the mirror of the sea-第39章

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Dominic　Cervoni；　of　Corsica；　not　Ithaca；　and　no　king；　son　of　kings；



but　of　very　respectable　family　…　authentic　Caporali；　he　affirmed。



But　that　is　as　it　may　be。　　The　Caporali　families　date　back　to　the



twelfth　century。







For　want　of　more　exalted　adversaries　Dominic　turned　his　audacity



fertile　in　impious　stratagems　against　the　powers　of　the　earth；　as



represented　by　the　institution　of　Custom…houses　and　every　mortal



belonging　thereto　…　scribes；　officers；　and　guardacostas　afloat　and



ashore。　　He　was　the　very　man　for　us；　this　modern　and　unlawful



wanderer　with　his　own　legend　of　loves；　dangers；　and　bloodshed。　　He



told　us　bits　of　it　sometimes　in　measured；　ironic　tones。　　He　spoke



Catalonian；　the　Italian　of　Corsica　and　the　French　of　Provence　with



the　same　easy　naturalness。　　Dressed　in　shore…togs；　a　white　starched



shirt；　black　jacket；　and　round　hat；　as　I　took　him　once　to　see　Dona



Rita；　he　was　extremely　presentable。　　He　could　make　himself



interesting　by　a　tactful　and　rugged　reserve　set　off　by　a　grim；



almost　imperceptible；　playfulness　of　tone　and　manner。







He　had　the　physical　assurance　of　strong…hearted　men。　　After　half　an



hour's　interview　in　the　dining…room；　during　which　they　got　in　touch



with　each　other　in　an　amazing　way；　Rita　told　us　in　her　best　GRANDE



DAME　manner：　　〃MAIS　IL　ESI　PARFAIT；　CET　HOMME。〃　　He　was　perfect。



On　board　the　Tremolino；　wrapped　up　in　a　black　CABAN；　the



picturesque　cloak　of　Mediterranean　seamen；　with　those　massive



moustaches　and　his　remorseless　eyes　set　off　by　the　shadow　of　the



deep　hood；　he　looked　piratical　and　monkish　and　darkly　initiated



into　the　most　awful　mysteries　of　the　sea。















XLIII。















Anyway；　he　was　perfect；　as　Dona　Rita　had　declared。　　The　only　thing



unsatisfactory　（and　even　inexplicable）　about　our　Dominic　was　his



nephew；　Cesar。　　It　was　startling　to　see　a　desolate　expression　of



shame　veil　the　remorseless　audacity　in　the　eyes　of　that　man



superior　to　all　scruples　and　terrors。







〃I　would　never　have　dared　to　bring　him　on　board　your　balancelle；〃



he　once　apologized　to　me。　　〃But　what　am　I　to　do？　　His　mother　is



dead；　and　my　brother　has　gone　into　the　bush。〃







In　this　way　I　learned　that　our　Dominic　had　a　brother。　　As　to　〃going



into　the　bush；〃　this　only　means　that　a　man　has　done　his　duty



successfully　in　the　pursuit　of　a　hereditary　vendetta。　　The　feud



which　had　existed　for　ages　between　the　families　of　Cervoni　and



Brunaschi　was　so　old　that　it　seemed　to　have　smouldered　out　at　last。



One　evening　Pietro　Brunaschi；　after　a　laborious　day　amongst　his



olive…trees；　sat　on　a　chair　against　the　wall　of　his　house　with　a



bowl　of　broth　on　his　knees　and　a　piece　of　bread　in　his　hand。



Dominic's　brother；　going　home　with　a　gun　on　his　shoulder；　found　a



sudden　offence　in　this　picture　of　content　and　rest　so　obviously



calculated　to　awaken　the　feelings　of　hatred　and　revenge。　　He　and



Pietro　had　never　had　any　personal　quarrel；　but；　as　Dominic



explained；　〃all　our　dead　cried　out　to　him。〃　　He　shouted　from　behind



a　wall　of　stones；　〃O　Pietro！　　Behold　what　is　coming！〃　　And　as　the



other　looked　up　innocently　he　took　aim　at　the　forehead　and　squared



the　old　vendetta　account　so　neatly　that；　according　to　Dominic；　the



dead　man　continued　to　sit　with　the　bowl　of　broth　on　his　knees　and



the　piece　of　bread　in　his　hand。







This　is　why　…　because　in　Corsica　your　dead　will　not　leave　you　alone



…　Dominic's　brother　had　to　go　into　the　MAQUIS；　into　the　bush　on　the



wild　mountain…side；　to　dodge　the　gendarmes　for　the　insignificant



remainder　of　his　life；　and　Dominic　had　charge　of　his　nephew　with　a



mission　to　make　a　man　of　him。







No　more　unpromising　undertaking　could　be　imagined。　　The　very



material　for　the　task　seemed　wanting。　　The　Cervonis；　if　not



handsome　men；　were　good　sturdy　flesh　and　blood。　　But　this



