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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Personal Record + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [EBook #687] +Last Updated: March 2, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PERSONAL RECORD *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + A PERSONAL RECORD + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Joseph Conrad + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A FAMILIAR PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> A PERSONAL RECORD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + A FAMILIAR PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + As a general rule we do not want much encouragement to talk about + ourselves; yet this little book is the result of a friendly suggestion, + and even of a little friendly pressure. I defended myself with some + spirit; but, with characteristic tenacity, the friendly voice insisted, + “You know, you really must.” + </p> + <p> + It was not an argument, but I submitted at once. If one must! . . . + </p> + <p> + You perceive the force of a word. He who wants to persuade should put his + trust not in the right argument, but in the right word. The power of sound + has always been greater than the power of sense. I don't say this by way + of disparagement. It is better for mankind to be impressionable than + reflective. Nothing humanely great—great, I mean, as affecting a + whole mass of lives—has come from reflection. On the other hand, you + cannot fail to see the power of mere words; such words as Glory, for + instance, or Pity. I won't mention any more. They are not far to seek. + Shouted with perseverance, with ardour, with conviction, these two by + their sound alone have set whole nations in motion and upheaved the dry, + hard ground on which rests our whole social fabric. There's “virtue” for + you if you like! . . . Of course the accent must be attended to. The right + accent. That's very important. The capacious lung, the thundering or the + tender vocal chords. Don't talk to me of your Archimedes' lever. + </p> + <p> + He was an absent-minded person with a mathematical imagination. + Mathematics commands all my respect, but I have no use for engines. Give + me the right word and the right accent and I will move the world. + </p> + <p> + What a dream for a writer! Because written words have their accent, too. + Yes! Let me only find the right word! Surely it must be lying somewhere + among the wreckage of all the plaints and all the exultations poured out + aloud since the first day when hope, the undying, came down on earth. It + may be there, close by, disregarded, invisible, quite at hand. But it's no + good. I believe there are men who can lay hold of a needle in a pottle of + hay at the first try. For myself, I have never had such luck. And then + there is that accent. Another difficulty. For who is going to tell whether + the accent is right or wrong till the word is shouted, and fails to be + heard, perhaps, and goes down-wind, leaving the world unmoved? Once upon a + time there lived an emperor who was a sage and something of a literary + man. He jotted down on ivory tablets thoughts, maxims, reflections which + chance has preserved for the edification of posterity. Among other sayings—I + am quoting from memory—I remember this solemn admonition: “Let all + thy words have the accent of heroic truth.” The accent of heroic truth! + This is very fine, but I am thinking that it is an easy matter for an + austere emperor to jot down grandiose advice. Most of the working truths + on this earth are humble, not heroic; and there have been times in the + history of mankind when the accents of heroic truth have moved it to + nothing but derision. + </p> + <p> + Nobody will expect to find between the covers of this little book words of + extraordinary potency or accents of irresistible heroism. However + humiliating for my self esteem, I must confess that the counsels of Marcus + Aurelius are not for me. They are more fit for a moralist than for an + artist. Truth of a modest sort I can promise you, and also sincerity. That + complete, praise worthy sincerity which, while it delivers one into the + hands of one's enemies, is as likely as not to embroil one with one's + friends. + </p> + <p> + “Embroil” is perhaps too strong an expression. I can't imagine among + either my enemies or my friends a being so hard up for something to do as + to quarrel with me. “To disappoint one's friends” would be nearer the + mark. Most, almost all, friend ships of the writing period of my life have + come to me through my books; and I know that a novelist lives in his work. + He stands there, the only reality in an invented world, among imaginary + things, happenings, and people. Writing about them, he is only writing + about himself. But the disclosure is not complete. He remains, to a + certain extent, a figure behind the veil; a suspected rather than a seen + presence—a movement and a voice behind the draperies of fiction. In + these personal notes there is no such veil. And I cannot help thinking of + a passage in the “Imitation of Christ” where the ascetic author, who knew + life so profoundly, says that “there are persons esteemed on their + reputation who by showing themselves destroy the opinion one had of them.” + This is the danger incurred by an author of fiction who sets out to talk + about himself without disguise. + </p> + <p> + While these reminiscent pages were appearing serially I was remonstrated + with for bad economy; as if such writing were a form of self-indulgence + wasting the substance of future volumes. It seems that I am not + sufficiently literary. Indeed, a man who never wrote a line for print till + he was thirty-six cannot bring himself to look upon his existence and his + experience, upon the sum of his thoughts, sensations, and emotions, upon + his memories and his regrets, and the whole possession of his past, as + only so much material for his hands. Once before, some three years ago, + when I published “The Mirror of the Sea,” a volume of impressions and + memories, the same remarks were made to me. Practical remarks. But, truth + to say, I have never understood the kind of thrift they recommend. I + wanted to pay my tribute to the sea, its ships and its men, to whom I + remain indebted for so much which has gone to make me what I am. That + seemed to me the only shape in which I could offer it to their shades. + There could not be a question in my mind of anything else. It is quite + possible that I am a bad economist; but it is certain that I am + incorrigible. + </p> + <p> + Having matured in the surroundings and under the special conditions of sea + life, I have a special piety toward that form of my past; for its + impressions were vivid, its appeal direct, its demands such as could be + responded to with the natural elation of youth and strength equal to the + call. There was nothing in them to perplex a young conscience. Having + broken away from my origins under a storm of blame from every quarter + which had the merest shadow of right to voice an opinion, removed by great + distances from such natural affections as were still left to me, and even + estranged, in a measure, from them by the totally unintelligible character + of the life which had seduced me so mysteriously from my allegiance, I may + safely say that through the blind force of circumstances the sea was to be + all my world and the merchant service my only home for a long succession + of years. No wonder, then, that in my two exclusively sea books—“The + Nigger of the Narcissus,” and “The Mirror of the Sea” (and in the few + short sea stories like “Youth” and “Typhoon”)—I have tried with an + almost filial regard to render the vibration of life in the great world of + waters, in the hearts of the simple men who have for ages traversed its + solitudes, and also that something sentient which seems to dwell in ships—the + creatures of their hands and the objects of their care. + </p> + <p> + One's literary life must turn frequently for sustenance to memories and + seek discourse with the shades, unless one has made up one's mind to write + only in order to reprove mankind for what it is, or praise it for what it + is not, or—generally—to teach it how to behave. Being neither + quarrelsome, nor a flatterer, nor a sage, I have done none of these + things, and I am prepared to put up serenely with the insignificance which + attaches to persons who are not meddlesome in some way or other. But + resignation is not indifference. I would not like to be left standing as a + mere spectator on the bank of the great stream carrying onward so many + lives. I would fain claim for myself the faculty of so much insight as can + be expressed in a voice of sympathy and compassion. + </p> + <p> + It seems to me that in one, at least, authoritative quarter of criticism I + am suspected of a certain unemotional, grim acceptance of facts—of + what the French would call <i>secheresse du coeur</i>. Fifteen years of + unbroken silence before praise or blame testify sufficiently to my respect + for criticism, that fine flower of personal expression in the garden of + letters. But this is more of a personal matter, reaching the man behind + the work, and therefore it may be alluded to in a volume which is a + personal note in the margin of the public page. Not that I feel hurt in + the least. The charge—if it amounted to a charge at all—was + made in the most considerate terms; in a tone of regret. + </p> + <p> + My answer is that if it be true that every novel contains an element of + autobiography—and this can hardly be denied, since the creator can + only express himself in his creation—then there are some of us to + whom an open display of sentiment is repugnant. + </p> + <p> + I would not unduly praise the virtue of restraint. It is often merely + temperamental. But it is not always a sign of coldness. It may be pride. + There can be nothing more humiliating than to see the shaft of one's + emotion miss the mark of either laughter or tears. Nothing more + humiliating! And this for the reason that should the mark be missed, + should the open display of emotion fail to move, then it must perish + unavoidably in disgust or contempt. No artist can be reproached for + shrinking from a risk which only fools run to meet and only genius dare + confront with impunity. In a task which mainly consists in laying one's + soul more or less bare to the world, a regard for decency, even at the + cost of success, is but the regard for one's own dignity which is + inseparably united with the dignity of one's work. + </p> + <p> + And then—it is very difficult to be wholly joyous or wholly sad on + this earth. The comic, when it is human, soon takes upon itself a face of + pain; and some of our griefs (some only, not all, for it is the capacity + for suffering which makes man August in the eyes of men) have their source + in weaknesses which must be recognized with smiling com passion as the + common inheritance of us all. Joy and sorrow in this world pass into each + other, mingling their forms and their murmurs in the twilight of life as + mysterious as an over shadowed ocean, while the dazzling brightness of + supreme hopes lies far off, fascinating and still, on the distant edge of + the horizon. + </p> + <p> + Yes! I, too, would like to hold the magic wand giving that command over + laughter and tears which is declared to be the highest achievement of + imaginative literature. Only, to be a great magician one must surrender + oneself to occult and irresponsible powers, either outside or within one's + breast. We have all heard of simple men selling their souls for love or + power to some grotesque devil. The most ordinary intelligence can perceive + without much reflection that anything of the sort is bound to be a fool's + bargain. I don't lay claim to particular wisdom because of my dislike and + distrust of such transactions. It may be my sea training acting upon a + natural disposition to keep good hold on the one thing really mine, but + the fact is that I have a positive horror of losing even for one moving + moment that full possession of my self which is the first condition of + good service. And I have carried my notion of good service from my earlier + into my later existence. I, who have never sought in the written word + anything else but a form of the Beautiful—I have carried over that + article of creed from the decks of ships to the more circumscribed space + of my desk, and by that act, I suppose, I have become permanently + imperfect in the eyes of the ineffable company of pure esthetes. + </p> + <p> + As in political so in literary action a man wins friends for himself + mostly by the passion of his prejudices and by the consistent narrowness + of his outlook. But I have never been able to love what was not lovable or + hate what was not hateful out of deference for some general principle. + Whether there be any courage in making this admission I know not. After + the middle turn of life's way we consider dangers and joys with a tranquil + mind. So I proceed in peace to declare that I have always suspected in the + effort to bring into play the extremities of emotions the debasing touch + of insincerity. In order to move others deeply we must deliberately allow + ourselves to be carried away beyond the bounds of our normal sensibility—innocently + enough, perhaps, and of necessity, like an actor who raises his voice on + the stage above the pitch of natural conversation—but still we have + to do that. And surely this is no great sin. But the danger lies in the + writer becoming the victim of his own exaggeration, losing the exact + notion of sincerity, and in the end coming to despise truth itself as + something too cold, too blunt for his purpose—as, in fact, not good + enough for his insistent emotion. From laughter and tears the descent is + easy to snivelling and giggles. + </p> + <p> + These may seem selfish considerations; but you can't, in sound morals, + condemn a man for taking care of his own integrity. It is his clear duty. + And least of all can you condemn an artist pursuing, however humbly and + imperfectly, a creative aim. In that interior world where his thought and + his emotions go seeking for the experience of imagined adventures, there + are no policemen, no law, no pressure of circumstance or dread of opinion + to keep him within bounds. Who then is going to say Nay to his temptations + if not his conscience? + </p> + <p> + And besides—this, remember, is the place and the moment of perfectly + open talk—I think that all ambitions are lawful except those which + climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind. All intellectual + and artistic ambitions are permissible, up to and even beyond the limit of + prudent sanity. They can hurt no one. If they are mad, then so much the + worse for the artist. Indeed, as virtue is said to be, such ambitions are + their own reward. Is it such a very mad presumption to believe in the + sovereign power of one's art, to try for other means, for other ways of + affirming this belief in the deeper appeal of one's work? To try to go + deeper is not to be insensible. A historian of hearts is not a historian + of emotions, yet he penetrates further, restrained as he may be, since his + aim is to reach the very fount of laughter and tears. The sight of human + affairs deserves admiration and pity. They are worthy of respect, too. And + he is not insensible who pays them the undemonstrative tribute of a sigh + which is not a sob, and of a smile which is not a grin. Resignation, not + mystic, not detached, but resignation open-eyed, conscious, and informed + by love, is the only one of our feelings for which it is impossible to + become a sham. + </p> + <p> + Not that I think resignation the last word of wisdom. I am too much the + creature of my time for that. But I think that the proper wisdom is to + will what the gods will without, perhaps, being certain what their will is—or + even if they have a will of their own. And in this matter of life and art + it is not the Why that matters so much to our happiness as the How. As the + Frenchman said, “<i>Il y a toujours la maniere</i>.” Very true. Yes. There + is the manner. The manner in laughter, in tears, in irony, in indignations + and enthusiasms, in judgments—and even in love. The manner in which, + as in the features and character of a human face, the inner truth is + foreshadowed for those who know how to look at their kind. + </p> + <p> + Those who read me know my conviction that the world, the temporal world, + rests on a few very simple ideas; so simple that they must be as old as + the hills. It rests notably, among others, on the idea of Fidelity. At a + time when nothing which is not revolutionary in some way or other can + expect to attract much attention I have not been revolutionary in my + writings. The revolutionary spirit is mighty convenient in this, that it + frees one from all scruples as regards ideas. Its hard, absolute optimism + is repulsive to my mind by the menace of fanaticism and intolerance it + contains. No doubt one should smile at these things; but, imperfect + Esthete, I am no better Philosopher. + </p> + <p> + All claim to special righteousness awakens in me that scorn and danger + from which a philosophical mind should be free. . . . + </p> + <p> + I fear that trying to be conversational I have only managed to be unduly + discursive. I have never been very well acquainted with the art of + conversation—that art which, I understand, is supposed to be lost + now. My young days, the days when one's habits and character are formed, + have been rather familiar with long silences. Such voices as broke into + them were anything but conversational. No. I haven't got the habit. Yet + this discursiveness is not so irrelevant to the handful of pages which + follow. They, too, have been charged with discursiveness, with disregard + of chronological order (which is in itself a crime), with + unconventionality of form (which is an impropriety). I was told severely + that the public would view with displeasure the informal character of my + recollections. “Alas!” I protested, mildly. “Could I begin with the + sacramental words, 'I was born on such a date in such a place'? The + remoteness of the locality would have robbed the statement of all + interest. I haven't lived through wonderful adventures to be related + seriatim. I haven't known distinguished men on whom I could pass fatuous + remarks. I haven't been mixed up with great or scandalous affairs. This is + but a bit of psychological document, and even so, I haven't written it + with a view to put forward any conclusion of my own.” + </p> + <p> + But my objector was not placated. These were good reasons for not writing + at all—not a defense of what stood written already, he said. + </p> + <p> + I admit that almost anything, anything in the world, would serve as a good + reason for not writing at all. But since I have written them, all I want + to say in their defense is that these memories put down without any regard + for established conventions have not been thrown off without system and + purpose. They have their hope and their aim. The hope that from the + reading of these pages there may emerge at last the vision of a + personality; the man behind the books so fundamentally dissimilar as, for + instance, “Almayer's Folly” and “The Secret Agent,” and yet a coherent, + justifiable personality both in its origin and in its action. This is the + hope. The immediate aim, closely associated with the hope, is to give the + record of personal memories by presenting faithfully the feelings and + sensations connected with the writing of my first book and with my first + contact with the sea. + </p> + <p> + In the purposely mingled resonance of this double strain a friend here and + there will perhaps detect a subtle accord. + </p> + <p> + J. C. K. <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PERSONAL RECORD + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Books may be written in all sorts of places. Verbal inspiration may enter + the berth of a mariner on board a ship frozen fast in a river in the + middle of a town; and since saints are supposed to look benignantly on + humble believers, I indulge in the pleasant fancy that the shade of old + Flaubert—who imagined himself to be (among other things) a + descendant of Vikings—might have hovered with amused interest over + the docks of a 2,000-ton steamer called the Adowa, on board of which, + gripped by the inclement winter alongside a quay in Rouen, the tenth + chapter of “Almayer's Folly” was begun. With interest, I say, for was not + the kind Norman giant with enormous mustaches and a thundering voice the + last of the Romantics? Was he not, in his unworldly, almost ascetic, + devotion to his art, a sort of literary, saint-like hermit? + </p> + <p> + “'It has set at last,' said Nina to her mother, pointing to the hills + behind which the sun had sunk.” . . . These words of Almayer's romantic + daughter I remember tracing on the gray paper of a pad which rested on the + blanket of my bed-place. They referred to a sunset in Malayan Isles and + shaped themselves in my mind, in a hallucinated vision of forests and + rivers and seas, far removed from a commercial and yet romantic town of + the northern hemisphere. But at that moment the mood of visions and words + was cut short by the third officer, a cheerful and casual youth, coming in + with a bang of the door and the exclamation: “You've made it jolly warm in + here.” + </p> + <p> + It was warm. I had turned on the steam heater after placing a tin under + the leaky water-cock—for perhaps you do not know that water will + leak where steam will not. I am not aware of what my young friend had been + doing on deck all that morning, but the hands he rubbed together + vigorously were very red and imparted to me a chilly feeling by their mere + aspect. He has remained the only banjoist of my acquaintance, and being + also a younger son of a retired colonel, the poem of Mr. Kipling, by a + strange aberration of associated ideas, always seems to me to have been + written with an exclusive view to his person. When he did not play the + banjo he loved to sit and look at it. He proceeded to this sentimental + inspection, and after meditating a while over the strings under my silent + scrutiny inquired, airily: + </p> + <p> + “What are you always scribbling there, if it's fair to ask?” + </p> + <p> + It was a fair enough question, but I did not answer him, and simply turned + the pad over with a movement of instinctive secrecy: I could not have told + him he had put to flight the psychology of Nina Almayer, her opening + speech of the tenth chapter, and the words of Mrs. Almayer's wisdom which + were to follow in the ominous oncoming of a tropical night. I could not + have told him that Nina had said, “It has set at last.” He would have been + extremely surprised and perhaps have dropped his precious banjo. Neither + could I have told him that the sun of my sea-going was setting, too, even + as I wrote the words expressing the impatience of passionate youth bent on + its desire. I did not know this myself, and it is safe to say he would not + have cared, though he was an excellent young fellow and treated me with + more deference than, in our relative positions, I was strictly entitled + to. + </p> + <p> + He lowered a tender gaze on his banjo, and I went on looking through the + port-hole. The round opening framed in its brass rim a fragment of the + quays, with a row of casks ranged on the frozen ground and the tail end of + a great cart. A red-nosed carter in a blouse and a woollen night-cap + leaned against the wheel. An idle, strolling custom house guard, belted + over his blue capote, had the air of being depressed by exposure to the + weather and the monotony of official existence. The background of grimy + houses found a place in the picture framed by my port-hole, across a wide + stretch of paved quay brown with frozen mud. The colouring was sombre, and + the most conspicuous feature was a little cafe with curtained windows and + a shabby front of white woodwork, corresponding with the squalor of these + poorer quarters bordering the river. We had been shifted down there from + another berth in the neighbourhood of the Opera House, where that same + port-hole gave me a view of quite another sort of cafe—the best in + the town, I believe, and the very one where the worthy Bovary and his + wife, the romantic daughter of old Pere Renault, had some refreshment + after the memorable performance of an opera which was the tragic story of + Lucia di Lammermoor in a setting of light music. + </p> + <p> + I could recall no more the hallucination of the Eastern Archipelago which + I certainly hoped to see again. The story of “Almayer's Folly” got put + away under the pillow for that day. I do not know that I had any + occupation to keep me away from it; the truth of the matter is that on + board that ship we were leading just then a contemplative life. I will not + say anything of my privileged position. I was there “just to oblige,” as + an actor of standing may take a small part in the benefit performance of a + friend. + </p> + <p> + As far as my feelings were concerned I did not wish to be in that steamer + at that time and in those circumstances. And perhaps I was not even wanted + there in the usual sense in which a ship “wants” an officer. It was the + first and last instance in my sea life when I served ship-owners who have + remained completely shadowy to my apprehension. I do not mean this for the + well-known firm of London ship-brokers which had chartered the ship to + the, I will not say short-lived, but ephemeral Franco-Canadian Transport + Company. A death leaves something behind, but there was never anything + tangible left from the F. C. T. C. It flourished no longer than roses + live, and unlike the roses it blossomed in the dead of winter, emitted a + sort of faint perfume of adventure, and died before spring set in. But + indubitably it was a company, it had even a house-flag, all white with the + letters F. C. T. C. artfully tangled up in a complicated monogram. We flew + it at our mainmast head, and now I have come to the conclusion that it was + the only flag of its kind in existence. All the same we on board, for many + days, had the impression of being a unit of a large fleet with fortnightly + departures for Montreal and Quebec as advertised in pamphlets and + prospectuses which came aboard in a large package in Victoria Dock, + London, just before we started for Rouen, France. And in the shadowy life + of the F. C. T. C. lies the secret of that, my last employment in my + calling, which in a remote sense interrupted the rhythmical development of + Nina Almayer's story. + </p> + <p> + The then secretary of the London Shipmasters' Society, with its modest + rooms in Fenchurch Street, was a man of indefatigable activity and the + greatest devotion to his task. He is responsible for what was my last + association with a ship. I call it that because it can hardly be called a + sea-going experience. Dear Captain Froud—it is impossible not to pay + him the tribute of affectionate familiarity at this distance of years—had + very sound views as to the advancement of knowledge and status for the + whole body of the officers of the mercantile marine. He organized for us + courses of professional lectures, St. John ambulance classes, corresponded + industriously with public bodies and members of Parliament on subjects + touching the interests of the service; and as to the oncoming of some + inquiry or commission relating to matters of the sea and to the work of + seamen, it was a perfect godsend to his need of exerting himself on our + corporate behalf. Together with this high sense of his official duties he + had in him a vein of personal kindness, a strong disposition to do what + good he could to the individual members of that craft of which in his time + he had been a very excellent master. And what greater kindness can one do + to a seaman than to put him in the way of employment? Captain Froud did + not see why the Shipmasters' Society, besides its general guardianship of + our interests, should not be unofficially an employment agency of the very + highest class. + </p> + <p> + “I am trying to persuade all our great ship-owning firms to come to us for + their men. There is nothing of a trade-union spirit about our society, and + I really don't see why they should not,” he said once to me. “I am always + telling the captains, too, that, all things being equal, they ought to + give preference to the members of the society. In my position I can + generally find for them what they want among our members or our associate + members.” + </p> + <p> + In my wanderings about London from west to east and back again (I was very + idle then) the two little rooms in Fenchurch Street were a sort of + resting-place where my spirit, hankering after the sea, could feel itself + nearer to the ships, the men, and the life of its choice—nearer + there than on any other spot of the solid earth. This resting-place used + to be, at about five o'clock in the afternoon, full of men and tobacco + smoke, but Captain Froud had the smaller room to himself and there he + granted private interviews, whose principal motive was to render service. + Thus, one murky November afternoon he beckoned me in with a crooked finger + and that peculiar glance above his spectacles which is perhaps my + strongest physical recollection of the man. + </p> + <p> + “I have had in here a shipmaster, this morning,” he said, getting back to + his desk and motioning me to a chair, “who is in want of an officer. It's + for a steamship. You know, nothing pleases me more than to be asked, but, + unfortunately, I do not quite see my way . . .” + </p> + <p> + As the outer room was full of men I cast a wondering glance at the closed + door; but he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I should be only too glad to get that berth for one of them. But + the fact of the matter is, the captain of that ship wants an officer who + can speak French fluently, and that's not so easy to find. I do not know + anybody myself but you. It's a second officer's berth and, of course, you + would not care . . . would you now? I know that it isn't what you are + looking for.” + </p> + <p> + It was not. I had given myself up to the idleness of a haunted man who + looks for nothing but words wherein to capture his visions. But I admit + that outwardly I resembled sufficiently a man who could make a second + officer for a steamer chartered by a French company. I showed no sign of + being haunted by the fate of Nina and by the murmurs of tropical forests; + and even my intimate intercourse with Almayer (a person of weak character) + had not put a visible mark upon my features. For many years he and the + world of his story had been the companions of my imagination without, I + hope, impairing my ability to deal with the realities of sea life. I had + had the man and his surroundings with me ever since my return from the + eastern waters—some four years before the day of which I speak. + </p> + <p> + It was in the front sitting-room of furnished apartments in a Pimlico + square that they first began to live again with a vividness and poignancy + quite foreign to our former real intercourse. I had been treating myself + to a long stay on shore, and in the necessity of occupying my mornings + Almayer (that old acquaintance) came nobly to the rescue. + </p> + <p> + Before long, as was only proper, his wife and daughter joined him round my + table, and then the rest of that Pantai band came full of words and + gestures. Unknown to my respectable landlady, it was my practice directly + after my breakfast to hold animated receptions of Malays, Arabs, and + half-castes. They did not clamour aloud for my attention. They came with a + silent and irresistible appeal—and the appeal, I affirm here, was + not to my self-love or my vanity. It seems now to have had a moral + character, for why should the memory of these beings, seen in their + obscure, sun-bathed existence, demand to express itself in the shape of a + novel, except on the ground of that mysterious fellowship which unites in + a community of hopes and fears all the dwellers on this earth? + </p> + <p> + I did not receive my visitors with boisterous rapture as the bearers of + any gifts of profit or fame. There was no vision of a printed book before + me as I sat writing at that table, situated in a decayed part of + Belgravia. After all these years, each leaving its evidence of slowly + blackened pages, I can honestly say that it is a sentiment akin to pity + which prompted me to render in words assembled with conscientious care the + memory of things far distant and of men who had lived. + </p> + <p> + But, coming back to Captain Froud and his fixed idea of never + disappointing ship owners or ship-captains, it was not likely that I + should fail him in his ambition—to satisfy at a few hours' notice + the unusual demand for a French-speaking officer. He explained to me that + the ship was chartered by a French company intending to establish a + regular monthly line of sailings from Rouen, for the transport of French + emigrants to Canada. But, frankly, this sort of thing did not interest me + very much. I said gravely that if it were really a matter of keeping up + the reputation of the Shipmasters' Society I would consider it. But the + consideration was just for form's sake. The next day I interviewed the + captain, and I believe we were impressed favourably with each other. He + explained that his chief mate was an excellent man in every respect and + that he could not think of dismissing him so as to give me the higher + position; but that if I consented to come as second officer I would be + given certain special advantages—and so on. + </p> + <p> + I told him that if I came at all the rank really did not matter. