‘Here in the hall,’ said Asdis, looking on the floor, ‘the night you stole it.’
At that and let out a cry. Then she heaved up her hand to strike the child. ‘You little spy!’ she cried. Then she covered her face, and wept, and rocked herself. ‘What can you know?’ she cried. ‘How can you understand, that are a baby, not so long weaned? He could — your father could, the dear good man, dead and gone! He could understand and pity, he was good to me. Now he has left me alone with heartless children! Asdis,’ she cried, ‘have you no nature in your blood? You do not know what I have done and suffered for them. I have done — oh, and I could have done anything! And there is your father dead. And after all, you ask me not to use them? No woman in Iceland has the like. And you wish me to destroy them? Not if the dead should rise!’ she cried. ‘No, no,’ and she stopped her ears, ‘not if the dead should rise; and let that end it!’
So she ran into her bed-place, and clapped to the door, and left the child amazed.
But for all and spoke with so much passion it was noticed that for long she left the things unused. Only she would be locked some while daily in the bed-place, where she pored on them and secretly wore them for her pleasure.
Now winter was at hand; the days grew short and the nights long; and under the golden face of the morning the isle would stand silver with frost. Word came from Holyfell to Frodis Water of a company of young men upon a journey; that night they supped at Holyfell, the next it would be at Frodis Water; and Alf of the Fells was there and Thongbrand Ketilson, and Hall the Fair. and went early to her bed-place, and there she pored upon these fineries till her heart was melted with self-love. There was a kirtle of a mingled colour, and the blue shot into the green, and the green lightened from the blue, as the colours play in the ocean between deeps and shallows: she thought she could endure to live no longer and not wear it. There was a bracelet of an ell long, wrought like a serpent and with fiery jewels for the eyes; she saw it shine on her white arm and her head grew dizzy with desire. ‘Ah!’ she thought, ‘never were fine lendings better met with a fair wearer.’ And she closed her eyelids, and she thought she saw herself among the company and the men’s eyes go after her admiring. With that she considered that she must soon marry one of them and wondered which; and she thought Alf was perhaps the best, or Hall the Fair, but was not certain; and then she remembered Finnward Keelfarer in his cairn upon the hill, and was concerned. ‘Well, he was a good husband to me,’ she thought, ‘and I was a good wife to him. But that is an old song now.’ So she turned again to handling the stuffs and jewels. At last she got to bed in the smooth sheets, and lay, and fancied how she would look, and admired herself, and saw others admire her, and told herself stories, till her heart grew warm and she chuckled to herself between the sheets. So she shook a while with laughter; and then the mirth abated but not the shaking; and a grue took hold upon her flesh, and the cold of the grave upon her belly, and the terror of death upon her soul. With that a voice was in her ear: ‘It was so Thorgunna sickened.’ Thrice in the night the chill and the terror took her, and thrice it passed away; and when she rose on the morrow, death had breathed upon her countenance.
She saw the house folk and her children gaze upon her; well she knew why! She knew her day was come, and the last of her days, and her last hour was at her back; and it was so in her soul that she scarce minded. All was lost, all was past mending, she would carry on until she fell. So she went as usual, and hurried the feast for the young men, and railed upon her house folk, but her feet stumbled, and her voice was strange in her own ears, and the eyes of the folk fled before her. At times, too, the chill took her and the fear along with it; and she must sit down, and the teeth beat together in her head, and the stool tottered on the floor. At these times, she thought she was passing, and the voice of Thorgunna sounded in her ear: ‘The things are for no use but to be shown,’ it said. ‘Aud, Aud, have you shown them once? No, not once!’ And at the sting of the thought her courage and strength would revive, and she would rise again and move about her business.
Now the hour drew near, and and went to her bed-place, and did on the bravest of her finery, and came forth to greet her guests. Was never woman in Iceland robed as she was. The words of greeting were yet between her lips, when the shuddering fell upon her strong as labour, and a horror as deep as hell. Her face was changed amidst her finery, and the faces of her guests were changed as they beheld her: fear puckered their brows, fear drew back their feet; and she took her doom from the looks of them, and fled to her bed-place. There she flung herself on the wife’s coverlet, and turned her face against the wall.
