Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated)

by Joseph Conrad

  “Latham is my name,” said Cosmo, “and I only set foot in Italy for the first time in my life two days ago.”

  The doctor jerked his head sideways.

  “Latham, eh? Yorkshire?”

  “Yes,” said Cosmo, smiling.

  “To be sure. Sir Charles ...”

  “That’s my father.”

  “Yes, yes. Served in the Guards. I used to know the doctor of his regiment. Married in Italy. I don’t remember the lady’s name. Oh, those are old times. Might have been a hundred years ago.”

  “You mean that so much history has been made since.”

  “Yes, no end of history,” assented the doctor, but checked himself. “And yet, tell me, what does it all amount to?”

  Cosmo made no answer. Cantelucci having brought the wine while they talked, the doctor filled two glasses, waited a moment as if to hear Cosmo speak, but as the young man remained silent he said:

  “Well, let us drink then to Peace.”

  He tossed the wine down his throat while Cosmo drank his much more leisurely. As they set down their empty glasses they were startled by a roar of a tremendous voice filling the vaulted room from end to end in order to “let Their Honours know that the boat was at the steps.” The doctor made a faint grimace.

  “Do you hear the voice of the British lion, Mr. Latham?” he asked peevishly. “Ah, well, we will have some little peace now here.”

  Those officers at the naval table who had to go on board rose in a body and left the room hastily. Three or four who had a longer leave drew close together and began to talk low with their heads in a bunch. Cosmo glancing down the room seemed to recognize at the door the form of the seaman whom he had met earlier in the evening. He followed the officers out. The other diners, the sombre ones, and a good many of them with powdered heads, were also leaving the room. Cantelucci put another dish on the table, stepped back a pace with a bow, and stood still. A moment of profound silence succeeded the noise.

  “First rate,” said Doctor Martel to Cosmo, after tasting the dish, and then gave a nod to Cantelucci, who made another bow and retreated backwards, always with a solemn expression on his face.

  “Italian cooking, of course, but then I am an old Italian myself. Not that I love them, but I have acquired many of their tastes. Before we have done dining you will have tasted the perfection of their cookery, north and south, but I assure you you are sharing my dinner. You don’t suppose that the dishes that come to this table are the same the common customers get.”

  Cosmo made a slight bow. “I am very sensible of the privilege,” he said.

  “The honour and the pleasure are mine, I assure you,” the doctor said in a half-careless tone and looking with distaste towards the small knot of officers with a twenty-four hours’ leave who had finished their confabulation and had risen in a body like men who had agreed on some pleasant course of action. Only the elderly lieutenant lagging a little behind cast a glance at his two countrymen at the little table and followed his comrades with less eager movements.

  “A quarter of a tough bullock or half a roast sheep are more in their way, and Cantelucci knows it. As to that company that was sitting at the other table, well, I daresay you can tell yourself what they were, small officials or tradesmen of some sort. I should think that emptying all their pockets — and they were how many, say twenty — you couldn’t collect the value of one English pound at any given time. And Cantelucci knows that too. Well, of course. Still he does well here, but it’s a poor place. I wonder, Mr. Latham, what are you doing here?”

  “Well,” said Cosmo with a good-humoured smile, “I am just staying here. Just as you yourself are staying here.”

  “Ah, but you never saved Cantelucci’s life, whereas I did and that’s the reason why I am staying here: out of mere kindness and to give him an opportunity to show his gratitude. . . . Let me fill your glass. Not bad, this wine.”

  “Excellent. What is it?”

  “God knows. Let us call it Cantelucci’s gratitude. Generous stuff, this, to wash down those dishes with. Gluttony is an odious vice, but an ambition to dine well is about the only one which can be indulged at no cost to one’s fellow men.”

  “It didn’t strike me,” murmured Cosmo absently, for he was just then asking himself why he didn’t like this pleasant companion, and had just come to the conclusion that it was because of his indecisive expression wavering between peevishness and jocularity with something else in addition, as it were, in the background of his handsome, neat, and comfortable person. Something that was not aggressive nor yet exactly impudent. He wondered at his mistrust of the personality which certainly was very communicative but apparently not inquisitive. At that moment he heard himself addressed with a direct inquiry.