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” he insisted, “you will get on first rate with Mr. Paramor.” + </p> + <p> + I promised faithfully to stay for two trips at least, and it was in those + circumstances that what was to be my last connection with a ship began. + And after all there was not even one single trip. It may be that it was + simply the fulfilment of a fate, of that written word on my forehead which + apparently forbade me, through all my sea wanderings, ever to achieve the + crossing of the Western Ocean—using the words in that special sense + in which sailors speak of Western Ocean trade, of Western Ocean packets, + of Western Ocean hard cases. The new life attended closely upon the old, + and the nine chapters of “Almayer's Folly” went with me to the Victoria + Dock, whence in a few days we started for Rouen. I won't go so far as + saying that the engaging of a man fated never to cross the Western Ocean + was the absolute cause of the Franco-Canadian Transport Company's failure + to achieve even a single passage. It might have been that of course; but + the obvious, gross obstacle was clearly the want of money. Four hundred + and sixty bunks for emigrants were put together in the 'tween decks by + industrious carpenters while we lay in the Victoria Dock, but never an + emigrant turned up in Rouen—of which, being a humane person, I + confess I was glad. Some gentlemen from Paris—I think there were + three of them, and one was said to be the chairman—turned up, + indeed, and went from end to end of the ship, knocking their silk hats + cruelly against the deck beams. I attended them personally, and I can + vouch for it that the interest they took in things was intelligent enough, + though, obviously, they had never seen anything of the sort before. Their + faces as they went ashore wore a cheerfully inconclusive expression. + Notwithstanding that this inspecting ceremony was supposed to be a + preliminary to immediate sailing, it was then, as they filed down our + gangway, that I received the inward monition that no sailing within the + meaning of our charter party would ever take place. + </p> + <p> + It must be said that in less than three weeks a move took place. When we + first arrived we had been taken up with much ceremony well toward the + centre of the town, and, all the street corners being placarded with the + tricolor posters announcing the birth of our company, the petit bourgeois + with his wife and family made a Sunday holiday from the inspection of the + ship. I was always in evidence in my best uniform to give information as + though I had been a Cook's tourists' interpreter, while our quartermasters + reaped a harvest of small change from personally conducted parties. But + when the move was made—that move which carried us some mile and a + half down the stream to be tied up to an altogether muddier and shabbier + quay—then indeed the desolation of solitude became our lot. It was a + complete and soundless stagnation; for as we had the ship ready for sea to + the smallest detail, as the frost was hard and the days short, we were + absolutely idle—idle to the point of blushing with shame when the + thought struck us that all the time our salaries went on. Young Cole was + aggrieved because, as he said, we could not enjoy any sort of fun in the + evening after loafing like this all day; even the banjo lost its charm + since there was nothing to prevent his strumming on it all the time + between the meals. The good Paramor—he was really a most excellent + fellow—became unhappy as far as was possible to his cheery nature, + till one dreary day I suggested, out of sheer mischief, that he should + employ the dormant energies of the crew in hauling both cables up on deck + and turning them end for end. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Mr. Paramor was radiant. “Excellent idea!” but directly his + face fell. “Why . . . Yes! But we can't make that job last more than three + days,” he muttered, discontentedly. I don't know how long he expected us + to be stuck on the riverside outskirts of Rouen, but I know that the + cables got hauled up and turned end for end according to my satanic + suggestion, put down again, and their very existence utterly forgotten, I + believe, before a French river pilot came on board to take our ship down, + empty as she came, into the Havre roads. You may think that this state of + forced idleness favoured some advance in the fortunes of Almayer and his + daughter. Yet it was not so. As if it were some sort of evil spell, my + banjoist cabin mate's interruption, as related above, had arrested them + short at the point of that fateful sunset for many weeks together. It was + always thus with this book, begun in '89 and finished in '94—with + that shortest of all the novels which it was to be my lot to write. + Between its opening exclamation calling Almayer to his dinner in his + wife's voice and Abdullah's (his enemy) mental reference to the God of + Islam—“The Merciful, the Compassionate”—which closes the book, + there were to come several long sea passages, a visit (to use the elevated + phraseology suitable to the occasion) to the scenes (some of them) of my + childhood and the realization of childhood's vain words, expressing a + light-hearted and romantic whim. + </p> + <p> + It was in 1868, when nine years old or thereabouts, that while looking at + a map of Africa of the time and putting my finger on the blank space then + representing the unsolved mystery of that continent, I said to myself, + with absolute assurance and an amazing audacity which are no longer in my + character now: + </p> + <p> + “When I grow up I shall go <i>there</i>.” + </p> + <p> + And of course I thought no more about it till after a quarter of a century + or so an opportunity offered to go there—as if the sin of childish + audacity were to be visited on my mature head. Yes. I did go there: <i>there</i> + being the region of Stanley Falls, which in '68 was the blankest of blank + spaces on the earth's figured surface. And the MS. of “Almayer's Folly,” + carried about me as if it were a talisman or a treasure, went <i>there</i>, + too. That it ever came out of <i>there</i> seems a special dispensation of + Providence, because a good many of my other properties, infinitely more + valuable and useful to me, remained behind through unfortunate accidents + of transportation. I call to mind, for instance, a specially awkward turn + of the Congo between Kinchassa and Leopoldsville—more particularly + when one had to take it at night in a big canoe with only half the proper + number of paddlers. I failed in being the second white man on record + drowned at that interesting spot through the upsetting of a canoe. The + first was a young Belgian officer, but the accident happened some months + before my time, and he, too, I believe, was going home; not perhaps quite + so ill as myself—but still he was going home. I got round the turn + more or less alive, though I was too sick to care whether I did or not, + and, always with “Almayer's Folly” among my diminishing baggage, I arrived + at that delectable capital, Boma, where, before the departure of the + steamer which was to take me home, I had the time to wish myself dead over + and over again with perfect sincerity. At that date there were in + existence only seven chapters of “Almayer's Folly,” but the chapter in my + history which followed was that of a long, long illness and very dismal + convalescence. Geneva, or more precisely the hydropathic establishment of + Champel, is rendered forever famous by the termination of the eighth + chapter in the history of Almayer's decline and fall. The events of the + ninth are inextricably mixed up with the details of the proper management + of a waterside warehouse owned by a certain city firm whose name does not + matter. But that work, undertaken to accustom myself again to the + activities of a healthy existence, soon came to an end. The earth had + nothing to hold me with for very long. And then that memorable story, like + a cask of choice Madeira, got carried for three years to and fro upon the + sea. Whether this treatment improved its flavour or not, of course I would + not like to say. As far as appearance is concerned it certainly did + nothing of the kind. The whole MS. acquired a faded look and an ancient, + yellowish complexion. It became at last unreasonable to suppose that + anything in the world would ever happen to Almayer and Nina. And yet + something most unlikely to happen on the high seas was to wake them up + from their state of suspended animation. + </p> + <p> + What is it that Novalis says: “It is certain my conviction gains + infinitely the moment an other soul will believe in it.” And what is a + novel if not a conviction of our fellow-men's existence strong enough to + take upon itself a form of imagined life clearer than reality and whose + accumulated verisimilitude of selected episodes puts to shame the pride of + documentary history. Providence which saved my MS. from the Congo rapids + brought it to the knowledge of a helpful soul far out on the open sea. It + would be on my part the greatest ingratitude ever to forget the sallow, + sunken face and the deep-set, dark eyes of the young Cambridge man (he was + a “passenger for his health” on board the good ship Torrens outward bound + to Australia) who was the first reader of “Almayer's Folly”—the very + first reader I ever had. + </p> + <p> + “Would it bore you very much in reading a MS. in a handwriting like mine?” + I asked him one evening, on a sudden impulse at the end of a longish + conversation whose subject was Gibbon's History. + </p> + <p> + Jacques (that was his name) was sitting in my cabin one stormy dog-watch + below, after bring me a book to read from his own travelling store. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” he answered, with his courteous intonation and a faint + smile. As I pulled a drawer open his suddenly aroused curiosity gave him a + watchful expression. I wonder what he expected to see. A poem, maybe. All + that's beyond guessing now. + </p> + <p> + He was not a cold, but a calm man, still more subdued by disease—a + man of few words and of an unassuming modesty in general intercourse, but + with something uncommon in the whole of his person which set him apart + from the undistinguished lot of our sixty passengers. His eyes had a + thoughtful, introspective look. In his attractive reserved manner and in a + veiled sympathetic voice he asked: + </p> + <p> + “What is this?” “It is a sort of tale,” I answered, with an effort. “It is + not even finished yet. Nevertheless, I would like to know what you think + of it.” He put the MS. in the breast-pocket of his jacket; I remember + perfectly his thin, brown fingers folding it lengthwise. “I will read it + to-morrow,” he remarked, seizing the door handle; and then watching the + roll of the ship for a propitious moment, he opened the door and was gone. + In the moment of his exit I heard the sustained booming of the wind, the + swish of the water on the decks of the Torrens, and the subdued, as if + distant, roar of the rising sea. I noted the growing disquiet in the great + restlessness of the ocean, and responded professionally to it with the + thought that at eight o'clock, in another half hour or so at the farthest, + the topgallant sails would have to come off the ship. + </p> + <p> + Next day, but this time in the first dog watch, Jacques entered my cabin. + He had a thick woollen muffler round his throat, and the MS. was in his + hand. He tendered it to me with a steady look, but without a word. I took + it in silence. He sat down on the couch and still said nothing. I opened + and shut a drawer under my desk, on which a filled-up log-slate lay wide + open in its wooden frame waiting to be copied neatly into the sort of book + I was accustomed to write with care, the ship's log-book. I turned my back + squarely on the desk. And even then Jacques never offered a word. “Well, + what do you say?” I asked at last. “Is it worth finishing?” This question + expressed exactly the whole of my thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Distinctly,” he answered, in his sedate, veiled voice, and then coughed a + little. + </p> + <p> + “Were you interested?” I inquired further, almost in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Very much!” + </p> + <p> + In a pause I went on meeting instinctively the heavy rolling of the ship, + and Jacques put his feet upon the couch. The curtain of my bed-place swung + to and fro as if it were a punkah, the bulkhead lamp circled in its + gimbals, and now and then the cabin door rattled slightly in the gusts of + wind. It was in latitude 40 south, and nearly in the longitude of + Greenwich, as far as I can remember, that these quiet rites of Almayer's + and Nina's resurrection were taking place. In the prolonged silence it + occurred to me that there was a good deal of retrospective writing in the + story as far as it went. Was it intelligible in its action, I asked + myself, as if already the story-teller were being born into the body of a + seaman. But I heard on deck the whistle of the officer of the watch and + remained on the alert to catch the order that was to follow this call to + attention. It reached me as a faint, fierce shout to “Square the yards.” + “Aha!” I thought to myself, “a westerly blow coming on.” Then I turned to + my very first reader, who, alas! was not to live long enough to know the + end of the tale. + </p> + <p> + “Now let me ask you one more thing: is the story quite clear to you as it + stands?” + </p> + <p> + He raised his dark, gentle eyes to my face and seemed surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + This was all I was to hear from his lips concerning the merits of + “Almayer's Folly.” We never spoke together of the book again. A long + period of bad weather set in and I had no thoughts left but for my duties, + while poor Jacques caught a fatal cold and had to keep close in his cabin. + When we arrived in Adelaide the first reader of my prose went at once + up-country, and died rather suddenly in the end, either in Australia or it + may be on the passage while going home through the Suez Canal. I am not + sure which it was now, and I do not think I ever heard precisely; though I + made inquiries about him from some of our return passengers who, wandering + about to “see the country” during the ship's stay in port, had come upon + him here and there. At last we sailed, homeward bound, and still not one + line was added to the careless scrawl of the many pages which poor Jacques + had had the patience to read with the very shadows of Eternity gathering + already in the hollows of his kind, steadfast eyes. + </p> + <p> + The purpose instilled into me by his simple and final “Distinctly” + remained dormant, yet alive to await its opportunity. I dare say I am + compelled—unconsciously compelled—now to write volume after + volume, as in past years I was compelled to go to sea voyage after voyage. + Leaves must follow upon one an other as leagues used to follow in the days + gone by, on and on to the appointed end, which, being Truth itself, is One—one + for all men and for all occupations. + </p> + <p> + I do not know which of the two impulses has appeared more mysterious and + more wonderful to me. Still, in writing, as in going to sea, I had to wait + my opportunity. Let me confess here that I was never one of those + wonderful fellows that would go afloat in a wash-tub for the sake of the + fun, and if I may pride myself upon my consistency, it was ever just the + same with my writing. Some men, I have heard, write in railway carriages, + and could do it, perhaps, sitting crossed-legged on a clothes-line; but I + must confess that my sybaritic disposition will not consent to write + without something at least resembling a chair. Line by line, rather than + page by page, was the growth of “Almayer's Folly.” + </p> + <p> + And so it happened that I very nearly lost the MS., advanced now to the + first words of the ninth chapter, in the Friedrichstrasse Poland, or more + precisely to Ukraine. On an early, sleepy morning changing trains in a + hurry I left my Gladstone bag in a refreshment-room. A worthy and + intelligent Koffertrager rescued it. Yet in my anxiety I was not thinking + of the MS., but of all the other things that were packed in the bag. + </p> + <p> + In Warsaw, where I spent two days, those wandering pages were never + exposed to the light, except once to candle-light, while the bag lay open + on the chair. I was dressing hurriedly to dine at a sporting club. A + friend of my childhood (he had been in the Diplomatic Service, but had + turned to growing wheat on paternal acres, and we had not seen each other + for over twenty years) was sitting on the hotel sofa waiting to carry me + off there. + </p> + <p> + “You might tell me something of your life while you are dressing,” he + suggested, kindly. + </p> + <p> + I do not think I told him much of my life story either then or later. The + talk of the select little party with which he made me dine was extremely + animated and embraced most subjects under heaven, from big-game shooting + in Africa to the last poem published in a very modernist review, edited by + the very young and patronized by the highest society. But it never touched + upon “Almayer's Folly,” and next morning, in uninterrupted obscurity, this + inseparable companion went on rolling with me in the southeast direction + toward the government of Kiev. + </p> + <p> + At that time there was an eight hours' drive, if not more, from the + railway station to the country-house which was my destination. + </p> + <p> + “Dear boy” (these words were always written in English), so ran the last + letter from that house received in London—“Get yourself driven to + the only inn in the place, dine as well as you can, and some time in the + evening my own confidential servant, factotum and majordomo, a Mr. V. S. + (I warn you he is of noble extraction), will present himself before you, + reporting the arrival of the small sledge which will take you here on the + next day. I send with him my heaviest fur, which I suppose with such + overcoats as you may have with you will keep you from freezing on the + road.” + </p> + <p> + Sure enough, as I was dining, served by a Hebrew waiter, in an enormous + barn-like bedroom with a freshly painted floor, the door opened and, in a + travelling costume of long boots, big sheepskin cap, and a short coat girt + with a leather belt, the Mr. V. S. (of noble extraction), a man of about + thirty-five, appeared with an air of perplexity on his open and mustached + countenance. I got up from the table and greeted him in Polish, with, I + hope, the right shade of consideration demanded by his noble blood and his + confidential position. His face cleared up in a wonderful way. It appeared + that, notwithstanding my uncle's earnest assurances, the good fellow had + remained in doubt of our understanding each other. He imagined I would + talk to him in some foreign language. + </p> + <p> + I was told that his last words on getting into the sledge to come to meet + me shaped an anxious exclamation: + </p> + <p> + “Well! Well! Here I am going, but God only knows how I am to make myself + understood to our master's nephew.” + </p> + <p> + We understood each other very well from the first. He took charge of me as + if I were not quite of age. I had a delightful boyish feeling of coming + home from school when he muffled me up next morning in an enormous + bearskin travelling-coat and took his seat protectively by my side. The + sledge was a very small one, and it looked utterly insignificant, almost + like a toy behind the four big bays harnessed two and two. We three, + counting the coachman, filled it completely. He was a young fellow with + clear blue eyes; the high collar of his livery fur coat framed his cheery + countenance and stood all round level with the top of his head. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Joseph,” my companion addressed him, “do you think we shall manage + to get home before six?” His answer was that we would surely, with God's + help, and providing there were no heavy drifts in the long stretch between + certain villages whose names came with an extremely familiar sound to my + ears. He turned out an excellent coachman, with an instinct for keeping + the road among the snow-covered fields and a natural gift of getting the + best out of his horses. + </p> + <p> + “He is the son of that Joseph that I suppose the Captain remembers. He who + used to drive the Captain's late grandmother of holy memory,” remarked V. + S., busy tucking fur rugs about my feet. + </p> + <p> + I remembered perfectly the trusty Joseph who used to drive my grandmother. + Why! he it was who let me hold the reins for the first time in my life and + allowed me to play with the great four-in-hand whip outside the doors of + the coach-house. + </p> + <p> + “What became of him?” I asked. “He is no longer serving, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “He served our master,” was the reply. “But he died of cholera ten years + ago now—that great epidemic that we had. And his wife died at the + same time—the whole houseful of them, and this is the only boy that + was left.” + </p> + <p> + The MS. of “Almayer's Folly” was reposing in the bag under our feet. + </p> + <p> + I saw again the sun setting on the plains as I saw it in the travels of my + childhood. It set, clear and red, dipping into the snow in full view as if + it were setting on the sea. It was twenty-three years since I had seen the + sun set over that land; and we drove on in the darkness which fell swiftly + upon the livid expanse of snows till, out of the waste of a white earth + joining a bestarred sky, surged up black shapes, the clumps of trees about + a village of the Ukrainian plain. A cottage or two glided by, a low + interminable wall, and then, glimmering and winking through a screen of + fir-trees, the lights of the master's house. + </p> + <p> + That very evening the wandering MS. of “Almayer's Folly” was unpacked and + unostentatiously laid on the writing-table in my room, the guest-room + which had been, I was informed in an affectionately careless tone, + awaiting me for some fifteen years or so. It attracted no attention from + the affectionate presence hovering round the son of the favourite sister. + </p> + <p> + “You won't have many hours to yourself while you are staying with me, + brother,” he said—this form of address borrowed from the speech of + our peasants being the usual expression of the highest good humour in a + moment of affectionate elation. “I shall be always coming in for a chat.” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, we had the whole house to chat in, and were + everlastingly intruding upon each other. I invaded the retirement of his + study where the principal feature was a colossal silver inkstand presented + to him on his fiftieth year by a subscription of all his wards then + living. He had been guardian of many orphans of land-owning families from + the three southern provinces—ever since the year 1860. Some of them + had been my school fellows and playmates, but not one of them, girls or + boys, that I know of has ever written a novel. One or two were older than + myself—considerably older, too. One of them, a visitor I remember in + my early years, was the man who first put me on horseback, and his + four-horse bachelor turnout, his perfect horsemanship and general skill in + manly exercises, was one of my earliest admirations. I seem to remember my + mother looking on from a colonnade in front of the dining-room windows as + I was lifted upon the pony, held, for all I know, by the very Joseph—the + groom attached specially to my grandmother's service—who died of + cholera. It was certainly a young man in a dark-blue, tailless coat and + huge Cossack trousers, that being the livery of the men about the stables. + It must have been in 1864, but reckoning by another mode of calculating + time, it was certainly in the year in which my mother obtained permission + to travel south and visit her family, from the exile into which she had + followed my father. For that, too, she had had to ask permission, and I + know that one of the conditions of that favour was that she should be + treated exactly as a condemned exile herself. Yet a couple of years later, + in memory of her eldest brother, who had served in the Guards and dying + early left hosts of friends and a loved memory in the great world of St. + Petersburg, some influential personages procured for her this permission—it + was officially called the “Highest Grace”—of a four months' leave + from exile. + </p> + <p> + This is also the year in which I first begin to remember my mother with + more distinctness than a mere loving, wide-browed, silent, protecting + presence, whose eyes had a sort of commanding sweetness; and I also + remember the great gathering of all the relations from near and far, and + the gray heads of the family friends paying her the homage of respect and + love in the house of her favourite brother, who, a few years later, was to + take the place for me of both my parents. + </p> + <p> + I did not understand the tragic significance of it all at the time, + though, indeed, I remember that doctors also came. There were no signs of + invalidism about her—but I think that already they had pronounced + her doom unless perhaps the change to a southern climate could + re-establish her declining strength. For me it seems the very happiest + period of my existence. There was my cousin, a delightful, quick-tempered + little girl, some months younger than myself, whose life, lovingly watched + over as if she were a royal princess, came to an end with her fifteenth + year. There were other children, too, many of whom are dead now, and not a + few whose very names I have forgotten. Over all this hung the oppressive + shadow of the great Russian empire—the shadow lowering with the + darkness of a new-born national hatred fostered by the Moscow school of + journalists against the Poles after the ill-omened rising of 1863. + </p> + <p> + This is a far cry back from the MS. of “Almayer's Folly,” but the public + record of these formative impressions is not the whim of an uneasy + egotism. These, too, are things human, already distant in their appeal. It + is meet that something more should be left for the novelist's children + than the colours and figures of his own hard-won creation. That which in + their grown-up years may appear to the world about them as the most + enigmatic side of their natures and perhaps must remain forever obscure + even to themselves, will be their unconscious response to the still voice + of that inexorable past from which his work of fiction and their + personalities are remotely derived. + </p> + <p> + Only in men's imagination does every truth find an effective and + undeniable existence. Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of + art as of life. An imaginative and exact rendering of authentic memories + may serve worthily that spirit of piety toward all things human which + sanctions the conceptions of a writer of tales, and the emotions of the + man reviewing his own experience. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + As I have said, I was unpacking my luggage after a journey from London + into Ukraine. The MS. of “Almayer's Folly”—my companion already for + some three years or more, and then in the ninth chapter of its age—was + deposited unostentatiously on the writing-table placed between two + windows. It didn't occur to me to put it away in the drawer the table was + fitted with, but my eye was attracted by the good form of the same + drawer's brass handles. Two candelabra, with four candles each, lighted up + festally the room which had waited so many years for the wandering nephew. + The blinds were down. + </p> + <p> + Within five hundred yards of the chair on which I sat stood the first + peasant hut of the village—part of my maternal grandfather's estate, + the only part remaining in the possession of a member of the family; and + beyond the village in the limitless blackness of a winter's night there + lay the great unfenced fields—not a flat and severe plain, but a + kindly bread-giving land of low rounded ridges, all white now, with the + black patches of timber nestling in the hollows. The road by which I had + come ran through the village with a turn just outside the gates closing + the short drive. Somebody was abroad on the deep snow track; a quick + tinkle of bells stole gradually into the stillness of the room like a + tuneful whisper. + </p> + <p> + My unpacking had been watched over by the servant who had come to help me, + and, for the most part, had been standing attentive but unnecessary at the + door of the room. I did not want him in the least, but I did not like to + tell him to go away. He was a young fellow, certainly more than ten years + younger than myself; I had not been—I won't say in that place, but + within sixty miles of it, ever since the year '67; yet his guileless + physiognomy of the open peasant type seemed strangely familiar. It was + quite possible that he might have been a descendant, a son, or even a + grandson, of the servants whose friendly faces had been familiar to me in + my early childhood. As a matter of fact he had no such claim on my + consideration. He was the product of some village nearby and was there on + his promotion, having learned the service in one or two houses as pantry + boy. I know this because I asked the worthy V—— next day. I + might well have spared the question. I discovered before long that all the + faces about the house and all the faces in the village: the grave faces + with long mustaches of the heads of families, the downy faces of the young + men, the faces of the little fair-haired children, the handsome, tanned, + wide-browed faces of the mothers seen at the doors of the huts, were as + familiar to me as though I had known them all from childhood and my + childhood were a matter of the day before yesterday. + </p> + <p> + The tinkle of the traveller's bells, after growing louder, had faded away + quickly, and the tumult of barking dogs in the village had calmed down at + last. My uncle, lounging in the corner of a small couch, smoked his long + Turkish chibouk in silence. + </p> + <p> + “This is an extremely nice writing-table you have got for my room,” I + remarked. + </p> + <p> + “It is really your property,” he said, keeping his eyes on me, with an + interested and wistful expression, as he had done ever since I had entered + the house. “Forty years ago your mother used to write at this very table. + In our house in Oratow, it stood in the little sitting-room which, by a + tacit arrangement, was given up to the girls—I mean to your mother + and her sister who died so young. It was a present to them jointly from + your uncle Nicholas B. when your mother was seventeen and your aunt two + years younger. She was a very dear, delightful girl, that aunt of yours, + of whom I suppose you know nothing more than the name. She did not shine + so much by personal beauty and a cultivated mind in which your mother was + far superior. It was her good sense, the admirable sweetness of her + nature, her exceptional facility and ease in daily relations, that + endeared her to everybody. Her death was a terrible grief and a serious + moral loss for us all. Had she lived she would have brought the greatest + blessings to the house it would have been her lot to enter, as wife, + mother, and mistress of a household. She would have created round herself + an atmosphere of peace and content which only those who can love + unselfishly are able to evoke. Your mother—of far greater beauty, + exceptionally distinguished in person, manner, and intellect—had a + less easy disposition. Being more brilliantly gifted, she also expected + more from life. At that trying time especially, we were greatly concerned + about her state. Suffering in her health from the shock of her father's + death (she was alone in the house with him when he died suddenly), she was + torn by the inward struggle between her love for the man whom she was to + marry in the end and her knowledge of her dead father's declared objection + to that match. Unable to bring herself to disregard that cherished memory + and that judgment she had always respected and trusted, and, on the other + hand, feeling the impossibility to resist a sentiment so deep and so true, + she could not have been expected to preserve her mental and moral balance. + At war with herself, she could not give to others that feeling of peace + which was not her own. It was only later, when united at last with the man + of her choice, that she developed those uncommon gifts of mind and heart + which compelled the respect and admiration even of our foes. Meeting with + calm fortitude the cruel trials of a life reflecting all the national and + social misfortunes of the community, she realized the highest conceptions + of duty as a wife, a mother, and a patriot, sharing the exile of her + husband and representing nobly the ideal of Polish womanhood. Our uncle + Nicholas was not a man very accessible to feelings of affection. Apart + from his worship for Napoleon the Great, he loved really, I believe, only + three people in the world: his mother—your great-grandmother, whom + you have seen but cannot possibly remember; his brother, our father, in + whose house he lived for so many years; and of all of us, his nephews and + nieces grown up around him, your mother alone. The modest, lovable + qualities of the youngest sister he did not seem able to see. It was I who + felt most profoundly this unexpected stroke of death falling upon the + family less than a year after I had become its head. It was terribly + unexpected. Driving home one wintry afternoon to keep me company in our + empty house, where I had to remain permanently administering the estate + and at tending to the complicated affairs—(the girls took it in turn + week and week about)—driving, as I said, from the house of the + Countess Tekla Potocka, where our invalid mother was staying then to be + near a doctor, they lost the road and got stuck in a snow drift. She was + alone with the coachman and old Valery, the personal servant of our late + father. Impatient of delay while they were trying to dig themselves out, + she jumped out of the sledge and went to look for the road herself. All + this happened in '51, not ten miles from the house in which we are sitting + now. + </p> + <p> + “The road was soon found, but snow had begun to fall thickly again, and + they were four more hours getting home. Both the men took off their + sheepskin lined greatcoats and used all their own rugs to wrap her up + against the cold, notwithstanding her protests, positive orders, and even + struggles, as Valery afterward related to me. 