a personal record-第6章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


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　'94with　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。







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：







〃When　I　grow　up　I　shall　go　THERE。〃







And　of　course　I　thought　no　more　about　it　till　after　a　quarter　of



a　century　or　so　an　opportunity　offered　to　go　thereas　if　the　sin



of　childish　audacity　were　to　be　visited　on　my　mature　head。　　Yes。　



I　did　go　there：　THERE　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　THERE；　too。　That　it



ever　came　out　of　THERE　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　Leopoldsvillemore　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　myselfbut　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。







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。　







〃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。







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。







〃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。







He　was　not　a　cold；　but　a　calm　man；　still　more　subdued　by



diseasea　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：







〃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。







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　dra