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An Inland Voyage-Part10_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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aside, told me a cock-and-bull story with the moral of another five



francs for the narrator. The thing was palpably absurd; but I paid

up, and at once dropped all friendliness of manner, and kept him in



his place as an inferior with freezing British dignity. He saw in

a moment that he had gone too far, and killed a willing horse; his



face fell; I am sure he would have refunded if he could only have

thought of a decent pretext. He wished me to drink with him, but I



would none of his drinks. He grew pathetically tender in his

professions; but I walked beside him in silence or answered him in



stately courtesies; and when we got to the landing-place, passed

the word in English slang to the CIGARETTE.



In spite of the false scent we had thrown out the day before, there

must have been fifty people about the bridge. We were as pleasant



as we could be with all but Carnival. We said good-bye, shaking

hands with the old gentleman who knew the river and the young



gentleman who had a smattering of English; but never a word for

Carnival. Poor Carnival! here was a humiliation. He who had been



so much identified with the canoes, who had given orders in our

name, who had shown off the boats and even the boatmen like a



private exhibition of his own, to be now so publicly shamed by the

lions of his caravan! I never saw anybody look more crestfallen



than he. He hung in the background, coming timidly forward ever

and again as he thought he saw some symptom of a relenting humour,



and falling hurriedly back when he encountered a cold stare. Let

us hope it will be a lesson to him.



I would not have mentioned Carnival's peccadillo had not the thing

been so uncommon in France. This, for instance, was the only case



of dishonesty or even sharp practice in our whole voyage. We talk

very much about our honesty in England. It is a good rule to be on



your guard wherever you hear great professions about a very little

piece of virtue. If the English could only hear how they are



spoken of abroad, they might confine themselves for a while to

remedying the fact; and perhaps even when that was done, give us



fewer of their airs.

The young ladies, the graces of Origny, were not present at our



start, but when we got round to the second bridge, behold, it was

black with sight-seers! We were loudly cheered, and for a good way



below, young lads and lasses ran along the bank still cheering.

What with current and paddling, we were flashing along like



swallows. It was no joke to keep up with us upon the woody shore.

But the girls picked up their skirts, as if they were sure they had



good ankles, and followed until their breath was out. The last to

weary were the three graces and a couple of companions; and just as



they too had had enough, the foremost of the three leaped upon a

tree-stump and kissed her hand to the canoeists. Not Diana



herself, although this was more of a Venus after all, could have

done a graceful thing more gracefully. 'Come back again!' she



cried; and all the others echoed her; and the hills about Origny

repeated the words, 'Come back.' But the river had us round an



angle in a twinkling, and we were alone with the green trees and

running water.



Come back? There is no coming back, young ladies, on the impetuous

stream of life.



'The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,

The ploughman from the sun his season takes.'



And we must all set our pocket-watches by the clock of fate. There

is a headlong, forthright tide, that bears away man with his



fancies like a straw, and runs fast in time and space. It is full

of curves like this, your winding river of the Oise; and lingers



and returns in pleasant pastorals; and yet, rightly thought upon,

never returns at all. For though it should revisit the same acre



of meadow in the same hour, it will have made an ample sweep

between-whiles; many little streams will have fallen in; many



exhalations risen towards the sun; and even although it were the

same acre, it will no more be the same river of Oise. And thus, O



graces of Origny, although the wandering fortune of my life should

carry me back again to where you await death's whistle by the



river, that will not be the old I who walks the street; and those

wives and mothers, say, will those be you?



There was never any mistake about the Oise, as a matter of fact.




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