The Merry Men, and Other Tales and FablesStevenson, Robert Louis
History
The Merry Men, and Other Tales and Fables
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Boys -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Paranormal fiction; Treasure troves -- Fiction
The first light of the morning shone full upon the portrait, and, as I
lay awake, my eyes continued to dwell upon it with growing complacency;
its beauty crept about my heart insidiously, silencing my scruples one
after another; and while I knew that to love such a woman were to sign
and seal one’s own sentence of degeneration, I still knew that, if she
were alive, I should love her. Day after day the double knowledge of
her wickedness and of my weakness grew clearer. She came to be the
heroine of many day-dreams, in which her eyes led on to, and
sufficiently rewarded, crimes. She cast a dark shadow on my fancy; and
when I was out in the free air of heaven, taking vigorous exercise and
healthily renewing the current of my blood, it was often a glad thought
to me that my enchantress was safe in the grave, her wand of beauty
broken, her lips closed in silence, her philtre spilt. And yet I had a
half-lingering terror that she might not be dead after all, but
re-arisen in the body of some descendant.
Felipe served my meals in my own apartment; and his resemblance to the
portrait haunted me. At times it was not; at times, upon some change of
attitude or flash of expression, it would leap out upon me like a
ghost. It was above all in his ill tempers that the likeness triumphed.
He certainly liked me; he was proud of my notice, which he sought to
engage by many simple and childlike devices; he loved to sit close
before my fire, talking his broken talk or singing his odd, endless,
wordless songs, and sometimes drawing his hand over my clothes with an
affectionate manner of caressing that never failed to cause in me an
embarrassment of which I was ashamed. But for all that, he was capable
of flashes of causeless anger and fits of sturdy sullenness. At a word
of reproof, I have seen him upset the dish of which I was about to eat,
and this not surreptitiously, but with defiance; and similarly at a
hint of inquisition. I was not unnaturally curious, being in a strange
place and surrounded by staring people; but at the shadow of a
question, he shrank back, lowering and dangerous. Then it was that, for
a fraction of a second, this rough lad might have been the brother of
the lady in the frame. But these humours were swift to pass; and the
resemblance died along with them.
In these first days I saw nothing of any one but Felipe, unless the
portrait is to be counted; and since the lad was plainly of weak mind,
and had moments of passion, it may be wondered that I bore his
dangerous neighbourhood with equanimity. As a matter of fact, it was
for some time irksome; but it happened before long that I obtained over
him so complete a mastery as set my disquietude at rest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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