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Gobseck-Part10_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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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 professionalcareer 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




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