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Tales of Unrest-Part2_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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arm back with a sudden movement, to feel whether the old fellow was

there. The old fellow, impenetrable and weary, was always there. He



shared his food, his repose, and his thoughts; he knew his plans,

guarded his secrets; and, impassive behind his master's agitation,



without stirring the least bit, murmured above his head in a soothing

tone some words difficult to catch.



It was only on board the schooner, when surrounded by white faces,

by unfamiliar sights and sounds, that Karain seemed to forget the



strange obsession that wound like a black thread through the gorgeous

pomp of his public life. At night we treated him in a free and easy



manner, which just stopped short of slapping him on the back, for

there are liberties one must not take with a Malay. He said himself



that on such occasions he was only a private gentleman coming to see

other gentlemen whom he supposed as well born as himself. I fancy that



to the last he believed us to be emissaries of Government, darkly

official persons furthering by our illegaltraffic some dark scheme



of high statecraft. Our denials and protestations were unavailing.

He only smiled with discreetpoliteness and inquired about the



Queen. Every visit began with that inquiry; he was insatiable of

details; he was fascinated by the holder of a sceptre the shadow of



which, stretching from the westward over the earth and over the

seas, passed far beyond his own hand's-breadth of conquered land. He



multiplied questions; he could never know enough of the Monarch of

whom he spoke with wonder and chivalrous respect--with a kind of



affectionate awe! Afterwards, when we had learned that he was the son

of a woman who had many years ago ruled a small Bugis state, we came



to suspect that the memory of his mother (of whom he spoke with

enthusiasm) mingled somehow in his mind with the image he tried to



form for himself of the far-off Queen whom he called Great,

Invincible, Pious, and Fortunate. We had to invent details at last



to satisfy his cravingcuriosity; and our loyalty must be pardoned,

for we tried to make them fit for his august and resplendent ideal. We



talked. The night slipped over us, over the still schooner, over the

sleeping land, and over the sleepless sea that thundered amongst the



reefs outside the bay. His paddlers, two trustworthy men, slept in the

canoe at the foot of our side-ladder. The old confidant, relieved from



duty, dozed on his heels, with his back against the companion-doorway;

and Karain sat squarely in the ship's woodenarmchair, under the



slight sway of the cabin lamp, a cheroot between his dark fingers, and

a glass of lemonade before him. He was amused by the fizz of the



thing, but after a sip or two would let it get flat, and with a

courteous wave of his hand ask for a fresh bottle. He decimated our



slender stock; but we did not begrudge it to him, for, when he began,

he talked well. He must have been a great Bugis dandy in his time, for



even then (and when we knew him he was no longer young) his splendour

was spotlessly neat, and he dyed his hair a light shade of brown. The



quiet dignity of his bearing transformed the dim-lit cuddy of the

schooner into an audience-hall. He talked of inter-island politics



with an ironic and melancholy shrewdness. He had travelled much,

suffered not a little, intrigued, fought. He knew native Courts,



European Settlements, the forests, the sea, and, as he said himself,

had spoken in his time to many great men. He liked to talk with me



because I had known some of these men: he seemed to think that I could




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