Brigadier. Poetry is a great hindrance to the ends of justice. Well, take your papers.
Macaire. Then we may go?
SCENE IV
To these, Charles, who is seen on the gallery going to the door of Number Thirteen. Afterwards all the characters but the Notary and the Marquis.
Brigadier. One glass more. (Bertrand touches Macaire, and points to Charles, who enters Number Thirteen.)
Macaire. No more, no more, no more.
Brigadier (rising and taking Macaire by the arm). I stipulate.
Macaire. Engagement in Turin!
Brigadier. Turin?
Macaire. Lyons, Lyons!
Bertrand. For God’s sake ...
Brigadier. Well, good-bye!
Macaire. Good-bye, good — —
Charles (from within). Murder! Help! (Appearing.) Help here! The Marquis is murdered.
Brigadier. Stand to the door. A man up there. (A Gendarme hurries up staircase into Number Thirteen, Charles following him. Enter on both sides of gallery the remaining characters of the piece, except the Notary and the Marquis.)
Macaire. Bitten, by God!
Bertrand. Lost!
}
Aside.
Brigadier (to Dumont). John Paul Dumont, I arrest you.
Dumont. Do your duty, officer. I can answer for myself and my own people.
Brigadier. Yes, but these strangers?
Dumont. They are strangers to me.
Macaire. I am an honest man: I stand upon my rights: search me; or search this person, of whom I know too little. (Smiting his brow.) By heaven, I see it all! This morning — — (To Bertrand.) How, sir, did you dare to flaunt your booty in my very face? (To Brigadier.) He showed me notes; he was up ere day; search him, and you’ll find. There stands the murderer.
Bertrand. O, Macaire! (He is seized and searched and the notes are found.)
Brigadier. There is blood upon the notes. Handcuffs. (Macaire edging towards the door.)
Bertrand. Macaire, you may as well take the bundle. (Macaire is stopped by sentry, and comes front, R.)
Charles (re-appearing). Stop, I know the truth. (He comes down.) Brigadier, my father is not dead. He is not even dangerously hurt. He has spoken. There is the would-be assassin.
Macaire. Hell! (He darts across to the staircase, and turns on the second step, flashing out the knife.) Back, hounds! (He springs up the stair, and confronts them from the top.) Fools, I am Robert Macaire! (As Macaire turns to flee, he is met by the Gendarme coming out of Number Thirteen; he stands an instant checked, is shot from the stage, and falls headlong backward down the stair. Bertrand, with a cry, breaks from the Gendarmes, kneels at his side, and raises his head.)
Bertrand. Macaire, Macaire, forgive me. I didn’t blab; you know I didn’t blab.
Macaire. Sold again, old boy. Sold for the last time; at least, the last time this side death. Death — — what is death? (He dies.)
Curtain
THE CHARITY BAZAAR
AN ALLEGORICAL DIALOGUE
Dramatis Personae
The Ingenuous Public
His Wife
The Tout
THE CHARITY BAZAAR
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.) 214
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, 215 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 manœuvres, a great deal of money is given in charity, and that in a picturesque, bustling, and agreeable manner. If you have to travel 216 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 absolu
te convert.
The Wife. — Let us lose no time, but enter the Charity Bazaar.
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.
The Scene Closes
The Travel Writing
Stevenson with his wife and friends, Butaritari, 1889
AN INLAND VOYAGE
“Thus sang they in the English boat.”
MARVELL.
First published in 1878, this travelogue about a canoeing trip through Europe in 1876 is Stevenson’s earliest work. Stevenson undertook the voyage with his friend and fellow Scot Sir Walter Grindlay Simpson, and they travelled mostly along the Oise River from Belgium into France. Their route has now become popular for modern travellers, re-enacting Stevenson’s famous journey.
Sir Walter Grindlay Simpson – Stevenson’s friend and travelling companion
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
ANTWERP TO BOOM
ON THE WILLEBROEK CANAL
THE ROYAL SPORT NAUTIQUE
AT MAUBEUGE
ON THE SAMBRE CANALISED - TO QUARTES
PONT-SUR-SAMBRE - WE ARE PEDLARS
PONT-SUR-SAMBRE - THE TRAVELLING MERCHANT
ON THE SAMBRE CANALISED TO LANDRECIES
AT LANDRECIES
SAMBRE AND OISE CANAL
CANAL BOATS
THE OISE IN FLOOD
ORIGNY SAINTE-BENOÎTE – A BY-DAY
ORIGNY SAINTE-BENOÎTE THE COMPANY AT TABLE
DOWN THE OISE TO MOY
LA FÈRE OF CURSED MEMORY
DOWN THE OISE THROUGH THE GOLDEN VALLEY
NOYON CATHEDRAL
DOWN THE OISE TO COMPIÈGNE
AT COMPIÈGNE
CHANGED TIMES
DOWN THE OISE CHURCH INTERIORS
PRÉCY AND THE MARIONNETTES
BACK TO THE WORLD
EPILOGUE
DEDICATION
TO
SIR WALTER GRINDLAY SIMPSON, BART.
My dear “Cigarette,”
It was enough that you should have shared so liberally in the rains and portages of our voyage; that you should have had so hard a paddle to recover the derelict “Arethusa” on the flooded Oise: and that you should thenceforth have piloted a mere wreck of mankind to Origny Sainte-Benoîte and a supper so eagerly desired. It was perhaps more than enough, as you once somewhat piteously complained, that I should have set down all the strong language to you, and kept the appropriate reflections for myself. I could not in decency expose you to share the disgrace of another and more public shipwreck. But now that this voyage of ours is going into a cheap edition, that peril, we shall hope, is at an end, and I may put your name on the burgee.
