gobseck- 第2部分

sometimes　flew　into　a　rage　and　made　a　great　deal　of　noise；　followed　by

a　great　silence；　so　is　it　in　a　kitchen　after　a　fowl's　neck　has　been

wrung。



〃Toward　evening　this　bill　of　exchange　incarnate　would　assume　ordinary

human　shape；　and　his　metals　were　metamorphosed　into　a　human　heart。

When　he　was　satisfied　with　his　day's　business；　he　would　rub　his　hands；

his　inward　glee　would　escape　like　smoke　through　every　rift　and　wrinkle

of　his　face；in　no　other　way　is　it　possible　to　give　an　idea　of　the

mute　play　of　muscle　which　expressed　sensations　similar　to　the

soundless　laughter　of　Leather　Stocking。　Indeed；　even　in　transports　of

joy；　his　conversation　was　confined　to　monosyllables；　he　wore　the　same

non…committal　countenance。



〃This　was　the　neighbor　Chance　found　for　me　in　the　house　in　the　Rue　de

Gres；　where　I　used　to　live　when　as　yet　I　was　only　a　second　clerk

finishing　my　third　year's　studies。　The　house　is　damp　and　dark；　and

boasts　no　courtyard。　All　the　windows　look　on　the　street；　the　whole

dwelling；　in　claustral　fashion；　is　divided　into　rooms　or　cells　of

equal　size；　all　opening　upon　a　long　corridor　dimly　lit　with　borrowed

lights。　The　place　must　have　been　part　of　an　old　convent　once。　So

gloomy　was　it；　that　the　gaiety　of　eldest　sons　forsook　them　on　the

stairs　before　they　reached　my　neighbor's　door。　He　and　his　house　were

much　alike；　even　so　does　the　oyster　resemble　his　native　rock。



〃I　was　the　one　creature　with　whom　he　had　any　communication；　socially

speaking；　he　would　come　in　to　ask　for　a　light；　to　borrow　a　book　or　a

newspaper；　and　of　an　evening　he　would　allow　me　to　go　into　his　cell；

and　when　he　was　in　the　humor　we　would　chat　together。　These　marks　of

confidence　were　the　results　of　four　years　of　neighborhood　and　my　own

sober　conduct。　From　sheer　lack　of　pence；　I　was　bound　to　live　pretty

much　as　he　did。　Had　he　any　relations　or　friends？　Was　he　rich　or　poor？

Nobody　could　give　an　answer　to　these　questions。　I　myself　never　saw

money　in　his　room。　Doubtless　his　capital　was　safely　stowed　in　the

strong　rooms　of　the　Bank。　He　used　to　collect　his　bills　himself　as　they

fell　due；　running　all　over　Paris　on　a　pair　of　shanks　as　skinny　as　a

stag's。　On　occasion　he　would　be　a　martyr　to　prudence。　One　day；　when　he

happened　to　have　gold　in　his　pockets；　a　double　napoleon　worked　its

way；　somehow　or　other；　out　of　his　fob　and　fell；　and　another　lodger

following　him　up　the　stairs　picked　up　the　coin　and　returned　it　to　its

owner。



〃　'That　isn't　mine！'　said　he；　with　a　start　of　surprise。　'Mine　indeed！

If　I　were　rich；　should　I　live　as　I　do！'



〃He　made　his　cup　of　coffee　himself　every　morning　on　the　cast…iron

chafing　dish　which　stood　all　day　in　the　black　angle　of　the　grate；　his

dinner　came　in　from　a　cookshop；　and　our　old　porter's　wife　went　up　at

the　prescribed　hour　to　set　his　room　in　order。　Finally；　a　whimsical

chance；　in　which　Sterne　would　have　seen　predestination；　had　named　the

man　Gobseck。　When　I　did　business　for　him　later；　I　came　to　know　that　he

was　about　seventy…six　years　old　at　the　time　when　we　became　acquainted。

He　was　born　about　1740；　in　some　outlying　suburb　of　Antwerp；　of　a　Dutch

father　and　a　Jewish　mother；　and　his　name　was　Jean…Esther　Van　Gobseck。

You　remember　how　all　Paris　took　an　interest　in　that　murder　case；　a

woman　named　La　belle　Hollandaise？　I　happened　to　mention　it　to　my　old

neighbor；　and　he　answered　without　the　slightest　symptom　of　interest　or

surprise；　'She　is　my　grandniece。'



