St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in EnglandStevenson, Robert Louis
General
St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
When I saw how it was I did not lose time in indecision. The old
classical conflict of love and honour being once fairly before me, it did
not cost me a thought. I was a Saint-Yves de Kéroual; and I decided to
strike off on the morrow for Wakefield and Burchell Fenn, and embark, as
soon as it should be morally possible, for the succour of my downtrodden
fatherland and my beleaguered Emperor. Pursuant on this resolve, I
leaped from bed, made a light, and as the watchman was crying half-past
two in the dark streets of Lichfield, sat down to pen a letter of
farewell to Flora. And then—whether it was the sudden chill of the
night, whether it came by association of ideas from the remembrance of
Swanston Cottage I know not, but there appeared before me—to the barking
of sheep-dogs—a couple of snuffy and shambling figures, each wrapped in a
plaid, each armed with a rude staff; and I was immediately bowed down to
have forgotten them so long, and of late to have thought of them so
cavalierly.
Sure enough there was my errand! As a private person I was neither
French nor English; I was something else first: a loyal gentleman, an
honest man. Sim and Candlish must not be left to pay the penalty of my
unfortunate blow. They held my honour tacitly pledged to succour them;
and it is a sort of stoical refinement entirely foreign to my nature to
set the political obligation above the personal and private. If France
fell in the interval for the lack of Anne de St.-Yves, fall she must!
But I was both surprised and humiliated to have had so plain a duty bound
upon me for so long—and for so long to have neglected and forgotten it.
I think any brave man will understand me when I say that I went to bed
and to sleep with a conscience very much relieved, and woke again in the
morning with a light heart. The very danger of the enterprise reassured
me: to save Sim and Candlish (suppose the worst to come to the worst) it
would be necessary for me to declare myself in a court of justice, with
consequences which I did not dare to dwell upon; it could never be said
that I had chosen the cheap and the easy—only that in a very perplexing
competition of duties I had risked my life for the most immediate.
We resumed the journey with more diligence: thenceforward posted day and
night; did not halt beyond what was necessary for meals; and the
postillions were excited by gratuities, after the habit of my cousin
Alain. For twopence I could have gone farther and taken four horses; so
extreme was my haste, running as I was before the terrors of an awakened
conscience. But I feared to be conspicuous. Even as it was, we
attracted only too much attention, with our pair and that white elephant,
the seventy-pounds-worth of claret-coloured chaise.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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