell me what it is," cried Schmucke. "What must I do?

go to the devil?"



"Nothing more than write the words 'Accepted for ten thousand francs,'

and sign your name on each of these papers," she said, taking from her



muff four notes prepared for her by Nathan.

"Hey! that's soon done," replied the German, with the docility of a



lamb; "only I'm sure I don't know where my pens and ink are-- Get away

from there, Meinherr Mirr!" he cried to the cat, which looked



composedly at him. "That's my cat," he said, showing him to the

countess. "That's the poor animal that lives with poor Schmucke.



Hasn't he fine fur?"

"Yes," said the countess.



"Will you have him?" he cried.

"How can you think of such a thing?" she answered. "Why, he's your



friend!"

The cat, who hid the inkstand behind him, divined that Schmucke wanted



it, and jumped to the bed.

"He's as mischievous as a monkey," said Schmucke. "I call him Mirr in



honor of our great Hoffman of Berlin, whom I knew well."

The good man signed the papers with the innocence of a child who does



what his mother orders without question, so sure is he that all is

right. He was thinking much more of presenting the cat to the countess



than of the papers by which his liberty might be, according to the

laws relating to foreigners, forever sacrificed.



"You assure me that these little papers with the stamps on them--"

"Don't be in the least uneasy," said the countess.



"I am not uneasy," he said, hastily. "I only meant to ask if these

little papers will give pleasure to Madame du Tillet."



"Oh, yes," she said, "you are doing her a service, as if you were her

father."



"I am happy, indeed, to be of any good to her-- Come and listen to my

music!" and leaving the papers on the table, he jumped to his piano.



The hands of this angel ran along the yellowing keys, his glance was

rising to heaven, regardless of the roof; already the air of some



blessed climate permeated the room and the soul of the old musician;

but the countess did not allow the artless interpreter of things



celestial to make the strings and the worn wood speak, like

Raffaelle's Saint Cecilia, to the listening angels. She quickly



slipped the notes into her muff and recalled her radiant master from

the ethereal spheres to which he soared, by laying her hand upon his



shoulder.

"My good Schmucke--" she said.



"Going already?" he cried. "Ah! why did you come?"

He did not murmur, but he sat up like a faithful dog who listens to



his mistress.

"My good Schmucke," she repeated, "this is a matter of life and death;



minutes can save tears, perhaps blood."

"Always the same!" he said. "Go, angel! dry the tears of others. Your



poor Schmucke thinks more of your visit than of your gifts."

"But we must see each other often," she said. "You must come and dine



and play to me every Sunday, or we shall quarrel. Remember, I shall

expect you next Sunday."



"Really and truly?"

"Yes, I entreat you; and my sister will want you, too, for another



day."

"Then my happiness will be complete," he said; "for I only see you now



in the Champs Elysees as you pass in your carriage, and that is very




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