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diff --git a/30894-8.txt b/30894-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..024b17f --- /dev/null +++ b/30894-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15055 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - +Swanston Edition Vol. 23 (of 25), by Robert Louis Stevenson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition Vol. 23 (of 25) + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + +Release Date: January 8, 2010 [EBook #30894] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF STEVENSON *** + + + + +Produced by Marius Masi, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + THE WORKS OF + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + SWANSTON EDITION + + VOLUME XXIII + + + _Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five + Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS + STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies + have been printed, of which only Two Thousand + Copies are for sale._ + + + _This is No._ ....... + + +[Illustration: (signed)] + + + THE WORKS OF + + ROBERT LOUIS + STEVENSON + + + VOLUME TWENTY-THREE + + + LONDON: PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND + WINDUS: IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL + AND COMPANY LIMITED: WILLIAM + HEINEMANN: AND LONGMANS GREEN + AND COMPANY MDCCCCXII + + + _For permission to use the_ LETTERS _in the_ + SWANSTON EDITION OF STEVENSON'S WORKS + _the Publishers are indebted to the kindness of_ + MESSRS. METHUEN & CO., LTD. + + + _ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_ + + + + + THE LETTERS OF + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + EDITED BY + SIDNEY COLVIN + + PARTS I--VI + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + INTRODUCTION xvii + + +I.--STUDENT DAYS AT EDINBURGH + + TRAVELS AND EXCURSIONS + + INTRODUCTORY 3 + + LETTERS-- + To Thomas Stevenson 13 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 14 + To the Same 15 + To the Same 17 + To the Same 19 + To the Same 21 + To the Same 24 + To Mrs. Churchill Babington 30 + To Alison Cunningham 32 + To Charles Baxter 33 + To the Same 35 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 36 + To the Same 38 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 39 + To Thomas Stevenson 42 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 44 + To Charles Baxter 46 + To Charles Baxter 49 + To the Same 52 + + +II.--STUDENT DAYS--_continued_ + + NEW FRIENDSHIPS--ORDERED SOUTH + + INTRODUCTORY 54 + + LETTERS-- + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 56 + To Mrs. Sitwell 57 + To the Same 58 + To the Same 61 + To the Same 63 + To the Same 66 + To the Same 68 + To the Same 71 + To the Same 74 + To Sidney Colvin 76 + To the Same 76 + To Mrs. Sitwell 77 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 81 + To Mrs. Sitwell 83 + To the Same 83 + To the Same 86 + To Charles Baxter 89 + To Mrs. Sitwell 91 + To the Same 93 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 94 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 96 + To the Same 97 + To the Same 99 + To Mrs. Sitwell 101 + To the Same 103 + To the Same 104 + To Sidney Colvin 105 + To the Same 106 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 107 + To Sidney Colvin 108 + To Mrs. Sitwell 110 + To Thomas Stevenson 111 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 112 + To Thomas Stevenson 113 + To Mrs. Sitwell 115 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 116 + To the Same 117 + To the Same 118 + To the Same 118 + To the Same 120 + To Mrs. Sitwell 121 + + +III.--STUDENT DAYS--_concluded_ + + HOME AGAIN--LITERATURE AND LAW + + INTRODUCTORY 123 + + LETTERS-- + To Sidney Colvin 124 + To Mrs. Sitwell 125 + To Sidney Colvin 127 + To Mrs. Sitwell 127 + To Sidney Colvin 129 + To Mrs. Sitwell 131 + To the Same 133 + To the Same 137 + To the Same 139 + To Sidney Colvin 140 + To Mrs. Sitwell 140 + To Sidney Colvin 141 + To the Same 143 + To Mrs. Sitwell 144 + To the Same 148 + To the Same 149 + To the Same 151 + To the Same 153 + To the Same 155 + To the Same 156 + To Sidney Colvin 157 + To Mrs. Sitwell 158 + To the Same 161 + To the Same 164 + To the Same 166 + To Sidney Colvin 167 + To Mrs. Sitwell 168 + To Sidney Colvin 169 + To Mrs. Sitwell 171 + To Sidney Colvin 173 + To Mrs. Sitwell 174 + To the Same 174 + To the Same 175 + To the Same 177 + To Sidney Colvin 178 + To the Same 178 + To Mrs. Sitwell 179 + To the Same 180 + To the Same 181 + + +IV.--ADVOCATE AND AUTHOR + + EDINBURGH--PARIS--FONTAINEBLEAU + + INTRODUCTORY 182 + + LETTERS-- + To Sidney Colvin 186 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 187 + To Mrs. Sitwell 187 + To the Same 189 + To Sidney Colvin 191 + To Charles Baxter 193 + To Sidney Colvin 195 + To the Same 196 + To Mrs. Sitwell 197 + To the Same 198 + To Mrs. de Mattos 199 + To Mrs. Sitwell 200 + To Sidney Colvin 201 + To the Same 202 + To Mrs. Sitwell 203 + To W. E. Henley 204 + To Mrs. Sitwell 205 + To Sidney Colvin 206 + To Mrs. Sitwell 207 + To A. Patchett Martin 208 + To the Same 209 + To Sidney Colvin 211 + To the Same 212 + To Thomas Stevenson 213 + To Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 215 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 215 + To the Same 216 + To W. E. Henley 217 + To Charles Baxter 217 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 218 + To W. E. Henley 219 + To Edmund Gosse 219 + To W. E. Henley 221 + To Miss Jane Balfour 223 + To Edmund Gosse 224 + To Sidney Colvin 225 + To Edmund Gosse 226 + + +V.--THE AMATEUR EMIGRANT + + _S.S. DEVONIA_--MONTEREY AND SAN FRANCISCO--MARRIAGE + + INTRODUCTORY 228 + + LETTERS-- + To Sidney Colvin 230 + To the Same 232 + To W. E. Henley 233 + To Sidney Colvin 234 + To the Same 235 + To Edmund Gosse 236 + To W. E. Henley 238 + To the Same 238 + To Sidney Colvin 241 + To P. G. Hamerton 242 + To Edmund Gosse 243 + To Sidney Colvin 244 + To Edmund Gosse 245 + To Sidney Colvin 247 + To W. E. Henley 249 + To Sidney Colvin 251 + To the Same 253 + To W. E. Henley 255 + To the Same 256 + To Sidney Colvin 258 + To Edmund Gosse 260 + To Charles Baxter 262 + To Professor Meiklejohn 263 + To W. E. Henley 265 + To Sidney Colvin 267 + To the Same 269 + To J. W. Ferrier 269 + To Edmund Gosse 271 + To Dr. W. Bamford 272 + To Sidney Colvin 272 + To the Same 273 + To the Same 274 + To C. W. Stoddard 275 + To Sidney Colvin 276 + + +VI.--ALPINE WINTERS AND HIGHLAND SUMMERS + + INTRODUCTORY 279 + + LETTERS-- + To Sidney Colvin 284 + To Charles Baxter 285 + To Isobel Strong 286 + To A. G. Dew-Smith 287 + To Thomas Stevenson 290 + To Sidney Colvin 291 + To Edmund Gosse 292 + To the Same 293 + To Charles Warren Stoddard 294 + To Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 296 + To Sidney Colvin 297 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 298 + To Sidney Colvin 300 + To Horatio F. Brown 303 + To the Same 303 + To the Same 304 + To Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 305 + To Edmund Gosse 306 + To Sidney Colvin 308 + To Professor Æneas Mackay 309 + To the Same 309 + To Sidney Colvin 310 + To Edmund Gosse 311 + To Charles J. Guthrie 312 + To the Same 312 + To Edmund Gosse 313 + To P. G. Hamerton 314 + To Sidney Colvin 316 + To W. E. Henley 317 + To the Same 319 + To Sidney Colvin 320 + To Dr. Alexander Japp 321 + To Mrs. Sitwell 323 + To Edmund Gosse 324 + To the Same 325 + To the Same 325 + To W. E. Henley 326 + To Dr. Alexander Japp 327 + To W. E. Henley 328 + To the Same 330 + To Thomas Stevenson 331 + To Edmund Gosse 332 + To W. E. Henley 333 + To P. G. Hamerton 335 + To Charles Baxter 336 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 337 + To Edmund Gosse 338 + To Sidney Colvin 339 + To Alison Cunningham 340 + To Charles Baxter 341 + To W. E. Henley 341 + To the Same 342 + To Alexander Ireland 345 + To Mrs. Gosse 347 + To Sidney Colvin 349 + To Edmund Gosse 350 + To Dr. Alexander Japp 351 + To the Same 351 + To W. E. Henley 352 + To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 354 + To R. A. M. Stevenson 356 + To Trevor Haddon 357 + To Edmund Gosse 359 + To Trevor Haddon 360 + To Edmund Gosse 360 + To W. E. Henley 361 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The circumstances which have made me responsible for selecting and +editing the correspondence of Robert Louis Stevenson are the following. +He was for many years my closest friend. We first met in 1873, when he +was in his twenty-third year and I in my twenty-ninth, at the place and +in the manner mentioned at page 54 of this volume. It was my good +fortune then to be of use to him, partly by such technical hints as even +the most brilliant beginner may take from an older hand, partly by +recommending him to editors--first, if I remember right, to Mr. Hamerton +and Mr. Richmond Seeley, of the Portfolio, then in succession to Mr. +George Grove (Macmillan's Magazine), Mr. Leslie Stephen (Cornhill), and +Dr. Appleton (the Academy); and somewhat, lastly, by helping to raise +him in the estimation of parents who loved but for the moment failed to +understand him. It belonged to the richness of his nature to repay in +all things much for little, [Greek: hekatomboi enneaboiôn], and from +these early relations sprang the affection and confidence, to me +inestimable, of which the following correspondence bears evidence. + +One day in the autumn of 1888, in the island of Tahiti, during an +illness which he supposed might be his last, Stevenson put into the +hands of his stepson, Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, a sealed paper with a request +that it might be opened after his death. He recovered, and had strength +enough to enjoy six years more of active life and work in the Pacific +Islands. When the end came, the paper was opened and found to contain, +among other things, the expression of his wish that I should prepare for +publication "a selection of his letters and a sketch of his life." I had +already, in 1892, when he was anxious--needlessly, as it turned out--as +to the provision he might be able to leave for his family, received from +him a suggestion that "some kind of a book" might be made out of the +monthly journal-letters which he had been in the habit of writing me +from Samoa: letters begun at first with no thought of publication and +simply in order to maintain our intimacy, so far as might be, +undiminished by separation. This part of his wishes I was able to carry +out promptly, and the result appeared under the title _Vailima Letters_ +in the autumn following his death (1895). Lack of leisure delayed the +execution of the remaining part. For one thing, the body of +correspondence which came in from various quarters turned out much +larger than had been anticipated. He did not love writing letters, and +will be found somewhere in the following pages referring to himself as +one "essentially and originally incapable of the art epistolary." That +he was a bad correspondent had come to be an accepted view among his +friends; but in truth it was only during one period of his life that he +at all deserved such a reproach.[1] At other times, as became apparent +after his death, he had shown a degree of industry and spirit in +letter-writing extraordinary considering his health and his occupations. +It was indeed he and not his friends, as will abundantly appear in the +course of these volumes, who oftenest had cause to complain of answers +neglected or delayed. His letters, it is true, were often the most +informal in the world, and he generally neglected to date them, a habit +which is the despair of editors: but after his own whim and fashion he +wrote a vast number, so that the work of sifting, copying, and arranging +was long and laborious. It was not until the autumn of 1899 that the +_Letters to his Family and Friends_ were ready for publication, and in +the meantime the task of writing the _Life_ had been taken over by his +cousin and my friend, Mr. Graham Balfour, who completed it two years +later. + +"In considering the scale and plan on which my friend's instruction +should be carried out" (I quote, with the change of a word or two, from +my Introduction of 1899), "it seemed necessary to take into account, not +his own always modest opinion of himself, but the place which he seemed +likely to take ultimately in the world's regard. The four or five years +following the death of a writer much applauded in his lifetime are +generally the years when the decline of his reputation begins, if it is +going to suffer decline at all. At present, certainly, Stevenson's name +seems in no danger of going down. On the stream of daily literary +reference and allusion it floats more actively than ever. In another +sense its vitality is confirmed by the material test of continued sales +and of the market. Since we have lost him other writers, whose +beginnings he watched with sympathetic interest, have come to fill a +greater immediate place in public attention; but none has exercised +Stevenson's peculiar and personal power to charm, to attach, and to +inspirit. By his study of perfection in form and style--qualities for +which his countrymen in general have been apt to care little--he might +seem destined to give pleasure chiefly to the fastidious and the +artistically minded. But as to its matter, the main appeal of his work +is not to any mental tastes and fashions of the few; it is rather to +universal, hereditary instincts, to the primitive sources of imaginative +excitement and entertainment in the race. + +"The voice of the _advocatus diaboli_ has been heard against him, as it +is right and proper that it should be heard against any man before his +reputation can be held fully established. One such advocate in this +country has thought to dispose of him by the charge of 'externality.' +But the reader who remembers things like the sea-frenzy of Gordon +Darnaway, or the dialogue of Markheim with his other self in the house +of murder, or the re-baptism of the spirit of Seraphina in the forest +dews, or the failure of Herrick to find in the waters of the island +lagoon a last release from dishonour, or the death of Goguelat, or the +appeal of Kirstie Elliot in the midnight chamber--such a reader can only +smile at a criticism like this and put it by. These and a score of other +passages breathe the essential poetry and significance of things as they +reveal themselves to true masters only: they are instinct at once with +the morality and the romance which lie deep together at the soul of +nature and experience. Not in vain had Stevenson read the lesson of the +Lantern-Bearers, and hearkened to the music of the pipes of Pan. He was +feeling his way all his life towards a fuller mastery of his means, +preferring always to leave unexpressed what he felt that he could not +express adequately; and in much of his work was content merely to amuse +himself and others. But even when he is playing most fancifully with his +art and his readers, as in the shudders, tempered with laughter, of the +_Suicide Club_, or the airy sentimental comedy of _Providence and the +Guitar_, or the schoolboy historical inventions of Dickon Crookback and +the old sailor Arblaster, a writer of his quality cannot help striking +notes from the heart of life and the inwardness of things deeper than +will ever be struck, or even apprehended, by another who labours, with +never a smile either of his own or of his reader's, upon the most solemn +enterprises of realistic fiction, but is born without the magician's +touch and insight. + +"Another advocate on the same side, in the United States, has made much +of the supposed dependence of this author on his models, and classed him +among writers whose inspiration is imitative and second-hand. But this +is to be quite misled by the well-known passage of Stevenson's own, in +which he speaks of himself as having in his prentice years played the +'sedulous ape' to many writers of different styles and periods. In doing +this he was not seeking inspiration, but simply practising the use of +the tools which were to help him to express his own inspirations. Truly +he was always much of a reader: but it was life, not books, that always +in the first degree allured and taught him. + + 'He loved of life the myriad sides, + Pain, prayer, or pleasure, act or sleep, + As wallowing narwhals love the deep'-- + +so with just self-knowledge he wrote of himself; and the books which he +most cared for and lived with were those of which the writers seemed--to +quote again a phrase of his own--to have been 'eavesdropping at the door +of his heart': those which told of experiences or cravings after +experience, pains, pleasures, or conflicts of the spirit, which in the +eagerness of youthful living and thinking had already been his own. No +man, in fact, was ever less inclined to take anything at second-hand. +The root of all originality was in him, in the shape of an extreme +natural vividness of perception, imagination, and feeling. An +instinctive and inbred unwillingness to accept the accepted and conform +to the conventional was of the essence of his character, whether in life +or art, and was a source to him both of strength and weakness. He would +not follow a general rule--least of all if it was a prudential rule--of +conduct unless he was clear that it was right according to his private +conscience; nor would he join, in youth, in the ordinary social +amusements of his class when he had once found out that they did not +amuse _him_; nor wear their clothes if he could not feel at ease and be +himself in them; nor use, whether in speech or writing, any trite or +inanimate form of words that did not faithfully and livingly express his +thought. A readier acceptance alike of current usages and current +phrases might have been better for him, but was simply not in his +nature. No reader of this book will close it, I am sure, without feeling +that he has been throughout in the company of a spirit various indeed +and many-mooded, but profoundly sincere and real. Ways that in another +might easily have been mere signs of affectation were in him the true +expression of a nature ten times more spontaneously itself and +individually alive than that of others. Self-consciousness, in many +characters that possess it, deflects and falsifies conduct; and so does +the dramatic instinct. Stevenson was self-conscious in a high degree, +but only as a part of his general activity of mind; only in so far as he +could not help being an extremely intelligent spectator of his own +doings and feelings: these themselves came from springs of character and +impulse much too deep and strong to be diverted. He loved also, with a +child's or actor's gusto, to play a part and make a drama out of life: +but the part was always for the moment his very own: he had it not in +him to pose for anything but what he truly was. + +"When a man so constituted had once mastered his craft of letters, he +might take up whatever instrument he pleased with the instinctive and +just confidence that he would play upon it to a tune and with a manner +of his own. This is indeed the true mark and test of his originality. He +has no need to be, or to seem, especially original in the form and mode +of literature which he attempts. By his choice of these he may at any +time give himself and his reader the pleasure of recalling, like a +familiar air, some strain of literary association; but in so doing he +only adds a secondary charm to his work; the vision, the temperament, +the mode of conceiving and handling, are in every case personal to +himself. He may try his hand in youth at a _Sentimental Journey_, but R. +L. S. cannot choose but be at the opposite pole of human character and +feeling from Laurence Sterne. In tales of mystery, allegorical or other, +he may bear in mind the precedent of Edgar Poe, and yet there is nothing +in style and temper much wider apart than _Markheim_ and _Jekyll and +Hyde_ are from the _Murders in the Rue Morgue_ or _William Wilson_. He +may set out to tell a pirate story for boys 'exactly in the ancient +way,' and it will come from him not in the ancient way at all, but +re-minted; marked with a sharpness and saliency in the characters, a +private stamp of buccaneering ferocity combined with smiling humour, an +energy of vision and happy vividness of presentment, which are shiningly +his own. Another time, he may desert the paths of Kingston and +Ballantyne for those of Sir Walter Scott; but literature presents few +stronger contrasts than between any scene of _Waverley_ or _Redgauntlet_ +and any scene of the _Master of Ballantrae_ or _Catriona_, whether in +their strength or weakness: and it is the most loyal lovers of the older +master who take the greatest pleasure in reading the work of the +younger, so much less opulently gifted as is probable--though we must +remember that Stevenson died at the age when Scott wrote _Waverley_--so +infinitely more careful of his gift. Stevenson may even blow upon the +pipe of Burns and yet his tune will be no echo, but one which utters the +heart and mind of a Scots maker who has his own outlook on life, his own +special and profitable vein of smiling or satirical contemplation. + +"Not by reason, then, of 'externality,' for sure, nor yet of +imitativeness, will this writer lose his hold on the attention and +regard of his countrymen. The debate, before his place in literature is +settled, must rather turn on other points: as whether the genial +essayist and egoist or the romantic inventor and narrator was the +stronger in him--whether the Montaigne and Pepys elements prevailed in +his literary composition or the Scott and Dumas elements--a question +indeed which among those who care for him most has always been at issue. +Or again, what degree of true inspiring and illuminating power belongs +to the gospel, or gospels, airily encouraging or gravely didactic, which +are set forth in the essays with so captivating a grace? Or whether in +romance and tale he had a power of inventing and constructing a whole +fable comparable to his admitted power of conceiving and presenting +single scenes and situations in a manner which stamps them indelibly on +the reader's mind? And whether his figures are sustained continuously by +the true spontaneous breath of creation, or are but transitorily +animated at happy moments by flashes of spiritual and dramatic insight, +aided by the conscious devices of his singularly adroit and spirited +art? These are questions which no criticism but that of time can solve. +To contend, as some do, that strong creative impulse and so keen an +artistic self-consciousness as Stevenson's was cannot exist together, is +quite idle. The truth, of course, is that the deep-seated energies of +imaginative creation are found sometimes in combination, and sometimes +not in combination, with an artistic intelligence thus keenly conscious +of its own purpose and watchful of its own working. + +"Once more, it may be questioned whether, among the many varieties of +work which Stevenson has left, all distinguished by a grace and +precision of workmanship which are the rarest qualities in English art, +there are any which can be pointed to as absolute masterpieces, such as +the future cannot be expected to let die. Let the future decide. What is +certain is that posterity must either be very well or very ill occupied +if it can consent to give up so much sound entertainment, and better +than entertainment, as this writer afforded his contemporaries. In the +meantime, among judicious readers on both sides of the Atlantic, +Stevenson stands, I think it may safely be said, as a true master of +English prose; scarcely surpassed for the union of lenity and lucidity +with suggestive pregnancy and poetic animation; for harmony of cadence +and the well-knit structure of sentences; and for the art of imparting +to words the vital quality of things, and making them convey the +precise--sometimes, let it be granted, the too curiously +precise--expression of the very shade and colour of the thought, +feeling, or vision in his mind. He stands, moreover, as the writer who, +in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, has handled with the most +of freshness and inspiriting power the widest range of established +literary forms--the moral, critical, and personal essay, travels +sentimental and other, romances and short tales both historical and +modern, parables and tales of mystery, boys' stories of adventure, +memoirs--nor let lyrical and meditative verse both English and Scottish, +and especially nursery verse, a new vein for genius to work in, be +forgotten. To some of these forms Stevenson gave quite new life; through +all alike he expressed vividly an extremely personal way of seeing and +being, a sense of nature and romance, of the aspects of human existence +and problems of human conduct, which was essentially his own. And in so +doing he contrived to make friends and even lovers of his readers. Those +whom he attracts at all (and there is no writer who attracts every one) +are drawn to him over and over again, finding familiarity not lessen but +increase the charm of his work, and desiring ever closer intimacy with +the spirit and personality which they divine behind it. + +"As to the fitting scale, then, on which to treat the memory of a man +who fills five years after his death such a place as this in the general +regard, and who has desired that a selection from his letters shall be +made public, the word 'selection' has evidently to be given a pretty +liberal interpretation. Readers, it must be supposed, will scarce be +content without the opportunity of a fairly ample intercourse with such +a man as he was accustomed to reveal himself in writing to his +familiars. In choosing from among the material before me" (I still quote +from the Introduction of 1899), "I have used the best discretion that I +could. Stevenson's feelings and relations throughout life were in almost +all directions so warm and kindly, that very little had to be suppressed +from fear of giving pain.