HeisoneoftheEnglishnovelistswhoseworksIreadforthefirsttimeinEnglish。WithmenofEuropeanreputation，withDickensandWalterScottandThackeray，itwasotherwise。MyfirstintroductiontoEnglishimaginativeliteraturewas"NicholasNickleby。"ItisextraordinaryhowwellMrs。NicklebycouldchatterdisconnectedlyinPolishandthesinisterRalphrageinthatlanguage。AstotheCrummlesfamilyandthefamilyofthelearnedSqueersitseemedasnaturaltothemastheirnativespeech。Itwas，Ihavenodoubt，anexcellenttranslation。Thismusthavebeenintheyear’70。ButIreallybelievethatIamwrong。ThatbookwasnotmyfirstintroductiontoEnglishliterature。Myfirstacquaintancewas（orwere）the"TwoGentlemenofVerona，"andthatintheveryMS。ofmyfather’stranslation。ItwasduringourexileinRussia，anditmusthavebeenlessthanayearaftermymother’sdeath，becauseIremembermyselfintheblackblousewithawhiteborderofmyheavymourning。Wewerelivingtogether，quitealone，inasmallhouseontheoutskirtsofthetownofT——。Thatafternoon，insteadofgoingouttoplayinthelargeyardwhichwesharedwithourlandlord，Ihadlingeredintheroominwhichmyfathergenerallywrote。WhatemboldenedmetoclamberintohischairI
　　amsureIdon’tknow，butacoupleofhoursafterwardshediscoveredmekneelinginitwithmyelbowsonthetableandmyheadheldinbothhandsovertheMS。ofloosepages。Iwasgreatlyconfused，expectingtogetintotrouble。Hestoodinthedoorwaylookingatmewithsomesurprise，buttheonlythinghesaidafteramomentofsilencewas：
　　"Readthepagealoud。"
　　Luckilythepagelyingbeforemewasnotoverblottedwitherasuresandcorrections，andmyfather’shandwritingwasotherwiseextremelylegible。WhenIgottotheendhenoddedandIflewoutofdoorsthinkingmyselfluckytohaveescapedreproofforthatpieceofimpulsiveaudacity。Ihavetriedtodiscoversincethereasonofthismildness，andIimaginethatallunknowntomyselfIhadearned，inmyfather’smind，therighttosomelatitudeinmyrelationswithhiswriting-table。Itwasonlyamonthbefore，orperhapsitwasonlyaweekbefore，thatIhadreadtohimaloudfrombeginningtoend，andtohisperfectsatisfaction，ashelayonhisbed，notbeingverywellatthetime，theproofsofhistranslationofVictorHugo’s"ToilersoftheSea。"Suchwasmytitletoconsideration，Ibelieve，andalsomyfirstintroductiontotheseainliterature。IfIdonotrememberwhere，howandwhenIlearnedtoread，Iamnotlikelytoforgettheprocessofbeingtrainedintheartofreadingaloud。Mypoorfather，anadmirablereaderhimself，wasthemostexactingofmasters。IreflectproudlythatImusthavereadthatpageof"TwoGentlemenofVerona"tolerablywellattheageofeight。ThenexttimeImetthemwasina5s。one-volumeeditionofthedramaticworksofWilliamShakespeare，readinFalmouth，atoddmomentsoftheday，tothenoisyaccompanimentofcaulkers’malletsdrivingoakumintothedeck-seamsofashipindrydock。Wehadrunin，inasinkingconditionandwiththecrewrefusingdutyafteramonthofwearybattlingwiththegalesoftheNorthAtlantic。Booksareanintegralpartofone’slifeandmyShakespeareanassociationsarewiththatfirstyearofourbereavement，thelastIspentwithmyfatherinexile（hesentmeawaytoPolandtomymother’sbrotherdirectlyhecouldbracehimselfupfortheseparation），andwiththeyearofhardgales，theyearinwhichIcamenearesttodeathatsea，firstbywaterandthenbyfire。
　　ThosethingsIremember，butwhatIwasreadingthedaybeforemywritinglifebeganIhaveforgotten。IhaveonlyavaguenotionthatitmighthavebeenoneofTrollope’spoliticalnovels。AndIremember，too，thecharacteroftheday。Itwasanautumndaywithanopalineatmosphere，aveiled，semi-opaque，lustrousday，withfierypointsandflashesofredsunlightontheroofsandwindowsopposite，whilethetreesofthesquarewithalltheirleavesgonewereliketracingsofindianinkonasheetoftissuepaper。ItwasoneofthoseLondondaysthathavethecharmofmysteriousamenity，offascinatingsoftness。TheeffectofopalinemistwasoftenrepeatedatBessboroughGardensonaccountofthenearnesstotheriver。
　　ThereisnoreasonwhyIshouldrememberthateffectmoreonthatdaythanonanyotherday，exceptthatIstoodforalongtimelookingoutofthewindowafterthelandlady’sdaughterwasgonewithherspoilofcupsandsaucers。Iheardherputthetraydowninthepassageandfinallyshutthedoor;andstillI
　　remainedsmokingwithmybacktotheroom。ItisveryclearthatIwasinnohastetotaketheplungeintomywritinglife，ifasplungethisfirstattemptmaybedescribed。Mywholebeingwassteepeddeepintheindolenceofasailorawayfromthesea，thesceneofnever-endinglabourandofunceasingduty。Foruttersurrendertoindolenceyoucannotbeatasailorashorewhenthatmoodisonhim，themoodofabsoluteirresponsibilitytastedtothefull。ItseemstomethatIthoughtofnothingwhatever，butthisisanimpressionwhichishardlytobebelievedatthisdistanceofyears。WhatIamcertainofis，thatIwasveryfarfromthinkingofwritingastory，thoughitispossibleandevenlikelythatIwasthinkingofthemanAlmayer。
　　Ihadseenhimforthefirsttimesomefouryearsbeforefromthebridgeofasteamermooredtoaricketylittlewharffortymilesup，moreorless，aBorneanriver。Itwasveryearlymorningandaslightmist，anopalinemistasinBessboroughGardensonlywithoutthefieryflicksonroofandchimney-potfromtheraysoftheredLondonsun，promisedtoturnpresentlyintoawoollyfog。
　　Barringasmalldug-outcanoeontherivertherewasnothingmovingwithinsight。Ihadjustcomeupyawningfrommycabin。
　　TheserangandtheMalaycrewwereoverhaulingthecargochainsandtryingthewinches;theirvoicessoundedsubduedonthedeckbelowandtheirmovementswerelanguid。Thattropicaldaybreakwaschilly。TheMalayquartermaster，cominguptogetsomethingfromthelockersonthebridge，shiveredvisibly。Theforestsaboveandbelowandontheoppositebanklookedblackanddank;
　　wetdrippedfromtherigginguponthetightlystretcheddeckawnings，anditwasinthemiddleofashudderingyawnthatI
　　caughtsightofAlmayer。Hewasmovingacrossapatchofburntgrass，ablurredshadowyshapewiththeblurredbulkofahousebehindhim，alowhouseofmats，bamboosandpalm-leaveswithahigh-pitchedroofofgrass。
　　Hesteppeduponthejetty。Hewascladsimplyinflappingpyjamasofcretonnepattern（enormousflowerswithyellowpetalsonadisagreeableblueground）andathincottonsingletwithshortsleeves。Hisarms，baretotheelbow，werecrossedonhischest。Hisblackhairlookedasifithadnotbeencutforaverylongtimeandacurlywispofitstrayedacrosshisforehead。IhadheardofhimatSingapore;Ihadheardofhimonboard;Ihadheardofhimearlyinthemorningandlateatnight;
