\u201cMy daughters told you that they were coming, didn\u2019t they, Christophe?
\nGo again to them, and I will give you five francs. Tell them that I am not
\nfeeling well, that I should like to kiss them both and see them once again
\nbefore I die. Tell them that, but don\u2019t alarm them more than you can
\nhelp.\u201d
\nRastignac signed to Christophe to go, and the man went.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey will come before long,\u201d the old man went on. \u201cI know them so well.
\nMy tender-hearted Delphine! If I am going to die, she will feel it so
\nmuch! And so will Nasie. I do not want to die; they will cry if I die; and if
\nI die, dear Eugene, I shall not see them any more. It will be very dreary
\nthere where I am going. For a father it is hell to be without your children;
\nI have served my apprenticeship already since they married. My heaven
\nwas in the Rue de la Jussienne. Eugene, do you think that if I go to
\nheaven I can come back to earth, and be near them in spirit? I have
\nheard some such things said. It is true? It is as if I could see them at this
\nmoment as they used to be when we all lived in the Rue de la Jussienne.
\nThey used to come downstairs of a morning. \u2018Good-morning, papa!\u2019 they
\nused to say, and I would take them on my knees; we had all sorts of little
\ngames of play together, and they had such pretty coaxing ways. We
\nalways had breakfast together, too, every morning, and they had dinner
\nwith me \u2014 in fact, I was a father then. I enjoyed my children. They did
\nnot think for themselves so long as they lived in the Rue de la Jussienne;
\nthey knew nothing of the world; they loved me with all their hearts. Mon
\nDieu! why could they not always be little girls? (Oh! my head! this
\nracking pain in my head!) Ah! ah! forgive me, children, this pain is
\nfearful; it must be agony indeed, for you have used me to endure
\npain. Mon Dieu!if only I held their hands in mine, I should not feel it at
\nall. \u2014 Do you think that they are on the way? Christophe is so stupid; I
\nought to have gone myself. He will see them. But you went to the ball
\nyesterday; just tell me how they looked. They did not know that I was ill,
\ndid they, or they would not have been dancing, poor little things? Oh! I
\nmust not be ill any longer. They stand too much in need of me; their
\nfortunes are in danger. And such husbands as they are bound to! I must
\nget well! (Oh! what pain this is! what pain this is! . . . ah! ah!)\u2014 I must
\nget well, you see; for they must have money, and I know how to set about
\nmaking some. I will go to Odessa and manufacture starch there. I am an
\nold hand, I will make millions. (Oh! this is agony!)\u201d
\nGoriot was silent for a moment; it seemed to require his whole strength
\nto endure the pain.
\n\u201cIf they were here, I should not complain,\u201d he said. \u201cSo why should I
\ncomplain now?\u201d<\/p>\n
He seemed to grow drowsy with exhaustion, and lay quietly for a long<\/p>\n
time. Christophe came back; and Rastignac, thinking that Goriot was<\/p>\n
asleep, allowed the man to give his story aloud.<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst of all, sir, I went to Madame la Comtesse,\u201d he said; \u201cbut she and<\/p>\n
her husband were so busy that I couldn\u2019t get to speak to her. When I<\/p>\n
insisted that I must see her, M. de Restaud came out to me himself, and<\/p>\n
went on like this: \u2018M. Goriot is dying, is he? Very well, it is the best thing<\/p>\n
he can do. I want Mme. de Restaud to transact some important business,<\/p>\n
when it is all finished she can go.\u2019 The gentleman looked angry, I<\/p>\n
thought. I was just going away when Mme. de Restaud came out into an<\/p>\n
ante-chamber through a door that I did not notice, and said, \u2018Christophe,<\/p>\n
tell my father that my husband wants me to discuss some matters with<\/p>\n
him, and I cannot leave the house, the life or death of my children is at<\/p>\n
stake; but as soon as it is over, I will come.\u2019 As for Madame la Baronne,<\/p>\n
that is another story! I could not speak to her either, and I did not even<\/p>\n
see her. Her waiting-woman said, \u2018Ah yes, but madame only came back<\/p>\n
from a ball at a quarter to five this morning; she is asleep now, and if I<\/p>\n
wake her before mid-day she will be cross. As soon as she rings, I will go<\/p>\n
and tell her that her father is worse. It will be time enough then to tell<\/p>\n
her bad news!\u2019 I begged and I prayed, but, there! it was no good. Then I<\/p>\n
asked for M. le Baron, but he was out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo think that neither of his daughters should come!\u201d exclaimed<\/p>\n
Rastignac. \u201cI will write to them both.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNeither of them!\u201d cried the old man, sitting upright in bed. \u201cThey are<\/p>\n
busy, they are asleep, they will not come! I knew that they would not. Not<\/p>\n
until you are dying do you know your children. . . . Oh! my friend, do not<\/p>\n
marry; do not have children! You give them life; they give you your<\/p>\n
deathblow. You bring them into the world, and they send you out of it.<\/p>\n
No, they will not come. I have known that these ten years. Sometimes I<\/p>\n
have told myself so, but I did not dare to believe it.\u201d<\/p>\n
The tears gathered and stood without overflowing the red sockets.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh! if I were rich still, if I had kept my money, if I had not given all to<\/p>\n
them, they would be with me now; they would fawn on me and cover my<\/p>\n
cheeks with their kisses! I should be living in a great mansion; I should<\/p>\n
have grand apartments and servants and a fire in my room;<\/p>\n
and theywould be about me all in tears, and their husbands and their<\/p>\n
children. I should have had all that; now \u2014 I have nothing. Money brings<\/p>\n
everything to you; even your daughters. My money. Oh! where is my<\/p>\n
money? If I had plenty of money to leave behind me, they would nurse<\/p>\n
me and tend me; I should hear their voices, I should see their faces. Ah,<\/p>\n
God! who knows? They both of them have hearts of stone. I loved them<\/p>\n
too much; it was not likely that they should love me. A father ought<\/p>\n
always to be rich; he ought to keep his children well in hand, like unruly<\/p>\n
horses. I have gone down on my knees to them. Wretches! this is the<\/p>\n
crowning act that brings the last ten years to a proper close. If you but<\/p>\n
knew how much they made of me just after they were married. (Oh! this<\/p>\n
is cruel torture!) I had just given them each eight hundred thousand<\/p>\n
