suffer all things and do well. I turned and went down the THE TREASURE OF
mountain in silence; and when I looked back for the last FRANCHARD
time before the wood closed about my path, I saw Olalla still leaning on the crucifix.
CHAPTER I: BY THE DYING
MOUNTEBANK
THEY HAD SENT for the doctor from Bourron before six.
About eight some villagers came round for the performance, and were told how matters stood. It seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall ill like real people, and they made off again in dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon was gravely alarmed, and had sent down the street for Doctor Desprez.
The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one corner of the little dining-room, and his wife was asleep over the fire in another, when the messenger arrived.
‘Sapristi!’ said the Doctor, ‘you should have sent for me before. It was a case for hurry.’ And he followed the messenger as he was, in his slippers and skull-cap.
The inn was not thirty yards away, but the messenger did not stop there; he went in at one door and out by another 140
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into the court, and then led the way by a flight of steps chair close by sat a little fellow of eleven or twelve, with beside the stable, to the loft where the mountebank lay his feet dangling. These three were the only occupants, sick. If Doctor Desprez were to live a thousand years, he except the shadows. But the shadows were a company in would never forget his arrival in that room; for not only themselves; the extent of the room exaggerated them to a was the scene picturesque, but the moment made a date in gigantic size, and from the low position of the candle the his existence. We reckon our lives, I hardly know why, light struck upwards and produced deformed from the date of our first sorry appearance in society, as if foreshortenings. The mountebank’s profile was enlarged from a first humiliation; for no actor can come upon the upon the wall in caricature, and it was strange to see his stage with a worse grace. Not to go further back, which nose shorten and lengthen as the flame was blown about would be judged too curious, there are subsequently many by draughts. As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was moving and decisive accidents in the lives of all, which no more than a gross hump of shoulders, with now and would make as logical a period as this of birth. And here, again a hemisphere of head. The chair legs were spindled for instance, Doctor Desprez, a man past forty, who had out as long as stilts, and the boy set perched atop of them, made what is called a failure in life, and was moreover like a cloud, in the corner of the roof.
married, found himself at a new point of departure when It was the boy who took the Doctor’s fancy. He had a he opened the door of the loft above Tentaillon’s stable, great arched skull, the forehead and the hands of a musi-It was a large place, lighted only by a single candle set cian, and a pair of haunting eyes. It was not merely that upon the floor. The mountebank lay on his back upon a these eyes were large, or steady, or the softest ruddy brown.
pallet; a large man, with a Quixotic nose inflamed with There was a look in them, besides, which thrilled the Doc-drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over him, applying a tor, and made him half uneasy. He was sure he had seen hot water and mustard embrocation to his feet; and on a such a look before, and yet he could not remember how or 141
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where. It was as if this boy, who was quite a stranger to plain away his interest.
him, had the eyes of an old friend or an old enemy. And the For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, boy would give him no peace; he seemed profoundly indif-and, still kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a ferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted from it in little round and looked the boy over at his leisure. The a superior contemplation, beating gently with his feet boy was not in the least put out, but looked placidly back against the bars of the chair, and holding his hands folded at the Doctor.
on his lap. But, for all that, his eyes kept following the
‘Is this your father?’ asked Desprez.
Doctor about the room with a thoughtful fixity of gaze.
‘Oh, no,’ returned the boy; ‘my master.’
