The Green Ray E-Book

Jules Verne.

• Herausgeber: Luath Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

This new edition of The Green Ray brings the rarely available title by the famous French author Jules Verne to a new generation. The mysterious scientific phenomenon of the green ray is unpredictable and elusive. When Helena hears of its apparent mystical effects on the mind and soul she enlists her uncles and two very different suitors, one artist and one amateur scientist, to find it. They travel to Scotland to seek to catch a glimpse of green rays which shoot out from the sunset. Their numerous attempts are always unsuccessful, thwarted by clouds or boats blocking the sun, until finally the phenomenon is visible, but they are no longer watching the horizon. BACK COVER The ray has the virtue of meaning that anyone who has seen it can no longer make a mistake in matters of sentiment; its appearance destroys illusions and lies. When a newspaper article tells Helena Campbell, whose impending arrange marriage is less than a love match, that seeing the green ray is an indication of true love, she refuses to marry anyone until she has seen it. Her quest to find the green ray takes her on an island-hopping tour of the Hebrides that nearly costs her her life, and Helena must ask herself - is seeing the green ray worth it? With which of her suitors will Helena see the ray? Or will she never see it at all? The Green Ray has all the hallmarks of a Verne classic - danger, romance, and of course a tale of marvellous adventure. Karen Loukes' new translatioj of Jules Verne's 'lost' Scottish novel recaptures the spirit of the original French text.

Leseprobe

JULES VERNE(1828–1905)was born in Nantes, France. He wrote over 60 novels, and is famous for his fascination with science and travel. He is the author of such well-known classics asJourney to the Centre of the Earth,Around the World in Eighty DaysandTwenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea.In1859Verne travelled to Scotland, a journey that inspiredThe Underground City, a new translation of which was published by Luath Press in 2005. Originally published asLes Indes noires,The Underground Cityis set underneath Loch Katrine and was described by Michel Tournier as ‘one of the strangest and most beautiful novels of the nineteenth century’. In 1879 Verne returned to Scotland, visiting Glasgow and travelling to Oban, from where he went on a day cruise round Mull, Iona and Staffa. His diary relates the details of his journey, which clearly inspired the route that the travellers inThe Green Rayfollow, and notes his interest in both Fingal’s Cave and the Corryvreckan whirlpool, which feature strongly in this novel, of all his books the one that most closely follows Verne’s travels in Scotland.

Inside illustrations are the drawings by L. Benett from the first octavo edition ofLe Rayon vertby Jules Verne, Paris1882. Reproduced courtesy of Professor Ian Thompson.

The Green Ray

A new translation of the complete text with illustrations

JULES VERNE

translated by Karen Loukeswith an afterword by Professor Ian Thompson

LuathPress Limited

EDINBURGH

www.luath.co.uk

Contents

1 Brother Sam and Brother Sib

2 Helena Campbell

3 The Article in the Morning Post

4 Down the Clyde

5 From One Boat to the Next

6 The Gulf of Corryvreckan

7 Aristobulus Ursiclos

8 A Cloud on the Horizon

9 The Words of Dame Bess

10 A Game of Croquet

11 Oliver Sinclair

12 New Plans

13 The Glories of the Sea

14 Life on Iona

15 The Ruins of Iona

16 Two Gun Shots

17 On Board the Clorinda

18 Staffa

19 Fingal’s Cave

20 For Miss Campbell

21 A Storm in a Cave

22 The Green Ray

23 Conclusion

Afterword

First publishedasLe Rayon vert, Paris 1882

First published in English, London 1883

This translation first published 2009

Reprinted 2011

Reprinted 2012

Reprinted 2013

eBook 2014

ISBN (print): 978-1-905222-1-24

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-909912-82-3

© Luath Press Ltd 2009

1

Brother Sam and Brother Sib

‘BET!’

‘BETH!’

‘Bess!’

‘Betsy!’

‘Betty!’

One after another the names echoed through the magnificent Helensburgh hall. Brother Sam and brother Sib had the odd habit of summoning their housekeeper in this way. But at that moment those familiar diminutives of Elizabeth were no more capable of bringing forth that excellent lady than if her masters had called her by her full name. Instead the steward, Partridge, appeared at the hall door, bonnet in hand.