  “You passed, of course, through Paris?”

  “Yes, and Switerzland.”

  “Oh, Paris. I wonder what it looks like now. Full of English people, of course. Let’s see, how many years is it since I was last there? Ha, lots of heads rolled off very noble shoulders since. Well, I am trying to make my way there. Curious times. I have found some letters here. Duke of Wellington very much disliked, what? His nod is insupportable, eh?”

  “I have just had a sight of the Duke two or three times,” said Cosmo. “I can assure you that everybody is treating him with the greatest respect.”

  “Of course, of course. All the same I bet that all these foreigners are chuckling to themselves at having finished the job without him.”

  “They needn’t be so pleased with themselves,” said Cosmo scornfully. “The mere weight of their numbers ...”

  “Yes. It was more like a migration of armed tribes than an army. They will boast of their success all the same. There is no saying what the Duke himself thinks. ... I wonder if he could have beaten the other in a fair fight. Well, that will never be known now.”

  Cosmo had a sudden sense of an epical tale with a doubtful conclusion. He made no answer. Cantelucci had come and gone solemnly, self-contained, with the usual two ceremonial bows. As he retreated he put out all the candles on the central table and became lost to view. From the illuminated spot at which he sat, Cosmo’s eyes met only the shadows of the long refectory-like room with its lofty windows closely shuttered so that they looked like a row of niches for statues. Yet the murmur of the piazza full of people stole faintly into his ear. Cosmo had the recollection of the vast expanse of flagstones enclosed by the shadowy and palatial masses gleaming with lights here and there under the night sky thick with stars and perfectly cloudless.

  “This is a very quiet inn,” he observed.

  “It has that advantage certainly. The walls are fairly thick, as you can see. It’s an unfinished palace, I mean as to its internal decorations, which were going to be very splendid and even more costly than splendid. The owner of it, I mean the man who had it built, died of hunger in that hall out there.”

  “Died of hunger?” repeated Cosmo.

  “No doubt about it. It was during the siege of Genoa. You know the siege, surely?”

  Cosmo recollected himself. “I was quite a child at the time,” he said.

  The venerated client of Cantelucci cracked a walnut and then looked at Cosmo’s face.

  “I should think you weren’t seven years old at the time,” he said in a judicial tone. “When I first came into Italy with the vaccine, you know, Sir Charles’s marriage was still being talked about in Florence. I remember it perfectly though it seems as if it had all happened in another world. Yes, indubitably he died of hunger like ten thousand other Genoese. He couldn’t go out to hunt for garbage with the populace or crawl out at night trying to gather nettles in the ditches outside the forts, and nobody would have known that he was dead for a month if one of the bombs out of a bomb-vessel with Admiral Keith’s blockading squadron hadn’t burst the door in. They found him at the foot of the stairs, and, they say, with a lot of gold pieces in his pockets. But nobody cared much for that. If it had been a lot of half-gnawed bones the
re would have been blood spilt, no doubt. For all I know there were or may be even now secret places full of gold in the thickness of these walls. However, the body was thrown into a corpse-cart and the authorities boarded the doorway. It remained boarded for years because the heirs didn’t care to have anything to do with that shell of a palace. I fancy that the last of them died in the snows of Russia. Cantelucci came along, and owing to a friendship with some sort of scribe in the Municipality he got permission to use the place for his hostelry. He told me that he found several half ducats in the corners of the hall when he took possession. I suppose they paid for the whitewash, for I can’t believe that Cantelucci had much money in his pockets.”

  “Perhaps he found one of those secret hiding-places of which you spoke,” suggested Cosmo.

  “What? Cantelucci? He never looked for any gold. He is too much in the clouds; but he has made us dine well in the palace of the starved man, hasn’t he? Sixteen years ago in Naples he was a Jacobin and a friend of the French, a rebel, a traitor to his king if you like — but he has a good memory, there is no denying that.”