That was the end of all the words of Aud; and in the small hours on the clock her spirit wended. Asdis had come to and fro, seeing if she might help, where was no help possible of man or woman. It was light in the bed-place when the maid returned, for a taper stood upon a chest. There lay and in her fine clothes, and there by her side on the bed the big dead wife Thorgunna squatted on her hams. No sound was heard, but it seemed by the movement of her mouth as if Thorgunna sang, and she waved her arms as if to singing.
‘God be good to us!’ cried Asdis, ‘she is dead.’
‘Dead,’ said the dead wife.
‘Is the weird passed?’ cried Asdis.
‘When the sin is done the weird is dreed,’ said Thorgunna; and with that she was not.
But the next day Eyolf and Asdis caused build a fire on the shore betwixt tide-marks. There they burned the bedclothes, and the clothes, and the jewels, and the very boards of the waif woman’s chests; and when the tide returned it washed away their ashes. So the weird of Thorgunna was lifted from the house on Frodis Water.
The Short Stories
Stevenson’s childhood home in Heriot Row, Edinburgh. Stevenson’s parents continued to reside here until Thomas Stevenson’s death in 1887, when Stevenson, his wife and his widowed mother began an itinerant lifestyle of near-constant travel, finally settling in the South Pacific in 1890.
LIST OF SHORT STORIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
THE SUICIDE CLUB
THE RAJAH’S DIAMOND
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT: A STORY OF FRANCIS VILLON
THE SIRE DE MALÉTROIT’S DOOR
PROVIDENCE AND THE GUITAR
PROLOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
CHALLONER’S ADVENTURE: THE SQUIRE OF DAMES
STORY OF THE DESTROYING ANGEL
THE SQUIRE OF DAMES (Concluded)
SOMERSET’S ADVENTURE: THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION
NARRATIVE OF THE SPIRITED OLD LADY
THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Continued).
ZERO’S TALE OF THE EXPLOSIVE BOMB.
THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Continued)
DESBOROUGH’S ADVENTURE: THE BROWN BOX
STORY OF THE FAIR CUBAN
THE BROWN BOX (Concluded)
THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Concluded)
EPILOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
THE MERRY MEN
WILL O’ THE MILL.
MARKHEIM
THRAWN JANET
OLALLA
THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD.
THE BEACH OF FALESÁ.
THE BOTTLE IMP.
THE ISLE OF VOICES.
THE PERSONS OF THE TALE.
THE SINKING SHIP.
THE SICK MAN AND THE FIREMAN.
THE DEVIL AND THE INNKEEPER.
THE PENITENT
THE YELLOW PAINT.
THE HOUSE OF ELD.
THE FOUR REFORMERS.
THE MAN AND HIS FRIEND.
THE READER.
THE CITIZEN AND THE TRAVELLER.
THE DISTINGUISHED STRANGER.
THE CART-HORSES AND THE SADDLE-HORSE.
THE TADPOLE AND THE FROG.
SOMETHING IN IT.
FAITH, HALF FAITH AND NO FAITH AT ALL.
THE TOUCHSTONE.
THE POOR THING.
THE SONG OF THE MORROW.
THE MISADVENTURES OF JOHN N
ICHOLSON
THE BODY-SNATCHER
THE STORY OF A LIE
THE PLAGUE-CELLAR
WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL
EDIFYING LETTERS OF THE RUTHERFORD FAMILY
AN OLD SONG
DIOGENES
THE ENCHANTRESS
THE WAIF WOMAN
LIST OF SHORT STORIES IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT: A STORY OF FRANCIS VILLON
AN OLD SONG
CHALLONER’S ADVENTURE: THE SQUIRE OF DAMES
DESBOROUGH’S ADVENTURE: THE BROWN BOX
DIOGENES
EDIFYING LETTERS OF THE RUTHERFORD FAMILY
EPILOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
FAITH, HALF FAITH AND NO FAITH AT ALL.
MARKHEIM
NARRATIVE OF THE SPIRITED OLD LADY
OLALLA
PROLOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
PROVIDENCE AND THE GUITAR
SOMERSET’S ADVENTURE: THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION
SOMETHING IN IT.