Partridge, addressing the two honest-looking gentlemen, who were sitting in the embrasure of a diamond-paned window whose three sides jutted out on the front of the house, said:

‘You were calling for dame Bess, sirs, but she’s not here.’

‘Where is she then, Partridge?’

‘She’s with Miss Campbell, who is walking in the park.’

And, at a sign from the two gentlemen, Partridge retired gravely.

The gentlemen were the brothers Sam and Sib – christened Samuel and Sebastian – Miss Campbell’s uncles. Scotsmen of the old school, Scotsmen of an ancient Highland clan, they had a combined age of one hundred and twelve with only fifteen months separating the elder brother, Sam, from the younger, Sib.

To give a quick sketch of these prototypes of honour, goodness and devotion, it is sufficient to state that their entire existence had been devoted to their niece. They were her mother’s brothers. Her mother had been left a widow after one year of marriage, only to be carried off herself shortly afterwards by a lightening-quick illness. Sam and Sib Melville thus remained the small orphan’s only guardians in this world. They were united in the same devotion; they lived, thought and dreamt for her alone.

The communal snuffbox was opened by brother Sam…

For her sake they had remained single, and, moreover, they had done so without regret. They were of that number of estimable persons who have only one role to play down here, namely that of a guardian. And once again, is it not sufficient to say that the eldest had made himself the father of the child, and the youngest the mother? So, it sometimes happened that Miss Campbell greeted them quite naturally with ‘good morning, papa Sam! How are you, mama Sib?’

To whom could they be better compared, these two uncles, though without the aptitude for business, than to those charitable merchants, so good, so united and so affectionate, the Cheeryble brothers of the city of London, the most perfect characters ever to have emanated from Dickens’ imagination! It would be impossible to find a more accurate likeness, and, should the author be accused of having borrowed their type from that masterpieceNicholas Nickleby, no one can regret this appropriation.

Sam and Sib Melville, linked by the marriage of their sister to a collateral branch of the ancient Campbell family, had never been parted. An identical education had made them mentally similar. They had had the same teaching at the same college in the same class. As they generally voiced the same ideas about all things using identical terms, either one could always finish the other’s sentence using the same expressions emphasised by the same gestures. In short, these two individuals were as one. There was however some difference in their physical make-up. Sam was a little taller than Sib, Sib a little fatter than Sam, but they could have exchanged their grey hair without altering the character of their honest faces on which all the nobleness of the descendants of the Melville clan was imprinted.

Is it necessary to add that they shared a similar taste in the cut of their simple, old-fashioned clothing and in their choice of good Scottish fabric, although, and who could explain this slight difference, Sam seemed to prefer dark blue and Sib dark brown.

To be honest, who would not have wanted to live in the intimacy enjoyed by these two worthy gentlemen? Used to walking at the same pace in life, they would doubtless stop only a little way apart when the time came for their final rest. In any case, these two remaining pillars of the Melville house were solid. They might well support the ancient edifice of their race, which dated back to the fourteenth century, the epic era of Robert Bruce and of Wallace and the historic period in which Scotland disputed its right to independence with England, for a long time yet.

But though Sam and Sib Melville no longer had the chance to fight for the good of their country, though their lives were less fraught and had been spent in the peace and affluence that fortune bestows, they should not be reproached, nor should it be thought that their race had degenerated. They had, through their good deeds, continued the generous traditions of their ancestors.

Consequently, as they were both in good health and had not a single irregularity with which to reproach themselves, they were destined to age without ever becoming old, neither in body nor in mind.

Perhaps they had one fault – who can claim to be perfect? They peppered their conversation with images and quotations borrowed from the famous owner of Abbotsford, and more particularly from the epic poems of Ossian, which they doted upon. But who could reproach them for this in the land of Fingal and Walter Scott?

