who conferred upon me the responsibility for Narcisse. I know full well that if I were to tell him that Narcisse had died, he would make no attempt to express any regret. As far as the governor is concerned, Narcisse is no more than a source of annoyance and trouble. It is my responsibility to inform him, but if I am not too hasty, I can give Narcisse the chance to disappear, if such is his wish.
I feel it is reasonable to wait until tomorrow morning. By the time the dinghy has arrived and taken me to the governor’s office, almost two full days will have elapsed before the search begins. If there is to be a search. And with this much delay, it will have little chance of success. This will be my parting gift to Narcisse.
All day long, my mind was filled with these dark thoughts. I took my lunch late and ate with little appetite. Bill served me as usual, aware that with Narcisse gone, he would surely be returned to hard labour. But my only concern is Narcisse’s future. Will he encounter other savages in the bush? Will he be welcomed by them? Will he speak their language? Will he have the strength to go through the experience of accustoming himself once again to tribal ways, three or four hundred leagues to the south of his former clan’s home?
I shall never know. The adventure on which I embarked two months ago ends thus, an ultimately insignificant event with no conclusion. My speculations as to how the adventure might develop have all come to nought.
As I was recording these reflections, I was interrupted by a horseman bearing a despatch from the governor, informing me that he had learnt of Narcisse’s departure. There was no indication as to how he knew, but I suspected that Bill, thinking of his own future, had disobeyed my orders and prevailed upon the linen girl, or the skipper of the dinghy, to deliver a message. The governor informed me that he would not try to recapture Narcisse from the dense forests that covered the area all around Sydney. He noted somewhat coldly – or perhaps to be humorous – that Narcisse was a French subject, in possession of no documents and without the right of abode in the colony. Although Narcisse was in breach of the law, the governor did not feel that this in itself was grounds for a manhunt. Narcisse had come from nowhere and thence he had returned. The case was closed.
I perceived with astonishment that I was quite distressed by this. The messenger enquired as to what he should do next, and accordingly I sent him off to spend the night with the soldiers in the encampment just outside the grounds of the residence. This would afford me until the next morning to compose a response. All I had left of Narcisse were some sketches of his tattoos. I needed time to reflect.
And so ends my already overly lengthy epistle. I leave you to draw your own conclusions on this matter. Was this task that I accepted so readily too onerous for me? Would it have proven so for anyone in my position? Was I mistaken in my approach to Narcisse and in my chosen methods of inculcating him once again with our ways? What exactly did I do wrong? What did I neglect to do? What was the meaning of his resigned indifference towards our world?
The experiment has failed – it little matters for what reason. Narcisse has chosen. I shall return to France, occupying myself on the return voyage in the composing of a report on this venture, which I shall submit to the Geographical Society Review. I ask you in advance not to judge this piece too harshly and to moderate your judgment of my endeavours, which have the bitter taste of being unfinished.
I remain your faithful servant…
Post Scriptum
It is now dusk, and as I come to the end of this missive, Narcisse has returned. He has no notion of the dismay his absence has engendered, and is proudly carrying a beast that resembles a large fox by the tail.
My first instinct was to reproach him sharply. But I am neither his schoolmaster nor his sergeant – it is
I feel it is reasonable to wait until tomorrow morning. By the time the dinghy has arrived and taken me to the governor’s office, almost two full days will have elapsed before the search begins. If there is to be a search. And with this much delay, it will have little chance of success. This will be my parting gift to Narcisse.
All day long, my mind was filled with these dark thoughts. I took my lunch late and ate with little appetite. Bill served me as usual, aware that with Narcisse gone, he would surely be returned to hard labour. But my only concern is Narcisse’s future. Will he encounter other savages in the bush? Will he be welcomed by them? Will he speak their language? Will he have the strength to go through the experience of accustoming himself once again to tribal ways, three or four hundred leagues to the south of his former clan’s home?
I shall never know. The adventure on which I embarked two months ago ends thus, an ultimately insignificant event with no conclusion. My speculations as to how the adventure might develop have all come to nought.
As I was recording these reflections, I was interrupted by a horseman bearing a despatch from the governor, informing me that he had learnt of Narcisse’s departure. There was no indication as to how he knew, but I suspected that Bill, thinking of his own future, had disobeyed my orders and prevailed upon the linen girl, or the skipper of the dinghy, to deliver a message. The governor informed me that he would not try to recapture Narcisse from the dense forests that covered the area all around Sydney. He noted somewhat coldly – or perhaps to be humorous – that Narcisse was a French subject, in possession of no documents and without the right of abode in the colony. Although Narcisse was in breach of the law, the governor did not feel that this in itself was grounds for a manhunt. Narcisse had come from nowhere and thence he had returned. The case was closed.
I perceived with astonishment that I was quite distressed by this. The messenger enquired as to what he should do next, and accordingly I sent him off to spend the night with the soldiers in the encampment just outside the grounds of the residence. This would afford me until the next morning to compose a response. All I had left of Narcisse were some sketches of his tattoos. I needed time to reflect.
And so ends my already overly lengthy epistle. I leave you to draw your own conclusions on this matter. Was this task that I accepted so readily too onerous for me? Would it have proven so for anyone in my position? Was I mistaken in my approach to Narcisse and in my chosen methods of inculcating him once again with our ways? What exactly did I do wrong? What did I neglect to do? What was the meaning of his resigned indifference towards our world?
The experiment has failed – it little matters for what reason. Narcisse has chosen. I shall return to France, occupying myself on the return voyage in the composing of a report on this venture, which I shall submit to the Geographical Society Review. I ask you in advance not to judge this piece too harshly and to moderate your judgment of my endeavours, which have the bitter taste of being unfinished.
I remain your faithful servant…
Post Scriptum
It is now dusk, and as I come to the end of this missive, Narcisse has returned. He has no notion of the dismay his absence has engendered, and is proudly carrying a beast that resembles a large fox by the tail.
My first instinct was to reproach him sharply. But I am neither his schoolmaster nor his sergeant – it is
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