villa rubein and other stories-第45章

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fallen　leaves。。。。



May；　1900。













A　KNIGHT







TO



MY　MOTHER









A　KNIGHT









I



At　Monte　Carlo；　in　the　spring　of　the　year　189…；　I　used　to　notice　an

old　fellow　in　a　grey　suit　and　sunburnt　straw　hat　with　a　black　ribbon。

Every　morning　at　eleven　o'clock；　he　would　come　down　to　the　Place；

followed　by　a　brindled　German　boarhound；　walk　once　or　twice　round　it；

and　seat　himself　on　a　bench　facing　the　casino。　　There　he　would　remain

in　the　sun；　with　his　straw　hat　tilted　forward；　his　thin　legs　apart；

his　brown　hands　crossed　between　them；　and　the　dog's　nose　resting　on

his　knee。　　After　an　hour　or　more　he　would　get　up；　and；　stooping　a

little　from　the　waist；　walk　slowly　round　the　Place　and　return　up

hill。　　Just　before　three；　he　would　come　down　again　in　the　same

clothes　and　go　into　the　casino；　leaving　the　dog　outside。



One　afternoon；　moved　by　curiosity；　I　followed　him。　　He　passed　through

the　hall　without　looking　at　the　gambling…rooms；　and　went　into　the

concert。　　It　became　my　habit　after　that　to　watch　for　him。　　When　he

sat　in　the　Place　I　could　see　him　from　the　window　of　my　room。　　The

chief　puzzle　to　me　was　the　matter　of　his　nationality。



His　lean；　short　face　had　a　skin　so　burnt　that　it　looked　like　leather；

his　jaw　was　long　and　prominent；　his　chin　pointed；　and　he　had　hollows

in　his　cheeks。　　There　were　wrinkles　across　his　forehead；　his　eyes

were　brown；　and　little　white　moustaches　were　brushed　up　from　the

corners　of　his　lips。　　The　back　of　his　head　bulged　out　above　the　lines

of　his　lean　neck　and　high；　sharp　shoulders；　his　grey　hair　was　cropped

quite　close。　　In　the　Marseilles　buffet；　on　the　journey　out；　I　had　met

an　Englishman；　almost　his　counterpart　in　featuresbut　somehow　very

different！　　This　old　fellow　had　nothing　of　the　other's　alert；

autocratic　self…sufficiency。　　He　was　quiet　and　undemonstrative；

without　looking；　as　it　were；　insulated　against　shocks　and　foreign

substances。　　He　was　certainly　no　Frenchman。　　His　eyes；　indeed；　were

brown；　but　hazel…brown；　and　gentlenot　the　red…brown　sensual　eye　of

the　Frenchman。　　An　American？　　But　was　ever　an　American　so　passive？　　A

German？　　His　moustache　was　certainly　brushed　up；　but　in　a　modest；

almost　pathetic　way；　not　in　the　least　Teutonic。　　Nothing　seemed　to

fit　him。　　I　gave　him　up；　and　named　him　〃the　Cosmopolitan。〃



Leaving　at　the　end　of　April；　I　forgot　him　altogether。　　In　the　same

month；　however；　of　the　following　year　I　was　again　at　Monte　Carlo；　and

going　one　day　to　the　concert　found　myself　seated　next　this　same　old

fellow。　　The　orchestra　was　playing　Meyerbeer's　〃Prophete；〃　and　my

neighbour　was　asleep；　snoring　softly。　　He　was　dressed　in　the　same

grey　suit；　with　the　same　straw　hat　（or　one　exactly　like　it）　on　his

knees；　and　his　hands　crossed　above　it。　　Sleep　had　not　disfigured

him　…his　little　white　moustache　was　still　brushed　up；　his　lips

closed；　a　very　good　and　gentle　expression　hovered　on　his　face。　　A

curved　mark　showed　on　his　right　temple；　the　scar　of　a　cut　on　the　side

of　his　neck；　and　his　left　hand　was　covered　by　an　old　glove；　the

little　forger　of　which　was　empty。　　He　woke　up　when　the　march　was　over

and　brisked　up　his　moustache。



The　next　thing　on　the　programme　was　a　little　thing　by　Poise　from　Le

joli　Gilles；　played　by　Mons。　Corsanego　on　the　violin。　　Happening　to

glance　at　my　old　neighbour；　I　saw　a　tear　caught　in　the　hollow　of　his

cheek；　and　another　just　leaving　the　corner　of　his　eye；　there　was　a

faint　smile　on　his　lips。　　Then　came　an　interval；　and　while　orchestra

and　audience　were　resting；　I　asked　him　if　he　were　fond　of　music。　　He

looked　up　without　distrust；　bowed；　and　answered　in　a　thin；　gentle

voice：　〃Certainly。　　I　know　nothing　about　it；　play　no　instrument；

could　never　sing　a　note；　but　fond　of　it！　　Who　would　not　be？〃　　His

English　was　correct　enough；　but　with　an　emphasis　not　quite　American

nor　quite　foreign。　　I　ventured　to　remark　that　he　did　not　care　for

