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fancy that the shade of old Flaubertwho imagined himself to be
（amongst other things） a descendant of Vikingsmight have
hovered with amused interest over the decks of a 2000…ton steamer
called the 〃Adowa；〃 on board of which； gripped by the inclement
winter alongside a quay in Rouen； the tenth chapter of 〃Almayer's
Folly〃 was begun。 With interest； I say； for was not the kind
Norman giant with enormous moustaches and a thundering voice the
last of the Romantics？ Was he not； in his unworldly； almost
ascetic； devotion to his art a sort of literary； saint…like
hermit？
〃'It has set at last；' said Nina to her mother； pointing to the
hills behind which the sun had sunk。〃。 。 。These words of
Almayer's romantic daughter I remember tracing on the grey paper
of a pad which rested on the blanket of my bed…place。 They
referred to a sunset in Malayan Isles and shaped themselves in my
mind； in a hallucinated vision of forests and rivers and seas；
far removed from a commercial and yet romantic town of the
northern hemisphere。 But at that moment the mood of visions and
words was cut short by the third officer； a cheerful and casual
youth； coming in with a bang of the door and the exclamation：
〃You've made it jolly warm in here。〃
It was warm。 I had turned on the steam…heater after placing a
tin under the leaky water…cockfor perhaps you do not know that
water will leak where steam will not。 I am not aware of what my
young friend had been doing on deck all that morning； but the
hands he rubbed together vigorously were very red and imparted to
me a chilly feeling by their mere aspect。 He has remained the
only banjoist of my acquaintance； and being also a younger son of
a retired colonel； the poem of Mr。 Kipling； by a strange
aberration of associated ideas； always seems to me to have been
written with an exclusive view to his person。 When he did not
play the banjo he loved to sit and look at it。 He proceeded to
this sentimental inspection and after meditating a while over the
strings under my silent scrutiny inquired airily：
〃What are you always scribbling there； if it's fair to ask？〃
It was a fair enough question； but I did not answer him； and
simply turned the pad over with a movement of instinctive
secrecy： I could not have told him he had put to flight the
psychology of Nina Almayer； her opening speech of the tenth
chapter and the words of Mrs。 Almayer's wisdom which were to
follow in the ominous oncoming of a tropical night。 I could not
have told him that Nina had said： 〃It has set at last。〃 He
would have been extremely surprised and perhaps have dropped his
precious banjo。 Neither could I have told him that the sun of my
sea…going was setting too； even as I wrote the words expressing
the impatience of passionate youth bent on its desire。 I did not
know this myself； and it is safe to say he would not have cared；
though he was an excellent young fellow and treated me with more
deference than； in our relative positions； I was strictly
entitled to。
He lowered a tender gaze on his banjo and I went on looking
through the port…hole。 The round opening framed in its brass rim
a fragment of the quays； with a row of casks ranged on the frozen
ground and the tail…end of a great cart。 A red…nosed carter in a
blouse and a woollen nightcap leaned against the wheel。 An idle；
strolling custom…house guard； belted over his blue capote； had
the air of being depressed by exposure to the weather and the
monotony of official existence。 The background of grimy houses
found a place in the picture framed by my port…hole； across a
wide stretch of paved quay brown with frozen mud。 The colouring
was sombre； and the most conspicuous feature was a little cafe
with curtained windows and a shabby front of white woodwork；
corresponding with the squalor of these poorer quarters bordering
the river。 We had been shifted down there from another berth in
the neighbourhood of the Opera House； where that same port…hole
gave me a view of quite another sort of cafethe best in the
town； I believe； and the very one where the worthy Bovary and his
wife； the romantic daughter of old Pere Renault； had some
refreshment after the memorable performance of an opera which was
the tragic story of Lucia di Lammermoor in a setting of light
music。
I could recall no more the hallucination of the Eastern
Archipelago which I certainly hoped to see again。 The story of
〃Almayer's Folly〃 got put away under the pillow for that day。 I
do not know that I had any occupation to keep me away from it；
the truth of the matter is that on board that ship we were
leading just then a contemplative life。 I will not say anything
of my privileged position。 I was there 〃just to oblige；〃 as an
actor of standing may take a small part in the benefit
performance of a friend。
As far as my feelings were concerned I did not wish to be in that
steamer at that time and in those circumstances。 And perhaps I
was not even wanted there in the usual sense in which a ship
〃wants〃 an officer。 It was the first and last instance in my sea
life when I served ship…owners who have remained completely
shadowy to my apprehension。 I do not mean this for the well…
known firm of London ship…brokers which had chartered the ship to
the； I will not say short…lived； but ephemeral Franco…Canadian
Transport Company。 A death leaves something behind； but there
was never anything tangible left from the F。C。T。C。 It flourished
no longer than roses live； and unlike the roses it blossomed in
the dead of winter； emitted a sort of faint perfume of adventure
and died before spring set in。 But indubitably it was a company；
it had even a house…flag； all white with the letters F。C。T。C。
artfully tangled up in a complicated monogram。 We flew it at our
main…mast head； and now I have come to the conclusion that it was
the only flag of its kind in existence。 All the same we on
board； for many days； had the impression of being a unit of a
large fleet with fortnightly departures for Montreal and Quebec
as advertised in pamphlets and prospectuses which came aboard in
a large package in Victoria Dock； London； just before we started
for Rouen； France。 And in the shadowy life of the F。C。T。C。 lies
the secret of that； my last employment in my calling； which in a
remote sense interrupted the rhythmical development of Nina
Almayer's story。
The then secretary of the London Shipmasters' Society； with its
modest rooms in Fenchurch Street； was a man of ind