Desprez could not tell whether he was fascinating the boy,
‘Are you fond of him?’ continued the Doctor.
or the boy was fascinating him. He busied himself over the
‘No, sir,’ said the boy.
sick man: he put questions, he felt the pulse, he jested, he Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive grew a little hot and swore: and still, whenever he looked glances.
round, there were the brown eyes waiting for his with the
‘That is bad, my man,’ resumed the latter, with a shade same inquiring, melancholy gaze.
of sternness. ‘Every one should be fond of the dying, or At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He re-conceal their sentiments; and your master here is dying. If membered the look now. The little fellow, although he was I have watched a bird a little while stealing my cherries, I as straight as a dart, had the eyes that go usually with a have a thought of disappointment when he flies away over crooked back; he was not at all deformed, and yet a de-my garden wall, and I see him steer for the forest and van-formed person seemed to be looking at you from below his ish. How much more a creature such as this, so strong, so brows. The Doctor drew a long breath, he was so much astute, so richly endowed with faculties! When I think that, relieved to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to ex-in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the breath ex-142
Merry Men
tinct, and even the shadow vanished from the wall, I who
‘That depends,’ returned the Doctor grimly. And then never saw him, this lady who knew him only as a guest, are once more addressing the boy: ‘And what do you do for touched with some affection.’
your living, Jean-Marie?’ he inquired.
The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflect-
‘I tumble,’ was the answer.
ing.
‘So! Tumble?’ repeated Desprez. ‘Probably healthful. I
‘You did not know him,’ he replied at last, ‘he was a bad hazard the guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a man.’
healthful way of life. And have you never done anything
‘He is a little pagan,’ said the landlady. ‘For that matter, else but tumble?’
they are all the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists,
‘Before I learned that, I used to steal,’ answered Jean-and what not. They have no interior.’
Marie gravely.
But the Doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan, his
‘Upon my word!’ cried the doctor. ‘You are a nice little eyebrows knotted and uplifted.
man for your age. Madame, when my confrere comes from
‘What is your name?’ he asked.
Bourron, you will communicate my unfavourable opinion.
‘Jean-Marie,’ said the lad.
I leave the case in his hands; but of course, on any alarm-Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes ing symptom, above all if there should be a sign of rally, do of excitement, and felt his head all over from an ethnologi-not hesitate to knock me up. I am a doctor no longer, I cal point of view.
thank God; but I have been one. Good night, madame.
‘Celtic, Celtic!’ he said.
Good sleep to you, Jean-Marie.’
‘Celtic!’ cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the word with hydrocephalous. ‘Poor lad! is it dangerous?’
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CHAPTER II: MORNING TALK
the colour of the light, and last, although not least, the arsenal of meteorological instruments in a louvre-boarded DOCTOR DESPREZ ALWAYS rose early. Before the smoke arose, hutch upon the lawn. Ever since he had settled at Gretz, he before the first cart rattled over the bridge to the day’s had been growing more and more into the local meteo-labour in the fields, he was to be found wandering in his rologist, the unpaid champion of the local climate. He garden. Now he would pick a bunch of grapes; now he thought at first there was no place so healthful in the would eat a big pear under the trellice; now he would draw arrondissement. By the end of the second year, he pro-all sorts of fancies on the path with the end of his cane; tested there was none so wholesome in the whole depart-now he would go down and watch the river running end-ment. And for some time before he met Jean-Marie he had lessly past the timber landing-place at which he moored his been prepared to challenge all France and the better part boat. There was no time, he used to say, for making theo-of Europe for a rival to his chosen spot.
ries like the early morning. ‘I rise earlier than any one else
‘Doctor,’ he would say – ‘doctor is a foul word. It should in the village,’ he once boasted. ‘It is a fair consequence not be used to ladies. It implies disease. I remark it, as a that I know more and wish to do less with my knowledge.’
