第13章

forthathousehappenstobeMYhouse，andIhavereasontobelievethatwhathesaidwastrue。

Well！Imadenohaltthere，andIsoondroppedtheveryqueersmallboyandwenton。OvertheroadwheretheoldRomansusedtomarch，overtheroadwheretheoldCanterburypilgrimsusedtogo，overtheroadwherethetravellingtrainsoftheoldimperiouspriestsandprincesusedtojingleonhorsebackbetweenthecontinentandthisIslandthroughthemudandwater，overtheroadwhereShakespearehummedtohimself，’Blow，blow，thouwinterwind，’ashesatinthesaddleatthegateoftheinnyardnoticingthecarriers；allamongthecherryorchards，appleorchards，corn-

fields，andhop-gardens；sowentI，byCanterburytoDover。There，theseawastumblingin，withdeepsounds，afterdark，andtherevolvingFrenchlightonCapeGrinezwasseenregularlyburstingoutandbecomingobscured，asiftheheadofagiganticlight-

keeperinananxiousstateofmindwereinterposedeveryhalf-

minute，tolookhowitwasburning。

EarlyinthemorningIwasonthedeckofthesteam-packet，andwewereaimingatthebarintheusualintolerablemanner，andthebarwasaimingatusintheusualintolerablemanner，andthebargotbyfarthebestofit，andwegotbyfartheworst-allintheusualintolerablemanner。

But，whenIwasclearoftheCustomHouseontheotherside，andwhenIbegantomakethedustflyonthethirstyFrenchroads，andwhenthetwigsometreesbythewayside(which，Isuppose，neverwillgrowleafy，fortheyneverdid)guardedhereandthereadustysoldier，orfieldlabourer，bakingonaheapofbrokenstones，soundasleepinafictionofshade，Ibegantorecovermytravellingspirits。Cominguponthebreakerofthebrokenstones，inahard，hot，shininghat，onwhichthesunplayedatadistanceasonaburning-glass，Ifeltthatnow，indeed，IwasinthedearoldFranceofmyaffections。Ishouldhaveknownit，withoutthewell-rememberedbottleofroughordinarywine，thecoldroastfowl，theloaf，andthepinchofsalt，onwhichIlunchedwithunspeakablesatisfaction，fromoneofthestuffedpocketsofthechariot。

Imusthavefallenasleepafterlunch，forwhenabrightfacelookedinatthewindow，Istarted，andsaid:

’GoodGod，Louis，Idreamedyouweredead！’

Mycheerfulservantlaughed，andanswered:

’Me？Notatall，sir。’

’HowgladIamtowake！WhatarewedoingLouis？’

’Wegototakerelayofhorses。Willyouwalkupthehill？’

’Certainly。’

WelcometheoldFrenchhill，withtheoldFrenchlunatic(notinthemostdistantdegreerelatedtoSterne’sMaria)livinginathatcheddog-kennelhalf-wayup，andflyingoutwithhiscrutchandhisbigheadandextendednightcap，tobebeforehandwiththeoldmenandwomenexhibitingcrippledchildren，andwiththechildrenexhibitingoldmenandwomen，uglyandblind，whoalwaysseemedbyresurrectionaryprocesstoberecalledoutoftheelementsforthesuddenpeoplingofthesolitude！

’Itiswell，’saidI，scatteringamongthemwhatsmallcoinIhad；

’herecomesLouis，andIamquiterousedfrommynap。’

Wejourneyedonagain，andIwelcomedeverynewassurancethatFrancestoodwhereIhadleftit。Thereweretheposting-houses，withtheirarchways，dirtystable-yards，andcleanpost-masters’

wives，brightwomenofbusiness，lookingonattheputting-toofthehorses；therewerethepostilionscountingwhatmoneytheygot，intotheirhats，andnevermakingenoughofit；therewerethestandardpopulationofgreyhorsesofFlandersdescent，invariablybitingoneanotherwhentheygotachance；therewerethefleecysheepskins，loopedonovertheiruniformsbythepostilions，likebibbedapronswhenitblewandrained；thereweretheirJack-boots，andtheircrackingwhips；therewerethecathedralsthatIgotouttosee，asundersomecruelbondage，innowisedesiringtoseethem；therewerethelittletownsthatappearedtohavenoreasonforbeingtowns，sincemostoftheirhousesweretoletandnobodycouldbeinducedtolookatthem，exceptthepeoplewhocouldn’tletthemandhadnothingelsetodobutlookatthemallday。I

layanightupontheroadandenjoyeddelectablecookeryofpotatoes，andsomeothersensiblethings，adoptionofwhichathomewouldinevitablybeshowntobefraughtwithruin，somehoworother，tothatricketynationalblessing，theBritishfarmer；andatlastIwasrattled，likeasinglepillinabox，overleaguesofstones，until-madlycracking，plunging，andflourishingtwogreytailsabout-ImademytriumphalentryintoParis。

AtParis，ItookanupperapartmentforafewdaysinoneofthehotelsoftheRuedeRivoli；myfrontwindowslookingintothegardenoftheTuileries(wheretheprincipaldifferencebetweenthenursemaidsandtheflowersseemedtobethattheformerwerelocomotiveandthelatternot):mybackwindowslookingatalltheotherbackwindowsinthehotel，anddeepdownintoapavedyard，wheremyGermanchariothadretiredunderatight-fittingarchway，toallappearanceforlife，andwherebellsrangalldaywithoutanybody’smindingthembutcertainchamberlainswithfeatherbroomsandgreenbaizecaps，whohereandthereleanedoutofsomehighwindowplacidlylookingdown，andwhereneatwaiterswithtraysontheirleftshoulderspassedandrepassedfrommorningtonight。

