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strong enough to take upon itself a form of imagined life clearer



than reality and whose accumulated verisimilitude of selected



episodes puts to shame the pride of documentary history。 



Providence which saved my MS。 from the Congo rapids brought it to



the knowledge of a helpful soul far out on the open sea。  It



would be on my part the greatest ingratitude ever to forget the



sallow; sunken face and the deep…set; dark eyes of the young



Cambridge man (he was a 〃passenger for his health〃 on board the



good ship Torrens outward bound to Australia) who was the first



reader of 〃Almayer's Folly〃the very first reader I ever had。 







〃Would it bore you very much in reading a MS。 in a handwriting



like mine?〃 I asked him one evening; on a sudden impulse at the



end of a longish conversation whose subject was Gibbon's History。







Jacques (that was his name) was sitting in my cabin one stormy



dog…watch below; after bring me a book to read from his own



travelling store。







〃Not at all;〃 he answered; with his courteous intonation and a



faint smile。  As I pulled a drawer open his suddenly aroused



curiosity gave him a watchful expression。  I wonder what he



expected to see。  A poem; maybe。  All that's beyond guessing now。







He was not a cold; but a calm man; still more subdued by



diseasea man of few words and of an unassuming modesty in



general intercourse; but with something uncommon in the whole of



his person which set him apart from the undistinguished lot of



our sixty passengers。  His eyes had a thoughtful; introspective



look。  In his attractive reserved manner and in a veiled



sympathetic voice he asked:







〃What is this?〃  〃It is a sort of tale;〃 I answered; with an



effort。  〃It is not even finished yet。  Nevertheless; I would



like to know what you think of it。〃  He put the MS。 in the



breast…pocket of his jacket; I remember perfectly his thin; brown



fingers folding it lengthwise。  〃I will read it to…morrow;〃 he



remarked; seizing the door handle; and then watching the roll of



the ship for a propitious moment; he opened the door and was



gone。  In the moment of his exit I heard the sustained booming of



the wind; the swish of the water on the decks of the Torrens; and



the subdued; as if distant; roar of the rising sea。  I noted the



growing disquiet in the great restlessness of the ocean; and



responded professionally to it with the thought that at eight



o'clock; in another half hour or so at the farthest; the



topgallant sails would have to come off the ship。







Next day; but this time in the first dog watch; Jacques entered



my cabin。  He had a thick woollen muffler round his throat; and



the MS。 was in his hand。  He tendered it to me with a steady



look; but without a word。  I took it in silence。  He sat down on



the couch and still said nothing。  I opened and shut a drawer



under my desk; on which a filled…up log…slate lay wide open in



its wooden frame waiting to be copied neatly into the sort of



book I was accustomed to write with care; the ship's log…book。  I



turned my back squarely on the desk。  And even then Jacques never



offered a word。  〃Well; what do you say?〃 I asked at last。  〃Is



it worth finishing?〃  This question expressed exactly the whole



of my thoughts。







〃Distinctly;〃 he answered; in his sedate; veiled voice; and then



coughed a little。







〃Were you interested?〃 I inquired further; almost in a whisper。







〃Very much!〃







In a pause I went on meeting instinctively the heavy rolling of



the ship; and Jacques put his feet upon the couch。  The curtain



of my bed…place swung to and fro as if it were a punkah; the



bulkhead lamp circled in its gimbals; and now and then the cabin



door rattled slightly in the gusts of wind。  It was in latitude



40 south; and nearly in the longitude of Greenwich; as far as I



can remember; that these quiet rites of Almayer's and Nina's



resurrection were taking place。  In the prolonged silence it



occurred to me that there was a good deal of retrospective



writing in the story as far as it went。  Was it intelligible in



its action; I asked myself; as if already the story…teller were



being born into the body of a seaman。  But I heard on deck the



whistle of the officer of the watch and remained on the alert to



catch the order that was to follow this call to attention。  It



reached me as a faint; fierce shout to 〃Square the yards。〃 〃Aha!〃



I thought to myself; 〃a westerly blow coming on。〃  Then I turned



to my very first reader; who; alas! was not to live long enough



to know the end of the tale。







〃Now let me ask you one more thing: is the story quite clear to



you as it stands?〃







He raised his dark; gentle eyes to my face and seemed surprised。







〃Yes!  Perfectly。〃







This was all I was to hear from his lips concerning the merits of



〃Almayer's Folly。〃  We never spoke together of the book again。  A



long period of bad weather set in and I had no thoughts left but



for my duties; while poor Jacques caught a fatal cold and had to



keep close in his cabin。  When we arrived in Adelaide the first



reader of my prose went at once up…country; and died rather



suddenly in the end; either in Australia or it may be on the



passage while going home through the Suez Canal。  I am not sure



which it was now; and I do not think I ever heard precisely;



though I made inquiries about him from some of our return



passengers who; wandering about to 〃see the country〃 during the



ship's stay in port; had come upon him here and there。  At last



we sailed; homeward bound; and still not one line was added to



the careless scrawl of the many pages which poor Jacques had had



the patience to read with the very shadows of Eternity gathering



already in the hollows of his kind; steadfast eyes。







The purpose instilled into me by his simple and final



〃Distinctly〃 remained dormant; yet alive to await its



opportunity。  I dare say I am compelledunconsciously



compellednow to write volume after volume; as in past years I



was compelled to go to sea voyage after voyage。  Leaves must



follow upon one an other as leagues used to follow in the days



gone by; on and on to the appointed end; which; being Truth



itself; is Oneone for all men and for all occupations。







I do not know which of the two impulses has appeared more



mysterious and more wonderful to me。  Still; in writing; as in



going to sea; I had to wait my opportunity。  Let me confess here



that I was never one of those wonderful fellows that would go



afloat in a wash…tub for the sake of the fun; and if I may pride



myself upon my consistency; it was ever just the same with my



writing。  Some men; I have heard; write in railway carriages; and



could do it; perhaps; sitting crossed…legged on a clothes…line;



but I must confess that my sybaritic disposition will not consent



to write without something at least resembling a chair。  Line by



line; rather than page by page; was the growth of 〃Almayer's



Folly。〃







And so it happened that I very nearly lost the MS。; advanced now



to the first words of the ninth chapter; in the Friedrichstrasse 



Poland; or more precisely to Ukraine。  On an early; sleepy



morning changing trains in a hurry I left my Gladstone bag in a



refreshment…room。  A worthy and intelligent Koffertrager rescued



it。  Yet in my anxiety I was not thinking of the MS。; but of all



the other things that were packed in the bag。







In Warsaw; where I spent two days; those wandering pages were



never exposed to the light; except once to candle…light; while



the bag lay open on the chair。  I was dressing hurriedly to dine



at a sporting club。  A friend of my childhood (he had been in the



Diplomatic Service; but had turned to growing wheat on paternal



acres; and we had not seen each other for over twenty years) was



sitting on the hotel sofa waiting to carry me off there。







〃You might tell me something of your life while you are



dressing;〃 he suggested; kindly。







I do not think I told him much of my life story either then or



later。  The talk of the select little party with which he made me



dine was extremely animated and embraced most subjects under



heaven; from big…game shooting in Africa to the last poem



published in a very modernist review; edited by the very young



and patronized by the highest society。  But it never touched upon



〃Almayer's Folly;〃 and next morning; in uninterrupted obscurity;

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