  “Is he a Neapolitan, then?” asked Cosmo. “I imagined they were of a different type.”

  “God only knows. He was there and I didn’t ask him. He was a prisoner of the royalists, of the reactionaries. I was much younger then and perhaps more humane. Flesh and blood couldn’t stand in the sight of the way in which they were being treated, men of position, of attainments, of intelligence. The Neapolitan Jacobins were no populace. They were men of character and ideas, the pick of all classes. They were properly liberals. Still they were called Jacobins and you may be surprised that I, a professional man and an Englishman ...”

  Cosmo, looking up at the sudden pause, saw the doctor sitting with the dull eyes and the expression of a man suddenly dissatisfied with himself. Cosmo hastened to say that he himself was no friend of reactionaries and in any case not conceited enough to judge the conduct of men older than himself. Without a sign that he had heard a word of that speech the doctor had a faint and peevish smile. He never moved at all till, after a longish interval, Cosmo spoke again.

  “Were you expecting somebody that would want to see you this evening?” he asked.

  The doctor started.

  “See me? No. Why do you ask?”

  “Because within the last five minutes somebody has put his head twice through the door; and as I don’t expect either a visitor or a messenger, I thought he was looking for you. I don’t know a single soul here.”

  The doctor remained perfectly unmoved. Cosmo, who was looking towards the distant door, saw the head again and this time shouted at it an inquiry. Thereupon the owner of the head entered and had not advanced half the length of the room before Cosmo recognized in him the portly figure of Spire. To his great surprise, however, Spire instead of coming up to the table made a vague gesture and stopped short.

  This was strange conduct. The doctor sat completely unconscious, and Cosmo took the course of excusing himself and following Spire, who, directly he had seen his master rise, had retreated rapidly to the door. The doctor did not rouse himself to answer, and Cosmo left him leaning on his elbow in a thoughtful attitude. In the badly lighted hall he found Spire waiting for him between the foot of the stairs and the door which Cosmo presumed was leading to the offices of the hotel. Again Spire made a vague gesture which seemed to convey a warning, and approached his master on tiptoe.

  “Well, what is it? What do you mean by flourishing your arm at me like this?” asked Cosmo sharply, and Spire ventured on a warning “Ssh!”

  “Why, there is nobody here,” said Cosmo, lowering his voice nevertheless.

  “I wanted to tell you, sir, I have seen that fellow.”

  “What fellow? Oh yes. The fellow with the cap. Where did you see him?”

  “He is here,” said Spire, pointing to the closed door.

  “Here? What could a man like that want here? Did you speak to him?”

  “No, sir, he has just come in and for all I know he may be already gone away — though I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, you don’t think so. Do you know what he has come for?”

  Spire made no answer to the question, but after a short silence: “I will go and see, and if you stand where you are, sir, you will be able to look right into the room. He may not be the man.”

  Without waiting for an answer he moved towards the closed door and threw it wide open. The room, very much like the dining room but smaller, was lighted gloomily by two smoky oil lamps hanging from the ceiling, over a trestle table having a wooden bench on each side. Bad as the light was Cosmo made out at once the peculiar cap. The wearer, sitting on one of the benches, was leaning with both elbows across the table towards the fair head of a girl half-hidden by a lace scarf. They were engaged in earnest conversation so that they never turned their heads at Spire’s entrance. Cosmo had just time to discern the fine line of the girl’s shoulders, which were half-turned from him when Spire shut the door.

  II

  Returning to his bedroom, Cosmo found the fire of logs still playing fitfully upon the drawn curtains, upon the dim shape of the canopied bed of state, and perceived that Spire as directed had prepared the writing table and had placed a screen round the inviting-looking armchair.