'How could I,' he + remonstrated with her, 'go to meet the blessed soul of my late master if I + let any harm come to you while there's a spark of life left in my body?' + When they reached home at last the poor old man was stiff and speechless + from exposure, and the coachman was in not much better plight, though he + had the strength to drive round to the stables himself. To my reproaches + for venturing out at all in such weather, she answered, + characteristically, that she could not bear the thought of abandoning me + to my cheerless solitude. It is incomprehensible how it was that she was + allowed to start. I suppose it had to be! She made light of the cough + which came on next day, but shortly afterward inflammation of the lungs + set in, and in three weeks she was no more! She was the first to be taken + away of the young generation under my care. Behold the vanity of all hopes + and fears! I was the most frail at birth of all the children. For years I + remained so delicate that my parents had but little hope of bringing me + up; and yet I have survived five brothers and two sisters, and many of my + contemporaries; I have outlived my wife and daughter, too—and from + all those who have had some knowledge at least of these old times you + alone are left. It has been my lot to lay in an early grave many honest + hearts, many brilliant promises, many hopes full of life.” + </p> + <p> + He got up briskly, sighed, and left me saying, “We will dine in half an + hour.” + </p> + <p> + Without moving, I listened to his quick steps resounding on the waxed + floor of the next room, traversing the anteroom lined with bookshelves, + where he paused to put his chibouk in the pipe-stand before passing into + the drawing-room (these were all en suite), where he became inaudible on + the thick carpet. But I heard the door of his study-bedroom close. He was + then sixty-two years old and had been for a quarter of a century the + wisest, the firmest, the most indulgent of guardians, extending over me a + paternal care and affection, a moral support which I seemed to feel always + near me in the most distant parts of the earth. + </p> + <p> + As to Mr. Nicholas B., sub-lieutenant of 1808, lieutenant of 1813 in the + French army, and for a short time <i>Officier d'Ordonnance</i> of Marshal + Marmont; afterward captain in the 2d Regiment of Mounted Rifles in the + Polish army—such as it existed up to 1830 in the reduced kingdom + established by the Congress of Vienna—I must say that from all that + more distant past, known to me traditionally and a little <i>de visu</i>, + and called out by the words of the man just gone away, he remains the most + incomplete figure. It is obvious that I must have seen him in '64, for it + is certain that he would not have missed the opportunity of seeing my + mother for what he must have known would be the last time. From my early + boyhood to this day, if I try to call up his image, a sort of mist rises + before my eyes, mist in which I perceive vaguely only a neatly brushed + head of white hair (which is exceptional in the case of the B. family, + where it is the rule for men to go bald in a becoming manner before + thirty) and a thin, curved, dignified nose, a feature in strict accordance + with the physical tradition of the B. family. But it is not by these + fragmentary remains of perishable mortality that he lives in my memory. I + knew, at a very early age, that my granduncle Nicholas B. was a Knight of + the Legion of Honour and that he had also the Polish Cross for <i>valour + Virtuti Militari</i>. The knowledge of these glorious facts inspired in me + an admiring veneration; yet it is not that sentiment, strong as it was, + which resumes for me the force and the significance of his personality. It + is overborne by another and complex impression of awe, compassion, and + horror. Mr. Nicholas B. remains for me the unfortunate and miserable (but + heroic) being who once upon a time had eaten a dog. + </p> + <p> + It is a good forty years since I heard the tale, and the effect has not + worn off yet. I believe this is the very first, say, realistic, story I + heard in my life; but all the same I don't know why I should have been so + frightfully impressed. Of course I know what our village dogs look like—but + still. . . . No! At this very day, recalling the horror and compassion of + my childhood, I ask myself whether I am right in disclosing to a cold and + fastidious world that awful episode in the family history. I ask myself—is + it right?—especially as the B. family had always been honourably + known in a wide countryside for the delicacy of their tastes in the matter + of eating and drinking. But upon the whole, and considering that this + gastronomical degradation overtaking a gallant young officer lies really + at the door of the Great Napoleon, I think that to cover it up by silence + would be an exaggeration of literary restraint. Let the truth stand here. + The responsibility rests with the Man of St. Helena in view of his + deplorable levity in the conduct of the Russian campaign. It was during + the memorable retreat from Moscow that Mr. Nicholas B., in company of two + brother officers—as to whose morality and natural refinement I know + nothing—bagged a dog on the outskirts of a village and subsequently + devoured him. As far as I can remember the weapon used was a cavalry + sabre, and the issue of the sporting episode was rather more of a matter + of life and death than if it had been an encounter with a tiger. A picket + of Cossacks was sleeping in that village lost in the depths of the great + Lithuanian forest. The three sportsmen had observed them from a + hiding-place making themselves very much at home among the huts just + before the early winter darkness set in at four o'clock. They had observed + them with disgust and, perhaps, with despair. Late in the night the rash + counsels of hunger overcame the dictates of prudence. Crawling through the + snow they crept up to the fence of dry branches which generally encloses a + village in that part of Lithuania. What they expected to get and in what + manner, and whether this expectation was worth the risk, goodness only + knows. + </p> + <p> + However, these Cossack parties, in most cases wandering without an + officer, were known to guard themselves badly and often not at all. In + addition, the village lying at a great distance from the line of French + retreat, they could not suspect the presence of stragglers from the Grand + Army. The three officers had strayed away in a blizzard from the main + column and had been lost for days in the woods, which explains + sufficiently the terrible straits to which they were reduced. Their plan + was to try and attract the attention of the peasants in that one of the + huts which was nearest to the enclosure; but as they were preparing to + venture into the very jaws of the lion, so to speak, a dog (it is mighty + strange that there was but one), a creature quite as formidable under the + circumstances as a lion, began to bark on the other side of the fence. . . + . + </p> + <p> + At this stage of the narrative, which I heard many times (by request) from + the lips of Captain Nicholas B.'s sister-in-law, my grandmother, I used to + tremble with excitement. + </p> + <p> + The dog barked. And if he had done no more than bark, three officers of + the Great Napoleon's army would have perished honourably on the points of + Cossacks' lances, or perchance escaping the chase would have died decently + of starvation. But before they had time to think of running away that + fatal and revolting dog, being carried away by the excess of the zeal, + dashed out through a gap in the fence. He dashed out and died. His head, I + understand, was severed at one blow from his body. I understand also that + later on, within the gloomy solitudes of the snow-laden woods, when, in a + sheltering hollow, a fire had been lit by the party, the condition of the + quarry was discovered to be distinctly unsatisfactory. It was not thin—on + the contrary, it seemed unhealthily obese; its skin showed bare patches of + an unpleasant character. However, they had not killed that dog for the + sake of the pelt. He was large. . . . He was eaten. . . . The rest is + silence. . . . + </p> + <p> + A silence in which a small boy shudders and says firmly: + </p> + <p> + “I could not have eaten that dog.” + </p> + <p> + And his grandmother remarks with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you don't know what it is to be hungry.” + </p> + <p> + I have learned something of it since. Not that I have been reduced to eat + dog. I have fed on the emblematical animal, which, in the language of the + volatile Gauls, is called la vache enragee; I have lived on ancient salt + junk, I know the taste of shark, of trepang, of snake, of nondescript + dishes containing things without a name—but of the Lithuanian + village dog—never! I wish it to be distinctly understood that it is + not I, but my granduncle Nicholas, of the Polish landed gentry, Chevalier + de la Legion d'Honneur, etc., who in his young days, had eaten the + Lithuanian dog. + </p> + <p> + I wish he had not. The childish horror of the deed clings absurdly to the + grizzled man. I am perfectly helpless against it. Still, if he really had + to, let us charitably remember that he had eaten him on active service, + while bearing up bravely against the greatest military disaster of modern + history, and, in a manner, for the sake of his country. He had eaten him + to appease his hunger, no doubt, but also for the sake of an unappeasable + and patriotic desire, in the glow of a great faith that lives still, and + in the pursuit of a great illusion kindled like a false beacon by a great + man to lead astray the effort of a brave nation. + </p> + <p> + <i>Pro patria!</i> + </p> + <p> + Looked at in that light, it appears a sweet and decorous meal. + </p> + <p> + And looked at in the same light, my own diet of la vache enragee appears a + fatuous and extravagant form of self-indulgence; for why should I, the son + of a land which such men as these have turned up with their plowshares and + bedewed with their blood, undertake the pursuit of fantastic meals of salt + junk and hardtack upon the wide seas? On the kindest view it seems an + unanswerable question. Alas! I have the conviction that there are men of + unstained rectitude who are ready to murmur scornfully the word desertion. + Thus the taste of innocent adventure may be made bitter to the palate. The + part of the inexplicable should be allowed for in appraising the conduct + of men in a world where no explanation is final. No charge of + faithlessness ought to be lightly uttered. The appearances of this + perishable life are deceptive, like everything that falls under the + judgment of our imperfect senses. The inner voice may remain true enough + in its secret counsel. The fidelity to a special tradition may last + through the events of an unrelated existence, following faithfully, too, + the traced way of an inexplicable impulse. + </p> + <p> + It would take too long to explain the intimate alliance of contradictions + in human nature which makes love itself wear at times the desperate shape + of betrayal. And perhaps there is no possible explanation. Indulgence—as + somebody said—is the most intelligent of all the virtues. I venture + to think that it is one of the least common, if not the most uncommon of + all. I would not imply by this that men are foolish—or even most + men. Far from it. The barber and the priest, backed by the whole opinion + of the village, condemned justly the conduct of the ingenious hidalgo, + who, sallying forth from his native place, broke the head of the muleteer, + put to death a flock of inoffensive sheep, and went through very doleful + experiences in a certain stable. God forbid that an unworthy churl should + escape merited censure by hanging on to the stirrup-leather of the sublime + caballero. His was a very noble, a very unselfish fantasy, fit for nothing + except to raise the envy of baser mortals. But there is more than one + aspect to the charm of that exalted and dangerous figure. He, too, had his + frailties. After reading so many romances he desired naively to escape + with his very body from the intolerable reality of things. He wished to + meet, eye to eye, the valorous giant Brandabarbaran, Lord of Arabia, whose + armour is made of the skin of a dragon, and whose shield, strapped to his + arm, is the gate of a fortified city. Oh, amiable and natural weakness! + Oh, blessed simplicity of a gentle heart without guile! Who would not + succumb to such a consoling temptation? Nevertheless, it was a form of + self-indulgence, and the ingenious hidalgo of La Mancha was not a good + citizen. The priest and the barber were not unreasonable in their + strictures. Without going so far as the old King Louis-Philippe, who used + to say in his exile, “The people are never in fault”—one may admit + that there must be some righteousness in the assent of a whole village. + Mad! Mad! He who kept in pious meditation the ritual vigil-of-arms by the + well of an inn and knelt reverently to be knighted at daybreak by the fat, + sly rogue of a landlord has come very near perfection. He rides forth, his + head encircled by a halo—the patron saint of all lives spoiled or + saved by the irresistible grace of imagination. But he was not a good + citizen. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps that and nothing else was meant by the well-remembered exclamation + of my tutor. + </p> + <p> + It was in the jolly year 1873, the very last year in which I have had a + jolly holiday. There have been idle years afterward, jolly enough in a way + and not altogether without their lesson, but this year of which I speak + was the year of my last school-boy holiday. There are other reasons why I + should remember that year, but they are too long to state formally in this + place. Moreover, they have nothing to do with that holiday. What has to do + with the holiday is that before the day on which the remark was made we + had seen Vienna, the Upper Danube, Munich, the Falls of the Rhine, the + Lake of Constance,—in fact, it was a memorable holiday of travel. Of + late we had been tramping slowly up the Valley of the Reuss. It was a + delightful time. It was much more like a stroll than a tramp. Landing from + a Lake of Lucerne steamer in Fluelen, we found ourselves at the end of the + second day, with the dusk overtaking our leisurely footsteps, a little way + beyond Hospenthal. This is not the day on which the remark was made: in + the shadows of the deep valley and with the habitations of men left some + way behind, our thoughts ran not upon the ethics of conduct, but upon the + simpler human problem of shelter and food. There did not seem anything of + the kind in sight, and we were thinking of turning back when suddenly, at + a bend of the road, we came upon a building, ghostly in the twilight. + </p> + <p> + At that time the work on the St. Gothard Tunnel was going on, and that + magnificent enterprise of burrowing was directly responsible for the + unexpected building, standing all alone upon the very roots of the + mountains. It was long, though not big at all; it was low; it was built of + boards, without ornamentation, in barrack-hut style, with the white + window-frames quite flush with the yellow face of its plain front. And yet + it was a hotel; it had even a name, which I have forgotten. But there was + no gold laced doorkeeper at its humble door. A plain but vigorous + servant-girl answered our inquiries, then a man and woman who owned the + place appeared. It was clear that no travellers were expected, or perhaps + even desired, in this strange hostelry, which in its severe style + resembled the house which sur mounts the unseaworthy-looking hulls of the + toy Noah's Arks, the universal possession of European childhood. However, + its roof was not hinged and it was not full to the brim of slab-sided and + painted animals of wood. Even the live tourist animal was nowhere in + evidence. We had something to eat in a long, narrow room at one end of a + long, narrow table, which, to my tired perception and to my sleepy eyes, + seemed as if it would tilt up like a see saw plank, since there was no one + at the other end to balance it against our two dusty and travel-stained + figures. Then we hastened up stairs to bed in a room smelling of pine + planks, and I was fast asleep before my head touched the pillow. + </p> + <p> + In the morning my tutor (he was a student of the Cracow University) woke + me up early, and as we were dressing remarked: “There seems to be a lot of + people staying in this hotel. I have heard a noise of talking up till + eleven o'clock.” This statement surprised me; I had heard no noise + whatever, having slept like a top. + </p> + <p> + We went down-stairs into the long and narrow dining-room with its long and + narrow table. There were two rows of plates on it. At one of the many + curtained windows stood a tall, bony man with a bald head set off by a + bunch of black hair above each ear, and with a long, black beard. He + glanced up from the paper he was reading and seemed genuinely astonished + at our intrusion. By and by more men came in. Not one of them looked like + a tourist. Not a single woman appeared. These men seemed to know each + other with some intimacy, but I cannot say they were a very talkative lot. + The bald-headed man sat down gravely at the head of the table. It all had + the air of a family party. By and by, from one of the vigorous + servant-girls in national costume, we discovered that the place was really + a boarding house for some English engineers engaged at the works of the + St. Gothard Tunnel; and I could listen my fill to the sounds of the + English language, as far as it is used at a breakfast-table by men who do + not believe in wasting many words on the mere amenities of life. + </p> + <p> + This was my first contact with British mankind apart from the tourist kind + seen in the hotels of Zurich and Lucerne—the kind which has no real + existence in a workaday world. I know now that the bald-headed man spoke + with a strong Scotch accent. I have met many of his kind ashore and + afloat. The second engineer of the steamer Mavis, for instance, ought to + have been his twin brother. I cannot help thinking that he really was, + though for some reason of his own he assured me that he never had a twin + brother. Anyway, the deliberate, bald-headed Scot with the coal-black + beard appeared to my boyish eyes a very romantic and mysterious person. + </p> + <p> + We slipped out unnoticed. Our mapped-out route led over the Furca Pass + toward the Rhone Glacier, with the further intention of following down the + trend of the Hasli Valley. The sun was already declining when we found + ourselves on the top of the pass, and the remark alluded to was presently + uttered. + </p> + <p> + We sat down by the side of the road to continue the argument begun half a + mile or so before. I am certain it was an argument, because I remember + perfectly how my tutor argued and how without the power of reply I + listened, with my eyes fixed obstinately on the ground. A stir on the road + made me look up—and then I saw my unforgettable Englishman. There + are acquaintances of later years, familiars, shipmates, whom I remember + less clearly. He marched rapidly toward the east (attended by a hang-dog + Swiss guide), with the mien of an ardent and fearless traveller. He was + clad in a knickerbocker suit, but as at the same time he wore short socks + under his laced boots, for reasons which, whether hygienic or + conscientious, were surely imaginative, his calves, exposed to the public + gaze and to the tonic air of high altitudes, dazzled the beholder by the + splendour of their marble-like condition and their rich tone of young + ivory. He was the leader of a small caravan. The light of a headlong, + exalted satisfaction with the world of men and the scenery of mountains + illumined his clean-cut, very red face, his short, silver-white whiskers, + his innocently eager and triumphant eyes. In passing he cast a glance of + kindly curiosity and a friendly gleam of big, sound, shiny teeth toward + the man and the boy sitting like dusty tramps by the roadside, with a + modest knapsack lying at their feet. His white calves twinkled sturdily, + the uncouth Swiss guide with a surly mouth stalked like an unwilling bear + at his elbow; a small train of three mules followed in single file the + lead of this inspiring enthusiast. Two ladies rode past, one behind the + other, but from the way they sat I saw only their calm, uniform backs, and + the long ends of blue veils hanging behind far down over their identical + hat-brims. His two daughters, surely. An industrious luggage-mule, with + unstarched ears and guarded by a slouching, sallow driver, brought up the + rear. My tutor, after pausing for a look and a faint smile, resumed his + earnest argument. + </p> + <p> + I tell you it was a memorable year! One does not meet such an Englishman + twice in a lifetime. Was he in the mystic ordering of common events the + ambassador of my future, sent out to turn the scale at a critical moment + on the top of an Alpine pass, with the peaks of the Bernese Oberland for + mute and solemn witnesses? His glance, his smile, the unextinguishable and + comic ardour of his striving-forward appearance, helped me to pull myself + together. It must be stated that on that day and in the exhilarating + atmosphere of that elevated spot I had been feeling utterly crushed. It + was the year in which I had first spoken aloud of my desire to go to sea. + At first like those sounds that, ranging outside the scale to which men's + ears are attuned, remain inaudible to our sense of hearing, this + declaration passed unperceived. It was as if it had not been. Later on, by + trying various tones, I managed to arouse here and there a surprised + momentary attention—the “What was that funny noise?”—sort of + inquiry. Later on it was: “Did you hear what that boy said? What an + extraordinary outbreak!” Presently a wave of scandalized astonishment (it + could not have been greater if I had announced the intention of entering a + Carthusian monastery) ebbing out of the educational and academical town of + Cracow spread itself over several provinces. It spread itself shallow but + far-reaching. It stirred up a mass of remonstrance, indignation, pitying + wonder, bitter irony, and downright chaff. I could hardly breathe under + its weight, and certainly had no words for an answer. People wondered what + Mr. T. B. would do now with his worrying nephew and, I dare say, hoped + kindly that he would make short work of my nonsense. + </p> + <p> + What he did was to come down all the way from Ukraine to have it out with + me and to judge by himself, unprejudiced, impartial, and just, taking his + stand on the ground of wisdom and affection. As far as is possible for a + boy whose power of expression is still unformed I opened the secret of my + thoughts to him, and he in return allowed me a glimpse into his mind and + heart; the first glimpse of an inexhaustible and noble treasure of clear + thought and warm feeling, which through life was to be mine to draw upon + with a never-deceived love and confidence. Practically, after several + exhaustive conversations, he concluded that he would not have me later on + reproach him for having spoiled my life by an unconditional opposition. + But I must take time for serious reflection. And I must think not only of + myself but of others; weigh the claims of affection and conscience against + my own sincerity of purpose. “Think well what it all means in the larger + issues—my boy,” he exhorted me, finally, with special friendliness. + “And meantime try to get the best place you can at the yearly + examinations.” + </p> + <p> + The scholastic year came to an end. I took a fairly good place at the + exams, which for me (for certain reasons) happened to be a more difficult + task than for other boys. In that respect I could enter with a good + conscience upon that holiday which was like a long visit <i>pour prendre + conge</i> of the mainland of old Europe I was to see so little of for the + next four-and-twenty years. Such, however, was not the avowed purpose of + that tour. It was rather, I suspect, planned in order to distract and + occupy my thoughts in other directions. Nothing had been said for months + of my going to sea. But my attachment to my young tutor and his influence + over me were so well known that he must have received a confidential + mission to talk me out of my romantic folly. It was an excellently + appropriate arrangement, as neither he nor I had ever had a single glimpse + of the sea in our lives. That was to come by and by for both of us in + Venice, from the outer shore of Lido. Meantime he had taken his mission to + heart so well that I began to feel crushed before we reached Zurich. He + argued in railway trains, in lake steamboats, he had argued away for me + the obligatory sunrise on the Righi, by Jove! Of his devotion to his + unworthy pupil there can be no doubt. He had proved it already by two + years of unremitting and arduous care. I could not hate him. But he had + been crushing me slowly, and when he started to argue on the top of the + Furca Pass he was perhaps nearer a success than either he or I imagined. I + listened to him in despairing silence, feeling that ghostly, unrealized, + and desired sea of my dreams escape from the unnerved grip of my will. + </p> + <p> + The enthusiastic old Englishman had passed—and the argument went on. + What reward could I expect from such a life at the end of my years, either + in ambition, honour, or conscience? An unanswerable question. But I felt + no longer crushed. Then our eyes met and a genuine emotion was visible in + his as well as in mine. The end came all at once. He picked up the + knapsack suddenly and got onto his feet. + </p> + <p> + “You are an incorrigible, hopeless Don Quixote. That's what you are.” + </p> + <p> + I was surprised. I was only fifteen and did not know what he meant + exactly. But I felt vaguely flattered at the name of the immortal knight + turning up in connection with my own folly, as some people would call it + to my face. Alas! I don't think there was anything to be proud of. Mine + was not the stuff of protectors of forlorn damsels, the redressers of this + world's wrong are made of; and my tutor was the man to know that best. + Therein, in his indignation, he was superior to the barber and the priest + when he flung at me an honoured name like a reproach. + </p> + <p> + I walked behind him for full five minutes; then without looking back he + stopped. The shadows of distant peaks were lengthening over the Furca + Pass. When I came up to him he turned to me and in full view of the + Finster Aarhorn, with his band of giant brothers rearing their monstrous + heads against a brilliant sky, put his hand on my shoulder affectionately. + </p> + <p> + “Well! That's enough. We will have no more of it.” + </p> + <p> + And indeed there was no more question of my mysterious vocation between + us. There was to be no more question of it at all, no where or with any + one. We began the descent of the Furca Pass conversing merrily. + </p> + <p> + Eleven years later, month for month, I stood on Tower Hill on the steps of + the St. Katherine's Dockhouse, a master in the British Merchant Service. + But the man who put his hand on my shoulder at the top of the Furca Pass + was no longer living. + </p> + <p> + That very year of our travels he took his degree of the Philosophical + Faculty—and only then his true vocation declared itself. Obedient to + the call, he entered at once upon the four-year course of the Medical + Schools. A day came when, on the deck of a ship moored in Calcutta, I + opened a letter telling me of the end of an enviable existence. He had + made for himself a practice in some obscure little town of Austrian + Galicia. And the letter went on to tell me how all the bereaved poor of + the district, Christians and Jews alike, had mobbed the good doctor's + coffin with sobs and lamentations at the very gate of the cemetery. + </p> + <p> + How short his years and how clear his vision! What greater reward in + ambition, honour, and conscience could he have hoped to win for himself + when, on the top of the Furca Pass, he bade me look well to the end of my + opening life? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + The devouring in a dismal forest of a luckless Lithuanian dog by my + granduncle Nicholas B. in company of two other military and famished + scarecrows, symbolized, to my childish imagination, the whole horror of + the retreat from Moscow, and the immorality of a conqueror's ambition. An + extreme distaste for that objectionable episode has tinged the views I + hold as to the character and achievements of Napoleon the Great. I need + not say that these are unfavourable. It was morally reprehensible for that + great captain to induce a simple-minded Polish gentleman to eat dog by + raising in his breast a false hope of national independence. It has been + the fate of that credulous nation to starve for upward of a hundred years + on a diet of false hopes and—well—dog. It is, when one thinks + of it, a singularly poisonous regimen. Some pride in the national + constitution which has survived a long course of such dishes is really + excusable. + </p> + <p> + But enough of generalizing. Returning to particulars, Mr. Nicholas B. + confided to his sister-in-law (my grandmother) in his misanthropically + laconic manner that this supper in the woods had been nearly “the death of + him.” This is not surprising. What surprises me is that the story was ever + heard of; for granduncle Nicholas differed in this from the generality of + military men of Napoleon's time (and perhaps of all time) that he did not + like to talk of his campaigns, which began at Friedland and ended some + wherein the neighbourhood of Bar-le-Duc. His admiration of the great + Emperor was unreserved in everything but expression. Like the religion of + earnest men, it was too profound a sentiment to be displayed before a + world of little faith. Apart from that he seemed as completely devoid of + military anecdotes as though he had hardly ever seen a soldier in his + life. Proud of his decorations earned before he was twenty-five, he + refused to wear the ribbons at the buttonhole in the manner practised to + this day in Europe and even was unwilling to display the insignia on + festive occasions, as though he wished to conceal them in the fear of + appearing boastful. + </p> + <p> + “It is enough that I have them,” he used to mutter. In the course of + thirty years they were seen on his breast only twice—at an + auspicious marriage in the family and at the funeral of an old friend. + That the wedding which was thus honoured was not the wedding of my mother + I learned only late in life, too late to bear a grudge against Mr. + Nicholas B., who made amends at my birth by a long letter of + congratulation containing the following prophecy: “He will see better + times.” Even in his embittered heart there lived a hope. But he was not a + true prophet. + </p> + <p> + He was a man of strange contradictions. Living for many years in his + brother's house, the home of many children, a house full of life, of + animation, noisy with a constant coming and going of many guests, he kept + his habits of solitude and silence. Considered as obstinately secretive in + all his purposes, he was in reality the victim of a most painful + irresolution in all matters of civil life. Under his taciturn, phlegmatic + behaviour was hidden a faculty of short-lived passionate anger. I suspect + he had no talent for narrative; but it seemed to afford him sombre + satisfaction to declare that he was the last man to ride over the bridge + of the river Elster after the battle of Leipsic. Lest some construction + favourable to his valour should be put on the fact he condescended to + explain how it came to pass. It seems that shortly after the retreat began + he was sent back to the town where some divisions of the French army (and + among them the Polish corps of Prince Joseph Poniatowski), jammed + hopelessly in the streets, were being simply exterminated by the troops of + the Allied Powers. When asked what it was like in there, Mr. Nicholas B. + muttered only the word “Shambles.” Having delivered his message to the + Prince he hastened away at once to render an account of his mission to the + superior who had sent him. By that time the advance of the enemy had + enveloped the town, and he was shot at from houses and chased all the way + to the river-bank by a disorderly mob of Austrian Dragoons and Prussian + Hussars. The bridge had been mined early in the morning, and his opinion + was that the sight of the horsemen converging from many sides in the + pursuit of his person alarmed the officer in command of the sappers and + caused the premature firing of the charges. He had not gone more than two + hundred yards on the other side when he heard the sound of the fatal + explosions. Mr. Nicholas B. concluded his bald narrative with the word + “Imbecile,” uttered with the utmost deliberation. It testified to his + indignation at the loss of so many thousands of lives. But his phlegmatic + physiognomy lighted up when he spoke of his only wound, with something + resembling satisfaction. You will see that there was some reason for it + when you learn that he was wounded in the heel. “Like his Majesty the + Emperor Napoleon himself,” he reminded his hearers, with assumed + indifference. There can be no doubt that the indifference was assumed, if + one thinks what a very distinguished sort of wound it was. In all the + history of warfare there are, I believe, only three warriors publicly + known to have been wounded in the heel—Achilles and Napoleon—demigods + indeed—to whom the familial piety of an unworthy descendant adds the + name of the simple mortal, Nicholas B. + </p> + <p> + The Hundred Days found Mr. Nicholas B. staying with a distant relative of + ours, owner of a small estate in Galicia. How he got there across the + breadth of an armed Europe, and after what adventures, I am afraid will + never be known now. All his papers were destroyed shortly before his + death; but if there was among them, as he affirmed, a concise record of + his life, then I am pretty sure it did not take up more than a half sheet + of foolscap or so. This relative of ours happened to be an Austrian + officer who had left the service after the battle of Austerlitz. Unlike + Mr. Nicholas B., who concealed his decorations, he liked to display his + honourable discharge in which he was mentioned as un schreckbar (fearless) + before the enemy. No conjunction could seem more unpromising, yet it + stands in the family tradition that these two got on very well together in + their rural solitude. + </p> + <p> + When asked whether he had not been sorely tempted during the Hundred Days + to make his way again to France and join the service of his beloved + Emperor, Mr. Nicholas B. used to mutter: “No money. No horse. Too far to + walk.” + </p> + <p> + The fall of Napoleon and the ruin of national hopes affected adversely the + character of Mr. Nicholas B. He shrank from returning to his province. But + for that there was also another reason. Mr. Nicholas B. and his brother—my + maternal grand father—had lost their father early, while they were + quite children. Their mother, young still and left very well off, married + again a man of great charm and of an amiable disposition, but without a + penny. He turned out an affectionate and careful stepfather; it was + unfortunate, though, that while directing the boys' education and forming + their character by wise counsel, he did his best to get hold of the + fortune by buying and selling land in his own name and investing capital + in such a manner as to cover up the traces of the real ownership. It seems + that such practices can be successful if one is charming enough to dazzle + one's own wife permanently, and brave enough to defy the vain terrors of + public opinion. The critical time came when the elder of the boys on + attaining his majority, in the year 1811, asked for the accounts and some + part at least of the inheritance to begin life upon. It was then that the + stepfather declared with calm finality that there were no accounts to + render and no property to inherit. The whole fortune was his very own. He + was very good-natured about the young man's misapprehension of the true + state of affairs, but, of course, felt obliged to maintain his position + firmly. Old friends came and went busily, voluntary mediators appeared + travelling on most horrible roads from the most distant corners of the + three provinces; and the Marshal of the Nobility (ex-officio guardian of + all well-born orphans) called a meeting of landowners to “ascertain in a + friendly way how the misunderstanding between X and his stepsons had + arisen and devise proper measures to remove the same.” A deputation to + that effect visited X, who treated them to excellent wines, but absolutely + refused his ear to their remonstrances. As to the proposals for + arbitration he simply laughed at them; yet the whole province must have + been aware that fourteen years before, when he married the widow, all his + visible fortune consisted (apart from his social qualities) in a smart + four-horse turnout with two servants, with whom he went about visiting + from house to house; and as to any funds he might have possessed at that + time their existence could only be inferred from the fact that he was very + punctual in settling his modest losses at cards. But by the magic power of + stubborn and constant assertion, there were found presently, here and + there, people who mumbled that surely “there must be some thing in it.” + However, on his next name-day (which he used to celebrate by a great three + days' shooting party), of all the invited crowd only two guests turned up, + distant neighbours of no importance; one notoriously a fool, and the other + a very pious and honest person, but such a passionate lover of the gun + that on his own confession he could not have refused an invitation to a + shooting party from the devil himself. X met this manifestation of public + opinion with the serenity of an unstained conscience. He refused to be + crushed. Yet he must have been a man of deep feeling, because, when his + wife took openly the part of her children, he lost his beautiful + tranquillity, proclaimed himself heartbroken, and drove her out of the + house, neglecting in his grief to give her enough time to pack her trunks. + </p> + <p> + This was the beginning of a lawsuit, an abominable marvel of chicane, + which by the use of every legal subterfuge was made to last for many + years. It was also the occasion for a display of much kindness and + sympathy. All the neighbouring houses flew open for the reception of the + homeless. Neither legal aid nor material assistance in the prosecution of + the suit was ever wanting. X, on his side, went about shedding tears + publicly over his stepchildren's ingratitude and his wife's blind + infatuation; but as at the same time he displayed great cleverness in the + art of concealing material documents (he was even suspected of having + burned a lot of historically interesting family papers) this scandalous + litigation had to be ended by a compromise lest worse should befall. It + was settled finally by a surrender, out of the disputed estate, in full + satisfaction of all claims, of two villages with the names of which I do + not intend to trouble my readers. After this lame and impotent conclusion + neither the wife nor the stepsons had anything to say to the man who had + presented the world with such a successful example of self-help based on + character, determination, and industry; and my great-grandmother, her + health completely broken down, died a couple of years later in Carlsbad. + Legally secured by a decree in the possession of his plunder, X regained + his wonted serenity, and went on living in the neighbourhood in a + comfortable style and in apparent peace of mind. His big shoots were + fairly well attended again. He was never tired of assuring people that he + bore no grudge for what was past; he protested loudly of his constant + affection for his wife and stepchildren. It was true, he said, that they + had tried to strip him as naked as a Turkish saint in the decline of his + days; and because he had defended himself from spoliation, as anybody else + in his place would have done, they had abandoned him now to the horrors of + a solitary old age. Nevertheless, his love for them survived these cruel + blows. + </p> + <p> + And there might have been some truth in his protestations. Very soon he + began to make overtures of friendship to his eldest stepson, my maternal + grandfather; and when these were peremptorily rejected he went on renewing + them again and again with characteristic obstinacy. For years he persisted + in his efforts at reconciliation, promising my grandfather to execute a + will in his favour if he only would be friends again to the extent of + calling now and then (it was fairly close neighbourhood for these parts, + forty miles or so), or even of putting in an appearance for the great + shoot on the name-day. My grandfather was an ardent lover of every sport. + His temperament was as free from hardness and animosity as can be + imagined. Pupil of the liberal-minded Benedictines who directed the only + public school of some standing then in the south, he had also read deeply + the authors of the eighteenth century. In him Christian charity was joined + to a philosophical indulgence for the failings of human nature. But the + memory of those miserably anxious early years, his young man's years + robbed of all generous illusions by the cynicism of the sordid lawsuit, + stood in the way of forgiveness. He never succumbed to the fascination of + the great shoot; and X, his heart set to the last on reconciliation, with + the draft of the will ready for signature kept by his bedside, died + intestate. + </p> + <p> + The fortune thus acquired and augmented by a wise and careful management + passed to some distant relatives whom he had never seen and who even did + not bear his name. + </p> + <p> + Meantime the blessing of general peace descended upon Europe. Mr. Nicholas + B., bidding good-bye to his hospitable relative, the “fearless” Austrian + officer, departed from Galicia, and without going near his native place, + where the odious lawsuit was still going on, proceeded straight to Warsaw + and entered the army of the newly constituted Polish kingdom under the + sceptre of Alexander I, Autocrat of all the Russias. + </p> + <p> + This kingdom, created by the Vienna Congress as an acknowledgment to a + nation of its former independent existence, included only the central + provinces of the old Polish patrimony. A brother of the Emperor, the Grand + Duke Constantine (Pavlovitch), its Viceroy and Commander-in-Chief, married + morganatically to a Polish lady to whom he was fiercely attached, extended + this affection to what he called “My Poles” in a capricious and savage + manner. Sallow in complexion, with a Tartar physiognomy and fierce little + eyes, he walked with his fists clenched, his body bent forward, darting + suspicious glances from under an enormous cocked hat. His intelligence was + limited, and his sanity itself was doubtful. The hereditary taint + expressed itself, in his case, not by mystic leanings as in his two + brothers, Alexander and Nicholas (in their various ways, for one was + mystically liberal and the other mystically autocratic), but by the fury + of an uncontrollable temper which generally broke out in disgusting abuse + on the parade ground. He was a passionate militarist and an amazing + drill-master. He treated his Polish army as a spoiled child treats a + favourite toy, except that he did not take it to bed with him at night. It + was not small enough for that. But he played with it all day and every + day, delighting in the variety of pretty uniforms and in the fun of + incessant drilling. This childish passion, not for war, but for mere + militarism, achieved a desirable result. The Polish army, in its + equipment, in its armament, and in its battle-field efficiency, as then + understood, became, by the end of the year 1830, a first-rate tactical + instrument. Polish peasantry (not serfs) served in the ranks by + enlistment, and the officers belonged mainly to the smaller nobility. Mr. + Nicholas B., with his Napoleonic record, had no difficulty in obtaining a + lieutenancy, but the promotion in the Polish army was slow, because, being + a separate organization, it took no part in the wars of the Russian Empire + against either Persia or Turkey. Its first campaign, against Russia + itself, was to be its last. In 1831, on the outbreak of the Revolution, + Mr. Nicholas B. was the senior captain of his regiment. Some time before + he had been made head of the remount establishment quartered outside the + kingdom in our southern provinces, whence almost all the horses for the + Polish cavalry were drawn. For the first time since he went away from home + at the age of eighteen to begin his military life by the battle of + Friedland, Mr. Nicholas B. breathed the air of the “Border,” his native + air. Unkind fate was lying in wait for him among the scenes of his youth. + At the first news of the rising in Warsaw all the remount establishment, + officers, “vets.,” and the very troopers, were put promptly under arrest + and hurried off in a body beyond the Dnieper to the nearest town in Russia + proper. From there they were dispersed to the distant parts of the empire. + On this occasion poor Mr. Nicholas B. penetrated into Russia much farther + than he ever did in the times of Napoleonic invasion, if much less + willingly. Astrakan was his destination. He remained there three years, + allowed to live at large in the town, but having to report himself every + day at noon to the military commandant, who used to detain him frequently + for a pipe and a chat. It is difficult to form a just idea of what a chat + with Mr. Nicholas B. could have been like. There must have been much + compressed rage under his taciturnity, for the commandant communicated to + him the news from the theatre of war, and this news was such as it could + be—that is, very bad for the Poles. Mr. Nicholas B. received these + communications with outward phlegm, but the Russian showed a warm sympathy + for his prisoner. “As a soldier myself I understand your feelings. You, of + course, would like to be in the thick of it. By heavens! I am fond of you. + If it were not for the terms of the military oath I would let you go on my + own responsibility. What difference could it make to us, one more or less + of you?” + </p> + <p> + At other times he wondered with simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Nicholas Stepanovitch” (my great-grandfather's name was Stephen, + and the commandant used the Russian form of polite address)—“tell me + why is it that you Poles are always looking for trouble? What else could + you expect from running up against Russia?” + </p> + <p> + He was capable, too, of philosophical reflections. + </p> + <p> + “Look at your Napoleon now. A great man. There is no denying it that he + was a great man as long as he was content to thrash those Germans and + Austrians and all those nations. But no! He must go to Russia looking for + trouble, and what's the consequence? Such as you see me; I have rattled + this sabre of mine on the pavements of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + After his return to Poland Mr. Nicholas B. described him as a “worthy man + but stupid,” whenever he could be induced to speak of the conditions of + his exile. Declining the option offered him to enter the Russian army, he + was retired with only half the pension of his rank. His nephew (my uncle + and guardian) told me that the first lasting impression on his memory as a + child of four was the glad excitement reigning in his parents' house on + the day when Mr. Nicholas B. arrived home from his detention in Russia. + </p> + <p> + Every generation has its memories. The first memories of Mr. Nicholas B. + might have been shaped by the events of the last partition of Poland, and + he lived long enough to suffer from the last armed rising in 1863, an + event which affected the future of all my generation and has coloured my + earliest impressions. His brother, in whose house he had sheltered for + some seventeen years his misanthropical timidity before the commonest + problems of life, having died in the early fifties, Mr. Nicholas B. had to + screw his courage up to the sticking-point and come to some decision as to + the future. After a long and agonizing hesitation he was persuaded at last + to become the tenant of some fifteen hundred acres out of the estate of a + friend in the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + The terms of the lease were very advantageous, but the retired situation + of the village and a plain, comfortable house in good repair were, I + fancy, the greatest inducements. He lived there quietly for about ten + years, seeing very few people and taking no part in the public life of the + province, such as it could be under an arbitrary bureaucratic tyranny. His + character and his patriotism were above suspicion; but the organizers of + the rising in their frequent journeys up and down the province + scrupulously avoided coming near his house. It was generally felt that the + repose of the old man's last years ought not to be disturbed. Even such + intimates as my paternal grandfather, comrade-in-arms during Napoleon's + Moscow campaign, and later on a fellow officer in the Polish army, + refrained from visiting his crony as the date of the outbreak approached. + My paternal grandfather's two sons and his only daughter were all deeply + involved in the revolutionary work; he himself was of that type of Polish + squire whose only ideal of patriotic action was to “get into the saddle + and drive them out.” But even he agreed that “dear Nicholas must not be + worried.” All this considerate caution on the part of friends, both + conspirators and others, did not prevent Mr. Nicholas B. being made to + feel the misfortunes of that ill-omened year. + </p> + <p> + Less than forty-eight hours after the beginning of the rebellion in that + part of the country, a squadron of scouting Cossacks passed through the + village and invaded the homestead. Most of them remained, formed between + the house and the stables, while several, dismounting, ransacked the + various outbuildings. The officer in command, accompanied by two men, + walked up to the front door. All the blinds on that side were down. The + officer told the servant who received him that he wanted to see his + master. He was answered that the master was away from home, which was + perfectly true. + </p> + <p> + I follow here the tale as told afterward by the servant to my granduncle's + friends and relatives, and as I have heard it repeated. + </p> + <p> + On receiving this answer the Cossack officer, who had been standing in the + porch, stepped into the house. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the master gone, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Our master went to J——” (the government town some fifty miles + off) “the day before yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “There are only two horses in the stables. Where are the others?” + </p> + <p> + “Our master always travels with his own horses” (meaning: not by post). + “He will be away a week or more. He was pleased to mention to me that he + had to attend to some business in the Civil Court.” + </p> + <p> + While the servant was speaking the officer looked about the hall. + </p> + <p> + There was a door facing him, a door to the right, and a door to the left. + The officer chose to enter the room on the left, and ordered the blinds to + be pulled up. It was Mr. Nicholas B.'s study, with a couple of tall + bookcases, some pictures on the walls, and so on. Besides the big + centre-table, with books and papers, there was a quite small + writing-table, with several drawers, standing between the door and the + window in a good light; and at this table my granduncle usually sat either + to read or write. + </p> + <p> + On pulling up the blind the servant was startled by the discovery that the + whole male population of the village was massed in front, trampling down + the flower-beds. There were also a few women among them. He was glad to + observe the village priest (of the Orthodox Church) coming up the drive. + The good man in his haste had tucked up his cassock as high as the top of + his boots. + </p> + <p> + The officer had been looking at the backs of the books in the bookcases. + Then he perched himself on the edge of the centre table and remarked + easily: + </p> + <p> + “Your master did not take you to town with him, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I am the head servant, and he leaves me in charge of the house. It's a + strong, young chap that travels with our master. If—God forbid—there + was some accident on the road, he would be of much more use than I.” + </p> + <p> + Glancing through the window, he saw the priest arguing vehemently in the + thick of the crowd, which seemed subdued by his interference. Three or + four men, however, were talking with the Cossacks at the door. + </p> + <p> + “And you don't think your master has gone to join the rebels maybe—eh?” + asked the officer. + </p> + <p> + “Our master would be too old for that, surely. He's well over seventy, and + he's getting feeble, too. It's some years now since he's been on + horseback, and he can't walk much, either, now.” + </p> + <p> + The officer sat there swinging his leg, very quiet and indifferent. By + that time the peasants who had been talking with the Cossack troopers at + the door had been permitted to get into the hall. One or two more left the + crowd and followed them in. They were seven in all, and among them the + blacksmith, an ex-soldier. The servant appealed deferentially to the + officer. + </p> + <p> + “Won't your honour be pleased to tell the people to go back to their + homes? What do they want to push themselves into the house like this for? + It's not proper for them to behave like this while our master's away and I + am responsible for everything here.” + </p> + <p> + The officer only laughed a little, and after a while inquired: + </p> + <p> + “Have you any arms in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We have. Some old things.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring them all here, onto this table.” + </p> + <p> + The servant made another attempt to obtain protection. + </p> + <p> + “Won't your honour tell these chaps. . . ?” + </p> + <p> + But the officer looked at him in silence, in such a way that he gave it up + at once and hurried off to call the pantry-boy to help him collect the + arms. Meantime, the officer walked slowly through all the rooms in the + house, examining them attentively but touching nothing. The peasants in + the hall fell back and took off their caps when he passed through. He said + nothing whatever to them. When he came back to the study all the arms to + be found in the house were lying on the table. There was a pair of big, + flint-lock holster pistols from Napoleonic times, two cavalry swords, one + of the French, the other of the Polish army pattern, with a fowling-piece + or two. + </p> + <p> + The officer, opening the window, flung out pistols, swords, and guns, one + after another, and his troopers ran to pick them up. The peasants in the + hall, encouraged by his manner, had stolen after him into the study. He + gave not the slightest sign of being conscious of their existence, and, + his business being apparently concluded, strode out of the house without a + word. Directly he left, the peasants in the study put on their caps and + began to smile at each other. + </p> + <p> + The Cossacks rode away, passing through the yards of the home farm + straight into the fields. The priest, still arguing with the peasants, + moved gradually down the drive and his earnest eloquence was drawing the + silent mob after him, away from the house. This justice must be rendered + to the parish priests of the Greek Church that, strangers to the country + as they were (being all drawn from the interior of Russia), the majority + of them used such influence as they had over their flocks in the cause of + peace and humanity. True to the spirit of their calling, they tried to + soothe the passions of the excited peasantry, and opposed rapine and + violence, whenever they could, with all their might. And this conduct they + pursued against the express wishes of the authorities. Later on some of + them were made to suffer for this disobedience by being removed abruptly + to the far north or sent away to Siberian parishes. + </p> + <p> + The servant was anxious to get rid of the few peasants who had got into + the house. What sort of conduct was that, he asked them, toward a man who + was only a tenant, had been invariably good and considerate to the + villagers for years, and only the other day had agreed to give up two + meadows for the use of the village herd? He reminded them, too, of Mr. + Nicholas B.'s devotion to the sick in time of cholera. Every word of this + was true, and so far effective that the fellows began to scratch their + heads and look irresolute. The speaker then pointed at the window, + exclaiming: “Look! there's all your crowd going away quietly, and you + silly chaps had better go after them and pray God to forgive you your evil + thoughts.” + </p> + <p> + This appeal was an unlucky inspiration. + </p> + <p> + In crowding clumsily to the window to see whether he was speaking the + truth, the fellows overturned the little writing-table. As it fell over a + chink of loose coin was heard. “There's money in that thing,” cried the + blacksmith. In a moment the top of the delicate piece of furniture was + smashed and there lay exposed in a drawer eighty half imperials. Gold coin + was a rare sight in Russia even at that time; it put the peasants beside + themselves. “There must be more of that in the house, and we shall have + it,” yelled the ex-soldier blacksmith. “This is war-time.” The others were + already shouting out of the window, urging the crowd to come back and + help. The priest, abandoned suddenly at the gate, flung his arms up and + hurried away so as not to see what was going to happen. + </p> + <p> + In their search for money that bucolic mob smashed everything in the + house, ripping with knives, splitting with hatchets, so that, as the + servant said, there were no two pieces of wood holding together left in + the whole house. They broke some very fine mirrors, all the windows, and + every piece of glass and china. They threw the books and papers out on the + lawn and set fire to the heap for the mere fun of the thing, apparently. + Absolutely the only one solitary thing which they left whole was a small + ivory crucifix, which remained hanging on the wall in the wrecked bedroom + above a wild heap of rags, broken mahogany, and splintered boards which + had been Mr. Nicholas B.'s bedstead. Detecting the servant in the act of + stealing away with a japanned tin box, they tore it from him, and because + he resisted they threw him out of the dining-room window. The house was on + one floor, but raised well above the ground, and the fall was so serious + that the man remained lying stunned till the cook and a stable-boy + ventured forth at dusk from their hiding-places and picked him up. But by + that time the mob had departed, carrying off the tin box, which they + supposed to be full of paper money. Some distance from the house, in the + middle of a field, they broke it open. They found in side documents + engrossed on parchment and the two crosses of the Legion of Honour and For + Valour. At the sight of these objects, which, the blacksmith explained, + were marks of honour given only by the Tsar, they became extremely + frightened at what they had done. They threw the whole lot away into a + ditch and dispersed hastily. + </p> + <p> + On learning of this particular loss Mr. Nicholas B. broke down completely. + The mere sacking of his house did not seem to affect him much. While he + was still in bed from the shock, the two crosses were found and returned + to him. It helped somewhat his slow convalescence, but the tin box and the + parchments, though searched for in all the ditches around, never turned up + again. He could not get over the loss of his Legion of Honour Patent, + whose preamble, setting forth his services, he knew by heart to the very + letter, and after this blow volunteered sometimes to recite, tears + standing in his eyes the while. Its terms haunted him apparently during + the last two years of his life to such an extent that he used to repeat + them to himself. This is confirmed by the remark made more than once by + his old servant to the more intimate friends. “What makes my heart heavy + is to hear our master in his room at night walking up and down and praying + aloud in the French language.” + </p> + <p> + It must have been somewhat over a year afterward that I saw Mr. Nicholas + B.