It is a cause of very great regret to me that this task has taken so much longer a time than I had expected for its completion. It is now many months — over a year, in fact — since I wrote to Georgetown announcing my intention of publishing, in a very few months, the whole truth about Mr. Abel. Hardly less could have been looked for from his nearest friend, and I had hoped that the discussion in the newspapers would have ceased, at all events, until the appearance of the promised book. It has not been so; and at this distance from Guiana I was not aware of how much conjectural1 matter was being printed week by week in the local press, some of which must have been painful reading to Mr. Abel’s friends. A darkened chamber2, the existence of which had never been suspected in that familiar house in Main Street, furnished only with an ebony stand on which stood a cinerary urn3, its surface ornamented4 with flower and leaf and thorn, and winding5 through it all the figure of a serpent; an inscription6, too, of seven short words which no one could understand or rightly interpret; and finally the disposal of the mysterious ashes — that was all there was relating to an untold7 chapter in a man’s life for imagination to work on. Let us hope that now, at last, the romance-weaving will come to an end. It was, however, but natural that the keenest curiosity should have been excited; not only because of that peculiar8 and indescribable charm of the man, which all recognized and which won all hearts, but also because of that hidden chapter — that sojourn9 in the desert, about which he preserved silence. It was felt in a vague way by his intimates that he had met with unusual experiences which had profoundly affected10 him and changed the course of his life. To me alone was the truth known, and I must now tell, briefly11 as possible, how my great friendship and close intimacy12 with him came about.
When, in 1887, I arrived in Georgetown to take up an appointment in a public office, I found Mr. Abel an old resident there, a man of means and a favourite in society. Yet he was an alien, a Venezuelan, one of that turbulent people on our border whom the colonists13 have always looked on as their natural enemies. The story told to me was that about twelve years before that time he had arrived at Georgetown from some remote district in the interior; that he had journeyed alone on foot across half the continent to the coast, and had first appeared among them, a young stranger, penniless, in rags, wasted almost to a skeleton by fever and misery14 of all kinds, his face blackened by long exposure to sun and wind. Friendless, with but little English, it was a hard struggle for him to live; but he managed somehow, and eventually letters from Caracas informed him that a considerable property of which he had been deprived was once more his own, and he was also invited to return to his country to take his part in the government of the Republic. But Mr. Abel, though young, had already outlived political passions and aspirations15, and, apparently16, even the love of his country; at all events, he elected to stay where he was — his enemies, he would say smilingly, were his best friends — and one of the first uses he made of his fortune was to buy that house in Main Street which was afterwards like a home to me.
I must state here that my friend’s full name was Abel Guevez de Argensola, but in his early days in Georgetown he was called by his Christian17 name only, and later he wished to be known simply as “Mr. Abel.”
I had no sooner made his acquaintance than I ceased to wonder at the esteem18 and even affection with which he, a Venezuelan, was regarded in this British colony. All knew and liked him, and the reason of it was the personal charm of the man, his kindly19 disposition20, his manner with women, which pleased them and excited no man’s jealousy21 — not even the old hot-tempered planter’s, with a very young and pretty and light-headed wife — his love of little children, of all wild creatures, of nature, and of whatsoever22 was furthest removed from the common material interests and concerns of a purely23 commercial community. The things which excited other men — politics, sport, and the price of crystals — were outside of his thoughts; and when men had done with them for a season, when like the tempest they had “blown their fill” in office and club-room and house and wanted a change, it was a relief to turn to Mr. Abel and get him to discourse24 of his world — the world of nature and of the spirit.
It was, all felt, a good thing to have a Mr. Abel in Georgetown. That it was indeed good for me I quickly discovered. I had certainly not expected to meet in such a place with any person to share my tastes — that love of poetry which has been the chief passion and delight of my life; but such a one I had found in Mr. Abel. It surprised me that he, suckled on the literature of Spain, and a reader of only ten or twelve years of English literature, possessed25 a knowledge of our modern poetry as intimate as my own, and a love of it equally great. This feeling brought us together and made us two — the nervous olive-skinned Hispano–American of the tropics and the phlegmatic26 blue-eyed Saxon of the cold north — one in spirit and more than brothers. Many were the daylight hours we spent together and “tired the sun with talking”; many, past counting, the precious evenings in that restful house of his where I was an almost daily guest. I had not looked for such happiness; nor, he often said, had he. A result of this intimacy was that the vague idea concerning his hidden past, that some unusual experience had profoundly affected him and perhaps changed the whole course of his life, did not diminish, but, on the contrary, became accentuated27, and was often in my mind. The change in him was almost painful to witness whenever our wandering talk touched on the subject of the aborigines, and of the knowledge he had acquired of their character and languages when living or travelling among them; all that made his conversation most engaging — the lively, curious mind, the wit, the gaiety of spirit tinged28 with a tender melancholy29 — appeared to fade out of it; even the expression of his face would change, becoming hard and set, and he would deal you out facts in a dry mechanical way as if reading them in a book. It grieved me to note this, but I dropped no hint of such a feeling, and would never have spoken about it but for a quarrel which came at last to make the one brief solitary31 break in that close friendship of years. I got into a bad state of health, and Abel was not only much concerned about it, but annoyed, as if I had not treated him well by being ill, and he would even say that I could get well if I wished to. I did not take this seriously, but one morning, when calling to see me at the office, he attacked me in a way that made me downright angry with him. He told me that indolence and the use of stimulants32 was the cause of my bad health. He spoke30 in a mocking way, with a presence of not quite meaning it, but the feeling could not be wholly disguised. Stung by his reproaches, I blurted33 out that he had no right to talk to me, even in fun, in such a way. Yes, he said, getting serious, he had the best right — that of our friendship. He would be no true friend if he kept his peace about such a matter. Then, in my haste, I retorted that to me the friendship between us did not seem so perfect and complete as it did to him. One condition of friendship is that the partners in it should be known to each other. He had had my whole life and mind open to him, to read it as in a book. His life was a closed and clasped volume to me.
His face darkened, and after a few moments’ silent reflection he got up and left me with a cold good-bye, and without that hand-grasp which had been customary between us.
After his departure I had the feeling that a great loss, a great calamity34, had befallen me, but I was still smarting at his too candid35 criticism, all the more because in my heart I acknowledged its truth. And that night, lying awake, I repented36 of the cruel retort I had made, and resolved to ask his forgiveness and leave it to him to determine the question of our future relations. But he was beforehand with me, and with the morning came a letter begging my forgiveness and asking me to go that evening to dine with him.
We were alone, and during dinner and afterwards, when we sat smoking and sipping37 black coffee in the veranda38, we were unusually quiet, even to gravity, which caused the two white-clad servants that waited on us — the brown-faced subtle-eyed old Hindu butler and an almost blue-black young Guiana Negro — to direct many furtive39 glances at their master’s face. They were accustomed to see him in a more genial40 mood when he had a friend to dine. To me the change in his manner was not surprising: from the moment of seeing him I had divined that he had determined41 to open the shut and clasped volume of which I had spoken — that the time had now come for him to speak.
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1
conjectural
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| adj.推测的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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colonists
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| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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stimulants
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| n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 )；含兴奋剂的饮料；刺激物；激励物 | |
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blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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