　　Ihadheardofhimattiffinandatdinner;IhadheardofhiminaplacecalledPuloLautfromahalf-castegentlemanthere，whodescribedhimselfasthemanagerofacoal-mine;whichsoundedcivilisedandprogressivetillyouheardthattheminecouldnotbeworkedatpresentbecauseitwashauntedbysomeparticularyatrociousghosts。IhadheardofhiminaplacecalledDongola，intheIslandofCelebes，whentheRajahofthatlittle-knownseaport（youcangetnoanchoragethereinlessthanfifteenfathom，whichisextremelyinconvenient）cameonboardinafriendlywaywithonlytwoattendants，anddrankbottleafterbottleofsoda-waterontheafter-skylightwithmygoodfriendandcommander，CaptainC——。AtleastIheardhisnamedistinctlypronouncedseveraltimesinalotoftalkinMalaylanguage。Ohyes，Ihearditquitedistinctly——Almayer，Almayer——andsawCaptainC——smilewhilethefatdingyRajahlaughedaudibly。TohearaMalayRajahlaughoutrightisarareexperienceIcanassureyou。AndIoverheadmoreofAlmayer’snameamongstourdeckpassengers（mostlywanderingtradersofgoodrepute）astheysatallovertheship——eachmanfencedroundwithbundlesandboxes——onmats，onpillows，onquilts，onbilletsofwood，conversingofIslandaffairs。Uponmyword，IheardthemutterofAlmayer’snamefaintlyatmidnight，whilemakingmywayaftfromthebridgetolookatthepatenttaffrail-logtinklingitsquarter-milesinthegreatsilenceofthesea。Idon’tmeantosaythatourpassengersdreamedaloudofAlmayer，butitisindubitablethattwoofthematleast，whocouldnotsleepapparentlyandweretryingtocharmawaythetroubleofinsomniabyalittlewhisperedtalkatthatghostlyhour，werereferringinsomewayorothertoAlmayer。ItwasreallyimpossibleonboardthatshiptogetawaydefinitelyfromAlmayer;andaverysmallponytiedupforwardandwhiskingitstailinsidethegalley，tothegreatembarrassmentofourChinamancook，wasdestinedforAlmayer。Whathewantedwithaponygoodnessonlyknows，sinceIamperfectlycertainhecouldnotrideit;buthereyouhavetheman，ambitious，aimingatthegrandiose，importingapony，whereasinthewholesettlementatwhichheusedtoshakedailyhisimpotentfist，therewasonlyonepaththatwaspracticableforapony：aquarterofamileatmost，hedgedinbyhundredsofsquareleaguesofvirginforest。Butwhoknows？TheimportationofthatBaliPonymighthavebeenpartofsomedeepscheme，ofsomediplomaticplan，ofsomehopefulintrigue。WithAlmayeronecouldnevertell。Hegovernedhisconductbyconsiderationsremovedfromtheobvious，byincredibleassumptions，whichrenderedhislogicimpenetrabletoanyreasonableperson。Ilearnedallthislater。ThatmorningseeingthefigureinpyjamasmovinginthemistIsaidtomyself："That’stheman。"
　　Hecamequiteclosetotheship’ssideandraisedaharassedcountenance，roundandflat，withthatcurlofblackhairovertheforeheadandaheavy，painedglance。
　　"Goodmorning。"
　　"Goodmorning。"
　　Helookedhardatme：Iwasanewface，havingjustreplacedthechiefmatehewasaccustomedtosee;andIthinkthatthisnoveltyinspiredhim，asthingsgenerallydid，withdeep-seatedmistrust。
　　"Didn’texpectyouintillthisevening，"heremarkedsuspiciously。
　　Idon’tknowwhyheshouldhavebeenaggrieved，butheseemedtobe。Itookpainstoexplaintohimthathavingpickedupthebeaconatthemouthoftheriverjustbeforedarkandthetideserving，CaptainC——wasenabledtocrossthebarandtherewasnothingtopreventhimgoingupriveratnight。
　　"CaptainC——knowsthisriverlikehisownpocket，"Iconcludeddiscursively，tryingtogetonterms。
　　"Better，"saidAlmayer。
　　LeaningovertherailofthebridgeIlookedatAlmayer，wholookeddownatthewharfinaggrievedthought。Heshuffledhisfeetalittle;heworestrawslipperswiththicksoles。Themorningfoghadthickenedconsiderably。Everythingroundusdripped：thederricks，therails，everysingleropeintheship——
　　asifafitofcryinghadcomeupontheuniverse。
　　Almayeragainraisedhisheadandintheaccentsofamanaccustomedtothebuffetsofevilfortuneaskedhardlyaudibly：
　　"Isupposeyouhaven’tgotsuchathingasaponyonboard？"
　　Itoldhimalmostinawhisper，forheattunedmycommunicationstohisminorkey，thatwehadsuchathingasapony，andI
　　hinted，asgentlyasIcould，thathewasconfoundedlyinthewaytoo。IwasveryanxioustohavehimlandedbeforeIbegantohandlethecargo。Almayerremainedlookingupatmeforalongwhilewithincredulousandmelancholyeyesasthoughitwerenotasafethingtobelievemystatement。Thispatheticmistrustinthefavourableissueofanysortofaffairtouchedmedeeply，andIadded：
　　"Hedoesn’tseemabittheworseforthepassage。He’saniceponytoo。"
　　Almayerwasnottobecheeredup;forallanswerheclearedhisthroatandlookeddownagainathisfeet。Itriedtoclosewithhimonanothertack。
　　"ByJove！"Isaid。"Aren’tyouafraidofcatchingpneumoniaorbronchitisorsomething，walkingaboutinasingletinsuchawetfog？"
　　Hewasnottobepropitiatedbyashowofinterestinhishealth。
　　Hisanswerwasasinister"Nofear，"asmuchastosaythateventhatwayofescapefrominclementfortunewasclosedtohim。
　　"Ijustcamedown……"hemumbledafterawhile。
　　"Wellthen，nowyou’rehereIwilllandthatponyforyouatonceandyoucanleadhimhome。Ireallydon’twanthimondeck。
　　He’sintheway。"
　　Almayerseemeddoubtful。Iinsisted：
　　"Why，Iwilljustswinghimoutandlandhimonthewharfrightinfrontofyou。I’dmuchratherdoitbeforethehatchesareoff。Thelittledevilmayjumpdowntheholdordosomeotherdeadlything。"
　　"There’sahalter？"postulatedAlmayer。
　　"Yes，ofcoursethere’sahalter。"AndwithoutwaitinganymoreIleanedoverthebridgerail。
　　"Serang，landTuanAlmayer’spony。"
　　Thecookhastenedtoshutthedoorofthegalleyandamomentlateragreatscufflebeganondeck。Theponykickedwithextremeenergy，thekalashesskippedoutoftheway，theserangissuedmanyordersinacrackedvoice。Suddenlytheponyleapeduponthefore-hatch。Hislittlehoofsthunderedtremendously;heplungedandreared。Hehadtossedhismaneandhisforelockintoastateofamazingwildness，hedilatedhisnostrils，bitsoffoamfleckedhisbroadlittlechest，hiseyesblazed。Hewassomethingunderelevenhands;hewasfierce，terrible，angry，warlike，hesaidha！ha！distinctly，heragedandthumped——andsixteenable-bodiedkalashesstoodroundhimlikedisconcertednursesroundaspoiltandpassionatechild。Hewhiskedhistailincessantly;hearchedhisprettyneck;hewasperfectlydelightful;hewascharminglynaughty。Therewasnotanatomofviceinthatperformance;nosavagebaringofteethandlyingbackofears。Onthecontrary，heprickedthemforwardinacomicallyaggressivemanner。Hewastotallyunmoralandlovable;
　　Iwouldhavelikedtogivehimbread，sugar，carrots。Butlifeisasternthingandthesenseofdutytheonlysafeguide。SoI
　　steeledmyheartandfrommyelevatedpositiononthebridgeI
　　orderedthementoflingthemselvesuponhiminabody。
　　Theelderlyserang，emittingastrangeinarticulatecry，gavetheexample。Hewasanexcellentpettyofficer——verycompetentindeed，andamoderateopiumsmoker。Therestoftheminonegreatrushsmotheredthatpony。Theyhungontohisears，tohismane，tohistail;theylayinpilesacrosshisback，seventeeninall。Thecarpenter，seizingthehookofthecargo-chain，flunghimselfontopofthem。Averysatisfactorypettyofficertoo，buthestuttered。Haveyoueverheardalight-yellow，lean，sad，earnestChinamanstutterinpidgin-English？It’sveryweirdindeed。Hemadetheeighteenth。Icouldnotseetheponyatall;
　　butfromtheswayingandheavingofthatheapofmenIknewthattherewassomethingaliveinside。
　　FromthewharfAlmayerhailedinquaveringtones：
　　"Oh，Isay！"
　　Wherehestoodhecouldnotseewhatwasgoingonondeckunlessperhapsthetopsofthemen’sheads;hecouldonlyhearthescuffle，themightythuds，asiftheshipwerebeingknockedtopieces。Ilookedover："Whatisit？"
　　"Don’tletthembreakhislegs，"heentreatedmeplaintively。
　　"Oh，nonsense！He’sallrightnow。Hecan’tmove。"
　　Bythattimethecargo-chainhadbeenhookedtothebroadcanvasbeltroundthepony’sbody，thekalashessprangoffsimultaneouslyinalldirections，rollingovereachother，andtheworthyserang，makingadashbehindthewinch，turnedthesteamon。
　　"Steady！"Iyelled，ingreatapprehensionofseeingtheanimalsnatcheduptotheveryheadofthederrick。
