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The Merry Men-Part29_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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the doctor - the doctor and the purulent trash and garbage of his

pharmacopoeia! Pure air - from the neighbourhood of a pinetum for



the sake of the turpentine - unadulterated wine, and the

reflections of an unsophisticated spirit in the presence of the



works of nature - these, my boy, are the best medical appliances

and the best religious comforts. Devote yourself to these. Hark!



there are the bells of Bourron (the wind is in the north, it will

be fair). How clear and airy is the sound! The nerves are



harmonised and quieted; the mind attuned to silence; and observe

how easily and regularly beats the heart! Your unenlightened



doctor would see nothing in these sensations; and yet you yourself

perceive they are a part of health. - Did you remember your



cinchona this morning? Good. Cinchona also is a work of nature;

it is, after all, only the bark of a tree which we might gather for



ourselves if we lived in the locality. - What a world is this!

Though a professed atheist, I delight to bear my testimony to the



world. Look at the gratuitous remedies and pleasures that surround

our path! The river runs by the garden end, our bath, our



fishpond, our natural system of drainage. There is a well in the

court which sends up sparkling water from the earth's very heart,



clean, cool, and, with a little wine, most wholesome. The district

is notorious for its salubrity; rheumatism is the only prevalent



complaint, and I myself have never had a touch of it. I tell you -

and my opinion is based upon the coldest, clearest processes of



reason - if I, if you, desired to leave this home of pleasures, it

would be the duty, it would be the privilege, of our best friend to



prevent us with a pistol bullet.'

One beautiful June day they sat upon the hill outside the village.



The river, as blue as heaven, shone here and there among the

foliage. The indefatigable birds turned and flickered about Gretz



church tower. A healthy wind blew from over the forest, and the

sound of innumerable thousands of tree-tops and innumerable



millions on millions of green leaves was abroad in the air, and

filled the ear with something between whispered speech and singing.



It seemed as if every blade of grass must hide a cigale; and the

fields rang merrily with their music, jingling far and near as with



the sleigh-bells of the fairy queen. From their station on the

slope the eye embraced a large space of poplar'd plain upon the one



hand, the waving hill-tops of the forest on the other, and Gretz

itself in the middle, a handful of roofs. Under the bestriding



arch of the blue heavens, the place seemed dwindled to a toy. It

seemed incredible that people dwelt, and could find room to turn or



air to breathe, in such a corner of the world. The thought came

home to the boy, perhaps for the first time, and he gave it words.



'How small it looks!' he sighed.

'Ay,' replied the Doctor, 'small enough now. Yet it was once a



walled city; thriving, full of furred burgesses and men in armour,

humming with affairs; - with tall spires, for aught that I know,



and portly towers along the battlements. A thousand chimneys

ceased smoking at the curfew bell. There were gibbets at the gate



as thick as scarecrows. In time of war, the assault swarmed

against it with ladders, the arrows fell like leaves, the defenders



sallied hotly over the drawbridge, each side uttered its cry as

they plied their weapons. Do you know that the walls extended as



far as the Commanderie? Tradition so reports. Alas, what a long

way off is all this confusion - nothing left of it but my quiet



words spoken in your ear - and the town itself shrunk to the hamlet

underneath us! By-and-by came the English wars - you shall hear



more of the English, a stupid people, who sometimes blundered into

good - and Gretz was taken, sacked, and burned. It is the history



of many towns; but Gretz never rose again; it was never rebuilt;

its ruins were a quarry to serve the growth of rivals; and the



stones of Gretz are now erect along the streets of Nemours. It

gratifies me that our old house was the first to rise after the






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