francs; they were bound to be civil to me after that, and their husbands<\/p>\n
too were civil. I used to go to their houses: it was \u2018My kind father\u2019 here,<\/p>\n
\u2018My dear father\u2019 there. There was always a place for me at their tables. I<\/p>\n
used to dine with their husbands now and then, and they were very<\/p>\n
respectful to me. I was still worth something, they thought. How should<\/p>\n
they know? I had not said anything about my affairs. It is worth while to<\/p>\n
be civil to a man who has given his daughters eight hundred thousand<\/p>\n
francs apiece; and they showed me every attention then \u2014 but it was all<\/p>\n
for my money. Grand people are not great. I found that out by<\/p>\n
experience! I went to the theatre with them in their carriage; I might stay<\/p>\n
as long as I cared to stay at their evening parties. In fact, they<\/p>\n
acknowledged me their father; publicly they owned that they were my<\/p>\n
daughters. But I was always a shrewd one, you see, and nothing was lost<\/p>\n
upon me. Everything went straight to the mark and pierced my heart. I<\/p>\n
saw quite well that it was all sham and pretence, but there is no help for<\/p>\n
such things as these. I felt less at my ease at their dinner-table than I did<\/p>\n
downstairs here. I had nothing to say for myself. So these grand folks<\/p>\n
would ask in my son-in-law\u2019s ear, \u2018Who may that gentleman be?\u2019\u2014\u2018The<\/p>\n
father-in-law with the money bags; he is very rich.\u2019\u2014\u2018The devil, he is!\u2019<\/p>\n
they would say, and look again at me with the respect due to my money.<\/p>\n
Well, if I was in the way sometimes, I paid dearly for my mistakes. And<\/p>\n
besides, who is perfect? (My head is one sore!) Dear Monsieur Eugene, I<\/p>\n
am suffering so now, that a man might die of the pain; but it is nothing<\/p>\n
to be compared with the pain I endured when Anastasie made me feel,<\/p>\n
for the first time, that I had said something stupid. She looked at me, and<\/p>\n
that glance of hers opened all my veins. I used to want to know everything, to be learned; and one thing I did learn thoroughly \u2014 I knew<\/p>\n
that I was not wanted here on earth.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe next day I went to Delphine for comfort, and what should I do there<\/p>\n
but make some stupid blunder that made her angry with me. I was like<\/p>\n
one driven out of his senses. For a week I did not know what to do; I did<\/p>\n
not dare to go to see them for fear they should reproach me. And that<\/p>\n
was how they both turned me out of the house.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh God! Thou knowest all the misery and anguish that I have endured;<\/p>\n
Thou hast counted all the wounds that have been dealt to me in these<\/p>\n
years that have aged and changed me and whitened my hair and drained<\/p>\n
my life; why dost Thou make me to suffer so to-day? Have I not more<\/p>\n
than expiated the sin of loving them too much? They themselves have<\/p>\n
been the instruments of vengeance; they have tortured me for my sin of<\/p>\n
affection.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, well! fathers know no better; I loved them so; I went back to them<\/p>\n
as a gambler goes to the gaming table. This love was my vice, you see, my<\/p>\n
mistress \u2014 they were everything in the world to me. They were always<\/p>\n
wanting something or other, dresses and ornaments, and what not; their<\/p>\n
maids used to tell me what they wanted, and I used to give them the<\/p>\n
things for the sake of the welcome that they bought for me. But, at the<\/p>\n
same time, they used to give me little lectures on my behavior in society;<\/p>\n
they began about it at once. Then they began to feel ashamed of me. That<\/p>\n
is what comes of having your children well brought up. I could not go to<\/p>\n
school again at my time of life. (This pain is fearful! Mon Dieu!These<\/p>\n
doctors! these doctors! If they would open my head, it would give me<\/p>\n
some relief!) Oh, my daughters, my daughters! Anastasie! Delphine! If I<\/p>\n
could only see them! Send for the police, and make them come to me!<\/p>\n
Justice is on my side, the whole world is on my side, I have natural<\/p>\n
rights, and the law with me. I protest! The country will go to ruin if a<\/p>\n
father\u2019s rights are trampled under foot. That is easy to see. The whole<\/p>\n
world turns on fatherly love; fatherly love is the foundation of society; it<\/p>\n
will crumble into ruin when children do not love their fathers. Oh! if I<\/p>\n
could only see them, and hear them, no matter what they said; if I could<\/p>\n
simply hear their voices, it would soothe the pain. Delphine! Delphine<\/p>\n
most of all. But tell them when they come not to look so coldly at me as<\/p>\n
they do. Oh! my friend, my good Monsieur Eugene, you do not know that it is when all the golden light in a glance suddenly turns to a leaden gray.<\/p>\n
It has been one long winter here since the light in their eyes shone no<\/p>\n
more for me. I have had nothing but disappointments to devour.<\/p>\n
Disappointment has been my daily bread; I have lived on humiliation<\/p>\n
and insults. I have swallowed down all the affronts for which they sold<\/p>\n
me my poor stealthy little moments of joy; for I love them so! Think of it!<\/p>\n
a father hiding himself to get a glimpse of his children! I have given all<\/p>\n
my life to them, and to-day they will not give me one hour! I am<\/p>\n
hungering and thirsting for them, my heart is burning in me, but they<\/p>\n
will not come to bring relief in the agony, for I am dying now, I feel that<\/p>\n
this is death. Do they not know what it means to trample on a father\u2019s<\/p>\n
corpse? There is a God in heaven who avenges us fathers whether we will<\/p>\n
or no.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh! they will come! Come to me, darlings, and give me one more kiss;<\/p>\n
one last kiss, the Viaticum for your father, who will pray God for you in<\/p>\n
heaven. I will tell Him that you have been good children to your father,<\/p>\n
and plead your cause with God! After all, it is not their fault. I tell you<\/p>\n
they are innocent, my friend. Tell every one that it is not their fault, and<\/p>\n
no one need be distressed on my account. It is all my own fault, I taught<\/p>\n
them to trample upon me. I loved to have it so. It is no one\u2019s affair but<\/p>\n
mine; man\u2019s justice and God\u2019s justice have nothing to do in it. God would<\/p>\n
be unjust if He condemned them for anything they may have done to me.<\/p>\n
I did not behave to them properly; I was stupid enough to resign my<\/p>\n