flaw in our civilisation, that we have not the proper horror The Doctor was a connoisseur of sunrises, and loved a of disease. Now I, for my part, have washed my hands of good theatrical effect to usher in the day. He had a theory it; I have renounced my laureation; I am no doctor; I am of dew, by which he could predict the weather. Indeed, only a worshipper of the true goddess Hygieia. Ah, believe most things served him to that end: the sound of the bells me, it is she who has the cestus! And here, in this exiguous from all the neighbouring villages, the smell of the forest, hamlet, has she placed her shrine: here she dwells and lav-the visits and the behaviour of both birds and fishes, the ishes her gifts; here I walk with her in the early morning, look of the plants in his garden, the disposition of cloud, and she shows me how strong she has made the peasants, 144
Merry Men
how fruitful she has made the fields, how the trees grow clear water running by before his eyes, seen a fish or two up tall and comely under her eyes, and the fishes in the come to the surface with a gleam of silver, and sufficiently river become clean and agile at her presence. – Rheuma-admired the long shadows of the trees falling half across the tism!’ he would cry, on some malapert interruption, ‘O, river from the opposite bank, with patches of moving sun-yes, I believe we do have a little rheumatism. That could light in between, he strolled once more up the garden and hardly be avoided, you know, on a river. And of course the through his house into the street, feeling cool and renovated.
place stands a little low; and the meadows are marshy, The sound of his feet upon the causeway began the busi-there’s no doubt. But, my dear sir, look at Bourron! Bourron ness of the day; for the village was still sound asleep. The stands high. Bourron is close to the forest; plenty of ozone church tower looked very airy in the sunlight; a few birds there, you would say. Well, compared with Gretz, Bourron that turned about it, seemed to swim in an atmosphere of is a perfect shambles.’
more than usual rarity; and the Doctor, walking in long The morning after he had been summoned to the dying transparent shadows, filled his lungs amply, and proclaimed mountebank, the Doctor visited the wharf at the tail of his himself well contented with the morning.
garden, and had a long look at the running water. This he On one of the posts before Tentaillon’s carriage entry he called prayer; but whether his adorations were addressed espied a little dark figure perched in a meditative attitude, to the goddess Hygieia or some more orthodox deity, never and immediately recognised Jean-Marie.
plainly appeared. For he had uttered doubtful oracles, some-
‘Aha!’ he said, stopping before him humorously, with a hand times declaring that a river was the type of bodily health, on either knee. ‘So we rise early in the morning, do we? It sometimes extolling it as the great moral preacher, con-appears to me that we have all the vices of a philosopher.’
tinually preaching peace, continuity, and diligence to man’s The boy got to his feet and made a grave salutation.
tormented spirits. After he had watched a mile or so of the
‘And how is our patient?’ asked Desprez.
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Robert Louis Stevenson
It appeared the patient was about the same.
‘No; but I mean as I stole,’ explained the other. ‘For I
‘And why do you rise early in the morning?’ he pursued.
had no choice. I think it is surely right to have bread; it Jean-Marie, after a long silence, professed that he hardly must be right to have bread, there comes so plain a want of knew.
it. And then they beat me cruelly if I returned with noth-
‘You hardly know?’ repeated Desprez. ‘We hardly know ing,’ he added. ‘I was not ignorant of right and wrong; for anything, my man, until we try to learn. Interrogate your before that I had been well taught by a priest, who was consciousness. Come, push me this inquiry home. Do you very kind to me.’ (The Doctor made a horrible grimace at like it?’
the word ‘priest.’) ‘But it seemed to me, when one had
‘Yes,’ said the boy slowly; ‘yes, I like it.’
nothing to eat and was beaten, it was a different affair. I
‘And why do you like it?’ continued the Doctor. ‘(We are would not have stolen for tartlets, I believe; but any one now pursuing the Socratic method.) Why do you like it?’
would steal for baker’s bread.’
‘It is quiet,’ answered Jean-Marie; ‘and I have nothing
‘And so I suppose,’ said the Doctor, with a rising sneer, to do; and then I feel as if I were good.’
‘you prayed God to forgive you, and explained the case to Doctor Desprez took a seat on the post at the opposite Him at length.’
side. He was beginning to take an interest in the talk, for the
‘Why, sir?’ asked Jean-Marie. ‘I do not see.’
boy plainly thought before he spoke, and tried to answer
‘Your priest would see, however,’ retorted Desprez.
truly. ‘It appears you have a taste for feeling good,’ said the
‘Would he?’ asked the boy, troubled for the first time. ‘I Doctor. ‘Now, there you puzzle me extremely; for I thought should have thought God would have known.’
you said you were a thief; and the two are incompatible.’