[2] On the other hand, he drew people towards +him with so much confidence and affection, and met their openness with +so much of his own, that an editor could not but feel the frequent risk +of inviting readers to trespass too far on purely private affairs and +feelings, including those of the living. This was a point upon which in +his lifetime he felt strongly. That excellent critic, Mr. Walter +Raleigh, has noticed, as one of the merits of Stevenson's personal +essays and accounts of travel, that few men have written more or more +attractively of themselves without ever taking the public unduly into +familiarity or overstepping proper bounds of reticence. Public prying +into private lives, the propagation of gossip by the press, and printing +of private letters during the writer's lifetime, were things he hated. +Once, indeed, he very superfluously gave himself a dangerous cold, by +dancing before a bonfire in his garden at the news of a 'society' editor +having been committed to prison; and the only approach to a difference +he ever had with one of his lifelong friends arose from the publication, +without permission, of one of his letters written during his first +Pacific voyage. + +"How far, then, must I regard his instructions about publication as +authorising me to go after his death beyond the limits which he had been +so careful in observing and desiring others to observe in life? How much +may now fairly become public of that which had been held sacred and +hitherto private among his friends? To cut out all that is strictly +personal and intimate were to leave his story untold and half the charm +of his character unrevealed: to put in too much were to break all bonds +of that privacy which he so carefully regarded while he lived. I know +not if I have at all been able to hit the mean, and to succeed in making +these letters, as it has been my object to make them, present, without +offence or intrusion, a just, a living, and proportionate picture of the +man as far as they will yield it. There is one respect in which his own +practice and principle has had to be in some degree violated, if the +work was to be done at all. Except in the single case of the essay +_Ordered South_, he would never in writing for the public adopt the +invalid point of view, or invite any attention to his infirmities. 'To +me,' he says, 'the medicine bottles on my chimney and the blood on my +handkerchief are accidents; they do not colour my view of life; and I +should think myself a trifler and in bad taste if I introduced the world +to these unimportant privacies.' But from his letters to his family and +friends these matters could not possibly be left out. The tale of his +life, in the years when he was most of a correspondent, was in truth a +tale of daily and nightly battle against weakness and physical distress +and danger. To those who loved him, the incidents of this battle were +communicated, sometimes gravely, sometimes laughingly. I have greatly +cut down such bulletins, but could not possibly omit them altogether." + +In 1911, twelve years after the above words were written, the estimate +expressed in them of Stevenson's qualities as a writer, and of the place +he seemed likely to maintain in the affections of English readers all +the world over, had been amply confirmed by the lapse of time. The sale +of his works kept increasing rather than diminishing. Editions kept +multiplying. A new generation of readers had found life and letters, +nature and human nature, touched by him at so many points with so +vivifying and illuminating a charm that it had become scarcely possible +to take up any newspaper or magazine and not find some reference to his +work and name. Both series of letters--even one mainly concerned, as the +_Vailima Letters_ are, with matters of interest both remote and +transitory--had been read in edition after edition: and readers had been +and were continually asking for more. The time was thought to have come +for a new and definitive edition, in which the two series of letters +already published should be thrown into one, and as much new material +added as could be found suitable. The task of carrying out this scheme +fell again upon me. The new edition constituted in effect a nearly +complete epistolary autobiography. It contained not less than a hundred +and fifty of Stevenson's letters hitherto unpublished. They dated from +all periods of his life, those written in the brilliant and troubled +days of his youth predominating, and giving a picture, perhaps unique in +its kind, of a character and talent in the making. The present edition +is a reprint of the edition of 1911, with a few errors of transcription +and one or two of date corrected, and with a very few new letters added. + +Much, of course, remains and ought to remain unprinted. Some of the +outpourings of the early time are too sacred and intimate for publicity. +Many of the letters of his maturer years are dry business letters of no +general interest: many others are mere scraps tossed in jest to his +familiars and full of catchwords and code-words current in their talk +but meaningless to outsiders. Above all, many have to be omitted because +they deal with the intimate affairs of private persons. Stevenson has +been sometimes called an egoist, as though he had been one in the +practical sense as well as in the sense of taking a lively interest in +his own moods and doings. Nothing can be more untrue. The letters +printed in these volumes are indeed for the most part about himself: but +it was of himself that his correspondents of all things most cared to +hear. If the letters concerned with the private affairs of other people +could be printed, as of course they cannot, the balance would come more +than even. We should see him throwing himself with sympathetic ardour +and without thought of self into the cares and interests of his +correspondents, and should learn to recognise him as having been truly +the helper in many a relation where he might naturally have been taken +for the person helped. + +As to the form in which the Letters are now presented, they fill three +volumes instead of the four of the 1911 edition, the division into +fourteen sections according to date being retained. As to the text, it +is faithful to the original except in so far as I have freely used the +editorial privilege of omission when I thought it desirable, and as I +have not felt myself bound to reproduce slips and oddities, however +characteristic, of spelling. In formal matters like the use of +quote-marks, italics, and so forth, I have adopted a more uniform +practice than his, which was very casual and variable. + +To some readers, perhaps--(from this point I again resume my +Introduction of 1899, but with more correction and abridgment)--to some, +perhaps, the very lack of art as a correspondent to which Stevenson, as +above quoted, pleads guilty may give the reading an added charm and +flavour. What he could do as an artist in letters we know. I remember +Sir John Millais, a shrewd and very independent judge of books, calling +across to me at a dinner-table, "You know Stevenson, don't you?" and +then going on, "Well, I wish you would tell him from me, if he cares to +know, that to my mind he is the very first of living artists. I don't +mean writers merely, but painters and all of us. Nobody living can see +with such an eye as that fellow, and nobody is such a master of his +tools." But in his letters, excepting a few written in youth and having +more or less the character of exercises, and a few in after years which +were intended for the public eye, Stevenson the deliberate artist is +scarcely forthcoming at all. He does not care a fig for order or logical +sequence or congruity, or for striking a key of expression and keeping +it, but becomes simply the most spontaneous and unstudied of human +beings. He has at his command the whole vocabularies of the English and +Scottish languages, classical and slang, with good stores of the French, +and tosses and tumbles them about irresponsibly to convey the impression +or affection, the mood or freak of the moment; pouring himself out in +all manner of rhapsodical confessions and speculations, grave or gay, +notes of observation and criticism, snatches of remembrance and +autobiography, moralisings on matters uppermost for the hour in his +mind, comments on his own work or other people's, or mere idle fun and +foolery. + +By this medley of moods and manners, Stevenson's letters at their best +come nearer than anything else to the full-blooded charm and variety of +his conversation. Nearer, yet not quite near; for it was in company only +that his genial spirit rose to his very best. Few men probably have had +in them such a richness and variety of human nature; and few can ever +have been better gifted than he was to express the play of being that +was in him by means of the apt, expressive word and the animated look +and gesture. _Divers et ondoyant_, in the words of Montaigne, beyond +other men, he seemed to contain within himself a whole troop of +singularly assorted characters. Though prose was his chosen medium of +expression, he was by temperament a born poet, to whom the world was +full of enchantment and of latent romance, only waiting to take shape +and substance in the forms of art. It was his birthright-- + + "to hear + The great bell beating far and near-- + The odd, unknown, enchanted gong + That on the road hales men along, + That from the mountain calls afar, + That lures the vessel from a star, + And with a still, aerial sound + Makes all the earth enchanted ground." + +He had not only the poet's mind but the poet's senses: in youth ginger +was only too hot in his mouth, and the chimes at midnight only too +favourite a music. At the same time he was not less a born preacher and +moralist and son of the Covenanters after his fashion. He had about him, +as has been said, little spirit of social or other conformity; but an +active and searching private conscience kept him for ever calling in +question both the grounds of his own conduct and the validity of the +accepted codes and compromises of society. He must try to work out a +scheme of morality suitable to his own case and temperament, which found +the prohibitory law of Moses chill and uninspiring, but in the Sermon on +the Mount a strong incentive to all those impulses of pity and charity +to which his heart was prone. In early days his sense of social +injustice and the inequalities of human opportunity made him inwardly +much of a rebel, who would have embraced and acted on theories of +socialism or communism, could he have found any that did not seem to him +at variance with ineradicable instincts of human nature. All his life +the artist and the moralist in him alike were in rebellion against the +bourgeois spirit,--against timid, negative, and shuffling substitutes +for active and courageous well-doing,--and declined to worship at the +shrine of what he called the bestial goddesses Comfort and +Respectability. The moralist in him helped the artist by backing with +the force of a highly sensitive conscience his instinctive love of +perfection in his work. The artist qualified the moralist by +discountenancing any preference for the harsh, the sour, or the +self-mortifying forms of virtue, and encouraging the love for all tender +or heroic, glowing, generous, and cheerful forms. + +Above all things, perhaps, Stevenson was by instinct an adventurer and +practical experimentalist in life. Many poets are content to dream, and +many, perhaps most, moralists to preach: Stevenson must ever be doing +and undergoing. He was no sentimentalist, to pay himself with fine +feelings whether for mean action or slack inaction. He had an insatiable +zest for all experiences, not the pleasurable only, but including the +more harsh and biting--those that bring home to a man the pinch and +sting of existence as it is realised by the disinherited of the world, +and excluding only what he thought the prim, the conventional, the +dead-alive, and the cut-and-dry. On occasion the experimentalist and man +of adventure in him would enter into special partnership with the +moralist and man of conscience: he was prone to plunge into difficult +social passes and ethical dilemmas, which he might sometimes more wisely +have avoided, for the sake of trying to behave in them to the utmost +according to his own personal sense of the obligations of honour, duty, +and kindness. In yet another part of his being he cherished, as his +great countryman Scott had done before him, an intense underlying +longing for the life of action, danger and command. "Action, Colvin, +action," I remember his crying eagerly to me with his hand on my arm as +we lay basking for his health's sake in a boat off the scented shores of +the Cap Martin. Another time--this was on his way to a winter cure at +Davos--some friend had given him General Hamley's _Operations of +War_:--"in which," he writes to his father, "I am drowned a thousand +fathoms deep, and O that I had been a soldier is still my cry." +Fortunately, with all these ardent and divers instincts, there were +present two invaluable gifts besides: that of humour, which for all his +stress of being and vivid consciousness of self saved him from ever +seeing himself for long together out of a just proportion, and kept +wholesome laughter always ready at his lips; and that of a most tender +and loyal heart, which through all his experiments and agitations made +the law of kindness the one ruling law of his life. In the end, lack of +health determined his career, giving the chief part in his life to the +artist and man of imagination, and keeping the man of action a prisoner +in the sickroom until, by a singular turn of destiny, he was able to +wring a real prolonged and romantically successful adventure out of that +voyage to the Pacific which had been, in its origin, the last despairing +resource of the invalid. + +Again, it was characteristic of this multiple personality that he never +seemed to be cramped like the rest of us, at any given time of life, +within the limits of his proper age, but to be child, boy, young man, +and old man all at once. There was never a time in his life when +Stevenson had to say with St. Augustine, "Behold! my childhood is dead, +but I am alive." The child lived on always in him, not in memory only, +but in real survival, with all its freshness of perception unimpaired, +and none of its play instincts in the least degree extinguished or made +ashamed. As for the perennial boy in Stevenson, that is too apparent to +need remark. It was as a boy for boys that he wrote the best known of +his books, _Treasure Island_, and with all boys that he met, provided +they were really boys and not prigs nor puppies, he was instantly and +delightedly at home. At the same time, even when I first knew him, he +showed already surprising occasional traits and glimpses of old +sagacity, of premature life-wisdom and experience. + +Once more, it is said that in every poet there must be something of the +woman. If to be quick in sympathy and feeling, ardent in attachment, and +full of pity for the weak and suffering, is to be womanly, Stevenson was +certainly all those; he was even like a woman in being [Greek: +artidakrus], easily moved to tears at the touch of pity or affection, or +even at any specially poignant impression of art or beauty. But yet, if +any one word were to be chosen for the predominant quality of his +character and example, I suppose that word would be manly. In his gentle +and complying nature there were strains of iron tenacity and will: +occasionally even, let it be admitted, of perversity and Scottish +"thrawnness." He had both kinds of physical courage--the active, +delighting in danger, and the passive, unshaken in endurance. In the +moral courage of facing situations and consequences, of readiness to pay +for faults committed, of outspokenness, admitting no ambiguous relations +and clearing away the clouds from human intercourse, I have not known +his equal. The great Sir Walter himself, as this book will prove, was +not more manfully free from artistic jealousy or irritability under +criticism, or more unfeignedly inclined to exaggerate the qualities of +other people's work and to underrate those of his own. Of the humorous +and engaging parts of vanity and egoism, which led him to make infinite +talk and fun about himself, and use his own experiences as a key for +unlocking the confidences of others, Stevenson had plenty; but of the +morose and fretful parts never a shade. "A little Irish girl," he wrote +once during a painful crisis of his life, "is now reading my book aloud +to her sister at my elbow; they chuckle, and I feel flattered.--Yours, +R. L. S. _P.S._--Now they yawn, and I am indifferent. Such a wisely +conceived thing is vanity." If only vanity so conceived were commoner! +And whatever might be the abstract and philosophical value of that +somewhat grimly stoical conception of the universe, of conduct and duty, +at which in mature years he had arrived, want of manliness is certainly +not its fault. Take the kind of maxims which he was accustomed to forge +for his own guidance:--"Acts may be forgiven; not even God can forgive +the hanger-back." "Choose the best, if you can; or choose the worst; +that which hangs in the wind dangles from a gibbet." "'Shall I?' said +Feeble-mind; and the echo said, 'Fie!'" "'Do I love?' said Loveless; and +the echo laughed." "A fault known is a fault cured to the strong; but to +the weak it is a fetter riveted." "The mean man doubts, the +great-hearted is deceived." "Great-heart was deceived. 'Very well,' said +Great-heart." "'I have not forgotten my umbrella,' said the careful man; +but the lightning struck him." "Shame had a fine bed, but where was +slumber? Once he was in jail he slept." With this moralist maxims meant +actions; and where shall we easily find a much manlier spirit of wisdom +than this? + +There was yet another and very different side to Stevenson which struck +others more than it struck myself, namely, that of the freakish or +elvish, irresponsible madcap or jester which sometimes appeared in him. +It is true that his demoniac quickness of wit and intelligence suggested +occasionally a "spirit of air and fire" rather than one of earth; that +he was abundantly given to all kinds of quirk and laughter; and that +there was no jest (saving the unkind) he would not make and relish. The +late Mr. J. A. Symonds always called him Sprite; qualifying the name, +however, by the epithets "most fantastic, but most human." To me the +essential humanity was always the thing most apparent. In a fire well +nourished of seasoned ship-timber, the flames glance fantastically and +of many colours, but the glow at heart is ever deep and strong; it was +at such a glow that the friends of Stevenson were accustomed to warm +their hands, while they admired and were entertained by the shifting +lights. + +It was only in company, as I have said, that all these many lights and +colours could be seen in full play. He would begin no matter +how--perhaps with a jest at some absurd adventure of his own, perhaps +with the recitation, in his vibrating voice and full Scotch accent, of +some snatch of poetry that was haunting him, perhaps with a rhapsody of +analytic delight over some minute accident of beauty or expressiveness +that had struck him in man, woman, child, or external nature. And +forthwith the floodgates would be opened, and the talk would stream on +in endless, never importunate, flood and variety. A hundred fictitious +characters would be invented and launched on their imaginary careers; a +hundred ingenious problems of conduct and cases of honour would be set +and solved; romantic voyages would be planned and followed out in +vision, with a thousand incidents; the possibilities of life and art +would be illuminated with search-lights of bewildering range and +penetration, sober argument and high poetic eloquence alternating with +coruscations of insanely apposite slang--the earthiest jape anon +shooting up into the empyrean and changing into the most ethereal +fantasy--the stalest and most vulgarised forms of speech gaining +brilliancy and illuminating power from some hitherto undreamt-of +application--and all the while an atmosphere of goodwill diffusing +itself from the speaker, a glow of eager benignity and affectionate +laughter emanating from his presence, till every one about him seemed to +catch something of his own gift and inspiration. This sympathetic power +of inspiring others was the special and distinguishing note of +Stevenson's conversation. He would keep a houseful or a single companion +entertained all day, and day after day and half the nights, yet never +seemed to monopolise the talk or absorb it; rather he helped every one +about him to discover and to exercise unexpected powers of their own. + +Imagine all this helped by the most speaking of presences: a steady, +penetrating fire in the brown, wide-set eyes, a compelling power and +richness in the smile; courteous, waving gestures of the arms and long, +nervous hands, a lit cigarette generally held between the fingers; +continual rapid shiftings and pacings to and fro as he conversed: rapid, +but not flurried nor awkward, for there was a grace in his attenuated +but well-carried figure, and his movements were light, deft, and full of +spring. There was something for strangers, and even for friends, to get +over in the queer garments which in youth it was his whim to wear--the +badge, as they always seemed to me, partly of a genuine carelessness, +certainly of a genuine lack of cash (the little he had was always +absolutely at the disposal of his friends), partly of a deliberate +detachment from any particular social class or caste, partly of his love +of pickles and adventures, which he thought befel a man thus attired +more readily than another. But this slender, slovenly, nondescript +apparition, long-visaged and long-haired, had only to speak in order to +be recognised in the first minute for a witty and charming gentleman, +and within the first five for a master spirit and man of genius. There +were, indeed, certain stolidly conventional and superciliously official +kinds of persons, both at home and abroad, who were incapable of looking +beyond the clothes, and eyed him always with frozen suspicion. This +attitude used sometimes in youth to drive him into fits of flaming +anger, which put him helplessly at a disadvantage unless, or until, he +could call the sense of humour to his help. Apart from these his human +charm was the same for all kinds of people, without distinction of class +or caste; for worldly-wise old great ladies, whom he reminded of famous +poets in their youth; for his brother artists and men of letters, +perhaps, above all; for the ordinary clubman; for his physicians, who +could never do enough for him; for domestic servants, who adored him; +for the English policeman even, on whom he often tried, quite in vain, +to pass himself as one of the criminal classes; for the shepherd, the +street arab, or the tramp, the common seaman, the beach-comber, or the +Polynesian high-chief. Even in the imposed silence and restraint of +extreme sickness the power and attraction of the man made themselves +felt, and there seemed to be more vitality and fire of the spirit in +him as he lay exhausted and speechless in bed than in an ordinary +roomful of people in health. + +But I have strayed from my purpose, which was only to indicate that in +the best of these letters of Stevenson's you have some echo, far away +indeed, but yet the nearest, of his talk--talk which could not possibly +be taken down, and of which nothing remains save in the memory of his +friends an impression magical and never to be effaced. + + SIDNEY COLVIN. