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The Floating Press - Joseph Conrad

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233 pages

English

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One of Joseph Conrad's most popular works, this rich, complex tale provides an account of the woebegone heiress Flora de Barral, whose dearth of life experience has left her virtually incapable of caring for herself. Narrated from several different points of view, this book is a fine example of the literary virtuosity that has prompted many critics to name Conrad as one the greatest English fiction stylists.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juillet 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775453734
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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CHANCE
A TALE IN TWO PARTS
* * *
JOSEPH CONRAD

*
Chance A Tale in Two Parts First published in 1913 ISBN 978-1-775453-73-4 © 2011 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Preface PART ONE Chapter 1 - Young Powell and His Chance Chapter 2 - The Fynes and the Girl-Friend Chapter 3 - Thrift—And the Child Chapter 4 - The Governess Chapter 5 - The Tea-Party Chapter 6 - Flora Chapter 7 - On the Pavement PART TWO Chapter 1 - The Ferndale Chapter 2 - Young Powell Sees and Hears Chapter 3 - Devoted Servants—And the Light of a Flare Chapter 4 - Anthony and Flora Chapter 5 - The Great de Barral Chapter 6 - A Moonless Night, Thick with Stars Above, Very Dark on the Water
Preface
*
Although this story is written in fairly simple language it is strangelydifficult to follow. The setting is that of one man, an old ship'sofficer, telling another of the same a long story. The language slidesbetween the two men, lighting pipes, making and answering comments, andso forth, and then back into the detail of the story, and sometimesdeeper still, into conversations that take place in the story.
This has its effect on the use of quotation signs. This is the hardestpart of this book to edit. There are rules involving the use of thesesigns, and most books obey them all the way through, but in this bookeither the author was being experimental, or the typesetter was a bitconfused. Because of the sliding in and out of the depth of the story,the quotes rules often vary from one paragraph to the next. What wehave done is to make the quotes rules hold true for each individualparagraph right through the book, and as far as possible we have madethe rules consistent from paragraph to paragraph. This is the secondtime that we have scanned the same copy of this book, and we just hopethat we have made a good job of it.
PART ONE
*
Chapter 1 - Young Powell and His Chance
*
I believe he had seen us out of the window coming off to dine in thedinghy of a fourteen-ton yawl belonging to Marlow my host and skipper.We helped the boy we had with us to haul the boat up on thelanding-stage before we went up to the riverside inn, where we found ournew acquaintance eating his dinner in dignified loneliness at the headof a long table, white and inhospitable like a snow bank.
The red tint of his clear-cut face with trim short black whiskers undera cap of curly iron-grey hair was the only warm spot in the dinginess ofthat room cooled by the cheerless tablecloth. We knew him already bysight as the owner of a little five-ton cutter, which he sailed aloneapparently, a fellow yachtsman in the unpretending band of fanatics whocruise at the mouth of the Thames. But the first time he addressed thewaiter sharply as 'steward' we knew him at once for a sailor as well asa yachtsman.
Presently he had occasion to reprove that same waiter for the slovenlymanner in which the dinner was served. He did it with considerableenergy and then turned to us.
"If we at sea," he declared, "went about our work as people ashore highand low go about theirs we should never make a living. No one wouldemploy us. And moreover no ship navigated and sailed in thehappy-go-lucky manner people conduct their business on shore would everarrive into port."
Since he had retired from the sea he had been astonished to discoverthat the educated people were not much better than the others. No oneseemed to take any proper pride in his work: from plumbers who weresimply thieves to, say, newspaper men (he seemed to think them aspecially intellectual class) who never by any chance gave a correctversion of the simplest affair. This universal inefficiency of what hecalled "the shore gang" he ascribed in general to the want ofresponsibility and to a sense of security.
"They see," he went on, "that no matter what they do this tight littleisland won't turn turtle with them or spring a leak and go to the bottomwith their wives and children."