〃That　was　the　only　remark　drawn　from　him　by　the　death　of　his　sole

surviving　next　of　kin；　his　sister's　granddaughter。　From　reports　of　the

case　I　found　that　La　belle　Hollandaise　was　in　fact　named　Sara　Van

Gobseck。　When　I　asked　by　what　curious　chance　his　grandniece　came　to

bear　his　surname；　he　smiled：



〃　'The　women　never　marry　in　our　family。'



〃Singular　creature；　he　had　never　cared　to　find　out　a　single　relative

among　four　generations　counted　on　the　female　side。　The　thought　of　his

heirs　was　abhorrent　to　him；　and　the　idea　that　his　wealth　could　pass

into　other　hands　after　his　death　simply　inconceivable。



〃He　was　a　child；　ten　years　old；　when　his　mother　shipped　him　off　as　a

cabin　boy　on　a　voyage　to　the　Dutch　Straits　Settlements；　and　there　he

knocked　about　for　twenty　years。　The　inscrutable　lines　on　that　sallow

forehead　kept　the　secret　of　horrible　adventures；　sudden　panic；

unhoped…for　luck；　romantic　cross　events；　joys　that　knew　no　limit；

hunger　endured　and　love　trampled　under　foot；　fortunes　risked；　lost；

and　recovered；　life　endangered　time　and　time　again；　and　saved；　it　may

be；　by　one　of　the　rapid；　ruthless　decisions　absolved　by　necessity。　He

had　known　Admiral　Simeuse；　M。　de　Lally；　M。　de　Kergarouet；　M。

d'Estaing；　le　Bailli　de　Suffren；　M。　de　Portenduere；　Lord　Cornwallis；

Lord　Hastings；　Tippoo　Sahib's　father；　Tippoo　Sahib　himself。　The　bully

who　served　Mahadaji　Sindhia；　King　of　Delhi；　and　did　so　much　to　found

the　power　of　the　Mahrattas；　had　had　dealings　with　Gobseck。　Long

residence　at　St。　Thomas　brought　him　in　contact　with　Victor　Hughes　and

other　notorious　pirates。　In　his　quest　of　fortune　he　had　left　no　stone

unturned；　witness　an　attempt　to　discover　the　treasure　of　that　tribe　of

savages　so　famous　in　Buenos　Ayres　and　its　neighborhood。　He　had　a

personal　knowledge　of　the　events　of　the　American　War　of　Independence。

But　if　he　spoke　of　the　Indies　or　of　America；　as　he　did　very　rarely

with　me；　and　never　with　anyone　else；　he　seemed　to　regard　it　as　an

indiscretion　and　to　repent　of　it　afterwards。　If　humanity　and

sociability　are　in　some　sort　a　religion；　Gobseck　might　be　ranked　as　an

infidel；　but　though　I　set　myself　to　study　him；　I　must　confess；　to　my

shame；　that　his　real　nature　was　impenetrable　up　to　the　very　last。　I

even　felt　doubts　at　times　as　to　his　sex。　If　all　usurers　are　like　this

one；　I　maintain　that　they　belong　to　the　neuter　gender。



〃Did　he　adhere　to　his　mother's　religion？　Did　he　look　on　Gentiles　as

his　legitimate　prey？　Had　he　turned　Roman　Catholic；　Lutheran；

Mahometan；　Brahmin；　or　what　not？　I　never　knew　anything　whatsoever

about　his　religious　opinions；　and　so　far　as　I　could　see；　he　was

indifferent　rather　than　incredulous。



〃One　evening　I　went　in　to　see　this　man　who　had　turned　himself　to　gold；

the　usurer；　whom　his　victims　（his　clients；　as　he　styled　them）　were

wont　to　call　Daddy　Gobseck；　perhaps　ironically；　perhaps　by　way　of

antiphrasis。　He　was　sitting　in　his　armchair；　motionless　as　a　statue；

staring　fixedly　at　the　mantel…shelf；　where　he　seemed　to　read　the

figures　of　his　statements。　A　lamp；　with　a　pedestal　that　had　once　been

green；　was　burning　in　the　room；　but　so　far　from　taking　color　from　its

smoky　light；　his　face　seemed　to　stand　out　positively　paler　against　the