　　OnthewharfAlmayershuffledhisstrawslippersuneasily。Therattleofthewinchstopped，andinatense，impressivesilencethatponybegantoswingacrossthedeck。
　　Howlimphewas！Directlyhefelthimselfintheairherelaxedeverymuscleinamostwonderfulmanner。Hisfourhoofsknockedtogetherinabunch，hisheadhungdown，andhistailremainedpendentinanervelessandabsoluteimmobility。HeremindedmevividlyofthepatheticlittlesheepwhichhangsonthecollaroftheOrderoftheGoldenFleece。Ihadnoideathatanythingintheshapeofahorsecouldbesolimpasthat，eitherlivingordead。Hiswildmanehungdownlumpily，ameremassofinanimatehorsehair;hisaggressiveearshadcollapsed，butashewentswayingslowlyacrossthefrontofthebridgeInoticedanastutegleaminhisdreamy，half-closedeye。Atrustworthyquartermaster，hisglanceanxiousandhismouthonthebroadgrin，waseasingoverthederrickwatchfully。Isuperintended，greatlyinterested。
　　"So！Thatwilldo。"
　　Thederrick-headstopped。Thekalasheslinedtherail。Theropeofthehalterhungperpendicularandmotionlesslikeabell-pullinfrontofAlmayer。Everythingwasverystill。Isuggestedamicablythatheshouldcatchholdoftheropeandmindwhathewasabout。Heextendedaprovokinglycasualandsuperiorhand。
　　"Lookoutthen！Loweraway！"
　　Almayergatheredintheropeintelligentlyenough，butwhenthepony’shoofstouchedthewharfhegavewayallatoncetoamostfoolishoptimism。Withoutpausing，withoutthinking，almostwithoutlooking，hedisengagedthehooksuddenlyfromthesling，andthecargo-chain，afterhittingthepony’squarters，swungbackagainsttheship’ssidewithanoisy，rattlingslap。I
　　supposeImusthaveblinked。IknowImissedsomething，becausethenextthingIsawwasAlmayerlyingflatonhisbackonthejetty。Hewasalone。
　　AstonishmentdeprivedmeofspeechlongenoughtogiveAlmayertimetopickhimselfupinaleisurelyandpainfulmanner。Thekalashesliningtherailhadalltheirmouthsopen。Themistflewinthelightbreeze，andithadcomeoverquitethickenoughtohidetheshorecompletely。
　　"Howonearthdidyoumanagetolethimgetaway？"Iaskedscandalised。
　　Almayerlookedintothesmartingpalmofhisrighthand，butdidnotanswermyinquiry。
　　"Wheredoyouthinkhewillgetto？"Icried。"Arethereanyfencesanywhereinthisfog？Canheboltintotheforest？
　　What’stobedonenow？"
　　Almayershruggedhisshoulders。
　　"Someofmymenaresuretobeabout。Theywillgetholdofhimsoonerorlater。"
　　"Soonerorlater！That’sallveryfine，butwhataboutmycanvassling——he’scarrieditoff。Iwantitnow，atonce，tolandtwoCelebescows。"
　　SinceDongolawehadonboardapairoftheprettylittleislandcattleinadditiontothepony。Tiedupontheothersideoftheforedecktheyhadbeenwhiskingtheirtailsintotheotherdoorofthegalley。ThesecowswerenotforAlmayer，however;theywereinvoicedtoAbdullahbinSelim，hisenemy。Almayer’sdisregardofmyrequisiteswascomplete。
　　"IfIwereyouIwouldtrytofindoutwherehe’sgone，"I
　　insisted。"Hadn’tyoubettercallyourmentogetherorsomething？Hewillthrowhimselfdownandcuthisknees。Hemayevenbreakaleg，youknow。"
　　ButAlmayer，plungedinabstractedthought，didnotseemtowantthatponyanymore。AmazedatthissuddenindifferenceIturnedallhandsoutonshoretohuntforhimonmyownaccount，or，atanyrate，tohuntforthecanvasslingwhichhehadroundhisbody。Thewholecrewofthesteamer，withtheexceptionoffiremenandengineers，rushedupthejettypastthethoughtfulAlmayerandvanishedfrommysight。Thewhitefogswallowedthemup;andagaintherewasadeepsilencethatseemedtoextendformilesupanddownthestream。Stilltaciturn，Almayerstartedtoclimbonboard，andIwentdownfromthebridgetomeethimontheafterdeck。
　　"WouldyoumindtellingthecaptainthatIwanttoseehimveryparticularly？"heaskedmeinalowtone，lettinghiseyesstrayallovertheplace。
　　"Verywell。Iwillgoandsee。"
　　WiththedoorofhiscabinwideopenCaptainC——，justbackfromthebathroom，bigandbroad-chested，wasbrushinghisthick，damp，iron-greyhairwithtwolargebrushes。
　　"Mr。Almayertoldmehewantedtoseeyouveryparticularly，sir。"
　　SayingthesewordsIsmiled。Idon’tknowwhyIsmiledexceptthatitseemedabsolutelyimpossibletomentionAlmayer’snamewithoutasmileofasort。Ithadnottobenecessarilyamirthfulsmile。TurninghisheadtowardsmeCaptainC——smiledtoo，ratherjoylessly。
　　"Theponygotawayfromhim——eh？"
　　"Yessir。Hedid。"
　　"Whereishe？"
　　"Goodnessonlyknows。"
　　"No。ImeanAlmayer。Lethimcomealong。"
　　Thecaptain’sstateroomopeningstraightondeckunderthebridge，IhadonlytobeckonfromthedoorwaytoAlmayer，whohadremainedaft，withdowncasteyes，ontheveryspotwhereIhadlefthim。Hestrolledupmoodily，shookhandsandatonceaskedpermissiontoshutthecabindoor。
　　"Ihaveaprettystorytotellyou，"werethelastwordsIheard。
　　Thebitternessoftonewasremarkable。
　　Iwentawayfromthedoor，ofcourse。ForthemomentIhadnocrewonboard;onlytheChinamancarpenter，withacanvasbaghungroundhisneckandahammerinhishand，roamedabouttheemptydecksknockingoutthewedgesofthehatchesanddroppingthemintothebagconscientiously。HavingnothingtodoIjoinedourtwoengineersatthedooroftheengine-room。Itwasnearbreakfasttime。
　　"He’sturnedupearly，hasn’the？"commentedthesecondengineer，andsmiledindifferently。Hewasanabstemiousmanwithagooddigestionandaplacid，reasonableviewoflifeevenwhenhungry。
　　"Yes，"Isaid。"Shutupwiththeoldman。Someveryparticularbusiness。"
　　"Hewillspinhimadamnedendlessyarn，"observedthechiefengineer。
　　Hesmiledrathersourly。Hewasdyspepticandsufferedfromgnawinghungerinthemorning。Thesecondsmiledbroadly，asmilethatmadetwoverticalfoldsonhisshavencheeks。AndI
　　smiledtoo，butIwasnotexactlyamused。Inthatman，whosenameapparentlycouldnotbeutteredanywhereintheMalayArchipelagowithoutasmile，therewasnothingamusingwhatever。
　　Thatmorninghebreakfastedwithussilently，lookingmostlyintohiscup。Iinformedhimthatmymencameuponhisponycaperinginthefogontheverybrinkoftheeight-foot-deepwellinwhichhekepthisstoreofguttah。Thecoverwasoffwithnoonenearby，andthewholeofmycrewjustmissedgoingheelsoverheadintothatbeastlyhole。JurumudiItam，ourbestquartermaster，deftatfineneedlework，hewhomendedtheship’sflagsandsewedbuttonsonourcoats，wasdisabledbyakickontheshoulder。
　　BothremorseandgratitudeseemedforeigntoAlmayer’scharacter。
　　Hemumbled：
　　"Doyoumeanthatpiratefellow？"
　　"Whatpiratefellow？Themanhasbeenintheshipelevenyears，"
　　Isaidindignantly。
　　"It’shislooks，"Almayermutteredforallapology。
　　Thesunhadeatenupthefog。FromwherewesatundertheafterawningwecouldseeinthedistancetheponytiedupinfrontofAlmayer’shouse，toapostoftheverandah。Weweresilentforalongtime。AllatonceAlmayer，alludingevidentlytothesubjectofhisconversationinthecaptain’scabin，exclaimedanxiouslyacrossthetable：
　　"Ireallydon’tknowwhatIcandonow！"
　　CaptainC——onlyraisedhiseyebrowsathim，andgotupfromhischair。Wedispersedtoourduties，butAlmayer，halfdressedashewasinhiscretonnepyjamasandthethincottonsinglet，remainedonboard，lingeringnearthegangwayasthoughhecouldnotmakeuphismindwhethertogohomeorstaywithusforgood。
　　OurChinamenboysgavehimsideglancesastheywenttoandfro;
