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The Magic Skin-Part29_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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preserver of the traditions of correct taste had read Byron, he would

have thought that he had come on a Manfred when he looked to find



Childe Harold.

"Good day, pere Porriquet," said Raphael, pressing the old



schoolmaster's frozen fingers in his own damp ones; "how are you?"

"I am very well," replied the other, alarmed by the touch of that



feverish hand. "But how about you?"

"Oh, I am hoping to keep myself in health."



"You are engaged in some great work, no doubt?"

"No," Raphael answered. "Exegi monumemtum, pere Porriquet; I have



contributed an important page to science, and have now bidden her

farewell for ever. I scarcely know where my manuscript is."



"The style is no doubt correct?" queried the schoolmaster. "You, I

hope, would never have adopted the barbarous language of the new



school, which fancies it has worked such wonders by discovering

Ronsard!"



"My work treats of physiology pure and simple."

"Oh, then, there is no more to be said," the schoolmaster answered.



"Grammar must yield to the exigencies of discovery. Nevertheless,

young man, a lucid and harmonious style--the diction of Massillon, of



M. de Buffon, of the great Racine--a classical style, in short, can

never spoil anything----But, my friend," the schoolmaster interrupted



himself, "I was forgetting the object of my visit, which concerns my

own interests."



Too late Raphael recalled to mind the verbose eloquence and elegant

circumlocutions which in a long professorial career had grown habitual



to his old tutor, and almost regretted that he had admitted him; but

just as he was about to wish to see him safely outside, he promptly



suppressed his secret desire with a stealthy glance at the Magic Skin.

It hung there before him, fastened down upon some white material,



surrounded by a red line accurately traced about its prophetic

outlines. Since that fatal carouse, Raphael had stifled every least



whim, and had lived so as not to cause the slightest movement in the

terrible talisman. The Magic Skin was like a tiger with which he must



live without exciting its ferocity. He bore patiently, therefore, with

the old schoolmaster's prolixity.



Porriquet spent an hour in telling him about the persecutions directed

against him ever since the Revolution of July. The worthy man, having



a liking for strong governments, had expressed the patriotic wish that

grocers should be left to their counters, statesmen to the management



of public business, advocates to the Palais de Justice, and peers of

France to the Luxembourg; but one of the popularity-seeking ministers



of the Citizen King had ousted him from his chair, on an accusation of

Carlism, and the old man now found himself without pension or post,



and with no bread to eat. As he played the part of guardian angel to a

poor nephew, for whose schooling at Saint Sulpice he was paying, he



came less on his own account than for his adopted child's sake, to

entreat his former pupil's interest with the new minister. He did not



ask to be reinstated, but only for a position at the head of some

provincial school.



QRaphael had fallen a victim to unconquerable drowsiness by the time

that the worthy man's monotonous voice ceased to sound in his ears.



Civility had compelled him to look at the pale and unmoving eyes of

the deliberate and tedious old narrator, till he himself had reached



stupefaction, magnetized in an inexplicable way by the power of

inertia.



"Well, my dear pere Porriquet," he said, not very certain what the

question was to which he was replying, "but I can do nothing for you,



nothing at all. I WISH VERY HEARTILY that you may succeed----"

All at once, without seeing the change wrought on the old man's sallow



and wrinkled brow by these conventional phrases, full of indifference

and selfishness, Raphael sprang to his feet like a startled roebuck.



He saw a thin white line between the black piece of hide and the red

tracing about it, and gave a cry so fearful that the poor professor



was frightened by it.

"Old fool! Go!" he cried. "You will be appointed as headmaster!






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