‘Eh?’ snarled the Doctor.
‘Is it very bad to steal?’ asked Jean-Marie.
‘I should have thought God would have understood me,’
‘Such is the general opinion, little boy,’ replied the Doctor.
replied the other. ‘You do not, I see; but then it was God 146
Merry Men
that made me think so, was it not?’
hate all odd people, and you are the most curious little boy
‘Little boy, little boy,’ said Dr. Desprez, ‘I told you al-in all the world.’
ready you had the vices of philosophy; if you display the Jean-Marie seemed to ponder for a while, and then he virtues also, I must go. I am a student of the blessed laws raised his head again and looked over at the Doctor with of health, an observer of plain and temperate nature in her an air of candid inquiry. ‘But are not you a very curious common walks; and I cannot preserve my equanimity in gentleman?’ he asked.
presence of a monster. Do you understand?’
The Doctor threw away his stick, bounded on the boy,
‘No, sir,’ said the boy.
clasped him to his bosom, and kissed him on both cheeks.
‘I will make my meaning clear to you,’ replied the doc-
‘Admirable, admirable imp!’ he cried. ‘What a morning, tor. ‘Look there at the sky – behind the belfry first, where what an hour for a theorist of forty-two! No,’ he contin-it is so light, and then up and up, turning your chin back, ued, apostrophising heaven, ‘I did not know such boys right to the top of the dome, where it is already as blue as existed; I was ignorant they made them so; I had doubted at noon. Is not that a beautiful colour? Does it not please of my race; and now! It is like,’ he added, picking up his the heart? We have seen it all our lives, until it has grown stick, ‘like a lovers’ meeting. I have bruised my favourite in with our familiar thoughts. Now,’ changing his tone, staff in that moment of enthusiasm. The injury, however, is
‘suppose that sky to become suddenly of a live and fiery not grave.’ He caught the boy looking at him in obvious amber, like the colour of clear coals, and growing scarlet wonder, embarrassment, and alarm. ‘Hullo!’ said he, ‘why towards the top – I do not say it would be any the less do you look at me like that? Egad, I believe the boy de-beautiful; but would you like it as well?’
spises me. Do you despise me, boy?’
‘I suppose not,’ answered Jean-Marie.
‘O, no,’ replied Jean-Marie, seriously; ‘only I do not un-
‘Neither do I like you,’ returned the Doctor, roughly. ‘I derstand.’
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‘You must excuse me, sir,’ returned the Doctor, with grav-ness; and his musical exploits were always reserved for ity; ‘I am still so young. O, hang him!’ he added to himself.
moments when he was alone and entirely happy.
And he took his seat again and observed the boy sardoni-He was recalled to earth rudely by a pained expression on cally. ‘He has spoiled the quiet of my morning,’ thought the boy’s face. ‘What do you think of my singing?’ he in-he. ‘I shall be nervous all day, and have a febricule when I quired, stopping in the middle of a note; and then, after he digest. Let me compose myself.’ And so he dismissed his had waited some little while and received no answer, ‘What pre-occupations by an effort of the will which he had long do you think of my singing?’ he repeated, imperiously.
practised, and let his soul roam abroad in the contempla-
‘I do not like it,’ faltered Jean-Marie.
tion of the morning. He inhaled the air, tasting it critically
‘Oh, come!’ cried the Doctor. ‘Possibly you are a peras a connoisseur tastes a vintage, and prolonging the expi-former yourself?’
ration with hygienic gusto. He counted the little flecks of
‘I sing better than that,’ replied the boy.
cloud along the sky. He followed the movements of the The Doctor eyed him for some seconds in stupefaction.
