XXXIV

Well, child, she said, in a totally different voice, "are you satisfied?"

Mme. Cibot stared stupidly at the sorceress, and could not answer.

Ah! you would have the grand jeu; I have treated you as an old acquaintance. I only want a hundred francs—

Cibot,—going to die? gasped the portress.

So I have been telling you very dreadful things, have I? asked Mme. Fontaine, with an extremely ingenuous air.

Why, yes! said La Cibot, taking a hundred francs from her pocket and laying them down on the edge of the table. "Going to be murdered, think of it—"

Ah! there it is! You would have the grand jeu; but don't take on so, all the folk that are murdered on the cards don't die.

But is it possible, Ma'am Fontaine?

Oh, I know nothing about it, my pretty dear! You would rap at the door of the future; I pull the cord, and it came.

It, what? asked Mme. Cibot.

Well, then, the Spirit! cried the sorceress impatiently.

Good-bye, Ma'am Fontaine, exclaimed the portress. "I did not know what the grand jeu was like. You have given me a good fright, that you have."

The mistress will not put herself in that state twice in a month, said the servant, as she went with La Cibot to the landing. "She would do herself to death if she did, it tires her so. She will eat cutlets now and sleep for three hours afterwards."

Out in the street La Cibot took counsel of herself as she went along, and, after the manner of all who ask for advice of any sort or description, she took the favorable part of the prediction and rejected the rest. The next day found her confirmed in her resolutions—she would set all in train to become rich by securing a part of Pons' collection. Nor for some time had she any other thought than the combination of various plans to this end. The faculty of self-concentration seen in rough, uneducated persons, explained on a previous page, the reserve power accumulated in those whose mental energies are unworn by the daily wear and tear of social life, and brought into action so soon as that terrible weapon the "fixed idea" is brought into play,—all this was pre-eminently manifested in La Cibot. Even as the "fixed idea" works miracles of evasion, and brings forth prodigies of sentiment, so greed transformed the portress till she became as formidable as a Nucingen at bay, as subtle beneath her seeming stupidity as the irresistible La Palferine.

About seven o'clock one morning, a few days afterwards, she saw Remonencq taking down his shutters. She went across to him.

How could one find out how much the things yonder in my gentlemen's rooms are worth? she asked in a wheedling tone.

Oh! that is quite easy, replied the owner of the old curiosity shop. "If you will play fair and above board with me, I will tell you of somebody, a very honest man, who will know the value of the pictures to a farthing—"

Who?

M. Magus, a Jew. He only does business to amuse himself now.

Elie Magus has appeared so often in the Comedie Humaine, that it is needless to say more of him here. Suffice it to add that he had retired from business, and as a dealer was following the example set by Pons the amateur. Well-known valuers like Henry, Messrs. Pigeot and Moret, Theret, Georges, and Roehn, the experts of the Musee, in fact, were but children compared with Elie Magus. He could see a masterpiece beneath the accumulated grime of a century; he knew all schools, and the handwriting of all painters.

He had come to Paris from Bordeaux, and so long ago as 1835 he had retired from business without making any change for the better in his dress, so faithful is the race to old tradition. The persecutions of the Middle Ages compelled them to wear rags, to snuffle and whine and groan over their poverty in self-defence, till the habits induced by the necessities of other times have come to be, as usual, instinctive, a racial defect. Elie Magus had amassed a vast fortune by buying and selling diamonds, pictures, lace, enamels, delicate carvings, old jewelry, and rarities of all kinds, a kind of commerce which has developed enormously of late, so much so indeed that the number of dealers has increased tenfold during the last twenty years in this city of Paris, whither all the curiosities in the world come to rub against one another. And for pictures there are but three marts in the world—Rome, London, and Paris.

Elie Magus lived in the Chausee des Minimes, a short, broad street leading to the Place Royale. He had bought the house, an old-fashioned mansion, for a song, as the saying is, in 1831. Yet there were sumptuous apartments within it, decorated in the time of Louis XV; for it had once been the Hotel Maulaincourt, built by the great President of the Cour des Aides, and its remote position had saved it at the time of the Revolution. You may be quite sure that the old Jew had sound reasons for buying house property, contrary to the Hebrew law and custom. He had ended, as most of us end, with a hobby that bordered on a craze. He was as miserly as his friend, the late lamented Gobseck; but he had been caught by the snare of the eyes, by the beauty of the pictures in which he dealt. As his taste grew more and more fastidious, it became one of the passions which princes alone can indulge when they are wealthy and art-lovers. As the second King of Prussia found nothing that so kindled enthusiasm as the spectacle of a grenadier over six feet high, and gave extravagant sums for a new specimen to add to his living museum of a regiment, so the retired picture-dealer was roused to passion-pitch only by some canvas in perfect preservation, untouched since the master laid down the brush; and what was more, it must be a picture of the painter's best time. No great sales, therefore, took place but Elie Magus was there; every mart knew him; he traveled all over Europe. The ice-cold, money-worshiping soul in him kindled at the sight of a perfect work of art, precisely as a libertine, weary of fair women, is roused from apathy by the sight of a beautiful girl, and sets out afresh upon the quest of flawless loveliness. A Don Juan among fair works of art, a worshiper of the Ideal, Elie Magus had discovered joys that transcend the pleasure of a miser gloating over his gold—he lived in a seraglio of great paintings.

