Scenes from a Courtesan's Life [93]
into the folly of my youth. Forgive, monsieur, a poor girl who ought to be your slave. I never more keenly felt the degradation of my position than on the day when I was handed over to you. You have paid; I owe myself to you. There is nothing more sacred than a debt of dishonor. I have no right to compound it by throwing myself into the Seine.
"A debt can always be discharged in that dreadful coin which is good only to the debtor; you will find me yours to command. I will pay off in one night all the sums for which that fatal hour has been mortgaged; and I am sure that such an hour with me is worth millions--all the more because it will be the only one, the last. I shall then have paid the debt, and may get away from life. A good woman has a chance of restoration after a fall; but we, the like of us, fall too low.
"My determination is so fixed that I beg you will keep this letter in evidence of the cause of death of her who remains, for one day, your servant,
"ESTHER."
Having sent this letter, Esther felt a pang of regret. Ten minutes after she wrote a third note, as follows:--
"Forgive me, dear Baron--it is I once more. I did not mean either to make game of you or to wound you; I only want you to reflect on this simple argument: If we were to continue in the position towards each other of father and daughter, your pleasure would be small, but it would be enduring. If you insist on the terms of the bargain, you will live to mourn for me.
"I will trouble you no more: the day when you shall choose pleasure rather than happiness will have no morrow for me.--Your daughter,
"ESTHER."
On receiving the first letter, the Baron fell into a cold fury such as a millionaire may die of; he looked at himself in the glass and rang the bell.
"An hot bat for mein feet," said he to his new valet.
While he was sitting with his feet in the bath, the second letter came; he read it, and fainted away. He was carried to bed.
When the banker recovered consciousness, Madame de Nucingen was sitting at the foot of the bed.
"The hussy is right!" said she. "Why do you try to buy love? Is it to be bought in the market!--Let me see your letter to her."
The Baron gave her sundry rough drafts he had made; Madame de Nucingen read them, and smiled. Then came Esther's third letter.
"She is a wonderful girl!" cried the Baroness, when she had read it.
"Vat shall I do, montame?" asked the Baron of his wife.
"Wait."
"Wait? But nature is pitiless!" he cried.
"Look here, my dear, you have been admirably kind to me," said Delphine; "I will give you some good advice."
"You are a ver' goot voman," said he. "Ven you hafe any debts I shall pay."
"Your state on receiving these letters touches a woman far more than the spending of millions, or than all the letters you could write, however fine they may be. Try to let her know it, indirectly; perhaps she will be yours! And--have no scruples, she will not die of that," added she, looking keenly at her husband.
But Madame de Nucingen knew nothing whatever of the nature of such women.
"Vat a clefer voman is Montame de Nucingen!" said the Baron to himself when his wife had left him.
Still, the more the Baron admired the subtlety of his wife's counsel, the less he could see how he might act upon it; and he not only felt that he was stupid, but he told himself so.
The stupidity of wealthy men, though it is almost proverbial, is only comparative. The faculties of the mind, like the dexterity of the limbs, need exercise. The dancer's strength is in his feet; the blacksmith's in his arms; the market porter is trained to carry loads; the singer works his larynx; and the pianist hardens his wrist. A banker is practised in business matters; he studies and plans them, and pulls the wires of various interests, just as a playwright trains his intelligence in combining situations, studying his actors, giving life to his dramatic figures.
We should no more look for powers of conversation in the Baron de Nucingen
"A debt can always be discharged in that dreadful coin which is good only to the debtor; you will find me yours to command. I will pay off in one night all the sums for which that fatal hour has been mortgaged; and I am sure that such an hour with me is worth millions--all the more because it will be the only one, the last. I shall then have paid the debt, and may get away from life. A good woman has a chance of restoration after a fall; but we, the like of us, fall too low.
"My determination is so fixed that I beg you will keep this letter in evidence of the cause of death of her who remains, for one day, your servant,
"ESTHER."
Having sent this letter, Esther felt a pang of regret. Ten minutes after she wrote a third note, as follows:--
"Forgive me, dear Baron--it is I once more. I did not mean either to make game of you or to wound you; I only want you to reflect on this simple argument: If we were to continue in the position towards each other of father and daughter, your pleasure would be small, but it would be enduring. If you insist on the terms of the bargain, you will live to mourn for me.
"I will trouble you no more: the day when you shall choose pleasure rather than happiness will have no morrow for me.--Your daughter,
"ESTHER."
On receiving the first letter, the Baron fell into a cold fury such as a millionaire may die of; he looked at himself in the glass and rang the bell.
"An hot bat for mein feet," said he to his new valet.
While he was sitting with his feet in the bath, the second letter came; he read it, and fainted away. He was carried to bed.
When the banker recovered consciousness, Madame de Nucingen was sitting at the foot of the bed.
"The hussy is right!" said she. "Why do you try to buy love? Is it to be bought in the market!--Let me see your letter to her."
The Baron gave her sundry rough drafts he had made; Madame de Nucingen read them, and smiled. Then came Esther's third letter.
"She is a wonderful girl!" cried the Baroness, when she had read it.
"Vat shall I do, montame?" asked the Baron of his wife.
"Wait."
"Wait? But nature is pitiless!" he cried.
"Look here, my dear, you have been admirably kind to me," said Delphine; "I will give you some good advice."
"You are a ver' goot voman," said he. "Ven you hafe any debts I shall pay."
"Your state on receiving these letters touches a woman far more than the spending of millions, or than all the letters you could write, however fine they may be. Try to let her know it, indirectly; perhaps she will be yours! And--have no scruples, she will not die of that," added she, looking keenly at her husband.
But Madame de Nucingen knew nothing whatever of the nature of such women.
"Vat a clefer voman is Montame de Nucingen!" said the Baron to himself when his wife had left him.
Still, the more the Baron admired the subtlety of his wife's counsel, the less he could see how he might act upon it; and he not only felt that he was stupid, but he told himself so.
The stupidity of wealthy men, though it is almost proverbial, is only comparative. The faculties of the mind, like the dexterity of the limbs, need exercise. The dancer's strength is in his feet; the blacksmith's in his arms; the market porter is trained to carry loads; the singer works his larynx; and the pianist hardens his wrist. A banker is practised in business matters; he studies and plans them, and pulls the wires of various interests, just as a playwright trains his intelligence in combining situations, studying his actors, giving life to his dramatic figures.
We should no more look for powers of conversation in the Baron de Nucingen