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + [1] From 1876 to 1879--see p. 185. + + [2] The point was one on which Stevenson himself felt strongly. In a + letter of instructions to his wife found among his posthumous papers + he writes: "It is never worth while to inflict pain upon a snail for + any literary purpose; and where events may appear to be favourable + to me and contrary to others, I would rather be misunderstood than + cause a pang to any one whom I have known, far less whom I have + loved." Whether an editor or biographer would be justified in + carrying out this principle to the full may perhaps be doubted. + + + + + THE LETTERS + OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + 1868-1882 + + + + + THE LETTERS + OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + + + +I + +STUDENT DAYS AT EDINBURGH + +TRAVELS AND EXCURSIONS + +1868-1873 + + +The following section consists chiefly of extracts from the +correspondence and journals addressed by Louis Stevenson, as a lad of +eighteen to twenty-two, to his father and mother during summer +excursions to the Scottish coast or to the Continent. There exist enough +of them to fill a volume; but it is not in letters of this kind to his +family that a young man unbosoms himself most freely, and these are +perhaps not quite devoid of the qualities of the guide-book and the +descriptive exercise. Nevertheless they seem to me to contain enough +signs of the future master-writer, enough of character, observation, and +skill in expression, to make a certain number worth giving by way of an +opening chapter to the present book. Among them are interspersed four or +five of a different character addressed to other correspondents, and +chiefly to his lifelong friend and intimate, Mr. Charles Baxter. + +On both sides of the house Stevenson came of interesting stock. His +grandfather was Robert Stevenson, civil engineer, highly distinguished +as the builder of the Bell Rock lighthouse. By this Robert Stevenson, +his three sons, and two of his grandsons now living, the business of +civil engineers in general, and of official engineers to the +Commissioners of Northern Lights in particular, has been carried on at +Edinburgh with high credit and public utility for almost a century. +Thomas Stevenson, the youngest of the three sons of the original Robert, +was Robert Louis Stevenson's father. He was a man not only of mark, +zeal, and inventiveness in his profession, but of a strong and singular +personality; a staunch friend and sagacious adviser, trenchant in +judgment and demonstrative in emotion, outspoken, dogmatic,--despotic, +even, in little things, but withal essentially chivalrous and +soft-hearted; apt to pass with the swiftest transition from moods of +gloom or sternness to those of tender or freakish gaiety, and commanding +a gift of humorous and figurative speech second only to that of his more +famous son. + +Thomas Stevenson was married to Margaret Isabella, youngest daughter of +the Rev. Lewis Balfour, for many years minister of the parish of +Colinton in Midlothian. This Mr. Balfour (described by his grandson in +the essay called _The Manse_) was of the stock of the Balfours of +Pilrig, and grandson to that James Balfour, professor first of moral +philosophy and afterwards of the law of nature and of nations, who was +held in particular esteem as a philosophical controversialist by David +Hume. His wife, Henrietta Smith, a daughter of the Rev. George Smith of +Galston, to whose gift as a preacher Burns refers scoffingly in the +_Holy Fair_, is said to have been a woman of uncommon beauty and charm +of manner. Their daughter, Mrs. Thomas Stevenson, suffered in early and +middle life from chest and nerve troubles, and her son may have +inherited from her some of his constitutional weakness. Capable, +cultivated, companionable, affectionate, she was a determined looker at +the bright side of things, and hence better skilled, perhaps, to shut +her eyes to troubles or differences among those she loved than +understandingly to compose or heal them. Conventionally minded one might +have thought her, but for the surprising readiness with which in later +life she adapted herself to conditions of life and travel the most +unconventional possible. The son and only child of these two, Robert +Louis (baptized Robert Lewis Balfour[3]), was born on November 13, 1850, +at 8 Howard Place, Edinburgh. His health was infirm from the first, and +he was with difficulty kept alive by the combined care of his mother and +a most devoted nurse, Alison Cunningham; to whom his lifelong gratitude +will be found touchingly expressed in the course of the following +letters. In 1858 he was near dying of a gastric fever, and was at all +times subject to acute catarrhal and bronchial affections and extreme +nervous excitability. + +In January 1853 Stevenson's parents moved to Inverleith Terrace, and in +May 1857 to 17 Heriot Row, which continued to be their Edinburgh home +until the death of Thomas Stevenson in 1887. Much of the boy's time was +also spent in the manse of Colinton on the Water of Leith, the home of +his maternal grandfather. Ill-health prevented him getting much regular +or continuous schooling. He attended first (1858-61) a preparatory +school kept by a Mr. Henderson in India Street; and next (at intervals +for some time after the autumn of 1861) the Edinburgh Academy. + +Schooling was interrupted in the end of 1862 and first half of 1863 by +excursions with his parents to Germany, the Riviera, and Italy. The love +of wandering, which was a rooted passion in Stevenson's nature, thus +began early to find satisfaction. For a few months in the autumn of +1863, when his parents had been ordered for a second time to Mentone for +the sake of his mother's health, he was sent to a boarding-school kept +by a Mr. Wyatt at Spring Grove, near London. It is not my intention to +treat the reader to the series of childish and boyish letters of these +days which parental fondness has preserved. But here is one written from +his English school when he was about thirteen, which is both amusing in +itself and had a certain influence on his destiny, inasmuch as his +appeal led to his being taken out to join his parents on the French +Riviera; which from these days of his boyhood he never ceased to love, +and for which the longing, amid the gloom of Edinburgh winters, often +afterwards gripped him by the heart. + + + _Spring Grove School, 12th November 1863._ + +MA CHERE MAMAN,--Jai recu votre lettre Aujourdhui et comme le jour +prochaine est mon jour de naisance je vous écrit ce lettre. Ma grande +gatteaux est arrivé il leve 12 livres et demi le prix etait 17 +shillings. Sur la soirée de Monseigneur Faux il y etait quelques belles +feux d'artifice. Mais les polissons entrent dans notre champ et nos feux +d'artifice et handkerchiefs disappeared quickly, but we charged them out +of the field. Je suis presque driven mad par une bruit terrible tous les +garcons kik up comme grand un bruit qu'il est possible. I hope you will +find your house at Mentone nice. I have been obliged to stop from +writing by the want of a pen, but now I have one, so I will continue. + +My dear papa, you told me to tell you whenever I was miserable. I do not +feel well, and I wish to get home. Do take me with you. + + R. STEVENSON. + + +This young French scholar has yet, it will be discerned, a good way to +travel; in later days he acquired a complete reading and speaking, with +a less complete writing, mastery of the language, and was as much at +home with French ways of thought and life as with English. + +For one more specimen of his boyish style, it may be not amiss to give +the text of another appeal which dates from two and a half years later, +and is also typical of much in his life's conditions both then and +later:-- + + + _2 Sulgarde Terrace, Torquay, Thursday [April 1866]._ + +RESPECTED PATERNAL RELATIVE,--I write to make a request of the most +moderate nature. Every year I have cost you an enormous--nay, +elephantine--sum of money for drugs and physician's fees, and the most +expensive time of the twelve months was March. + +But this year the biting Oriental blasts, the howling tempests, and the +general ailments of the human race have been successfully braved by +yours truly. + +Does not this deserve remuneration? + +I appeal to your charity, I appeal to your generosity, I appeal to your +justice, I appeal to your accounts, I appeal, in fine, to your purse. + +My sense of generosity forbids the receipt of more--my sense of justice +forbids the receipt of less--than half-a-crown.--Greeting from, Sir, +your most affectionate and needy son, + + R. STEVENSON. + + +From 1864 to 1867 Stevenson's education was conducted chiefly at Mr. +Thomson's private school in Frederick Street, Edinburgh, and by private +tutors in various places to which he travelled for his own or his +parents' health. These travels included frequent visits to such Scottish +health resorts as Bridge of Allan, Dunoon, Rothesay, North Berwick, +Lasswade, and Peebles, and occasional excursions with his father on his +nearer professional rounds to the Scottish coasts and lighthouses. From +1867 the family life became more settled between Edinburgh and Swanston +Cottage, Lothianburn, a country home in the Pentlands which Mr. +Stevenson first rented in that year, and the scenery and associations of +which sank deeply into the young man's spirit, and vitally affected his +after thoughts and his art. + +By this time Louis Stevenson seemed to show signs of outgrowing his +early infirmities of health. He was a lover, to a degree even beyond his +strength, of outdoor life and exercise (though not of sports), and it +began to be hoped that as he grew up he would be fit to enter the family +profession of civil engineer. He was accordingly entered as a student at +Edinburgh University, and for several winters attended classes there +with such regularity as his health and inclinations permitted. This was +in truth but small. The mind on fire with its own imaginations, and +eager to acquire its own experiences in its own way, does not take +kindly to the routine of classes and repetitions, nor could the +desultory mode of schooling enforced upon him by ill-health answer much +purpose by way of discipline. According to his own account he was at +college, as he had been at school, an inveterate idler and truant. But +outside the field of school and college routine he showed an eager +curiosity and activity of mind. "He was of a conversable temper," so he +says of himself, "and insatiably curious in the aspects of life, and +spent much of his time scraping acquaintance with all classes of men and +womenkind." Of one class indeed, and that was his own, he had soon had +enough, at least in so far as it was to be studied at the dinners, +dances, and other polite entertainments of ordinary Edinburgh society. +Of these he early wearied. At home he made himself pleasant to all +comers, but for his own resort chose out a very few houses, mostly those +of intimate college companions, into which he could go without +constraint, and where his inexhaustible flow of poetic, imaginative, and +laughing talk seems generally to have rather puzzled his hearers than +impressed them. On the other hand, during his endless private rambles +and excursions, whether among the streets and slums, the gardens and +graveyards of the city, or farther afield among the Pentland hills or on +the shores of Forth, he was never tired of studying character and +seeking acquaintance among the classes more nearly exposed to the pinch +and stress of life. + +In the eyes of anxious elders, such vagrant ways naturally take on the +colours of idleness and a love of low company. Stevenson was, however, +in his own fashion an eager student of books as well as of man and +nature. He read precociously and omnivorously in the _belles-lettres_, +including a very wide range of English poetry, fiction, and essays, and +a fairly wide range of French; and was a genuine student of Scottish +history, especially from the time of the persecutions down, and to some +extent of history in general. The art of literature was already his +private passion, and something within him even already told him that it +was to be his life's work. On all his truantries he went pencil and +copybook in hand, trying to fit his impression of the scene to words, to +compose original rhymes, tales, dialogues, and dramas, or to imitate the +style and cadences of the author he at the moment preferred. For three +or four years, nevertheless, he tried dutifully, if half-heartedly, to +prepare himself for the family profession. In 1868, the year when the +following correspondence opens, he went to watch the works of the firm +in progress first at Anstruther on the coast of Fife, and afterwards at +Wick. In 1869 he made the tour of the Orkneys and Shetlands on board the +steam yacht of the Commissioners of Northern Lights, and in 1870 the +tour of the Western Islands, preceded by a stay on the isle of Earraid, +where the works of the Dhu Heartach lighthouse were then in progress. He +was a favourite, although a very irregular, pupil of the professor of +engineering, Fleeming Jenkin, whose friendship and that of Mrs. Jenkin +were of great value to him, and whose life he afterwards wrote; and must +have shown some aptitude for the family calling, inasmuch as in 1871 he +received the silver medal of the Edinburgh Society of Arts for a paper +on a suggested improvement in lighthouse apparatus. The outdoor and +seafaring parts of an engineer's life were in fact wholly to his taste. +But he looked instinctively at the powers and phenomena of waves and +tide, of storm and current, reef, cliff, and rock, with the eye of the +poet and artist, and not those of the practician and calculator. For +desk work and office routine he had an unconquerable aversion; and his +physical powers, had they remained at their best, must have proved quite +unequal to the workshop training necessary to the practical engineer. +Accordingly in 1871 it was agreed, not without natural reluctance on his +father's part, that he should give up the hereditary vocation and read +for the bar: literature, on which his heart was set, and in which his +early attempts had been encouraged, being held to be by itself no +profession, or at least one altogether too irregular and undefined. For +the next several years, therefore, he attended law classes instead of +engineering and science classes in the University, giving to the subject +a certain amount of serious, although fitful, attention until he was +called to the bar in 1875. + +So much for the course of Stevenson's outward life during these days at +Edinburgh. To tell the story of his inner life would be a far more +complicated task, and cannot here be attempted even briefly. The ferment +of youth was more acute and more prolonged in him than in most men even +of genius. In the Introduction I have tried to give some notion of the +many various strains and elements which met in him, and which were in +these days pulling one against another in his half-formed being, at a +great expense of spirit and body. Add the storms, which from time to +time attacked him, of shivering repulsion from the climate and +conditions of life in the city which he yet deeply and imaginatively +loved; the moods of spiritual revolt against the harsh doctrines of the +creed in which he had been brought up, and to which his parents were +deeply, his father even passionately, attached; the seasons of +temptation, to which he was exposed alike by temperament and +circumstance, to seek solace among the crude allurements of the city +streets. + +In the later and maturer correspondence which will appear in these +volumes, the agitations of the writer's early days are often enough +referred to in retrospect. In the boyish letters to his parents, which +make up the chief part of this first section, they naturally find no +expression at all; nor will these letters be found to differ much in +any way from those of any other lively and observant lad who is also +something of a reader and has some natural gift of writing. At the end +of the section I have indeed printed one cry of the heart, written not +to his parents, but about them, and telling of the strain which matters +of religious difference for a while brought into his home relations. The +attachment between the father and son from childhood was exceptionally +strong. But the father was staunchly wedded to the hereditary creeds and +dogmas of Scottish Calvinistic Christianity; while the course of the +young man's reading, with the spirit of the generation in which he grew +up, had loosed him from the bonds of that theology, and even of dogmatic +Christianity in general, and had taught him to respect all creeds alike +as expressions of the cravings and conjectures of the human spirit in +face of the unsolved mystery of things, rather than to cling to any one +of them as a revelation of ultimate truth. The shock to the father was +great when his son's opinions came to his knowledge; and there ensued a +time of extremely painful discussion and private tension between them. +In due time this cloud upon a family life otherwise very harmonious and +affectionate passed quite away. But the greater the love, the greater +the pain; when I first knew Stevenson this trouble gave him no peace, +and it has left a strong trace upon his mind and work. See particularly +the parable called "The House of Eld," in his collection of _Fables_, +and the many studies of difficult paternal and filial relations which +are to be found in _The Story of a Lie_, _The Misadventures of John +Nicholson_, _The Wrecker_, and _Weir of Hermiston_. + + + + +TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + In July 1868 R. L. S. went to watch the harbour works at Anstruther + and afterwards those at Wick. Of his private moods and occupations in + the Anstruther days he has told in retrospect in the essay _Random + Memories: the Coast of Fife_. Here are some passages from letters + written at the time to his parents. "Travellers" and "jennies" are, + of course, terms of engineering. + + _'Kenzie House or whatever it is called, Anstruther. [July 1868.]_ + + First sheet: Thursday. + Second sheet: Friday. + +MY DEAR FATHER,--My lodgings are very nice, and I don't think there are +any children. There is a box of mignonette in the window and a factory +of dried rose-leaves, which make the atmosphere a trifle heavy, but very +pleasant. + +When you come, bring also my paint-box--I forgot it. I am going to try +the travellers and jennies, and have made a sketch of them and begun the +drawing. After that I'll do the staging. + +Mrs. Brown "has suffered herself from her stommick, and that makes her +kind of think for other people." She is a motherly lot. Her mothering +and thought for others displays itself in advice against hard-boiled +eggs, well-done meat, and late dinners, these being my only requests. +Fancy--I am the only person in Anstruther who dines in the afternoon. + +If you could bring me some wine when you come, 'twould be a good move: I +fear _vin d'Anstruther_; and having procured myself a severe attack of +gripes by two days' total abstinence on chilly table beer I have been +forced to purchase Green Ginger ("Somebody or other's 'celebrated'"), +for the benefit of my stomach, like St. Paul. + +There is little or nothing doing here to be seen. By heightening the +corner in a hurry to support the staging they have let the masons get +ahead of the divers and wait till they can overtake them. I wish you +would write and put me up to the sort of things to ask and find out. I +received your registered letter with the £5; it will last for ever. +To-morrow I will watch the masons at the pier-foot and see how long they +take to work that Fifeness stone you ask about; they get sixpence an +hour; so that is the only datum required. + +It is awful how slowly I draw, and how ill: I am not nearly done with +the travellers, and have not thought of the jennies yet. When I'm +drawing I find out something I have not measured, or, having measured, +have not noted, or, having noted, cannot find; and so I have to trudge +to the pier again ere I can go farther with my noble design. + +Love to all.