The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 01Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 01
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
For my part, when I was turned out of the Stag, or the Hind, or whatever
it was, I would have set the temple of Diana on fire if it had been
handy. There was no crime complete enough to express my disapproval of
human institutions. As for the _Cigarette_, I never knew a man so
altered. "We have been taken for pedlars again," said he. "Good God,
what it must be to be a pedlar in reality!" He particularized a
complaint for every joint in the landlady's body. Timon was a
philanthropist alongside of him. And then, when he was at the top of his
maledictory bent, he would suddenly break away and begin whimperingly to
commiserate the poor. "I hope to God," he said,--and I trust the prayer
was answered,--"that I shall never be uncivil to a pedlar." Was this the
imperturbable _Cigarette_? This, this was he. O change beyond report,
thought, or belief!
Meantime the heaven wept upon our heads; and the windows grew brighter
as the night increased in darkness. We trudged in and out of La Fere
streets; we saw shops, and private houses where people were copiously
dining; we saw stables where carters' nags had plenty of fodder and
clean straw; we saw no end of reservists, who were very sorry for
themselves this wet night, I doubt not, and yearned for their country
homes; but had they not each man his place in La Fere barracks? And we,
what had we?
There seemed to be no other inn in the whole town. People gave us
directions, which we followed as best we could, generally with the
effect of bringing us out again upon the scene of our disgrace. We were
very sad people indeed by the time we had gone all over La Fere; and the
_Cigarette_ had already made up his mind to lie under a poplar and sup
off a loaf of bread. But right at the other end, the house next the
town-gate was full of light and bustle. "_Bazin, aubergiste, loge a
pied_," was the sign. "_A la Croix de Malte_." There were we received.
The room was full of noisy reservists drinking and smoking; and we were
very glad indeed when the drums and bugles began to go about the
streets, and one and all had to snatch shakoes and be off for the
barracks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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