The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
And yet this would scarcely parallel the intensity of Will's feeling for
the plain. If he could only go far enough out there, he felt as if his
eyesight would be purged and clarified, as if his hearing would grow more
delicate, and his very breath would come and go with luxury. He was
transplanted and withering where he was; he lay in a strange country and
was sick for home. Bit by bit, he pieced together broken notions of the
world below: of the river, ever moving and growing until it sailed forth
into the majestic ocean; of the cities, full of brisk and beautiful
people, playing fountains, bands of music and marble palaces, and lighted
up at night from end to end with artificial stars of gold; of the great
churches, wise universities, brave armies, and untold money lying stored
in vaults; of the high-flying vice that moved in the sunshine, and the
stealth and swiftness of midnight murder. I have said he was sick as if
for home: the figure halts. He was like some one lying in twilit,
formless pre-existence, and stretching out his hands lovingly towards
many-coloured, many-sounding life. It was no wonder he was unhappy, he
would go and tell the fish: they were made for their life, wished for no
more than worms and running water, and a hole below a falling bank; but
he was differently designed, full of desires and aspirations, itching at
the fingers, lusting with the eyes, whom the whole variegated world could
not satisfy with aspects. The true life, the true bright sunshine, lay
far out upon the plain. And, O! to see this sunlight once before he died!
to move with a jocund spirit in a golden land! to hear the trained
singers and sweet church bells, and see the holiday gardens! "And, O
fish!" he would cry, "if you would only turn your noses down stream, you
could swim so easily into the fabled waters and see the vast ships
passing over your head like clouds, and hear the great water-hills making
music over you all day long!" But the fish kept looking patiently in
their own direction, until Will hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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