Father Goriot HonorĂ© de Balzac (love books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Honoré de Balzac
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The music of the orchestra vibrated in wave after wave of sound from the golden ceiling of the palace, now made desolate for its queen.
Madame de Beauséant stood at the door of the first salon to receive the guests who were styled her friends. She was dressed in white, and wore no ornament in the plaits of hair braided about her head; her face was calm; there was no sign there of pride, nor of pain, nor of joy that she did not feel. No one could read her soul; she stood there like some Niobe carved in marble. For a few intimate friends there was a tinge of satire in her smile; but no scrutiny saw any change in her, nor had she looked otherwise in the days of the glory of her happiness. The most callous of her guests admired her as young Rome applauded some gladiator who could die smiling. It seemed as if society had adorned itself for a last audience of one of its sovereigns.
âI was afraid that you would not come,â she said to Rastignac.
âMadame,â he said, in an unsteady voice, taking her speech as a reproach, âI shall be the last to go, that is why I am here.â
âGood,â she said, and she took his hand. âYou are perhaps the only one I can trust here among all these. Oh, my friend, when you love, love a woman whom you are sure that you can love always. Never forsake a woman.â
She took Rastignacâs arm, and went towards a sofa in the card-room.
âI want you to go to the Marquis,â she said. âJacques, my footman, will go with you; he has a letter that you will take. I am asking the Marquis to give my letters back to me. He will give them all up, I like to think that. When you have my letters, go up to my room with them. Someone shall bring me word.â
She rose to go to meet the Duchesse de Langeais, her most intimate friend, who had come like the rest of the world.
Rastignac went. He asked for the Marquis dâAjuda at the HĂŽtel Rochefide, feeling certain that the latter would be spending his evening there, and so it proved. The Marquis went to his own house with Rastignac, and gave a casket to the student, saying as he did so, âThey are all there.â
He seemed as if he was about to say something to EugĂšne, to ask about the ball, or the Vicomtesse; perhaps he was on the brink of the confession that, even then, he was in despair, and knew that his marriage had been a fatal mistake; but a proud gleam shone in his eyes, and with deplorable courage he kept his noblest feelings a secret.
âDo not even mention my name to her, my dear EugĂšne.â He grasped Rastignacâs hand sadly and affectionately, and turned away from him. EugĂšne went back to the HĂŽtel BeausĂ©ant, the servant took him to the Vicomtesseâs room. There were signs there of preparations for a journey. He sat down by the fire, fixed his eyes on the cedar wood casket, and fell into deep mournful musings. Mme. de BeausĂ©ant loomed large in these imaginings, like a goddess in the Iliad.
âAh! my friend!â ââ âŠâ said the Vicomtesse; she crossed the room and laid her hand on Rastignacâs shoulder. He saw the tears in his cousinâs uplifted eyes, saw that one hand was raised to take the casket, and that the fingers of the other trembled. Suddenly she took the casket, put it in the fire, and watched it burn.
âThey are dancing,â she said. âThey all came very early; but death will be long in coming. Hush! my friend,â and she laid a finger on Rastignacâs lips, seeing that he was about to speak. âI shall never see Paris again. I am taking my leave of the world. At five oâclock this morning I shall set out on my journey; I mean to bury myself in the remotest part of Normandy. I have had very little time to make my arrangements; since three oâclock this afternoon I have been busy signing documents, setting my affairs in order; there was no one whom I could send toâ ââ âŠâ
She broke off.
âHe was sure to beâ ââ âŠâ
Again she broke off; the weight of her sorrow was more than she could bear. In such moments as these everything is agony, and some words are impossible to utter.
âAnd so I counted upon you to do me this last piece of service this evening,â she said. âI should like to give you some pledge of friendship. I shall often think of you. You have seemed to me to be kind and noble, fresh-hearted and true, in this world where such qualities are seldom found. I should like you to think sometimes of me. Stay,â she said, glancing about her, âthere is this box that has held my gloves. Every time I opened it before going to a ball or to the theatre, I used to feel that I must be beautiful, because I was so happy; and I never touched it except to lay some gracious memory in it: there is so much of my old self in it, of a Madame de BeausĂ©ant who now lives no longer. Will you take it? I will leave directions that it is to be sent to you in the Rue dâArtois.â âMme. de Nucingen looked very charming this evening. EugĂšne, you must love her. Perhaps we may never see each other again, my friend; but
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