birds round the church tower – making long sweeps, hang-He was aware that he was angry, and blushed for himself in ing poised, or turning airy somersaults in fancy, and beat-consequence, which made him angrier. ‘If this is how you ing the wind with imaginary pinions. And in this way he address your master!’ he said at last, with a shrug and a regained peace of mind and animal composure, conscious flourish of his arms.
of his limbs, conscious of the sight of his eyes, conscious
‘I do not speak to him at all,’ returned the boy. ‘I do not that the air had a cool taste, like a fruit, at the top of his like him.’
throat; and at last, in complete abstraction, he began to
‘Then you like me?’ snapped Doctor Desprez, with unsing. The Doctor had but one air – , ‘Malbrouck s’en va-t-usual eagerness.
en guerre;’ even with that he was on terms of mere polite-
‘I do not know,’ answered Jean-Marie.
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The Doctor rose. ‘I shall wish you a good morning,’ he CHAPTER III: THE ADOPTION
said. ‘You are too much for me. Perhaps you have blood in your veins, perhaps celestial ichor, or perhaps you circu-MADAME DESPREZ, who answered to the Christian name of late nothing more gross than respirable air; but of one thing Anastasie, presented an agreeable type of her sex; exceedI am inexpugnably assured:- that you are no human being.
ingly wholesome to look upon, a stout brune, with cool No, boy’ – shaking his stick at him – ‘you are not a human smooth cheeks, steady, dark eyes, and hands that neither being. Write, write it in your memory – “I am not a human art nor nature could improve. She was the sort of person being – I have no pretension to be a human being – I am a over whom adversity passes like a summer cloud; she might, dive, a dream, an angel, an acrostic, an illusion – what you in the worst of conjunctions, knit her brows into one verti-please, but not a human being.” And so accept my humble cal furrow for a moment, but the next it would be gone.
salutations and farewell!’
She had much of the placidity of a contented nun; with And with that the Doctor made off along the street in little of her piety, however; for Anastasie was of a very some emotion, and the boy stood, mentally gaping, where mundane nature, fond of oysters and old wine, and some-he left him.
what bold pleasantries, and devoted to her husband for her own sake rather than for his. She was imperturbably good-natured, but had no idea of self-sacrifice. To live in that pleasant old house, with a green garden behind and bright flowers about the window, to eat and drink of the best, to gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, never to wear stays or a dress except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to be kept in a continual supply of racy novels, 149
Robert Louis Stevenson
and to be married to Doctor Desprez and have no ground old. Then the coffee was brought, and a flask of Char-of jealousy, filled the cup of her nature to the brim. Those treuse for madame, for the Doctor despised and distrusted who had known the Doctor in bachelor days, when he had such decoctions; and then Aline left the wedded pair to the aired quite as many theories, but of a different order, at-pleasures of memory and digestion.
tributed his present philosophy to the study of Anastasie.
‘It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one,’
It was her brute enjoyment that he rationalised and per-observed the Doctor – ‘this coffee is adorable – a very haps vainly imitated.
fortunate circumstance upon the whole – Anastasie, I be-Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made seech you, go without that poison for to-day; only one coffee to a nicety. She had a knack of tidiness, with which day, and you will feel the benefit, I pledge my reputation.’
she had infected the Doctor; everything was in its place;
‘What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?’ in-everything capable of polish shone gloriously; and dust was quired Anastasie, not heeding his protest, which was of a thing banished from her empire. Aline, their single ser-daily recurrence.
vant, had no other business in the world but to scour and
‘That we have no children, my beautiful,’ replied the Doc-burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his house like a fatted tor. ‘I think of it more and more as the years go on, and calf, warmed and cosseted to his heart’s content.
with more and more gratitude towards the Power that dis-The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, penses such afflictions. Your health, my darling, my studi-a fish from the river in a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat ous quiet, our little kitchen delicacies, how they would all fowl in a fricassee, and a dish of asparagus, followed by have suffered, how they would all have been sacrificed!