To finish the portrait with a final flourish, it should be noted that they were great snuff-takers. Now, everyone knows that in the United Kingdom a tobacconist’s sign usually depicts a valiant Scot with a snuffbox in his hand, strutting about in traditional dress. Well, the Melville brothers might have appeared quite advantageously on one of these painted zinc signs which creak from the roofs of tobacconists’ shops. They took as much snuff as, if not more snuff than, anyone on either side of the Tweed. But, characteristically, they only had one snuffbox between them – though it was enormous. This portable object passed in turn from the pocket of one into the pocket of the other. It was like an extra link between them. It need hardly be said that they always experienced the need to inhale the excellent narcotic powder, which they had brought in from France, at the same moment, were it ten times an hour. Whenever one of them drew the box out from the depths of his clothing, it was only to find that they both felt like a good pinch, and, whenever one of them sneezed, the other would say, ‘God bless you!’

All in all, the brothers Sam and Sib were veritable children as far as the realities of life were concerned. They knew little enough about the practical things in the world, but about industry, finance and business they knew nothing at all, nor did they claim to. As far as politics went, they were, perhaps, Jacobites at heart, and retained some of the old prejudice against the reigning Hanover dynasty, thinking of the last of the Stuarts as a Frenchman might think of the last of the Valois. Finally, in affairs of the heart, they knew less again.

And yet the Melville brothers had only one thought on their minds. They wanted to see clearly into Miss Campbell’s heart, and to divine her most secret thoughts. They wanted to direct them if necessary and develop them if need be, and finally they wanted to marry her to a good fellow of their choice, who could not fail to make her happy.

If they are to be believed – or rather to hear them speaking – it would seem that they had found precisely that good fellow who would bear the responsibility for that pleasant task here on earth.

‘So, Helena has gone out, brother Sib?’

‘Yes, brother Sam, but, as it is now five o’clock, it cannot be much longer before she returns home.’

‘And when she returns…’

‘I think, brother Sam, that it will be appropriate to have a very serious meeting with her.’

‘In a few weeks, brother Sib, our girl will reach the age of eighteen.’

‘The age of Diana Vernon, brother Sam. Is she not as charming as the delightful heroine ofRob Roy?’

‘Yes, brother Sib, and in the grace of her manners…’

‘The turn of her mind…’

‘The originality of her ideas…’

‘She is more like Diana Vernon than Flora MacIvor, the great and imposing figure inWaverley!’

The Melville brothers, proud of their national writer, cited several more names of heroines fromThe Antiquary,Guy Mannering,The Abbot, The Monastery, The Fair Maid of Perth, Kenilworthetc but all, according to their notions, were inferior to Miss Campbell.

‘She is like a young rose tree that has grown a little fast, brother Sib, and which must…’

‘Be given a stake, brother Sam. Now I was told that the best stake…’

‘Must evidently be a husband, brother Sib, for he takes root in turn in the same soil…’

‘And grows quite naturally, brother Sam, alongside the young rose tree that he protects.’

Together, the Melville brothers had found this metaphor; it was borrowed from the bookThe Perfect Gardener. Doubtless they were satisfied with it, as it brought the same smile of contentment to their good faces. The communal snuffbox was opened by brother Sam, who plunged two fingers into it delicately. It then passed into the hands of brother Sib, who, after having drawn a large quantity, put it into his pocket.

‘So, are we agreed, brother Sam?’

‘As always, brother Sib!’

‘Even on the choice of stake?’

‘Would it be possible to find a nicer one, or one more to Helena’s taste, than this young scholar, who, on several occasions, has displayed such decent feelings…?’

‘And so serious towards her?’

‘Indeed it would be difficult. Educated, a graduate of the universities of Oxford and Edinburgh…’

‘A physicist like Tyndall…’

‘A chemist like Faraday…’

‘Who knows the reason for everything in this world thoroughly, brother Sam…’

‘And who would have an answer to any question,brother Sib…’

‘The descendent of an excellent Fifeshire family, and, moreover, the possessor of an ample fortune.’

‘Not to mention his, as it seems to me, highly pleasing appearance, even with his aluminium spectacles!’

Had the spectacles of this hero been made of steel, nickel or even gold, the Melville brothers would not have viewed them as a damnable vice. It is true that these optical devices suit young scholars well for they complement a slightly serious physiognomy perfectly.

