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Father Goriot-Part16_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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needed for your studies. Ah! my dear Eugene, believe your mother,

crooked ways cannot lead to great ends. Patience and endurance



are the two qualities most needed in your position. I am not

scolding you; I do not want any tinge of bitterness to spoil our



offering. I am only talking like a mother whose trust in you is

as great as her foresight for you. You know the steps that you



must take, and I, for my part, know the purity of heart, and how

good your intentions are; so I can say to you without a doubt,



'Go forward, beloved!' If I tremble, it is because I am a mother,

but my prayers and blessings will be with you at every step. Be



very careful, dear boy. You must have a man's prudence, for it

lies with you to shape the destinies of five others who are dear



to you, and must look to you. Yes, our fortunes depend upon you,

and your success is ours. We all pray to God to be with you in



all that you do. Your aunt Marcillac has been most generous

beyond words in this matter; she saw at once how it was, even



down to your gloves. 'But I have a weakness for the eldest!' she

said gaily. You must love your aunt very much, dear Eugene. I



shall wait till you have succeeded before telling you all that

she has done for you, or her money would burn your fingers. You,



who are young, do not know what it is to part with something that

is a piece of your past! But what would we not sacrifice for your



sakes? Your aunt says that I am to send you a kiss on the

forehead from her, and that kiss is to bring you luck again and



again, she says. She would have written you herself, the dear

kind-hearted woman, but she is troubled with the gout in her



fingers just now. Your father is very well. The vintage of 1819

has turned out better than we expected. Good-bye, dear boy; I



will say nothing about your sisters, because Laure is writing to

you, and I must let her have the pleasure of giving you all the



home news. Heaven send that you may succeed! Oh! yes, dear

Eugene, you must succeed. I have come, through you, to a



knowledge of a pain so sharp that I do not think I could endure

it a second time. I have come to know what it is to be poor, and



to long for money for my children's sake. There, good-bye! Do not

leave us for long without news of you; and here, at the last,



take a kiss from your mother."

By the time Eugene had finished the letter he was in tears. He



thought of Father Goriot crushing his silver keepsake into a

shapeless mass before he sold it to meet his daughter's bill of



exchange.

"Your mother has broken up her jewels for you," he said to



himself; "your aunt shed tears over those relics of hers before

she sold them for your sake. What right have you to heap



execrations on Anastasie? You have followed her example; you have

selfishly sacrificed others to your own future, and she



sacrifices her father to her lover; and of you two, which is the

worse?"



He was ready to renounce his attempts; he could not bear to take

that money. The fires of remorse burned in his heart, and gave



him intolerable pain, the generous secret remorse which men

seldom take into account when they sit in judgment upon their



fellow-men; but perhaps the angels in heaven, beholding it,

pardon the criminal whom our justice condemns. Rastignac opened



his sister's letter; its simplicity and kindness revived his

heart.



"Your letter came just at the right time, dear brother. Agathe

and I had thought of so many different ways of spending our



money, that we did not know what to buy with it; and now you have

come in, and, like the servant who upset all the watches that



belonged to the King of Spain, you have restored harmony; for,

really and truly, we did not know which of all the things we



wanted we wanted most, and we were always quarreling about it,

never thinking, dear Eugene, of a way of spending our money which



would satisfy us completely. Agathe jumped for you. Indeed, we

have been like two mad things all day, 'to such a prodigious



degree' (as aunt would say), that mother said, with her severe

expression, 'Whatever can be the matter with you,



mesdemoiselles?' I think if we had been scolded a little, we

should have been still better pleased. A woman ought to be very



glad to suffer for one she loves! I, however, in my inmost soul,




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