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The Magic Skin-Part28_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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A tall old man, in a costume not unlike that of a subordinate in the

Civil Service, came out of the vestibule and hurried part of the way



down the steps, while he made a survey of the astonished elderly

applicant for admission.



"What is more, here is M. Jonathan," the Swiss remarked; "speak to

him."



Fellow-feeling of some kind, or curiosity, brought the two old men

together in a central space in the great entrance-court. A few blades



of grass were growing in the crevices of the pavement; a terrible

silence reigned in that great house. The sight of Jonathan's face



would have made you long to understand the mystery that brooded over

it, and that was announced by the smallest trifles about the



melancholy place.

When Raphael inherited his uncle's vast estate, his first care had



been to seek out the old and devoted servitor of whose affection he

knew that he was secure. Jonathan had wept tears of joy at the sight



of his young master, of whom he thought he had taken a final farewell;

and when the marquis exalted him to the high office of steward, his



happiness could not be surpassed. So old Jonathan became an

intermediary power between Raphael and the world at large. He was the



absolute disposer of his master's fortune, the blind instrument of an

unknown will, and a sixth sense, as it were, by which the emotions of



life were communicated to Raphael.

"I should like to speak with M. Raphael, sir," said the elderly person



to Jonathan, as he climbed up the steps some way, into a shelter from

the rain.



"To speak with my Lord the Marquis?" the steward cried. "He scarcely

speaks even to me, his foster-father!"



"But I am likewise his foster-father," said the old man. "If your wife

was his foster-mother, I fed him myself with the milk of the Muses. He



is my nursling, my child, carus alumnus! I formed his mind, cultivated

his understanding, developed his genius, and, I venture to say it, to



my own honor and glory. Is he not one of the most remarkable men of

our epoch? He was one of my pupils in two lower forms, and in



rhetoric. I am his professor."

"Ah, sir, then you are M. Porriquet?"



"Exactly, sir, but----"

"Hush! hush!" Jonathan called to two underlings, whose voices broke



the monastic silence that shrouded the house.

"But is the Marquis ill, sir?" the professor continued.



"My dear sir," Jonathan replied, "Heaven only knows what is the matter

with my master. You see, there are not a couple of houses like ours



anywhere in Paris. Do you understand? Not two houses. Faith, that

there are not. My Lord the Marquis had this hotel purchased for him;



it formerly belonged to a duke and a peer of France; then he spent

three hundred thousand francs over furnishing it. That's a good deal,



you know, three hundred thousand francs! But every room in the house

is a perfect wonder. 'Good,' said I to myself when I saw this



magnificence; 'it is just like it used to be in the time of my lord,

his late grandfather; and the young marquis is going to entertain all



Paris and the Court!' Nothing of the kind! My lord refused to see any

one whatever. 'Tis a funny life that he leads, M. Porriquet, you



understand. An inconciliable life. He rises every day at the same

time. I am the only person, you see, that may enter his room. I open



all the shutters at seven o'clock, summer or winter. It is all

arranged very oddly. As I come in I say to him:



" 'You must get up and dress, my Lord Marquis.'

"Then he rises and dresses himself. I have to give him his dressing-



gown, and it is always after the same pattern, and of the same

material. I am obliged to replace it when it can be used no longer,



simply to save him the trouble of asking for a new one. A queer fancy!

As a matter of fact, he has a thousand francs to spend every day, and



he does as he pleases, the dear child. And besides, I am so fond of

him that if he gave me a box on the ear on one side, I should hold out



the other to him! The most difficult things he will tell me to do, and

yet I do them, you know! He gives me a lot of trifles to attend to,



that I am well set to work! He reads the newspapers, doesn't he? Well,

my instructions are to put them always in the same place, on the same



table. I always go at the same hour and shave him myself; and don't I

tremble! The cook would forfeit the annuity of a thousand crowns that



he is to come into after my lord's death, if breakfast is not served




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