some reminiscences-第24章

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Lady　Dedlock　in　Dickens's　〃Bleak　House；〃　a　work　of　the　master　for



which　I　have　such　an　admiration；　or　rather　such　an　intense　and



unreasoning　affection；　dating　from　the　days　of　my　childhood；　that



its　very　weaknesses　are　more　precious　to　me　than　the　strength　of



other　men's　work。　　I　have　read　it　innumerable　times；　both　in



Polish　and　in　English；　I　have　read　it　only　the　other　day；　and；　by



a　not　very　surprising　inversion；　the　Lady　Dedlock　of　the　book



reminded　me　strongly　of　the　belle　Madame　Delestang。







Her　husband　（as　I　sat　facing　them　both）；　with　his　thin　bony　nose；



and　a　perfectly　bloodless；　narrow　physiognomy　clamped　together　as



it　were　by　short　formal　side…whiskers；　had　nothing　of　Sir



Leicester　Dedlock's　〃grand　air〃　and　courtly　solemnity。　　He



belonged　to　the　haute　bourgeoisie　only；　and　was　a　banker；　with



whom　a　modest　credit　had　been　opened　for　my　needs。　He　was　such　an



ardentno；　such　a　frozen…up；　mummified　Royalist　that　he　used　in



current　conversation　turns　of　speech　contemporary；　I　should　say；



with　the　good　Henri　Quatre；　and　when　talking　of　money　matters



reckoned　not　in　francs；　like　the　common；　godless　herd　of　post…



Revolutionary　Frenchmen；　but　in　obsolete　and　forgotten　ecusecus



of　all　money　units　in　the　world！as　though　Louis　Quatorze　were



still　promenading　in　royal　splendour　the　gardens　of　Versailles；



and　Monsieur　de　Colbert　busy　with　the　direction　of　maritime



affairs。　　You　must　admit　that　in　a　banker　of　the　nineteenth



century　it　was　a　quaint　idiosyncrasy。　　Luckily　in　the　counting…



house　（it　occupied　part　of　the　ground　floor　of　the　Delestang　town



residence；　in　a　silent；　shady　street）　the　accounts　were　kept　in



modern　money；　so　that　I　never　had　any　difficulty　in　making　my



wants　known　to　the　grave；　low…voiced；　decorous；　Legitimist　（I



suppose）　clerks；　sitting　in　the　perpetual　gloom　of　heavily　barred



windows　behind　the　sombre；　ancient　counters；　beneath　lofty



ceilings　with　heavily　moulded　cornices。　　I　always　felt　on　going



out　as　though　I　had　been　in　the　temple　of　some　very　dignified　but



completely　temporal　religion。　　And　it　was　generally　on　these



occasions　that　under　the　great　carriage　gateway　Lady　Ded　I　mean



Madame　Delestang；　catching　sight　of　my　raised　hat；　would　beckon



me　with　an　amiable　imperiousness　to　the　side　of　the　carriage；　and



suggest　with　an　air　of　amused　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



sometimes；　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



amongst　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　knownobody　could　knowhow　impossible　that



danger　seemed　to　me。











Chapter　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　recognise　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　mismanaged。　　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　frost…



bound　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　round　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



towards　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　moustache　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　breakwater　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；　over…powering　moonrays



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。　　They　displayed　a　great　variety　of　caps：　　cloth；



wool；　leather；　peaks；　ear…flaps；　tassels；　with　a　picturesque



round　beret　or　two　pulled　down　over　the　brows；　and　one



grandfather；　with　a　shaved；　bony　face　and　a　great　beak　of　a　nose；



had　a　cloak　with　a　hood　which　made　him　look　in　our　midst　like　a



cowled　monk　being　carried　off　goodness　knows　where　by　that　silent



company　of　seamenquiet　enough　to　be　dead。







My　fingers　itched　for　the　tiller　and　in　due　co