--Your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _'Kenzie House, Anstruther [later in July, 1868]._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--To-night I went with the youngest M. to see a strolling +band of players in the townhall. A large table placed below the gallery +with a print curtain on either side of the most limited dimensions was +at once the scenery and the proscenium. The manager told us that his +scenes were sixteen by sixty-four, and so could not be got in. Though I +knew, or at least felt sure, that there were no such scenes in the poor +man's possession, I could not laugh, as did the major part of the +audience, at this shift to escape criticism. We saw a wretched farce, +and some comic songs were sung. The manager sang one, but it came grimly +from his throat. The whole receipt of the evening was 5s. and 3d., out +of which had to come room, gas, and town drummer. We left soon; and I +must say came out as sad as I have been for ever so long: I think that +manager had a soul above comic songs. I said this to young M., who is a +"Phillistine" (Matthew Arnold's Philistine you understand), and he +replied, "How much happier would he be as a common working-man!" I told +him I thought he would be less happy earning a comfortable living as a +shoemaker than he was starving as an actor, with such artistic work as +he had to do. But the Phillistine wouldn't see it. You observe that I +spell Philistine time about with one and two l's. + +As we went home we heard singing, and went into the porch of the +schoolhouse to listen. A fisherman entered and told us to go in. It was +a psalmody class. One of the girls had a glorious voice. We stayed for +half an hour. + +_Tuesday._--I am utterly sick of this grey, grim, sea-beaten hole. I +have a little cold in my head, which makes my eyes sore; and you can't +tell how utterly sick I am, and how anxious to get back among trees and +flowers and something less meaningless than this bleak fertility. + +Papa need not imagine that I have a bad cold or am stone-blind from this +description, which is the whole truth. + +Last night Mr. and Mrs. Fortune called in a dog-cart, Fortune's beard +and Mrs. F.'s brow glittering with mist-drops, to ask me to come next +Saturday. Conditionally, I accepted. Do you think I can cut it? I am +only anxious to go slick home on the Saturday. Write by return of post +and tell me what to do. If possible, I should like to cut the business +and come right slick out to Swanston.--I remain, your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + An early Portfolio paper On _the Enjoyment of Unpleasant Places_, as + well as the second part of the _Random Memories_ essay, written + twenty years later, refer to the same experiences as the following + letters. Stevenson lodged during his stay at Wick in a private hotel + on the Harbour Brae, kept by a Mr. Sutherland.[4] + + _Wick, Friday, September 11, 1868._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,-- ... Wick lies at the end or elbow of an open +triangular bay, hemmed on either side by shores, either cliff or steep +earth-bank, of no great height. The grey houses of Pulteney extend along +the southerly shore almost to the cape; and it is about half-way down +this shore--no, six-sevenths way down--that the new breakwater extends +athwart the bay. + +Certainly Wick in itself possesses no beauty: bare, grey shores, grim +grey houses, grim grey sea; not even the gleam of red tiles; not even +the greenness of a tree. The southerly heights, when I came here, were +black with people, fishers waiting on wind and night. Now all the S.Y.S. +(Stornoway boats) have beaten out of the bay, and the Wick men stay +indoors or wrangle on the quays with dissatisfied fish-curers, knee-high +in brine, mud, and herring refuse. The day when the boats put out to go +home to the Hebrides, the girl here told me there was "a black wind"; +and on going out, I found the epithet as justifiable as it was +picturesque. A cold, _black_ southerly wind, with occasional rising +showers of rain; it was a fine sight to see the boats beat out a-teeth +of it. + +In Wick I have never heard any one greet his neighbour with the usual +"Fine day" or "Good morning." Both come shaking their heads, and both +say, "Breezy, breezy!" And such is the atrocious quality of the climate, +that the remark is almost invariably justified by the fact. + +The streets are full of the Highland fishers, lubberly, stupid, +inconceivably lazy and heavy to move. You bruise against them, tumble +over them, elbow them against the wall--all to no purpose; they will not +budge; and you are forced to leave the pavement every step. + +To the south, however, is as fine a piece of coast scenery as I ever +saw. Great black chasms, huge black cliffs, rugged and over-hung +gullies, natural arches, and deep green pools below them, almost too +deep to let you see the gleam of sand among the darker weed: there are +deep caves too. In one of these lives a tribe of gipsies. The men are +_always_ drunk, simply and truthfully always. From morning to evening +the great villainous-looking fellows are either sleeping off the last +debauch, or hulking about the cove "in the horrors." The cave is deep, +high, and airy, and might be made comfortable enough. But they just live +among heaped boulders, damp with continual droppings from above, with no +more furniture than two or three tin pans, a truss of rotten straw, and +a few ragged cloaks. In winter the surf bursts into the mouth and often +forces them to abandon it. + +An _émeute_ of disappointed fishers was feared, and two ships of war are +in the bay to render assistance to the municipal authorities. This is +the ides; and, to all intents and purposes, said ides are passed. Still +there is a good deal of disturbance, many drunk men, and a double supply +of police. I saw them sent for by some people and enter an inn, in a +pretty good hurry: what it was for I do not know. + +You would see by papa's letter about the carpenter who fell off the +staging: I don't think I was ever so much excited in my life. The man +was back at his work, and I asked him how he was; but he was a +Highlander, and--need I add it?--dickens a word could I understand of +his answer. What is still worse, I find the people here-about--that is +to say, the Highlanders, not the northmen--don't understand _me_. + +I have lost a shilling's worth of postage stamps, which has damped my +ardour for buying big lots of 'em: I'll buy them one at a time as I want +'em for the future. + +The Free Church minister and I got quite thick. He left last night about +two in the morning, when I went to turn in. He gave me the enclosed.--I +remain your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _Wick, September 5, 1868. Monday._ + +MY DEAR MAMMA,--This morning I got a delightful haul: your letter of the +fourth (surely mis-dated); papa's of same day; Virgil's _Bucolics_, +very thankfully received; and Aikman's _Annals_,[5] a precious and most +acceptable donation, for which I tender my most ebullient thanksgivings. +I almost forgot to drink my tea and eat mine egg. + +It contains more detailed accounts than anything I ever saw, except +Wodrow, without being so portentously tiresome and so desperately +overborne with footnotes, proclamations, acts of Parliament, and +citations as that last history. + +I have been reading a good deal of Herbert. He's a clever and a devout +cove; but in places awfully twaddley (if I may use the word). Oughtn't +this to rejoice papa's heart-- + + "Carve or discourse; do not a famine fear. + Who carves is kind to two, who talks to all." + +You understand? The "fearing a famine" is applied to people gulping down +solid vivers without a word, as if the ten lean kine began to-morrow. + +Do you remember condemning something of mine for being too obtrusively +didactic. Listen to Herbert-- + + "Is it not verse except enchanted groves + And sudden arbours shadow coarse-spun lines? + Must purling streams refresh a lover's loves? + _Must all be veiled, while he that reads divines + Catching the sense at two removes_?" + +You see, "except" was used for "unless" before 1630. + +_Tuesday._--The riots were a hum. No more has been heard; and one of the +war-steamers has deserted in disgust. + +The _Moonstone_ is frightfully interesting: isn't the detective prime? +Don't say anything about the plot; for I have only read on to the end of +Betteredge's narrative, so don't know anything about it yet. + +I thought to have gone on to Thurso to-night, but the coach was full; +so I go to-morrow instead. + +To-day I had a grouse: great glorification. + +There is a drunken brute in the house who disturbed my rest last night. +He's a very respectable man in general, but when on the "spree" a most +consummate fool. When he came in he stood on the top of the stairs and +preached in the dark with great solemnity and no audience from 12 P.M. +to half-past one. At last I opened my door. "Are we to have no sleep at +all for that _drunken brute?_" I said. As I hoped, it had the desired +effect. "Drunken brute!" he howled, in much indignation; then after a +pause, in a voice of some contrition, "Well, if I am a drunken brute, +it's only once in the twelvemonth!" And that was the end of him; the +insult rankled in his mind; and he retired to rest. He is a fish-curer, +a man over fifty, and pretty rich too. He's as bad again to-day; but +I'll be shot if he keeps me awake, I'll douse him with water if he makes +a row.--Ever your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +To MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + The Macdonald father and son here mentioned were engineers attached + to the Stevenson firm and in charge of the harbour works. + + _Wick, September 1868. Saturday, 10 A.M._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--The last two days have been dreadfully hard, and I was +so tired in the evenings that I could not write. In fact, last night I +went to sleep immediately after dinner, or very nearly so. My hours have +been 10-2 and 3-7 out in the lighter or the small boat, in a long, heavy +roll from the nor'-east. When the dog was taken out, he got awfully ill; +one of the men, Geordie Grant by name and surname, followed _shoot_ with +considerable _éclat_; but, wonderful to relate! I kept well. My hands +are all skinned, blistered, discoloured, and engrained with tar, some +of which latter has established itself under my nails in a position of +such natural strength that it defies all my efforts to dislodge it. The +worst work I had was when David (Macdonald's eldest) and I took the +charge ourselves. He remained in the lighter to tighten or slacken the +guys as we raised the pole towards the perpendicular, with two men. I +was with four men in the boat. We dropped an anchor out a good bit, then +tied a cord to the pole, took a turn round the sternmost thwart with it, +and pulled on the anchor line. As the great, big, wet hawser came in it +soaked you to the skin: I was the sternest (used, by way of variety, for +sternmost) of the lot, and had to coil it--a work which involved, from +_its_ being so stiff and _your_ being busy pulling with all your might, +no little trouble and an extra ducking. We got it up; and, just as we +were going to sing "Victory!" one of the guys slipped in, the pole +tottered--went over on its side again like a shot, and behold the end of +our labour. + +You see, I have been roughing it; and though some parts of the letter +may be neither very comprehensible nor very interesting to _you_, I +think that perhaps it might amuse Willie Traquair, who delights in all +such dirty jobs. + +The first day, I forgot to mention, was like mid-winter for cold, and +rained incessantly so hard that the livid white of our cold-pinched +faces wore a sort of inflamed rash on the windward side. + +I am not a bit the worse of it, except fore-mentioned state of hands, a +slight crick in my neck from the rain running down, and general +stiffness from pulling, hauling, and tugging for dear life. + +We have got double weights at the guys, and hope to get it up like a +shot. + +What fun you three must be having! I hope the cold don't disagree with +you.--I remain, my dear mother, your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + The following will help the reader to understand the passage + referring to this undertaking in Stevenson's biographical essay on + his father where he has told how in the end "the sea proved too + strong for men's arts, and after expedients hitherto unthought of, + and on a scale hyper-Cyclopean, the work must be deserted, and now + stands a ruin in that bleak, God-forsaken bay." The Russels herein + mentioned are the family of Sheriff Russel. The tombstone of Miss + Sara Russel is to be seen in Wick cemetery. + + _Pulteney, Wick, Sunday, September 1868._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--Another storm: wind higher, rain thicker: the wind +still rising as the night closes in and the sea slowly rising along with +it; it looks like a three days' gale. + +Last week has been a blank one: always too much sea. + +I enjoyed myself very much last night at the Russels'. There was a +little dancing, much singing and supper. + +Are you not well that you do not write? I haven't heard from you for +more than a fortnight. + +The wind fell yesterday and rose again to-day; it is a dreadful evening; +but the wind is keeping the sea down as yet. Of course, nothing more has +been done to the poles; and I can't tell when I shall be able to leave, +not for a fortnight yet, I fear, at the earliest, for the winds are +persistent. Where's Murra? Is Cummy struck dumb about the boots? I wish +you would get somebody to write an interesting letter and say how you +are, for you're on the broad of your back I see. There hath arrived an +inroad of farmers to-night; and I go to avoid them to Macdonald if he's +disengaged, to the Russels if not. + +_Sunday_ (_later_).--Storm without: wind and rain: a confused mass of +wind-driven rain-squalls, wind-ragged mist, foam, spray, and great, grey +waves. Of this hereafter; in the meantime let us follow the due course +of historic narrative. + +Seven P.M. found me at Breadalbane Terrace, clad in spotless blacks, +white tie, shirt, et cætera, and finished off below with a pair of +navvies' boots. How true that the devil is betrayed by his feet! A +message to Cummy at last. Why, O treacherous woman! were my dress boots +withheld? + +Dramatis personæ: père Russel, amusing, long-winded, in many points like +papa; mère Russel, nice, delicate, likes hymns, knew Aunt Margaret +('t'ould man knew Uncle Alan); fille Russel, nominée Sara (no h), rather +nice, lights up well, good voice, _interested_ face; Miss L., nice also, +washed out a little, and, I think, a trifle sentimental; fils Russel, in +a Leith office, smart, full of happy epithet, amusing. They are very +nice and very kind, asked me to come back--"any night you feel dull: and +any night doesn't mean no night: we'll be so glad to see you." _C'est la +mère qui parle._ + +I was back there again to-night. There was hymn-singing, and general +religious controversy till eight, after which talk was secular. Mrs. +Sutherland was deeply distressed about the boot business. She consoled +me by saying that many would be glad to have such feet whatever shoes +they had on. Unfortunately, fishers and seafaring men are too facile to +be compared with! This looks like enjoyment! better speck than Anster. + +I have done with frivolity. This morning I was awakened by Mrs. +Sutherland at the door. "There's a ship ashore at Shaltigoe!" As my +senses slowly flooded, I heard the whistling and the roaring of wind, +and the lashing of gust-blown and uncertain flaws of rain. I got up, +dressed, and went out. The mizzled sky and rain blinded you. + +She was a Norwegian: coming in she saw our first gauge-pole, standing at +point E. Norse skipper thought it was a sunk smack, and dropped his +anchor in full drift of sea: chain broke: schooner came ashore. Insured: +laden with wood: skipper owner of vessel and cargo: bottom out. + +I was in a great fright at first lest we should be liable; but it seems +that's all right. + +[Illustration] + +C D is the new pier. + +A the schooner ashore. B the salmon house. + +Some of the waves were twenty feet high. The spray rose eighty feet at +the new pier. Some wood has come ashore, and the roadway seems carried +away. There is something fishy at the far end where the cross wall is +building; but till we are able to get along, all speculation is vain. + +I am so sleepy I am writing nonsense. + +I stood a long while on the cope watching the sea below me; I hear its +dull, monotonous roar at this moment below the shrieking of the wind; +and there came ever recurring to my mind the verse I am so fond of:-- + + "But yet the Lord that is on high + Is more of might by far + Than noise of many waters is + Or great sea-billows are." + +The thunder at the wall when it first struck--the rush along ever +growing higher--the great jet of snow-white spray some forty feet above +you--and the "noise of many waters," the roar, the hiss, the "shrieking" +among the shingle as it fell head over heels at your feet. I watched if +it threw the big stones at the wall; but it never moved them. + +_Monday._--The end of the work displays gaps, cairns of ten ton blocks, +stones torn from their places and turned right round. The damage above +water is comparatively little: what there may be below, on _ne sait pas +encore_. The roadway is torn away, cross-heads, broken planks tossed +here and there, planks gnawn and mumbled as if a starved bear had been +trying to eat them, planks with spates lifted from them as if they had +been dressed with a rugged plane, one pile swaying to and fro clear of +the bottom, the rails in one place sunk a foot at least. This was not a +great storm, the waves were light and short. Yet when we are standing at +the office, I felt the ground beneath me _quail_ as a huge roller +thundered on the work at the last year's cross wall. + +How could _noster amicus Q. maximus_ appreciate a storm at Wick? It +requires a little of the artistic temperament, of which Mr. T. S.,[6] +C.E., possesses some, whatever he may say. I can't look at it +practically however: that will come, I suppose, like grey hair or coffin +nails. + +Our pole is snapped: a fortnight's work and the loss of the Norse +schooner all for nothing!--except experience and dirty clothes.--Your +affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + + TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + I omit the letters of 1869, which describe at great length, and not + very interestingly, a summer trip on board the lighthouse steamer to + the Orkneys, Shetlands, and the Fair Isle. The following of 1870 I + give (by consent of the lady who figures as a youthful character in + the narrative) both for the sake of its lively social + sketches--including that of the able painter and singular personage, + the late Sam Bough,--and because it is dated from the Isle of + Earraid, celebrated alike in _Kidnapped_ and in the essay _Memoirs of + an Islet_. + + _Earraid, Thursday, August 5th, 1870._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--I have so much to say, that needs must I take a large +sheet; for the notepaper brings with it a chilling brevity of style. +Indeed, I think pleasant writing is proportional to the size of the +material you write withal. + +From Edinburgh to Greenock, I had the ex-secretary of the E.U. +Conservative Club, Murdoch. At Greenock I spent a dismal evening, though +I found a pretty walk. Next day on board the _Iona_, I had Maggie +Thomson to Tarbet; Craig, a well-read, pleasant medical, to Ardrishaig; +and Professor, Mrs., and all the little Fleeming Jenkinseses to Oban. + +At Oban, that night, it was delicious. Mr. Stephenson's yacht lay in the +bay, and a splendid band on board played delightfully. The waters of the +bay were as smooth as a mill-pond; and, in the dusk, the black shadows +of the hills stretched across to our very feet and the lights were +reflected in long lines. At intervals, blue lights were burned on the +water; and rockets were sent up. Sometimes great stars of clear fire +fell from them, until the bay received and quenched them. I hired a boat +and skulled round the yacht in the dark. When I came in, a very pleasant +Englishman on the steps fell into talk with me, till it was time to go +to bed. + +Next morning I slept on or I should have gone to Glencoe. As it was, it +was blazing hot; so I hired a boat, pulled all forenoon along the coast +and had a delicious bathe on a beautiful white beach. Coming home, I +_cotogai'd_ my Englishman, lunched alongside of him and his sister, and +took a walk with him in the afternoon, during which I find that he was +travelling with a servant, kept horses, _et cetera_. At dinner he wished +me to sit beside him and his sister; but there was no room. When he came +out he told me why he was so _empressé_ on this point. He had found out +my name, and that I was connected with lighthouses, and his sister +wished to know if I were any relative of the Stevenson in Ballantyne's +_Lighthouse_. All evening, he, his sister, I, and Mr. Hargrove, of +Hargrove and Fowler, sate in front of the hotel. I asked Mr. H. if he +knew who my friend was. "Yes," he said; "I never met him before: but my +partner knows him. He is a man of old family; and the solicitor of +highest standing about Sheffield." At night he said, "Now if you're down +in my neighbourhood, you must pay me a visit. I am very fond of young +men about me; and I should like a visit from you very much. I can take +you through any factory in Sheffield and I'll drive you all about the +_Dookeries_." He then wrote me down his address; and we parted huge +friends, he still keeping me up to visiting him. + +Hitherto, I had enjoyed myself amazingly; but to-day has been the crown. +In the morning I met Bough on board, with whom I am both surprised and +delighted. He and I have read the same books, and discuss Chaucer, +Shakespeare, Marlowe, Fletcher, Webster, and all the old authors. He can +quote verses by the page, and has really a very pretty literary taste. +Altogether, with all his roughness and buffoonery, a more pleasant, +clever fellow you may seldom see. I was very much surprised with him; +and he with me. "Where the devil did you read all these books?" says he; +and in my heart, I echo the question. One amusing thing I must say. We +were both talking about travelling; and I said I was so fond of +travelling alone, from the people one met and grew friendly with. "Ah," +says he, "but you've such a pleasant manner, you know--quite captivated +my old woman, you did--she couldn't talk of anything else." Here was a +compliment, even in Sam Bough's sneering tones, that rather tickled my +vanity; and really, my social successes of the last few days, the best +of which is yet to come, are enough to turn anybody's head. To continue, +after a little go in with Samuel, he going up on the bridge, I looked +about me to see who there was; and mine eye lighted on two girls, one of +whom was sweet and pretty, talking to an old gentleman. "_Eh bien_," +says I to myself, "that seems the best investment on board." So I sidled +up to the old gentleman, got into conversation with him and so with the +damsel; and thereupon, having used the patriarch as a ladder, I kicked +him down behind me. Who should my damsel prove, but Amy Sinclair, +daughter of Sir Tollemache. She certainly was the simplest, most naïve +specimen of girlhood ever I saw. By getting brandy and biscuit and +generally coaching up her cousin, who was sick, I ingratiated myself; +and so kept her the whole way to Iona, taking her into the cave at +Staffa and generally making myself as gallant as possible. I was never +so much pleased with anything in my life, as her amusing absence of +_mauvaise honte_: she was so sorry I wasn't going on to Oban again: +didn't know how she could have enjoyed herself if I hadn't been there; +and was so sorry we hadn't met on the Crinan. When we came back from +Staffa, she and her aunt went down to have lunch; and a minute after up +comes Miss Amy to ask me if I wouldn't think better of it, and take some +lunch with them. I couldn't resist that, of course; so down I went; and +there she displayed the full extent of her innocence. I must be sure to +come to Thurso Castle the next time I was in Caithness, and Upper +Norwood (whence she would take me all over the Crystal Palace) when I +was near London; and (most complete of all) she offered to call on us in +Edinburgh! Wasn't it delicious?