the uncommercial traveller-第61部分

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shadows　in　tarpaulin　slide　with　them　into　corners　and　cover　them

up。　　Then　the　South　Foreland　lights　begin　to　hiccup　at　us　in　a　way

that　bodes　no　good。



It　is　at　about　this　period　that　my　detestation　of　Calais　knows　no

bounds。　　Inwardly　I　resolve　afresh　that　I　never　will　forgive　that

hated　town。　　I　have　done　so　before；　many　times；　but　that　is　past。

Let　me　register　a　vow。　　Implacable　animosity　to　Calais　everm…　that

was　an　awkward　sea；　and　the　funnel　seems　of　my　opinion；　for　it

gives　a　complaining　roar。



The　wind　blows　stiffly　from　the　Nor…East；　the　sea　runs　high；　we

ship　a　deal　of　water；　the　night　is　dark　and　cold；　and　the　shapeless

passengers　lie　about　in　melancholy　bundles；　as　if　they　were　sorted

out　for　the　laundress；　but　for　my　own　uncommercial　part　I　cannot

pretend　that　I　am　much　inconvenienced　by　any　of　these　things。　　A

general　howling；　whistling；　flopping；　gurgling；　and　scooping；　I　am

aware　of；　and　a　general　knocking　about　of　Nature；　but　the

impressions　I　receive　are　very　vague。　　In　a　sweet　faint　temper；

something　like　the　smell　of　damaged　oranges；　I　think　I　should　feel

languidly　benevolent　if　I　had　time。　　I　have　not　time；　because　I　am

under　a　curious　compulsion　to　occupy　myself　with　the　Irish

melodies。　　'Rich　and　rare　were　the　gems　she　wore；'　is　the

particular　melody　to　which　I　find　myself　devoted。　　I　sing　it　to

myself　in　the　most　charming　manner　and　with　the　greatest

expression。　　Now　and　then；　I　raise　my　head　（I　am　sitting　on　the

hardest　of　wet　seats；　in　the　most　uncomfortable　of　wet　attitudes；

but　I　don't　mind　it；）　and　notice　that　I　am　a　whirling　shuttlecock

between　a　fiery　battledore　of　a　lighthouse　on　the　French　coast　and

a　fiery　battledore　of　a　lighthouse　on　the　English　coast；　but　I

don't　notice　it　particularly；　except　to　feel　envenomed　in　my　hatred

of　Calais。　　Then　I　go　on　again；　'Rich　and　rare　were　the　ge…ems　she…

e…e…e　wore；　And　a　bright　gold　ring　on　her　wa…and　she　bo…ore；　But　O

her　beauty　was　fa…a…a…a…r　beyond'　…　I　am　particularly　proud　of　my

execution　here；　when　I　become　aware　of　another　awkward　shock　from

the　sea；　and　another　protest　from　the　funnel；　and　a　fellow…creature

at　the　paddle…box　more　audibly　indisposed　than　I　think　he　need　be　…

'Her　sparkling　gems；　or　snow…white　wand；　But　O　her　beauty　was　fa…a…

a…a…a…r　beyond'　…　another　awkward　one　here；　and　the　fellow…creature

with　the　umbrella　down　and　picked　up　…　'Her　spa…a…rkling　ge…ems；　or

her　Port！　port！　steady！　steady！　snow…white　fellow…creature　at　the

paddle…box　very　selfishly　audible；　bump；　roar；　wash；　white　wand。'