　　andAhSing，ouryoungchiefsteward，thehandsomestandmostsympatheticofChinamen，catchingmyeye，noddedknowinglyathisburlyback。InthecourseofthemorningIapproachedhimforamoment。
　　"Well，Mr。Almayer，"Iaddressedhimeasily，"youhaven’tstartedonyourlettersyet。"
　　Wehadbroughthimhismailandhehadheldthebundleinhishandeversincewegotupfrombreakfast。HeglancedatitwhenIspokeand，foramoment，itlookedasifhewereonthepointofopeninghisfingersandlettingthewholelotfalloverboard。
　　Ibelievehewastemptedtodoso。Ishallneverforgetthatmanafraidofhisletters。
　　"HaveyoubeenlongoutfromEurope？"heaskedme。
　　"Notvery。Notquiteeightmonths，"Itoldhim。"IleftashipinSamarangwithahurtbackandhavebeeninthehospitalinSingaporesomeweeks。"
　　Hesighed。
　　"Tradeisverybadhere。"
　　"Indeed！"
　　"Hopeless！……Seethesegeese？"
　　Withthehandholdingthelettershepointedouttomewhatresembledapatchofsnowcreepingandswayingacrossthedistantpartofhiscompound。Itdisappearedbehindsomebushes。
　　"TheonlygeeseontheEastCoast，"Almayerinformedmeinaperfunctorymutterwithoutasparkoffaith，hopeorpride。
　　Thereupon，withthesameabsenceofanysortofsustainingspirithedeclaredhisintentiontosilenceafatbirdandsendhimonboardforusnotlaterthannextday。
　　Ihadheardoftheselargessesbefore。HeconferredagooseasifitwereasortofCourtdecorationgivenonlytothetriedfriendsofthehouse。Ihadexpectedmorepompintheceremony。
　　Thegifthadsurelyitsspecialquality，multipleandrare。FromtheonlyflockontheEastCoast！Hedidnotmakehalfenoughofit。Thatmandidnotunderstandhisopportunities。However，I
　　thankedhimatsomelength。
　　"Yousee，"heinterruptedabruptlyinaverypeculiartone，"theworstofthiscountryisthatoneisnotabletorealise……it’simpossibletorealise……"Hisvoicesankintoalanguidmutter。"Andwhenonehasverylargeinterests……veryimportantinterests……"hefinishedfaintly……"uptheriver。"
　　Welookedateachother。Heastonishedmebygivingastartandmakingaveryqueergrimace。
　　"Well，Imustbeoff，"heburstouthurriedly。"Solong！"
　　Atthemomentofsteppingoverthegangwayhecheckedhimselfthough，togivemeamumbledinvitationtodineathishousethateveningwithmycaptain，aninvitationwhichIaccepted。Idon’tthinkitcouldhavebeenpossibleformetorefuse。
　　Iliketheworthyfolkwhowilltalktoyouoftheexerciseoffreewill"atanyrateforpracticalpurposes。"Free，isit？
　　Forpracticalpurposes！Bosh！HowcouldIhaverefusedtodinewiththatman？IdidnotrefusesimplybecauseIcouldnotrefuse。Curiosity，ahealthydesireforachangeofcooking，commoncivility，thetalkandthesmilesoftheprevioustwentydays，everyconditionofmyexistenceatthatmomentandplacemadeirresistiblyforacceptance;and，crowningallthat，therewastheignorance，theignorance，Isay，thefatalwantofforeknowledgetocounter-balancetheseimperativeconditionsoftheproblem。Arefusalwouldhaveappearedperverseandinsane。
　　Nobodyunlessasurlylunaticwouldhaverefused。ButifIhadnotgottoknowAlmayerprettywellitisalmostcertaintherewouldneverhavebeenalineofmineinprint。
　　Iacceptedthen——andIampayingyetthepriceofmysanity。ThepossessoroftheonlyflockofgeeseontheEastCoastisresponsiblefortheexistenceofsomefourteenvolumes，sofar。
　　Thenumberofgeesehehadcalledintobeingunderadverseclimaticconditionswasconsiderablymorethanfourteen。Thetaleofvolumeswillneverovertakethecountingofheads，Iamsafetosay;butmyambitionspointnotexactlythatway，andwhateverthepangsthetoilofwritinghascostmeIhavealwaysthoughtkindlyofAlmayer。
　　Iwonder，hadheknownanythingofit，whathisattitudewouldhavebeen？Thisissomethingnottobediscoveredinthisworld。
　　ButifweevermeetintheElysianFields——whereIcannotdepicthimtomyselfotherwisethanattendedinthedistancebyhisflockofgeese（birdssacredtoJupiter）——andheaddressesmeinthestillnessofthatpassionlessregion，neitherlightnordarkness，neithersoundnorsilence，andheavingendlesslywithbillowymistsfromtheimpalpablemultitudesoftheswarmingdead，IthinkIknowwhatanswertomake。
　　Iwouldsay，afterlisteningcourteouslytotheunvibratingtoneofhismeasuredremonstrances，whichshouldnotdisturb，ofcourse，thesolemneternityofstillnessintheleast——Iwouldsaysomethinglikethis：
　　"Itistrue，Almayer，thatintheworldbelowIhaveconvertedyournametomyownuses。Butthatisaverysmalllarceny。
　　What’sinaname，OShade？Ifsomuchofyouroldmortalweaknessclingstoyouyetastomakeyoufeelaggrieved（itwasthenoteofyourearthlyvoice，Almayer），then，Ientreatyou，seekspeechwithoutdelaywithoursublimefellow-Shade——withhimwho，inhistransientexistenceasapoet，commenteduponthesmelloftherose。Hewillcomfortyou。Youcametomestrippedofallprestigebymen’squeersmilesandthedisrespectfulchatterofeveryvagranttraderintheIslands。Yournamewasthecommonpropertyofthewinds：it，asitwere，floatednakedoverthewatersabouttheEquator。Iwrappedrounditsunhonouredformtheroyalmantleofthetropicsandhaveessayedtoputintothehollowsoundtheveryanguishofpaternity——featswhichyoudidnotdemandfromme——butrememberthatallthetoilandallthepainweremine。Inyourearthlylifeyouhauntedme，Almayer。Considerthatthiswastakingagreatliberty。Sinceyouwerealwayscomplainingofbeinglosttotheworld，youshouldrememberthatifIhadnotbelievedenoughinyourexistencetoletyouhauntmyroomsinBessboroughGardens，youwouldhavebeenmuchmorelost。YouaffirmthathadIbeencapableoflookingatyouwithamoreperfectdetachmentandagreatersimplicity，Imighthaveperceivedbettertheinwardmarvellousnesswhich，youinsist，attendedyourcareeruponthattinypin-pointoflight，hardlyvisiblefar，farbelowus，wherebothourgraveslie。Nodoubt！Butreflect，OcomplainingShade！thatthiswasnotsomuchmyfaultasyourcrowningmisfortune。Ibelievedinyouintheonlywayitwaspossibleformetobelieve。Itwasnotworthyofyourmerits？Sobeit。
　　Butyouwerealwaysanunluckyman，Almayer。Nothingwaseverquiteworthyofyou。Whatmadeyousorealtomewasthatyouheldthisloftytheorywithsomeforceofconvictionandwithanadmirableconsistency。"
　　ItiswithsomesuchwordstranslatedintothepropershadowyexpressionsthatIampreparedtoplacateAlmayerintheElysianAbodeofShades，sinceithascometopassthathavingpartedmanyyearsago，wearenevertomeetagaininthisworld。
　　ChapterV。
　　Inthecareerofthemostunliteraryofwriters，inthesensethatliteraryambitionhadneverenteredtheworldofhisimagination，thecomingintoexistenceofthefirstbookisquiteaninexplicableevent。InmyowncaseIcannottraceitbacktoanymentalorpsychologicalcausewhichonecouldpointoutandholdto。Thegreatestofmygiftsbeingaconsummatecapacityfordoingnothing，Icannotevenpointtoboredomasarationalstimulusfortakingupapen。Thepenatanyratewasthere，andthereisnothingwonderfulinthat。Everybodykeepsapen（thecoldsteelofourdays）inhisroomsinthisenlightenedageofpennystampsandhalfpennypostcards。Infact，thiswastheepochwhenbymeansofpostcardandpenMr。Gladstonehadmadethereputationofanovelortwo。AndItoohadapenrollingaboutsomewhere——theseldom-used，thereluctantly-taken-uppenofasailorashore，thepenruggedwiththedriedinkofabandonedattempts，ofanswersdelayedlongerthandecencypermitted，oflettersbegunwithinfinitereluctanceandputoffsuddenlytillnextday——tellnextweekaslikelyasnot！Theneglected，uncared-forpen，flungawayattheslightestprovocation，andunderthestressofdirenecessityhuntedforwithoutenthusiasm，inaperfunctory，grumpyworry，inthe"Wherethedevilisthebeastlythinggoneto？"ungraciousspirit。Whereindeed！Itmighthavebeenreposingbehindthesofaforadayorso。Mylandlady’sanaemicdaughter（asOllendorffwouldhaveexpressedit），thoughcommendablyneat，hadalordly，carelessmannerofapproachingherdomesticduties。Oritmightevenberestingdelicatelypoisedonitspointbythesideofthetable-leg，andwhenpickedupshowagaping，inefficientbeakwhichwouldhavediscouragedanymanofliteraryinstincts。Butnotme！"Nevermind。Thiswilldo。"