  He did not sit down to write. He felt more than ever that in a moment of amused expansion he had made a rash promise to his sister. The difficulty in keeping it had confronted him for the first time in Paris. Henrietta would have liked to hear of people he met, of the great world indulging in the new-found freedom of travel, the English, the French, the Poles, the Germans. Certainly he had seen quite a lot of people; but the problem was as to what could be said about them to a young girl, ignorant of the world, brought up in the country, and having really no notion of what mankind was like. He admitted to himself with introspective sincerity that even he did not exactly know what mankind was really like. He was too much of a novice, and she, obviously, was too innocent to be told of his suspicions and of what it was like. Even to describe the world outwardly was not an easy task — to Henrietta. The world was certainly amusing. Oh yes, it was amusing; but even as he thought that, he felt within him a certain distaste. Just before he had left Paris he had been at a rout given by a great lady. There was a fellow there who somehow became suspected of picking pockets. He was extremely ugly and therefore attracted notice. The great lady, asked if she had invited him, denied ever having seen him before, but he assured her that he had spoken to her already that evening. Her Ladyship then declared that if he was really the man he gave himself out to be, she was not aware that he was in Paris. She imagined him to be in Ireland. Altogether a peculiar story. Cosmo never knew how it had ended because his friend Hollis led him away to introduce him to Mrs. R., who was most affable and entertained him with a complete inventory of her daughter’s accomplishments, the daughter herself being then in the room, obviously quite lovely and clever, but certainly a little odd; for a little later, on his being introduced, she had discoursed to him for half an hour on things of the heart, charmingly, but in a perfectly cool and detached manner. There was also Lady Jane, very much in evidence, very much run after, with a voice of engaging sweetness, but very free, not to say licentious, in her talk. How could he confide his impressions of her to Henrietta? As a matter of fact his head had been rather full of Lady Jane for some time. She had, so to speak, attended him all the way from Paris up to the morning of his arrival at Cante-lucci’s inn. But she had now deserted him. Or was it his mind that had dropped her out of a haunting actuality into that region where the jumble of one’s experiences is allowed to rest? But was it possible that a shabby fellow in tight breeches and bad boots, with a peculiarly shaped cap on his head, could have got between him and Lady Jane about the time of sunset?

  Cosmo thought suddenly that one’s personal life was a very bizarre thing. He could write to his sister that before he had been three hours in Genoa he had been involved in passing secret c
orrespondence from Italy to the Island of Elba. Henrietta had solemnly charged him to write everything he could find out, hear, or even guess about Napoleon. He had heard certainly a lot of most extraordinary stories; and if he had not made any guesses he had been associating with persons who actually had been doing nothing else; frightened persons, exulting people, cast-down people, frivolous people, people with airs of mystery or with airs of contempt. But by Jove, now he had been in personal touch and had actually helped a man of the people who was mysteriously corresponding with Elba. He could write something about that but, after all, was it worth while? Finally he concluded he wouldn’t write home at all that evening; pushed the table away, and throwing himself into the armchair extended his legs towards the fire. A moody expression settled on his face. His immobility resembled open-eyed sleep with the red spark of the fire in his unwinking eyes, and a perfect insensibility to outward impressions. But he heard distinctly Spire knocking discreetly at the door. Cosmo’s first impulse was to shout that he wasn’t wanted, but he changed his mind. “ Come in.”

  Spire shut the door carefully, and crossing the room at once put a log on the fire. Then he said:

  “Can’t get any hot water this evening, sir. Very sorry, sir. I will see that it won’t happen again.”

  At the same time he thought, “Served him right for picking out such an inn to stay at.” Cosmo, still silent, stared at the fire, and when he roused himself at last he perceived Spire in the act of putting down in front of his chair a pair of slippers of shiny leather and red heels.

  “Take your boots off, sir?” suggested Spire under his breath.

  Cosmo let him do it. “Going to bed now, sir?” asked Spire in the same subdued tone.

  “No, but you needn’t wait. I won’t need you any more to-night.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Spire lingered, boots in hand. “The two small pistols are on the bedside table, sir. I have looked to the primings. This town is full of rabble from all parts just now, so I hear. The lock of your door is fairly poor. I shall be sleeping just outside in the corridor, sir. They are going to put me a pallet there.”