But this graduate of the aforementioned universities, this physicist, this chemist, would he suit Miss Campbell? If Miss Campbell resembled Diana Vernon, who, as we know, felt nothing more for her scholar cousin Rashleigh than a restrained friendship, and who did not marry him at the end of the volume?

Never mind! That did not worry the two brothers. They brought to the affair all the inexperience of two old bachelors, who were quite incompetent in such matters.

‘They have often met one another already, brother Sib, and our young friend does not appear insensible to Helena’s beauty!’

‘I think not brother Sam! Had the divine Ossian had her virtues, her beauty and her grace to extol, he would have called her Moina, that is to say beloved of the entire world…’

‘Unless he had named her Fiona, brother Sib, that is to say the unrivalled beauty of the Gaelic era!’

‘Did he not foretell of our Helena, brother Sam, when he said:

She left the hall of her secret sigh! She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud of the east…

‘Loveliness was around her as light,’ brother Sib. ‘Her steps were the music of songs.’

Happily the two brothers ended their quotations at that point, and fell back down from the somewhat cloudy regions of the bards into the realm of reality.

A young girl appeared, her cheeks glowing pink.

‘Surely,’ said one of them, ‘if Helena is agreeable to our young scholar, he can hardly fail to please…’

‘And if, on her part, brother Sam, she has not yet paid all the attention that is due to the great qualities that nature has so liberally bestowed on him…’

‘It is only, brother Sib, because we have not yet told her that it is time for her to start thinking about marriage.’

‘But once we have directed her thoughts that way, even assuming that she is somewhat prejudiced, if not against the husband, at least against marriage…’

‘She will not be long in saying yes, brother Sib…’

‘Like that excellent Benedick, brother Sam, who, after resisting for so long…’

‘Marries Beatrice at the end ofMuch Ado About Nothing!’

Such was the idea of Miss Campbell’s two uncles, and the conclusion of this scheme seemed as natural to them as that of Shakespeare’s comedy.

They had risen of one accord. They smiled at each other knowingly. They rubbed their hands together in time. This marriage was decided! What difficulty could arise? The young man had asked for their consent. The young girl would give them her answer, which they had no need to worry about. All of the proprieties were satisfied. All that remained was to fix the date.

Indeed it would be a beautiful ceremony. It would take place in Glasgow but not at the cathedral of St Mungo, the only church in Scotland, alongside that of St Magnus on Orkney, that had been respected at the time of the Reformation. No! It is too vast and consequently too sad for a wedding. A wedding, according to the Melville brothers, should be a time when youth blossomed and love shone forth. Instead they would choose St Andrew’s or St Enoch’s, or even St George’s, which belonged to the most fashionable district in town.

Brother Sam and brother Sib continued to elaborate on their projects in a manner that resembled a monologue rather than a dialogue, as they always expressed the same train of thoughts in the same way. As they talked, they looked out through the diamond panes of the vast window at the beautiful trees in the park, the trees that Miss Campbell was walking under at that moment, at the streams of running water framed by verdant flower beds, at the sky which was suffused with a radiant mist that seems peculiar to the Highlands of central Scotland. They did not look at one another, it would have been useless, but from time to time, through some kind of affectionate instinct, they took one another’s arm or clasped one another’s hand as if to better establish communication of thought through some sort of magnetic current.

Yes! It would be superb! Everything would be done grandly and nobly. The poor of West George Street, if there were any – and where were there not? – would not be forgotten in the celebration. In the unlikely event that Miss Campbell wanted the wedding to be a simpler affair, and if she insisted on making her uncles see reason, they would be firm with her for the first time in their lives. They would not give in on this point, or on any other. It would be with great ceremony that the guests at the wedding feast would drink to their heart’s content. And brother Sam half extended his right arm at the same time as did brother Sib, as though they were exchanging the famous Scottish toast in advance.

At that moment the hall door opened. A young girl appeared, her cheeks glowing pink from the animation of a rapid walk. In her hand she waved an opened newspaper. She went up to the Melville brothers and gave them each two kisses.

‘Good afternoon, uncle Sam’, she said.

‘Good afternoon, my dear.’

‘How are you, uncle Sib?’

‘Wonderful!’

‘Helena’, said brother Sam, ‘we have a small arrangement to make with you.’