some fruit. The Doctor drank half a bottle plus one glass, And for what? Children are the last word of human imper-the wife half a bottle minus the same quantity, which was a fection. Health flees before their face. They cry, my dear; marital privilege, of an excellent Cote-Rotie, seven years they put vexatious questions; they demand to be fed, to be 150
Merry Men
washed, to be educated, to have their noses blown; and that seemed to threaten trouble.
then, when the time comes, they break our hearts, as I break
‘Not so, my dear,’ he replied; ‘I retain its complete exer-this piece of sugar. A pair of professed egoists, like you cise. To the proof: instead of attempting to cloak my in-and me, should avoid offspring, like an infidelity.’
consistency, I have, by way of preparing you, thrown it
‘Indeed!’ said she; and she laughed. ‘Now, that is like into strong relief. You will there, I think, recognise the you – to take credit for the thing you could not help.’
philosopher who has the ecstasy to call you wife. The fact
‘My dear,’ returned the Doctor, solemnly, ‘we might have is, I have been reckoning all this while without an accident.
adopted.’
I never thought to find a son of my own. Now, last night, I
‘Never!’ cried madame. ‘Never, Doctor, with my confound one. Do not unnecessarily alarm yourself, my dear; sent. If the child were my own flesh and blood, I would not he is not a drop of blood to me that I know. It is his mind, say no. But to take another person’s indiscretion on my darling, his mind that calls me father.’
shoulders, my dear friend, I have too much sense.’
‘His mind!’ she repeated with a titter between scorn and
‘Precisely,’ replied the Doctor. ‘We both had. And I am hysterics. ‘His mind, indeed! Henri, is this an idiotic pleas-all the better pleased with our wisdom, because – because antry, or are you mad? His mind! And what of my mind?’
– ‘ He looked at her sharply.
‘Truly,’ replied the Doctor with a shrug, ‘you have your
‘Because what?’ she asked, with a faint premonition of finger on the hitch. He will be strikingly antipathetic to my danger.
ever beautiful Anastasie. She will never understand him;
‘Because I have found the right person,’ said the Doctor he will never understand her. You married the animal side firmly, ‘and shall adopt him this afternoon.’
of my nature, dear and it is on the spiritual side that I find Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. ‘You have lost my affinity for Jean-Marie. So much so, that, to be per-your reason,’ she said; and there was a clang in her voice fectly frank, I stand in some awe of him myself. You will 151
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easily perceive that I am announcing a calamity for you.
making your husband the happiest of men.’
Do not,’ he broke out in tones of real solicitude – ‘do not
‘You know I can refuse you nothing,’ she said, with a give way to tears after a meal, Anastasie. You will cer-last flicker of resistance; ‘nothing that will make you truly tainly give yourself a false digestion.’
happier. But will this? Are you sure, my husband? Last Anastasie controlled herself. ‘You know how willing I night, you say, you found him! He may be the worst of am to humour you,’ she said, ‘in all reasonable matters.
humbugs.’
But on this point –’
‘I think not,’ replied the Doctor. ‘But do not suppose me
‘My dear love,’ interrupted the Doctor, eager to prevent so unwary as to adopt him out of hand. I am, I flatter my-a refusal, ‘who wished to leave Paris? Who made me give self, a finished man of the world; I have had all possibilities up cards, and the opera, and the boulevard, and my social in view; my plan is contrived to meet them all. I take the relations, and all that was my life before I knew you? Have lad as stable boy. If he pilfer, if he grumble, if he desire to I been faithful? Have I been obedient? Have I not borne change, I shall see I was mistaken; I shall recognise him for my doom with cheerfulness? In all honesty, Anastasie, have no son of mine, and send him tramping.’
I not a right to a stipulation on my side? I have, and you
‘You will never do so when the time comes,’ said his know it. I stipulate my son.’
wife; ‘I know your good heart.’
Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her colours She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh; the Doctor instantly. ‘You will break my heart,’ she sighed.
smiled as he took it and carried it to his lips; he had gained
‘Not