　　Odayswithoutguile！Ifanybodyhadtoldmethenthatadevotedhousehold，havingagenerallyexaggeratedideaofmytalentsandimportance，wouldbeputintoastateoftremorandflurrybythefussIwouldmakebecauseofasuspicionthatsomebodyhadtouchedmysacrosanctpenofauthorship，Iwouldhaveneverdeignedasmuchasthecontemptuoussmileofunbelief。Thereareimaginingstoounlikelyforanykindofnotice，toowildforindulgenceitself，tooabsurdforasmile。Perhaps，hadthatseerofthefuturebeenafriend，Ishouldhavebeensecretlysaddened。"Alas！"Iwouldhavethought，lookingathimwithanunmovedface，"thepoorfellowisgoingmad。"
　　Iwouldhavebeen，withoutdoubt，saddened;forinthisworldwherethejournalistsreadthesignsofthesky，andthewindofheavenitself，blowingwhereitlisteth，doessounderthepropheticalmanagementoftheMeteorologicalOffice，butwherethesecretofhumanheartscannotbecapturedeitherbypryingorpraying，itwasinfinitelymorelikelythatthesanestofmyfriendsshouldnursethegermofincipientmadnessthanthatI
　　shouldturnintoawriteroftales。
　　Tosurveywithwonderthechangesofone’sownselfisafascinatingpursuitforidlehours。Thefieldissowide，thesurprisessovaried，thesubjectsofullofunprofitablebutcurioushintsastotheworkofunseenforces，thatonedoesnotwearyeasilyofit。Iamnotspeakinghereofmegalomaniacswhorestuneasyunderthecrownoftheirunboundedconceit——whoreallyneverrestinthisworld，andwhenoutofitgoonfrettingandfumingonthestraitenedcircumstancesoftheirlasthabitation，whereallmenmustlieinobscureequality。NeitheramIthinkingofthoseambitiousmindswho，alwayslookingforwardtosomeaimofaggrandisement，cansparenotimeforadetached，impersonalglanceuponthemselves。
　　Andthat’sapity。Theyareunlucky。Thesetwokinds，togetherwiththemuchlargerbandofthetotallyunimaginative，ofthoseunfortunatebeingsinwhoseemptyandunseeinggaze（asagreatFrenchwriterhasputit）"thewholeuniversevanishesintoblanknothingness，"miss，perhaps，thetruetaskofusmenwhosedayisshortonthisearth，theabodeofconflictingopinions。Theethicalviewoftheuniverseinvolvesusatlastinsomanycruelandabsurdcontradictions，wherethelastvestigesoffaith，hope，charity，andevenofreasonitself，seemreadytoperish，thatIhavecometosuspectthattheaimofcreationcannotbeethicalatall。Iwouldfondlybelievethatitsobjectispurelyspectacular：aspectacleforawe，love，adoration，orhate，ifyoulike，butinthisview——andinthisviewalone——neverfordespair！Thosevisions，deliciousorpoignant，areamoralendinthemselves。Therestisouraffair——thelaughter，thetears，thetenderness，theindignation，thehightranquillityofasteeledheart，thedetachedcuriosityofasubtlemind——that’souraffair！Andtheunweariedself-forgetfulattentiontoeveryphaseofthelivinguniversereflectedinourconsciousnessmaybeourappointedtaskonthisearth。Ataskinwhichfatehasperhapsengagednothingofusexceptourconscience，giftedwithavoiceinordertobeartruetestimonytothevisiblewonder，thehauntingterror，theinfinitepassionandtheillimitableserenity;tothesupremelawandtheabidingmysteryofthesublimespectacle。
　　Chilosa？Itmaybetrue。Inthisviewthereisroomforeveryreligionexceptfortheinvertedcreedofimpiety，themaskandcloakofariddespair;foreveryjoyandeverysorrow，foreveryfairdream，foreverycharitablehope。Thegreataimistoremaintruetotheemotionscalledoutofthedeepencircledbythefirmamentofstars，whoseinfinitenumbersandawfuldistancesmaymoveustolaughterortears（wasittheWalrusortheCarpenter，inthepoem，who"wepttoseesuchquantitiesofsand"？），or，again，toaproperlysteeledheart，maymatternothingatall。
　　Thecasualquotation，whichhadsuggesteditselfoutofapoemfullofmerit，leadsmetoremarkthatintheconceptionofapurelyspectacularuniverse，whereinspirationofeverysorthasarationalexistence，theartistofeverykindfindsanaturalplace;andamongstthemthepoetastheseerparexcellence。
　　Eventhewriterofprose，whoinhislessnobleandmoretoilsometaskshouldbeamanwiththesteeledheart，isworthyofaplace，providinghelooksonwithundimmedeyesandkeepslaughteroutofhisvoice，letwhowilllaughorcry。Yes！Evenhe，theproseartistoffiction，whichafterallisbuttruthoftendraggedoutofawellandclothedinthepaintedrobeofimagedphrases——evenhehashisplaceamongstkings，demagogues，priests，charlatans，dukes，giraffes，CabinetMinisters，Fabians，bricklayers，apostles，ants，scientists，Kaffirs，soldiers，sailors，elephants，lawyers，dandies，microbesandconstellationsofauniversewhoseamazingspectacleisamoralendinitself。
　　HereIperceive（speakingwithoutoffence）thereaderassumingasubtleexpression，asifthecatwereoutofthebag。Itakethenovelist’sfreedomtoobservethereader’smindformulatingtheexclamation，"That’sit！Thefellowtalksprodomo。"
　　Indeeditwasnottheintention！WhenIshoulderedthebagIwasnotawareofthecatinside。But，afterall，whynot？ThefaircourtyardsoftheHouseofArtarethrongedbymanyhumbleretainers。Andthereisnoretainersodevotedashewhoisallowedtositonthedoorstep。Thefellowswhohavegotinsideareapttothinktoomuchofthemselves。Thislastremark，Ibegtostate，isnotmaliciouswithinthedefinitionofthelawoflibel。It’sfaircommentonamatterofpublicinterest。Butnevermind。Prodomo。Sobeit。Forhishousetantquevousvoudrez。AndyetintruthIwasbynomeansanxioustojustifymyexistence。Theattemptwouldhavebeennotonlyneedlessandabsurd，butalmostinconceivable，inapurelyspectacularuniverse，wherenosuchdisagreeablenecessitycanpossiblyarise。Itissufficientformetosay（andIamsayingitatsomelengthinthesepages）："J’aivecu。"Ihaveexisted，obscureamongstthewondersandterrorsofmytime，astheAbbeSieyes，theoriginaluttererofthequotedwords，hadmanagedtoexistthroughtheviolences，thecrimes，andtheenthusiasmsoftheFrenchRevolution。"J’aivecu"，asIapprehendmostofusmanagetoexist，missingallalongthevariedformsofdestructionbyahair’s-breadth，savingmybody，that’sclear，andperhapsmysoulalso，butnotwithoutsomedamagehereandtheretothefineedgeofmyconscience，thatheirloomoftheages，oftherace，ofthegroup，ofthefamily，colourableandplastic，fashionedbythewords，thelooks，theacts，andevenbythesilencesandabstentionssurroundingone’schildhood;tingedinacompleteschemeofdelicateshadesandcrudecoloursbytheinheritedtraditions，beliefs，orprejudices——unaccountable，despotic，persuasive，andoften，initstexture，romantic。
