“I, the undersigned, give and bequeath to the children of my sister, Madame Eve Chardon, wife of David Sechard, formerly a printer at Angouleme, and of Monsieur David Sechard, all the property, real and personal, of which I may be possessed at the time of my decease, due deduction being made for the payments and legacies, which I desire my executor to provide for.
“And I earnestly beg Monsieur de Serizy to undertake the charge of being the executor of this my will.
“First, to Monsieur l’Abbe Carlos Herrera I direct the payment of the sum of three hundred thousand francs. Secondly, to Monsieur le Baron de Nucingen the sum of fourteen hundred thousand francs, less seven hundred and fifty thousand if the sum stolen from Mademoiselle Esther should be recovered.
“As universal legatee to Mademoiselle Esther Gobseck, I give and bequeath the sum of seven hundred and sixty thousand francs to the Board of Asylums of Paris for the foundation of a refuge especially dedicated to the use of public prostitutes who may wish to forsake their life of vice and ruin.
“I also bequeath to the Asylums of Paris the sum of money necessary for the purchase of a certificate for dividends to the amount of thirty thousand francs per annum in five per cents, the annual income to be devoted every six months to the release of prisoners for debts not exceeding two thousand francs.
The Board of Asylums to select the most respectable of such persons imprisoned for debt.
“I beg Monsieur de Serizy to devote the sum of forty thousand francs to erecting a monument to Mademoiselle Esther in the Eastern cemetery, and I desire to be buried by her side.
The tomb is to be like an antique tomb — square, our two effigies lying thereon, in white marble, the heads on pillows, the hands folded and raised to heaven.
There is to be no inscription whatever.
“I beg Monsieur de Serizy to give to Monsieur de Rastignac a gold toilet-set that is in my room as a remembrance.
“And as a remembrance, I beg my executor to accept my library of books as a gift from me.
“LUCIEN CHARDON DE RUBEMPRE.”
This Will was enclosed in a letter addressed to Monsieur le Comte de Granville, Public Prosecutor in the Supreme Court at Paris, as follows:
“MONSIEUR LE COMTE —
“I place my Will in your hands.
When you open this letter I shall be no more.
In my desire to be free, I made such cowardly replies to Monsieur Camusot’s insidious questions, that, in spite of my innocence, I may find myself entangled in a disgraceful trial.
Even if I were acquitted, a blameless life would henceforth be impossible to me in view of the opinions of the world.
“I beg you to transmit the enclosed letter to the Abbe Carlos Herrera without opening it, and deliver to Monsieur Camusot the formal retraction I also enclose.
“I suppose no one will dare to break the seal of a packet addressed to you.
In this belief I bid you adieu, offering you my best respects for the last time, and begging you to believe that in writing to you I am giving you a token of my gratitude for all the kindness you have shown to your deceased humble servant,
“LUCIEN DE R.”
“To the Abbe Carlos Herrera.
“MY DEAR ABBE— I have had only benefits from you, and I have betrayed you.
This involuntary ingratitude is killing me, and when you read these lines I shall have ceased to exist. You are not here now to save me.
“You had given me full liberty, if I should find it advantageous, to destroy you by flinging you on the ground like a cigar-end; but I have ruined you by a blunder.
To escape from a difficulty, deluded by a clever question from the examining judge, your son by adoption and grace went over to the side of those who aim at killing you at any cost, and insist on proving an identity, which I know to be impossible, between you and a French villain.
All is said.
“Between a man of your calibre and me — me of whom you tried to make a greater man than I am capable of being — no foolish sentiment can come at the moment of final parting.
You hoped to make me powerful and famous, and you have thrown me into the gulf of suicide, that is all.
I have long heard the broad pinions of that vertigo beating over my head.
“As you have sometimes said, there is the posterity of Cain and the posterity of Abel.
In the great human drama Cain is in opposition.
You are descended from Adam through that line, in which the devil still fans the fire of which the first spark was flung on Eve.
Among the demons of that pedigree, from time to time we see one of stupendous power, summing up every form of human energy, and resembling the fevered beasts of the desert, whose vitality demands the vast spaces they find there.
Such men are as dangerous as lions would be in the heart of Normandy; they must have their prey, and they devour common men and crop the money of fools. Their sport is so dangerous that at last they kill the humble dog whom they have taken for a companion and made an idol of.
“When it is God’s will, these mysterious beings may be a Moses, an Attila, Charlemagne, Mahomet, or Napoleon; but when He leaves a generation of these stupendous tools to rust at the bottom of the ocean, they are no more than a Pugatschef, a Fouche, a Louvel, or the Abbe Carlos Herrera.
Gifted with immense power over tenderer souls, they entrap them and mangle them.
It is grand, it is fine — in its way.
It is the poisonous plant with gorgeous coloring that fascinates children in the woods.
It is the poetry of evil.
Men like you ought to dwell in caves and never come out of them. You have made me live that vast life, and I have had all my share of existence; so I may very well take my head out of the Gordian knot of your policy and slip it into the running knot of my cravat.
“To repair the mischief I have done, I am forwarding to the public prosecutor a retraction of my deposition.
You will know how to take advantage of this document.
“In virtue of a will formally drawn up, restitution will be made, Monsieur l’Abbe, of the moneys belonging to your Order which you so imprudently devoted to my use, as a result of your paternal affection for me.
“And so, farewell. Farewell, colossal image of Evil and Corruption; farewell — to you who, if started on the right road, might have been greater than Ximenes, greater than Richelieu!
You have kept your promises. I find myself once more just as I was on the banks of the Charente, after enjoying, by your help, the enchantments of a dream.
But, unfortunately, it is not now in the waters of my native place that I shall drown the errors of a boy; but in the Seine, and my hole is a cell in the Conciergerie.
“Do not regret me: my contempt for you is as great as my admiration.
“LUCIEN.”