From this point the conversation took a special turn relatingexclusively to sea-life. On that subject he got quickly in touch withMarlow who in his time had followed the sea. They kept up a livelyexchange of reminiscences while I listened. They agreed that thehappiest time in their lives was as youngsters in good ships, with nocare in the world but not to lose a watch below when at sea and not amoment's time in going ashore after work hours when in harbour. Theyagreed also as to the proudest moment they had known in that callingwhich is never embraced on rational and practical grounds, because ofthe glamour of its romantic associations. It was the moment when theyhad passed successfully their first examination and left the seamanshipExaminer with the little precious slip of blue paper in their hands.
"That day I wouldn't have called the Queen my cousin," declared our newacquaintance enthusiastically.
At that time the Marine Board examinations took place at the SaintKatherine's Dock House on Tower Hill, and he informed us that he had aspecial affection for the view of that historic locality, with theGardens to the left, the front of the Mint to the right, the miserabletumble-down little houses farther away, a cabstand, boot-blackssquatting on the edge of the pavement and a pair of big policemen gazingwith an air of superiority at the doors of the Black Horse public-houseacross the road. This was the part of the world, he said, his eyesfirst took notice of, on the finest day of his life. He had emergedfrom the main entrance of Saint Katherine's Dock House a full-fledgedsecond mate after the hottest time of his life with Captain R—, themost dreaded of the three seamanship Examiners who at the time wereresponsible for the merchant service officers qualifying in the Port ofLondon.
"We all who were preparing to pass," he said, "used to shake in ourshoes at the idea of going before him. He kept me for an hour and ahalf in the torture chamber and behaved as though he hated me. He kepthis eyes shaded with one of his hands. Suddenly he let it drop saying,'You will do!' Before I realised what he meant he was pushing the blueslip across the table. I jumped up as if my chair had caught fire.
"'Thank you, sir,' says I, grabbing the paper.
"'Good morning, good luck to you,' he growls at me.
"The old doorkeeper fussed out of the cloak-room with my hat. Theyalways do. But he looked very hard at me before he ventured to ask in asort of timid whisper: 'Got through all right, sir?' For all answer Idropped a half-crown into his soft broad palm. 'Well,' says he with asudden grin from ear to ear, 'I never knew him keep any of you gentlemenso long. He failed two second mates this morning before your turn came.Less than twenty minutes each: that's about his usual time.'
"I found myself downstairs without being aware of the steps as if I hadfloated down the staircase. The finest day in my life. The day you getyour first command is nothing to it. For one thing a man is not soyoung then and for another with us, you know, there is nothing much moreto expect. Yes, the finest day of one's life, no doubt, but then it isjust a day and no more. What comes after is about the most unpleasanttime for a youngster, the trying to get an officer's berth with nothingmuch to show but a brand-new certificate. It is surprising how uselessyou find that piece of ass's skin that you have been putting yourself insuch a state about. It didn't strike me at the time that a Board ofTrade certificate does not make an officer, not by a long long way. Butthe skippers of the ships I was haunting with demands for a job knewthat very well. I don't wonder at them now, and I don't blame themeither. But this 'trying to get a ship' is pretty hard on a youngsterall the same..."
He went on then to tell us how tired he was and how discouraged by thislesson of disillusion following swiftly upon the finest day of his life.He told us how he went the round of all the ship-owners' offices in theCity where some junior clerk would furnish him with printed forms ofapplication which he took home to fill up in the evening. He used torun out just before midnight to post them in the nearest pillar-box.And that was all that ever came of it. In his own words: he might justas well have dropped them all properly addressed and stamped into thesewer grating.
Then one day, as he was wending his weary way to the docks, he met afriend and former shipmate a little older than himself outside theFenchurch Street Railway Station.
He craved for sympathy but his friend had just "got a ship" that verymorning and was hurrying home in a state of outward joy and inwarduneasiness usual to a sailor who after many days of waiting suddenlygets a berth. This friend had the time to condole with him but briefly.He must be moving. Then as he was running off, over his shoulder as itwere, he suggested: "Why don't you go and speak to Mr Powell in theShipping Office." Our friend objected that he did not know Mr Powellfrom Adam. And the other already pretty near round the corner shoutedback advice: "Go to the private door of the Shipping Office and walkright up to him. His desk is by the window. Go up boldly and say Isent you."
Our new acquaintance looking from one to the other of us declared: "Uponmy word, I had grown so desperate that I'd have gone boldly up to thedevil himself on the mere hint that he had a second mate's job to giveaway."
It was at this point that interrupting his flow of talk to light