background。　He　pointed　to　a　chair　set　for　me；　but　not　a　word　did　he

say。



〃　'What　thoughts　can　this　being　have　in　his　mind？'　said　I　to　myself。

'Does　he　know　that　a　God　exists；　does　he　know　there　are　such　things　as

feeling；　woman；　happiness？'　I　pitied　him　as　I　might　have　pitied　a

diseased　creature。　But；　at　the　same　time；　I　knew　quite　well　that　while

he　had　millions　of　francs　at　his　command；　he　possessed　the　world　no

less　in　ideathat　world　which　he　had　explored；　ransacked；　weighed；

appraised；　and　exploited。



〃　'Good　day；　Daddy　Gobseck；'　I　began。



〃He　turned　his　face　towards　me　with　a　slight　contraction　of　his　bushy；

black　eyebrows；　this　characteristic　shade　of　expression　in　him　meant

as　much　as　the　most　jubilant　smile　on　a　Southern　face。



〃　'You　look　just　as　gloomy　as　you　did　that　day　when　the　news　came　of

the　failure　of　that　bookseller　whose　sharpness　you　admired　so　much；

though　you　were　one　of　his　victims。'



〃　'One　of　his　victims？'　he　repeated；　with　a　look　of　astonishment。



〃　'Yes。　Did　you　not　refuse　to　accept　composition　at　the　meeting　of

creditors　until　he　undertook　privately　to　pay　you　your　debt　in　full；

and　did　he　not　give　you　bills　accepted　by　the　insolvent　firm；　and

then；　when　he　set　up　in　business　again；　did　he　not　pay　you　the

dividend　upon　those　bills　of　yours；　signed　as　they　were　by　the

bankrupt　firm？'



〃　'He　was　a　sharp　one；　but　I　had　it　out　of　him。'



〃　'Then　have　you　some　bills　to　protest？　To…day　is　the　30th；　I

believe。'



〃It　was　the　first　time　I　had　spoken　to　him　of　money。　He　looked

ironically　up　at　me；　then　in　those　bland　accents；　not　unlike　the　husky

tones　which　the　tyro　draws　from　a　flute；　he　answered；　'I　am　amusing

myself。'



〃　'So　you　amuse　yourself　now　and　again？'



〃　'Do　you　imagine　that　the　only　poets　in　the　world　are　those　who　print

their　verses？'　he　asked；　with　a　pitying　look　and　shrug　of　the

shoulders。



〃　'Poetry　in　that　head！'　thought　I；　for　as　yet　I　knew　nothing　of　his

life。



〃　'What　life　could　be　as　glorious　as　mine？'　he　continued；　and　his　eyes

lighted　up。　'You　are　young；　your　mental　visions　are　colored　by

youthful　blood；　you　see　women's　faces　in　the　fire；　while　I　see　nothing

but　coals　in　mine。　You　have　all　sorts　of　beliefs；　while　I　have　no

beliefs　at　all。　Keep　your　illusionsif　you　can。　Now　I　will　show　you

life　with　the　discount　taken　off。　Go　wherever　you　like；　or　stay　at

home　by　the　fireside　with　your　wife；　there　always　comes　a　time　when

you　settle　down　in　a　certain　groove；　the　groove　is　your　preference；

and　then　happiness　consists　in　the　exercise　of　your　faculties　by

applying　them　to　realities。　Anything　more　in　the　way　of　precept　is

false。　My　principles　have　been　various；　among　various　men；　I　had　to

change　them　with　every　change　of　latitude。　Things　that　we　admire　in

Europe　are　punishable　in　Asia；　and　a　vice　in　Paris　becomes　a　necessity

when　you　have　passed　the　Azores。　There　are　no　such　things　as　hard…and…

fast　rules；　there　are　only　conventions　adapted　to　the　climate。　Fling　a

man　headlong　into　one　social　melting　pot　after　another；　and

convictions　and　forms　and　moral　systems　become　so　many　meaningless

words　to　him。　The　one　thing　that　always　remains；　the　one　sure　instinct

that　nature　has　implanted　in　us；　is　the