You see this sort of thing everywhere.
What could this old Doriot have been but a splash of mud in his daughters’ drawing-rooms?
He would only have been in the way, and bored other people, besides being bored himself.
And this that happened between father and daughters may happen to the prettiest woman in Paris and the man she loves the best; if her love grows tiresome, he will go; he will descend to the basest trickery to leave her.
It is the same with all love and friendship.
Our heart is a treasury; if you pour out all its wealth at once, you are bankrupt.
We show no more mercy to the affection that reveals its utmost extent than we do to another kind of prodigal who has not a penny left.
Their father had given them all he had.
For twenty years he had given his whole heart to them; then, one day, he gave them all his fortune too.
The lemon was squeezed; the girls left the rest in the gutter.”
“The world is very base,” said the Vicomtesse, plucking at the threads of her shawl. She did not raise her head as she spoke; the words that Mme. de Langeais had meant for her in the course of her story had cut her to the quick.
“Base?
Oh, no,” answered the Duchess; “the world goes its own way, that is all.
If I speak in this way, it is only to show that I am not duped by it.
I think as you do,” she said, pressing the Vicomtesse’s hand.
“The world is a slough; let us try to live on the heights above it.”
She rose to her feet and kissed Mme. de Beauseant on the forehead as she said:
“You look very charming to-day, dear.
I have never seen such a lovely color in your cheeks before.”
Then she went out with a slight inclination of the head to the cousin.
“Father Goriot is sublime!” said Eugene to himself, as he remembered how he had watched his neighbor work the silver vessel into a shapeless mass that night.
Mme. de Beauseant did not hear him; she was absorbed in her own thoughts.
For several minutes the silence remained unbroken till the law student became almost paralyzed with embarrassment, and was equally afraid to go or stay or speak a word.
“The world is basely ungrateful and ill-natured,” said the Vicomtesse at last.
“No sooner does a trouble befall you than a friend is ready to bring the tidings and to probe your heart with the point of a dagger while calling on you to admire the handle.
Epigrams and sarcasms already!
Ah! I will defend myself!”
She raised her head like the great lady that she was, and lightnings flashed from her proud eyes.
“Ah!” she said, as she saw Eugene, “are you there?”
“Still,” he said piteously.
“Well, then, M. de Rastignac, deal with the world as it deserves.
You are determined to succeed? I will help you.
You shall sound the depths of corruption in woman; you shall measure the extent of man’s pitiful vanity.
Deeply as I am versed in such learning, there were pages in the book of life that I had not read.
Now I know all. The more cold-blooded your calculations, the further you will go.
Strike ruthlessly; you will be feared.
Men and women for you must be nothing more than post-horses; take a fresh relay, and leave the last to drop by the roadside; in this way you will reach the goal of your ambition.
You will be nothing here, you see, unless a woman interests herself in you; and she must be young and wealthy, and a woman of the world.
Yet, if you have a heart, lock it carefully away like a treasure; do not let any one suspect it, or you will be lost; you would cease to be the executioner, you would take the victim’s place.
And if ever you should love, never let your secret escape you!
Trust no one until you are very sure of the heart to which you open your heart.
Learn to mistrust every one; take every precaution for the sake of the love which does not exist as yet.
Listen, Miguel”— the name slipped from her so naturally that she did not notice her mistake —“there is something still more appalling than the ingratitude of daughters who have cast off their old father and wish that he were dead, and that is a rivalry between two sisters.
Restaud comes of a good family, his wife has been received into their circle; she has been presented at court; and her sister, her wealthy sister, Mme. Delphine de Nucingen, the wife of a great capitalist, is consumed with envy, and ready to die of spleen. There is gulf set between the sisters — indeed, they are sisters no longer — the two women who refuse to acknowledge their father do not acknowledge each other.
So Mme. de Nucingen would lap up all the mud that lies between the Rue Saint-Lazare and the Rue de Grenelle to gain admittance to my salon.
She fancied that she should gain her end through de Marsay; she has made herself de Marsay’s slave, and she bores him.
De Marsay cares very little about her.
If you will introduce her to me, you will be her darling, her Benjamin; she will idolize you.
If, after that, you can love her, do so; if not, make her useful.
I will ask her to come once or twice to one of my great crushes, but I will never receive her here in the morning.