His masterpieces were housed as became the children of princes; the whole first floor of the great old mansion was given up to them. The rooms had been restored under Elie Magus' orders, and with what magnificence! The windows were hung with the richest Venetian brocade; the most splendid carpets from the Savonnerie covered the parquetry flooring. The frames of the pictures, nearly a hundred in number, were magnificent specimens, regilded cunningly by Servais, the one gilder in Paris whom Elie Magus thought sufficiently painstaking; the old Jew himself had taught him to use the English leaf, which is infinitely superior to that produced by French gold-beaters. Servais is among gilders as Thouvenin among bookbinders—an artist among craftsmen, making his work a labor of love. Every window in that gallery was protected by iron-barred shutters. Elie Magus himself lived in a couple of attics on the floor above; the furniture was wretched, the rooms were full of rags, and the whole place smacked of the Ghetto; Elie Magus was finishing his days without any change in his life.

The whole of the ground floor was given up to the picture trade (for the Jew still dealt in works of art). Here he stored his canvases, here also packing-cases were stowed on their arrival from other countries; and still there was room for a vast studio, where Moret, most skilful of restorers of pictures, a craftsman whom the Musee ought to employ, was almost always at work for Magus. The rest of the rooms on the ground floor were given up to Magus' daughter, the child of his old age, a Jewess as beautiful as a Jewess can be when the Semitic type reappears in its purity and nobility in a daughter of Israel. Noemi was guarded by two servants, fanatical Jewesses, to say nothing of an advanced-guard, a Polish Jew, Abramko by name, once involved in a fabulous manner in political troubles, from which Elie Magus saved him as a business speculation. Abramko, porter of the silent, grim, deserted mansion, divided his office and his lodge with three remarkably ferocious animals—an English bull-dog, a Newfoundland dog, and another of the Pyrenean breed.

Behold the profound observations of human nature upon which Elie Magus based his feeling of security, for secure he felt; he left home without misgivings, slept with both ears shut, and feared no attempt upon his daughter (his chief treasure), his pictures, or his money. In the first place, Abramko's salary was increased every year by two hundred francs so long as his master should live; and Magus, moreover, was training Abramko as a money-lender in a small way. Abramko never admitted anybody until he had surveyed them through a formidable grated opening. He was a Hercules for strength, he worshiped Elie Magus, as Sancho Panza worshiped Don Quixote. All day long the dogs were shut up without food; at nightfall Abramko let them loose; and by a cunning device the old Jew kept each animal at his post in the courtyard or the garden by hanging a piece of meat just out of reach on the top of a pole. The animals guarded the house, and sheer hunger guarded the dogs. No odor that reached their nostrils could tempt them from the neighborhood of that piece of meat; they would not have left their places at the foot of the poles for the most engaging female of the canine species. If a stranger by any chance intruded, the dogs suspected him of ulterior designs upon their rations, which were only taken down in the morning by Abramko himself when he awoke. The advantages of this fiendish scheme are patent. The animals never barked, Magus' ingenuity had made savages of them; they were treacherous as Mohicans. And now for the result. One night burglars, emboldened by the silence, decided too hastily that it would be easy enough to "clean out" the old Jew's strong box. One of their number told off to advance to the assault scrambled up the garden wall and prepared to descend. This the bull-dog allowed him to do. The animal, knowing perfectly well what was coming, waited for the burglar to reach the ground; but when that gentleman directed a kick at him, the bull-dog flew at the visitor's shins, and, making but one bite of it, snapped the ankle-bone clean in two. The thief had the courage to tear him away, and returned, walking upon the bare bone of the mutilated stump till he reached the rest of the gang, when he fell fainting, and they carried him off. The Police News, of course, did not fail to report this delightful night incident, but no one believed in it.

Magus at this time was seventy-five years old, and there was no reason why he should not live to a hundred. Rich man though he was, he lived like the Remonencqs. His necessary expenses, including the money he lavished on his daughter, did not exceed three thousand francs.

