The Wild Ass’s Skin (Oxford World's Classics) by Honoré de Balzac

Author:Honoré de Balzac
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oxford University Press
Published: 2012-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

THE DEATH AGONY

ONE day at the beginning of December* an old man of seventy or more was walking, despite the rain, along the Rue de Varenne, peering up as he reached the door of each big house, with the simplicity of a child and the absorbed air of a philosopher, searching for the address of Monsieur le Marquis Raphael de Valentin. On his face, framed by his long, straggly grey hair as dry as a leaf of old parchment shrivelling up in the flames, were the signs of an intense sorrow doing battle with a despotic nature. If a painter had encountered this strange person, so thin and bony in his black garments, he would surely have gone back to his studio and drawn him on his sketch-pad, inscribing below the portrait: ‘Classical Poet in search of a Rhyme.’ Checking the number he had been given, this living image of Rollin* knocked timidly at the door of a magnificent mansion.

‘Is Monsieur Raphael at home?’ he asked of the man in livery who answered the door.

‘Monsieur le Marquis is not at home to anyone,’ replied the servant, swallowing an enormous sop of bread that he retrieved from a large bowl of coffee.

‘But his carriage is there,’ the elderly stranger replied, pointing to a superb horse and carriage waiting under the wooden awning, which was fashioned like a canvas tent and which sheltered the steps. ‘He’ll be coming out soon. I’ll wait.’

‘My dear fellow, you could be there till tomorrow morning,’ the doorman replied. ‘Monsieur always has a carriage waiting. But please leave. I’d lose six hundred francs if I ever allowed a stranger into the house without orders to do so.’

At that moment an old man of considerable stature whose costume resembled that of an usher in some ministerial office emerged from the hallway and hurried down the steps, looking at this bewildered old gentleman who was asking to see his master.

‘Anyway, here’s Monsieur Jonathas. Ask him.’

The two old gentlemen, drawn to one another by sympathy or mutual curiosity, met in the centre of the vast courtyard at a spot where a few tufts of grass were pushing up between the paving-stones. An eerie silence reigned in this house. Seeing Jonathas, you felt the urge to uncover the mystery that was written on his features, and which pervaded everything, down to the last detail, in this gloomy house.

Raphael’s first care on receiving the enormous inheritance from his uncle had been to discover the whereabouts of his old faithful servant, whose affection he could rely on. Jonathas cried with joy on seeing his young master again, for he thought he had said goodbye to him for ever; but nothing equalled his happiness when the Marquis promoted him to the prestigious position of steward. Old Jonathas became an intermediary power between Raphael and the outside world. With absolute control of his master’s fortune, the blind agent of an unknown plan, he was like a sixth sense through which normal human sensations filtered through to Raphael.

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