--she is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, +too, and the latter I think. I never yet saw a girl so innocent and +fresh, so perfectly modest without the least trace of prudery. + +Coming off Staffa, Sam Bough (who had been in huge force the whole time, +drawing in Miss Amy's sketchbook and making himself agreeable or +otherwise to everybody) pointed me out to a parson and said, "That's +him." This was Alexander Ross and his wife. + +The last stage of the steamer now approached, Miss Amy and I lamenting +pathetically that Iona was so near. "People meet in this way," quoth +she, "and then lose sight of one another so soon." We all landed +together, Bough and I and the Rosses with our baggage; and went +together over the ruins. I was here left with the cousin and the aunt, +during which I learned that said cousin sees me _every Sunday_ in St. +Stephen's. Oho! thought I, at the "every." The aunt was very anxious to +know who that strange, wild man was? (didn't I wish Samuel in Tophet!). +Of course, in reply, I drew it strong about eccentric genius and my +never having known him before, and a good deal that was perhaps +"strained to the extremest limit of the fact." + +The steamer left, and Miss Amy and her cousin waved their handkerchiefs, +until my arm in answering them was nearly broken. I believe women's arms +must be better made for this exercise: mine ache still; and I regretted +at the time that the handkerchief had seen service. Altogether, however, +I was left in a pleasant frame of mind. + +Being thus left alone, Bough, I, the Rosses, Professor Blackie, and an +Englishman called M----: these people were going to remain the night, +except the Professor, who is resident there at present. They were going +to dine _en compagnie_ and wished us to join the party; but we had +already committed ourselves by mistake to the wrong hotel, and besides, +we wished to be off as soon as wind and tide were against us to Earraid. +We went up; Bough selected a place for sketching and blocked in the +sketch for Mrs. R.; and we all talked together. Bough told us his family +history and a lot of strange things about old Cumberland life; among +others, how he had known "John Peel" of pleasant memory in song, and of +how that worthy hunted. At five, down we go to the Argyll Hotel, and +wait dinner. Broth--"nice broth"--fresh herrings, and fowl had been +promised. At 5.50, I get the shovel and tongs and drum them at the +stair-head till a response comes from below that the nice broth is at +hand. I boast of my engineering, and Bough compares me to the Abbot of +Arbroath who originated the Inchcape Bell. At last, in comes the tureen +and the hand-maid lifts the cover. "Rice soup!" I yell; "O no! none o' +that for me!"--"Yes," says Bough savagely; "but Miss Amy didn't take +_me_ downstairs to eat salmon." Accordingly he is helped. How his face +fell. "I imagine myself in the accident ward of the Infirmary," quoth +he. It was, purely and simply, rice and water. After this, we have +another weary pause, and then herrings in a state of mash and potatoes +like iron. "Send the potatoes out to Prussia for grape-shot," was the +suggestion. I dined off broken herrings and dry bread. At last "the +supreme moment comes," and the fowl in a lordly dish is carried in. On +the cover being raised, there is something so forlorn and miserable +about the aspect of the animal that we both roar with laughter. Then +Bough, taking up knife and fork, turns the "swarry" over and over, +shaking doubtfully his head. "There's an aspect of quiet resistance +about the beggar," says he, "that looks bad." However, to work he falls +until the sweat stands on his brow and a dismembered leg falls, dull and +leaden-like, on to my dish. To eat it was simply impossible. I did not +know before that flesh could be so tough. "The strongest jaws in +England," says Bough piteously, harpooning his dry morsel, "couldn't eat +this leg in less than twelve hours." Nothing for it now, but to order +boat and bill. "That fowl," says Bough to the landlady, "is of a breed I +know. I knew the cut of its jib whenever it was put down. That was the +grandmother of the cock that frightened Peter."--"I thought it was a +historical animal," says I. "What a shame to kill it. It's as bad as +eating Whittington's cat or the Dog of Montargis."--"Na--na, it's no so +old," says the landlady, "but it eats hard."--"Eats!" I cry, "where do +you find that? Very little of that verb with us." So with more raillery, +we pay six shillings for our festival and run over to Earraid, shaking +the dust of the Argyll Hotel from off our feet. + +I can write no more just now, and I hope you will be able to decipher +so much; for it contains matter. Really, the whole of yesterday's work +would do in a novel without one little bit of embellishment; and, +indeed, few novels are so amusing. Bough, Miss Amy, Mrs. Ross, Blackie, +M---- the parson--all these were such distinct characters, the incidents +were so entertaining, and the scenery so fine, that the whole would have +made a novelist's fortune. + +MY DEAR FATHER,--No landing to-day, as the sea runs high on the rock. +They are at the second course of the first story on the rock. I have as +yet had no time here; so this is [Greek: a] and [Greek: ô] of my +business news.--Your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. CHURCHILL BABINGTON + + + This is addressed to a favourite cousin of the Balfour clan, married + to a Cambridge colleague of mine, Professor Churchill Babington of + learned and amiable memory, whose home was at the college living of + Cockfield near Bury St. Edmunds. Here Stevenson had visited them in + the previous year. "Mrs. Hutchinson" is, of course, Lucy Hutchinson's + famous _Life_ of her husband the regicide. + + [_Swanston Cottage, Lothianburn, Summer 1871._] + +MY DEAR MAUD,--If you have forgotten the handwriting--as is like +enough--you will find the name of a former correspondent (don't know how +to spell that word) at the end. I have begun to write to you before now, +but always stuck somehow, and left it to drown in a drawerful of like +fiascos. This time I am determined to carry through, though I have +nothing specially to say. + +We look fairly like summer this morning; the trees are blackening out of +their spring greens; the warmer suns have melted the hoarfrost of +daisies of the paddock; and the blackbird, I fear, already beginning to +"stint his pipe of mellower days"--which is very apposite (I can't spell +anything to-day--_one_ p or _two_?) and pretty. All the same, we have +been having shocking weather--cold winds and grey skies. + +I have been reading heaps of nice books; but I can't go back so far. I +am reading Clarendon's _Hist. Rebell._ at present, with which I am more +pleased than I expected, which is saying a good deal. It is a pet idea +of mine that one gets more real truth out of one avowed partisan than +out of a dozen of your sham impartialists--wolves in sheep's +clothing--simpering honesty as they suppress documents. After all, what +one wants to know is not what people did, but why they did it--or +rather, why they _thought_ they did it; and to learn that, you should go +to the men themselves. Their very falsehood is often more than another +man's truth. + +I have possessed myself of Mrs. Hutchinson, which, of course, I admire, +etc. But is there not an irritating deliberation and correctness about +her and everybody connected with her? If she would only write bad +grammar, or forget to finish a sentence, or do something or other that +looks fallible, it would be a relief. I sometimes wish the old Colonel +had got drunk and beaten her, in the bitterness of my spirit. I know I +felt a weight taken off my heart when I heard he was extravagant. It is +quite possible to be too good for this evil world; and unquestionably, +Mrs. Hutchinson was. The way in which she talks of herself makes one's +blood run cold. There--I am glad to have got that out--but don't say it +to anybody--seal of secrecy. + +Please tell Mr. Babington that I have never forgotten one of his +drawings--a Rubens, I think--a woman holding up a model ship. That woman +had more life in her than ninety per cent. of the lame humans that you +see crippling about this earth. + +By the way, that is a feature in art which seems to have come in with +the Italians. Your old Greek statues have scarce enough vitality in them +to keep their monstrous bodies fresh withal. A shrewd country attorney, +in a turned white neckcloth and rusty blacks, would just take one of +these Agamemnons and Ajaxes quietly by his beautiful, strong arm, trot +the unresisting statue down a little gallery of legal shams, and turn +the poor fellow out at the other end, "naked, as from the earth he +came." There is more latent life, more of the coiled spring in the +sleeping dog, about a recumbent figure of Michael Angelo's than about +the most excited of Greek statues. The very marble seems to wrinkle with +a wild energy that we never feel except in dreams. + +I think this letter has turned into a sermon, but I had nothing +interesting to talk about. + +I do wish you and Mr. Babington would think better of it and come north +this summer. We should be so glad to see you both. _Do_ reconsider +it.--Believe me, my dear Maud, ever your most affectionate cousin, + + LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM + + + The following is the first which has been preserved of many letters + to the admirable nurse whose care, during his ailing childhood, had + done so much both to preserve Stevenson's life and awaken his love of + tales and poetry, and of whom until his death he thought with the + utmost constancy of affection. The letter bears no sign of date or + place, but by the handwriting would seem to belong to this year:-- + + 1871? + +MY DEAR CUMMY,--I was greatly pleased by your letter in many ways. Of +course, I was glad to hear from you; you know, you and I have so many +old stories between us, that even if there was nothing else, even if +there was not a very sincere respect and affection, we should always be +glad to pass a nod. I say, "even if there was not." But you know right +well there is. Do not suppose that I shall ever forget those long, +bitter nights, when I coughed and coughed and was so unhappy, and you +were so patient and loving with a poor, sick child. Indeed, Cummy, I +wish I might become a man worth talking of, if it were only that you +should not have thrown away your pains. + +Happily, it is not the result of our acts that makes them brave and +noble, but the acts themselves and the unselfish love that moved us to +do them. "Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these." +My dear old nurse, and you know there is nothing a man can say nearer +his heart except his mother or his wife--my dear old nurse, God will +make good to you all the good that you have done, and mercifully forgive +you all the evil. And next time when the spring comes round, and +everything is beginning once again, if you should happen to think that +you might have had a child of your own, and that it was hard you should +have spent so many years taking care of some one else's prodigal, just +you think this--you have been for a great deal in my life; you have made +much that there is in me, just as surely as if you had conceived me; and +there are sons who are more ungrateful to their own mothers than I am to +you. For I am not ungrateful, my dear Cummy, and it is with a very +sincere emotion that I write myself your little boy, + + LOUIS. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + After a winter of troubled health, Stevenson had gone to Dunblane for + a change in early spring; and thence writes to his college companion + and lifelong friend, Mr. Charles Baxter:-- + + _Dunblane, Friday, 5th March 1872._ + +MY DEAR BAXTER,--By the date you may perhaps understand the purport of +my letter without any words wasted about the matter. I cannot walk with +you to-morrow, and you must not expect me. I came yesterday afternoon to +Bridge of Allan, and have been very happy ever since, as every place is +sanctified by the eighth sense, Memory. I walked up here this morning +(three miles, _tu-dieu!_ a good stretch for me), and passed one of my +favourite places in the world, and one that I very much affect in spirit +when the body is tied down and brought immovably to anchor on a sickbed. +It is a meadow and bank on a corner on the river, and is connected in my +mind inseparably with Virgil's _Eclogues. Hic corulis mistos inter +consedimus ulmos_, or something very like that, the passage begins (only +I know my short-winded Latinity must have come to grief over even this +much of quotation); and here, to a wish, is just such a cavern as +Menalcas might shelter himself withal from the bright noon, and, with +his lips curled backward, pipe himself blue in the face, while +_Messieurs les Arcadiens_ would roll out those cloying hexameters that +sing themselves in one's mouth to such a curious lilting chant. + +In such weather one has the bird's need to whistle; and I, who am +specially incompetent in this art, must content myself by chattering +away to you on this bit of paper. All the way along I was thanking God +that he had made me and the birds and everything just as they are and +not otherwise; for although there was no sun, the air was so thrilled +with robins and blackbirds that it made the heart tremble with joy, and +the leaves are far enough forward on the underwood to give a fine +promise for the future. Even myself, as I say, I would not have had +changed in one _iota_ this forenoon, in spite of all my idleness and +Guthrie's lost paper, which is ever present with me--a horrible phantom. + +No one can be alone at home or in a quite new place. Memory and you must +go hand in hand with (at least) decent weather if you wish to cook up a +proper dish of solitude. It is in these little flights of mine that I +get more pleasure than in anything else. Now, at present, I am supremely +uneasy and restless--almost to the extent of pain; but O! how I enjoy +it, and how I _shall_ enjoy it afterwards (please God), if I get years +enough allotted to me for the thing to ripen in. When I am a very old +and very respectable citizen with white hair and bland manners and a +gold watch, I shall hear three crows cawing in my heart, as I heard them +this morning: I vote for old age and eighty years of retrospect. Yet, +after all, I dare say, a short shrift and a nice green grave are about +as desirable. + +Poor devil! how I am wearying you! Cheer up. Two pages more, and my +letter reaches its term, for I have no more paper. What delightful +things inns and waiters and bagmen are! If we didn't travel now and +then, we should forget what the feeling of life is. The very cushion of +a railway carriage--"the things restorative to the touch." I can't +write, confound it! That's because I am so tired with my walk.... +Believe me, ever your affectionate friend, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + The "Spec." is, of course, the famous and historical debating society + (the Speculative Society) of Edinburgh University, to which Stevenson + had been elected on the strength of his conversational powers, and to + whose meetings he contributed several essays. + + _Dunblane, Tuesday, 9th April 1872._ + +MY DEAR BAXTER,--I don't know what you mean. I know nothing about the +Standing Committee of the Spec., did not know that such a body existed, +and even if it doth exist, must sadly repudiate all association with +such "goodly fellowship." I am a "Rural Voluptuary" at present. _That_ +is what is the matter with me. The Spec. may go whistle. As for "C. +Baxter, Esq.," who is he? "One Baxter, or Bagster, a secretary," I say +to mine acquaintance, "is at present disquieting my leisure with certain +illegal, uncharitable, unchristian, and unconstitutional documents +called _Business Letters: The affair is in the hands of the Police_." Do +you hear _that_, you evildoer? Sending business letters is surely a far +more hateful and slimy degree of wickedness than sending threatening +letters; the man who throws grenades and torpedoes is less malicious; +the Devil in red-hot hell rubs his hands with glee as he reckons up the +number that go forth spreading pain and anxiety with each delivery of +the post. + +I have been walking to-day by a colonnade of beeches along the brawling +Allan. My character for sanity is quite gone, seeing that I cheered my +lonely way with the following, in a triumphant chaunt: "Thank God for +the grass, and the fir-trees, and the crows, and the sheep, and the +sunshine, and the shadows of the fir-trees." I hold that he is a poor +mean devil who can walk alone, in such a place and in such weather, and +doesn't set up his lungs and cry back to the birds and the river. +Follow, follow, follow me. Come hither, come hither, come hither--here +shall you see--no enemy--except a very slight remnant of winter and its +rough weather. My bedroom, when I awoke this morning, was full of +bird-songs, which is the greatest pleasure in life. Come hither, come +hither, come hither, and when you come bring the third part of the +_Earthly Paradise_; you can get it for me in Elliot's for two and +tenpence (2s. 10d.) (_business habits_). Also bring an ounce of honeydew +from Wilson's. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + In the previous year, 1871, it had become apparent that Stevenson was + neither fitted by bodily health nor by inclination for the family + profession of civil engineer. Accordingly his summer excursions were + no longer to the harbour works and lighthouses of Scotland, but to + the ordinary scenes of holiday travel abroad. + + _Brussels, Thursday, 25th July 1872._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--I am here at last, sitting in my room, without coat or +waistcoat, and with both window and door open, and yet perspiring like a +terra-cotta jug or a Gruyère cheese. + +We had a very good passage, which we certainly deserved, in +compensation for having to sleep on the cabin floor, and finding +absolutely nothing fit for human food in the whole filthy embarkation. +We made up for lost time by sleeping on deck a good part of the +forenoon. When I woke, Simpson was still sleeping the sleep of the just, +on a coil of ropes and (as appeared afterwards) his own hat; so I got a +bottle of Bass and a pipe and laid hold of an old Frenchman of somewhat +filthy aspect (_fiat experimentum in corpore vili_) to try my French +upon. I made very heavy weather of it. The Frenchman had a very pretty +young wife; but my French always deserted me entirely when I had to +answer her, and so she soon drew away and left me to her lord, who +talked of French politics, Africa, and domestic economy with great +vivacity. From Ostend a smoking-hot journey to Brussels. At Brussels we +went off after dinner to the Parc. If any person wants to be happy, I +should advise the Parc. You sit drinking iced drinks and smoking penny +cigars under great old trees. The band place, covered walks, etc., are +all lit up. And you can't fancy how beautiful was the contrast of the +great masses of lamplit foliage and the dark sapphire night sky with +just one blue star set overhead in the middle of the largest patch. In +the dark walks, too, there are crowds of people whose faces you cannot +see, and here and there a colossal white statue at the corner of an +alley that gives the place a nice, _artificial_, eighteenth century +sentiment. There was a good deal of summer lightning blinking overhead, +and the black avenues and white statues leapt out every minute into +short-lived distinctness. + +I get up to add one thing more. There is in the hotel a boy in whom I +take the deepest interest. I cannot tell you his age, but the very first +time I saw him (when I was at dinner yesterday) I was very much struck +with his appearance. There is something very leonine in his face, with a +dash of the negro especially, if I remember aright, in the mouth. He has +a great quantity of dark hair, curling in great rolls, not in little +corkscrews, and a pair of large, dark, and very steady, bold, bright +eyes. His manners are those of a prince. I felt like an overgrown +ploughboy beside him. He speaks English perfectly, but with, I think, +sufficient foreign accent to stamp him as a Russian, especially when his +manners are taken into account. I don't think I ever saw any one who +looked like a hero before. After breakfast this morning I was talking to +him in the court, when he mentioned casually that he had caught a snake +in the Riesengebirge. "I have it here," he said; "would you like to see +it?" I said yes; and putting his hand into his breast-pocket, he drew +forth not a dried serpent skin, but the head and neck of the reptile +writhing and shooting out its horrible tongue in my face. You may +conceive what a fright I got. I send off this single sheet just now in +order to let you know I am safe across; but you must not expect letters +often. + + R. L. STEVENSON. + +_P.S._--The snake was about a yard long, but harmless, and now, he +says, quite tame. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + _Hotel Landsberg, Frankfurt, Monday, 29th July 1872._ + +... Last night I met with rather an amusing adventurette. Seeing a +church door open, I went in, and was led by most importunate +finger-bills up a long stair to the top of the tower. The father smoking +at the door, the mother and the three daughters received me as if I was +a friend of the family and had come in for an evening visit. The +youngest daughter (about thirteen, I suppose, and a pretty little girl) +had been learning English at the school, and was anxious to play it off +upon a real, veritable Englander; so we had a long talk, and I was shown +photographs, etc., Marie and I talking, and the others looking on with +evident delight at having such a linguist in the family. As all my +remarks were duly translated and communicated to the rest, it was quite +a good German lesson. There was only one contretemps during the whole +interview--the arrival of another visitor, in the shape (surely) the +last of God's creatures, a wood-worm of the most unnatural and hideous +appearance, with one great striped horn sticking out of his nose like a +boltsprit. If there are many wood-worms in Germany, I shall come home. +The most courageous men in the world must be entomologists. I had rather +be a lion-tamer. + +To-day I got rather a curiosity--_Lieder und Balladen von Robert Burns_, +translated by one Silbergleit, and not so ill done either. Armed with +which, I had a swim in the Main, and then bread and cheese and Bavarian +beer in a sort of café, or at least the German substitute for a café; +but what a falling off after the heavenly forenoons in Brussels! + +I have bought a meerschaum out of local sentiment, and am now very low +and nervous about the bargain, having paid dearer than I should in +England, and got a worse article, if I can form a judgment. + +Do write some more, somebody. To-morrow I expect I shall go into +lodgings, as this hotel work makes the money disappear like butter in a +furnace.