rights. I would have humbled myself in the dust for them. What could<\/p>\n
you expect? The most beautiful nature, the noblest soul, would have been<\/p>\n
spoiled by such indulgence. I am a wretch, I am justly punished. I, and I<\/p>\n
only, am to blame for all their sins; I spoiled them. To-day they are as<\/p>\n
eager for pleasure as they used to be for sugar-plums. When they were<\/p>\n
little girls I indulged them in every whim. They had a carriage of their<\/p>\n
own when they were fifteen. They have never been crossed. I am guilty,<\/p>\n
and not they \u2014 but I sinned through love.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy heart would open at the sound of their voices. I can hear them; they<\/p>\n
are coming. Yes! yes! they are coming. The law demands that they should<\/p>\n
be present at their father\u2019s deathbed; the law is on my side. It would only<\/p>\n
cost them the hire of a cab. I would pay that. Write to them, tell them<\/p>\n
that I have millions to leave to them! On my word of honor, yes. I am<\/p>\n
going to manufacture Italian paste foods at Odessa. I understand the trade. There are millions to be made in it. Nobody has thought of the<\/p>\n
scheme as yet. You see, there will be no waste, no damage in transit, as<\/p>\n
there always is with wheat and flour. Hey! hey! and starch too; there are<\/p>\n
millions to be made in the starch trade! You will not be telling a lie.<\/p>\n
Millions, tell them; and even if they really come because they covet the<\/p>\n
money, I would rather let them deceive me; and I shall see them in any<\/p>\n
case. I want my children! I gave them life; they are mine, mine!\u201d and he<\/p>\n
sat upright. The head thus raised, with its scanty white hair, seemed to<\/p>\n
Eugene like a threat; every line that could still speak spoke of menace.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere, there, dear father,\u201d said Eugene, \u201clie down again; I will write to<\/p>\n
them at once. As soon as Bianchon comes back I will go for them myself,<\/p>\n
if they do not come before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf they do not come?\u201d repeated the old man, sobbing. \u201cWhy, I shall be<\/p>\n
dead before then; I shall die in a fit of rage, of rage! Anger is getting the<\/p>\n
better of me. I can see my whole life at this minute. I have been cheated!<\/p>\n
They do not love me \u2014 they have never loved me all their lives! It is all<\/p>\n
clear to me. They have not come, and they will not come. The longer they<\/p>\n
put off their coming, the less they are likely to give me this joy. I know<\/p>\n
them. They have never cared to guess my disappointments, my sorrows,<\/p>\n
my wants; they never cared to know my life; they will have no<\/p>\n
presentiment of my death; they do not even know the secret of my<\/p>\n
tenderness for them. Yes, I see it all now. I have laid my heart open so<\/p>\n
often, that they take everything I do for them as a matter of course. They<\/p>\n
might have asked me for the very eyes out of my head and I would have<\/p>\n
bidden them to pluck them out. They think that all fathers are like theirs.<\/p>\n
You should always make your value felt. Their own children will avenge<\/p>\n
me. Why, for their own sakes they should come to me! Make them<\/p>\n
understand that they are laying up retribution for their own deathbeds.<\/p>\n
All crimes are summed up in this one. . . . Go to them; just tell them that<\/p>\n
if they stay away it will be parricide! There is enough laid to their charge<\/p>\n
already without adding that to the list. Cry aloud as I do now, \u2018Nasie!<\/p>\n
Delphine! here! Come to your father; the father who has been so kind to<\/p>\n
you is lying ill!\u2019\u2014 Not a sound; no one comes! Then am I do die like a<\/p>\n
dog? This is to be my reward \u2014 I am forsaken at the last. They are<\/p>\n
wicked, heartless women; curses on them, I loathe them. I shall rise at<\/p>\n
night from my grave to curse them again; for, after all, my friends, have I<\/p>\n
done wrong? They are behaving very badly to me, eh? . . . What am I saying? Did you not tell me just now that Delphine is in the room? She is<\/p>\n
more tender-hearted than her sister. . . . Eugene, you are my son, you<\/p>\n
know. You will love her; be a father to her! Her sister is very unhappy.<\/p>\n
And there are their fortunes! Ah, God! I am dying, this anguish is almost<\/p>\n
more than I can bear! Cut off my head; leave me nothing but my heart.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChristophe!\u201d shouted Eugene, alarmed by the way in which the old man<\/p>\n
moaned, and by his cries, \u201cgo for M. Bianchon, and send a cab here for<\/p>\n
me. \u2014 I am going to fetch them, dear father; I will bring them back to<\/p>\n
you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMake them come! Compel them to come! Call out the Guard, the<\/p>\n
military, anything and everything, but make them come!\u201d He looked at<\/p>\n
Eugene, and a last gleam of intelligence shone in his eyes. \u201cGo to the<\/p>\n
authorities, to the Public Prosecutor, let them bring them here; come<\/p>\n
they shall!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you have cursed them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho said that!\u201d said the old man in dull amazement. \u201cYou know quite<\/p>\n
well that I love them, I adore them! I shall be quite well again if I can see<\/p>\n
them. . . . Go for them, my good neighbor, my dear boy, you are kind-<\/p>\n
hearted; I wish I could repay you for your kindness, but I have nothing to<\/p>\n
give you now, save the blessing of a dying man. Ah! if I could only see<\/p>\n
Delphine, to tell her to pay my debt to you. If the other cannot come,<\/p>\n
bring Delphine to me at any rate. Tell her that unless she comes, you will<\/p>\n
not love her any more. She is so fond of you that she will come to me<\/p>\n
then. Give me something to drink! There is a fire in my bowels. Press<\/p>\n
something against my forehead! If my daughters would lay their hands<\/p>\n
there, I think I should get better. . . . Mon Dieu!who will recover their<\/p>\n
money for them when I am gone? . . . I will manufacture vermicelli out in<\/p>\n
Odessa; I will go to Odessa for their sakes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHere is something to drink,\u201d said Eugene, supporting the dying man on<\/p>\n
his left arm, while he held a cup of tisane to Goriot\u2019s lips.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow you must love your own father and mother!\u201d said the old man, and<\/p>\n
grasped the student\u2019s hand in both of his. It was a feeble, trembling<\/p>\n