STORY OF THE DESTROYING ANGEL
STORY OF THE FAIR CUBAN
THE BEACH OF FALESÁ.
THE BODY-SNATCHER
THE BOTTLE IMP.
THE BROWN BOX (Concluded)
THE CART-HORSES AND THE SADDLE-HORSE.
THE CITIZEN AND THE TRAVELLER.
THE DEVIL AND THE INNKEEPER.
THE DISTINGUISHED STRANGER.
THE ENCHANTRESS
THE FOUR REFORMERS.
THE HOUSE OF ELD.
THE ISLE OF VOICES.
THE MAN AND HIS FRIEND.
THE MERRY MEN
THE MISADVENTURES OF JOHN NICHOLSON
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
THE PENITENT
THE PERSONS OF THE TALE.
THE PLAGUE-CELLAR
THE POOR THING.
THE RAJAH’S DIAMOND
THE READER.
THE SICK MAN AND THE FIREMAN.
THE SINKING SHIP.
THE SIRE DE MALÉTROIT’S DOOR
THE SONG OF THE MORROW.
THE SQUIRE OF DAMES (Concluded)
THE STORY OF A LIE
THE SUICIDE CLUB
THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Concluded)
THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Continued)
THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Continued).
THE TADPOLE AND THE FROG.
THE TOUCHSTONE.
THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD.
THE WAIF WOMAN
THE YELLOW PAINT.
THRAWN JANET
WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL
WILL O’ THE MILL.
ZERO’S TALE OF THE EXPLOSIVE BOMB.
The Plays
La Solitude, Stevenson’s house at Hyères, southern France, where the writer lived from 1883-84. Despite being gravely ill at the time, Stevenson would later claim that this was the only place he had been truly happy.
THE CHARITY BAZAAR
AN ALLEGORICAL DIALOGUE
* * * * *
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE
THE INGENUOUS PUBLIC HIS WIFE THE TOUT
* * * * *
The Tout, in an allegorical costume, holding a silver trumpet in his right hand, is discovered on the steps in front of the Bazaar. He sounds a preliminary flourish.
The Tout. — Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the honour to announce a sale of many interesting, beautiful, rare, quaint, comical, and necessary articles. Here you will find objects of taste, such as Babies’ Shoes, Children’s Petticoats, and Shetland Wool Cravats; objects of general usefulness, such as Tea-cosies, Bangles, Brahmin Beads, and Madras Baskets; and objects of imperious necessity, such as Pen-wipers, Indian Figures carefully repaired with glue, and Sealed Envelopes, containing a surprise. And all this is not to be sold by your common Shopkeepers, intent on small and legitimate profits, but by Ladies and Gentlemen, who would as soon think of picking your pocket of a cotton handkerchief as of selling a single one of these many interesting, beautiful, rare, quaint, comical, and necessary articles at less than twice its market value. (He sounds another flourish.)
The Wife. — This seems a very fair-spoken young man.
The Ingenuous Public (addressing the Tout). — Sir, I am a man of simple and untutored mind; but I apprehend that this sale, of which you give us so glowing a description, is neither more nor less than a Charity Bazaar?
The Tout. — Sir, your penetration has not deceived you.
The Ingenuous Public. — Into which you seek to entice unwary passengers?
The Tout. — Such is my office.
The Ingenuous Public. — But is not a Charity Bazaar, Sir, a place where, for ulterior purposes, amateur goods are sold at a price above their market value?
The Tout. — I perceive you are no novice. Let us sit down, all three, upon the doorsteps, and reason this matter at length. The position is a little conspicuous, but airy and convenient.
(The Tout seats himself on the second step, the Ingenuous Public and his Wife to right and left of him, one step below.)
The Tout. — Shopping is one of the dearest pleasures of the human heart.
The Wife. — Indeed, Sir, and that it is.
