My heaven was in the Rue de la Jussienne.
Eugene, do you think that if I go to heaven I can come back to earth, and be near them in spirit?
I have heard some such things said.
It is true?
It is as if I could see them at this moment as they used to be when we all lived in the Rue de la Jussienne.
They used to come downstairs of a morning.
‘Good-morning, papa!’ they used to say, and I would take them on my knees; we had all sorts of little games of play together, and they had such pretty coaxing ways.
We always had breakfast together, too, every morning, and they had dinner with me — in fact, I was a father then. I enjoyed my children.
They did not think for themselves so long as they lived in the Rue de la Jussienne; they knew nothing of the world; they loved me with all their hearts.
Mon Dieu! why could they not always be little girls? (Oh! my head! this racking pain in my head!) Ah! ah! forgive me, children, this pain is fearful; it must be agony indeed, for you have used me to endure pain.
Mon Dieu!if only I held their hands in mine, I should not feel it at all.
— Do you think that they are on the way?
Christophe is so stupid; I ought to have gone myself.
He will see them.
But you went to the ball yesterday; just tell me how they looked.
They did not know that I was ill, did they, or they would not have been dancing, poor little things?
Oh! I must not be ill any longer.
They stand too much in need of me; their fortunes are in danger.
And such husbands as they are bound to!
I must get well! (Oh! what pain this is! what pain this is! . . . ah! ah!)— I must get well, you see; for they must have money, and I know how to set about making some.
I will go to Odessa and manufacture starch there.
I am an old hand, I will make millions. (Oh! this is agony!)”
Goriot was silent for a moment; it seemed to require his whole strength to endure the pain.
“If they were here, I should not complain,” he said.
“So why should I complain now?”
He seemed to grow drowsy with exhaustion, and lay quietly for a long time.
Christophe came back; and Rastignac, thinking that Goriot was asleep, allowed the man to give his story aloud.
“First of all, sir, I went to Madame la Comtesse,” he said; “but she and her husband were so busy that I couldn’t get to speak to her.
When I insisted that I must see her, M. de Restaud came out to me himself, and went on like this:
‘M. Goriot is dying, is he?
Very well, it is the best thing he can do.
I want Mme. de Restaud to transact some important business, when it is all finished she can go.’
The gentleman looked angry, I thought.
I was just going away when Mme. de Restaud came out into an ante-chamber through a door that I did not notice, and said,
‘Christophe, tell my father that my husband wants me to discuss some matters with him, and I cannot leave the house, the life or death of my children is at stake; but as soon as it is over, I will come.’
As for Madame la Baronne, that is another story!
I could not speak to her either, and I did not even see her. Her waiting-woman said,
‘Ah yes, but madame only came back from a ball at a quarter to five this morning; she is asleep now, and if I wake her before mid-day she will be cross.
As soon as she rings, I will go and tell her that her father is worse.
It will be time enough then to tell her bad news!’
I begged and I prayed, but, there! it was no good.
Then I asked for M. le Baron, but he was out.”
“To think that neither of his daughters should come!” exclaimed Rastignac.
“I will write to them both.”
“Neither of them!” cried the old man, sitting upright in bed.
“They are busy, they are asleep, they will not come!
I knew that they would not.
Not until you are dying do you know your children. . . .
Oh! my friend, do not marry; do not have children!
You give them life; they give you your deathblow.