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Melmoth Reconciled-Part1_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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atmosphere of a crowded room contribute in no small degree to bring

about a gradual deterioration of intelligences, the brain that gives



off the largest quantity of nitrogen asphyxiates the others, in the

long run.



The cashier was a man of five-and-forty or thereabouts. As he sat at

the table, the light from a moderator lamp shining full on his bald



head and glistening fringe of iron-gray hair that surrounded it--this

baldness and the round outlines of his face made his head look very



like a ball. His complexion was brick-red, a few wrinkles had gathered

about his eyes, but he had the smooth, plump hands of a stout man. His



blue cloth coat, a little rubbed and worn, and the creases and

shininess of his trousers, traces of hard wear that the clothes-brush



fails to remove, would impress a superficialobserver with the idea

that here was a thrifty and upright human being, sufficient of the



philosopher or of the aristocrat to wear shabby clothes. But,

unluckily, it is easy to find penny-wise people who will prove weak,



wasteful, or incompetent in the capital things of life.

The cashier wore the ribbon of the Legion of Honor at his button-



hole, for he had been a major of dragoons in the time of the Emperor.

M. de Nucingen, who had been a contractor before he became a banker,



had had reason in those days to know the honorable disposition of his

cashier, who then occupied a high position. Reverses of fortune had



befallen the major, and the banker out of regard for him paid him five

hundred francs a month. The soldier had become a cashier in the year



1813, after his recovery from a wound received at Studzianka during

the Retreat from Moscow, followed by six months of enforced idleness



at Strasbourg, whither several officers had been transported by order

of the Emperor, that they might receive skilled attention. This



particular officer, Castanier by name, retired with the honorary grade

of colonel, and a pension of two thousand four hundred francs.



In ten years' time the cashier had completely effaced the soldier, and

Castanier inspired the banker with such trust in him, that he was



associated in the transactions that went on in the private office

behind his little counting-house. The baron himself had access to it



by means of a secret staircase. There, matters of business were

decided. It was the bolting-room where proposals were sifted; the



privy council chamber where the reports of the money market were

analyzed; circular notes issued thence; and finally, the private



ledger and the journal which summarized the work of all the

departments were kept there.



Castanier had gone himself to shut the door which opened on to a

staircase that led to the parlor occupied by the two bankers on the



first floor of their hotel. This done, he had sat down at his desk

again, and for a moment he gazed at a little collection of letters of



credit drawn on the firm of Watschildine of London. Then he had taken

up the pen and imitated the banker's signature on each. NUCINGEN he



wrote, and eyed the forged signatures critically to see which seemed

the most perfect copy.



Suddenly he looked up as if a needle had pricked him. "You are not

alone!" a boding voice seemed to cry in his heart; and indeed the



forger saw a man standing at the little grated window of the

counting-house, a man whose breathing was so noiseless that he did not



seem to breathe at all. Castanier looked, and saw that the door at the

end of the passage was wide open; the stranger must have entered by



that way.

For the first time in his life the old soldier felt a sensation of



dread that made him stare open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the man before

him; and for that matter, the appearance of the apparition was



sufficiently alarming even if unaccompanied by the mysterious

circumstances of so sudden an entry. The rounded forehead, the harsh






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