—or, more correctly, that he saw me—for the last time. It + was, as I have already said, at the time when my mother had a three + months' leave from exile, which she was spending in the house of her + brother, and friends and relations were coming from far and near to do her + honour. It is inconceivable that Mr. Nicholas B. should not have been of + the number. The little child a few months old he had taken up in his arms + on the day of his home-coming, after years of war and exile, was + confessing her faith in national salvation by suffering exile in her turn. + I do not know whether he was present on the very day of our departure. + </p> + <p> + I have already admitted that for me he is more especially the man who in + his youth had eaten roast dog in the depths of a gloomy forest of + snow-loaded pines. My memory cannot place him in any remembered scene. A + hooked nose, some sleek white hair, an unrelated evanescent impression of + a meagre, slight, rigid figure militarily buttoned up to the throat, is + all that now exists on earth of Mr. Nicholas B.; only this vague shadow + pursued by the memory of his grandnephew, the last surviving human being, + I suppose, of all those he had seen in the course of his taciturn life. + </p> + <p> + But I remember well the day of our departure back to exile. The elongated, + bizarre, shabby travelling-carriage with four post-horses, standing before + the long front of the house with its eight columns, four on each side of + the broad flight of stairs. On the steps, groups of servants, a few + relations, one or two friends from the nearest neighbourhood, a perfect + silence; on all the faces an air of sober concentration; my grandmother, + all in black, gazing stoically; my uncle giving his arm to my mother down + to the carriage in which I had been placed already; at the top of the + flight my little cousin in a short skirt of a tartan pattern with a deal + of red in it, and like a small princess attended by the women of her own + household; the head gouvernante, our dear, corpulent Francesca (who had + been for thirty years in the service of the B. family), the former nurse, + now outdoor attendant, a handsome peasant face wearing a compassionate + expression, and the good, ugly Mlle. Durand, the governess, with her black + eyebrows meeting over a short, thick nose, and a complexion like + pale-brown paper. Of all the eyes turned toward the carriage, her + good-natured eyes only were dropping tears, and it was her sobbing voice + alone that broke the silence with an appeal to me: “<i>N'oublie pas ton + francais, mon cheri</i>.” In three months, simply by playing with us, she + had taught me not only to speak French, but to read it as well. She was + indeed an excellent playmate. In the distance, half-way down to the great + gates, a light, open trap, harnessed with three horses in Russian fashion, + stood drawn up on one side, with the police captain of the district + sitting in it, the vizor of his flat cap with a red band pulled down over + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + It seems strange that he should have been there to watch our going so + carefully. Without wishing to treat with levity the just timidites of + Imperialists all the world over, I may allow myself the reflection that a + woman, practically condemned by the doctors, and a small boy not quite six + years old, could not be regarded as seriously dangerous, even for the + largest of conceivable empires saddled with the most sacred of + responsibilities. And this good man I believe did not think so, either. + </p> + <p> + I learned afterward why he was present on that day. I don't remember any + outward signs; but it seems that, about a month before, my mother became + so unwell that there was a doubt whether she could be made fit to travel + in the time. In this uncertainty the Governor-General in Kiev was + petitioned to grant her a fortnight's extension of stay in her brother's + house. No answer whatever was returned to this prayer, but one day at dusk + the police captain of the district drove up to the house and told my + uncle's valet, who ran out to meet him, that he wanted to speak with the + master in private, at once. Very much impressed (he thought it was going + to be an arrest), the servant, “more dead than alive with fright,” as he + related afterward, smuggled him through the big drawing-room, which was + dark (that room was not lighted every evening), on tiptoe, so as not to + attract the attention of the ladies in the house, and led him by way of + the orangery to my uncle's private apartments. + </p> + <p> + The policeman, without any preliminaries, thrust a paper into my uncle's + hands. + </p> + <p> + “There. Pray read this. I have no business to show this paper to you. It + is wrong of me. But I can't either eat or sleep with such a job hanging + over me.” + </p> + <p> + That police captain, a native of Great Russia, had been for many years + serving in the district. + </p> + <p> + My uncle unfolded and read the document. It was a service order issued + from the Governor-General's secretariat, dealing with the matter of the + petition and directing the police captain to disregard all remonstrances + and explanations in regard to that illness either from medical men or + others, “and if she has not left her brother's house”—it went on to + say—“on the morning of the day specified on her permit, you are to + despatch her at once under escort, direct” (underlined) “to the + prison-hospital in Kiev, where she will be treated as her case demands.” + </p> + <p> + “For God's sake, Mr. B., see that your sister goes away punctually on that + day. Don't give me this work to do with a woman—and with one of your + family, too. I simply cannot bear to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + He was absolutely wringing his hands. My uncle looked at him in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for this warning. I assure you that even if she were dying she + would be carried out to the carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—indeed—and what difference would it make—travel to + Kiev or back to her husband? For she would have to go—death or no + death. And mind, Mr. B., I will be here on the day, not that I doubt your + promise, but because I must. I have got to. Duty. All the same my trade is + not fit for a dog since some of you Poles will persist in rebelling, and + all of you have got to suffer for it.” + </p> + <p> + This is the reason why he was there in an open three-horse trap pulled up + between the house and the great gates. I regret not being able to give up + his name to the scorn of all believers in the right of conquest, as a + reprehensibly sensitive guardian of Imperial greatness. On the other hand, + I am in a position to state the name of the Governor-General who signed + the order with the marginal note “to be carried out to the letter” in his + own handwriting. The gentleman's name was Bezak. A high dignitary, an + energetic official, the idol for a time of the Russian patriotic press. + </p> + <p> + Each generation has its memories. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + It must not be supposed that, in setting forth the memories of this + half-hour between the moment my uncle left my room till we met again at + dinner, I am losing sight of “Almayer's Folly.” Having confessed that my + first novel was begun in idleness—a holiday task—I think I + have also given the impression that it was a much-delayed book. It was + never dismissed from my mind, even when the hope of ever finishing it was + very faint. Many things came in its way: daily duties, new impressions, + old memories. It was not the outcome of a need—the famous need of + self-expression which artists find in their search for motives. The + necessity which impelled me was a hidden, obscure necessity, a completely + masked and unaccountable phenomenon. Or perhaps some idle and frivolous + magician (there must be magicians in London) had cast a spell over me + through his parlour window as I explored the maze of streets east and west + in solitary leisurely walks without chart and compass. Till I began to + write that novel I had written nothing but letters, and not very many of + these. I never made a note of a fact, of an impression, or of an anecdote + in my life. The conception of a planned book was entirely outside my + mental range when I sat down to write; the ambition of being an author had + never turned up among those gracious imaginary existences one creates + fondly for oneself at times in the stillness and immobility of a + day-dream: yet it stands clear as the sun at noonday that from the moment + I had done blackening over the first manuscript page of “Almayer's Folly” + (it contained about two hundred words and this proportion of words to a + page has remained with me through the fifteen years of my writing life), + from the moment I had, in the simplicity of my heart and the amazing + ignorance of my mind, written that page the die was cast. Never had + Rubicon been more blindly forded without invocation to the gods, without + fear of men. + </p> + <p> + That morning I got up from my breakfast, pushing the chair back, and rang + the bell violently, or perhaps I should say resolutely, or perhaps I + should say eagerly—I do not know. But manifestly it must have been a + special ring of the bell, a common sound made impressive, like the ringing + of a bell for the raising of the curtain upon a new scene. It was an + unusual thing for me to do. Generally, I dawdled over my breakfast and I + seldom took the trouble to ring the bell for the table to be cleared away; + but on that morning, for some reason hidden in the general mysteriousness + of the event, I did not dawdle. And yet I was not in a hurry. I pulled the + cord casually, and while the faint tinkling somewhere down in the basement + went on, I charged my pipe in the usual way and I looked for the match-box + with glances distraught indeed, but exhibiting, I am ready to swear, no + signs of a fine frenzy. I was composed enough to perceive after some + considerable time the match-box lying there on the mantelpiece right under + my nose. And all this was beautifully and safely usual. Before I had + thrown down the match my landlady's daughter appeared with her calm, pale + face and an inquisitive look, in the doorway. Of late it was the + landlady's daughter who answered my bell. I mention this little fact with + pride, because it proves that during the thirty or forty days of my + tenancy I had produced a favourable impression. For a fortnight past I had + been spared the unattractive sight of the domestic slave. The girls in + that Bessborough Gardens house were often changed, but whether short or + long, fair or dark, they were always untidy and particularly bedraggled, + as if in a sordid version of the fairy tale the ash-bin cat had been + changed into a maid. I was infinitely sensible of the privilege of being + waited on by my landlady's daughter. She was neat if anemic. + </p> + <p> + “Will you please clear away all this at once?” I addressed her in + convulsive accents, being at the same time engaged in getting my pipe to + draw. This, I admit, was an unusual request. Generally, on getting up from + breakfast I would sit down in the window with a book and let them clear + the table when they liked; but if you think that on that morning I was in + the least impatient, you are mistaken. I remember that I was perfectly + calm. As a matter of fact I was not at all certain that I wanted to write, + or that I meant to write, or that I had anything to write about. No, I was + not impatient. I lounged between the mantelpiece and the window, not even + consciously waiting for the table to be cleared. It was ten to one that + before my landlady's daughter was done I would pick up a book and sit down + with it all the morning in a spirit of enjoyable indolence. I affirm it + with assurance, and I don't even know now what were the books then lying + about the room. What ever they were, they were not the works of great + masters, where the secret of clear thought and exact expression can be + found. Since the age of five I have been a great reader, as is not perhaps + wonderful in a child who was never aware of learning to read. At ten years + of age I had read much of Victor Hugo and other romantics. I had read in + Polish and in French, history, voyages, novels; I knew “Gil Blas” and “Don + Quixote” in abridged editions; I had read in early boyhood Polish poets + and some French poets, but I cannot say what I read on the evening before + I began to write myself. I believe it was a novel, and it is quite + possible that it was one of Anthony Trollope's novels. It is very likely. + My acquaintance with him was then very recent. He is one of the English + novelists whose works I read for the first time in English. With men of + European reputation, with Dickens and Walter Scott and Thackeray, it was + otherwise. My first introduction to English imaginative literature was + “Nicholas Nickleby.” It is extraordinary how well Mrs. Nickleby could + chatter disconnectedly in Polish and the sinister Ralph rage in that + language. As to the Crummles family and the family of the learned Squeers + it seemed as natural to them as their native speech. It was, I have no + doubt, an excellent translation. This must have been in the year '70. But + I really believe that I am wrong. That book was not my first introduction + to English literature. My first acquaintance was (or were) the “Two + Gentlemen of Verona,” and that in the very MS. of my father's translation. + It was during our exile in Russia, and it must have been less than a year + after my mother's death, because I remember myself in the black blouse + with a white border of my heavy mourning. We were living together, quite + alone, in a small house on the outskirts of the town of T——. + That afternoon, instead of going out to play in the large yard which we + shared with our landlord, I had lingered in the room in which my father + generally wrote. What emboldened me to clamber into his chair I am sure I + don't know, but a couple of hours afterward he discovered me kneeling in + it with my elbows on the table and my head held in both hands over the MS. + of loose pages. I was greatly confused, expecting to get into trouble. He + stood in the doorway looking at me with some surprise, but the only thing + he said after a moment of silence was: + </p> + <p> + “Read the page aloud.” + </p> + <p> + Luckily the page lying before me was not overblotted with erasures and + corrections, and my father's handwriting was otherwise extremely legible. + When I got to the end he nodded, and I flew out-of-doors, thinking myself + lucky to have escaped reproof for that piece of impulsive audacity. I have + tried to discover since the reason for this mildness, and I imagine that + all unknown to myself I had earned, in my father's mind, the right to some + latitude in my relations with his writing-table. It was only a month + before—or perhaps it was only a week before—that I had read to + him aloud from beginning to end, and to his perfect satisfaction, as he + lay on his bed, not being very well at the time, the proofs of his + translation of Victor Hugo's “Toilers of the Sea.” Such was my title to + consideration, I believe, and also my first introduction to the sea in + literature. + </p> + <p> + If I do not remember where, how, and when I learned to read, I am not + likely to forget the process of being trained in the art of reading aloud. + My poor father, an admirable reader himself, was the most exacting of + masters. I reflect proudly that I must have read that page of “Two + Gentlemen of Verona” tolerably well at the age of eight. The next time I + met them was in a 5s. one-volume edition of the dramatic works of William + Shakespeare, read in Falmouth, at odd moments of the day, to the noisy + accompaniment of calkers' mallets driving oakum into the deck-seams of a + ship in dry-dock. We had run in, in a sinking condition and with the crew + refusing duty after a month of weary battling with the gales of the North + Atlantic. Books are an integral part of one's life, and my Shakespearian + associations are with that first year of our bereavement, the last I spent + with my father in exile (he sent me away to Poland to my mother's brother + directly he could brace himself up for the separation), and with the year + of hard gales, the year in which I came nearest to death at sea, first by + water and then by fire. + </p> + <p> + Those things I remember, but what I was reading the day before my writing + life began I have forgotten. I have only a vague notion that it might have + been one of Trollope's political novels. And I remember, too, the + character of the day. It was an autumn day with an opaline atmosphere, a + veiled, semi-opaque, lustrous day, with fiery points and flashes of red + sunlight on the roofs and windows opposite, while the trees of the square, + with all their leaves gone, were like the tracings of India ink on a sheet + of tissue-paper. It was one of those London days that have the charm of + mysterious amenity, of fascinating softness. The effect of opaline mist + was often repeated at Bessborough Gardens on account of the nearness to + the river. + </p> + <p> + There is no reason why I should remember that effect more on that day than + on any other day, except that I stood for a long time looking out of the + window after the landlady's daughter was gone with her spoil of cups and + saucers. I heard her put the tray down in the passage and finally shut the + door; and still I remained smoking, with my back to the room. It is very + clear that I was in no haste to take the plunge into my writing life, if + as plunge this first attempt may be described. My whole being was steeped + deep in the indolence of a sailor away from the sea, the scene of + never-ending labour and of unceasing duty. For utter surrender to + indolence you cannot beat a sailor ashore when that mood is on him—the + mood of absolute irresponsibility tasted to the full. It seems to me that + I thought of nothing whatever, but this is an impression which is hardly + to be believed at this distance of years. What I am certain of is that I + was very far from thinking of writing a story, though it is possible and + even likely that I was thinking of the man Almayer. + </p> + <p> + I had seen him for the first time, some four years before, from the bridge + of a steamer moored to a rickety little wharf forty miles up, more or + less, a Bornean river. It was very early morning, and a slight mist—an + opaline mist as in Bessborough Gardens, only without the fiery flicks on + roof and chimney-pot from the rays of the red London sun—promised to + turn presently into a woolly fog. Barring a small dug-out canoe on the + river there was nothing moving within sight. I had just come up yawning + from my cabin. The serang and the Malay crew were overhauling the cargo + chains and trying the winches; their voices sounded subdued on the deck + below, and their movements were languid. That tropical daybreak was + chilly. The Malay quartermaster, coming up to get something from the + lockers on the bridge, shivered visibly. The forests above and below and + on the opposite bank looked black and dank; wet dripped from the rigging + upon the tightly stretched deck awnings, and it was in the middle of a + shuddering yawn that I caught sight of Almayer. He was moving across a + patch of burned grass, a blurred, shadowy shape with the blurred bulk of a + house behind him, a low house of mats, bamboos, and palm leaves, with a + high-pitched roof of grass. + </p> + <p> + He stepped upon the jetty. He was clad simply in flapping pajamas of + cretonne pattern (enormous flowers with yellow petals on a disagreeable + blue ground) and a thin cotton singlet with short sleeves. His arms, bare + to the elbow, were crossed on his chest. His black hair looked as if it + had not been cut for a very long time, and a curly wisp of it strayed + across his forehead. I had heard of him at Singapore; I had heard of him + on board; I had heard of him early in the morning and late at night; I had + heard of him at tiffin and at dinner; I had heard of him in a place called + Pulo Laut from a half-caste gentleman there, who described himself as the + manager of a coal-mine; which sounded civilized and progressive till you + heard that the mine could not be worked at present because it was haunted + by some particularly atrocious ghosts. I had heard of him in a place + called Dongola, in the Island of Celebes, when the Rajah of that + little-known seaport (you can get no anchorage there in less than fifteen + fathom, which is extremely inconvenient) came on board in a friendly way, + with only two attendants, and drank bottle after bottle of soda-water on + the after-sky light with my good friend and commander, Captain C——. + At least I heard his name distinctly pronounced several times in a lot of + talk in Malay language. Oh, yes, I heard it quite distinctly—Almayer, + Almayer—and saw Captain C—— smile, while the fat, dingy + Rajah laughed audibly. To hear a Malay Rajah laugh outright is a rare + experience, I can assure you. And I overheard more of Almayer's name + among our deck passengers (mostly wandering traders of good repute) as + they sat all over the ship—each man fenced round with bundles and + boxes—on mats, on pillows, on quilts, on billets of wood, conversing + of Island affairs. Upon my word, I heard the mutter of Almayer's name + faintly at midnight, while making my way aft from the bridge to look at + the patent taffrail-log tinkling its quarter miles in the great silence of + the sea. I don't mean to say that our passengers dreamed aloud of Almayer, + but it is indubitable that two of them at least, who could not sleep, + apparently, and were trying to charm away the trouble of insomnia by a + little whispered talk at that ghostly hour, were referring in some way or + other to Almayer. It was really impossible on board that ship to get away + definitely from Almayer; and a very small pony tied up forward and + whisking its tail inside the galley, to the great embarrassment of our + Chinaman cook, was destined for Almayer. What he wanted with a pony + goodness only knows, since I am perfectly certain he could not ride it; + but here you have the man, ambitious, aiming at the grandiose, importing a + pony, whereas in the whole settlement at which he used to shake daily his + impotent fist there was only one path that was practicable for a pony: a + quarter of a mile at most, hedged in by hundreds of square leagues of + virgin forest. But who knows? The importation of that Bali pony might have + been part of some deep scheme, of some diplomatic plan, of some hopeful + intrigue. With Almayer one could never tell. He governed his conduct by + considerations removed from the obvious, by incredible assumptions, which + rendered his logic impenetrable to any reasonable person. I learned all + this later. That morning, seeing the figure in pajamas moving in the mist, + I said to myself, “That's the man.” + </p> + <p> + He came quite close to the ship's side and raised a harassed countenance, + round and flat, with that curl of black hair over the forehead and a + heavy, pained glance. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + He looked hard at me: I was a new face, having just replaced the chief + mate he was accustomed to see; and I think that this novelty inspired him, + as things generally did, with deep-seated mistrust. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't expect you till this evening,” he remarked, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + I didn't know why he should have been aggrieved, but he seemed to be. I + took pains to explain to him that, having picked up the beacon at the + mouth of the river just before dark and the tide serving, Captain C—— + was enabled to cross the bar and there was nothing to prevent him going up + the river at night. + </p> + <p> + “Captain C—— knows this river like his own pocket,” I + concluded, discursively, trying to get on terms. + </p> + <p> + “Better,” said Almayer. + </p> + <p> + Leaning over the rail of the bridge, I looked at Almayer, who looked down + at the wharf in aggrieved thought. He shuffled his feet a little; he wore + straw slippers with thick soles. The morning fog had thickened + considerably. Everything round us dripped—the derricks, the rails, + every single rope in the ship—as if a fit of crying had come upon + the universe. + </p> + <p> + Almayer again raised his head and, in the accents of a man accustomed to + the buffets of evil fortune, asked, hardly audibly: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you haven't got such a thing as a pony on board?” + </p> + <p> + I told him, almost in a whisper, for he attuned my communications to his + minor key, that we had such a thing as a pony, and I hinted, as gently as + I could, that he was confoundedly in the way, too. I was very anxious to + have him landed before I began to handle the cargo. Almayer remained + looking up at me for a long while, with incredulous and melancholy eyes, + as though it were not a safe thing to believe in my statement. This + pathetic mistrust in the favourable issue of any sort of affair touched me + deeply, and I added: + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't seem a bit the worse for the passage. He's a nice pony, too.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer was not to be cheered up; for all answer he cleared his throat and + looked down again at his feet. I tried to close with him on another tack. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” I said. “Aren't you afraid of catching pneumonia or bronchitis + or some thing, walking about in a singlet in such a wet fog?” + </p> + <p> + He was not to be propitiated by a show of interest in his health. + </p> + <p> + His answer was a sinister “No fear,” as much as to say that even that way + of escape from inclement fortune was closed to him. + </p> + <p> + “I just came down . . .” he mumbled after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, now you're here I will land that pony for you at once, and + you can lead him home. I really don't want him on deck. He's in the way.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer seemed doubtful. I insisted: + </p> + <p> + “Why, I will just swing him out and land him on the wharf right in front + of you. I'd much rather do it before the hatches are off. The little devil + may jump down the hold or do some other deadly thing.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a halter?” postulated Almayer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course there's a halter.” And without waiting any more I leaned + over the bridge rail. + </p> + <p> + “Serang, land Tuan Almayer's pony.” + </p> + <p> + The cook hastened to shut the door of the galley, and a moment later a + great scuffle began on deck. The pony kicked with extreme energy, the + kalashes skipped out of the way, the serang issued many orders in a + cracked voice. Suddenly the pony leaped upon the fore-hatch. His little + hoofs thundered tremendously; he plunged and reared. He had tossed his + mane and his forelock into a state of amazing wildness, he dilated his + nostrils, bits of foam flecked his broad little chest, his eyes blazed. He + was something under eleven hands; he was fierce, terrible, angry, warlike; + he said ha! ha! distinctly; he raged and thumped—and sixteen + able-bodied kalashes stood round him like disconcerted nurses round a + spoiled and passionate child. He whisked his tail incessantly; he arched + his pretty neck; he was perfectly delightful; he was charmingly naughty. + There was not an atom of vice in that performance; no savage baring of + teeth and laying back of ears. On the contrary, he pricked them forward in + a comically aggressive manner. He was totally unmoral and lovable; I would + have liked to give him bread, sugar, carrots. But life is a stern thing + and the sense of duty the only safe guide. So I steeled my heart, and from + my elevated position on the bridge I ordered the men to fling themselves + upon him in a body. + </p> + <p> + The elderly serang, emitting a strange, inarticulate cry, gave the + example. He was an excellent petty officer—very competent, indeed, + and a moderate opium-smoker. The rest of them in one great rush smothered + that pony. They hung on to his ears, to his mane, to his tail; they lay in + piles across his back, seventeen in all. The carpenter, seizing the hook + of the cargo-chain, flung himself on the top of them. A very satisfactory + petty officer, too, but he stuttered. Have you ever heard a light-yellow, + lean, sad, earnest Chinaman stutter in Pidgin-English? It's very weird, + indeed. He made the eighteenth. I could not see the pony at all; but from + the swaying and heaving of that heap of men I knew that there was + something alive inside. + </p> + <p> + From the wharf Almayer hailed, in quavering tones: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say!” + </p> + <p> + Where he stood he could not see what was going on on deck, unless, + perhaps, the tops of the men's heads; he could only hear the scuffle, the + mighty thuds, as if the ship were being knocked to pieces. I looked over: + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let them break his legs,” he entreated me, plaintively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense! He's all right now. He can't move.” + </p> + <p> + By that time the cargo-chain had been hooked to the broad canvas belt + round the pony's body; the kalashes sprang off simultaneously in all + directions, rolling over each other; and the worthy serang, making a dash + behind the winch, turned the steam on. + </p> + <p> + “Steady!” I yelled, in great apprehension of seeing the animal snatched up + to the very head of the derrick. + </p> + <p> + On the wharf Almayer shuffled his straw slippers uneasily. The rattle of + the winch stopped, and in a tense, impressive silence that pony began to + swing across the deck. + </p> + <p> + How limp he was! Directly he felt himself in the air he relaxed every + muscle in a most wonderful manner. His four hoofs knocked together in a + bunch, his head hung down, and his tail remained pendent in a nerveless + and absolute immobility. He reminded me vividly of the pathetic little + sheep which hangs on the collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece. I had + no idea that anything in the shape of a horse could be so limp as that, + either living or dead. His wild mane hung down lumpily, a mere mass of + inanimate horsehair; his aggressive ears had collapsed, but as he went + swaying slowly across the front of the bridge I noticed an astute gleam in + his dreamy, half-closed eye. A trustworthy quartermaster, his glance + anxious and his mouth on the broad grin, was easing over the derrick + watchfully. I superintended, greatly interested. + </p> + <p> + “So! That will do.” + </p> + <p> + The derrick-head stopped. The kalashes lined the rail. The rope of the + halter hung perpendicular and motionless like a bell-pull in front of + Almayer. Everything was very still. I suggested amicably that he should + catch hold of the rope and mind what he was about. He extended a + provokingly casual and superior hand. + </p> + <p> + “Look out, then! Lower away!” + </p> + <p> + Almayer gathered in the rope intelligently enough, but when the pony's + hoofs touched the wharf he gave way all at once to a most foolish + optimism. Without pausing, without thinking, almost without looking, he + disengaged the hook suddenly from the sling, and the cargo-chain, after + hitting the pony's quarters, swung back against the ship's side with a + noisy, rattling slap. I suppose I must have blinked. I know I missed + something, because the next thing I saw was Almayer lying flat on his back + on the jetty. He was alone. + </p> + <p> + Astonishment deprived me of speech long enough to give Almayer time to + pick himself up in a leisurely and painful manner. The kalashes lining the + rail all had their mouths open. The mist flew in the light breeze, and it + had come over quite thick enough to hide the shore completely. + </p> + <p> + “How on earth did you manage to let him get away?” I asked, scandalized. + </p> + <p> + Almayer looked into the smarting palm of his right hand, but did not + answer my inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you think he will get to?” I cried. “Are there any fences + anywhere in this fog? Can he bolt into the forest? What's to be done now?” + </p> + <p> + Almayer shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Some of my men are sure to be about. They will get hold of him sooner or + later.” + </p> + <p> + “Sooner or later! That's all very fine, but what about my canvas sling?—he's + carried it off. I want it now, at once, to land two Celebes cows.” + </p> + <p> + Since Dongola we had on board a pair of the pretty little island cattle in + addition to the pony. Tied up on the other side of the fore-deck they had + been whisking their tails into the other door of the galley. These cows + were not for Almayer, however; they were invoiced to Abdullah bin Selim, + his enemy. Almayer's disregard of my requirements was complete. + </p> + <p> + “If I were you I would try to find out where he's gone,” I insisted. + “Hadn't you better call your men together or something? He will throw + himself down and cut his knees. He may even break a leg, you know.” + </p> + <p> + But Almayer, plunged in abstracted thought, did not seem to want that pony + any more. Amazed at this sudden indifference, I turned all hands out on + shore to hunt for him on my own account, or, at any rate, to hunt for the + canvas sling which he had round his body. The whole crew of the steamer, + with the exception of firemen and engineers, rushed up the jetty, past the + thoughtful Almayer, and vanished from my sight. The white fog swallowed + them up; and again there was a deep silence that seemed to extend for + miles up and down the stream. Still taciturn, Almayer started to climb on + board, and I went down from the bridge to meet him on the after-deck. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind telling the captain that I want to see him very + particularly?” he asked me, in a low tone, letting his eyes stray all over + the place. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I will go and see.” + </p> + <p> + With the door of his cabin wide open, Captain C——, just back + from the bath-room, big and broad-chested, was brushing his thick, damp, + iron-gray hair with two large brushes. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Almayer told me he wanted to see you very particularly, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Saying these words, I smiled. I don't know why I smiled, except that it + seemed absolutely impossible to mention Almayer's name without a smile of + a sort. It had not to be necessarily a mirthful smile. Turning his head + toward me, Captain C—— smiled, too, rather joylessly. + </p> + <p> + “The pony got away from him—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. He did.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness only knows.