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pubOne.info present you this new edition. There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9782819934288
Langue	English

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EUGENIE GRANDET
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Maria.
May your name, that of one whose portrait is thenoblest ornament
of this work, lie on its opening pages like a branchof sacred
box, taken from an unknown tree, but sanctified byreligion, and
kept ever fresh and green by pious hands to blessthe house.
De Balzac.
EUGENIE GRANDET
I
There are houses in certain provincial towns whoseaspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombrecloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Withinthese houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, thebarrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement areso stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited,were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of amotionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond thewindow-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.
Such elements of sadness formed the physiognomy, asit were, of a dwelling-house in Saumur which stands at the end ofthe steep street leading to the chateau in the upper part of thetown. This street— now little frequented, hot in summer, cold inwinter, dark in certain sections— is remarkable for the resonanceof its little pebbly pavement, always clean and dry, for thenarrowness of its tortuous road-way, for the peaceful stillness ofits houses, which belong to the Old town and are over-topped by theramparts. Houses three centuries old are still solid, though builtof wood, and their divers aspects add to the originality whichcommends this portion of Saumur to the attention of artists andantiquaries.
It is difficult to pass these houses withoutadmiring the enormous oaken beams, their ends carved into fantasticfigures, which crown with a black bas-relief the lower floor ofmost of them. In one place these transverse timbers are coveredwith slate and mark a bluish line along the frail wall of adwelling covered by a roof en colombage which bends beneaththe weight of years, and whose rotting shingles are twisted by thealternate action of sun and rain. In another place blackened,worn-out window-sills, with delicate sculptures now scarcelydiscernible, seem too weak to bear the brown clay pots from whichsprings the heart's-ease or the rose-bush of some poorworking-woman. Farther on are doors studded with enormous nails,where the genius of our forefathers has traced domestichieroglyphics, of which the meaning is now lost forever. Here aProtestant attested his belief; there a Leaguer cursed Henry IV. ;elsewhere some bourgeois has carved the insignia of his noblessede cloches , symbols of his long-forgotten magisterial glory.The whole history of France is there.
Next to a tottering house with roughly plasteredwalls, where an artisan enshrines his tools, rises the mansion of acountry gentleman, on the stone arch of which above the doorvestiges of armorial bearings may still be seen, battered by themany revolutions that have shaken France since 1789. In this hillystreet the ground-floors of the merchants are neither shops norwarehouses; lovers of the Middle Ages will here find the ouvrouere of our forefathers in all its naive simplicity.These low rooms, which have no shop-frontage, no show-windows, infact no glass at all, are deep and dark and without interior orexterior decoration. Their doors open in two parts, each roughlyiron-bound; the upper half is fastened back within the room, thelower half, fitted with a spring-bell, swings continually to andfro. Air and light reach the damp den within, either through theupper half of the door, or through an open space between theceiling and a low front wall, breast-high, which is closed by solidshutters that are taken down every morning, put up every evening,and held in place by heavy iron bars.
This wall serves as a counter for the merchandise.No delusive display is there; only samples of the business,whatever it may chance to be, — such, for instance, as three orfour tubs full of codfish and salt, a few bundles of sail-cloth,cordage, copper wire hanging from the joists above, iron hoops forcasks ranged along the wall, or a few pieces of cloth upon theshelves. Enter. A neat girl, glowing with youth, wearing a whitekerchief, her arms red and bare, drops her knitting and calls herfather or her mother, one of whom comes forward and sells you whatyou want, phlegmatically, civilly, or arrogantly, according to hisor her individual character, whether it be a matter of two sous' ortwenty thousand francs' worth of merchandise. You may see a cooper,for instance, sitting in his doorway and twirling his thumbs as hetalks with a neighbor. To all appearance he owns nothing more thana few miserable boat-ribs and two or three bundles of laths; butbelow in the port his teeming wood-yard supplies all the cooperagetrade of Anjou. He knows to a plank how many casks are needed ifthe vintage is good. A hot season makes him rich, a rainy seasonruins him; in a single morning puncheons worth eleven francs havebeen known to drop to six. In this country, as in Touraine,atmospheric vicissitudes control commercial life. Wine-growers,proprietors, wood-merchants, coopers, inn-keepers, mariners, allkeep watch of the sun. They tremble when they go to bed lest theyshould hear in the morning of a frost in the night; they dreadrain, wind, drought, and want water, heat, and clouds to suit theirfancy. A perpetual duel goes on between the heavens and theirterrestrial interests. The barometer smooths, saddens, or makesmerry their countenances, turn and turn about. From end to end ofthis street, formerly the Grand'Rue de Saumur, the words: “Here'sgolden weather, ” are passed from door to door; or each man callsto his neighbor: “It rains louis, ” knowing well what a sunbeam orthe opportune rainfall is bringing him.
