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Off on a Comet-Part1_JULES VERNE(1828-1905)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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the existence of so good a harbor amidst the exposed cliffs of this coast

that had induced the owner of the _Dobryna_ to winter in these parts,



and for two months the Russian standard had been seen floating from her yard,

whilst on her mast-head was hoisted the pennant of the French Yacht Club,



with the distinctive letters M. C. W. T., the initials of Count Timascheff.

Having entered the town, Captain Servadac made his way towards Matmore,



the military quarter, and was not long in finding two friends

on whom he might rely--a major of the 2nd Fusileers, and a captain



of the 8th Artillery. The two officers listened gravely enough

to Servadac's request that they would act as his seconds in an affair



of honor, but could not resist a smile on hearing that the dispute

between him and the count had originated in a musical discussion.



Surely, they suggested, the matter might be easily arranged; a few

slight concessions on either side, and all might be amicably adjusted.



But no representations on their part were of any avail.

Hector Servadac was inflexible.



"No concession is possible," he replied, resolutely. "Rossini has

been deeply injured, and I cannot suffer the injury to be unavenged.



Wagner is a fool. I shall keep my word. I am quite firm."

"Be it so, then," replied one of the officers; "and after all,



you know, a sword-cut need not be a very serious affair."

"Certainly not," rejoined Servadac; "and especially in my case,



when I have not the slightest intention of being wounded at all."

Incredulous as they naturally were as to the assigned cause of the quarrel,



Servadac's friends had no alternative but to accept his explanation,

and without farther parley they started for the staff office, where, at two



o'clock precisely, they were to meet the seconds of Count Timascheff.

Two hours later they had returned. All the preliminaries had been arranged;



the count, who like many Russians abroad was an aide-de-camp of the Czar,

had of course proposed swords as the most appropriate weapons, and the duel



was to take place on the following morning, the first of January, at nine

o'clock, upon the cliff at a spot about a mile and a half from the mouth



of the Shelif. With the assurance that they would not fail to keep their

appointment with military punctuality, the two officers cordially wrung



their friend's hand and retired to the Zulma Cafe for a game at piquet.

Captain Servadac at once retraced his steps and left the town.



For the last fortnight Servadac had not been occupying his proper lodgings

in the military quarters; having been appointed to make a local levy,



he had been living in a gourbi, or native hut, on the Mostaganem coast,

between four and five miles from the Shelif. His orderly was his



sole companion, and by any other man than the captain the enforced exile

would have been esteemed little short of a severe penance.



On his way to the gourbi, his mentaloccupation was a very

laborious effort to put together what he was pleased to call



a rondo, upon a model of versification all but obsolete.

This rondo, it is unnecessary to conceal, was to be an ode



addressed to a young widow by whom he had been captivated, and whom

he was anxious to marry, and the tenor of his muse was intended



to prove that when once a man has found an object in all respects

worthy of his affections, he should love her "in all simplicity."



Whether the aphorism were universally true was not very material

to the gallant captain, whose sole ambition at present was to construct



a roundelay of which this should be the prevailing sentiment.

He indulged the fancy that he might succeed in producing



a composition which would have a fine effect here in Algeria,

where poetry in that form was all but unknown.



"I know well enough," he said repeatedly to himself, "what I want to say.

I want to tell her that I love her sincerely, and wish to



marry her; but, confound it! the words won't rhyme. Plague on it!

Does nothing rhyme with 'simplicity'? Ah! I have it now:



'Lovers should, whoe'er they be,

Love in all simplicity.'



But what next? how am I to go on? I say, Ben Zoof," he called

aloud to his orderly, who was trotting silently close in his rear,






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