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some reminiscences-第29部分

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seamanship I had an opportunity of observing was the boarding of



ships at sea; at all times; in all states of the weather。  They



gave it to me to the full。  And I have been invited to sit in



more than one tall; dark house of the old town at their



hospitable board; had the bouillabaisse ladled out into a thick



plate by their high…voiced; broad…browed wives; talked to their



daughtersthick…set girls; with pure profiles; glorious masses



of black hair arranged with complicated art; dark eyes; and



dazzlingly white teeth。







I had also other acquaintances of quite a different sort。  One of



them; Madame Delestang; an imperious; handsome lady in a



statuesque style; would carry me off now and then on the front



seat of her carriage to the Prado; at the hour of fashionable



airing。  She belonged to one of the old aristocratic families in



the south。  In her haughty weariness she used to make me think of



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;
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