The month of June had come. The town in which my mother and I lived
became remarkably animated at that season. A multitude of vessels
arrived at the wharves, a multitude of new faces presented themselves on
the streets. I loved at such times to stroll along the quay, past the
coffee-houses and inns, to scan the varied faces of the sailors and
other people who sat under the canvas awnings, at little white tables
with pewter tankards filled with beer.
One day, as I was passing in front of a coffee-house, I caught sight of
a man who immediately engrossed my entire attention. Clad in a long
black coat of peasant cut, with a straw hat pulled down over his eyes,
he was sitting motionless, with his arms folded on his chest. Thin
rings of black hair descended to his very nose; his thin lips gripped
the stem of a short pipe. This man seemed so familiar to me, every
feature of his swarthy, yellow face, his whole figure, were so
indubitably stamped on my memory, that I could not do otherwise than
halt before him, could not help putting to myself the question: "Who is
this man? Where have I seen him?" He probably felt my intent stare, for
he turned his black, piercing eyes upon me.... I involuntarily uttered a
cry of surprise....
This man was the father whom I had sought out, whom I had beheld in my
dream!
There was no possibility of making a mistake,--the resemblance was too
striking. Even the long-skirted coat, which enveloped his gaunt limbs,
reminded me, in colour and form, of the dressing-gown in which my father
had presented himself to me.
"Am not I dreaming?" I thought to myself.... "No.... It is daylight now,
a crowd is roaring round me, the sun is shining brightly in the blue
sky, and I have before me, not a phantom, but a living man."
I stepped up to an empty table, ordered myself a tankard of beer and a
newspaper, and seated myself at a short distance from this mysterious
being.
V
Placing the sheets of the newspaper on a level with my face, I continued
to devour the stranger with my eyes.--He hardly stirred, and only raised
his drooping head a little from time to time. He was evidently waiting
for some one. I gazed and gazed.... Sometimes it seemed to me that I had
invented the whole thing, that in reality there was no resemblance
whatever, that I had yielded to the semi-involuntary deception of the
imagination ... but "he" would suddenly turn a little on his chair,
raise his hand slightly, and again I almost cried aloud, again I beheld
before me my "nocturnal" father! At last he noticed my importunate
attention, and, first with surprise, then with vexation, he glanced in
my direction, started to rise, and knocked down a small cane which he
had leaned against the table. I instantly sprang to my feet, picked it
up and handed it to him. My heart was beating violently.
He smiled in a constrained way, thanked me, and putting his face close
to my face, he elevated his eyebrows and parted his lips a little, as
though something had struck him.
"You are very polite, young man," he suddenly began, in a dry, sharp,
snuffling voice.--"That is a rarity nowadays. Allow me to congratulate
you. You have been well brought up."
I do not remember precisely what answer I made to him; but the
conversation between us was started. I learned that he was a
fellow-countryman of mine, that he had recently returned from America,
where he had lived many years, and whither he was intending to return
shortly. He said his name was Baron.... I did not catch the name well.
He, like my "nocturnal" father, wound up each of his remarks with an
indistinct, inward growl. He wanted to know my name.... On hearing it he
again showed signs of surprise. Then he asked me if I had been living
long in that town, and with whom? I answered him that I lived with my
mother.
"And your father?"
"My father died long ago."
He inquired my mother's Christian name, and immediately burst into an
awkward laugh--and then excused himself, saying that he had that
American habit, and that altogether he was a good deal of an eccentric.
Then he asked where we lived. I told him.