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francs a year for him。 Misfortune had accustomed Eugene de
Rastignac； for that was his name； to work。 He belonged to the
number of young men who know as children that their parents'
hopes are centered on them； and deliberately prepare themselves
for a great career； subordinating their studies from the first to
this end； carefully watching the indications of the course of
events； calculating the probable turn that affairs will take；
that they may be the first to profit by them。 But for his
observant curiosity； and the skill with which he managed to
introduce himself into the salons of Paris； this story would not
have been colored by the tones of truth which it certainly owes
to him； for they are entirely due to his penetrating sagacity and
desire to fathom the mysteries of an appalling condition of
things； which was concealed as carefully by the victim as by
those who had brought it to pass。
Above the third story there was a garret where the linen was hung
to dry； and a couple of attics。 Christophe； the man…of…all…work；
slept in one； and Sylvie； the stout cook； in the other。 Beside
the seven inmates thus enumerated； taking one year with another；
some eight law or medical students dined in the house； as well as
two or three regular comers who lived in the neighborhood。 There
were usually eighteen people at dinner； and there was room； if
need be； for twenty at Mme。 Vauquer's table； at breakfast；
however； only the seven lodgers appeared。 It was almost like a
family party。 Every one came down in dressing…gown and slippers；
and the conversation usually turned on anything that had happened
the evening before； comments on the dress or appearance of the
dinner contingent were exchanged in friendly confidence。
These seven lodgers were Mme。 Vauquer's spoiled children。 Among
them she distributed； with astronomical precision； the exact
proportion of respect and attention due to the varying amounts
they paid for their board。 One single consideration influenced
all these human beings thrown together by chance。 The two second…
floor lodgers only paid seventy…two francs a month。 Such prices
as these are confined to the Faubourg Saint…Marcel and the
district between La Bourbe and the Salpetriere； and； as might be
expected； poverty； more or less apparent； weighed upon them all；
Mme。 Couture being the sole exception to the rule。
The dreary surroundings were reflected in the costumes of the
inmates of the house； all were alike threadbare。 The color of the
men's coats were problematical； such shoes； in more fashionable
quarters； are only to be seen lying in the gutter； the cuffs and
collars were worn and frayed at the edges； every limp article of
clothing looked like the ghost of its former self。 The women's
dresses were faded； old…fashioned； dyed and re…dyed； they wore
gloves that were glazed with hard wear； much…mended lace； dingy
ruffles； crumpled muslin fichus。 So much for their clothing； but；
for the most part； their frames were solid enough； their
constitutions had weathered the storms of life； their cold； hard
faces were worn like coins that have been withdrawn from
circulation； but there were greedy teeth behind the withered
lips。 Dramas brought to a close or still in progress are
foreshadowed by the sight of such actors as these； not the dramas
that are played before the footlights and against a background of
painted canvas； but dumb dramas of life； frost…bound dramas that
sere hearts like fire； dramas that do not end with the actors'
lives。
Mlle。 Michonneau； that elderly young lady； screened her weak eyes
from the daylight by a soiled green silk shade with a rim of
brass； an object fit to scare away the Angel of Pity himself。 Her
shawl； with its scanty； draggled fringe； might have covered a
skeleton； so meagre and angular was the form beneath it。 Yet she
must have been pretty and shapely once。 What corrosive had
destroyed the feminine outlines？ Was it trouble； or vice； or
greed？ Had she loved too well？ Had she been a second…hand clothes
dealer； a frequenter of the backstairs of great houses； or had
she been merely a courtesan？ Was she expiating the flaunting
triumphs of a youth overcrowded with pleasures by an old age in
which she was shunned by every passer…by？ Her vacant gaze sent a
chill through you； her shriveled face seemed like a menace。 Her
voice was like the shrill； thin note of the grasshopper sounding
from the thicket when winter is at hand。 She said that she had
nursed an old gentleman； ill of catarrh of the bladder； and left
to die by his children； who thought that he had nothing left。 His
bequest to her； a life annuity of a thousand francs； was
periodically disputed by his heirs； who mingled slander with
their persecutions。 In spite of the ravages of conflicting
passions； her face retained some traces of its former fairness
and fineness of tissue； some vestiges of the physical charms of
her youth still survived。
M。 Poiret was a sort of automaton。 He might be seen any day
sailing like a gray shadow along the walks of the Jardin des
Plantes； on his head a shabby cap； a cane with an old yellow
ivory handle in the tips of his thin fingers； the outspread
skirts of his threadbare overcoat failed to conceal his meagre
figure； his breeches hung loosely on his shrunken limbs； the
thin； blue…stockinged legs trembled like those of a drunken man；
there was a notable breach of continuity between the dingy white
waistcoat and crumpled shirt frills and the cravat twisted about
a throat like a turkey gobbler's； altogether； his appearance set
people wondering whether this outlandish ghost belonged to the
audacious race of the sons of Japhet who flutter about on the
Boulevard Italien。 What devouring kind of toil could have so
shriveled him？ What devouring passions had darkened that bulbous
countenance； which would have seemed outrageous as a caricature？
What had he been？ Well； perhaps he had been part of the machinery
of justice； a clerk in the office to which the executioner sends
in his accounts；so much for providing black veils for
parricides； so much for sawdust； so much for pulleys and cord for
the knife。 Or he might have been a receiver at the door of a
public slaughter…house； or a sub…inspector of nuisances。 Indeed；
the man appeared to have been one of the beasts of burden in our
great social mill； one of those Parisian Ratons whom their
Bertrands do not even know by sight； a pivot in the obscure
machinery that disposes of misery and things unclean； one of
those men； in short； at sight of whom we are prompted to remark
that； 〃After all； we cannot do without them。〃
Stately Paris ignores the existence of these faces bleached by
moral or physical suffering； but； then； Paris is in truth an
ocean that no line can plumb。 You may survey its surface and
describe it； but no matter how numerous and painstaking the
toilers in this sea； there will always be lonely and unexplored
regions in its depths； caverns unknown； flowers and pearls and
monsters of the deep overlooked or forgotten by the divers of
literature。 The Maison Vauquer is one of these curious
monstrosities。
Two； however； of Mme。 Vauquer's boarders formed a striking
contrast to the rest。 There was a sickly pallor； such as is often
seen in anaemic girls； in Mlle。 Victorine Taillefer's face； and
her unvarying expression of sadness； like her embarrassed manner
and pinched look； was in keeping with the general wretchedness of
the establishment in the Rue Nueve…Saint…Genevieve； which forms a
background to this picture； but her face was young； there was
youthfulness in her voice and elasticity in her movements。 This
young misfortune was not unlike a shrub； newly planted in an
uncongenial soil； where its leaves have already begun to wither。
The outlines of her figure； revealed by her dress of the simplest
and cheapest materials； were also youthful。 There was the same
kind of charm about her too slender form； her faintly colored
face and light…brown hair； that modern poets find in mediaeval
statuettes； and a sweet expression； a look of Christian
resignation in the dark gray eyes。 She was pretty by force of
contrast； if she had been happy； she would have been charming。
Happiness is the poetry of woman； as the toilette is her tinsel。
If the delightful excitement of a ball had made the pale face
glow with color； if the delights of a luxurious life had brought
the color to the wan cheeks that were slightly hollowed already；
if love had put light into the sad eyes； then Victorine might
have ranked among the fairest； but she lacked the two things
which create woman a second timepretty dresses and love…
letters。
A book might have been made of her story。 Her father was
persuaded that he had sufficient reason for declining to
acknowledge her； and allowed her a bare six hundred francs a
year； he had further taken measures to disinherit his daughter；
and ha