三十四、一个霍夫曼传奇中的人物

“怎么样，孩子？你满意吗？……”她的声音和预言的声音完全不同。

西卜太太眼睛直勾勾地瞪着老妖婆，一句话都说不上来。

“哎！你不是要起大课吗？我是把你当熟人看待的。只收你一百法郎吧……”

“西卜会死？……”门房女人叫着。

“难道我告诉了你很可怕的事吗？……”封丹太太问话的口气非常天真。

“可不是！……”西卜女人从袋里掏出一百法郎放在桌子边上，“要给人谋杀！……”

“哦！只怪你自己要起大课！……可是放心，牌上说要给人谋杀的，不是每一个都应验的。”

“封丹太太，到底可能不可能？”

“哎啊！我的小乖乖，那我怎么知道呢？你要去敲未来的门，我就替你拉了铃，他就来了！”

“他，他是谁？”西卜太太问。

“仙人呀，不是仙人是谁？”老妖婆表示不耐烦了。

“再会，封丹太太！我没见过起大课，你真把我吓坏了，你！……”

老妈子把看门女人送到楼梯口，说道：“太太一个月也不起两回大课的！过后她真累死了。她要吃好几块猪排，睡三个钟点……”

走在街上，西卜太太像一个人随便跟人家商量什么以后的心理，把预言中对自己有利的部分都信以为真，把所说的灾难都认为不可能。第二天，主意更坚决了，她想大举进攻，把邦斯美术馆的东西弄上一部分，发一笔财。她几天之内只盘算着怎样把各种方法配合起来，达到她的目的。上面说过，粗人从来不像上等人那样随时随地消耗智力，所以他们执着一念的时候，精神上仿佛添了武器，力量格外的强。这些现象，在西卜女人身上表现得特别显著。执着一念的囚犯能够造成越狱的奇迹，平常人执着一念能够产生感情上的奇迹。这个看门女人的贪心，也使她变得像纽沁根受困之下一样强悍，面上愚蠢而实际和拉·巴番里纳一样精明。

几天之后早上七点光景，雷蒙诺克正在开铺门，她就眉开眼笑地走过去问：

“堆在我先生家里的东西，怎么样才能知道一个确实的价钱呢？”

“那容易得很。倘使你跟我公平交易，我可以介绍你一个估价的人，挺老实的，他能知道那些画的价值，差不了一两个铜子……”

“谁？”

“一个叫作玛古斯的犹太人，他现在做买卖不过是玩玩罢了。”

埃里·玛古斯在《人间喜剧》中已是老角色，可以无须介绍[1]；只要知道他那时已不做古画古玩的买卖，而是以商人资格采取了收藏家邦斯的办法。以估价出名的人，例如已故的亨利，在世的比育、莫莱、丹莱、乔治洛恩，以及美术馆的专家等等，跟玛古斯一比简直都是小孩子。他对百年尘封的古画能辨别出是否杰作，他认得所有的画派和所有画家的笔迹。

这个从波尔多搬到巴黎来的犹太人，一八三五年起就不做买卖，但依旧穿得破破烂烂，因为这是多数犹太人的习惯，而犹太人是最守传统的民族。中世纪各国对犹太人的迫害，使他们为了避人注目故意穿得衣衫褴褛，老是哭丧着脸，装穷叹苦。习惯成自然，当年出于不得已的行为，慢慢地成为民族的本能和习惯了。玛古斯从前买卖钻石、古画、花边、珐琅、高等古玩、细巧的雕刻、古时的金银器物，靠这一行规模越来越大的生意，暗暗地挣了一份很大的财产。的确，巴黎是世界上古玩珍宝荟萃之地，近二十年古董商的人数加多了十倍。至于画，只有在罗马、伦敦、巴黎三大城市才有交易。

玛古斯住在通往王家广场的一条宽而短的弥尼末街，那儿他有所古老的宅子，在一八三一年上买进的，价钱简直便宜得不像话。屋子当初是有名的审计官摩朗古盖的，其中有路易十五时代装修得最华丽的几间房，大革命时因地位关系并没受到损坏。老犹太人违反民族的习惯而置产是有他的理由的。他晚年也跟我们老来一样染上一种近乎疯狂的嗜好。虽然和他故世的老朋友高勃萨克同样吝啬，他却不知不觉地对手里进出的宝物着了迷。但像他那种眼光越来越高、条件越来越苛的癖，只有国王才够得上资格有，还得是个有钱有鉴赏力的国王。据说普鲁士的第二个王[2]挑选掷弹兵，要身高六英尺才合意，那时他会不惜重金罗致，放进他的掷弹兵博物馆；同样，那位退休的古董商看得中的画，既要没有一点毛病，又要没有经过后人修补，还得是那个画家最精的作品。所以逢到大拍卖，他从不缺席，他巡阅所有的市场，跑遍整个的欧洲。这颗唯利是图的心像冰山一般的冷，看见一件精品可马上会热起来，正如玩腻了女人的老色鬼，到处寻访绝色的美女，一朝碰见完美的姑娘就不由得神魂颠倒。他崇拜理想的美，对艺术品的疯魔好比唐·璜对女人，从欣赏中体味到比守财奴瞧着黄金更高级的乐趣。他置身于名画中左顾右盼，俨如苏丹进了后宫。

