The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21 — John Shaqi
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21Stevenson, Robert Louis
General
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
We will not follow all the steps of the Admiral's return and
installation, but hurry forward towards the catastrophe, merely
chronicling by the way a few salient incidents, wherein we must rely
entirely upon the evidence of Richard, for Esther to this day has never
opened her mouth upon this trying passage of her life, and as for the
Admiral--well, that naval officer, although still alive, and now more
suitably installed in a seaport town where he has a telescope and a flag
in his front garden, is incapable of throwing the slightest gleam of
light upon the affair. Often and often has he remarked to the present
writer: "If I know what it was all about, sir, I'll be----" in short, be
what I hope he will not. And then he will look across at his daughter's
portrait, a photograph, shake his head with an amused appearance, and
mix himself another grog by way of consolation. Once I have heard him go
further, and express his feelings with regard to Esther in a single but
eloquent word. "A minx, sir," he said, not in anger, rather in
amusement: and he cordially drank her health upon the back of it. His
worst enemy must admit him to be a man without malice; he never bore a
grudge in his life, lacking the necessary taste and industry of
attention.
Yet it was during this obscure period that the drama was really
performed; and its scene was in the heart of Esther, shut away from all
eyes. Had this warm, upright, sullen girl been differently used by
destiny, had events come upon her even in a different succession, for
some things lead easily to others, the whole course of this tale would
have been changed, and Esther never would have run away. As it was,
through a series of acts and words of which we know but few, and a
series of thoughts which any one may imagine for himself, she was
awakened in four days from the dream of a life.
The first tangible cause of disenchantment was when Dick brought home a
painter's arsenal on Friday evening. The Admiral was in the
chimney-corner, once more "sirrupping" some brandy-and-water, and Esther
sat at the table at work. They both came forward to greet the new
arrival; and the girl, relieving him of his monstrous burthen, proceeded
to display her offerings to her father. Van Tromp's countenance fell
several degrees; he became quite querulous.
"God bless me," he said; and then, "I must really ask you not to
interfere, child," in a tone of undisguised hostility.
"Father," she said, "forgive me; I knew you had given up your art----"
"Oh yes!" cried the Admiral; "I've done with it to the judgment-day!"
"Pardon me again," she said firmly, "but I do not, I cannot think that
you are right in this. Suppose the world is unjust, suppose that no one
understands you, you have still a duty to yourself. And, oh, don't spoil
the pleasure of your coming home to me; show me that you can be my
father and yet not neglect your destiny. I am not like some daughters; I
will not be jealous of your art, and I will try to understand it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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