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unduly discursive。 I have never been very well acquainted with
the art of conversationthat art which； I understand； is
supposed to be lost now。 My young days； the days when one's
habits and character are formed； have been rather familiar with
long silences。 Such voices as broke into them were anything but
conversational。 No。 I haven't got the habit。 Yet this
discursiveness is not so irrelevant to the handful of pages which
follow。 They； too； have been charged with discursiveness； with
disregard of chronological order （which is in itself a crime）；
with unconventionality of form （which is an impropriety）。 I was
told severely that the public would view with displeasure the
informal character of my recollections。 〃Alas！〃 I protested
mildly。 〃Could I begin with the sacramental words； 'I was born
on such a date in such a place'？ The remoteness of the locality
would have robbed the statement of all interest。 I haven't lived
through wonderful adventures to be related seriatim。 I haven't
known distinguished men on whom I could pass fatuous remarks。 I
haven't been mixed up with great or scandalous affairs。 This is
but a bit of psychological document； and even so； I haven't
written it with a view to put forward any conclusion of my own。〃
But my objector was not placated。 These were good reasons for
not writing at allnot a defence of what stood written already；
he said。
I admit that almost anything； anything in the world； would serve
as a good reason for not writing at all。 But since I have
written them； all I want to say in their defence is that these
memories put down without any regard for established conventions
have not been thrown off without system and purpose。 They have
their hope and their aim。 The hope that from the reading of
these pages there may emerge at last the vision of a personality；
the man behind the books so fundamentally dissimilar as； for
instance； 〃Almayer's Folly〃 and 〃The Secret Agent〃and yet a
coherent； justifiable personality both in its origin and in its
action。 This is the hope。 The immediate aim； closely associated
with the hope； is to give the record of personal memories by
presenting faithfully the feelings and sensations connected with
the writing of my first book and with my first contact with the
sea。
In the purposely mingled resonance of this double strain a friend
here and there will perhaps detect a subtle accord。
J。C。K。
Chapter I。
Books may be written in all sorts of places。 Verbal inspiration
may enter the berth of a mariner on board a ship frozen fast in a
river in the middle of a town； and since saints are supposed to
look benignantly on humble believers； I indulge in the pleasant
fancy that the shade of old Flaubertwho imagined himself to be
（amongst other things） a descendant of Vikingsmight have
hovered with amused interest over the decks of a 2000…ton steamer
called the 〃Adowa；〃 on board of which； gripped by the inclement
winter alongside a quay in Rouen； the tenth chapter of 〃Almayer's
Folly〃 was begun。 With interest； I say； for was not the kind
Norman giant with enormous moustaches and a thundering voice the
last of the Romantics？ Was he not； in his unworldly； almost
ascetic； devotion to his art a sort of literary； saint…like
hermit？
〃'It has set at last；' said Nina to her mother； pointing to the
hills behind which the sun had sunk。〃。 。 。These words of
Almayer's romantic daughter I remember tracing on the grey paper
of a pad which rested on the blanket of my bed…place。 They
referred to a sunset in Malayan Isles and shaped themselves in my
mind； in a hallucinated vision of forests and rivers and seas；
far removed from a commercial and yet romantic town of the
northern hemisphere。 But at that moment the mood of visions and
words was cut short by the third officer； a cheerful and casual
youth； coming in with a bang of the door and the exclamation：
〃You've made it jolly warm in here。〃
It was warm。 I had turned on the steam…heater after placing a
tin under the leaky water…cockfor perhaps you do not know that
water will leak where steam will not。 I am not aware of what my
young friend had been doing on deck all that morning； but the
hands he rubbed together vigorously were very red and imparted to
me a chilly feeling by their mere aspect。 He has remained the
only banjoist of my acquaintance； and being also a younger son of
a retired colonel； the poem of Mr。 Kipling； by a strange
aberration of associated ideas； always seems to me to have been
written with an exclusive view to his person。 When he did not
play the banjo he loved to sit and look at it。 He proceeded to
this sentimental inspection and after meditating a while over the
strings under my silent scrutiny inquired airily：
〃What are you always scribbling there； if it's fair to ask？〃
It was a fair enough question； but I did not answer him； and
simply turned the pad over with a movement of instinctive
secrecy： I could not have told him he had put to flight the
psychology of Nina Almayer； her opening speech of the tenth
chapter and the words of Mrs。 Almayer's wisdom which were to
follow in the ominous oncoming of a tropical night。 I could not
have told him that Nina had said： 〃It has set at last。〃 He
would have been extremely surprised and perhaps have dropped his
precious banjo。 Neither could I have told him that the sun of my
sea…going was setting too； even as I wrote the words expressing
the impatience of passionate youth bent on its desire。 I did not
know this myself； and it is safe to say he would not have cared；
though he was an excellent young fellow and treated me with more
deference than； in our relative positions； I was strictly
entitled to。
He lowered a tender gaze on his banjo and I went on looking
through the port…hole。 The round opening framed in its brass rim
a fragment of the quays； with a row of casks ranged on the frozen
ground and the tail…end of a great cart。 A red…nosed carter in a
blouse and a woollen nightcap leaned against the wheel。 An idle；
strolling custom…house guard； belted over his blue capote； had
the air of being depressed by exposure to the weather and the
monotony of official existence。 The background of grimy houses
found a place in the picture framed by my port…hole； across a
wide stretch of paved quay brown with frozen mud。 The colouring
was sombre； and the most conspicuous feature was a little cafe
with curtained windows and a shabby front of white woodwork；
corresponding with the squalor of these poorer quarters bordering
the river。 We had been shifted down there from another berth in
the neighbourhood of the Opera House； where that same port…hole
gave me a view of quite another sort of cafethe best in the
town； I believe； and the very one where the worthy Bovary and his
wife； the romantic daughter of old Pere Renault； had some
refreshment after the memorable performance of an opera which was
the tragic story of Lucia di Lammermoor in a setting of light
music。
I could recall no more the hallucination of the Eastern
Archipelago which I certainly hoped to see again。 The story of
〃Almayer's Folly〃 got put away under the pillow for that day。 I
do not know that I had any occupation to keep me away from it；
the truth of the matter is that on board that ship we were
leading just then a contemplative life。 I will not say anything
of my privileged position。 I was there 〃just to oblige；〃 as an
actor of standing may take a small part in the benefit
performance of a friend。
As far as my feelings were concerned I did not wish to be in that
steamer at that time and in those circumstances。 And perhaps I
was not even wanted there in the usual sense in which a ship
〃wants〃 an officer。 It was the first and last instance in my sea
life when I served ship…owners who have remained completely
shadowy to my apprehension。 I do not mean this for the well…
known firm of London ship…brokers which had chartered the ship to
the； I will not say short…lived； but ephemeral Franco…Canadian
Transport Company。 A death leaves something behind； but there
was never anything tangible left from the F。C。T。C。 It flourished
no longer than roses live； and unlike the roses it blossomed in
the dead of winter； emitted a sort of faint perfume of adventure