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earth； I had； like the prophet of old； 〃wrestled with the Lord〃
for my creation； for the headlands of the coast； for the darkness
of the Placid Gulf； the light on the snows； the clouds on the
sky； and for the breath of life that had to be blown into the
shapes of men and women； of Latin and Saxon； of Jew and Gentile。
These are； perhaps； strong words； but it is difficult to
characterise otherwise the intimacy and the strain of a creative
effort in which mind and will and conscience are engaged to the
full； hour after hour； day after day； away from the world； and to
the exclusion of all that makes life really lovable and gentle
something for which a material parallel can only be found in the
everlasting sombre stress of the westward winter passage round
Cape Horn。 For that too is the wrestling of men with the might
of their Creator； in a great isolation from the world； without
the amenities and consolations of life； a lonely struggle under a
sense of over…matched littleness； for no reward that could be
adequate； but for the mere winning of a longitude。 Yet a certain
longitude； once won； cannot be disputed。 The sun and the stars
and the shape of your earth are the witnesses of your gain；
whereas a handful of pages； no matter how much you have made them
your own； are at best but an obscure and questionable spoil。
Here they are。 〃Failure〃〃Astonishing〃： take your choice； or
perhaps both； or neithera mere rustle and flutter of pieces of
paper settling down in the night； and undistinguishable； like the
snowflakes of a great drift destined to melt away in the
sunshine。
〃How do you do？〃
It was the greeting of the general's daughter。 I had heard
nothingno rustle； no footsteps。 I had felt only a moment
before a sort of premonition of evil； I had the sense of an
inauspicious presencejust that much warning and no more； and
then came the sound of the voice and the jar as of a terrible
fall from a great heighta fall； let us say； from the highest of
the clouds floating in gentle procession over the fields in the
faint westerly air of that July afternoon。 I picked myself up
quickly； of course； in other words； I jumped up from my chair
stunned and dazed； every nerve quivering with the pain of being
uprooted out of one world and flung down into anotherperfectly
civil。
〃Oh！ How do you do？ Won't you sit down？〃
That's what I said。 This horrible but； I assure you； perfectly
true reminiscence tells you more than a whole volume of
confessions a la Jean Jacques Rousseau would do。 Observe！ I
didn't howl at her； or start upsetting furniture； or throw myself
on the floor and kick； or allow myself to hint in any other way
at the appalling magnitude of the disaster。 The whole world of
Costaguana （the country； you may remember； of my seaboard tale）；
men； women； headlands； houses； mountains； town； campo （there was
not a single brick； stone； or grain of sand of its soil I had not
placed in position with my own hands）； all the history；
geography； politics； finance； the wealth of Charles Gould's
silver…mine； and the splendour of the magnificent Capataz de
Cargadores； whose name； cried out in the night （Dr。 Monygham
heard it pass over his headin Linda Viola's voice）； dominated
even after death the dark gulf containing his conquests of
treasure and loveall that had come down crashing about my ears。
I felt I could never pick up the piecesand in that very moment
I was saying； 〃Won't you sit down？〃
The sea is strong medicine。 Behold what the quarter…deck
training even in a merchant ship will do！ This episode should
give you a new view of the English and Scots seamen （a much…
caricatured folk） who had the last say in the formation of my
character。 One is nothing if not modest； but in this disaster I
think I have done some honour to their simple teaching。 〃Won't
you sit down？〃 Very fair； very fair indeed。 She sat down。 Her
amused glance strayed all over the room。 There were pages of MS。
on the table and under the table； a batch of typed copy on a
chair； single leaves had fluttered away into distant corners；
there were there living pages； pages scored and wounded； dead
pages that would be burnt at the end of the daythe litter of a
cruel battlefield； of a long； long and desperate fray。 Long！ I
suppose I went to bed sometimes； and got up the same number of
times。 Yes； I suppose I slept； and ate the food put before me；
and talked connectedly to my household on suitable occasions。
But I had never been aware of the even flow of daily life； made
easy and noiseless for me by a silent； watchful； tireless
affection。 Indeed； it seemed to me that I had been sitting at
that table surrounded by the litter of a desperate fray for days
and nights on end。 It seemed so； because of the intense
weariness of which that interruption had made me awarethe awful
disenchantment of a mind realising suddenly the futility of an
enormous task； joined to a bodily fatigue such as no ordinary
amount of fairly heavy physical labour could ever account for。 I
have carried bags of wheat on my back； bent almost double under a
ship's deck…beams； from six in the morning till six in the
evening （with an hour and a half off for meals）； so I ought to
know。
And I love letters。 I am jealous of their honour and concerned
for the dignity and comeliness of their service。 I was； most
likely； the only writer that neat lady had ever caught in the
exercise of his craft； and it distressed me not to be able to
remember when it was that I dressed myself last； and how。 No
doubt that would be all right in essentials。 The fortune of the
house included a pair of grey…blue watchful eyes that would see
to that。 But I felt somehow as grimy as a Costaguana lepero
after a day's fighting in the streets； rumpled all over and
dishevelled down to my very heels。 And I am afraid I blinked
stupidly。 All this was bad for the honour of letters and the
dignity of their service。 Seen indistinctly through the dust of
my collapsed universe； the good lady glanced about the room with
a slightly amused serenity。 And she was smiling。 What on earth
was she smiling at？ She remarked casually：
〃I am afraid I interrupted you。〃
〃Not at all。〃
She accepted the denial in perfect good faith。 And it was
strictly true。 Interruptedindeed！ She had robbed me of at
least twenty lives； each infinitely more poignant and real than
her own； because informed with passion； possessed of convictions；
involved in great