a personal record-第12章

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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。







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。







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。







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。







This　was　my　first　contact　with　British　mankind　apart　from　the



tourist　kind　seen　in　the　hotels　of　Zurich　and　Lucernethe　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。







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。







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　upand　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。







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　attentionthe　〃What　was　that　funny