a personal record-第33章

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nonchalance；　〃Venez　donc　faire　un　tour　avec　nous；〃　to　which　the



husband　would　add　an　encouraging　〃C'est　ca。　　Allons；　montez；



jeune　homme。〃　　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：　〃Il　faut；　cependant；　faire



attention　a　ne　pas　gater　sa　vie。〃　　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　knowhow　impossible　that　danger　seemed　to　me。











VII







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　askis　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



bizarreand；　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



warningbecause　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　mi　managed。　　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



insidenothing　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



earand　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：　〃Ah！　　Coquin　de　sort！〃　and　sighs



wearily　at　his　hard　fate。







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。







He　greets　me　by　a　low；　hearty　〃He；　l'ami。　　Comment　va？〃　　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。







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；　〃Larguez。〃　　A　suddenly　projected　arm　snatches　the



lantern　off　the　quayand；　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。







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　coastscoasts　of　forests；　of　rocks；　of　sand



dunesbut　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。