grasp. \u201cI am going to die; I shall die without seeing my daughters; do you<\/p>\n
understand? To be always thirsting, and never to drink; that has been my<\/p>\n
life for the last ten years. . . . I have no daughters, my sons-in-law killed them. No, since their marriages they have been dead to me. Fathers<\/p>\n
should petition the Chambers to pass a law against marriage. If you love<\/p>\n
your daughters, do not let them marry. A son-in-law is a rascal who<\/p>\n
poisons a girl\u2019s mind and contaminates her whole nature. Let us have no<\/p>\n
more marriages! It robs us of our daughters; we are left alone upon our<\/p>\n
deathbeds, and they are not with us then. They ought to pass a law for<\/p>\n
dying fathers. This is awful! It cries for vengeance! They cannot come,<\/p>\n
because my sons-in-law forbid them! . . . Kill them! . . . Restaud and the<\/p>\n
Alsatian, kill them both! They have murdered me between them! . . .<\/p>\n
Death or my daughters! . . . Ah! it is too late, I am dying, and they are not<\/p>\n
here!.. . Dying without them! . . . Nasie! Fifine! Why do you not come to<\/p>\n
me? Your papa is going \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDear Father Goriot, calm yourself. There, there, lie quietly and rest;<\/p>\n
don\u2019t worry yourself, don\u2019t think.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI shall not see them. Oh! the agony of it!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shall see them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d cried the old man, still wandering. \u201cOh! shall I see them; I shall<\/p>\n
see them and hear their voices. I shall die happy. Ah! well, after all, I do<\/p>\n
not wish to live; I cannot stand this much longer; this pain that grows<\/p>\n
worse and worse. But, oh! to see them, to touch their dresses \u2014 ah!<\/p>\n
nothing but their dresses, that is very little; still, to feel something that<\/p>\n
belongs to them. Let me touch their hair with my fingers . . . their hair<\/p>\n
. . . \u201d<\/p>\n
His head fell back on the pillow, as if a sudden heavy blow had struck<\/p>\n
him down, but his hands groped feebly over the quilt, as if to find his<\/p>\n
daughters\u2019 hair.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy blessing on them . . . \u201d he said, making an effort, \u201cmy blessing . . . \u201d<\/p>\n
His voice died away. Just at that moment Bianchon came into the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cI met Christophe,\u201d he said; \u201che is gone for your cab.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he looked at the patient, and raised the closed eyelids with his<\/p>\n
fingers. The two students saw how dead and lustreless the eyes beneath<\/p>\n
had grown. \u201cHe will not get over this, I am sure,\u201d said Bianchon. He felt the old<\/p>\n
man\u2019s pulse, and laid a hand over his heart.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe machinery works still; more is the pity, in his state it would be<\/p>\n
better for him to die.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh! my word, it would!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is the matter with you? You are as pale as death.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDear fellow, the moans and cries that I have just heard. . . . There is a<\/p>\n
God! Ah! yes, yes, there is a God, and He has made a better world for us,<\/p>\n
or this world of ours would be a nightmare. I could have cried like a<\/p>\n
child; but this is too tragical, and I am sick at heart.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe want a lot of things, you know; and where is the money to come<\/p>\n
from?\u201d<\/p>\n
Rastignac took out his watch.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere, be quick and pawn it. I do not want to stop on the way to the Rue<\/p>\n
du Helder; there is not a moment to lose, I am afraid, and I must wait<\/p>\n
here till Christophe comes back. I have not a farthing; I shall have to pay<\/p>\n
the cabman when I get home again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rastignac rushed down the stairs, and drove off to the Rue du Helder.<\/p>\n
The awful scene through which he had just passed quickened his<\/p>\n
imagination, and he grew fiercely indignant. He reached Mme. de<\/p>\n
Restaud\u2019s house only to be told by the servant that his mistress could see<\/p>\n
no one.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I have brought a message from her father, who is dying,\u201d Rastignac<\/p>\n
told the man.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Count has given us the strictest orders, sir \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf it is M. de Restaud who has given the orders, tell him that his father-<\/p>\n
in-law is dying, and that I am here, and must speak with him at once.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man went out.<\/p>\n
Eugene waited for a long while. \u201cPerhaps her father is dying at this<\/p>\n
moment,\u201d he thought.<\/p>\n
Then the man came back, and Eugene followed him to the little drawing-<\/p>\n
room. M. de Restaud was standing before the fireless grate, and did not<\/p>\n
ask his visitor to seat himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cMonsieur le Comte,\u201d said Rastignac, \u201cM. Goriot, your father-in-law, is<\/p>\n
lying at the point of death in a squalid den in the Latin Quarter. He has<\/p>\n
not a penny to pay for firewood; he is expected to die at any moment,<\/p>\n
and keeps calling for his daughter \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI feel very little affection for M. Goriot, sir, as you probably are aware,\u201d<\/p>\n
the Count answered coolly. \u201cHis character has been compromised in<\/p>\n
connection with Mme. de Restaud; he is the author of the misfortunes<\/p>\n
that have embittered my life and troubled my peace of mind. It is a<\/p>\n
matter of perfect indifference to me if he lives or dies. Now you know my<\/p>\n
feelings with regard to him. Public opinion may blame me, but I care<\/p>\n
nothing for public opinion. Just now I have other and much more<\/p>\n
important matters to think about than the things that fools and<\/p>\n
chatterers may say about me. As for Mme. de Restaud, she cannot leave<\/p>\n
the house; she is in no condition to do so. And, besides, I shall not allow<\/p>\n
her to leave it. Tell her father that as soon as she has done her duty by<\/p>\n
her husband and child she shall go to see him. If she has any love for her<\/p>\n
father, she can be free to go to him, if she chooses, in a few seconds; it<\/p>\n