As　my　execution　of　the　Irish　melodies　partakes　of　my　imperfect

perceptions　of　what　is　going　on　around　me；　so　what　is　going　on

around　me　becomes　something　else　than　what　it　is。　　The　stokers　open

the　furnace　doors　below；　to　feed　the　fires；　and　I　am　again　on　the

box　of　the　old　Exeter　Telegraph　fast　coach；　and　that　is　the　light

of　the　for　ever　extinguished　coach…lamps；　and　the　gleam　on　the

hatches　and　paddle…boxes　is　THEIR　gleam　on　cottages　and　haystacks；

and　the　monotonous　noise　of　the　engines　is　the　steady　jingle　of　the

splendid　team。　　Anon；　the　intermittent　funnel　roar　of　protest　at

every　violent　roll；　becomes　the　regular　blast　of　a　high　pressure

engine；　and　I　recognise　the　exceedingly　explosive　steamer　in　which

I　ascended　the　Mississippi　when　the　American　civil　war　was　not；　and

when　only　its　causes　were。　　A　fragment　of　mast　on　which　the　light

of　a　lantern　falls；　an　end　of　rope；　and　a　jerking　block　or　so；

become　suggestive　of　Franconi's　Circus　at　Paris　where　I　shall　be

this　very　night　mayhap　（for　it　must　be　morning　now）；　and　they　dance

to　the　self…same　time　and　tune　as　the　trained　steed；　Black　Raven。

What　may　be　the　speciality　of　these　waves　as　they　come　rushing　on；

I　cannot　desert　the　pressing　demands　made　upon　me　by　the　gems　she

wore；　to　inquire；　but　they　are　charged　with　something　about

Robinson　Crusoe；　and　I　think　it　was　in　Yarmouth　Roads　that　he　first

went　a　seafaring　and　was　near　foundering　（what　a　terrific　sound

that　word　had　for　me　when　I　was　a　boy！）　in　his　first　gale　of　wind。

Still；　through　all　this；　I　must　ask　her　（who　WAS　she　I　wonder！）　for

the　fiftieth　time；　and　without　ever　stopping；　Does　she　not　fear　to

stray；　So　lone　and　lovely　through　this　bleak　way；　And　are　Erin's

sons　so　good　or　so　cold；　As　not　to　be　tempted　by　more　fellow…

creatures　at　the　paddle…box　or　gold？　　Sir　Knight　I　feel　not　the

least　alarm；　No　son　of　Erin　will　offer　me　harm；　For　though　they

love　fellow…creature　with　umbrella　down　again　and　golden　store；　Sir

Knight　they　what　a　tremendous　one　love　honour　and　virtue　more：　　For

though　they　love　Stewards　with　a　bull's　eye　bright；　they'll　trouble

you　for　your　ticket；　sir…rough　passage　to…night！



I　freely　admit　it　to　be　a　miserable　piece　of　human　weakness　and

inconsistency；　but　I　no　sooner　become　conscious　of　those　last　words

from　the　steward　than　I　begin　to　soften　towards　Calais。　　Whereas　I

have　been　vindictively　wishing　that　those　Calais　burghers　who　came

out　of　their　town　by　a　short　cut　into　the　History　of　England；　with

those　fatal　ropes　round　their　necks　by　which　they　have　since　been

towed　into　so　many　cartoons；　had　all　been　hanged　on　the　spot；　I　now

begin　to　regard　them　as　highly　respectable　and　virtuous　tradesmen。

Looking　about　me；　I　see　the　light　of　Cape　Grinez　well　astern　of　the

boat　on　the　davits　to　leeward；　and　the　light　of　Calais　Harbour

undeniably　at　its　old　tricks；　but　still　ahead　and　shining。

Sentiments　of　forgiveness　of　Calais；　not　to　say　of　attachment　to

Calais；　begin　to　expand　my　bosom。　　I　have　weak　notions　that　I　will

stay　there　a　day　or　two　on　my　way　back。　　A　faded　and　recumbent

stranger　pausing　in　a　profound　reverie　over　the　rim　of　a　basin；

asks　me　what　kind　of　place　Calais　is？　　I　tell　him　（Heaven　forgive

me！）　a　very　agreeable　place　indeed　…　rather　hilly　than　otherwise。



So　strangely　goes　the　time；　and　on　the　whole　so　quickly　…　though

still　I　seem　to　have　been　on　board　a　week　…　that　I　am　bumped；

rolled；　gurgled；　washed　and　pitched　into　Calais　Harbour　before　her

maiden　smile　has　finally　lighted　her　through　the　Green　Isle；　When

blest　for　ever　is　she　who　relied；　On　entering　Calais　at　the　top　of

the　tide。　　For　we　have　not　to　land　to…night　down　among　those　slimy

timbers　…　covered　with　green　hair　as　if　it　were　the　mermaids'

favourite　combing…place　…　where　one　crawls　to　the　surface　of　the

jetty；　like　a　stranded　shrimp；　but　we　go　steaming　up　the　harbour　to

the　Railway　Station　Quay。　　And　as　we　go；　the　sea　washes　in　and　out

among　piles　and　planks；　with　dead　heavy　beats　and　in　quite　a

furious　manner　（whereof　we　are　proud）；　and　the　lamps　shake　in　the

wind；　and　the　bells　of　Calais　striking　One　seem　to　send　their

vibrations　struggling　against　troubled　air；　as　we　have　come

struggling　against　troubled　water。　　And　now；　in　the　sudden　relief

and　wiping　of　faces；　everybody　on　board　seems　to　have　had　a

prodigious　double…tooth　out；　and　to　be　this　very　instant　free　of

the　Dentist's　hands。　　And　now　we