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Some Reminiscences-Part7_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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animals of wood. Even the live tourist animal was nowhere in

evidence. We had something to eat in a long, narrow room at one



end of a long, narrow table, which, to my tired perception and to

my sleepy eyes, seemed as if it would tilt up like a see-saw



plank, since there was no one at the other end to balance it

against our two dusty and travel-stained figures. Then we



hastened upstairs to bed in a room smelling of pine planks, and I

was fast asleep before my head touched the pillow.



In the morning my tutor (he was a student of the Cracow

University) woke me up early, and as we were dressing remarked:



"There seems to be a lot of people staying in this hotel. I have

heard a noise of talking up till 11 o'clock?" This statement



surprised me; I had heard no noise whatever, having slept like a

top.



We went downstairs into the long and narrow dining-room with its

long and narrow table. There were two rows of plates on it. At



one of the many uncurtained windows stood a tall bony man with a

bald head set off by a bunch of black hair above each ear and



with a long black beard. He glanced up from the paper he was

reading and seemed genuinely astonished at our intrusion. By-



and-by more men came in. Not one of them looked like a tourist.

Not a single woman appeared. These men seemed to know each other



with some intimacy, but I cannot say they were a very talkative

lot. The bald-headed man sat down gravely at the head of the



table. It all had the air of a family party. By-and-by, from

one of the vigorous servant-girls in national costume, we



discovered that the place was really a boarding-house for some

English engineers engaged at the works of the St. Gothard Tunnel;



and I could listen my fill to the sounds of the English language,

as far as it is used at a breakfast-table by men who do not



believe in wasting many words on the mere amenities of life.

This was my first contact with British mankind apart from the



tourist kind seen in the hotels of Zurich and Lucerne--the kind

which has no real existence in a workaday world. I know now that



the bald-headed man spoke with a strong Scotch accent. I have

met many of his kind since, both ashore and afloat. The second



engineer of the steamer "Mavis", for instance, ought to have been

his twin brother. I cannot help thinking that he really was,



though for some reasons of his own he assured me that he never

had a twin brother. Anyway the deliberate bald-headed Scot with



the coal-black beard appeared to my boyish eyes a very romantic

and mysterious person.



We slipped out unnoticed. Our mapped-out route led over the

Furca Pass towards the Rhone Glacier, with the further intention



of following down the trend of the Hasli Valley. The sun was

already declining when we found ourselves on the top of the pass,



and the remark alluded to was presently uttered.

We sat down by the side of the road to continue the argument



begun half a mile or so before. I am certain it was an argument

because I remember perfectly how my tutor argued and how without



the power of reply I listened with my eyes fixed obstinately on

the ground. A stir on the road made me look up--and then I saw



my unforgettable Englishman. There are acquaintances of later

years, familiars, shipmates, whom I remember less clearly. He



marched rapidly towards the east (attended by a hang-dog Swiss

guide) with the mien of an ardent and fearless traveller. He was



clad in a knickerbocker suit, but as at the same time he wore

short socks under his laced boots, for reasons which whether






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