WheneverIamatParis，IamdraggedbyinvisibleforceintotheMorgue。Ineverwanttogothere，butamalwayspulledthere。OneChristmasDay，whenIwouldratherhavebeenanywhereelse，Iwasattractedin，toseeanoldgreymanlyingallaloneonhiscoldbed，withatapofwaterturnedonoverhisgreyhair，andrunning，drip，drip，drip，downhiswretchedfaceuntilitgottothecornerofhismouth，whereittookaturn，andmadehimlooksly。OneNewYear’sMorning(bythesametoken，thesunwasshiningoutside，andtherewasamountebankbalancingafeatheronhisnose，withinayardofthegate)，Iwaspulledinagaintolookataflaxen-hairedboyofeighteen，withahearthangingonhisbreast-’fromhismother，’wasengravenonit-whohadcomeintothenetacrosstheriver，withabulletwoundinhisfairforeheadandhishandscutwithaknife，butwhenceorhowwasablankmystery。Thistime，I

wasforcedintothesamedreadplace，toseealargedarkmanwhosedisfigurementbywaterwasinafrightfulmannercomic，andwhoseexpressionwasthatofaprize-fighterwhohadclosedhiseyelidsunderaheavyblow，butwasgoingimmediatelytoopenthem，shakehishead，and’comeupsmiling。’Ohwhatthislargedarkmancostmeinthatbrightcity！

Itwasveryhotweather，andhewasnonethebetterforthat，andI

wasmuchtheworse。Indeed，averyneatandpleasantlittlewomanwiththekeyofherlodgingonherforefinger，whohadbeenshowinghimtoherlittlegirlwhilesheandthechildatesweetmeats，observedmonsieurlookingpoorlyaswecameouttogether，andaskedmonsieur，withherwonderinglittleeyebrowsprettilyraised，iftherewereanythingthematter？Faintlyreplyinginthenegative，monsieurcrossedtheroadtoawine-shop，gotsomebrandy，andresolvedtofreshenhimselfwithadipinthegreatfloatingbathontheriver。

Thebathwascrowdedintheusualairymanner，byamalepopulationinstripeddrawersofvariousgaycolours，whowalkedupanddownarminarm，drankcoffee，smokedcigars，satatlittletables，conversedpolitelywiththedamselswhodispensedthetowels，andeverynowandthenpitchedthemselvesintotheriverheadforemost，andcameoutagaintorepeatthissocialroutine。Imadehastetoparticipateinthewaterpartoftheentertainments，andwasinthefullenjoymentofadelightfulbath，whenallinamomentIwasseizedwithanunreasonableideathatthelargedarkbodywasfloatingstraightatme。

Iwasoutoftheriver，anddressinginstantly。IntheshockIhadtakensomewaterintomymouth，anditturnedmesick，forI

fanciedthatthecontaminationofthecreaturewasinit。Ihadgotbacktomycooldarkenedroominthehotel，andwaslyingonasofathere，beforeIbegantoreasonwithmyself。

Ofcourse，Iknewperfectlywellthatthelargedarkcreaturewasstonedead，andthatIshouldnomorecomeuponhimoutoftheplacewhereIhadseenhimdead，thanIshouldcomeuponthecathedralofNotre-Dameinanentirelynewsituation。Whattroubledmewasthepictureofthecreature；andthathadsocuriouslyandstronglypainteditselfuponmybrain，thatIcouldnotgetridofituntilitwaswornout。

Inoticedthepeculiaritiesofthispossession，whileitwasarealdiscomforttome。Thatveryday，atdinner，somemorselonmyplatelookedlikeapieceofhim，andIwasgladtogetupandgoout。Laterintheevening，IwaswalkingalongtheRueSt。Honore，whenIsawabillatapublicroomthere，announcingsmall-swordexercise，broad-swordexercise，wrestling，andothersuchfeats。I

wentin，andsomeofthesword-playbeingveryskilful，remained。

Aspecimenofourownnationalsport，TheBritishBoaxe，wasannouncedtobegivenatthecloseoftheevening。Inanevilhour，IdeterminedtowaitforthisBoaxe，asbecameaBriton。Itwasaclumsyspecimen(executedbytwoEnglishgroomsoutofplace)，butoneofthecombatants，receivingastraightright-

handerwiththeglovebetweenhiseyes，didexactlywhatthelargedarkcreatureintheMorguehadseemedgoingtodo-andfinishedmeforthatnight。

Therewasratherasicklysmell(notatallanunusualfragranceinParis)inthelittleante-roomofmyapartmentatthehotel。ThelargedarkcreatureintheMorguewasbynodirectexperienceassociatedwithmysenseofsmell，because，whenIcametotheknowledgeofhim，helaybehindawallofthickplate-glassasgoodasawallofsteelormarbleforthatmatter。Yetthewhiffoftheroomneverfailedtoreproducehim。Whatwasmorecurious，wasthecapriciousnesswithwhichhisportraitseemedtolightitselfupinmymind，elsewhere。ImightbewalkinginthePalaisRoyal，lazilyenjoyingtheshopwindows，andmightberegalingmyselfwithoneoftheready-madeclothesshopsthataresetoutthere。Myeyes，wanderingoverimpossible-waisteddressing-gownsandluminouswaistcoats，wouldfalluponthemaster，ortheshopman，oreventheverydummyatthedoor，andwouldsuggesttome，’Somethinglikehim！’-andinstantlyIwassickenedagain。