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I mean Almayer. Let him come along.” + </p> + <p> + The captain's stateroom opening straight on deck under the bridge, I had + only to beckon from the doorway to Almayer, who had remained aft, with + downcast eyes, on the very spot where I had left him. He strolled up + moodily, shook hands, and at once asked permission to shut the cabin door. + </p> + <p> + “I have a pretty story to tell you,” were the last words I heard. + </p> + <p> + The bitterness of tone was remarkable. + </p> + <p> + I went away from the door, of course. For the moment I had no crew on + board; only the Chinaman carpenter, with a canvas bag hung round his neck + and a hammer in his hand, roamed about the empty decks, knocking out the + wedges of the hatches and dropping them into the bag conscientiously. + Having nothing to do I joined our two engineers at the door of the + engine-room. It was near breakfast-time. + </p> + <p> + “He's turned up early, hasn't he?” commented the second engineer, and + smiled indifferently. He was an abstemious man, with a good digestion and + a placid, reasonable view of life even when hungry. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “Shut up with the old man. Some very particular business.” + </p> + <p> + “He will spin him a damned endless yarn,” observed the chief engineer. + </p> + <p> + He smiled rather sourly. He was dyspeptic, and suffered from gnawing + hunger in the morning. The second smiled broadly, a smile that made two + vertical folds on his shaven cheeks. And I smiled, too, but I was not + exactly amused. In that man, whose name apparently could not be uttered + anywhere in the Malay Archipelago without a smile, there was nothing + amusing whatever. That morning he breakfasted with us silently, looking + mostly into his cup. I informed him that my men came upon his pony + capering in the fog on the very brink of the eight-foot-deep well in which + he kept his store of guttah. The cover was off, with no one nearby, and + the whole of my crew just missed going heels over head into that beastly + hole. Jurumudi Itam, our best quartermaster, deft at fine needlework, he + who mended the ship's flags and sewed buttons on our coats, was disabled + by a kick on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Both remorse and gratitude seemed foreign to Almayer's character. + </p> + <p> + He mumbled: + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that pirate fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “What pirate fellow? The man has been in the ship eleven years,” I said, + indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “It's his looks,” Almayer muttered, for all apology. + </p> + <p> + The sun had eaten up the fog. From where we sat under the after-awning we + could see in the distance the pony tied up, in front of Almayer's house, + to a post of the veranda. We were silent for a long time. All at once + Almayer, alluding evidently to the subject of his conversation in the + captain's cabin, exclaimed anxiously across the table: + </p> + <p> + “I really don't know what I can do now!” + </p> + <p> + Captain C—— only raised his eyebrows at him, and got up from + his chair. We dispersed to our duties, but Almayer, half dressed as he was + in his cretonne pajamas and the thin cotton singlet, remained on board, + lingering near the gangway, as though he could not make up his mind + whether to go home or stay with us for good. + </p> + <p> + Our Chinamen boys gave him side glances as they went to and fro; and Ah + Sing, our chief steward, the handsomest and most sympathetic of Chinamen, + catching my eye, nodded knowingly at his burly back. In the course of the + morning I approached him for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Almayer,” I addressed him, easily, “you haven't started on your + letters yet.” + </p> + <p> + We had brought him his mail, and he had held the bundle in his hand ever + since we got up from breakfast. He glanced at it when I spoke, and for a + moment it looked as if he were on the point of opening his fingers and + letting the whole lot fall overboard. I believe he was tempted to do so. I + shall never forget that man afraid of his letters. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been long out from Europe?” he asked me. + </p> + <p> + “Not very. Not quite eight months,” I told him. “I left a ship in Samarang + with a hurt back, and have been in the hospital in Singapore some weeks.” + </p> + <p> + He sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Trade is very bad here.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Hopeless! . . . See these geese?” + </p> + <p> + With the hand holding the letters he pointed out to me what resembled a + patch of snow creeping and swaying across the distant part of his + compound. It disappeared behind some bushes. + </p> + <p> + “The only geese on the East Coast,” Almayer informed me, in a perfunctory + mutter without a spark of faith, hope, or pride. Thereupon, with the same + absence of any sort of sustaining spirit, he declared his intention to + select a fat bird and send him on board for us not later than next day. + </p> + <p> + I had heard of these largesses before. He conferred a goose as if it were + a sort of court decoration given only to the tried friends of the house. I + had expected more pomp in the ceremony. The gift had surely its special + quality, multiple and rare. From the only flock on the East Coast! He did + not make half enough of it. That man did not understand his opportunities. + However, I thanked him at some length. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he interrupted, abruptly, in a very peculiar tone, “the worst + of this country is that one is not able to realize . . . it's impossible + to realize. . . .” His voice sank into a languid mutter. “And when one has + very large interests . . . very important interests . . .” he finished, + faintly . . . “up the river.” + </p> + <p> + We looked at each other. He astonished me by giving a start and making a + very queer grimace. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must be off,” he burst out, hurriedly. “So long!” + </p> + <p> + At the moment of stepping over the gangway he checked himself, though, to + give me a mumbled invitation to dine at his house that evening with my + captain, an invitation which I accepted. I don't think it could have been + possible for me to refuse. + </p> + <p> + I like the worthy folk who will talk to you of the exercise of free-will, + “at any rate for practical purposes.” Free, is it? For practical purposes! + Bosh! How could I have refused to dine with that man? I did not refuse, + simply because I could not refuse. Curiosity, a healthy desire for a + change of cooking, common civility, the talk and the smiles of the + previous twenty days, every condition of my existence at that moment and + place made irresistibly for acceptance; and, crowning all that, there was + the ignorance—the ignorance, I say—the fatal want of fore + knowledge to counterbalance these imperative conditions of the problem. A + refusal would have appeared perverse and insane. Nobody, unless a surly + lunatic, would have refused. But if I had not got to know Almayer pretty + well it is almost certain there would never have been a line of mine in + print. + </p> + <p> + I accepted then—and I am paying yet the price of my sanity. The + possessor of the only flock of geese on the East Coast is responsible for + the existence of some fourteen volumes, so far. The number of geese he had + called into being under adverse climatic conditions was considerably more + than fourteen. The tale of volumes will never overtake the counting of + heads, I am safe to say; but my ambitions point not exactly that way, and + whatever the pangs the toil of writing has cost me I have always thought + kindly of Almayer. + </p> + <p> + I wonder, had he known anything of it, what his attitude would have been? + This is something not to be discovered in this world. + </p> + <p> + But if we ever meet in the Elysian Fields—where I cannot depict him + to myself otherwise than attended in the distance by his flock of geese + (birds sacred to Jupiter)—and he addresses me in the stillness of + that passionless region, neither light nor darkness, neither sound nor + silence, and heaving endlessly with billowy mists from the impalpable + multitudes of the swarming dead, I think I know what answer to make. + </p> + <p> + I would say, after listening courteously to the unvibrating tone of his + measured remonstrances, which should not disturb, of course, the solemn + eternity of stillness in the least—I would say something like this: + </p> + <p> + “It is true, Almayer, that in the world below I have converted your name + to my own uses. But that is a very small larceny. What's in a name, O + Shade? If so much of your old mortal weakness clings to you yet as to make + you feel aggrieved (it was the note of your earthly voice, Almayer), then, + I entreat you, seek speech without delay with our sublime fellow-Shade—with + him who, in his transient existence as a poet, commented upon the smell of + the rose. He will comfort you. You came to me stripped of all prestige by + men's queer smiles and the disrespectful chatter of every vagrant trader + in the Islands. Your name was the common property of the winds; it, as it + were, floated naked over the waters about the equator. I wrapped round its + unhonoured form the royal mantle of the tropics, and have essayed to put + into the hollow sound the very anguish of paternity—feats which you + did not demand from me—but remember that all the toil and all the + pain were mine. In your earthly life you haunted me, Almayer. Consider + that this was taking a great liberty. Since you were always complaining of + being lost to the world, you should remember that if I had not believed + enough in your existence to let you haunt my rooms in Bessborough Gardens, + you would have been much more lost. You affirm that had I been capable of + looking at you with a more perfect detachment and a greater simplicity, I + might have perceived better the inward marvellousness which, you insist, + attended your career upon that tiny pin-point of light, hardly visible + far, far below us, where both our graves lie. No doubt! But reflect, O + complaining Shade! that this was not so much my fault as your crowning + misfortune. I believed in you in the only way it was possible for me to + believe. It was not worthy of your merits? So be it. But you were always + an unlucky man, Almayer. Nothing was ever quite worthy of you. What made + you so real to me was that you held this lofty theory with some force of + conviction and with an admirable consistency.” + </p> + <p> + It is with some such words translated into the proper shadowy expressions + that I am prepared to placate Almayer in the Elysian Abode of Shades, + since it has come to pass that, having parted many years ago, we are never + to meet again in this world. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + In the career of the most unliterary of writers, in the sense that + literary ambition had never entered the world of his imagination, the + coming into existence of the first book is quite an inexplicable event. In + my own case I cannot trace it back to any mental or psychological cause + which one could point out and hold to. The greatest of my gifts being a + consummate capacity for doing nothing, I cannot even point to boredom as a + rational stimulus for taking up a pen. The pen, at any rate, was there, + and there is nothing wonderful in that. Everybody keeps a pen (the cold + steel of our days) in his rooms, in this enlightened age of penny stamps + and halfpenny post-cards. In fact, this was the epoch when by means of + postcard and pen Mr. Gladstone had made the reputation of a novel or two. + And I, too, had a pen rolling about somewhere—the seldom-used, the + reluctantly taken-up pen of a sailor ashore, the pen rugged with the dried + ink of abandoned attempts, of answers delayed longer than decency + permitted, of letters begun with infinite reluctance, and put off suddenly + till next day—till next week, as like as not! The neglected, + uncared-for pen, flung away at the slightest provocation, and under the + stress of dire necessity hunted for without enthusiasm, in a perfunctory, + grumpy worry, in the “Where the devil <i>is</i> the beastly thing gone + to?” ungracious spirit. Where, indeed! It might have been reposing behind + the sofa for a day or so. My landlady's anemic daughter (as Ollendorff + would have expressed it), though commendably neat, had a lordly, careless + manner of approaching her domestic duties. Or it might even be resting + delicately poised on its point by the side of the table-leg, and when + picked up show a gaping, inefficient beak which would have discouraged any + man of literary instincts. But not me! “Never mind. This will do.” + </p> + <p> + O days without guile! If anybody had told me then that a devoted + household, having a generally exaggerated idea of my talents and + importance, would be put into a state of tremor and flurry by the fuss I + would make because of a suspicion that somebody had touched my sacrosanct + pen of authorship, I would have never deigned as much as the contemptuous + smile of unbelief. There are imaginings too unlikely for any kind of + notice, too wild for indulgence itself, too absurd for a smile. Perhaps, + had that seer of the future been a friend, I should have been secretly + saddened. “Alas!” I would have thought, looking at him with an unmoved + face, “the poor fellow is going mad.” + </p> + <p> + I would have been, without doubt, saddened; for in this world where the + journalists read the signs of the sky, and the wind of heaven itself, + blowing where it listeth, does so under the prophetical management of the + meteorological office, but where the secret of human hearts cannot be + captured by prying or praying, it was infinitely more likely that the + sanest of my friends should nurse the germ of incipient madness than that + I should turn into a writer of tales. + </p> + <p> + To survey with wonder the changes of one's own self is a fascinating + pursuit for idle hours. The field is so wide, the surprises so varied, the + subject so full of unprofitable but curious hints as to the work of unseen + forces, that one does not weary easily of it. I am not speaking here of + megalomaniacs who rest uneasy under the crown of their unbounded conceit—who + really never rest in this world, and when out of it go on fretting and + fuming on the straitened circumstances of their last habitation, where all + men must lie in obscure equality. Neither am I thinking of those ambitious + minds who, always looking forward to some aim of aggrandizement, can spare + no time for a detached, impersonal glance upon themselves. + </p> + <p> + And that's a pity. They are unlucky. These two kinds, together with the + much larger band of the totally unimaginative, of those unfortunate beings + in whose empty and unseeing gaze (as a great French writer has put it) + “the whole universe vanishes into blank nothingness,” miss, perhaps, the + true task of us men whose day is short on this earth, the abode of + conflicting opinions. The ethical view of the universe involves us at last + in so many cruel and absurd contradictions, where the last vestiges of + faith, hope, charity, and even of reason itself, seem ready to perish, + that I have come to suspect that the aim of creation cannot be ethical at + all. I would fondly believe that its object is purely spectacular: a + spectacle for awe, love, adoration, or hate, if you like, but in this view—and + in this view alone—never for despair! Those visions, delicious or + poignant, are a moral end in themselves. The rest is our affair—the + laughter, the tears, the tenderness, the indignation, the high + tranquillity of a steeled heart, the detached curiosity of a subtle mind—that's + our affair! And the unwearied self-forgetful attention to every phase of + the living universe reflected in our consciousness may be our appointed + task on this earth—a task in which fate has perhaps engaged nothing + of us except our conscience, gifted with a voice in order to bear true + testimony to the visible wonder, the haunting terror, the infinite + passion, and the illimitable serenity; to the supreme law and the abiding + mystery of the sublime spectacle. + </p> + <p> + Chi lo sa? It may be true. In this view there is room for every religion + except for the inverted creed of impiety, the mask and cloak of arid + despair; for every joy and every sorrow, for every fair dream, for every + charitable hope. The great aim is to remain true to the emotions called + out of the deep encircled by the firmament of stars, whose infinite + numbers and awful distances may move us to laughter or tears (was it the + Walrus or the Carpenter, in the poem, who “wept to see such quantities of + sand”?), or, again, to a properly steeled heart, may matter nothing at + all. + </p> + <p> + The casual quotation, which had suggested itself out of a poem full of + merit, leads me to remark that in the conception of a purely spectacular + universe, where inspiration of every sort has a rational existence, the + artist of every kind finds a natural place; and among them the poet as the + seer par excellence. Even the writer of prose, who in his less noble and + more toilsome task should be a man with the steeled heart, is worthy of a + place, providing he looks on with undimmed eyes and keeps laughter out of + his voice, let who will laugh or cry. Yes! Even he, the prose artist of + fiction, which after all is but truth often dragged out of a well and + clothed in the painted robe of imagined phrases—even he has his + place among kings, demagogues, priests, charlatans, dukes, giraffes, + cabinet ministers, Fabians, bricklayers, apostles, ants, scientists, + Kafirs, soldiers, sailors, elephants, lawyers, dandies, microbes, and + constellations of a universe whose amazing spectacle is a moral end in + itself. + </p> + <p> + Here I perceive (without speaking offense) the reader assuming a subtle + expression, as if the cat were out of the bag. I take the novelist's + freedom to observe the reader's mind formulating the exclamation: “That's + it! The fellow talks pro domo.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed it was not the intention! When I shouldered the bag I was not aware + of the cat inside. But, after all, why not? The fair courtyards of the + House of Art are thronged by many humble retainers. And there is no + retainer so devoted as he who is allowed to sit on the doorstep. The + fellows who have got inside are apt to think too much of themselves. This + last remark, I beg to state, is not malicious within the definition of the + law of libel. It's fair comment on a matter of public interest. But never + mind. <i>Pro domo</i>. So be it. For his house <i>tant que vous voudrez</i>. + And yet in truth I was by no means anxious to justify my existence. The + attempt would have been not only needless and absurd, but almost + inconceivable, in a purely spectacular universe, where no such + disagreeable necessity can possibly arise. It is sufficient for me to say + (and I am saying it at some length in these pages): <i>J'ai vecu</i>. I + have existed, obscure among the wonders and terrors of my time, as the + Abbe Sieyes, the original utterer of the quoted words, had managed to + exist through the violences, the crimes, and the enthusiasms of the French + Revolution. <i>J'ai vecu</i>, as I apprehend most of us manage to exist, + missing all along the varied forms of destruction by a hair's-breadth, + saving my body, that's clear, and perhaps my soul also, but not without + some damage here and there to the fine edge of my conscience, that + heirloom of the ages, of the race, of the group, of the family, colourable + and plastic, fashioned by the words, the looks, the acts, and even by the + silences and abstentions surrounding one's childhood; tinged in a complete + scheme of delicate shades and crude colours by the inherited traditions, + beliefs, or prejudices—unaccountable, despotic, persuasive, and + often, in its texture, romantic. + </p> + <p> + And often romantic! . . . The matter in hand, however, is to keep these + reminiscences from turning into confessions, a form of literary activity + discredited by Jean Jacques Rousseau on account of the extreme + thoroughness he brought to the work of justifying his own existence; for + that such was his purpose is palpably, even grossly, visible to an + unprejudiced eye. But then, you see, the man was not a writer of fiction. + He was an artless moralist, as is clearly demonstrated by his + anniversaries being celebrated with marked emphasis by the heirs of the + French Revolution, which was not a political movement at all, but a great + outburst of morality. He had no imagination, as the most casual perusal of + “Emile” will prove. He was no novelist, whose first virtue is the exact + understanding of the limits traced by the reality of his time to the play + of his invention. Inspiration comes from the earth, which has a past, a + history, a future, not from the cold and immutable heaven. A writer of + imaginative prose (even more than any other sort of artist) stands + confessed in his works. His conscience, his deeper sense of things, lawful + and unlawful, gives him his attitude before the world. Indeed, everyone + who puts pen to paper for the reading of strangers (unless a moralist, + who, generally speaking, has no conscience except the one he is at pains + to produce for the use of others) can speak of nothing else. It is M. + Anatole France, the most eloquent and just of French prose-writers, who + says that we must recognize at last that, “failing the resolution to hold + our peace, we can only talk of ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + This remark, if I remember rightly, was made in the course of a sparring + match with the late Ferdinand Brunetiere over the principles and rules of + literary criticism. As was fitting for a man to whom we owe the memorable + saying, “The good critic is he who relates the adventures of his soul + among masterpieces,” M. Anatole France maintained that there were no rules + and no principles. And that may be very true. Rules, principles, and + standards die and vanish every day. Perhaps they are all dead and vanished + by this time. These, if ever, are the brave, free days of destroyed + landmarks, while the ingenious minds are busy inventing the forms of the + new beacons which, it is consoling to think, will be set up presently in + the old places. But what is interesting to a writer is the possession of + an inward certitude that literary criticism will never die, for man (so + variously defined) is, before everything else, a critical animal. And as + long as distinguished minds are ready to treat it in the spirit of high + adventure literary criticism shall appeal to us with all the charm and + wisdom of a well-told tale of personal experience. + </p> + <p> + For Englishmen especially, of all the races of the earth, a task, any + task, undertaken in an adventurous spirit acquires the merit of romance. + But the critics as a rule exhibit but little of an adventurous spirit. + They take risks, of course—one can hardly live without that. The + daily bread is served out to us (however sparingly) with a pinch of salt. + Otherwise one would get sick of the diet one prays for, and that would be + not only improper, but impious. From impiety of that or any other kind—save + us! An ideal of reserved manner, adhered to from a sense of proprieties, + from shyness, perhaps, or caution, or simply from weariness, induces, I + suspect, some writers of criticism to conceal the adventurous side of + their calling, and then the criticism becomes a mere “notice,” as it were, + the relation of a journey where nothing but the distances and the geology + of a new country should be set down; the glimpses of strange beasts, the + dangers of flood and field, the hairbreadth escapes, and the sufferings + (oh, the sufferings, too! I have no doubt of the sufferings) of the + traveller being carefully kept out; no shady spot, no fruitful plant being + ever mentioned either; so that the whole performance looks like a mere + feat of agility on the part of a trained pen running in a desert. A cruel + spectacle—a most deplorable adventure! “Life,” in the words of an + immortal thinker of, I should say, bucolic origin, but whose perishable + name is lost to the worship of posterity—“life is not all beer and + skittles.” Neither is the writing of novels. It isn't, really. Je vous + donne ma parole d'honneur that it—is—not. Not <i>all</i>. I am + thus emphatic because some years ago, I remember, the daughter of a + general. . . . + </p> + <p> + Sudden revelations of the profane world must have come now and then to + hermits in their cells, to the cloistered monks of middle ages, to lonely + sages, men of science, reformers; the revelations of the world's + superficial judgment, shocking to the souls concentrated upon their own + bitter labour in the cause of sanctity, or of knowledge, or of temperance, + let us say, or of art, if only the art of cracking jokes or playing the + flute. And thus this general's daughter came to me—or I should say + one of the general's daughters did. There were three of these bachelor + ladies, of nicely graduated ages, who held a neighbouring farm-house in a + united and more or less military occupation. The eldest warred against the + decay of manners in the village children, and executed frontal attacks + upon the village mothers for the conquest of courtesies. It sounds futile, + but it was really a war for an idea. The second skirmished and scouted all + over the country; and it was that one who pushed a reconnaissance right to + my very table—I mean the one who wore stand-up collars. + </p> + <p> + She was really calling upon my wife in the soft spirit of afternoon + friendliness, but with her usual martial determination. She marched into + my room swinging her stick . . . but no—I mustn't exaggerate. It is + not my specialty. I am not a humoristic writer. In all soberness, then, + all I am certain of is that she had a stick to swing. + </p> + <p> + No ditch or wall encompassed my abode. The window was open; the door, too, + stood open to that best friend of my work, the warm, still sunshine of the + wide fields. They lay around me infinitely helpful, but, truth to say, I + had not known for weeks whether the sun shone upon the earth and whether + the stars above still moved on their appointed courses. I was just then + giving up some days of my allotted span to the last chapters of the novel + “Nostromo,” a tale of an imaginary (but true) seaboard, which is still + mentioned now and again, and indeed kindly, sometimes in connection with + the word “failure” and sometimes in conjunction with the word + “astonishing.” I have no opinion on this discrepancy. It's the sort of + difference that can never be settled. All I know is that, for twenty + months, neglecting the common joys of life that fall to the lot of the + humblest on this earth, I had, like the prophet of old, “wrestled with the + Lord” for my creation, for the headlands of the coast, for the darkness of + the Placid Gulf, the light on the snows, the clouds in the sky, and for + the breath of life that had to be blown into the shapes of men and women, + of Latin and Saxon, of Jew and Gentile. These are, perhaps, strong words, + but it is difficult to characterize other wise the intimacy and the strain + of a creative effort in which mind and will and conscience are engaged to + the full, hour after hour, day after day, away from the world, and to the + exclusion of all that makes life really lovable and gentle—something + for which a material parallel can only be found in the everlasting sombre + stress of the westward winter passage round Cape Horn. For that, too, is + the wrestling of men with the might of their Creator, in a great isolation + from the world, without the amenities and consolations of life, a lonely + struggle under a sense of overmatched littleness, for no reward that could + be adequate, but for the mere winning of a longitude. Yet a certain + longitude, once won, cannot be disputed. The sun and the stars and the + shape of your earth are the witnesses of your gain; whereas a handful of + pages, no matter how much you have made them your own, are at best but an + obscure and questionable spoil. Here they are. “Failure”—“Astonishing”: + take your choice; or perhaps both, or neither—a mere rustle and + flutter of pieces of paper settling down in the night, and + undistinguishable, like the snowflakes of a great drift destined to melt + away in sunshine. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” + </p> + <p> + It was the greeting of the general's daughter. I had heard nothing—no + rustle, no footsteps. I had felt only a moment before a sort of + premonition of evil; I had the sense of an inauspicious presence—just + that much warning and no more; and then came the sound of the voice and + the jar as of a terrible fall from a great height—a fall, let us + say, from the highest of the clouds floating in gentle procession over the + fields in the faint westerly air of that July afternoon. I picked myself + up quickly, of course; in other words, I jumped up from my chair stunned + and dazed, every nerve quivering with the pain of being uprooted out of + one world and flung down into another—perfectly civil. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! How do you do? Won't you sit down?” + </p> + <p> + That's what I said. This horrible but, I assure you, perfectly true + reminiscence tells you more than a whole volume of confessions a la Jean + Jacques Rousseau would do. Observe! I didn't howl at her, or start + upsetting furniture, or throw myself on the floor and kick, or allow myself + to hint in any other way at the appalling magnitude of the disaster. The + whole world of Costaguana (the country, you may remember, of my seaboard + tale), men, women, headlands, houses, mountains, town, campo (there was + not a single brick, stone, or grain of sand of its soil I had not placed + in position with my own hands); all the history, geography, politics, + finance; the wealth of Charles Gould's silver-mine, and the splendour of + the magnificent Capataz de Cargadores, whose name, cried out in the night + (Dr. Monygham heard it pass over his head—in Linda Viola's voice), + dominated even after death the dark gulf containing his conquests of + treasure and love—all that had come down crashing about my ears. + </p> + <p> + I felt I could never pick up the pieces—and in that very moment I + was saying, “Won't you sit down?” + </p> + <p> + The sea is strong medicine. Behold what the quarter-deck training even in + a merchant ship will do! This episode should give you a new view of the + English and Scots seamen (a much-caricatured folk) who had the last say in + the formation of my character. One is nothing if not modest, but in this + disaster I think I have done some honour to their simple teaching. “Won't + you sit down?” Very fair; very fair, indeed. She sat down. Her amused + glance strayed all over the room. + </p> + <p> + There were pages of MS. on the table and under the table, a batch of typed + copy on a chair, single leaves had fluttered away into distant corners; + there were there living pages, pages scored and wounded, dead pages that + would be burned at the end of the day—the litter of a cruel + battle-field, of a long, long, and desperate fray. Long! I suppose I went + to bed sometimes, and got up the same number of times. Yes, I suppose I + slept, and ate the food put before me, and talked connectedly to my + household on suitable occasions. But I had never been aware of the even + flow of daily life, made easy and noiseless for me by a silent, watchful, + tireless affection. Indeed, it seemed to me that I had been sitting at + that table surrounded by the litter of a desperate fray for days and + nights on end. It seemed so, because of the intense weariness of which + that interruption had made me aware—the awful disenchantment of a + mind realizing suddenly the futility of an enormous task, joined to a + bodily fatigue such as no ordinary amount of fairly heavy physical labour + could ever account for. I have carried bags of wheat on my back, bent + almost double under a ship's deck-beams, from six in the morning till six + in the evening (with an hour and a half off for meals), so I ought to + know. + </p> + <p> + And I love letters. I am jealous of their honour and concerned for the + dignity and comeliness of their service. I was, most likely, the only + writer that neat lady had ever caught in the exercise of his craft, and it + distressed me not to be able to remember when it was that I dressed myself + last, and how. No doubt that would be all right in essentials. The fortune + of the house included a pair of gray-blue watchful eyes that would see to + that. But I felt, somehow, as grimy as a Costaguana lepero after a day's + fighting in the streets, rumpled all over and dishevelled down to my very + heels. And I am afraid I blinked stupidly. All this was bad for the honour + of letters and the dignity of their service. Seen indistinctly through the + dust of my collapsed universe, the good lady glanced about the room with a + slightly amused serenity. And she was smiling. What on earth was she + smiling at? She remarked casually: + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I interrupted you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all.” + </p> + <p> + She accepted the denial in perfect good faith. And it was strictly true. + Interrupted—indeed! She had robbed me of at least twenty lives, each + infinitely more poignant and real than her own, because informed with + passion, possessed of convictions, involved in great affairs created out + of my own substance for an anxiously meditated end. + </p> + <p> + She remained silent for a while, then said, with a last glance all round + at the litter of the fray: + </p> + <p> + “And you sit like this here writing your—your . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I—what? Oh, yes! I sit here all day.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be perfectly delightful.” + </p> + <p> + I suppose that, being no longer very young, I might have been on the verge + of having a stroke; but she had left her dog in the porch, and my boy's + dog, patrolling the field in front, had espied him from afar. He came on + straight and swift like a cannon-ball, and the noise of the fight, which + burst suddenly upon our ears, was more than enough to scare away a fit of + apoplexy. We went out hastily and separated the gallant animals. Afterward + I told the lady where she would find my wife—just round the corner, + under the trees. She nodded and went off with her dog, leaving me appalled + before the death and devastation she had lightly made—and with the + awfully instructive sound of the word “delightful” lingering in my ears. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, later on, I duly escorted her to the field gate. I wanted to + be civil, of course (what are twenty lives in a mere novel that one should + be rude to a lady on their account?), but mainly, to adopt the good, sound + Ollendorffian style, because I did not want the dog of the general's + daughter to fight again (encore) with the faithful dog of my infant son + (mon petit garcon).—Was I afraid that the dog of the general's + daughter would be able to overcome (<i>vaincre</i>) the dog of my child?—No, + I was not afraid. . . . But away with the Ollendorff method. However + appropriate and seemingly unavoidable when I touch upon anything + appertaining to the lady, it is most unsuitable to the origin, character, + and history of the dog; for the dog was the gift to the child from a man + for whom words had anything but an Ollendorffian value, a man almost + childlike in the impulsive movements of his untutored genius, the most + single-minded of verbal impressionists, using his great gifts of straight + feeling and right expression with a fine sincerity and a strong if, + perhaps, not fully conscious conviction. His art did not obtain, I fear, + all the credit its unsophisticated inspiration deserved. I am alluding to + the late Stephen Crane, the author of “The Red Badge of Courage,” a work + of imagination which found its short moment of celebrity in the last + decade of the departed century. Other books followed. Not many. He had not + the time. It was an individual and complete talent which obtained but a + grudging, somewhat supercilious recognition from the world at large. For + himself one hesitates to regret his early death. Like one of the men in + his “Open Boat,” one felt that he was of those whom fate seldom allows to + make a safe landing after much toil and bitterness at the oar. I confess + to an abiding affection for that energetic, slight, fragile, intensely + living and transient figure. He liked me, even before we met, on the + strength of a page or two of my writing, and after we had met I am glad to + think he liked me still. He used to point out to me with great + earnestness, and even with some severity, that “a boy <i>ought</i> to have + a dog.” I suspect that he was shocked at my neglect of parental duties. + </p> + <p> + Ultimately it was he who provided the dog. Shortly afterward, one day, + after playing with the child on the rug for an hour or so with the most + intense absorption, he raised his head and declared firmly, “I shall teach + your boy to ride.” That was not to be. He was not given the time. + </p> + <p> + But here is the dog—an old dog now. Broad and low on his bandy paws, + with a black head on a white body and a ridiculous black spot at the other + end of him, he provokes, when he walks abroad, smiles not altogether + unkind. Grotesque and engaging in the whole of his appearance, his usual + attitudes are meek, but his temperament discloses itself unexpectedly + pugnacious in the presence of his kind. As he lies in the firelight, his + head well up, and a fixed, far away gaze directed at the shadows of the + room, he achieves a striking nobility of pose in the calm consciousness of + an unstained life. He has brought up one baby, and now, after seeing his + first charge off to school, he is bringing up another with the same + conscientious devotion, but with a more deliberate gravity of manner, the + sign of greater wisdom and riper experience, but also of rheumatism, I + fear. From the morning bath to the evening ceremonies of the cot, you + attend the little two-legged creature of your adoption, being yourself + treated in the exercise of your duties with every possible regard, with + infinite consideration, by every person in the house—even as I + myself am treated; only you deserve it more. + </p> + <p> + The general's daughter would tell you that it must be “perfectly + delightful.” + </p> + <p> + Aha! old dog. She never heard you yelp with acute pain (it's that poor + left ear) the while, with incredible self-command, you preserve a rigid + immobility for fear of overturning the little two-legged creature. She has + never seen your resigned smile when the little two-legged creature, + interrogated, sternly, “What are you doing to the good dog?” answers, with + a wide, innocent stare: “Nothing. Only loving him, mamma dear!” + </p> + <p> + The general's daughter does not know the secret terms of self-imposed + tasks, good dog, the pain that may lurk in the very rewards of rigid + self-command. But we have lived together many years. We have grown older, + too; and though our work is not quite done yet we may indulge now and then + in a little introspection before the fire—meditate on the art of + bringing up babies and on the perfect delight of writing tales where so + many lives come and go at the cost of one which slips imperceptibly away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + In the retrospect of a life which had, besides its preliminary stage of + childhood and early youth, two distinct developments, and even two + distinct elements, such as earth and water, for its successive scenes, a + certain amount of naiveness is unavoidable. I am conscious of it in these + pages. This remark is put forward in no apologetic spirit. As years go by + and the number of pages grows steadily, the feeling grows upon one, too, + that one can write only for friends. Then why should one put them to the + necessity of protesting (as a friend would do) that no apology is + necessary, or put, perchance, into their heads the doubt of one's + discretion? So much as to the care due to those friends whom a word here, + a line there, a fortunate page of just feeling in the right place, some + happy simplicity, or even some lucky subtlety, has drawn from the great + multitude of fellow beings even as a fish is drawn from the depths of the + sea. Fishing is notoriously (I am talking now of the deep sea) a matter of + luck. As to one's enemies, they will take care of themselves. + </p> + <p> + There is a gentleman, for instance, who, metaphorically speaking, jumps + upon me with both feet. This image has no grace, but it is exceedingly apt + to the occasion—to the several occasions. I don't know precisely how + long he has been indulging in that intermittent exercise, whose seasons + are ruled by the custom of the publishing trade. Somebody pointed him out + (in printed shape, of course) to my attention some time ago, and + straightway I experienced a sort of reluctant affection for that robust + man. He leaves not a shred of my substance untrodden: for the writer's + substance is his writing; the rest of him is but a vain shadow, cherished + or hated on uncritical grounds. Not a shred! Yet the sentiment owned to is + not a freak of affectation or perversity. It has a deeper, and, I venture + to think, a more estimable origin than the caprice of emotional + lawlessness. It is, indeed, lawful, in so much that it is given + (reluctantly) for a consideration, for several considerations. There is + that robustness, for instance, so often the sign of good moral balance. + That's a consideration. It is not, indeed, pleasant to be stamped upon, + but the very thoroughness of the operation, implying not only a careful + reading, but some real insight into work whose qualities and defects, + whatever they may be, are not so much on the surface, is something to be + thankful for in view of the fact that it may happen to one's work to be + condemned without being read at all. This is the most fatuous adventure + that can well happen to a writer venturing his soul among criticisms. It + can do one no harm, of course, but it is disagreeable. It is disagreeable + in the same way as discovering a three-card-trick man among a decent lot + of folk in a third-class compartment. The open impudence of the whole + transaction, appealing insidiously to the folly and credulity of mankind, + the brazen, shameless patter, proclaiming the fraud openly while insisting + on the fairness of the game, give one a feeling of sickening disgust. The + honest violence of a plain man playing a fair game fairly—even if he + means to knock you over—may appear shocking, but it remains within + the pale of decency. Damaging as it may be, it is in no sense offensive. + One may well feel some regard for honesty, even if practised upon one's + own vile body. But it is very obvious that an enemy of that sort will not + be stayed by explanations or placated by apologies. Were I to advance the + plea of youth in excuse of the naiveness to be found in these pages, he + would be likely to say “Bosh!” in a column and a half of fierce print. Yet + a writer is no older than his first published book, and, not withstanding + the vain appearances of decay which attend us in this transitory life, I + stand here with the wreath of only fifteen short summers on my brow. + </p> + <p> + With the remark, then, that at such tender age some naiveness of feeling + and expression is excusable, I proceed to admit that, upon the whole, my + previous state of existence was not a good equipment for a literary life. + Perhaps I should not have used the word literary. That word presupposes an + intimacy of acquaintance with letters, a turn of mind, and a manner of + feeling to which I dare lay no claim. I only love letters; but the love of + letters does not make a literary man, any more than the love of the sea + makes a seaman. And it is very possible, too, that I love the letters in + the same way a literary man may love the sea he looks at from the shore—a + scene of great endeavour and of great achievements changing the face of + the world, the great open way to all sorts of undiscovered countries. No, + perhaps I had better say that the life at sea—and I don't mean a + mere taste of it, but a good broad span of years, something that really + counts as real service—is not, upon the whole, a good equipment for + a writing life. God forbid, though, that I should be thought of as denying + my masters of the quarter-deck. I am not capable of that sort of apostasy. + I have confessed my attitude of piety toward their shades in three or four + tales, and if any man on earth more than another needs to be true to + himself as he hopes to be saved, it is certainly the writer of fiction. + </p> + <p> + What I meant to say, simply, is that the quarter-deck training does not + prepare one sufficiently for the reception of literary criticism. Only + that, and no more. But this defect is not without gravity. If it be + permissible to twist, invert, adapt (and spoil) Mr. Anatole France's + definition of a good critic, then let us say that the good author is he + who contemplates without marked joy or excessive sorrow the adventures of + his soul among criticisms. Far be from me the intention to mislead an + attentive public into the belief that there is no criticism at sea. That + would be dishonest, and even impolite. Everything can be found at sea, + according to the spirit of your quest—strife, peace, romance, + naturalism of the most pronounced kind, ideals, boredom, disgust, + inspiration—and every conceivable opportunity, including the + opportunity to make a fool of yourself, exactly as in the pursuit of + literature. But the quarter-deck criticism is somewhat different from + literary criticism. This much they have in common, that before the one and + the other the answering back, as a general rule, does not pay. + </p> + <p> + Yes, you find criticism at sea, and even appreciation—I tell you + everything is to be found on salt water—criticism generally + impromptu, and always <i>viva voce</i>, which is the outward, obvious + difference from the literary operation of that kind, with consequent + freshness and vigour which may be lacking in the printed word. With + appreciation, which comes at the end, when the critic and the criticised + are about to part, it is otherwise. The sea appreciation of one's humble + talents has the permanency of the written word, seldom the charm of + variety, is formal in its phrasing. There the literary master has the + superiority, though he, too, can in effect but say—and often says it + in the very phrase—“I can highly recommend.” Only usually he uses + the word “We,” there being some occult virtue in the first person plural + which makes it specially fit for critical and royal declarations. I have a + small handful of these sea appreciations, signed by various masters, + yellowing slowly in my writing-table's left hand drawer, rustling under my + reverent touch, like a handful of dry leaves plucked for a tender memento + from the tree of knowledge. Strange! It seems that it is for these few + bits of paper, headed by the names of a few Scots and English shipmasters, + that I have faced the astonished indignations, the mockeries, and the + reproaches of a sort hard to bear for a boy of fifteen; that I have been + charged with the want of patriotism, the want of sense, and the want of + heart, too; that I went through agonies of self-conflict and shed secret + tears not a few, and had the beauties of the Furca Pass spoiled for me, + and have been called an “incorrigible Don Quixote,” in allusion to the + book-born madness of the knight. For that spoil! They rustle, those bits + of paper—some dozen of them in all. In that faint, ghostly sound + there live the memories of twenty years, the voices of rough men now no + more, the strong voice of the everlasting winds, and the whisper of a + mysterious spell, the murmur of the great sea, which must have somehow + reached my inland cradle and entered my unconscious ear, like that formula + of Mohammedan faith the Mussulman father whispers into the ear of his + new-born infant, making him one of the faithful almost with his first + breath. I do not know whether I have been a good seaman, but I know I have + been a very faithful one. And, after all, there is that handful of + “characters” from various ships to prove that all these years have not + been altogether a dream. There they are, brief, and monotonous in tone, + but as suggestive bits of writing to me as any inspired page to be found + in literature. But then, you see, I have been called romantic. Well, that + can't be helped. But stay. I seem to remember that I have been called a + realist, also. And as that charge, too, can be made out, let us try to + live up to it, at whatever cost, for a change. With this end in view, I + will confide to you coyly, and only because there is no one about to see + my blushes by the light of the midnight lamp, that these suggestive bits + of quarter-deck appreciation, one and all, contain the words “strictly + sober.” + </p> + <p> + Did I overhear a civil murmur, “That's very gratifying, to be sure?” Well, + yes, it is gratifying—thank you. It is at least as gratifying to be + certified sober as to be certified romantic, though such certificates + would not qualify one for the secretaryship of a temperance association or + for the post of official troubadour to some lordly democratic institution + such as the London County Council, for instance. The above prosaic + reflection is put down here only in order to prove the general sobriety of + my judgment in mundane affairs. I make a point of it because a couple of + years ago, a certain short story of mine being published in a French + translation, a Parisian critic—I am almost certain it was M. Gustave + Kahn in the “Gil Blas”—giving me a short notice, summed up his rapid + impression of the writer's quality in the words <i>un puissant reveur</i>. + So be it! Who could cavil at the words of a friendly reader? Yet perhaps + not such an unconditional dreamer as all that. I will make bold to say + that neither at sea nor ashore have I ever lost the sense of + responsibility. There is more than one sort of intoxication. Even before + the most seductive reveries I have remained mindful of that sobriety of + interior life, that asceticism of sentiment, in which alone the naked form + of truth, such as one conceives it, such as one feels it, can be rendered + without shame. It is but a maudlin and indecent verity that comes out + through the strength of wine. I have tried to be a sober worker all my + life—all my two lives. I did so from taste, no doubt, having an + instinctive horror of losing my sense of full self-possession, but also + from artistic conviction. Yet there are so many pitfalls on each side of + the true path that, having gone some way, and feeling a little battered + and weary, as a middle-aged traveller will from the mere daily + difficulties of the march, I ask myself whether I have kept always, always + faithful to that sobriety where in there is power and truth and peace. + </p> + <p> + As to my sea sobriety, that is quite properly certified under the + sign-manual of several trustworthy shipmasters of some standing in their + time. I seem to hear your polite murmur that “Surely this might have been + taken for granted.” Well, no. It might not have been. That August + academical body, the Marine Department of the Board of Trade, takes + nothing for granted in the granting of its learned degrees. By its + regulations issued under the first Merchant Shipping Act, the very word <i>sober</i> + must be written, or a whole sackful, a ton, a mountain of the most + enthusiastic appreciation will avail you nothing. The door of the + examination rooms shall remain closed to your tears and entreaties. The + most fanatical advocate of temperance could not be more pitilessly fierce + in his rectitude than the Marine Department of the Board of Trade. As I + have been face to face at various times with all the examiners of the Port + of London in my generation, there can be no doubt as to the force and the + continuity of my abstemiousness. Three of them were examiners in + seamanship, and it was my fate to be delivered into the hands of each of + them at proper intervals of sea service. The first of all, tall, spare, + with a perfectly white head and mustache, a quiet, kindly manner, and an + air of benign intelligence, must, I am forced to conclude, have been + unfavourably impressed by something in my appearance. His old, thin hands + loosely clasped resting on his crossed legs, he began by an elementary + question, in a mild voice, and went on, went on. . . . It lasted for + hours, for hours. Had I been a strange microbe with potentialities of + deadly mischief to the Merchant Service I could not have been submitted to + a more microscopic examination. Greatly reassured by his apparent + benevolence, I had been at first very alert in my answers. But at length + the feeling of my brain getting addled crept upon me. And still the + passionless process went on, with a sense of untold ages having been spent + already on mere preliminaries. Then I got frightened. I was not frightened + of being plucked; that eventuality did not even present itself to my mind. + It was something much more serious and weird. “This ancient person,” I + said to myself, terrified, “is so near his grave that he must have lost + all notion of time. He is considering this examination in terms of + eternity. It is all very well for him. His race is run. But I may find + myself coming out of this room into the world of men a stranger, + friendless, forgotten by my very landlady, even were I able after this + endless experience to remember the way to my hired home.” This statement + is not so much of a verbal exaggeration as may be supposed. Some very + queer thoughts passed through my head while I was considering my answers; + thoughts which had nothing to do with seamanship, nor yet with anything + reasonable known to this earth. I verily believe that at times I was + light-headed in a sort of languid way. At last there fell a silence, and + that, too, seemed to last for ages, while, bending over his desk, the + examiner wrote out my pass-slip slowly with a noiseless pen. He extended + the scrap of paper to me without a word, inclined his white head gravely + to my parting bow. . . . + </p> + <p> + When I got out of the room I felt limply flat, like a squeezed lemon, and + the doorkeeper in his glass cage, where I stopped to get my hat and tip + him a shilling, said: + </p> + <p> + “Well! I thought you were never coming out.” + </p> + <p> + “How long have I been in there?” I asked, faintly. + </p> + <p> + He pulled out his watch. + </p> + <p> + “He kept you, sir, just under three hours. I don't think this ever + happened with any of the gentlemen before.” + </p> + <p> + It was only when I got out of the building that I began to walk on air. + And the human animal being averse from change and timid before the + unknown, I said to myself that I really would not mind being examined by + the same man on a future occasion. But when the time of ordeal came round + again the doorkeeper let me into another room, with the now familiar + paraphernalia of models of ships and tackle, a board for signals on the + wall, a big, long table covered with official forms and having an unrigged + mast fixed to the edge. The solitary tenant was unknown to me by sight, + though not by reputation, which was simply execrable. Short and sturdy, as + far as I could judge, clad in an old brown morning-suit, he sat leaning on + his elbow, his hand shading his eyes, and half averted from the chair I + was to occupy on the other side of the table. He was motionless, + mysterious, remote, enigmatical, with something mournful, too, in the + pose, like that statue of Giugliano (I think) de Medici shading his face + on the tomb by Michael Angelo, though, of course, he was far, far from + being beautiful. He began by trying to make me talk nonsense. But I had + been warned of that fiendish trait, and contradicted him with great + assurance. After a while he left off. So far good. But his immobility, the + thick elbow on the table, the abrupt, unhappy voice, the shaded and + averted face grew more and more impressive. He kept inscrutably silent for + a moment, and then, placing me in a ship of a certain size, at sea, under + conditions of weather, season, locality, etc.—all very clear and + precise—ordered me to execute a certain manoeuvre. Before I was half + through with it he did some material damage to the ship. Directly I had + grappled with the difficulty he caused another to present itself, and when + that, too, was met he stuck another ship before me, creating a very + dangerous situation. I felt slightly outraged by this ingenuity in piling + trouble upon a man. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't have got into that mess,” I suggested, mildly. “I could have + seen that ship before.” + </p> + <p> + He never stirred the least bit. + </p> + <p> + “No, you couldn't. The weather's thick.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I didn't know,” I apologized blankly. + </p> + <p> + I suppose that after all I managed to stave off the smash with sufficient + approach to verisimilitude, and the ghastly business went on. You must + understand that the scheme of the test he was applying to me was, I + gathered, a homeward passage—the sort of passage I would not wish to + my bitterest enemy. That imaginary ship seemed to labour under a most + comprehensive curse. It's no use enlarging on these never-ending + misfortunes; suffice it to say that long before the end I would have + welcomed with gratitude an opportunity to exchange into the Flying + Dutchman. Finally he shoved me into the North Sea (I suppose) and provided + me with a lee shore with outlying sand-banks—the Dutch coast, + presumably. Distance, eight miles. The evidence of such implacable + animosity deprived me of speech for quite half a minute. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said—for our pace had been very smart, indeed, till then. + </p> + <p> + “I will have to think a little, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't look as if there were much time to think,” he muttered, + sardonically, from under his hand. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” I said, with some warmth. “Not on board a ship, I could see. + But so many accidents have happened that I really can't remember what + there's left for me to work with.” + </p> + <p> + Still half averted, and with his eyes concealed, he made unexpectedly a + grunting remark. + </p> + <p> + “You've done very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I the two anchors at the bow, sir?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + I prepared myself then, as a last hope for the ship, to let them both go + in the most effectual manner, when his infernal system of testing + resourcefulness came into play again. + </p> + <p> + “But there's only one cable. You've lost the other.” + </p> + <p> + It was exasperating. + </p> + <p> + “Then I would back them, if I could, and tail the heaviest hawser on board + on the end of the chain before letting go, and if she parted from that, + which is quite likely, I would just do nothing. She would have to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more to do, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. I could do no more.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a bitter half-laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You could always say your prayers.” + </p> + <p> + He got up, stretched himself, and yawned slightly. It was a sallow, + strong, unamiable face. He put me, in a surly, bored fashion, through the + usual questions as to lights and signals, and I escaped from the room + thank fully—passed! Forty minutes! And again I walked on air along + Tower Hill, where so many good men had lost their heads because, I + suppose, they were not resourceful enough to save them. And in my heart of + hearts I had no objection to meeting that examiner once more when the + third and last ordeal became due in another year or so. I even hoped I + should. I knew the worst of him now, and forty minutes is not an + unreasonable time. Yes, I distinctly hoped. . . . + </p> + <p> + But not a bit of it. When I presented my self to be examined for master + the examiner who received me was short, plump, with a round, soft face in + gray, fluffy whiskers, and fresh, loquacious lips. + </p> + <p> + He commenced operations with an easy going “Let's see. H'm. Suppose you + tell me all you know of charter-parties.” He kept it up in that style all + through, wandering off in the shape of comment into bits out of his own + life, then pulling himself up short and returning to the business in hand. + It was very interesting. “What's your idea of a jury-rudder now?” he + queried, suddenly, at the end of an instructive anecdote bearing upon a + point of stowage. + </p> + <p> + I warned him that I had no experience of a lost rudder at sea, and gave + him two classical examples of makeshifts out of a text-book. In exchange + he described to me a jury-rudder he had invented himself years before, + when in command of a three-thousand-ton steamer. It was, I declare, the + cleverest contrivance imaginable. “May be of use to you some day,” he + concluded. “You will go into steam presently. Everybody goes into steam.” + </p> + <p> + There he was wrong. I never went into steam—not really. If I only + live long enough I shall become a bizarre relic of a dead barbarism, a + sort of monstrous antiquity, the only seaman of the dark ages who had + never gone into steam—not really. + </p> + <p> + Before the examination was over he imparted to me a few interesting + details of the transport service in the time of the Crimean War. + </p> + <p> + “The use of wire rigging became general about that time, too,” he + observed. “I was a very young master then. That was before you were born.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I am of the year of 1857.” + </p> + <p> + “The Mutiny year,” he commented, as if to himself, adding in a louder tone + that his ship happened then to be in the Gulf of Bengal, employed under a + government charter. + </p> + <p> + Clearly the transport service had been the making of this examiner, who so + unexpectedly had given me an insight into his existence, awakening in me + the sense of the continuity of that sea life into which I had stepped from + outside; giving a touch of human intimacy to the machinery of official + relations. I felt adopted. His experience was for me, too, as though he + had been an ancestor. + </p> + <p> + Writing my long name (it has twelve letters) with laborious care on the + slip of blue paper, he remarked: + </p> + <p> + “You are of Polish extraction.” + </p> + <p> + “Born there, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He laid down the pen and leaned back to look at me as it were for the + first time. + </p> + <p> + “Not many of your nationality in our service, I should think. I never + remember meeting one either before or after I left the sea. Don't remember + ever hearing of one. An inland people, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + I said yes—very much so. We were remote from the sea not only by + situation, but also from a complete absence of indirect association, not + being a commercial nation at all, but purely agricultural. He made then + the quaint reflection that it was “a long way for me to come out to begin + a sea life”; as if sea life were not precisely a life in which one goes a + long way from home. + </p> + <p> + I told him, smiling, that no doubt I could have found a ship much nearer + my native place, but I had thought to myself that if I was to be a seaman, + then I would be a British seaman and no other. It was a matter of + deliberate choice. + </p> + <p> + He nodded slightly at that; and, as he kept on looking at me + interrogatively, I enlarged a little, confessing that I had spent a little + time on the way in the Mediterranean and in the West Indies. I did not + want to present myself to the British Merchant Service in an altogether + green state. It was no use telling him that my mysterious vocation was so + strong that my very wild oats had to be sown at sea. It was the exact + truth, but he would not have understood the somewhat exceptional + psychology of my sea-going, I fear. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you've never come across one of your countrymen at sea. Have + you, now?” + </p> + <p> + I admitted I never had. The examiner had given himself up to the spirit of + gossiping idleness. For myself, I was in no haste to leave that room. Not + in the least. The era of examinations was over. I would never again see + that friendly man who was a professional ancestor, a sort of grandfather + in the craft. Moreover, I had to wait till he dismissed me, and of that + there was no sign. As he remained silent, looking at me, I added: + </p> + <p> + “But I have heard of one, some years ago. He seems to have been a boy + serving his time on board a Liverpool ship, if I am not mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “What was his name?” + </p> + <p> + I told him. + </p> + <p> + “How did you say that?” he asked, puckering up his eyes at the uncouth + sound. + </p> + <p> + I repeated the name very distinctly. + </p> + <p> + “How do you spell it?” + </p> + <p> + I told him. He moved his head at the impracticable nature of that name, + and observed: + </p> + <p> + “It's quite as long as your own—isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + There was no hurry. I had passed for master, and I had all the rest of my + life before me to make the best of it. That seemed a long time. I went + leisurely through a small mental calculation, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Not quite. Shorter by two letters, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” The examiner pushed the signed blue slip across the table to me, + and rose from his chair. Somehow this seemed a very abrupt ending of our + relations, and I felt almost sorry to part from that excellent man, who + was master of a ship before the whisper of the sea had reached my cradle. + He offered me his hand and wished me well. He even made a few steps toward + the door with me, and ended with good-natured advice. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what may be your plans, but you ought to go into steam. When + a man has got his master's certificate it's the proper time. If I were you + I would go into steam.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him, and shut the door behind me definitely on the era of + examinations. But that time I did not walk on air, as on the first two + occasions. I walked across the hill of many beheadings with measured + steps. It was a fact, I said to myself, that I was now a British master + mariner beyond a doubt. It was not that I had an exaggerated sense of that + very modest achievement, with which, however, luck, opportunity, or any + extraneous influence could have had nothing to do. That fact, satisfactory + and obscure in itself, had for me a certain ideal significance. It was an + answer to certain outspoken scepticism and even to some not very kind + aspersions. I had vindicated myself from what had been cried upon as a + stupid obstinacy or a fantastic caprice. I don't mean to say that a whole + country had been convulsed by my desire to go to sea. But for a boy + between fifteen and sixteen, sensitive enough, in all conscience, the + commotion of his little world had seemed a very considerable thing indeed. + So considerable that, absurdly enough, the echoes of it linger to this + day. I catch myself in hours of solitude and retrospect meeting arguments + and charges made thirty-five years ago by voices now forever still; + finding things to say that an assailed boy could not have found, simply + because of the mysteriousness of his impulses to himself. I understood no + more than the people who called upon me to explain myself. There was no + precedent. I verily believe mine was the only case of a boy of my + nationality and antecedents taking a, so to speak, standing jump out of + his racial surroundings and associations. For you must understand that + there was no idea of any sort of “career” in my call. Of Russia or Germany + there could be no question. The nationality, the antecedents, made it + impossible. The feeling against the Austrian service was not so strong, + and I dare say there would have been no difficulty in finding my way into + the Naval School at Pola. It would have meant six months' extra grinding + at German, perhaps; but I was not past the age of admission, and in other + respects I was well qualified. This expedient to palliate my folly was + thought of—but not by me. I must admit that in that respect my + negative was accepted at once. That order of feeling was comprehensible + enough to the most inimical of my critics. I was not called upon to offer + explanations; but the truth is that what I had in view was not a naval + career, but the sea. There seemed no way open to it but through France. I + had the language, at any rate, and of all the countries in Europe it is + with France that Poland has most connection. There were some facilities + for having me a little looked after, at first. Letters were being written, + answers were being received, arrangements were being made for my departure + for Marseilles, where an excellent fellow called Solary, got at in a roundabout fashion through various French channels, had promised good-naturedly + to put le jeune homme in the way of getting a decent ship for his first + start if he really wanted a taste of ce metier de chien. + </p> + <p> + I watched all these preparations gratefully, and kept my own counsel. But + what I told the last of my examiners was perfectly true. Already the + determined resolve that “if a seaman, then an English seaman” was + formulated in my head, though, of course, in the Polish language. I did + not know six words of English, and I was astute enough to understand that + it was much better to say nothing of my purpose. As it was I was already + looked upon as partly insane, at least by the more distant acquaintances. + The principal thing was to get away. I put my trust in the good-natured + Solary's very civil letter to my uncle, though I was shocked a little by + the phrase about the metier de chien. + </p> + <p> + This Solary (Baptistin), when I beheld him in the flesh, turned out a + quite young man, very good-looking, with a fine black, short beard, a + fresh complexion, and soft, merry black eyes. He was as jovial and good + natured as any boy could desire. I was still asleep in my room in a modest + hotel near the quays of the old port, after the fatigues of the journey + via Vienna, Zurich, Lyons, when he burst in, flinging the shutters open to + the sun of Provence and chiding me boisterously for lying abed. How + pleasantly he startled me by his noisy objurgations to be up and off + instantly for a “three years' campaign in the South Seas!” O magic words! + “<i>Une campagne de trois ans dans les mers du sud</i>”—that is the + French for a three years' deep-water voyage. + </p> + <p> + He gave me a delightful waking, and his friendliness was unwearied; but I + fear he did not enter upon the quest for a ship for me in a very solemn + spirit. He had been at sea himself, but had left off at the age of + twenty-five, finding he could earn his living on shore in a much more + agreeable manner. He was related to an incredible number of Marseilles + well-to-do families of a certain class. One of his uncles was a + ship-broker of good standing, with a large connection among English ships; + other relatives of his dealt in ships' stores, owned sail-lofts, sold + chains and anchors, were master-stevedores, calkers, shipwrights. + </p> + <p> + His grandfather (I think) was a dignitary of a kind, the Syndic of the + Pilots. I made acquaintances among these people, but mainly among the + pilots. The very first whole day I ever spent on salt water was by + invitation, in a big half-decked pilot-boat, cruising under close reefs on + the lookout, in misty, blowing weather, for the sails of ships and the + smoke of steamers rising out there, beyond the slim and tall Planier + lighthouse cutting the line of the wind-swept horizon with a white + perpendicular stroke. They were hospitable souls, these sturdy Provencal + seamen. Under the general designation of le petit ami de Baptistin I was + made the guest of the corporation of pilots, and had the freedom of their + boats night or day. And many a day and a night, too, did I spend cruising + with these rough, kindly men, under whose auspices my intimacy with the + sea began. Many a time “the little friend of Baptistin” had the hooded + cloak of the Mediterranean sailor thrown over him by their honest hands + while dodging at night under the lee of Chateau daft on the watch for the + lights of ships. Their sea tanned faces, whiskered or shaved, lean or + full, with the intent, wrinkled sea eyes of the pilot breed, and here and + there a thin gold hoop at the lobe of a hairy ear, bent over my sea + infancy. The first operation of seamanship I had an opportunity of + observing was the boarding of ships at sea, at all times, in all states of + the weather. They gave it to me to the full. And I have been invited to + sit in more than one tall, dark house of the old town at their hospitable + board, had the bouillabaisse ladled out into a thick plate by their + high-voiced, broad-browed wives, talked to their daughters—thick-set + girls, with pure profiles, glorious masses of black hair arranged with + complicated art, dark eyes, and dazzlingly white teeth. + </p> + <p> + I had also other acquaintances of quite a different sort. One of them, + Madame Delestang, an imperious, handsome lady in a statuesque style, would + carry me off now and then on the front seat of her carriage to the Prado, + at the hour of fashionable airing. She belonged to one of the old + aristocratic families in the south. In her haughty weariness she used to + make me think of Lady Dedlock in Dickens's “Bleak House,” a work of the + master for which I have such an admiration, or rather such an intense and + unreasoning affection, dating from the days of my childhood, that its very + weaknesses are more precious to me than the strength of other men's work. + I have read it innumerable times, both in Polish and in English; I have + read it only the other day, and, by a not very surprising inversion, the + Lady Dedlock of the book reminded me strongly of the “belle Madame + Delestang.” + </p> + <p> + Her husband (as I sat facing them both), with his thin, bony nose and a + perfectly bloodless, narrow physiognomy clamped together, as it were, by + short, formal side whiskers, had nothing of Sir Leicester Dedlock's “grand + air” and courtly solemnity. He belonged to the haute bourgeoisie only, and + was a banker, with whom a modest credit had been opened for my needs. He + was such an ardent—no, such a frozen-up, mummified Royalist that he + used in current conversation turns of speech contemporary, I should say, + with the good Henri Quatre; and when talking of money matters, reckoned + not in francs, like the common, godless herd of post-Revolutionary + Frenchmen, but in obsolete and forgotten ecus—ecus of all money + units in the world!—as though Louis Quatorze were still promenading + in royal splendour the gardens of Versailles, and Monsieur de Colbert busy + with the direction of maritime affairs. You must admit that in a banker of + the nineteenth century it was a quaint idiosyncrasy. Luckily, in the + counting-house (it occupied part of the ground floor of the Delestang town + residence, in a silent, shady street) the accounts were kept in modern + money, so that I never had any difficulty in making my wants known to the + grave, low-voiced, decorous, Legitimist (I suppose) clerks, sitting in the + perpetual gloom of heavily barred windows behind the sombre, ancient + counters, beneath lofty ceilings with heavily molded cornices. I always + felt, on going out, as though I had been in the temple of some very + dignified but completely temporal religion. And it was generally on these + occasions that under the great carriage gateway Lady Ded—I mean + Madame Delestang—catching sight of my raised hat, would beckon me + with an amiable imperiousness to the side of the carriage, and suggest + with an air of amused nonchalance, “<i>Venez donc faire un tour avec nous</i>,” + to which the husband would add an encouraging “<i>C'est ca. Allons, + montez, jeune homme</i>.” He questioned me some times, significantly but + with perfect tact and delicacy, as to the way I employed my time, and + never failed to express the hope that I wrote regularly to my “honoured + uncle.” I made no secret of the way I employed my time, and I rather fancy + that my artless tales of the pilots and so on entertained Madame Delestang + so far as that ineffable woman could be entertained by the prattle of a + youngster very full of his new experience among strange men and strange + sensations. She expressed no opinions, and talked to me very little; yet + her portrait hangs in the gallery of my intimate memories, fixed there by + a short and fleeting episode. One day, after putting me down at the corner + of a street, she offered me her hand, and detained me, by a slight + pressure, for a moment. While the husband sat motionless and looking + straight before him, she leaned forward in the carriage to say, with just + a shade of warning in her leisurely tone: “<i>Il faut, cependant, faire + attention a ne pas gater sa vie</i>.” I had never seen her face so close + to mine before. She made my heart beat and caused me to remain thoughtful + for a whole evening. Certainly one must, after all, take care not to spoil + one's life. But she did not know—nobody could know—how + impossible that danger seemed to me. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Can the transports of first love be calmed, checked, turned to a cold + suspicion of the future by a grave quotation from a work on political + economy? I ask—is it conceivable? Is it possible? Would it be right? + With my feet on the very shores of the sea and about to embrace my + blue-eyed dream, what could a good-natured warning as to spoiling one's + life mean to my youthful passion? It was the most unexpected and the last, + too, of the many warnings I had received. It sounded to me very bizarre—and, + uttered as it was in the very presence of my enchantress, like the voice + of folly, the voice of ignorance. But I was not so callous or so stupid as + not to recognize there also the voice of kindness. And then the vagueness + of the warning—because what can be the meaning of the phrase: to + spoil one's life?—arrested one's attention by its air of wise + profundity. At any rate, as I have said before, the words of la belle + Madame Delestang made me thoughtful for a whole evening. I tried to + understand and tried in vain, not having any notion of life as an + enterprise that could be mismanaged. But I left off being thoughtful + shortly before midnight, at which hour, haunted by no ghosts of the past + and by no visions of the future, I walked down the quay of the Vieux Port + to join the pilot-boat of my friends. I knew where she would be waiting + for her crew, in the little bit of a canal behind the fort at the entrance + of the harbour. The deserted quays looked very white and dry in the + moonlight, and as if frostbound in the sharp air of that December night. A + prowler or two slunk by noiselessly; a custom-house guard, soldier-like, a + sword by his side, paced close under the bowsprits of the long row of + ships moored bows on opposite the long, slightly curved, continuous flat + wall of the tall houses that seemed to be one immense abandoned building + with innumerable windows shuttered closely. Only here and there a small, + dingy cafe for sailors cast a yellow gleam on the bluish sheen of the + flagstones. Passing by, one heard a deep murmur of voices inside—nothing + more. How quiet everything was at the end of the quays on the last night + on which I went out for a service cruise as a guest of the Marseilles + pilots! Not a footstep, except my own, not a sigh, not a whispering echo + of the usual revelry going on in the narrow, unspeakable lanes of the Old + Town reached my ear—and suddenly, with a terrific jingling rattle of + iron and glass, the omnibus of the Jolliette on its last journey swung + around the corner of the dead wall which faces across the paved road the + characteristic angular mass of the Fort St. Jean. Three horses trotted + abreast, with the clatter of hoofs on the granite setts, and the yellow, + uproarious machine jolted violently behind them, fantastic, lighted up, + perfectly empty, and with the driver apparently asleep on his swaying + perch above that amazing racket. I flattened myself against the wall and + gasped. It was a stunning experience. Then after staggering on a few paces + in the shadow of the fort, casting a darkness more intense than that of a + clouded night upon the canal, I saw the tiny light of a lantern standing + on the quay, and became aware of muffled figures making toward it from + various directions. Pilots of the Third Company hastening to embark. Too + sleepy to be talkative, they step on board in silence. But a few low + grunts and an enormous yawn are heard. Somebody even ejaculates: “<i>Ah! + Coquin de sort!</i>” and sighs wearily at his hard fate. + </p> + <p> + The patron of the Third Company (there were five companies of pilots at + that time, I believe) is the brother-in-law of my friend Solary + (Baptistin), a broad-shouldered, deep chested man of forty, with a keen, + frank glance which always seeks your eyes. + </p> + <p> + He greets me by a low, hearty “<i>He, l'ami. Comment va</i>?” With his + clipped mustache and massive open face, energetic and at the same time + placid in expression, he is a fine specimen of the southerner of the calm + type. For there is such a type in which the volatile southern passion is + transmuted into solid force. He is fair, but no one could mistake him for + a man of the north even by the dim gleam of the lantern standing on the + quay. He is worth a dozen of your ordinary Normans or Bretons, but then, + in the whole immense sweep of the Mediterranean shores, you could not find + half a dozen men of his stamp. + </p> + <p> + Standing by the tiller, he pulls out his watch from under a thick jacket + and bends his head over it in the light cast into the boat. Time's up. His + pleasant voice commands, in a quiet undertone, “<i>Larguez</i>.” A + suddenly projected arm snatches the lantern off the quay—and, warped + along by a line at first, then with the regular tug of four heavy sweeps + in the bow, the big half-decked boat full of men glides out of the black, + breathless shadow of the fort. The open water of the avant-port glitters + under the moon as if sown over with millions of sequins, and the long + white break water shines like a thick bar of solid silver. With a quick + rattle of blocks and one single silky swish, the sail is filled by a + little breeze keen enough to have come straight down from the frozen moon, + and the boat, after the clatter of the hauled-in sweeps, seems to stand at + rest, surrounded by a mysterious whispering so faint and unearthly that it + may be the rustling of the brilliant, overpowering moon rays breaking like + a rain-shower upon the hard, smooth, shadowless sea. + </p> + <p> + I may well remember that last night spent with the pilots of the Third + Company. I have known the spell of moonlight since, on various seas and + coasts—coasts of forests, of rocks, of sand dunes—but no magic + so perfect in its revelation of unsuspected character, as though one were + allowed to look upon the mystic nature of material things. For hours I + suppose no word was spoken in that boat. The pilots, seated in two rows + facing each other, dozed, with their arms folded and their chins resting + upon their breasts. They displayed a great variety of caps: cloth, wool, + leather, peaks, ear-flaps, tassels, with a picturesque round beret or two + pulled down over the brows; and one grandfather, with a shaved, bony face + and a great beak of a nose, had a cloak with a hood which made him look in + our midst like a cowled monk being carried off goodness knows where by + that silent company of seamen—quiet enough to be dead. + </p> + <p> + My fingers itched for the tiller, and in due course my friend, the patron, + surrendered it to me in the same spirit in which the family coachman lets + a boy hold the reins on an easy bit of road. + </p> + <p> + There was a great solitude around us; the islets ahead, Monte Cristo and + the Chateau daft in full light, seemed to float toward us—so steady, + so imperceptible was the progress of our boat. “Keep her in the furrow of + the moon,” the patron directed me, in a quiet murmur, sitting down + ponderously in the stern-sheets and reaching for his pipe. + </p> + <p> + The pilot station in weather like this was only a mile or two to the + westward of the islets; and presently, as we approached the spot, the boat + we were going to relieve swam into our view suddenly, on her way home, + cutting black and sinister into the wake of the moon under a sable wing, + while to them our sail must have been a vision of white and dazzling + radiance. Without altering the course a hair's breadth we slipped by each + other within an oar's length. A drawling, sardonic hail came out of her. + Instantly, as if by magic, our dozing pilots got on their feet in a body. + An incredible babel of bantering shouts burst out, a jocular, passionate, + voluble chatter, which lasted till the boats were stern to stern, theirs + all bright now, and, with a shining sail to our eyes, we turned all black + to their vision, and drew away from them under a sable wing. That + extraordinary uproar died away almost as suddenly as it had begun; first + one had enough of it and sat down, then another, then three or four + together; and when all had left off with mutters and growling half-laughs + the sound of hearty chuckling became audible, persistent, unnoticed. The + cowled grandfather was very much entertained somewhere within his hood. + </p> + <p> + He had not joined in the shouting of jokes, neither had he moved the least + bit. He had remained quietly in his place against the foot of the mast. I + had been given to understand long before that he had the rating of a + second-class able seaman (matelot leger) in the fleet which sailed from + Toulon for the conquest of Algeria in the year of grace 1830. And, indeed, + I had seen and examined one of the buttons of his old brown, patched coat, + the only brass button of the miscellaneous lot, flat and thin, with the + words Equipages de ligne engraved on it. That sort of button, I believe, + went out with the last of the French Bourbons. + </p> + <p> + “I preserved it from the time of my navy service,” he explained, nodding + rapidly his frail, vulture-like head. It was not very likely that he had + picked up that relic in the street. He looked certainly old enough to have + fought at Trafalgar—or, at any rate, to have played his little part + there as a powder monkey. Shortly after we had been introduced he had + informed me in a Franco-Provencal jargon, mumbling tremulously with his + toothless jaws, that when he was a “shaver no higher than that” he had + seen the Emperor Napoleon returning from Elba. It was at night, he + narrated vaguely, without animation, at a spot between Frejus and Antibes, + in the open country. A big fire had been lit at the side of the + cross-roads. The population from several villages had collected there, old + and young—down to the very children in arms, because the women had + refused to stay at home. Tall soldiers wearing high, hairy caps stood in a + circle, facing the people silently, and their stern eyes and big mustaches + were enough to make everybody keep at a distance. He, “being an impudent + little shaver,” wriggled out of the crowd, creeping on his hands and knees + as near as he dared to the grenadiers' legs, and peeping through + discovered, standing perfectly still in the light of the fire, “a little + fat fellow in a three-cornered hat, buttoned up in a long straight coat, + with a big, pale face inclined on one shoulder, looking something like a + priest. His hands were clasped behind his back. . . . It appears that this + was the Emperor,” the ancient commented, with a faint sigh. He was staring + from the ground with all his might, when “my poor father,” who had been + searching for his boy frantically every where, pounced upon him and hauled + him away by the ear. + </p> + <p> + The tale seems an authentic recollection. He related it to me many times, + using the very same words. The grandfather honoured me by a special and + somewhat embarrassing predilection. Extremes touch. He was the oldest + member by a long way in that company, and I was, if I may say so, its + temporarily adopted baby. He had been a pilot longer than any man in the + boat could remember; thirty—forty years. He did not seem certain + himself, but it could be found out, he suggested, in the archives of the + Pilot-office. He had been pensioned off years before, but he went out from + force of habit; and, as my friend the patron of the company once confided + to me in a whisper, “the old chap did no harm. He was not in the way.” + They treated him with rough deference. One and another would address some + insignificant remark to him now and again, but nobody really took any + notice of what he had to say. He had survived his strength, his + usefulness, his very wisdom. He wore long, green, worsted stockings pulled + up above the knee over his trousers, a sort of woollen nightcap on his + hairless cranium, and wooden clogs on his feet. Without his hooded cloak + he looked like a peasant. Half a dozen hands would be extended to help him + on board, but afterward he was left pretty much to his own thoughts. Of + course he never did any work, except, perhaps, to cast off some rope when + hailed, “<i>He, l'Ancien!</i> let go the halyards there, at your hand”—or + some such request of an easy kind. + </p> + <p> + No one took notice in any way of the chuckling within the shadow of the + hood. He kept it up for a long time with intense enjoyment. Obviously he + had preserved intact the innocence of mind which is easily amused. But + when his hilarity had exhausted itself, he made a professional remark in a + self-assertive but quavering voice: + </p> + <p> + “Can't expect much work on a night like this.” + </p> + <p> + No one took it up. It was a mere truism. Nothing under canvas could be + expected to make a port on such an idle night of dreamy splendour and + spiritual stillness. We would have to glide idly to and fro, keeping our + station within the appointed bearings, and, unless a fresh breeze sprang + up with the dawn, we would land before sunrise on a small islet that, + within two miles of us, shone like a lump of frozen moonlight, to “break a + crust and take a pull at the wine bottle.” I was familiar with the + procedure. The stout boat emptied of her crowd would nestle her buoyant, + capable side against the very rock—such is the perfectly smooth + amenity of the classic sea when in a gentle mood. The crust broken and the + mouthful of wine swallowed—it was literally no more than that with + this abstemious race—the pilots would pass the time stamping their + feet on the slabs of sea-salted stone and blowing into their nipped + fingers. One or two misanthropists would sit apart, perched on boulders + like manlike sea-fowl of solitary habits; the sociably disposed would + gossip scandalously in little gesticulating knots; and there would be + perpetually one or another of my hosts taking aim at the empty horizon + with the long, brass tube of the telescope, a heavy, murderous-looking + piece of collective property, everlastingly changing hands with + brandishing and levelling movements. Then about noon (it was a short turn + of duty—the long turn lasted twenty-four hours) another boatful of + pilots would relieve us—and we should steer for the old Phoenician + port, dominated, watched over from the ridge of a dust-gray, arid hill by + the red-and-white striped pile of the Notre Dame de la Garde. + </p> + <p> + All this came to pass as I had foreseen in the fullness of my very recent + experience. But also something not foreseen by me did happen, something + which causes me to remember my last outing with the pilots. It was on this + occasion that my hand touched, for the first time, the side of an English + ship. + </p> + <p> + No fresh breeze had come with the dawn, only the steady little draught got + a more keen edge on it as the eastern sky became bright and glassy with a + clean, colourless light. It was while we were all ashore on the islet + that a steamer was picked up by the telescope, a black speck like an + insect posed on the hard edge of the offing. She emerged rapidly to her + water-line and came on steadily, a slim hull with a long streak of smoke + slanting away from the rising sun. We embarked in a hurry, and headed the + boat out for our prey, but we hardly moved three miles an hour. + </p> + <p> + She was a big, high-class cargo-steamer of a type that is to be met on the + sea no more—black hull, with low, white superstructures, powerfully + rigged with three masts and a lot of yards on the fore; two hands at her + enormous wheel—steam steering-gear was not a matter of course in + these days—and with them on the bridge three others, bulky in thick + blue jackets, ruddy-faced, muffled up, with peak caps—I suppose all + her officers. There are ships I have met more than once and known well by + sight whose names I have forgotten; but the name of that ship seen once so + many years ago in the clear flush of a cold, pale sunrise I have not + forgotten. How could I—the first English ship on whose side I ever + laid my hand! The name—I read it letter by letter on the bow—was + James Westoll. Not very romantic, you will say. The name of a very + considerable, well-known, and universally respected North country + ship-owner, I believe. James Westoll! What better name could an honourable + hard-working ship have? To me the very grouping of the letters is alive + with the romantic feeling of her reality as I saw her floating motionless + and borrowing an ideal grace from the austere purity of the light. + </p> + <p> + We were then very near her and, on a sudden impulse, I volunteered to pull + bow in the dinghy which shoved off at once to put the pilot on board while + our boat, fanned by the faint air which had attended us all through the + night, went on gliding gently past the black, glistening length of the + ship. A few strokes brought us alongside, and it was then that, for the + very first time in my life, I heard myself addressed in English—the + speech of my secret choice, of my future, of long friendships, of the + deepest affections, of hours of toil and hours of ease, and of solitary + hours, too, of books read, of thoughts pursued, of remembered emotions—of + my very dreams! And if (after being thus fashioned by it in that part of + me which cannot decay) I dare not claim it aloud as my own, then, at any + rate, the speech of my children. Thus small events grow memorable by the + passage of time. As to the quality of the address itself I cannot say it + was very striking. Too short for eloquence and devoid of all charm of + tone, it consisted precisely of the three words “Look out there!” growled + out huskily above my head. + </p> + <p> + It proceeded from a big fat fellow (he had an obtrusive, hairy double + chin) in a blue woollen shirt and roomy breeches pulled up very high, even + to the level of his breastbone, by a pair of braces quite exposed to + public view. As where he stood there was no bulwark, but only a rail and + stanchions, I was able to take in at a glance the whole of his voluminous + person from his feet to the high crown of his soft black hat, which sat + like an absurd flanged cone on his big head. The grotesque and massive + aspect of that deck hand (I suppose he was that—very likely the + lamp-trimmer) surprised me very much. My course of reading, of dreaming, + and longing for the sea had not prepared me for a sea brother of that + sort. I never met again a figure in the least like his except in the + illustrations to Mr. W. W. Jacobs's most entertaining tales of barges and + coasters; but the inspired talent of Mr. Jacobs for poking endless fun at + poor, innocent sailors in a prose which, however extravagant in its + felicitous invention, is always artistically adjusted to observed truth, + was not yet. Perhaps Mr. Jacobs himself was not yet. I fancy that, at + most, if he had made his nurse laugh it was about all he had achieved at + that early date. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, I repeat, other disabilities apart, I could not have been + prepared for the sight of that husky old porpoise. The object of his + concise address was to call my attention to a rope which he incontinently + flung down for me to catch. I caught it, though it was not really + necessary, the ship having no way on her by that time. Then everything + went on very swiftly. The dinghy came with a slight bump against the + steamer's side; the pilot, grabbing for the rope ladder, had scrambled + half-way up before I knew that our task of boarding was done; the harsh, + muffled clanging of the engine-room telegraph struck my ear through the + iron plate; my companion in the dinghy was urging me to “shove off—push + hard”; and when I bore against the smooth flank of the first English ship + I ever touched in my life, I felt it already throbbing under my open palm. + </p> + <p> + Her head swung a little to the west, pointing toward the miniature + lighthouse of the Jolliette breakwater, far away there, hardly + distinguishable against the land. The dinghy danced a squashy, splashy jig + in the wash of the wake; and, turning in my seat, I followed the James + Westoll with my eyes. Before she had gone in a quarter of a mile she + hoisted her flag, as the harbour regulations prescribe for arriving and + departing ships. I saw it suddenly flicker and stream out on the flag + staff. The Red Ensign! In the pellucid, colourless atmosphere bathing the + drab and gray masses of that southern land, the livid islets, the sea of + pale, glassy blue under the pale, glassy sky of that cold sunrise, it was, + as far as the eye could reach, the only spot of ardent colour—flame-like, + intense, and presently as minute as the tiny red spark the concentrated + reflection of a great fire kindles in the clear heart of a globe of + crystal. The Red Ensign—the symbolic, protecting, warm bit of + bunting flung wide upon the seas, and destined for so many years to be the + only roof over my head. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Personal Record, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PERSONAL RECORD *** + +***** This file should be named 687-h.htm or 687-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/8/687/ + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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