--Meanwhile believe me, ever your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _Hotel Landsberg, Thursday, 1st August 1872._ + +... Yesterday I walked to Eckenheim, a village a little way out of +Frankfurt, and turned into the alehouse. In the room, which was just +such as it would have been in Scotland, were the landlady, two +neighbours, and an old peasant eating raw sausage at the far end. I soon +got into conversation; and was astonished when the landlady, having +asked whether I were an Englishman, and received an answer in the +affirmative, proceeded to inquire further whether I were not also a +Scotchman. It turned out that a Scotch doctor--a professor--a poet--who +wrote books--_gross wie das_--had come nearly every day out of Frankfurt +to the _Eckenheimer Wirthschaft_, and had left behind him a most savoury +memory in the hearts of all its customers. One man ran out to find his +name for me, and returned with the news that it was _Cobie_ (Scobie, I +suspect); and during his absence the rest were pouring into my ears the +fame and acquirements of my countryman. He was, in some undecipherable +manner, connected with the Queen of England and one of the Princesses. +He had been in Turkey, and had there married a wife of immense wealth. +They could find apparently no measure adequate to express the size of +his books. In one way or another, he had amassed a princely fortune, and +had apparently only one sorrow, his daughter to wit, who had absconded +into a _Kloster_, with a considerable slice of the mother's _Geld_. I +told them we had no Klosters in Scotland, with a certain feeling of +superiority. No more had they, I was told--"_Hier ist unser Kloster!_" +and the speaker motioned with both arms round the taproom. Although the +first torrent was exhausted, yet the Doctor came up again in all sorts +of ways, and with or without occasion, throughout the whole interview; +as, for example, when one man, taking his pipe out of his mouth and +shaking his head, remarked _àpropos_ of nothing and with almost defiant +conviction, "_Er war ein feiner Mann, der Herr Doctor_," and was +answered by another with "_Yaw, yaw, und trank immer rothen Wein_." + +Setting aside the Doctor, who had evidently turned the brains of the +entire village, they were intelligent people. One thing in particular +struck me, their honesty in admitting that here they spoke bad German, +and advising me to go to Coburg or Leipsic for German.--"_Sie sprechen +da_ _rein_" (clean), said one; and they all nodded their heads together +like as many mandarins, and repeated _rein, so rein_ in chorus. + +Of course we got upon Scotland. The hostess said, "_Die Schottländer +trinken gern Schnapps_," which may be freely translated, "Scotchmen are +horrid fond of whisky." It was impossible, of course, to combat such a +truism; and so I proceeded to explain the construction of toddy, +interrupted by a cry of horror when I mentioned the _hot_ water; and +thence, as I find is always the case, to the most ghastly romancing +about Scottish scenery and manners, the Highland dress, and everything +national or local that I could lay my hands upon. Now that I have got my +German Burns, I lean a good deal upon him for opening a conversation, +and read a few translations to every yawning audience that I can gather. +I am grown most insufferably national, you see. I fancy it is a +punishment for my want of it at ordinary times. Now, what do you think, +there was a waiter in this very hotel, but, alas! he is now gone, who +sang (from morning to night, as my informant said with a shrug at the +recollection) what but _'s ist lange her_, the German version of Auld +Lang Syne; so you see, madame, the finest lyric ever written _will_ make +its way out of whatsoever corner of patois it found its birth in. + + "_Mein Herz ist im Hochland, mein Herz ist nicht hier, + Mein Herz ist im Hochland im grünen Revier. + Im grünen Reviere zu jagen das Reh; + Mein Herz ist im Hochland, wo immer ich geh._" + +I don't think I need translate that for you. + +There is one thing that burthens me a good deal in my patriotic +garrulage, and that is the black ignorance in which I grope about +everything, as, for example, when I gave yesterday a full and, I fancy, +a startlingly incorrect account of Scotch education to a very stolid +German on a garden bench: he sat and perspired under it, however, with +much composure. I am generally glad enough to fall back again, after +these political interludes, upon Burns, toddy, and the Highlands. + +I go every night to the theatre, except when there is no opera. I cannot +stand a play yet; but I am already very much improved, and can +understand a good deal of what goes on. + +_Friday, August 2, 1872._--In the evening, at the theatre, I had a great +laugh. Lord Allcash in _Fra Diavolo_, with his white hat, red +guide-books, and bad German, was the _pièce-de-résistance_ from a +humorous point of view; and I had the satisfaction of knowing that in my +own small way I could minister the same amusement whenever I chose to +open my mouth. + +I am just going off to do some German with Simpson.--Your affectionate +son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _Frankfurt, Rosengasse 13, August 4, 1872._ + +MY DEAR FATHER,--You will perceive by the head of this page that we have +at last got into lodgings, and powerfully mean ones too. If I were to +call the street anything but _shady_, I should be boasting. The people +sit at their doors in shirt-sleeves, smoking as they do in Seven Dials +of a Sunday. + +Last night we went to bed about ten, for the first time _householders_ +in Germany--real Teutons, with no deception, spring, or false bottom. +About half-past one there began such a trumpeting, shouting, pealing of +bells, and scurrying hither and thither of feet as woke every person in +Frankfurt out of their first sleep with a vague sort of apprehension +that the last day was at hand. The whole street was alive, and we could +hear people talking in their rooms, or crying to passers-by from their +windows, all around us. At last I made out what a man was saying in the +next room. It was a fire in Sachsenhausen, he said (Sachsenhausen is the +suburb on the other side of the Main), and he wound up with one of the +most tremendous falsehoods on record, "_Hier alles ruht_--here all is +still." If it can be said to be still in an engine factory, or in the +stomach of a volcano when it is meditating an eruption, he might have +been justified in what he said, but not otherwise. The tumult continued +unabated for near an hour; but as one grew used to it, it gradually +resolved itself into three bells, answering each other at short +intervals across the town, a man shouting at ever shorter intervals and +with superhuman energy, "_Feuer--im Sachsenhausen_," and the almost +continuous winding of all manner of bugles and trumpets, sometimes in +stirring flourishes, and sometimes in mere tuneless wails. Occasionally +there was another rush of feet past the window, and once there was a +mighty drumming, down between us and the river, as though the soldiery +were turning out to keep the peace. This was all we had of the fire, +except a great cloud, all flushed red with the glare, above the roofs on +the other side of the Gasse; but it was quite enough to put me entirely +off my sleep and make me keenly alive to three or four gentlemen who +were strolling leisurely about my person, and every here and there +leaving me somewhat as a keepsake.... However, everything has its +compensation, and when day came at last, and the sparrows awoke with +trills and _carol-ets_, the dawn seemed to fall on me like a sleeping +draught. I went to the window and saw the sparrows about the eaves, and +a great troop of doves go strolling up the paven Gasse, seeking what +they may devour. And so to sleep, despite fleas and fire-alarms, and +clocks chiming the hours out of neighbouring houses at all sorts of odd +times and with the most charming want of unanimity. + +We have got settled down in Frankfurt, and like the place very much. +Simpson and I seem to get on very well together. We suit each other +capitally; and it is an awful joke to be living (two would-be +advocates, and one a baronet) in this supremely mean abode. + +The abode is, however, a great improvement on the hotel, and I think we +shall grow quite fond of it.--Ever your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _13 Rosengasse, Frankfurt, Tuesday Morning, August 1872._ + +... Last night I was at the theatre and heard _Die Judin_ (_La Juive_), +and was thereby terribly excited. At last, in the middle of the fifth +act, which was perfectly beastly, I had to slope. I could stand even +seeing the cauldron with the sham fire beneath, and the two hateful +executioners in red; but when at last the girl's courage breaks down, +and, grasping her father's arm, she cries out--O so shudderfully!--I +thought it high time to be out of that _galère_, and so I do not know +yet whether it ends well or ill; but if I ever afterwards find that they +do carry things to the extremity, I shall think more meanly of my +species. It was raining and cold outside, so I went into a _Bierhalle_, +and sat and brooded over a _Schnitt_ (half-glass) for nearly an hour. An +opera is far more _real_ than real life to me. It seems as if stage +illusion, and particularly this hardest to swallow and most conventional +illusion of them all--an opera--would never stale upon me. I wish that +life was an opera. I should like to _live_ in one; but I don't know in +what quarter of the globe I shall find a society so constituted. +Besides, it would soon pall: imagine asking for three-kreuzer cigars in +recitative, or giving the washerwoman the inventory of your dirty +clothes in a sustained and _flourishous_ aria. + +I am in a right good mood this morning to sit here and write to you; but +not to give you news. There is a great stir of life, in a quiet, almost +country fashion, all about us here. Some one is hammering a beef-steak +in the _rez-de-chaussée_: there is a great clink of pitchers and noise +of the pump-handle at the public well in the little square-kin round the +corner. The children, all seemingly within a month, and certainly none +above five, that always go halting and stumbling up and down the +roadway, are ordinarily very quiet, and sit sedately puddling in the +gutter, trying, I suppose, poor little devils! to understand their +_Muttersprache_; but they, too, make themselves heard from time to time +in little incomprehensible antiphonies, about the drift that comes down +to them by their rivers from the strange lands higher up the Gasse. +Above all, there is here such a twittering of canaries (I can see twelve +out of our window), and such continual visitation of grey doves and +big-nosed sparrows, as make our little bye-street into a perfect aviary. + +I look across the Gasse at our opposite neighbour, as he dandles his +baby about, and occasionally takes a spoonful or two of some pale slimy +nastiness that looks like _dead porridge_, if you can take the +conception. These two are his only occupations. All day long you can +hear him singing over the brat when he is not eating; or see him eating +when he is not keeping baby. Besides which, there comes into his house a +continual round of visitors that puts me in mind of the luncheon hour at +home. As he has thus no ostensible avocation, we have named him "the +W.S." to give a flavour of respectability to the street. + +Enough of the Gasse. The weather is here much colder. It rained a good +deal yesterday; and though it is fair and sunshiny again to-day, and we +can still sit, of course, with our windows open, yet there is no more +excuse for the siesta; and the bathe in the river, except for +cleanliness, is no longer a necessity of life. The Main is very swift. +In one part of the baths it is next door to impossible to swim against +it, and I suspect that, out in the open, it would be quite +impossible.--Adieu, my dear mother, and believe me, ever your +affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + (_Rentier_). + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + On the way home with Sir Walter Simpson from Germany. The L.J.R. + herein mentioned was a short-lived Essay Club of only six members; + its meetings were held in a public-house in Advocate's Close; the + meaning of its initials (as recently divulged by Mr. Baxter) was + Liberty, Justice, Reverence; no doubt understood by the members in + some fresh and esoteric sense of their own. + + _Boulogne Sur Mer, Wednesday, 3rd or 4th September 1872._ + + Blame me not that this epistle + Is the first you have from me. + Idleness has held me fettered, + But at last the times are bettered + And once more I wet my whistle + Here, in France beside the sea. + + All the green and idle weather + I have had in sun and shower, + Such an easy warm subsistence, + Such an indolent existence + I should find it hard to sever + Day from day and hour from hour. + + Many a tract-provided ranter + May upbraid me, dark and sour, + Many a bland Utilitarian + Or excited Millenarian, + --"_Pereunt et imputantur_ + You must speak to every hour." + + But (the very term's deceptive) + You at least, my friend, will see, + That in sunny grassy meadows + Trailed across by moving shadows + To be actively receptive + Is as much as man can be. + + He that all the winter grapples + Difficulties, thrust and ward-- + Needs to cheer him thro' his duty + Memories of sun and beauty + Orchards with the russet apples + Lying scattered on the sward. + + Many such I keep in prison, + Keep them here at heart unseen, + Till my muse again rehearses + Long years hence, and in my verses + You shall meet them rearisen + Ever comely, ever green. + + You know how they never perish, + How, in time of later art, + Memories consecrate and sweeten + These defaced and tempest-beaten + Flowers of former years we cherish, + Half a life, against our heart. + + Most, those love-fruits withered greenly, + Those frail, sickly amourettes, + How they brighten with the distance + Take new strength and new existence + Till we see them sitting queenly + Crowned and courted by regrets! + + All that loveliest and best is, + Aureole-fashion round their head, + They that looked in life but plainly, + How they stir our spirits vainly + When they come to us Alcestis- + like returning from the dead! + + Not the old love but another, + Bright she comes at Memory's call + Our forgotten vows reviving + To a newer, livelier living, + As the dead child to the mother + Seems the fairest child of all. + + Thus our Goethe, sacred master, + Travelling backward thro' his youth, + Surely wandered wrong in trying + To renew the old, undying + Loves that cling in memory faster + Than they ever lived in truth. + +So; _en voilà assez de mauvais vers._ Let us finish with a word or two +in honest prose, tho' indeed I shall so soon be back again and, if you +be in town as I hope, so soon get linked again down the Lothian road by +a cigar or two and a liquor, that it is perhaps scarce worth the postage +to send my letter on before me. I have just been long enough away to be +satisfied and even anxious to get home again and talk the matter over +with my friends. I shall have plenty to tell you; and principally plenty +that I do not care to write; and I daresay, you, too, will have a lot of +gossip. What about Ferrier? Is the L.J.R. think you to go naked and +unashamed this winter? He with his charming idiosyncrasy was in my eyes +the vine-leaf that preserved our self-respect. All the rest of us are +such shadows, compared to his full-flavoured personality; but I must not +spoil my own _début_. I am trenching upon one of the essayettes which I +propose to introduce as a novelty this year before that august assembly. +For we must not let it die. It is a sickly baby, but what with nursing, +and pap, and the like, I do not see why it should not have a stout +manhood after all, and perhaps a green old age. Eh! when we are old (if +we ever should be) that too will be one of those cherished memories I +have been so rhapsodizing over. We must consecrate our room. We must +make it a museum of bright recollections; so that we may go back there +white-headed, and say "Vixi." After all, new countries, sun, music, and +all the rest can never take down our gusty, rainy, smoky, grim old city +out of the first place that it has been making for itself in the bottom +of my soul, by all pleasant and hard things that have befallen me for +these past twenty years or so. My heart is buried there--say, in +Advocate's Close! + +Simpson and I got on very well together, and made a very suitable pair. +I like him much better than I did when I started which was almost more +than I hoped for. + +If you should chance to see Bob, give him my news or if you have the +letter about you, let him see it.--Ever your Affct. friend, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + Through the jesting tenor of this letter is to be discerned a vein of + more than half serious thinking very characteristic of R. L. S. alike + as youth and man. + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh, October 1872._ + +MY DEAR BAXTER,--I am gum-boiled and face swollen to an unprecedented +degree. It is very depressing to suffer from gibber that cannot be +brought to a head. I cannot speak it, because my face is so swollen and +stiff that enunciation must be deliberate--a thing your true gibberer +cannot hold up his head under; and writ gibber is somehow not gibber at +all, it does not come forth, does not _flow_, with that fine irrational +freedom that it loves in speech--it does not afford relief to the packed +bosom. + +Hence I am suffering from _suppressed gibber_--an uneasy complaint; and +like all cases of suppressed humours, this hath a nasty tendency to the +brain. Therefore (the more confused I get, the more I lean on Thus's and +Hences and Therefores) you must not be down upon me, most noble Festus, +altho' this letter should smack of some infirmity of judgment. I speak +the words of soberness and truth; and would you were not almost but +altogether as I am, except this swelling. Lord, Lord, if we could change +personalities how we should hate it. How I should rebel at the office, +repugn under the Ulster coat, and repudiate your monkish humours thus +unjustly and suddenly thrust upon poor, infidel me! And as for you--why, +my dear Charles, "a mouse that hath its lodging in a cat's ear" would +not be so uneasy as you in your new conditions. I do not see how your +temperament would come thro' the feverish longings to do things that +cannot then (or perhaps ever) be accomplished, the feverish unrests and +damnable indecisions, that it takes all my easy-going spirits to come +through. A vane can live out anything in the shape of a wind; and that +is how I can be, and am, a more serious person than you. Just as the +light French seemed very serious to Sterne, light L. Stevenson can +afford to bob about over the top of any deep sea of prospect or +retrospect, where ironclad C. Baxter would incontinently go down with +all hands. A fool is generally the wisest person out. The wise man must +shut his eyes to all the perils and horrors that lie round him; but the +cap and bells can go bobbing along the most slippery ledges and the +bauble will not stir up sleeping lions. Hurray! for motley, for a good +sound _insouciance_, for a healthy philosophic carelessness! + +My dear Baxter, a word in your ear--"<sc>DON'T YOU WISH YOU WERE A FOOL</sc>?" +How easy the world would go on with you--literally on castors. The only +reason a wise man can assign for getting drunk is that he wishes to +enjoy for a while the blessed immunities and sunshiny weather of the +land of fooldom. But a fool, who dwells ever there, has no excuse at +all. _That_ is a happy land, if you like--and not so far away either. +Take a fool's advice and let us strive without ceasing to get into it. +Hark in your ear again: "THEY ALLOW PEOPLE TO REASON IN THAT LAND." I +wish I could take you by the hand and lead you away into its pleasant +boundaries. There is no custom-house on the frontier, and you may take +in what books you will. There are no manners and customs; but men and +women grow up, like trees in a still, well-walled garden, "at their own +sweet will." There is no prescribed or customary folly--no motley, cap, +or bauble: out of the well of each one's own innate absurdity he is +allowed and encouraged freely to draw and to communicate; and it is a +strange thing how this natural fooling comes so nigh to one's better +thoughts of wisdom; and stranger still, that all this discord of people +speaking in their own natural moods and keys, masses itself into a far +more perfect harmony than all the dismal, official unison in which they +sing in other countries. Part-singing seems best all the world over. + +I who live in England must wear the hackneyed symbols of the profession, +to show that I have (at least) consular immunities, coming as I do out +of another land, where they are not so wise as they are here, but fancy +that God likes what he makes and is not best pleased with us when we +deface and dissemble all that he has given us and put about us to one +common standard of----Highty-Tighty!