lies entirely with her \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMonsieur le Comte, it is no business of mine to criticise your conduct;<\/p>\n
you can do as you please with your wife, but may I count upon your<\/p>\n
keeping your word with me? Well, then, promise me to tell her that her<\/p>\n
father has not twenty-four hours to live; that he looks in vain for her, and<\/p>\n
has cursed her already as he lies on his deathbed \u2014 that is all I ask.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can tell her yourself,\u201d the Count answered, impressed by the thrill<\/p>\n
of indignation in Eugene\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n
The Count led the way to the room where his wife usually sat. She was<\/p>\n
drowned in tears, and lay crouching in the depths of an armchair, as if<\/p>\n
she were tired of life and longed to die. It was piteous to see her. Before<\/p>\n
venturing to look at Rastignac, she glanced at her husband in evident<\/p>\n
and abject terror that spoke of complete prostration of body and mind;<\/p>\n
she seemed crushed by a tyranny both mental and physical. The Count<\/p>\n
jerked his head towards her; she construed this as a permission to speak.<\/p>\n
\u201cI heard all that you said, monsieur. Tell my father that if he knew all he<\/p>\n
would forgive me. . . . I did not think there was such torture in the world<\/p>\n
as this; it is more than I can endure, monsieur! \u2014 But I will not give way<\/p>\n
as long as I live,\u201d she said, turning to her husband. \u201cI am a mother. \u2014<\/p>\n
Tell my father that I have never sinned against him in spite of<\/p>\n
appearances!\u201d she cried aloud in her despair.<\/p>\n
Eugene bowed to the husband and wife; he guessed the meaning of the<\/p>\n
scene, and that this was a terrible crisis in the Countess\u2019 life. M. de<\/p>\n
Restaud\u2019s manner had told him that his errand was a fruitless one; he<\/p>\n
saw that Anastasie had no longer any liberty of action. He came away<\/p>\n
mazed and bewildered, and hurried to Mme. de Nucingen. Delphine was<\/p>\n
in bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cPoor dear Eugene, I am ill,\u201d she said. \u201cI caught cold after the ball, and I<\/p>\n
am afraid of pneumonia. I am waiting for the doctor to come.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you were at death\u2019s door,\u201d Eugene broke in, \u201cyou must be carried<\/p>\n
somehow to your father. He is calling for you. If you could hear the<\/p>\n
faintest of those cries, you would not feel ill any longer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEugene, I dare say my father is not quite so ill as you say; but I cannot<\/p>\n
bear to do anything that you do not approve, so I will do just as you wish.<\/p>\n
As for HIM, he would die of grief I know if I went out to see him and<\/p>\n
brought on a dangerous illness. Well, I will go as soon as I have seen the<\/p>\n
doctor. \u2014 Ah!\u201d she cried out, \u201cyou are not wearing your watch, how is<\/p>\n
that?\u201d<\/p>\n
Eugene reddened.<\/p>\n
\u201cEugene, Eugene! if you have sold it already or lost it. . . . Oh! it would be<\/p>\n
very wrong of you!\u201d<\/p>\n
The student bent over Delphine and said in her ear, \u201cDo you want to<\/p>\n
know? Very well, then, you shall know. Your father has nothing left to<\/p>\n
pay for the shroud that they will lay him in this evening. Your watch has<\/p>\n
been pawned, for I had nothing either.\u201d<\/p>\n
Delphine sprang out of bed, ran to her desk, and took out her purse. She<\/p>\n
gave it to Eugene, and rang the bell, crying:<\/p>\n
\u201cI will go, I will go at once, Eugene. Leave me, I will dress. Why, I should<\/p>\n
be an unnatural daughter! Go back; I will be there before you. \u2014<\/p>\n
Therese,\u201d she called to the waiting-woman, \u201cask M. de Nucingen to come<\/p>\n
upstairs at once and speak to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eugene was almost happy when he reached the Rue Nueve-Sainte-<\/p>\n
Genevieve; he was so glad to bring the news to the dying man that one of<\/p>\n
his daughters was coming. He fumbled in Delphine\u2019s purse for money, so<\/p>\n
as to dismiss the cab at once; and discovered that the young, beautiful,<\/p>\n
and wealthy woman of fashion had only seventy francs in her private<\/p>\n
purse. He climbed the stairs and found Bianchon supporting Goriot,<\/p>\n
while the house surgeon from the hospital was applying moxas to the<\/p>\n
patient\u2019s back \u2014 under the direction of the physician, it was the last<\/p>\n
expedient of science, and it was tried in vain.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you feel them?\u201d asked the physician. But Goriot had caught sight of<\/p>\n
Rastignac, and answered, \u201cThey are coming, are they not?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is hope yet,\u201d said the surgeon; \u201che can speak.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d said Eugene, \u201cDelphine is coming.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh! that is nothing!\u201d said Bianchon; \u201che has been talking about his<\/p>\n
daughters all the time. He calls for them as a man impaled calls for<\/p>\n
water, they say \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe may as well give up,\u201d said the physician, addressing the surgeon.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing more can be done now; the case is hopeless.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bianchon and the house surgeon stretched the dying man out again on<\/p>\n
his loathsome bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut the sheets ought to be changed,\u201d added the physician. \u201cEven if there<\/p>\n
is no hope left, something is due to human nature. I shall come back<\/p>\n
again, Bianchon,\u201d he said, turning to the medical student. \u201cIf he<\/p>\n
complains again, rub some laudanum over the diaphragm.\u201d<\/p>\n
He went, and the house surgeon went with him.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome, Eugene, pluck up heart, my boy,\u201d said Bianchon, as soon as they<\/p>\n
were alone; \u201cwe must set about changing his sheets, and put him into a clean shirt. Go and tell Sylvie to bring some sheets and come and help us<\/p>\n
to make the bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eugene went downstairs, and found Mme. Vauquer engaged in setting<\/p>\n
the table; Sylvie was helping her. Eugene had scarcely opened his mouth<\/p>\n
before the widow walked up to him with the acidulous sweet smile of a<\/p>\n
cautious shopkeeper who is anxious neither to lose money nor to offend<\/p>\n
a customer.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dear Monsieur Eugene,\u201d she said, when he had spoken, \u201cyou know<\/p>\n