　　Andoftenromantic！……Thematterinhand，however，istokeepthesereminiscencesfromturningintoconfessions，aformofliteraryactivitydiscreditedbyJeanJacquesRousseauonaccountoftheextremethoroughnesshebroughttotheworkofjustifyinghisownexistence;forthatsuchwashispurposeispalpably，evengrossly，visibletoanunprejudicedeye。Butthen，yousee，themanwasnotawriteroffiction。Hewasanartlessmoralist，asisclearlydemonstratedbyhisanniversariesbeingcelebratedwithmarkedemphasisbytheheirsoftheFrenchRevolution，whichwasnotapoliticalmovementatall，butagreatoutburstofmorality。Hehadnoimagination，asthemostcasualperusalof"Emile"willprove。Hewasnonovelist，whosefirstvirtueistheexactunderstandingofthelimitstracedbytherealityofhistimetotheplayofhisinvention。Inspirationcomesfromtheearth，whichhasapast，ahistory，afuture，notfromthecoldandimmutableheaven。Awriterofimaginativeprose（evenmorethananyothersortofartist）standsconfessedinhisworks。Hisconscience，hisdeepersenseofthings，lawfulandunlawful，giveshimhisattitudebeforetheworld。Indeed，everyonewhoputspentopaperforthereadingofstrangers（unlessamoralist，who，generallyspeaking，hasnoconscienceexcepttheoneheisatpainstoproducefortheuseofothers）canspeakofnothingelse。ItisM。AnatoleFrance，themosteloquentandjustofFrenchprosewriters，whosaysthatwemustrecogniseatlastthat，"failingtheresolutiontoholdourpeace，wecanonlytalkofourselves。"
　　Thisremark，ifIrememberrightly，wasmadeinthecourseofasparringmatchwiththelateFerdinandBrunetiereovertheprinciplesandrulesofliterarycriticism。Aswasfittingforamantowhomweowethememorablesaying，"Thegoodcriticishewhorelatestheadventuresofhissoulamongstmasterpieces，"M。
　　AnatoleFrancemaintainedthattherewerenorulesandnoprinciples。Andthatmaybeverytrue。Rules，principlesandstandardsdieandvanisheveryday。Perhapstheyarealldeadandvanishedbythistime。These，ifever，arethebrave，freedaysofdestroyedlandmarks，whiletheingeniousmindsarebusyinventingtheformsofthenewbeaconswhich，itisconsolingtothink，willbesetuppresentlyintheoldplaces。Butwhatisinterestingtoawriteristhepossessionofaninwardcertitudethatliterarycriticismwillneverdie，forman（sovariouslydefined）is，beforeeverythingelse，acriticalanimal。And，aslongasdistinguishedmindsarereadytotreatitinthespiritofhighadventure，literarycriticismshallappealtouswithallthecharmandwisdomofawell-toldtaleofpersonalexperience。
　　ForEnglishmenespecially，ofalltheracesoftheearth，atask，anytask，undertakeninanadventurousspiritacquiresthemeritofromance。Butthecriticsasaruleexhibitbutlittleofanadventurousspirit。Theytakerisks，ofcourse——onecanhardlylivewithoutthat。Thedailybreadisservedouttous（howeversparingly）withapinchofsalt。Otherwiseonewouldgetsickofthedietonepraysfor，andthatwouldbenotonlyimproper，butimpious。Fromimpietyofthatoranyotherkind——saveus！Anidealofreservedmanner，adheredtofromasenseofproprieties，fromshyness，perhaps，orcaution，orsimplyfromweariness，induces，Isuspect，somewritersofcriticismtoconcealtheadventuroussideoftheircalling，andthenthecriticismbecomesamere"notice，"asitweretherelationofajourneywherenothingbutthedistancesandthegeologyofanewcountryshouldbesetdown;theglimpsesofstrangebeasts，thedangersoffloodandfield，thehair’s-breadthescapes，andthesufferings（oh，thesufferingstoo！Ihavenodoubtofthesufferings）ofthetravellerbeingcarefullykeptout;noshadyspot，nofruitfulplantbeingevermentionedeither;sothatthewholeperformancelookslikeamerefeatofagilityonthepartofatrainedpenrunninginadesert。Acruelspectacle——amostdeplorableadventure。"Life，"inthewordsofanimmortalthinkerof，I
　　shouldsay，bucolicorigin，butwhoseperishablenameislosttotheworshipofposterity——"lifeisnotallbeerandskittles。"
　　Neitheristhewritingofnovels。Itisn’treally。Jevousdonnemaparoled’honneurthatit——is——not。Notall。Iamthusemphaticbecausesomeyearsago，Iremember，thedaughterofageneral……
　　Suddenrevelationsoftheprofaneworldmusthavecomenowandthentohermitsintheircells，tothecloisteredmonksofMiddleAges，tolonelysages，menofscience，reformers;therevelationsoftheworld’ssuperficialjudgment，shockingtothesoulsconcentratedupontheirownbitterlabourinthecauseofsanctity，orofknowledge，oroftemperance，letussay，orofart，ifonlytheartofcrackingjokesorplayingtheflute。Andthusthisgeneral’sdaughtercametome——orIshouldsayoneofthegeneral’sdaughtersdid。Therewerethreeofthesebachelorladies，ofnicelygraduatedages，whoheldaneighbouringfarmhouseinaunitedandmoreorlessmilitaryoccupation。Theeldestwarredagainstthedecayofmannersinthevillagechildren，andexecutedfrontalattacksuponthevillagemothersfortheconquestofcurtseys。Itsoundsfutile，butitwasreallyawarforanidea。Thesecondskirmishedandscoutedalloverthecountry;anditwasthatonewhopushedareconnaissancerighttomyverytable——Imeantheonewhoworestand-upcollars。
　　Shewasreallycallinguponmywifeinthesoftspiritofafternoonfriendliness，butwithherusualmartialdetermination。
　　Shemarchedintomyroomswingingherstick……butno——Imustn’texaggerate。Itisnotmyspeciality。Iamnotahumoristicwriter。Inallsoberness，then，allIamcertainofisthatshehadasticktoswing。
　　Noditchorwallencompassedmyabode。Thewindowwasopen;thedoortoostoodopentothatbestfriendofmywork，thewarm，stillsunshineofthewidefields。Theylayaroundmeinfinitelyhelpful，buttruthtosayIhadnotknownforweekswhetherthesunshoneupontheearthandwhetherthestarsabovestillmovedontheirappointedcourses。Iwasjustthengivingupsomedaysofmyallottedspantothelastchaptersofthenovel"Nostromo，"
　　ataleofanimaginary（buttrue）seaboard，whichisstillmentionednowandagain，andindeedkindly，sometimesinconnectionwiththeword"failure"andsometimesinconjunctionwiththeword"astonishing。"Ihavenoopiniononthisdiscrepancy。It’sthesortofdifferencethatcanneverbesettled。AllIknowisthat，fortwentymonths，neglectingthecommonjoysoflifethatfalltothelotofthehumblestonthisearth，Ihad，liketheprophetofold，"wrestledwiththeLord"
　　formycreation，fortheheadlandsofthecoast，forthedarknessofthePlacidGulf，thelightonthesnows，thecloudsonthesky，andforthebreathoflifethathadtobeblownintotheshapesofmenandwomen，ofLatinandSaxon，ofJewandGentile。
　　Theseare，perhaps，strongwords，butitisdifficulttocharacteriseotherwisetheintimacyandthestrainofacreativeeffortinwhichmindandwillandconscienceareengagedtothefull，hourafterhour，dayafterday，awayfromtheworld，andtotheexclusionofallthatmakeslifereallylovableandgentle——
　　somethingforwhichamaterialparallelcanonlybefoundintheeverlastingsombrestressofthewestwardwinterpassageroundCapeHorn。ForthattooisthewrestlingofmenwiththemightoftheirCreator，inagreatisolationfromtheworld，withouttheamenitiesandconsolationsoflife，alonelystruggleunderasenseofover-matchedlittleness，fornorewardthatcouldbeadequate，butforthemerewinningofalongitude。Yetacertainlongitude，oncewon，cannotbedisputed。Thesunandthestarsandtheshapeofyoureartharethewitnessesofyourgain;
　　whereasahandfulofpages，nomatterhowmuchyouhavemadethemyourown，areatbestbutanobscureandquestionablespoil。