The Tout. — The choice of articles, apart from their usefulness, is an appetising occupation, and to exchange bald, uniform shillings for a fine big, figurative knick-knack, such as a windmill, a gross of green spectacles, or a cocked hat, gives us a direct and emphatic sense of gain. We have had many shillings before, as good as these; but this is the first time we have possessed a windmill. Upon these principles of human nature, Sir, is based the theory of the Charity Bazaar. People were doubtless charitably disposed. The problem was to make the exercise of charity entertaining in itself — you follow me, Madam? — and in the Charity Bazaar a satisfactory solution was attained. The act of giving away money for charitable purposes is, by this admirable invention, transformed into an amusement, and puts on the externals of profitable commerce. You play at shopping a while; and in order to keep up the illusion, sham goods do actually change hands. Thus, under the similitude of a game, I have seen children confronted with the horrors of arithmetic, and even taught to gargle.
The Ingenuous Public. — You expound this subject very magisterially, Sir. But tell me, would it not be possible to carry this element of play still further? and after I had remained a proper time in the Bazaar, and negotiated a sufficient number of sham bargains, would it not be possible to return me my money in the hall?
The Tout. — I question whether that would not impair the humour of the situation. And besides, my dear Sir, the pith of the whole device is to take that money from you.
The Ingenuous Public. — True. But at least the Bazaar might take back the tea-cosies and pen-wipers.
The Tout. — I have no doubt, if you were to ask it handsomely, that you would be so far accommodated. Still it is out of the theory. The sham goods, for which, believe me, I readily understand your disaffection — the sham goods are well adapted for their purpose. Your lady wife will lay these tea-cosies and pen-wipers aside in a safe place, until she is asked to contribute to another Charity Bazaar. There the tea-cosies and pen-wipers will be once more charitably sold. The new purchasers, in their turn, will accurately imitate the dispositions of your lady wife. In short, Sir, the whole affair is a cycle of operations. The tea-cosies and pen-wipers are merely counters; they come off and on again like a stage army; and year after year people pretend to buy and pretend to sell them, with a vivacity that seems to indicate a talent for the stage. But in the course of these illusory manoeuvres, a great deal of money is given in charity, and that in a picturesque, bustling, and agreeable manner. If you have to travel somewhere on business, you would choose the prettiest route, and desire pleasant companions by the way. And why not show the same spirit in giving alms?
The Ingenuous Public. — Sir, I am profoundly indebted to you for all you have said. I am, Sir, your absolute convert.
The Wife. — Let us lose no time, but enter the Charity Bazaar.
&nbs
p; The Ingenuous Public. — Yes; let us enter the Charity Bazaar.
Both (singing). — Let us enter, let us enter, let us enter, Let us enter the Charity Bazaar!
(An interval is supposed to elapse. The Ingenuous Public and his Wife are discovered issuing from the Charity Bazaar.)
The Wife. — How fortunate you should have brought your cheque-book!
The Ingenuous Public. — Well, fortunate in a sense. (Addressing the Tout.) — Sir, I shall send a van in the course of the afternoon for the little articles I have purchased. I shall not say good-bye; because I shall probably take a lift in the front seat, not from any solicitude, believe me, about the little articles, but as the last opportunity I may have for some time of enjoying the costly entertainment of a drive.
DEACON BRODIE
CONTENTS
PERSONS REPRESENTED
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
PERSONS REPRESENTED
William Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights, Housebreaker and Master Carpenter.
Old Brodie, the Deacon’s Father.
William Lawson, Procurator-Fiscal, the Deacon’s Uncle.
Andrew Ainslie, Humphrey Moore, George Smith, Robbers in the Deacon’s gang.
Captain Rivers, an English Highwayman.
Hunt, a Bow Street Runner.
A Doctor.
Walter Leslie.
Mary Brodie, the Deacon’s Sister.
Jean Watt, the Deacon’s Mistress.
Vagabonds, Officers of the Watch, Men-servants.
The Scene is laid in Edinburgh. The Time is towards the close of the Eighteenth Century. The Action, some fifty hours long, begins at eight p.m. on Saturday and ends before midnight on Monday.
Note. — Passages suggested for omission in representation are enclosed in square brackets, thus [ ].
SYNOPSIS OF ACTS AND TABLEAUX
ACT I.
TABLEAU I.
Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson Page 395