quite as well as I do that Father Goriot has not a brass farthing left. If<\/p>\n
you give out clean linen for a man who is just going to turn up his eyes,<\/p>\n
you are not likely to see your sheets again, for one is sure to be wanted to<\/p>\n
wrap him in. Now, you owe me a hundred and forty-four francs as it is,<\/p>\n
add forty francs for the pair of sheets, and then there are several little<\/p>\n
things, besides the candle that Sylvie will give you; altogether it will all<\/p>\n
mount up to at least two hundred francs, which is more than a poor<\/p>\n
widow like me can afford to lose. Lord! now, Monsieur Eugene, look at it<\/p>\n
fairly. I have lost quite enough in these five days since this run of ill-luck<\/p>\n
set in for me. I would rather than ten crowns that the old gentlemen had<\/p>\n
moved out as you said. It sets the other lodgers against the house. It<\/p>\n
would not take much to make me send him to the workhouse. In short,<\/p>\n
just put yourself in my place. I have to think of my establishment first,<\/p>\n
for I have my own living to make.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eugene hurried up to Goriot\u2019s room.<\/p>\n
\u201cBianchon,\u201d he cried, \u201cthe money for the watch?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere it is on the table, or the three hundred and sixty odd francs that<\/p>\n
are left of it. I paid up all the old scores out of it before they let me have<\/p>\n
the things. The pawn ticket lies there under the money.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rastignac hurried downstairs.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere, madame\u201d he said in disgust, \u201clet us square accounts. M. Goriot<\/p>\n
will not stay much longer in your house, nor shall I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, he will go out feet foremost, poor old gentleman,\u201d she said,<\/p>\n
counting the francs with a half-facetious, half-lugubrious expression.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet us get this over,\u201d said Rastignac.<\/p>\n
\u201cSylvie, look out some sheets, and go upstairs to help the gentlemen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou won\u2019t forget Sylvie,\u201d said Mme. Vauquer in Eugene\u2019s ear; \u201cshe has<\/p>\n
been sitting up these two nights.\u201d<\/p>\n
As soon as Eugene\u2019s back was turned, the old woman hurried after her<\/p>\n
handmaid.<\/p>\n
\u201cTake the sheets that have had the sides turned into the middle, number<\/p>\n
7. Lord! they are plenty good enough for a corpse,\u201d she said in Sylvie\u2019s<\/p>\n
ear.<\/p>\n
Eugene, by this time, was part of the way upstairs, and did not overhear<\/p>\n
the elderly economist.<\/p>\n
\u201cQuick,\u201d said Bianchon, \u201clet us change his shirt. Hold him upright.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eugene went to the head of the bed and supported the dying man, while<\/p>\n
Bianchon drew off his shirt; and then Goriot made a movement as if he<\/p>\n
tried to clutch something to his breast, uttering a low inarticulate<\/p>\n
moaning the while, like some dumb animal in mortal pain.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh! yes!\u201d cried Bianchon. \u201cIt is the little locket and the chain made of<\/p>\n
hair that he wants; we took it off a while ago when we put the blisters on<\/p>\n
him. Poor fellow! he must have it again. There it lies on the chimney-<\/p>\n
piece.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eugene went to the chimney-piece and found the little plait of faded<\/p>\n
golden hair \u2014 Mme. Goriot\u2019s hair, no doubt. He read the name on the<\/p>\n
little round locket, ANASTASIE on the one side, DELPHINE on the<\/p>\n
other. It was the symbol of his own heart that the father always wore on<\/p>\n
his breast. The curls of hair inside the locket were so fine and soft that is<\/p>\n
was plain they had been taken from two childish heads. When the old<\/p>\n
man felt the locket once more, his chest heaved with a long deep sigh of<\/p>\n
satisfaction, like a groan. It was something terrible to see, for it seemed<\/p>\n
as if the last quiver of the nerves were laid bare to their eyes, the last<\/p>\n
communication of sense to the mysterious point within whence our<\/p>\n
sympathies come and whither they go. A delirious joy lighted up the<\/p>\n
distorted face. The terrific and vivid force of the feeling that had survived<\/p>\n
the power of thought made such an impression on the students, that the dying man felt their hot tears falling on him, and gave a shrill cry of<\/p>\n
delight.<\/p>\n
\u201cNasie! Fifine!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is life in him yet,\u201d said Bianchon.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does he go on living for?\u201d said Sylvie.<\/p>\n
\u201cTo suffer,\u201d answered Rastignac.<\/p>\n
Bianchon made a sign to his friend to follow his example, knelt down and<\/p>\n
pressed his arms under the sick man, and Rastignac on the other side did<\/p>\n
the same, so that Sylvie, standing in readiness, might draw the sheet<\/p>\n
from beneath and replace it with the one that she had brought. Those<\/p>\n
tears, no doubt, had misled Goriot; for he gathered up all his remaining<\/p>\n
strength in a last effort, stretched out his hands, groped for the students\u2019<\/p>\n
heads, and as his fingers caught convulsively at their hair, they heard a<\/p>\n
faint whisper:<\/p>\n
\u201cAh! my angels!\u201d<\/p>\n
Two words, two inarticulate murmurs, shaped into words by the soul<\/p>\n
which fled forth with them as they left his lips.<\/p>\n
\u201cPoor dear!\u201d cried Sylvie, melted by that exclamation; the expression of<\/p>\n
the great love raised for the last time to a sublime height by that most<\/p>\n
ghastly and involuntary of lies.<\/p>\n
The father\u2019s last breath must have been a sigh of joy, and in that sigh his<\/p>\n
whole life was summed up; he was cheated even at the last. They laid<\/p>\n
Father Goriot upon his wretched bed with reverent hands.<\/p>\n
Thenceforward there was no expression on his face, only the painful<\/p>\n
traces of the struggle between life and death that was going on in the<\/p>\n
machine; for that kind of cerebral consciousness that distinguishes<\/p>\n
between pleasure and pain in a human being was extinguished; it was<\/p>\n
only a question of time \u2014 and the mechanism itself would be destroyed.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe will lie like this for several hours, and die so quietly at last, that we<\/p>\n
shall not know when he goes; there will be no rattle in the throat. The<\/p>\n