　　Heretheyare。"Failure"——"Astonishing"：takeyourchoice;orperhapsboth，orneither——amererustleandflutterofpiecesofpapersettlingdowninthenight，andundistinguishable，likethesnowflakesofagreatdriftdestinedtomeltawayinthesunshine。
　　"Howdoyoudo？"
　　Itwasthegreetingofthegeneral’sdaughter。Ihadheardnothing——norustle，nofootsteps。Ihadfeltonlyamomentbeforeasortofpremonitionofevil;Ihadthesenseofaninauspiciouspresence——justthatmuchwarningandnomore;andthencamethesoundofthevoiceandthejarasofaterriblefallfromagreatheight——afall，letussay，fromthehighestofthecloudsfloatingingentleprocessionoverthefieldsinthefaintwesterlyairofthatJulyafternoon。Ipickedmyselfupquickly，ofcourse;inotherwords，Ijumpedupfrommychairstunnedanddazed，everynervequiveringwiththepainofbeinguprootedoutofoneworldandflungdownintoanother——perfectlycivil。
　　"Oh！Howdoyoudo？Won’tyousitdown？"
　　That’swhatIsaid。Thishorriblebut，Iassureyou，perfectlytruereminiscencetellsyoumorethanawholevolumeofconfessionsalaJeanJacquesRousseauwoulddo。Observe！I
　　didn’thowlather，orstartupsettingfurniture，orthrowmyselfonthefloorandkick，orallowmyselftohintinanyotherwayattheappallingmagnitudeofthedisaster。ThewholeworldofCostaguana（thecountry，youmayremember，ofmyseaboardtale），men，women，headlands，houses，mountains，town，campo（therewasnotasinglebrick，stone，orgrainofsandofitssoilIhadnotplacedinpositionwithmyownhands）;allthehistory，geography，politics，finance;thewealthofCharlesGould’ssilver-mine，andthesplendourofthemagnificentCapatazdeCargadores，whosename，criedoutinthenight（Dr。Monyghamhearditpassoverhishead——inLindaViola’svoice），dominatedevenafterdeaththedarkgulfcontaininghisconquestsoftreasureandlove——allthathadcomedowncrashingaboutmyears。
　　IfeltIcouldneverpickupthepieces——andinthatverymomentIwassaying，"Won’tyousitdown？"
　　Theseaisstrongmedicine。Beholdwhatthequarter-decktrainingeveninamerchantshipwilldo！ThisepisodeshouldgiveyouanewviewoftheEnglishandScotsseamen（amuch-
　　caricaturedfolk）whohadthelastsayintheformationofmycharacter。Oneisnothingifnotmodest，butinthisdisasterI
　　thinkIhavedonesomehonourtotheirsimpleteaching。"Won’tyousitdown？"Veryfair;veryfairindeed。Shesatdown。Heramusedglancestrayedallovertheroom。TherewerepagesofMS。
　　onthetableandunderthetable，abatchoftypedcopyonachair，singleleaveshadflutteredawayintodistantcorners;
　　thereweretherelivingpages，pagesscoredandwounded，deadpagesthatwouldbeburntattheendoftheday——thelitterofacruelbattlefield，ofalong，longanddesperatefray。Long！I
　　supposeIwenttobedsometimes，andgotupthesamenumberoftimes。Yes，IsupposeIslept，andatethefoodputbeforeme，andtalkedconnectedlytomyhouseholdonsuitableoccasions。
　　ButIhadneverbeenawareoftheevenflowofdailylife，madeeasyandnoiselessformebyasilent，watchful，tirelessaffection。Indeed，itseemedtomethatIhadbeensittingatthattablesurroundedbythelitterofadesperatefrayfordaysandnightsonend。Itseemedso，becauseoftheintensewearinessofwhichthatinterruptionhadmademeaware——theawfuldisenchantmentofamindrealisingsuddenlythefutilityofanenormoustask，joinedtoabodilyfatiguesuchasnoordinaryamountoffairlyheavyphysicallabourcouldeveraccountfor。I
　　havecarriedbagsofwheatonmyback，bentalmostdoubleunderaship’sdeck-beams，fromsixinthemorningtillsixintheevening（withanhourandahalfoffformeals），soIoughttoknow。
　　AndIloveletters。Iamjealousoftheirhonourandconcernedforthedignityandcomelinessoftheirservice。Iwas，mostlikely，theonlywriterthatneatladyhadevercaughtintheexerciseofhiscraft，anditdistressedmenottobeabletorememberwhenitwasthatIdressedmyselflast，andhow。Nodoubtthatwouldbeallrightinessentials。Thefortuneofthehouseincludedapairofgrey-bluewatchfuleyesthatwouldseetothat。ButIfeltsomehowasgrimyasaCostaguanaleperoafteraday’sfightinginthestreets，rumpledalloveranddishevelleddowntomyveryheels。AndIamafraidIblinkedstupidly。Allthiswasbadforthehonouroflettersandthedignityoftheirservice。Seenindistinctlythroughthedustofmycollapseduniverse，thegoodladyglancedabouttheroomwithaslightlyamusedserenity。Andshewassmiling。Whatonearthwasshesmilingat？Sheremarkedcasually：
　　"IamafraidIinterruptedyou。"
　　"Notatall。"
　　Sheacceptedthedenialinperfectgoodfaith。Anditwasstrictlytrue。Interrupted——indeed！Shehadrobbedmeofatleasttwentylives，eachinfinitelymorepoignantandrealthanherown，becauseinformedwithpassion，possessedofconvictions，involvedingreataffairscreatedoutofmyownsubstanceforananxiouslymeditatedend。
　　Sheremainedsilentforawhile，thensaidwithalastglanceallroundatthelitterofthefray：
　　"Andyousitlikethisherewritingyour——your……"
　　"I——what？Oh，yes，Isithereallday。"
　　"Itmustbeperfectlydelightful。"
　　Isupposethat，beingnolongerveryyoung，Imighthavebeenonthevergeofhavingastroke;butshehadleftherdogintheporch，andmyboy’sdog，patrollingthefieldinfront，hadespiedhimfromafar。Hecameonstraightandswiftlikeacannon-ball，andthenoiseofthefight，whichburstsuddenlyuponourears，wasmorethanenoughtoscareawayafitofapoplexy。Wewentouthastilyandseparatedthegallantanimals。
　　AfterwardsItoldtheladywhereshewouldfindmywife——justroundthecorner，underthetrees。Shenoddedandwentoffwithherdog，leavingmeappalledbeforethedeathanddevastationshehadlightlymade——andwiththeawfullyinstructivesoundoftheword"delightful"lingeringinmyears。
　　Nevertheless，lateron，Idulyescortedhertothefieldgate。I
　　wantedtobecivil，ofcourse（whataretwentylivesinamerenovelthatoneshouldberudetoaladyontheiraccount？），butmainly，toadoptthegoodsoundOllendorffianstyle，becauseI
　　didnotwantthedogofthegeneral’sdaughtertofightagain（encore）withthefaithfuldogofmyinfantson（monpetitgarcon）。——WasIafraidthatthedogofthegeneral’sdaughterwouldbeabletoovercome（vaincre）thedogofmychild？——No，I
　　wasnotafraid……ButawaywiththeOllendorffmethod。HoweverappropriateandseeminglyunavoidablewhenItouchuponanythingappertainingtothelady，itismostunsuitabletotheorigin，characterandhistoryofthedog;forthedogwasthegifttothechildfromamanforwhomwordshadanythingbutanOllendorffianvalue，amanalmostchildlikeintheimpulsivemovementsofhisuntutoredgenius，themostsingle-mindedofverbalimpressionists，usinghisgreatgiftsofstraightfeelingandrightexpressionwithafinesincerityandastrongif，perhaps，notfullyconsciousconviction。Hisartdidnotobtain，Ifear，allthecredititsunsophisticatedinspirationdeserved。IamalludingtothelateStephenCrane，theauthorof"TheRedBadgeofCourage，"aworkofimaginationwhichfounditsshortmomentofcelebrityinthelastdecadeofthedepartedcentury。Otherbooksfollowed。Notmany。Hehadnotthetime。Itwasanindividualandcompletetalent，whichobtainedbutagrudging，somewhatsuperciliousrecognitionfromtheworldatlarge。Forhimselfonehesitatestoregrethisearlydeath。Likeoneofthemeninhis"OpenBoat，"onefeltthathewasofthosewhomfateseldomallowstomakeasafelandingaftermuchtoilandbitternessattheoar。Iconfesstoanabidingaffectionforthatenergetic，slight，fragile，intenselylivingandtransientfigure。Helikedmeevenbeforewemetonthestrengthofapageortwoofmywriting，andafterwehadmetIamgladtothinkhelikedmestill。Heusedtopointouttomewithgreatearnestness，andevenwithsomeseverity，that"aboyoughttohaveadog。"Isuspectthathewasshockedatmyneglectofparentalduties。Ultimatelyitwashewhoprovidedthedog。