extraordinarily　lean　and　livid　youth　seemed　to　have　no　more　blood



in　him　than　a　snail。







〃Some　cursed　witch　must　have　stolen　my　brother's　child　from　the



cradle　and　put　that　spawn　of　a　starved　devil　in　its　place；〃　Dominic



would　say　to　me。　　〃Look　at　him！　　Just　look　at　him！〃







To　look　at　Cesar　was　not　pleasant。　　His　parchment　skin；　showing



dead　white　on　his　cranium　through　the　thin　wisps　of　dirty　brown



hair；　seemed　to　be　glued　directly　and　tightly　upon　his　big　bones；



Without　being　in　any　way　deformed；　he　was　the　nearest　approach



which　I　have　ever　seen　or　could　imagine　to　what　is　commonly



understood　by　the　word　〃monster。〃　　That　the　source　of　the　effect



produced　was　really　moral　I　have　no　doubt。　　An　utterly；　hopelessly



depraved　nature　was　expressed　in　physical　terms；　that　taken　each



separately　had　nothing　positively　startling。　　You　imagined　him



clammily　cold　to　the　touch；　like　a　snake。　　The　slightest　reproof；



the　most　mild　and　justifiable　remonstrance；　would　be　met　by　a



resentful　glare　and　an　evil　shrinking　of　his　thin　dry　upper　lip；　a



snarl　of　hate　to　which　he　generally　added　the　agreeable　sound　of



grinding　teeth。







It　was　for　this　venomous　performance　rather　than　for　his　lies；



impudence；　and　laziness　that　his　uncle　used　to　knock　him　down。　　It



must　not　be　imagined　that　it　was　anything　in　the　nature　of　a　brutal



assault。　　Dominic's　brawny　arm　would　be　seen　describing



deliberately　an　ample　horizontal　gesture；　a　dignified　sweep；　and



Cesar　would　go　over　suddenly　like　a　ninepin　…　which　was　funny　to



see。　　But；　once　down；　he　would　writhe　on　the　deck；　gnashing　his



teeth　in　impotent　rage　…　which　was　pretty　horrible　to　behold。　　And



it　also　happened　more　than　once　that　he　would　disappear　completely



…　which　was　startling　to　observe。　　This　is　the　exact　truth。　　Before



some　of　these　majestic　cuffs　Cesar　would　go　down　and　vanish。　　He



would　vanish　heels　overhead　into　open　hatchways；　into　scuttles；



behind　up…ended　casks；　according　to　the　place　where　he　happened　to



come　into　contact　with　his　uncle's　mighty　arm。







Once　…　it　was　in　the　old　harbour；　just　before　the　Tremolino's　last



voyage　…　he　vanished　thus　overboard　to　my　infinite　consternation。



Dominic　and　I　had　been　talking　business　together　aft；　and　Cesar　had



sneaked　up　behind　us　to　listen；　for；　amongst　his　other　perfections；



he　was　a　consummate　eavesdropper　and　spy。　　At　the　sound　of　the



heavy　plop　alongside　horror　held　me　rooted　to　the　spot；　but　Dominic



stepped　quietly　to　the　rail　and　leaned　over；　waiting　for　his



nephew's　miserable　head　to　bob　up　for　the　first　time。







〃Ohe；　Cesar！〃　he　yelled　contemptuously　to　the　spluttering　wretch。



〃Catch　hold　of　that　mooring　hawser　…　CHAROGNE！〃







He　approached　me　to　resume　the　interrupted　conversation。







〃What　about　Cesar？〃　I　asked　anxiously。







〃Canallia！　　Let　him　hang　there；〃　was　his　answer。　　And　he　went　on



talking　over　the　business　in　hand　calmly；　while　I　tried　vainly　to



dismiss　from　my　mind　the　picture　of　Cesar　steeped　to　the　chin　in



the　water　of　the　old　harbour；　a　decoction　of　centuries　of　marine



refuse。　　I　tried　to　dismiss　it；　because　the　mere　notion　of　that



liquid　made　me　feel　very　sick。　　Presently　Dominic；　hailing　an　idle



boatman；　directed　him　to　go　and　fish　his　nephew　out；　and　by…and…by



Cesar　appeared　walking　on　board　from　the　quay；　shivering；　streaming



with　filthy　water；　with　bits　of　rotten　straws　in　his　hair　and　a



piece　of　dirty　orange…peel　stranded　on　his　shoulder。　　His　teeth



chattered；　his　yellow　eyes　squinted　balefully　at　us　as　he　passed



forward。　　I　thought　it　my　duty　to　remonstrate。







〃Why　are　you　always　knocking　him　about；　Dominic？〃　I　asked。　　Indeed；



I　felt　convinced　it　was　no　earthly　good　…　a　sheer　waste　of　muscular



force。







〃I　must　try　to　make　a　man　of　him；〃　Dominic　answered　hopelessly。







I　restrained　the　obvious　retort　that　in　this　way　he　ran　the　risk　of



making；　in　the　words　of　the　immortal　Mr。　Mantalini；