‘An arrangement? What arrangement? What have you been plotting, dear uncles?’ Miss Campbell demanded, looking from one to the other somewhat mischievously.

‘You know the young gentleman, Mr Aristobulus Ursiclos?’

‘Yes, I know him.’

‘Do you dislike him?’

‘Why should I dislike him, uncle Sam?’

‘Then you like him?’

‘Why should I like him, uncle Sib?’

‘In short my brother and I, after some mature reflection, are thinking about proposing him to you as a husband.’

‘Me! Marry!’ cried Miss Campbell, letting off the merriest peal of laughter ever to be repeated by the echoes in the hall.

‘Don’t you want to marry?’ said brother Sam.

‘Why should I?’

‘Ever?’ said brother Sib.

‘Never’, replied Miss Campbell, putting on a serious air which was belied by her smiling mouth, ‘never dear uncles, or at least not until I have seen…’

‘What?’ cried brother Sam and brother Sib.

‘Not until I have seen the Green Ray.’

2

Helena Campbell

THE HOUSE INwhich the Melville brothers and Miss Campbell lived was situated three miles from the small village of Helensburgh on the banks of Gare Loch, one of those picturesque lochs that capriciously indent the right-hand bank of the Clyde.

During the winter season, the Melville brothers and their niece occupied an old town house in West George Street in Glasgow in the aristocratic district of the new town, not far from Blythswood Square. They resided there for six months of the year, unless some whim of Helena’s – to which they submitted without comment – took them off on some long trip in the direction of Italy, Spain or France. In the course of their travels, they continued to see only through the eyes of the young girl, going where it pleased her to go, stopping where it suited her to stop, admiring only what she admired. Then, when Miss Campbell had closed the album in which she recorded, either with pencil or with pen and ink, her impressions of the trip, they made their way docilely back to the United Kingdom, and returned to their comfortable abode in West George Street, not without some satisfaction.

When the month of May was around three weeks old, brother Sam and brother Sib would experience an immoderate desire to leave for the country. At exactly the same moment, Miss Campbell herself would display the not less immoderate desire of leaving behind Glasgow and the noise of a big industrial city, of fleeing the bustle of business that sometimes ebbed as far as the Blythswood Square district, and of once again seeing a sky that was less filled with smoke and of breathing air that was less saturated with carbonic acid than the sky and air of the ancient metropolis, whose commercial importance was established by the tobacco lords several centuries ago.

Miss Campbell, followed by the faithful Partridge…

The entire household of masters and servants thus left for Helensburgh, which lay at a distance of twenty miles at the most.

It is a pretty place, the village of Helensburgh. It had been turned into a seaside resort, and was heavily frequented by all those who were at leisure to vary trips on the Clyde with excursions to Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond, both of which were popular with tourists.

The Melville brothers had chosen the best place for their country house, one mile from the village on the shore of Gare Loch, in a jumble of magnificent trees and in the midst of a network of streams, on undulating ground whose relief lent itself well to all that takes place in a private park. Cool shady areas, green lawns, clumps of trees and flower beds, fields whose ‘healthy grass’ was grown specially for a few lucky sheep, ponds whose water was a clear black and which were inhabited by wild swans, those graceful birds of which Wordsworth said:

The swan on still St Mary’s Lake

Float double, swan and shadow!

In short, the summer residence of the wealthy family was composed of everything that nature can bring together to delight the eye without the hand of man playing a part in its arrangement.

It should be added that there is a charming view from the part of the park situated above Gare Loch. Beyond the narrow gulf on the right, the eye rests first of all on the Rosneath peninsula, on which stands a pretty Italian villa belonging to the Duke of Argyll. To the left the small village of Helensburgh stretches along the coast, its undulating line of houses interspersed with two or three imposing spires. Its elegant pier extends out over the waters of the loch for the service of steamers, and the hills in the background are enlivened by several picturesque dwellings. Opposite, on the left-hand bank of the Clyde, Port Glasgow, the ruins of Newark Castle and Greenock with its forest of masts and plumes of multicoloured flags, form an extremely varied and captivating panorama.

And the view was even more beautiful from the top of the house’s main tower from where it was possible to see yet more.

