内河航程 英文版 An Inland Voyage
罗伯特.路易斯.史蒂文森 Robert Louis Stevenson
ON THE WILLEBROEK CANAL
Next morning, when we set forth on the Willebroek Canal, the rainbegan heavy and chill. The water of the canal stood at about thedrinking temperature of tea; and under this cold aspersion, thesurface was covered with steam. The exhilaration of departure, andthe easy motion of the boats under each stroke of the paddles,supported us through this misfortune while it lasted; and when thecloud passed and the sun came out again, our spirits went up abovethe range of stay-at-home humours. A good breeze rustled andshivered in the rows of trees that bordered the canal. The leavesflickered in and out of the light in tumultuous masses. It seemedsailing weather to eye and ear; but down between the banks, thewind reached us only in faint and desultory puffs. There washardly enough to steer by. Progress was intermittent andunsatisfactory. A jocular person, of marine antecedents, hailed usfrom the tow-path with a 'C'est vite, mais c'est long.'
The canal was busy enough. Every now and then we met or overtook along string of boats, with great green tillers; high sterns with awindow on either side of the rudder, and perhaps a jug or a flower-pot in one of the windows; a dinghy following behind; a womanbusied about the day's dinner, and a handful of children. Thesebarges were all tied one behind the other with tow ropes, to thenumber of twenty-five or thirty; and the line was headed and keptin motion by a steamer of strange construction. It had neitherpaddle-wheel nor screw; but by some gear not rightly comprehensibleto the unmechanical mind, it fetched up over its bow a small brightchain which lay along the bottom of the canal, and paying it outagain over the stern, dragged itself forward, link by link, withits whole retinue of loaded skows. Until one had found out the keyto the enigma, there was something solemn and uncomfortable in theprogress of one of these trains, as it moved gently along the waterwith nothing to mark its advance but an eddy alongside dying awayinto the wake.
Of all the creatures of commercial enterprise, a canal barge is byfar the most delightful to consider. It may spread its sails, andthen you see it sailing high above the tree-tops and the windmill,sailing on the aqueduct, sailing through the green corn-lands: themost picturesque of things amphibious. Or the horse plods along ata foot-pace as if there were no such thing as business in theworld; and the man dreaming at the tiller sees the same spire onthe horizon all day long. It is a mystery how things ever get totheir destination at this rate; and to see the barges waiting theirturn at a lock, affords a fine lesson of how easily the world maybe taken. There should be many contented spirits on board, forsuch a life is both to travel and to stay at home.
The chimney smokes for dinner as you go along; the banks of thecanal slowly unroll their scenery to contemplative eyes; the bargefloats by great forests and through great cities with their publicbuildings and their lamps at night; and for the bargee, in hisfloating home, 'travelling abed,' it is merely as if he werelistening to another man's story or turning the leaves of apicture-book in which he had no concern. He may take his afternoonwalk in some foreign country on the banks of the canal, and thencome home to dinner at his own fireside.
There is not enough exercise in such a life for any high measure ofhealth; but a high measure of health is only necessary forunhealthy people. The slug of a fellow, who is never ill nor well,has a quiet time of it in life, and dies all the easier.
I am sure I would rather be a bargee than occupy any position underheaven that required attendance at an office. There are fewcallings, I should say, where a man gives up less of his liberty inreturn for regular meals. The bargee is on shipboard--he is masterin his own ship--he can land whenever he will--he can never be keptbeating off a lee-shore a whole frosty night when the sheets are ashard as iron; and so far as I can make out, time stands as nearlystill with him as is compatible with the return of bed-time or thedinner-hour. It is not easy to see why a bargee should ever die.
Half-way between Willebroek and Villevorde, in a beautiful reach ofcanal like a squire's avenue, we went ashore to lunch. There weretwo eggs, a junk of bread, and a bottle of wine on board theArethusa; and two eggs and an Etna cooking apparatus on board theCigarette. The master of the latter boat smashed one of the eggsin the course of disembarkation; but observing pleasantly that itmight still be cooked a la papier, he dropped it into the Etna, inits covering of Flemish newspaper. We landed in a blink of fineweather; but we had not been two minutes ashore before the windfreshened into half a gale, and the rain began to patter on ourshoulders. We sat as close about the Etna as we could. Thespirits burned with great ostentation; the grass caught flame everyminute or two, and had to be trodden out; and before long, therewere several burnt fingers of the party. But the solid quantity ofcookery accomplished was out of proportion with so much display;and when we desisted, after two applications of the fire, the soundegg was little more than loo-warm; and as for a la papier, it was acold and sordid fricassee of printer's ink and broken egg-shell.We made shift to roast the other two, by putting them close to theburning spirits; and that with better success. And then weuncorked the bottle of wine, and sat down in a ditch with our canoeaprons over our knees. It rained smartly. Discomfort, when it ishonestly uncomfortable and makes no nauseous pretensions to thecontrary, is a vastly humorous business; and people well steepedand stupefied in the open air are in a good vein for laughter.From this point of view, even egg a la papier offered by way offood may pass muster as a sort of accessory to the fun. But thismanner of jest, although it may be taken in good part, does notinvite repetition; and from that time forward, the Etna voyagedlike a gentleman in the locker of the Cigarette.
It is almost unnecessary to mention that when lunch was over and wegot aboard again and made sail, the wind promptly died away. Therest of the journey to Villevorde, we still spread our canvas tothe unfavouring air; and with now and then a puff, and now and thena spell of paddling, drifted along from lock to lock, between theorderly trees.
It was a fine, green, fat landscape; or rather a mere green water-lane, going on from village to village. Things had a settled look,as in places long lived in. Crop-headed children spat upon us fromthe bridges as we went below, with a true conservative feeling.But even more conservative were the fishermen, intent upon theirfloats, who let us go by without one glance. They perched uponsterlings and buttresses and along the slope of the embankment,gently occupied. They were indifferent, like pieces of deadnature. They did not move any more than if they had been fishingin an old Dutch print. The leaves fluttered, the water lapped, butthey continued in one stay like so many churches established bylaw. You might have trepanned every one of their innocent heads,and found no more than so much coiled fishing-line below theirskulls. I do not care for your stalwart fellows in india-rubberstockings breasting up mountain torrents with a salmon rod; but Ido dearly love the class of man who plies his unfruitful art, forever and a day, by still and depopulated waters.
At the last lock, just beyond Villevorde, there was a lock-mistresswho spoke French comprehensibly, and told us we were still a coupleof leagues from Brussels. At the same place, the rain began again.It fell in straight, parallel lines; and the surface of the canalwas thrown up into an infinity of little crystal fountains. Therewere no beds to be had in the neighbourhood. Nothing for it but tolay the sails aside and address ourselves to steady paddling in therain.
Beautiful country houses, with clocks and long lines of shutteredwindows, and fine old trees standing in groves and avenues, gave arich and sombre aspect in the rain and the deepening dusk to theshores of the canal. I seem to have seen something of the sameeffect in engravings: opulent landscapes, deserted and overhungwith the passage of storm. And throughout we had the escort of ahooded cart, which trotted shabbily along the tow-path, and kept atan almost uniform distance in our wake.