--when was a jester obliged to +finish his sentence? I cut so strong a pirouette that all my bells +jingle, and come down in an attitude, with one hand upon my hip. The +evening's entertainment is over,--"and if our kyind friends----" + +Hurrah! I feel relieved. I have put out my gibber, and if you have read +thus far, you will have taken it in. I wonder if you will ever come this +length. I shall try a trap for you, and insult you here, on this last +page. "O Baxter what a damned humbug you are!" There,--shall this insult +bloom and die unseen, or will you come toward me, when next we meet, +with a face deformed with anger and demand speedy and bloody +satisfaction. _Nous verrons_, which is French. + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + In the winter of 1872-73 Stevenson was out of health again; and by + the beginning of spring there began the trouble which for the next + twelve months clouded his home life. The following shows exactly in + what spirit he took it:-- + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh, Sunday, February 2, 1873._ + +MY DEAR BAXTER,--The thunderbolt has fallen with a vengeance now. On +Friday night after leaving you, in the course of conversation, my father +put me one or two questions as to beliefs, which I candidly answered. I +really hate all lying so much now--a new found honesty that has somehow +come out of my late illness--that I could not so much as hesitate at the +time; but if I had foreseen the real hell of everything since, I think I +should have lied, as I have done so often before. I so far thought of my +father, but I had forgotten my mother. And now! they are both ill, both +silent, both as down in the mouth as if--I can find no simile. You may +fancy how happy it is for me. If it were not too late, I think I could +almost find it in my heart to retract, but it is too late; and again, am +I to live my whole life as one falsehood? Of course, it is rougher than +hell upon my father, but can I help it? They don't see either that my +game is not the light-hearted scoffer; that I am not (as they call me) a +careless infidel. I believe as much as they do, only generally in the +inverse ratio: I am, I think, as honest as they can be in what I hold. I +have not come hastily to my views. I reserve (as I told them) many +points until I acquire fuller information, and do not think I am thus +justly to be called "horrible atheist." + +Now, what is to take place? What a curse I am to my parents! O Lord, +what a pleasant thing it is to have just _damned_ the happiness of +(probably) the only two people who care a damn about you in the world. + +What is my life to be at this rate? What, you rascal? Answer--I have a +pistol at your throat. If all that I hold true and most desire to spread +is to be such death, and worse than death, in the eyes of my father and +mother, what the _devil_ am I to do? + +Here is a good heavy cross with a vengeance, and all rough with rusty +nails that tear your fingers, only it is not I that have to carry it +alone; I hold the light end, but the heavy burden falls on these two. + +Don't--I don't know what I was going to say. I am an abject idiot, +which, all things considered, is not remarkable.--Ever your affectionate +and horrible atheist, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + [3] It was the father who, from dislike of a certain Edinburgh + Lewis, changed the sound and spelling of his son's second name to + Louis (spoken always with the "s" sounded), and it was the son + himself who about his eighteenth year dropped the use of his third + name and initial altogether. + + [4] See a paper on _R. L. Stevenson in Wick_, by Margaret H. Roberton, + in Magazine of Wick Literary Society, Christmas 1903. + + [5] Aikman's _Annals of the Persecution in Scotland_. + + [6] Thomas Stevenson. + + + + +II + +STUDENT DAYS--_Continued_ + +NEW FRIENDSHIPS--ORDERED SOUTH + +JULY 1873-MAY 1874 + + +The year 1873 was a critical one in Stevenson's life. Late in July he +went for the second time to pay a visit to Cockfield Rectory, the +pleasant Suffolk home of his cousin Mrs. Churchill Babington and her +husband. Another guest at the same time was Mrs. Sitwell--now my +wife--an intimate friend and connection by marriage of the hostess. I +was shortly due to join the party, when Mrs. Sitwell wrote telling me of +the "fine young spirit" she had found under her friend's roof, and +suggesting that I should hasten my visit so as to make his acquaintance +before he left. I came accordingly, and from that time on the fine young +spirit became a leading interest both in her life and mine. He had +thrown himself on her sympathies, in that troubled hour of his youth, +with entire dependence almost from the first, and clung to her devotedly +for the next two years as to an inspirer, consoler, and guide. Under her +influence he began for the first time to see his way in life, and to +believe hopefully and manfully in his own powers and future. To +encourage such hopes further, and to lend what hand one could towards +their fulfilment, became quickly one of the first of cares and +pleasures. It was impossible not to recognise, in this very +un-academical type of Scottish youth, a spirit the most interesting and +full of promise. His social charm was already at its height, and quite +irresistible; but inwardly he was full of trouble and self-doubt. If he +could steer himself or be steered safely through the difficulties of +youth, and if he could learn to write with half the charm and genius +that shone from his presence and conversation, there seemed room to hope +for the highest from him. He went back to Edinburgh in the beginning of +September full of new hope and heart. It had been agreed that while +still reading, as his parents desired, for the bar, he should try +seriously to get ready for publication some essays which he had already +on hand--one on Walt Whitman, one on John Knox, one on Roads and the +Spirit of the Road--and should so far as possible avoid topics of +dispute in the home circle. + +But after a while the news of him was not favourable. Those differences +with his father, which had been weighing almost morbidly upon his +high-strung nature, were renewed. By mid-October his letters told of +failing health. He came to London, and instead of presenting himself, as +had been proposed, to be examined for admission to one of the London +Inns of Court, he was forced to consult the late Sir Andrew Clark, who +found him suffering from acute nerve exhaustion, with some threat of +danger to the lungs. He was ordered to break at once with Edinburgh for +a time, and to spend the winter in a more soothing climate and +surroundings. He went accordingly to Mentone, a place he had delighted +in as a boy ten years before, and during a stay of six months made a +slow, but for the time being a pretty complete, recovery. I visited him +twice during the winter, and the second time found him coming fairly to +himself again in the southern peace and sunshine. He was busy with the +essay _Ordered South_, and with that on _Victor Hugo's Romances_, which +was afterwards his first contribution to the Cornhill Magazine; was full +of a thousand dreams and projects for future work; and was passing his +invalid days pleasantly meanwhile in the companionship of two kind and +accomplished Russian ladies, who took to him warmly, and of their +children. The following record of the time is drawn from his +correspondence partly with his parents and partly with myself, but +chiefly from the journal-letters, containing a full and intimate record +of his daily moods and doings, which he was accustomed to send off +weekly or oftener to Mrs. Sitwell. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + This is from his cousin's house in Suffolk. Some of the impressions + then received of the contrasts between Scotland and England were + later worked out in the essay _The Foreigner at Home_, printed at the + head of _Memories and Portraits_:-- + + _Cockfield Rectory, Sudbury, Suffolk, Tuesday, July 28, 1873._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--I am too happy to be much of a correspondent. Yesterday +we were away to Melford and Lavenham, both exceptionally placid, +beautiful old English towns. Melford scattered all round a big green, +with an Elizabethan Hall and Park, great screens of trees that seem +twice as high as trees should seem, and everything else like what ought +to be in a novel, and what one never expects to see in reality, made me +cry out how good we were to live in Scotland, for the many hundredth +time. I cannot get over my astonishment--indeed, it increases every +day--at the hopeless gulf that there is between England and Scotland, +and English and Scotch. Nothing is the same; and I feel as strange and +outlandish here as I do in France or Germany. Everything by the +wayside, in the houses, or about the people, strikes me with an +unexpected unfamiliarity: I walk among surprises, for just where you +think you have them, something wrong turns up. + +I got a little Law read yesterday, and some German this morning, but on +the whole there are too many amusements going for much work; as for +correspondence, I have neither heart nor time for it to-day. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + After leaving Cockfield Stevenson spent a few days in London and a + few with me in a cottage I then had at Norwood. This and the + following letters were written in the next days after his return + home. "Bob" in the last paragraph is Robert Alan Mowbray Stevenson, + an elder cousin to whom Louis had been from boyhood devotedly + attached: afterwards known as the brilliant painter-critic and author + of _Velasquez_, etc. + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh, Monday, September 1st, 1873._ + +I have arrived, as you see, without accident; but I never had a more +wretched journey in my life. I could not settle to read anything; I +bought Darwin's last book in despair, for I knew I could generally read +Darwin, but it was a failure. However, the book served me in good stead; +for when a couple of children got in at Newcastle, I struck up a great +friendship with them on the strength of the illustrations. These two +children (a girl of nine and a boy of six) had never before travelled in +a railway, so that everything was a glory to them, and they were never +tired of watching the telegraph posts and trees and hedges go racing +past us to the tail of the train; and the girl I found quite entered +into the most daring personifications that I could make. A little way +on, about Alnmouth, they had their first sight of the sea; and it was +wonderful how loath they were to believe that what they saw was water; +indeed it was very still and grey and solid-looking under a sky to +match. It was worth the fare, yet a little farther on, to see the +delight of the girl when she passed into "another country," with the +black Tweed under our feet, crossed by the lamps of the passenger +bridge. I remember the first time I had gone into "another country," +over the same river from the other side. + +Bob was not at the station when I arrived; but a friend of his brought +me a letter; and he is to be in the first thing to-morrow. Do you know, +I think yesterday and the day before were the two happiest days of my +life? I would not have missed last month for eternity.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The paper on _Roads_ herein mentioned had been planned during walks + at Cockfield; was offered to and rejected by the Saturday Review and + ultimately accepted by Mr. Hamerton for the Portfolio; and was the + first regular or paid contribution of Stevenson to periodical + literature. + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh, Saturday, September 6, 1873._ + +I have been to-day a very long walk with my father through some of the +most beautiful ways hereabouts; the day was cold with an iron, windy +sky, and only glorified now and then with autumn sunlight. For it is +fully autumn with us, with a blight already over the greens, and a keen +wind in the morning that makes one rather timid of one's tub when it +finds its way indoors. + +I was out this evening to call on a friend, and, coming back through the +wet, crowded, lamp-lit streets, was singing after my own fashion, "_Du +hast Diamanten und Perlen_," when I heard a poor cripple man in the +gutter wailing over a pitiful Scotch air, his club-foot supported on the +other knee, and his whole woebegone body propped sideways against a +crutch. The nearest lamp threw a strong light on his worn, sordid face +and the three boxes of lucifer matches that he held for sale. My own +false notes stuck in my chest. How well off I am! is the burthen of my +songs all day long--"_Drum ist so wohl mir in der Welt!_" and the ugly +reality of the cripple man was an intrusion on the beautiful world in +which I was walking. He could no more sing than I could; and his voice +was cracked and rusty, and altogether perished. To think that that wreck +may have walked the streets some night years ago, as glad at heart as I +was, and promising himself a future as golden and honourable! + +_Sunday_, 11.20 _a.m._--I wonder what you are doing now?--in church +likely, at the _Te Deum_. Everything here is utterly silent. I can hear +men's footfalls streets away; the whole life of Edinburgh has been +sucked into sundry pious edifices; the gardens below my windows are +steeped in a diffused sunlight, and every tree seems standing on +tiptoes, strained and silent, as though to get its head above its +neighbour's and _listen_. You know what I mean, don't you? How trees do +seem silently to assert themselves on an occasion! I have been trying to +write _Roads_ until I feel as if I were standing on my head; but I mean +_Roads_, and shall do something to them. + +I wish I could make you feel the hush that is over everything, only made +the more perfect by rare interruptions; and the rich, placid light, and +the still autumnal foliage. Houses, you know, stand all about our +gardens: solid, steady blocks of houses; all look empty and asleep. + +_Monday night._--The drums and fifes up in the castle are sounding the +guard-call through the dark, and there is a great rattle of carriages +without. I have had (I must tell you) my bed taken out of this room, so +that I am alone in it with my books and two tables, and two chairs, and +a coal-skuttle (or _scuttle_) (?) and a _débris_ of broken pipes in a +corner, and my old school play-box, so full of papers and books that the +lid will not shut down, standing reproachfully in the midst. There is +something in it that is still a little gaunt and vacant; it needs a +little populous disorder over it to give it the feel of homeliness, and +perhaps a bit more furniture, just to take the edge off the sense of +illimitable space, eternity, and a future state, and the like, that is +brought home to one, even in this small attic, by the wide, empty floor. + +You would require to know, what only I can ever know, many grim and many +maudlin passages out of my past life to feel how great a change has been +made for me by this past summer. Let me be ever so poor and thread-paper +a soul, I am going to try for the best. + +These good booksellers of mine have at last got a _Werther_ without +illustrations. I want you to like Charlotte. Werther himself has every +feebleness and vice that could tend to make his suicide a most virtuous +and commendable action; and yet I like Werther too--I don't know why, +except that he has written the most delightful letters in the world. +Note, by the way, the passage under date June 21st not far from the +beginning; it finds a voice for a great deal of dumb, uneasy, +pleasurable longing that we have all had, times without number. I looked +that up the other day for _Roads_, so I know the reference; but you will +find it a garden of flowers from beginning to end. All through the +passion keeps steadily rising, from the thunderstorm at the +country-house--there was thunder in that story too--up to the last wild +delirious interview; either Lotte was no good at all, or else Werther +should have remained alive after that; either he knew his woman too +well, or else he was precipitate. But an idiot like that is hopeless; +and yet, he wasn't an idiot--I make reparation, and will offer eighteen +pounds of best wax at his tomb. Poor devil! he was only the weakest--or, +at least, a very weak strong man. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh, Friday, September 12, 1873._ + +... I was over last night, contrary to my own wish, in Leven, Fife; and +this morning I had a conversation of which, I think, some account might +interest you. I was up with a cousin who was fishing in a mill-lade, and +a shower of rain drove me for shelter into a tumble-down steading +attached to the mill. There I found a labourer cleaning a byre, with +whom I fell into talk. The man was to all appearance as heavy, as +_hébété_, as any English clodhopper; but I knew I was in Scotland, and +launched out forthright into Education and Politics and the aims of +one's life. I told him how I had found the peasantry in Suffolk, and +added that their state had made me feel quite pained and down-hearted. +"It but to do that," he said, "to onybody that thinks at a'!" Then, +again, he said that he could not conceive how anything could daunt or +cast down a man who had an aim in life. "They that have had a guid +schoolin' and do nae mair, whatever they do, they have done; but him +that has aye something ayont need never be weary." I have had to +mutilate the dialect much, so that it might be comprehensible to you; +but I think the sentiment will keep, even through a change of words, +something of the heartsome ring of encouragement that it had for me: and +that from a man cleaning a byre! You see what John Knox and his schools +have done. + +_Saturday._--This has been a charming day for me from morning to now (5 +P.M.). First, I found your letter, and went down and read it on a seat +in those Public Gardens of which you have heard already. After lunch, my +father and I went down to the coast and walked a little way along the +shore between Granton and Cramond. This has always been with me a very +favourite walk. The Firth closes gradually together before you, the +coast runs in a series of the most beautifully moulded bays, hill after +hill, wooded and softly outlined, trends away in front till the two +shores join together. When the tide is out there are great, gleaming +flats of wet sand, over which the gulls go flying and crying; and every +cape runs down into them with its little spit of wall and trees. We lay +together a long time on the beach; the sea just babbled among the +stones; and at one time we heard the hollow, sturdy beat of the paddles +of an unseen steamer somewhere round the cape. I am glad to say that the +peace of the day and scenery was not marred by any unpleasantness +between us two. + +I am, unhappily, off my style, and can do nothing well; indeed, I fear I +have marred _Roads_ finally by patching at it when I was out of the +humour. Only, I am beginning to see something great about John Knox and +Queen Mary; I like them both so much, that I feel as if I could write +the history fairly. + +_Sunday._--It has rained and blown chilly out of the East all day. This +was my first visit to church since the last Sunday at Cockfield. I was +alone, and read the minor prophets and thought of the past all the time; +a sentimental Calvinist preached--a very odd animal, as you may +fancy--and to him I did not attend very closely. All afternoon I worked +until half-past four, when I went out under an umbrella, and cruised +about the empty, wet, glimmering streets until near dinner time. + +I have finished _Roads_ to-day, and send it off to you to see. The Lord +knows whether it is worth anything!--some of it pleases me a good deal, +but I fear it is quite unfit for any possible magazine. However, I wish +you to see it, as you know the humour in which it was conceived, walking +alone and very happily about the Suffolk highways and byeways on several +splendid sunny afternoons.--Believe me, ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +_Monday._--I have looked over _Roads_ again, and I am aghast at its +feebleness. It is the trial of a very "'prentice hand" indeed. Shall I +ever learn to do anything _well_? However, it shall go to you, for the +reasons given above. + + + + +TO MRS SITWELL + + + After an outpouring about difficulties at home. + + _Edinburgh, Tuesday, September 16, 1873._ + +... I must be very strong to have all this vexation and still to be +well. I was weighed the other day, and the gross weight of my large +person was eight stone six! Does it not seem surprising that I can keep +the lamp alight, through all this gusty weather, in so frail a lantern? +And yet it burns cheerily. + +My mother is leaving for the country this morning, and my father and I +will be alone for the best part of the week in this house. Then on +Friday I go south to Dumfries till Monday. I must write small, or I +shall have a tremendous budget by then. + +7.20 _p.m._--I must tell you a thing I saw to-day. I was going down to +Portobello in the train, when there came into the next compartment +(third class) an artisan, strongly marked with smallpox, and with +sunken, heavy eyes--a face hard and unkind, and without anything lovely. +There was a woman on the platform seeing him off. At first sight, with +her one eye blind and the whole cast of her features strongly plebeian, +and even vicious, she seemed as unpleasant as the man; but there was +something beautifully soft, a sort of light of tenderness, as on some +Dutch Madonna, that came over her face when she looked at the man. They +talked for a while together through the window; the man seemed to have +been asking money. "Ye ken the last time," she said, "I gave ye two +shillin's for your ludgin', and ye said----" it died off into whisper. +Plainly Falstaff and Dame Quickly over again. The man laughed +unpleasantly, even cruelly, and said something; and the woman turned +her back on the carriage and stood a long while so, and, do what I +might, I could catch no glimpse of her expression, although I thought I +saw the heave of a sob in her shoulders. At last, after the train was +already in motion, she turned round and put two shillings into his hand. +I saw her stand and look after us with a perfect heaven of love on her +face--this poor one-eyed Madonna--until the train was out of sight; but +the man, sordidly happy with his gains, did not put himself to the +inconvenience of one glance to thank her for her ill-deserved kindness. + +I have been up at the Spec. and looked out a reference I wanted. The +whole town is drowned in white, wet vapour off the sea. Everything drips +and soaks. The very statues seem wet to the skin. I cannot pretend to be +very cheerful; I did not see one contented face in the streets; and the +poor did look so helplessly chill and dripping, without a stitch to +change, or so much as a fire to dry themselves at, or perhaps money to +buy a meal, or perhaps even a bed. My heart shivers for them. + +_Dumfries, Friday._--All my thirst for a little warmth, a little sun, a +little corner of blue sky avails nothing. Without, the rain falls with a +long drawn _swish_, and the night is as dark as a vault. There is no +wind indeed, and that is a blessed change after the unruly, bedlamite +gusts that have been charging against one round street corners and +utterly abolishing and destroying all that is peaceful in life. Nothing +sours my temper like these coarse termagant winds. I hate practical +joking; and your vulgarest practical joker is your flaw of wind. + +I have tried to write some verses; but I find I have nothing to say that +has not been already perfectly said and perfectly sung in _Adelaïde_. I +have so perfect an idea out of that song! The great Alps, a wonder in +the star-light--the river, strong from the hills, and turbulent, and +loudly audible at night--the country, a scented _Frühlingsgarten_ of +orchards and deep wood where the nightingales harbour--a sort of German +flavour over all--and this love-drunken man, wandering on by sleeping +village and silent town, pours out of his full heart, _Einst, O Wunder, +einst_, etc. I wonder if I am wrong about this being the most beautiful +and perfect thing in the world--the only marriage of really accordant +words and music--both drunk with the same poignant, unutterable +sentiment. + +To-day in Glasgow my father went off on some business, and my mother and +I wandered about for two hours. We had lunch together, and were very +merry over what the people at the restaurant would think of us--mother +and son they could not suppose us to be. + +_Saturday._--And to-day it came--warmth, sunlight, and a strong, hearty +living wind among the trees. I found myself a new being. My father and I +went off a long walk, through a country most beautifully wooded and +various, under a range of hills. You should have seen one place where +the wood suddenly fell away in front of us down a long, steep hill +between a double row of trees, with one small fair-haired child framed +in shadow in the foreground; and when we got to the foot there was the +little kirk and kirkyard of Irongray, among broken fields and woods by +the side of the bright, rapid river. In the kirkyard there was a +wonderful congregation of tombstones, upright and recumbent on four legs +(after our Scotch fashion), and of flat-armed fir-trees. One gravestone +was erected by Scott (at a cost, I learn, of £70) to the poor woman who +served him as heroine in the _Heart of Midlothian_, and the inscription +in its stiff, Jedediah Cleishbotham fashion is not without something +touching.