This square tower was ornamented with battlements and machicolations, and its parapet decorated with stone lace-work. Pepperbox turrets were suspended airily from three corners of its summit, whilst the octagonal turret on its fourth corner rose still higher. Here stood the inevitable flagpole which rises up on the roofs of all the houses and the sterns of all the ships in the United Kingdom. This sort of keep was of modern construction, and dominated the body of buildings that made up the house itself, with its irregular roofs, its capricious windows, its multiple gables, its projections standing out from the façade, its screens clinging to its windows and its chimneys with their finely carved tops – often graceful and yet extravagant items with which Anglo-Saxon architecture is enriched at will.

Now it is on this highest of the tower’s platforms, beneath the national colours which flapped in the breeze off the Firth of Clyde, that Miss Campbell liked to dream for hours on end. She had turned it into a pretty refuge and an airy observation post, where she could read, write and sleep in all weather, sheltered from the wind, the sun and the rain. It is there that she was most often to be found. If she was not there, it was that a whim had led her to wander in the park, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by dame Bess, or that her horse had borne her off though the surrounding countryside, followed by the faithful Partridge, who had to hurry his own horse on so as not to lag behind his young mistress.

From amongst the numerous servants, special mention should be made of these two honest individuals, who had been attached to the Campbell family since their childhood.

Elizabeth, the ‘lucky’, the ‘mother’, as housekeepers are called in the Highlands, then numbered as many years as she had keys in her bunch, and there were no less than forty-seven of the latter. She was a real housewife; serious, methodical and knowledgeable, and ran the entire house. Perhaps she thought that she had brought up the Melville brothers, although they were older than she was, but what is certain is that she had bestowed maternal care on Miss Campbell.

Alongside this valuable stewardess stood Partridge, a servant who was absolutely devoted to his masters, and a Scot who remained faithful to the ancient customs of his clan. Invariably dressed in traditional Highland dress, he wore a colourful blue bonnet, a tartan kilt that came down to his knees, a sporran – a sort of purse made of long hair – long socks held up by garters and leather brogues.

With a dame Bess to run the house and a Partridge to look after it, what more is necessary for anyone wishing to be assured of domestic tranquillity here on earth?

It has doubtless been noticed that Partridge, when he came in response to the Melville brothers’ call, referred to the young girl as Miss Campbell. Had the gallant Scot called her Miss Helen, which is to say by her Christian name, he would have committed aninfraction of the rules that govern degrees of hierarchy – an infraction that is more specifically referred to by the word ‘snobbery’.

In effect, the eldest, or indeed only, daughter of a member of the gentry is never known by the name by which she is christened, not even in the cradle. If Miss Campbell had been the daughter of a peer, she would have been called Lady Helena. Now the branch of the Campbells to which she belonged was only collateral, and was but distantly connected with the direct branch of the paladin Sir Colin Campbell, whose origin goes back to the Crusades. For many centuries, the branches emanating from the main trunk had grown further away from the line of their glorious ancestor to whom the Argyll, Breadalbane and Lochnell clans, amongst others, are connected. But however distant the relation was, Helena, through her father, had flowing in her veins a little of the blood of this illustrious family.

Still, though she was only Miss Campbell, she was none the less a true Scotswoman, one of those noble daughters of Thule with blue eyes and blond hair, whose portrait, engraved by Finden or Edwards and placed in the midst of the Minnas, Brendas, Amy Robsarts, Flora MacIvors, Diana Vernons, Miss Wardours, Catherine Glovers and Mary Avenels, would not have detracted from one of those ‘Keepsakes’ in which the Scots like to bring together their great novelist’s most beautiful feminine figures.

To tell the truth, Miss Campbell was charming. She was admired for her pretty face with its blue eyes – the blue of the Scottish lochs, as people say – her elegant figure, her somewhat haughty demeanour and her countenance, which was usually dreamy except when a hint of irony animated her features. In short, her whole person was stamped with grace and distinction.

And not only was Miss Campbell beautiful, she was good too. Though wealthy through her uncles, she did not seek to appear rich. She was charitable and applied herself to verifying the ancient Gaelic proverb: ‘The hand that gives is the hand that gets’.