Meyerbeer。　　He　smiled。



〃Ah！〃　he　said；　〃I　was　asleep？　　Too　bad　of　me。　　He　is　a　little　noisy

I　know　so　little　about　music。　　There　is　Bach；　for　instance。　　Would

you　believe　it；　he　gives　me　no　pleasure？　　A　great　misfortune　to　be　no

musician！〃　　He　shook　his　head。



I　murmured；　〃Bach　is　too　elevating　for　you　perhaps。〃



〃To　me；〃　he　answered；　〃any　music　I　like　is　elevating。　　People　say

some　music　has　a　bad　effect　on　them。　　I　never　found　any　music　that

gave　me　a　bad　thoughtnonoquite　the　opposite；　only　sometimes；　as

you　see；　I　go　to　sleep。　　But　what　a　lovely　instrument　the　violin！〃

A　faint　flush　came　on　his　parched　cheeks。　　〃The　human　soul　that　has

left　the　body。　　A　curious　thing；　distant　bugles　at　night　have　given

me　the　same　feeling。〃　　The　orchestra　was　now　coming　back；　and；

folding　his　hands；　my　neighbour　turned　his　eyes　towards　them。　　When

the　concert　was　over　we　came　out　together。　　Waiting　at　the　entrance

was　his　dog。



〃You　have　a　beautiful　dog！〃



〃Ah！　yes。　　Freda。　　mia　cara；　da　su　mano！〃　　The　dog　squatted　on　her

haunches；　and　lifted　her　paw　in　the　vague；　bored　way　of　big　dogs　when

requested　to　perform　civilities。　　She　was　a　lovely　creaturethe

purest　brindle；　without　a　speck　of　white；　and　free　from　the

unbalanced　look　of　most　dogs　of　her　breed。



〃Basta！　basta！〃　　He　turned　to　me　apologetically。　　〃We　have　agreed　to

speak　Italian；　in　that　way　I　keep　up　the　language；　astonishing　the

number　of　things　that　dog　will　understand！〃　　I　was　about　to　take　my

leave；　when　he　asked　if　I　would　walk　a　little　way　with　him〃If　you

are　free；　that　is。〃　　We　went　up　the　street　with　Freda　on　the　far　side

of　her　master。



〃Do　you　never　'play'　here？〃　I　asked　him。



〃Play？　　No。　　It　must　be　very　interesting；　most　exciting；　but　as　a

matter　of　fact；　I　can't　afford　it。　　If　one　has　very　little；　one　is

too　nervous。〃



He　had　stopped　in　front　of　a　small　hairdresser's　shop。　　〃I　live

here；〃　he　said；　raising　his　hat　again。　　〃Au　revoir！unless　I　can

offer　you　a　glass　of　tea。　　It's　all　ready。　　Come！　I've　brought　you

out　of　your　way；　give　me　the　pleasure！〃



I　have　never　met　a　man　so　free　from　all　self…consciousness；　and　yet

so　delicate　and　diffident　the　combination　is　a　rare　one。　　We　went　up

a　steep　staircase　to　a　room　on　the　second　floor。　　My　companion　threw

the　shutters　open；　setting　all　the　flies　buzzing。　　The　top　of　a

plane…tree　was　on　a　level　with　the　window；　and　all　its　little　brown

balls　were　dancing；　quite　close；　in　the　wind。　　As　he　had　promised；　an

urn　was　hissing　on　a　table；　there　was　also　a　small　brown　teapot；　some

sugar；　slices　of　lemon；　and　glasses。　　A　bed；　washstand；　cupboard；　tin

trunk；　two　chairs；　and　a　small　rug　were　all　the　furniture。　　Above　the

bed　a　sword　in　a　leather　sheath　was　suspended　from　two　nails。　　The

photograph　of　a　girl　stood　on　the　closed　stove。　　My　host　went　to　the

cupboard　and　produced　a　bottle；　a　glass；　and　a　second　spoon。　　When

the　cork　was　drawn；　the　scent　of　rum　escaped　into　the　air。　　He

sniffed　at　it　and　dropped　a　teaspoonful　into　both　glasses。



〃This　is　a　trick　I　learned　from　the　Russians　after　Plevna；　they　had

my　little　finger；　so　I　deserved　something　in　exchange。〃　　He　looked

round；　his　eyes；　his　whole　face；　seemed　to　twinkle。　　〃I　assure　you　it

was　worth　itmakes　all　the　difference。　　Try！〃　　He　poured　off　the

tea。



〃Had　you　a　sympathy　with　the　Turks？〃



〃The　weaker　side〃　　He　paused　abruptly；　then　added：　〃But　it　was　not

that。〃　　Over　his　face　innumerable　crow's…feet　had　suddenly　appeared；

his　eyes　twitched；　he　went　on　hurriedly；　〃I　had　to　find　something　to

do　just　thenit　was　necessary。〃　　He　stared　into　his　glass；　and　it

was　some　time　before　I　ventured　to　ask　if　he　had　seen　much　fighting。



〃Yes；〃　he　replied　gravely；　〃nearly　twenty　years　altogether；　I　was　one

of　Garibaldi's　Mille　in　'60。〃



〃Surely　you　are　not　Italian？〃



He　leaned　forward　with　his　hands　on　his　knees。　　〃I　was　in　Genoa　at

that　time　learning　banking；　Garibaldi　was　a　wonderful　man！　　One　could

not　help　it。〃　　He　spoke