brain must be completely suffused.\u201d<\/p>\n
As he spoke there was a footstep on the staircase, and a young woman<\/p>\n
hastened up, panting for breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe has come too late,\u201d said Rastignac.<\/p>\n
But it was not Delphine; it was Therese, her waiting-woman, who stood<\/p>\n
in the doorway.<\/p>\n
\u201cMonsieur Eugene,\u201d she said, \u201cmonsieur and madame have had a terrible<\/p>\n
scene about some money that Madame (poor thing!) wanted for her<\/p>\n
father. She fainted, and the doctor came, and she had to be bled, calling<\/p>\n
out all the while, \u2018My father is dying; I want to see papa!\u2019 It was<\/p>\n
heartbreaking to hear her \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat will do, Therese. If she came now, it would be trouble thrown<\/p>\n
away. M. Goriot cannot recognize any one now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPoor, dear gentleman, is he as bad at that?\u201d said Therese.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t want me now, I must go and look after my dinner; it is half-<\/p>\n
past four,\u201d remarked Sylvie. The next instant she all but collided with<\/p>\n
Mme. de Restaud on the landing outside.<\/p>\n
There was something awful and appalling in the sudden apparition of the<\/p>\n
Countess. She saw the bed of death by the dim light of the single candle,<\/p>\n
and her tears flowed at the sight of her father\u2019s passive features, from<\/p>\n
which the life had almost ebbed. Bianchon with thoughtful tact left the<\/p>\n
room.<\/p>\n
\u201cI could not escape soon enough,\u201d she said to Rastignac.<\/p>\n
The student bowed sadly in reply. Mme. de Restaud took her father\u2019s<\/p>\n
hand and kissed it.<\/p>\n
\u201cForgive me, father! You used to say that my voice would call you back<\/p>\n
from the grave; ah! come back for one moment to bless your penitent<\/p>\n
daughter. Do you hear me? Oh! this is fearful! No one on earth will ever<\/p>\n
bless me henceforth; every one hates me; no one loves me but you in all<\/p>\n
the world. My own children will hate me. Take me with you, father; I will<\/p>\n
love you, I will take care of you. He does not hear me . . . I am mad . . . \u201d<\/p>\n
She fell on her knees, and gazed wildly at the human wreck before her.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy cup of misery is full,\u201d she said, turning her eyes upon Eugene. \u201cM.<\/p>\n
de Trailles has fled, leaving enormous debts behind him, and I have<\/p>\n
found out that he was deceiving me. My husband will never forgive me,<\/p>\n
and I have left my fortune in his hands. I have lost all my illusions. Alas!<\/p>\n
I have forsaken the one heart that loved me (she pointed to her father as<\/p>\n
she spoke), and for whom? I have held his kindness cheap, and slighted<\/p>\n
his affection; many and many a time I have given him pain, ungrateful<\/p>\n
wretch that I am!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe knew it,\u201d said Rastignac.<\/p>\n
Just then Goriot\u2019s eyelids unclosed; it was only a muscular contraction,<\/p>\n
but the Countess\u2019 sudden start of reviving hope was no less dreadful than<\/p>\n
the dying eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it possible that he can hear me?\u201d cried the Countess. \u201cNo,\u201d she<\/p>\n
answered herself, and sat down beside the bed. As Mme. de Restaud<\/p>\n
seemed to wish to sit by her father, Eugene went down to take a little<\/p>\n
food. The boarders were already assembled.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d remarked the painter, as he joined them, \u201cit seems that there is to<\/p>\n
be a death-orama upstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCharles, I think you might find something less painful to joke about,\u201d<\/p>\n
said Eugene.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo we may not laugh here?\u201d returned the painter. \u201cWhat harm does it<\/p>\n
do? Bianchon said that the old man was quite insensible.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, then,\u201d said the employe from the Museum, \u201che will die as he has<\/p>\n
lived.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father is dead!\u201d shrieked the Countess.<\/p>\n
The terrible cry brought Sylvie, Rastignac, and Bianchon; Mme. de<\/p>\n
Restaud had fainted away. When she recovered they carried her<\/p>\n
downstairs, and put her into the cab that stood waiting at the door.<\/p>\n
Eugene sent Therese with her, and bade the maid take the Countess to<\/p>\n
Mme. de Nucingen.<\/p>\n
Bianchon came down to them.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, he is dead,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome, sit down to dinner, gentlemen,\u201d said Mme. Vauquer, \u201cor the soup<\/p>\n
will be cold.\u201d<\/p>\n
The two students sat down together.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is the next thing to be done?\u201d Eugene asked of Bianchon.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have closed his eyes and composed his limbs,\u201d said Bianchon. \u201cWhen<\/p>\n
the certificate has been officially registered at the Mayor\u2019s office, we will<\/p>\n
sew him in his winding sheet and bury him somewhere. What do you<\/p>\n
think we ought to do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe will not smell at his bread like this any more,\u201d said the painter,<\/p>\n
mimicking the old man\u2019s little trick.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, hang it all!\u201d cried the tutor, \u201clet Father Goriot drop, and let us have<\/p>\n
something else for a change. He is a standing dish, and we have had him<\/p>\n
with every sauce this hour or more. It is one of the privileges of the good<\/p>\n
city of Paris that anybody may be born, or live, or die there without<\/p>\n
attracting any attention whatsoever. Let us profit by the advantages of<\/p>\n
civilization. There are fifty or sixty deaths every day; if you have a mind<\/p>\n
to do it, you can sit down at any time and wail over whole hecatombs of<\/p>\n
dead in Paris. Father Goriot has gone off the hooks, has he? So much the<\/p>\n
better for him. If you venerate his memory, keep it to yourselves, and let<\/p>\n
the rest of us feed in peace.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, to be sure,\u201d said the widow, \u201cit is all the better for him that he is<\/p>\n
dead. It looks as though he had had trouble enough, poor soul, while he<\/p>\n
was alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
And this was all the funeral oration delivered over him who had been for<\/p>\n
