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To be Read at Dusk



by Charles Dickens












One; two; three; four; five。  There were five of them。



Five couriers; sitting on a bench outside the convent on the summit

of the Great St。 Bernard in Switzerland; looking at the remote

heights; stained by the setting sun as if a mighty quantity of red

wine had been broached upon the mountain top; and had not yet had

time to sink into the snow。



This is not my simile。  It was made for the occasion by the

stoutest courier; who was a German。  None of the others took any

more notice of it than they took of me; sitting on another bench on

the other side of the convent door; smoking my cigar; like them;

and … also like them … looking at the reddened snow; and at the

lonely shed hard by; where the bodies of belated travellers; dug

out of it; slowly wither away; knowing no corruption in that cold

region。



The wine upon the mountain top soaked in as we looked; the mountain

became white; the sky; a very dark blue; the wind rose; and the air

turned piercing cold。  The five couriers buttoned their rough

coats。  There being no safer man to imitate in all such proceedings

than a courier; I buttoned mine。



The mountain in the sunset had stopped the five couriers in a

conversation。  It is a sublime sight; likely to stop conversation。

The mountain being now out of the sunset; they resumed。  Not that I

had heard any part of their previous discourse; for indeed; I had

not then broken away from the American gentleman; in the

travellers' parlour of the convent; who; sitting with his face to

the fire; had undertaken to realise to me the whole progress of

events which had led to the accumulation by the Honourable Ananias

Dodger of one of the largest acquisitions of dollars ever made in

our country。



'My God!' said the Swiss courier; speaking in French; which I do

not hold (as some authors appear to do) to be such an all…

sufficient excuse for a naughty word; that I have only to write it

in that language to make it innocent; 'if you talk of ghosts … '



'But I DON'T talk of ghosts;' said the German。



'Of what then?' asked the Swiss。



'If I knew of what then;' said the German; 'I should probably know

a great deal more。'



It was a good answer; I thought; and it made me curious。  So; I

moved my position to that corner of my bench which was nearest to

them; and leaning my back against the convent wall; heard

perfectly; without appearing to attend。



'Thunder and lightning!' said the German; warming; 'when a certain

man is coming to see you; unexpectedly; and; without his own

knowledge; sends some invisible messenger; to put the idea of him

into your head all day; what do you call that?  When you walk along

a crowded street … at Frankfort; Milan; London; Paris … and think

that a passing stranger is like your friend Heinrich; and then that

another passing stranger is like your friend Heinrich; and so begin

to have a strange foreknowledge that presently you'll meet your

friend Heinrich … which you do; though you believed him at Trieste

… what do you call THAT?'



'It's not uncommon; either;' murmured the Swiss and the other

three。



'Uncommon!' said the German。  'It's as common as cherries in the

Black Forest。  It's as common as maccaroni at Naples。  And Naples

reminds me!  When the old Marchesa Senzanima shrieks at a card…

party on the Chiaja … as I heard and saw her; for it happened in a

Bavarian family of mine; and I was overlooking the service that

evening … I say; when the old Marchesa starts up at the card…table;

white through her rouge; and cries; 〃My sister in Spain is dead!  I

felt her cold touch on my back!〃 … and when that sister IS dead at

the moment … what do you call that?'



'Or when the blood of San Gennaro liquefies at the request of the

clergy … as all the world knows that it does regularly once a…year;

in my native city;' said the Neapolitan courier after a pause; with

a comical look; 'what do you call that?'



'THAT!' cried the German。  'Well; I think I know a name for that。'



'Miracle?' said the Neapolitan; with the same sly face。



The German merely smoked and laughed; and they all smoked and

laughed。



'Bah!' said the German; presently。  'I speak of things that really

do happen。  When I want to see the conjurer; I pay to see a

professed one; and have my money's worth。  Very strange things do

happen without ghosts。  Ghosts!  Giovanni Baptista; tell your story

of the English bride。  There's no ghost in that; but something full

as strange。  Will any man tell me what?'



As there was a silence among them; I glanced around。  He whom I

took to be Baptista was lighting a fresh cigar。  He presently went

on to speak。  He was a Genoese; as I judged。



'The story of the English bride?' said he。  'Basta! one ought not

to call so slight a thing a story。  Well; it's all one。  But it's

true。  Observe me well; gentlemen; it's true。  That which glitters

is not always gold; but what I am going to tell; is true。'



He repeated this more than once。





Ten years ago; I took my credentials to an English gentleman at

Long's Hotel; in Bond Street; London; who was about to travel … it

might be for one year; it might be for two。  He approved of them;

likewise of me。  He was pleased to make inquiry。  The testimony

that he received was favourable。  He engaged me by the six months;

and my entertainment was generous。



He was young; handsome; very happy。  He was enamoured of a fair

young English lady; with a sufficient fortune; and they were going

to be married。  It was the wedding…trip; in short; that we were

going to take。  For three months' rest in the hot weather (it was

early summer then) he had hired an old place on the Riviera; at an

easy distance from my city; Genoa; on the road to Nice。  Did I know

that place?  Yes; I told him I knew it well。  It was an old palace

with great gardens。  It was a little bare; and it was a little dark

and gloomy; being close surrounded by trees; but it was spacious;

ancient; grand; and on the seashore。  He said it had been so

described to him exactly; and he was well pleased that I knew it。

For its being a little bare of furniture; all such places were。

For its being a little gloomy; he had hired it principally for the

gardens; and he and my mistress would pass the summer weather in

their shade。



'So all goes well; Baptista?' said he。



'Indubitably; signore; very well。'



We had a travelling chariot for our journey; newly built for us;

and in all respects complete。  All we had was complete; we wanted

for nothing。  The marriage took place。  They were happy。  I was

happy; seeing all so bright; being so well situated; going to my

own city; teaching my language in the rumble to the maid; la bella

Carolina; whose heart was gay with laughter:  who was young and

rosy。



The time flew。  But I observed … listen to this; I pray! (and here

the courier dropped his voice) … I observed my mistress sometimes

brooding in a manner very strange; in a frightened manner; in an

unhappy manner; with a cloudy; uncertain alarm upon her。  I think

that I began to notice this when I was walking up hills by the

carriage side; and master had gone on in front。  At any rate; I

remember that it impressed itself upon my mind one evening in the

South of France; when she called to me to call master back; and

when he came back; and walked for a long way; talking encouragingly

and affectionately to her; with his hand upon the open window; and

hers in it。  Now and then; he laughed in a merry way; as if he were

bantering her out of something。  By…and…by; she laughed; and then

all went well again。



It was curious。  I asked la bella Carolina; the pretty little one;

Was mistress unwell? … No。 … Out of spirits? … No。 … Fearful of bad

roads; or brigands? … No。  And what made it more mysterious was;

the pretty little one would not look at me in giving answer; but

WOULD look at the view。



But; one day she told me the secret。



'If you must know;' said Carolina; 'I find; from what I have

overheard; that mistress is haunted。'



'How haunted?'



'By a dream。'



'What dream?'



'By a dream of a face。  For three nights before her marriage; she

saw a face in a dream … always the same face; and only One。'



'A terrible face?'



'No。  The face of a dark; remarkable…looking man; in black; with

black hair and a grey moustache … a handsome man except for a

reserved and secret air。  Not a face she ever saw; or at all like a

face she ever saw。  Doing nothing in the dream but looking at her

fixedly; out of darkness。'



'Does the dream come back?'



'Never。  The recollection of it is all her trouble。'



'And why does it trouble her?'



Carolina shook her head。



'That's master's question;' said la bella。  'She don't know。  She

wonders why; herself。  But I heard her tell him; only la

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