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The Marriage Contract-Part18_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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walls of the town, made him as celebrated as he was in the days of his

wealth and fashion. Curiosity was aroused; every one had their word to



say about him. Old Mathias accompanied his client to the quay, and his

sufferings were sore as he caught a few words of those remarks:--



"Who could recognize in that man you see over there, near old Mathias,

the dandy who was called the Pink of Fashion five years ago, and made,



as they say, 'fair weather and foul' in Bordeaux."

"What! that stout, short man in the alpaca overcoat, who looks like a



groom,--is that Comte Paul de Manerville?"

"Yes, my dear, the same who married Mademoiselle Evangelista. Here he



is, ruined, without a penny to his name, going out to India to look

for luck."



"But how did he ruin himself? he was very rich."

"Oh! Paris, women, play, luxury, gambling at the Bourse--"



"Besides," said another, "Manerville always was a poor creature; no

mind, soft as papier-mache, he'd let anybody shear the wool from his



back; incapable of anything, no matter what. He was born to be

ruined."



Paul wrung the hand of the old man and went on board. Mathias stood

upon the pier, looking at his client, who leaned against the shrouds,



defying the crowed before him with a glance of contempt. At the moment

when the sailors began to weigh anchor, Paul noticed that Mathias was



making signals to him with his handkerchief. The old housekeeper had

hurried to her master, who seemed to be excited by some sudden event.



Paul asked the captain to wait a moment, and send a boat to the pier,

which was done. Too feeble himself to go aboard, Mathias gave two



letters to a sailor in the boat.

"My friend," he said, "this packet" (showing one of the two letters)



"is important; it has just arrived by a courier from Paris in thirty-

five hours. State this to Monsieur le comte; don't neglect to do so;



it may change his plans."

"Would he come ashore?"



"Possibly, my friend," said the notary, imprudently.

The sailor is, in all lands, a being of a race apart, holding all



land-folk in contempt. This one happened to be a bas-Breton, who saw

but one thing in Maitre Mathias's request.



"Come ashore, indeed!" he thought, as he rowed. "Make the captain lose

a passenger! If one listened to those walruses we'd have nothing to do



but embark and disembark 'em. He's afraid that son of his will catch

cold."



The sailor gave Paul the letter and said not a word of the message.

Recognizing the handwriting of his wife and de Marsay, Paul supposed



that he knew what they both would urge upon him. Anxious not to be

influenced by offers which he believed their devotion to his welfare



would inspire, he put the letters in his pocket unread, with apparent

indifference.



Absorbed in the sad thoughts which assail the strongest man under such

circumstances, Paul gave way to his grief as he waved his hand to his



old friend, and bade farewell to France, watching the steeples of

Bordeaux as they fled out of sight. He seated himself on a coil of



rope. Night overtook him still lost in thought. With the semi-darkness

of the dying day came doubts; he cast an anxious eye into the future.



Sounding it, and finding there uncertainty and danger, he asked his

soul if courage would fail him. A vague dread seized his mind as he



thought of Natalie left wholly to herself; he repented the step he had

taken; he regretted Paris and his life there. Suddenly sea-sickness



overcame him. Every one knows the effect of that disorder. The most

horrible of its sufferings devoid of danger is a complete dissolution



of the will. An inexplicabledistress relaxes to their very centre the

cords of vitality; the soul no longer performs its functions; the



sufferer becomes indifferent to everything; the mother forgets her

child, the lover his mistress, the strongest man lies prone, like an



inert mass. Paul was carried to his cabin, where he stayed three days,

lying on his back, gorged with grog by the sailors, or vomiting;



thinking of nothing, and sleeping much. Then he revived into a species

of convalescence, and returned by degrees to his ordinary condition.



The first morning after he felt better he went on deck and passed the

poop, breathing in the salt breezes of another atmosphere. Putting his



hands into his pockets he felt the letters. At once he opened them,

beginning with that of his wife.



In order that the letter of the Comtesse de Manerville be fully

understood, it is necessary to give the one which Paul had written to



her on the day that he left Paris.

From Paul de Manerville to his wife:



My beloved,--When you read this letter I shall be far away from




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