Chapter 10 - The Cape of Storms

Summary

In the first month of every season, there is a time of terror: it usually descends on the first or fifteenth of the month. Rodolphe faced the approach of these dates with fear and referred to them as the Cape of Storms. On these days, it isn't Aurora opening the Oriental gates of the East at sunrise but creditors, landlords, bailiffs and other bagmen. On these days, it all begins with a shower of rent notices and bills, and it concludes with a hailstorm of threatening legal documents. Dies iræ!

Now, on the morning of the 15th of April, Rodolphe was sleeping very peacefully and he dreamed that one of his uncles had bequeathed to him, in his will, a whole province in Peru—including the Peruvians.

As he plunged deep into the waters of this imaginary Pactolus,3 the sound of a key turning in his lock penetrated to interrupt the rightful heir at the most brilliant moment of his golden dream.

Rodolphe sat up on his bed, his eyes and mind still heavy with sleep, and he looked around.

Near the center of the room, he vaguely made out a man who had just come in. And what a man!

This early morning stranger wore a three-cornered hat, carried a money-bag on his back and held a large portfolio in his hand. He was wearing a suit in the French style, made of gray cloth and seemed completely out of breath after his climb up to the fifth floor. His demeanor was very affable and his footsteps sounded like a money changer's counter if it should ever begin to walk.

Seeing the three-cornered hat, Rodolphe had a moment of fear, thinking that he was looking at a policeman.

But seeing the money-bag, which seemed quite full, he realized his mistake.

“Oh, right,” he thought, “this must be a payment from my inheritance. The man must have come from the Indies … but then why isn't he black?” Then, gesturing to the man and pointing to the money-bag, he said, “I know what it is. Put it down over there.”

The man was a messenger from the Bank of France and, in response to Rodolphe's invitation, he placed before his eyes a small piece of paper covered with hieroglyphic figures and multicolored numbers.

“Would you like a receipt? That's fine, just pass me my pen and ink. Over there on the table.”