存放那些宝物的地方，不下于王爷的儿女们住的。玛古斯把整个二楼装修得美轮美奂地养它们。窗上挂着威尼斯的金线铺绣做窗帘。地下铺着萨伏伊最漂亮的地毯。一百幅左右的画上富丽堂皇的框子，全部由赛尔威很古雅地重新描过金。玛古斯认为他是巴黎唯一认真的描金匠，亲自教他用英国金描漆，因为英国金的质地比法国的好得多。描金业中的赛尔威，正如装订业中的多佛南，是个爱好自己作品的艺术家。屋内所有的窗都钉着铁皮的护窗板。玛古斯自己在三层顶楼上住着两间房，里面全是些破家具破衣服，一望而知是犹太人住的地方，因为他到老也没改变他的生活方式。

底层到处摆着犹太人还在买进卖出的画和从国外运来的箱子；另有一间极大的画室，现代修补古画最好的一个艺术家，应该由美术馆聘请的名手，莫莱，差不多给玛古斯长期包着在这儿工作。女儿诺爱弥的房间也在楼下。她是犹太人晚年生的，长得秀美，就像亚洲种族的特征表现得特别纯粹、特别高雅的那种犹太女子。和她做伴的是两个顽固的犹太老妈子，还有一个叫作阿勃朗谷的波兰犹太人做前哨。他不知怎么阴差阳错地，牵入了波兰的革命运动，玛古斯有心利用，把他救了出来派做门房。阿勃朗谷守着这所又静又阴气又荒凉的屋子，住着一间门房，带了三条凶猛无比的狗，一条是纽芬兰种，一条是比莱南种，一条是英国种的斗牛狗。

这样，犹太人可以放心大胆地出门旅行，可以高枕无忧地睡觉，既不用怕人家来夺他的第一件宝贝，女儿，也不必为他的画跟黄金操心。他这种安全是根据极深刻的世故得来的。第一，阿勃朗谷的工资每年加二百法郎，可是主人故世之后再没有什么遗赠的了；同时玛古斯又把他教会了在街坊上放印子钱。有人来的时候，阿勃朗谷要不先从装着粗铁杆的门洞里张望一下，决不开门。这个大力士般的门房爱戴玛古斯，仿佛桑丘·潘沙爱戴堂·吉诃德。其次，三条狗白天都给关着，没有一点东西吃；晚上阿勃朗谷把它们放出来，照老犹太人精明的办法，教一条狗守在花园里一根柱子下面，柱子高头放着一块肉；一条守在院子里，也有一根同样的柱子；第三条关在楼下大厅内。要知道狗本能就是守家的，如今又被饥饿给拴住了，哪怕见到最漂亮的母狗，它们也不肯离开高悬食物的柱子，更不会东嗅西嗅地随便乱跑了。一有陌生人，三条狗就以为是来抢它们的肉吃；而那块肉是要等天明之后，阿勃朗谷才拿给它们的。这个刁钻古怪的办法真有说不尽的妙处。那些狗都一声不叫，玛古斯恢复了它们的野性，变得像印第安人一样狡猾。有一天，几个贼觉得屋子里静悄悄的，便大着胆子，以为一定能偷到老犹太人的钱。其中一个当先锋的，爬上花园的墙想跳下去。斗牛狗明明听到了，只是不理；等到那位先生的脚走近了，它就一口咬下，吃掉了。受伤的贼居然迸发着勇气翻过墙头，仗着腿上的骨头走路，直到同伴身边才晕倒，由他们抬了走。《司法日报》把这条极有风趣的巴黎夜新闻给登出来，大家还认为是杜撰的笑话。

七十五岁的玛古斯可能活到一百岁。尽管有钱，他的生活和两个雷蒙诺克的差不多。连对女儿予取予求的费用在内，他每月的开支也只要三千法郎。

注解：

[1]　埃里·玛古斯在《复仇》《婚约》《皮埃尔·格拉苏》等几部小说中都出现过。

[2]　普鲁士的第二个王是腓特烈·威廉一世，为腓特烈一世之子，有名的腓特烈二世之父。