　　Shortlyafterwards，oneday，afterplayingwiththechildontherugforanhourorsowiththemostintenseabsorption，heraisedhisheadanddeclaredfirmly："Ishallteachyourboytoride。"
　　Thatwasnottobe。Hewasnotgiventhetime。
　　Buthereisthedog——anolddognow。Broadandlowonhisbandypaws，withablackheadonawhitebodyandaridiculousblackspotattheotherendofhim，heprovokes，whenhewalksabroad，smilesnotaltogetherunkind。Grotesqueandengaginginthewholeofhisappearance，hisusualattitudesaremeek，buthistemperamentdisclosesitselfunexpectedlypugnaciousinthepresenceofhiskind。Asheliesinthefirelight，hisheadwellup，andafixed，far-awaygazedirectedattheshadowsoftheroom，heachievesastrikingnobilityofposeinthecalmconsciousnessofanunstainedlife。Hehasbroughtuponebaby，andnow，afterseeinghisfirstchargeofftoschool，heisbringingupanotherwiththesameconscientiousdevotion，butwithamoredeliberategravityofmanner，thesignofgreaterwisdomandriperexperience，butalsoofrheumatism，Ifear。
　　Fromthemorningbathtotheeveningceremoniesofthecotyouattend，oldfriend，thelittletwo-leggedcreatureofyouradoption，beingyourselftreatedintheexerciseofyourdutieswitheverypossibleregard，withinfiniteconsideration，byeverypersoninthehouse——evenasImyselfamtreated;onlyyoudeserveitmore。Thegeneral’sdaughterwouldtellyouthatitmustbe"perfectlydelightful。"
　　Aha！olddog。Sheneverheardyouyelpwithacutepain（it’sthatpoorleftear）thewhile，withincredibleself-command，youpreservearigidimmobilityforfearofoverturningthelittletwo-leggedcreature。Shehasneverseenyourresignedsmilewhenthelittletwo-leggedcreature，interrogatedsternly，"Whatareyoudoingtothegooddog？"answerswithawide，innocentstare：
　　"Nothing。Onlylovinghim，mammadear！"
　　Thegeneral’sdaughterdoesnotknowthesecrettermsofself-
　　imposedtasks，gooddog，thepainthatmaylurkintheveryrewardsofrigidself-command。Butwehavelivedtogethermanyyears。Wehavegrownolder，too;andthoughourworkisnotquitedoneyetwemayindulgenowandtheninalittleintrospectionbeforethefire——meditateontheartofbringingupbabiesandontheperfectdelightofwritingtaleswheresomanylivescomeandgoatthecostofonewhichslipsimperceptiblyaway。
　　ChapterVI。
　　Intheretrospectofalifewhichhad，besidesitspreliminarystageofchildhoodandearlyyouth，twodistinctdevelopments，andeventwodistinctelements，suchasearthandwater，foritssuccessivescenes，acertainamountofnaivenessisunavoidable。
　　Iamconsciousofitinthesepages。Thisremarkisputforwardinnoapologeticspirit。Asyearsgobyandthenumberofpagesgrowssteadily，thefeelinggrowsupononetoothatonecanwriteonlyforfriends。Thenwhyshouldoneputthemtothenecessityofprotesting（asafriendwoulddo）thatnoapologyisnecessary，orput，perchance，intotheirheadsthedoubtofone’sdiscretion？Somuchastothecareduetothosefriendswhomawordhere，alinethere，afortunatepageofjustfeelingintherightplace，somehappysimplicity，orevensomeluckysubtlety，hasdrawnfromthegreatmultitudeoffellow-beingsevenasafishisdrawnfromthedepthsofthesea。Fishingisnotoriously（Iamtalkingnowofthedeepsea）amatterofluck。Astoone’senemies，thosewilltakecareofthemselves。
　　Thereisagentleman，forinstance，who，metaphoricallyspeaking，jumpsuponmewithbothfeet。Thisimagehasnograce，butitisexceedinglyapttotheoccasion——totheseveraloccasions。I
　　don’tknowpreciselyhowlonghehadbeenindulginginthatintermittentexercise，whoseseasonsareruledbythecustomofthepublishingtrade。Somebodypointedhimout（inprintedshape，ofcourse）tomyattentionsometimeago，andstraightwayIexperiencedasortofreluctantaffectionforthatrobustman。
　　Heleavesnotashredofmysubstanceuntrodden：forthewriter’ssubstanceishiswriting;therestofhimisbutavainshadow，cherishedorhatedonuncriticalgrounds。Notashred！
　　Yetthesentimentownedtoisnotafreakofaffectationorperversity。Ithasadeeper，and，Iventuretothink，amoreestimableoriginthanthecapriceofemotionallawlessness。Itis，indeed，lawful，insomuchthatitisgiven（reluctantly）foraconsideration，forseveralconsiderations。Thereisthatrobustness，forinstance，sooftenthesignofgoodmoralbalance。That’saconsideration。Itisnot，indeed，pleasanttobestampedupon，buttheverythoroughnessoftheoperation，implyingnotonlyacarefulreading，butsomerealinsightintoworkwhosequalitiesanddefects，whatevertheymaybe，arenotsomuchonthesurface，issomethingtobethankfulforinviewofthefactthatitmayhappentoone’sworktobecondemnedwithoutbeingreadatall。Thisisthemostfatuousadventurethatcanwellhappentoawriterventuringhissoulamongstcriticisms。Itcandoonenoharm，ofcourse，butitisdisagreeable。Itisdisagreeableinthesamewayasdiscoveringathree-card-trickmanamongstadecentlotoffolkinathird-
　　classcompartment。Theopenimpudenceofthewholetransaction，appealinginsidiouslytothefollyandcredulityofmankind，thebrazen，shamelesspatter，proclaimingthefraudopenlywhileinsistingonthefairnessofthegame，giveoneafeelingofsickeningdisgust。Thehonestviolenceofaplainmanplayingafairgamefairly——evenifhemeanstoknockyouover——mayappearshocking，butitremainswithinthepaleofdecency。Damagingasitmaybe，itisinnosenseoffensive。Onemaywellfeelsomeregardforhonesty，evenifpractiseduponone’sownvilebody。
　　Butitisveryobviousthatanenemyofthatsortwillnotbestayedbyexplanationsorplacatedbyapologies。WereItoadvancethepleaofyouthinexcuseofthenaivenesstobefoundinthesepages，hewouldbelikelytosay"Bosh！"inacolumnandahalfoffierceprint。Yetawriterisnoolderthanhisfirstpublishedbook，and，notwithstandingthevainappearancesofdecaywhichattendusinthistransitorylife，Istandherewiththewreathofonlyfifteenshortsummersonmybrow。
　　Withtheremark，then，thatatsuchtenderagesomenaivenessoffeelingandexpressionisexcusable，Iproceedtoadmitthat，uponthewhole，mypreviousstateofexistencewasnotagoodequipmentforaliterarylife。PerhapsIshouldnothaveusedthewordliterary。Thatwordpresupposesanintimacyofacquaintancewithletters，aturnofmindandamanneroffeelingtowhichI
　　darelaynoclaim。Ionlyloveletters;buttheloveoflettersdoesnotmakealiteraryman，anymorethantheloveoftheseamakesaseaman。Anditisverypossible，too，thatIlovethelettersinthesamewayaliterarymanmaylovetheseahelooksatfromtheshore——asceneofgreatendeavourandofgreatachievementschangingthefaceoftheworld，thegreatopenwaytoallsortsofundiscoveredcountries。No，perhapsIhadbettersaythatthelifeatsea——andIdon’tmeanameretasteofit，butagoodbroadspanofyears，somethingthatreallycountsasrealservice——isnot，uponthewhole，agoodequipmentforawritinglife。Godforbid，though，thatIshouldbethoughtofasdenyingmymastersofthequarter-deck。Iamnotcapableofthatsortofapostasy。Ihaveconfessedmyattitudeofpietytowardstheirshadesinthreeorfourtales，andifanymanonearthmorethananotherneedstobetruetohimselfashehopestobesaved，itiscertainlythewriteroffiction。