Eugene the type and embodiment of Fatherhood.<\/p>\n
The fifteen lodgers began to talk as usual. When Bianchon and Eugene<\/p>\n
had satisfied their hunger, the rattle of spoons and forks, the boisterous<\/p>\n
conversation, the expressions on the faces that bespoke various degrees<\/p>\n
of want of feeling, gluttony, or indifference, everything about them made<\/p>\n
them shiver with loathing. They went out to find a priest to watch that<\/p>\n
night with the dead. It was necessary to measure their last pious cares by<\/p>\n
the scanty sum of money that remained. Before nine o\u2019clock that evening<\/p>\n
the body was laid out on the bare sacking of the bedstead in the desolate room; a lighted candle stood on either side, and the priest watched at the<\/p>\n
foot. Rastignac made inquiries of this latter as to the expenses of the<\/p>\n
funeral, and wrote to the Baron de Nucingen and the Comte de Restaud,<\/p>\n
entreating both gentlemen to authorize their man of business to defray<\/p>\n
the charges of laying their father-in-law in the grave. He sent Christophe<\/p>\n
with the letters; then he went to bed, tired out, and slept.<\/p>\n
Next day Bianchon and Rastignac were obliged to take the certificate to<\/p>\n
the registrar themselves, and by twelve o\u2019clock the formalities were<\/p>\n
completed. Two hours went by, no word came from the Count nor from<\/p>\n
the Baron; nobody appeared to act for them, and Rastignac had already<\/p>\n
been obliged to pay the priest. Sylvie asked ten francs for sewing the old<\/p>\n
man in his winding-sheet and making him ready for the grave, and<\/p>\n
Eugene and Bianchon calculated that they had scarcely sufficient to pay<\/p>\n
for the funeral, if nothing was forthcoming from the dead man\u2019s family.<\/p>\n
So it was the medical student who laid him in a pauper\u2019s coffin,<\/p>\n
despatched from Bianchon\u2019s hospital, whence he obtained it at a cheaper<\/p>\n
rate.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet us play those wretches a trick,\u201d said he. \u201cGo to the cemetery, buy a<\/p>\n
grave for five years at Pere-Lachaise, and arrange with the Church and<\/p>\n
the undertaker to have a third-class funeral. If the daughters and their<\/p>\n
husbands decline to repay you, you can carve this on the headstone \u2014<\/p>\n
\u2018HERE LIES M. GORIOT, FATHER OF THE COMTESSE DE RESTAUD<\/p>\n
AND THE BARONNE DE NUCINGEN, INTERRED AT THE EXPENSE<\/p>\n
OF TWO STUDENTS.\u2019 \u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
FATHER GORIOT <\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n BY <\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n HONORE DE BALZAC<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cMy daughters told you that they were coming, didn\u2019t they, Christophe? Go again to them, and I will give you five francs. Tell them that I am not feeling well, that I should like to kiss them both and see them once again before I…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":45289,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[73],"tags":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?fit=900%2C609&ssl=1","rttpg_featured_image_url":{"full":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?fit=900%2C609&ssl=1",900,609,false],"landscape":["https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg",900,609,false],"portraits":["https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg",900,609,false],"thumbnail":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=150%2C150&ssl=1",150,150,true],"medium":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?fit=300%2C203&ssl=1",300,203,true],"large":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?fit=900%2C609&ssl=1",900,609,true],"1536x1536":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?fit=900%2C609&ssl=1",900,609,true],"2048x2048":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?fit=900%2C609&ssl=1",900,609,true],"portfolio-square":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=570%2C570&ssl=1",570,570,true],"portfolio-portrait":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=600%2C609&ssl=1",600,609,true],"portfolio-landscape":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=800%2C600&ssl=1",800,600,true],"menu-featured-post":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=345%2C198&ssl=1",345,198,true],"qode-carousel_slider":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=400%2C260&ssl=1",400,260,true],"portfolio_slider":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=500%2C380&ssl=1",500,380,true],"portfolio_masonry_regular":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=500%2C500&ssl=1",500,500,true],"portfolio_masonry_wide":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=900%2C500&ssl=1",900,500,true],"portfolio_masonry_tall":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=500%2C609&ssl=1",500,609,true],"portfolio_masonry_large":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=900%2C609&ssl=1",900,609,true],"portfolio_masonry_with_space":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?fit=700%2C474&ssl=1",700,474,true],"latest_post_boxes":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=539%2C303&ssl=1",539,303,true],"woocommerce_thumbnail":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=300%2C300&ssl=1",300,300,true],"woocommerce_single":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?fit=600%2C406&ssl=1",600,406,true],"woocommerce_gallery_thumbnail":["https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/post-3054.jpg?resize=100%2C100&ssl=1",100,100,true]},"rttpg_author":{"display_name":"admin","author_link":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/author\/admin\/"},"rttpg_comment":0,"rttpg_category":"Philosophy<\/a>","rttpg_excerpt":"\u201cMy daughters told you that they were coming, didn\u2019t they, Christophe? Go again to them, and I will give you five francs. Tell them that I am not feeling well, that I should like to kiss them both and see them once again before I...","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/45298"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=45298"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/45298\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":45299,"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/45298\/revisions\/45299"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/45289"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=45298"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=45298"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lecturesbureau.gr\/1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=45298"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}