But I cannot pause till I have lamented the fate of our two ships. That, sir, was not a fortunate day when we projected the possession of a canal barge; it was not a fortunate day when we shared our daydream with the most hopeful of daydreamers. For a while, indeed, the world looked smilingly. The barge was procured and christened, and as the “Eleven Thousand Virgins of Cologne,” lay for some months, the admired of all admirers, in a pleasant river and under the walls of an ancient town. M. Mattras, the accomplished carpenter of Moret, had made her a centre of emulous labour; and you will not have forgotten the amount of sweet champagne consumed in the inn at the bridge end, to give zeal to the workmen and speed to the work. On the financial aspect I wouldnot willingly dwell. The “Eleven Thousand Virgins of Cologne” rotted in the stream where she was beautified. She felt not the impulse of the breeze; she was never harnessed to the patent track-horse. And when at length she was sold, by the indignant carpenter of Moret, there were sold along with her the “Arethusa” and the “Cigarette”, she of cedar, she, as we knew so keenly on a portage, of solid-hearted English oak. Now these historic vessels fly the tricolour and are known by new and alien names.
R. L. S.
AN INLAND VOYAGE
ANTWERP TO BOOM
We made a great stir in Antwerp Docks. A stevedore and a lot of dock porters took up the two canoes, and ran with them for the slip. A crowd of children followed cheering. The Cigarette went off in a splash and a bubble of small breaking water. Next moment the Arethusa was after her. A steamer was coming down, men on the paddle-box shouted hoarse warnings, the stevedore and his porters were bawling from the quay. But in a stroke or two the canoes were away out in the middle of the Scheldt, and all steamers, and stevedores, and other long-shore vanities were left behind.
The sun shone brightly; the tide was making — four jolly miles an hour; the wind blew steadily, with occasional squalls. For my part, I had never been in a canoe under sail in my life; and my first experiment out in the middle of this big river was not made without some trepidation. What would happen when the wind first caught my little canvas? I suppose it was almost as trying a venture into the regions of the unknown as to publish a first book, or to marry. But my doubts were not of long duration; and in five minutes you will not be surprised to learn that I had tied my sheet.
I own I was a little struck by this circumstance myself; of course, in company with the rest of my fellow-men, I had always tied the sheet in a sailing-boat; but in so little and crank a concern as a canoe, and with these charging squalls, I was not prepared to find myself follow the same principle; and it inspired me with some contemptuous views of our regard for life. It is certainly easier to smoke with the sheet fastened; but I had never before weighed a comfortable pipe of tobacco against an obvious risk, and gravely elected for the comfortable pipe. It is a commonplace, that we cannot answer for ourselves before we have been tried. But it is not so common a reflection, and surely more consoling, that we usually find ourselves a great deal braver and better than we thought. I believe this is every one’s experience: but an apprehension that they may belie themselves in the future prevents mankind from trumpeting this cheerful sentiment abroad. I wish sincerely, for it would have saved me much trouble, there had been some one to put me in a good heart about life when I was younger; to tell me how dangers are most portentous on a distant sight; and how the good in a man’s spirit will not suffer itself to be overlaid, and rarely or never deserts him in the hour of need. But we are all for tootling on the sentimental flute in literature; and not a man among us will go to the head of the march to sound the heady drums.
It was agreeable upon the river. A barge or two went past laden with hay. Reeds and willows bordered the stream; and cattle and grey venerable horses came and hung their mild heads over the embankment. Here and there was a pleasant village among trees, with a noisy shipping-yard; here and there a villa in a lawn. The wind served us well up the Scheldt and thereafter up the Rupel, and we were running pretty free when we began to sight the brickyards of Boom, lying for a long way on the right bank of the river. The left bank was still green and pastoral, with alleys of trees along the embankment, and here and there a flight of steps to serve a ferry, where perhaps there sat a woman with her elbows on her knees, or an old gentleman with a staff and silver spectacles. But Boom and its brickyards grew smokier and shabbier with every minute; until a great church with a clock, and a wooden bridge over the river, indicated the central quarters of the town.
Boom is not a nice place, and is only remarkable for one thing: that the majority of the inhabitants have a private opinio
n that they can speak English, which is not justified by fact. This gave a kind of haziness to our intercourse. As for the Hôtel de la Navigation, I think it is the worst feature of the place. It boasts of a sanded parlour, with a bar at one end, looking on the street; and another sanded parlour, darker and colder, with an empty bird-cage and a tricolor subscription box by way of sole adornment, where we made shift to dine in the company of three uncommunicative engineer apprentices and a silent bagman. The food, as usual in Belgium, was of a nondescript occasional character; indeed, I have never been able to detect anything in the nature of a meal among this pleasing people; they seem to peck and trifle with viands all day long in an amateur spirit: tentatively French, truly German, and somehow falling between the two.
The empty bird-cage, swept and garnished, and with no trace of the old piping favourite, save where two wires had been pushed apart to hold its lump of sugar, carried with it a sort of graveyard cheer. The engineer apprentices would have nothing to say to us, nor indeed to the bagman; but talked low and sparingly to one another, or raked us in the gaslight with a gleam of spectacles. For though handsome lads, they were all (in the Scots phrase) barnacled.
Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) Page 417