a personal record-第20章
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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:
〃Read the page aloud。〃
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 beforeor perhaps it was only a week
beforethat 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。
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。
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。
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 in indolence you cannot beat a sailor ashore
when that mood is on himthe 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。
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 mistan opaline mist as in Bessborough
Gardens; only without the fiery flicks on roof and chimney…pot
from the rays of the red London sunpromised 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。
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
bottl