On Saturdays after midday, in the fine season, notone sou's worth of merchandise can be bought from these worthytraders. Each has his vineyard, his enclosure of fields, and allspend two days in the country. This being foreseen, and purchases,sales, and profits provided for, the merchants have ten or twelvehours to spend in parties of pleasure, in making observations, incriticisms, and in continual spying. A housewife cannot buy apartridge without the neighbors asking the husband if it werecooked to a turn. A young girl never puts her head near a windowthat she is not seen by idling groups in the street. Consciencesare held in the light; and the houses, dark, silent, impenetrableas they seem, hide no mysteries. Life is almost wholly in the openair; every household sits at its own threshold, breakfasts, dines,and quarrels there. No one can pass along the street without beingexamined; in fact formerly, when a stranger entered a provincialtown he was bantered and made game of from door to door. From thiscame many good stories, and the nickname copieux , which wasapplied to the inhabitants of Angers, who excelled in such urbansarcasms.
The ancient mansions of the old town of Saumur areat the top of this hilly street, and were formerly occupied by thenobility of the neighborhood. The melancholy dwelling where theevents of the following history took place is one of thesemansions, — venerable relics of a century in which men and thingsbore the characteristics of simplicity which French manners andcustoms are losing day by day. Follow the windings of thepicturesque thoroughfare, whose irregularities awaken recollectionsthat plunge the mind mechanically into reverie, and you will see asomewhat dark recess, in the centre of which is hidden the door ofthe house of Monsieur Grandet. It is impossible to understand theforce of this provincial expression— the house of Monsieur Grandet—without giving the biography of Monsieur Grandet himself.
Monsieur Grandet enjoyed a reputation in Saumurwhose causes and effects can never be fully understood by those whohave not, at one time or another, lived in the provinces. In 1789Monsieur Grandet— still called by certain persons le Pere Grandet,though the number of such old persons has perceptibly diminished—was a master-cooper, able to read, write, and cipher. At the periodwhen the French Republic offered for sale the church property inthe arrondissement of Saumur, the cooper, then forty years of age,had just married the daughter of a rich wood-merchant. Suppliedwith the ready money of his own fortune and his wife's dot ,in all about two thousand louis-d'or, Grandet went to the newlyestablished “district, ” where, with the help of two hundred doublelouis given by his father-in-law to the surly republican whopresided over the sales of the national domain, he obtained for asong, legally if not legitimately, one of the finest vineyards inthe arrondissement, an old abbey, and several farms. Theinhabitants of Saumur were so little revolutionary that theythought Pere Grandet a bold man, a republican, and a patriot with amind open to all the new ideas; though in point of fact it was openonly to vineyards. He was appointed a member of the administrationof Saumur, and his pacific influence made itself felt politicallyand commercially. Politically, he protected the ci-devant nobles,and prevented, to the extent of his power, the sale of the landsand property of the emigres ; commercially, he furnished theRepublican armies with two or three thousand puncheons of whitewine, and took his pay in splendid fields belonging to a communityof women whose lands had been reserved for the last lot.
Under the Consulate Grandet became mayor, governedwisely, and harvested still better pickings. Under the Empire hewas called Monsieur Grandet. Napoleon, however, did not likerepublicans, and superseded Monsieur Grandet (who was supposed tohave worn the Phrygian cap) by a man of his own surroundings, afuture baron of the Empire. Monsieur Grandet quitted office withoutregret. He had constructed in the interests of the town certainfine roads which led to his own property; his house and