[7] We went up the stream a little further to where two +Covenanters lie buried in an oak-wood; the tombstone (as the custom is) +containing the details of their grim little tragedy in funnily bad +rhyme, one verse of which sticks in my memory:-- + + "We died, their furious rage to stay, + Near to the kirk of Iron-gray." + +We then fetched a long compass round about through Holywood Kirk and +Lincluden ruins to Dumfries. But the walk came sadly to grief as a +pleasure excursion before our return.... + +_Sunday._--Another beautiful day. My father and I walked into Dumfries +to church. When the service was done I noted the two halberts laid +against the pillar of the churchyard gate; and as I had not seen the +little weekly pomp of civic dignitaries in our Scotch country towns for +some years, I made my father wait. You should have seen the provost and +three bailies going stately away down the sunlit street, and the two +town servants strutting in front of them, in red coats and cocked hats, +and with the halberts most conspicuously shouldered. We saw Burns's +house--a place that made me deeply sad--and spent the afternoon down the +banks of the Nith. I had not spent a day by a river since we lunched in +the meadows near Sudbury. The air was as pure and clear and sparkling as +spring water; beautiful, graceful outlines of hill and wood shut us in +on every side; and the swift, brown river fled smoothly away from before +our eyes, rippled over with oily eddies and dimples. White gulls had +come up from the sea to fish, and hovered and flew hither and thither +among the loops of the stream. By good fortune, too, it was a dead calm +between my father and me. Do you know, I find these rows harder on me +than ever. I get a funny swimming in the head when they come on that I +had not before--and the like when I think of them. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Edinburgh], Monday, 22nd September 1873._ + +I have just had another disagreeable to-night. It is difficult indeed to +steer steady among the breakers: I am always touching ground; generally +it is my own blame, for I cannot help getting friendly with my father +(whom I _do_ love), and so speaking foolishly with my mouth. I have yet +to learn in ordinary conversation that reserve and silence that I must +try to unlearn in the matter of the feelings. + +The news that _Roads_ would do reached me in good season; I had begun +utterly to despair of doing anything. Certainly I do not think I should +be in a hurry to commit myself about the Covenanters; the whole subject +turns round about me and so branches out to this side and that, that I +grow bewildered; and one cannot write discreetly about any one little +corner of an historical period, until one has an organic view of the +whole. I have, however--given life and health--great hope of my +Covenanters; indeed, there is a lot of precious dust to be beaten out of +that stack even by a very infirm hand. + +_Much later._--I can scarcely see to write just now; so please excuse. +We have had an awful scene. All that my father had to say has been put +forth--not that it was anything new; only it is the devil to hear. I +don't know what to do--the world goes hopelessly round about me; there +is no more possibility of doing, living, being anything but a _beast_, +and there's the end of it. + +It is eleven, I think, for a clock struck. O Lord, there has been a deal +of time through our hands since I went down to supper! All this has come +from my own folly; I somehow could not think the gulf so impassable, and +I read him some notes on the Duke of Argyll[8]--I thought he would agree +so far, and that we might have some rational discussion on the rest. And +now--after some hours--he has told me that he is a weak man, and that I +am driving him too far, and that I know not what I am doing. O dear God, +this is bad work! + +I have lit a pipe and feel calmer. I say, my dear friend, I am killing +my father--he told me to-night (by the way) that I alienated utterly my +mother--and this is the result of my attempt to start fair and fresh +and to do my best for all of them. + +I must wait till to-morrow ere I finish. I am to-night too excited. + +_Tuesday._--The sun is shining to-day, which is a great matter, and +altogether the gale having blown off again, I live in a precarious lull. +On the whole I am not displeased with last night; I kept my eyes open +through it all, and, I think, not only avoided saying anything that +could make matters worse in the future, but said something that _may_ do +good. But a little better or a little worse is a trifle. I lay in bed +this morning awake, for I was tired and cold and in no special hurry to +rise, and heard my father go out for the papers; and then I lay and +wished--O, if he would only _whistle_ when he comes in again! But of +course he did not. I have stopped that pipe. + +Now, you see, I have written to you this time and sent it off, for both +of which God forgive me.--Ever your faithful friend, R. L. S. + +My father and I together can put about a year through in half an hour. +Look here, you mustn't take this too much to heart. I shall be all right +in a few hours. It's impossible to depress me. And of course, when you +can't do anything, there's no need of being depressed. It's all waste +tissue. + + L. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Edinburgh], Wednesday, September 24th 1873._ + +I have found another "flowering isle." All this beautiful, quiet, sunlit +day, I have been out in the country; down by the sea on my favourite +coast between Granton and Queensferry. There was a delicate, delicious +haze over the firth and sands on one side, and on the other was the +shadow of the woods all riven with great golden rifts of sunshine. A +little faint talk of waves upon the beach; the wild strange crying of +seagulls over the sea; and the hoarse wood-pigeons and shrill, sweet +robins full of their autumn love-making among the trees, made up a +delectable concerto of peaceful noises. I spent the whole afternoon +among these sights and sounds with Simpson. And we came home from +Queensferry on the outside of the coach and four, along a beautiful way +full of ups and downs among woody, uneven country, laid out (fifty years +ago, I suppose) by my grandfather, on the notion of Hogarth's line of +beauty. You see my taste for roads is hereditary. + +_Friday._--I was wakened this morning by a long flourish of bugles and a +roll upon the drums--the _réveillé_ at the Castle. I went to the window; +it was a grey, quiet dawn, a few people passed already up the street +between the gardens, already I heard the noise of an early cab somewhere +in the distance, most of the lamps had been extinguished but not all, +and there were two or three lit windows in the opposite façade that +showed where sick people and watchers had been awake all night and knew +not yet of the new, cool day. This appealed to me with a special +sadness: how often in the old times my nurse and I had looked across at +these, and sympathised! + +I wish you would read Michelet's _Louis Quatorze et la Révocation de +l'Édit de Nantes_. I read it out in the garden, and the autumnal trees +and weather, and my own autumnal humour, and the pitiable prolonged +tragedies of Madame and of Molière, as they look, darkling and sombre, +out of their niches in the great gingerbread façade of the _Grand Âge_, +go wonderfully hand in hand. + +I wonder if my revised paper has pleased the Saturday? If it has not, I +shall be rather sorry--no, very sorry indeed--but not surprised and +certainly not hurt. It will be a great disappointment; but I am glad to +say that, among all my queasy, troublesome feelings, I have not a +sensitive vanity. Not that I am not as conceited as you know me to be; +only I go easy over the coals in that matter. + +I have been out reading Hallam in the garden; and have been talking with +my old friend the gardener, a man of singularly hard favour and few +teeth. He consulted me this afternoon on the choice of books, premising +that his taste ran mainly on war and travel. On travel I had to own at +once my ignorance. I suggested Kinglake, but he had read that; and so, +finding myself here unhorsed, I turned about and at last recollected +Southey's _Lives of the Admirals_, and the volumes of Macaulay +containing the wars of William. Can you think of any other for this +worthy man? I believe him to hold me in as high an esteem as any one can +do; and I reciprocate his respect, for he is quite an intelligent +companion. + +On Saturday morning I read Morley's article aloud to Bob in one of the +walks of the public garden. I was full of it and read most excitedly; +and we were ever, as we went to and fro, passing a bench where a man sat +reading the Bible aloud to a small circle of the devout. This man is +well known to me, sits there all day, sometimes reading, sometimes +singing, sometimes distributing tracts. Bob laughed much at the +opposition preachers--I never noticed it till he called my attention to +the other; but it did not seem to me like opposition--does it to +you?--each in his way was teaching what he thought best. + +Last night, after reading Walt Whitman a long while for my attempt to +write about him, I got _tête-montée_, rushed out up to M. S., came in, +took out _Leaves of Grass_, and without giving the poor unbeliever time +to object, proceeded to wade into him with favourite passages. I had at +least this triumph, that he swore he must read some more of him.--Ever +your faithful friend, + + LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + On the question of the authorship of the _Ode to the Cuckoo_, which + Burke thought the most beautiful lyric in our language, the debate + was between the claims of John Logan, minister of South Leith + (1745-1785), and his friend and fellow-worker Michael Bruce. Those of + Logan have, I believe, been now vindicated past doubt. + + _[Edinburgh], Saturday, October 4, 1873._ + +It is a little sharp to-day; but bright and sunny with a sparkle in the +air, which is delightful after four days of unintermitting rain. In the +streets I saw two men meet after a long separation, it was plain. They +came forward with a little run and _leaped_ at each other's hands. You +never saw such bright eyes as they both had. It put one in a good humour +to see it. + +_8 p.m._--I made a little more out of my work than I have made for a +long while back; though even now I cannot make things fall into +sentences--they only sprawl over the paper in bald orphan clauses. Then +I was about in the afternoon with Baxter; and we had a good deal of fun, +first rhyming on the names of all the shops we passed, and afterwards +buying needles and quack drugs from open-air vendors, and taking much +pleasure in their inexhaustible eloquence. Every now and then as we +went, Arthur's Seat showed its head at the end of a street. Now, to-day +the blue sky and the sunshine were both entirely wintry; and there was +about the hill, in these glimpses, a sort of thin, unreal, crystalline +distinctness that I have not often seen excelled. As the sun began to go +down over the valley between the new town and the old, the evening grew +resplendent; all the gardens and low-lying buildings sank back and +became almost invisible in a mist of wonderful sun, and the Castle stood +up against the sky, as thin and sharp in outline as a castle cut out of +paper. Baxter made a good remark about Princes Street, that it was the +most elastic street for length that he knew; sometimes it looks, as it +looked to-night, interminable, a way leading right into the heart of +the red sundown; sometimes, again, it shrinks together, as if for +warmth, on one of the withering, clear east-windy days, until it seems +to lie underneath your feet. + +I want to let you see these verses from an _Ode to the Cuckoo_ written +by one of the ministers of Leith in the middle of last century--the +palmy days of Edinburgh--who was a friend of Hume and Adam Smith and the +whole constellation. The authorship of these beautiful verses has been +most truculently fought about; but whoever wrote them (and it seems as +if this Logan had) they are lovely-- + + "What time the pea puts on the bloom, + Thou fliest the vocal vale, + An annual guest, in other lands + Another spring to hail. + + Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, + Thy sky is ever clear; + Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, + No winter in thy year. + + O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! + We'd make on joyful wing + Our annual visit o'er the globe, + Companions of the spring." + +_Sunday._--I have been at church with my mother, where we heard "Arise, +shine," sung excellently well, and my mother was so much upset with it +that she nearly had to leave church. This was the antidote, however, to +fifty minutes of solid sermon, varra heavy. I have been sticking in to +Walt Whitman; nor do I think I have ever laboured so hard to attain so +small a success. Still, the thing is taking shape, I think; I know a +little better what I want to say all through; and in process of time, +possibly I shall manage to say it. I must say I am a very bad workman, +_mais j'ai du courage_: I am indefatigable at rewriting and bettering, +and surely that humble quality should get me on a little. + +_Monday, October 6._--It is a magnificent glimmering moonlight night, +with a wild, great west wind abroad, flapping above one like an immense +banner, and every now and again swooping furiously against my windows. +The wind is too strong perhaps, and the trees are certainly too leafless +for much of that wide rustle that we both remember; there is only a +sharp, angry, sibilant hiss, like breath drawn with the strength of the +elements through shut teeth, that one hears between the gusts only. I am +in excellent humour with myself, for I have worked hard and not +altogether fruitlessly; and I wished before I turned in just to tell you +that things were so. My dear friend, I feel so happy when I think that +you remember me kindly. I have been up to-night lecturing to a friend on +life and duties and what a man could do; a coal off the altar had been +laid on my lips, and I talked quite above my average, and hope I spread, +what you would wish to see spread, into one person's heart; and with a +new light upon it. + +I shall tell you a story. Last Friday I went down to Portobello, in the +heavy rain, with an uneasy wind blowing _par rafales_ off the sea (or +"_en rafales_" should it be? or what?). As I got down near the beach a +poor woman, oldish, and seemingly, lately at least, respectable, +followed me and made signs. She was drenched to the skin, and looked +wretched below wretchedness. You know, I did not like to look back at +her; it seemed as if she might misunderstand and be terribly hurt and +slighted; so I stood at the end of the street--there was no one else +within sight in the wet--and lifted up my hand very high with some money +in it. I heard her steps draw heavily near behind me, and, when she was +near enough to see, I let the money fall in the mud and went off at my +best walk without ever turning round. There is nothing in the story; and +yet you will understand how much there is, if one chose to set it +forth. You see, she was so ugly; and you know there is something +terribly, miserably pathetic in a certain smile, a certain sodden aspect +of invitation on such faces. It is so terrible, that it is in a way +sacred; it means the outside of degradation and (what is worst of all in +life) false position. I hope you understand me rightly.--Ever your +faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Edinburgh], Tuesday, October 14, 1873._ + +My father has returned in better health, and I am more delighted than I +can well tell you. The one trouble that I can see no way through is that +his health, or my mother's, should give way. To-night, as I was walking +along Princes Street, I heard the bugles sound the recall. I do not +think I had ever remarked it before; there is something of unspeakable +appeal in the cadence. I felt as if something yearningly cried to me out +of the darkness overhead to come thither and find rest; one felt as if +there must be warm hearts and bright fires waiting for one up there, +where the buglers stood on the damp pavement and sounded their friendly +invitation forth into the night. + +_Wednesday._--I may as well tell you exactly about my health. I am not +at all ill; have quite recovered; only I am what _MM. les médecins_ call +below par; which, in plain English, is that I am weak. With tonics, +decent weather, and a little cheerfulness, that will go away in its +turn, and I shall be all right again. + +I am glad to hear what you say about the Exam.; until quite lately I +have treated that pretty cavalierly, for I say honestly that I do not +mind being plucked; I shall just have to go up again. We travelled with +the Lord Advocate the other day, and he strongly advised me in my +father's hearing to go to the English Bar; and the Lord Advocate's +advice goes a long way in Scotland. It is a sort of special legal +revelation. Don't misunderstand me. I don't, of course, want to be +plucked; but so far as my style of knowledge suits them, I cannot make +much betterment on it in a month. If they wish scholarship more exact, I +must take a new lease altogether. + +_Thursday._--My head and eyes both gave in this morning, and I had to +take a day of complete idleness. I was in the open air all day, and did +no thought that I could avoid, and I think I have got my head between my +shoulders again; however, I am not going to do much. I don't want you to +run away with any fancy about my being ill. Given a person weak and in +some trouble, and working longer hours than he is used to, and you have +the matter in a nutshell. You should have seen the sunshine on the hill +to-day; it has lost now that crystalline clearness, as if the medium +were spring-water (you see, I am stupid!); but it retains that wonderful +thinness of outline that makes the delicate shape and hue savour better +in one's mouth, like fine wine out of a finely-blown glass. The birds +are all silent now but the crows. I sat a long time on the stairs that +lead down to Duddingston Loch--a place as busy as a great town during +frost, but now solitary and silent; and when I shut my eyes I heard +nothing but the wind in the trees; and you know all that went through +me, I dare say, without my saying it. + +11.--I am now all right. I do not expect any tic to-night, and shall be +at work again to-morrow. I have had a day of open air, only a little +modified by _Le Capitaine Fracasse_ before the dining-room fire. I must +write no more, for I am sleepy after two nights, to quote my book, +"_sinon blanches, du moins grises_"; and so I must go to bed and +faithfully, hoggishly slumber.--Your faithful + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + On the advice of the Lord Advocate it had been agreed that Stevenson + should present himself for admission as a student at one of the + London Inns of Court and should come to town after the middle of + October to be examined for that purpose. The following two letters + refer to this purpose and to the formalities required for effecting + it:-- + + _[Edinburgh, Oct. 15, 1873], Wednesday._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Of course I knew as well as you that I was merely +running before an illness; but I thought I should be in time to escape. +However I was knocked over on Monday night with a bad sore throat, +fever, rheumatism, and a threatening of pleurisy, which last is, I +think, gone. I still hope to be able to get away early next week, though +I am not very clear as to how I shall manage the journey. If I don't get +away on Wednesday at latest, I lose my excuse for going at all, and I do +wish to escape a little while. + +I shall see about the form when I get home, which I hope will be +to-morrow (I was taken ill in a friend's house and have not yet been +moved). + +How could a broken-down engineer expect to make anything of _Roads_. +Requiescant. When we get well (and if we get well), we shall do +something better.--Yours sincerely, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + +Ye couche of pain. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _[Edinburgh, October 16, 1873], Thursday._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I am at my wits' end about this abominable form of +admission. I don't know what the devil it is; I haven't got one even if +I did, and so can't sign. + +Monday night is the very earliest on which (even if I go on mending at +the very great pace I have made already) I can hope to be in London +myself. But possibly it is only intimation that requires to be made on +Tuesday morning; and one may possess oneself of a form of admission up +to the eleventh hour. I send herewith a letter which I must ask you to +cherish, as I count it a sort of talisman. Perhaps you may understand +it, I don't. + +If you don't understand it, please do not trouble and we must just hope +that Tuesday morning will be early enough to do all. Of course I fear +the exam. will spin me; indeed after this bodily and spiritual crisis I +should not dream of coming up at all; only that I require it as a +pretext for a moment's escape, which I want much. + +I am so glad that _Roads_ has got in. I had almost as soon have it in +the Portfolio as the Saturday; the P. is so nicely printed and I am +_gourmet_ in type. I don't know how to thank you for your continual +kindness to me; and I am afraid I do not even feel grateful enough--you +have let your kindnesses come on me so easily.--Yours sincerely, + + LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + When Stevenson a few days later came to London, it was before the + physicians and not the lawyers that he must present himself; and the + result of an examination by Sir Andrew Clark was his prompt and + peremptory despatch to Mentone for a winter's rest and sunshine at a + distance from all causes of mental agitation. This episode of his + life gave occasion to the essay _Ordered South_, the only one of his + writings in which he took the invalid point of view or allowed his + health troubles in any degree to colour his work. Travelling south by + slow stages, he wrote on the way a long diary-letter from which + extracts follow:-- + + _Avignon [November 1873]._ + +I have just read your letter upon the top of the hill beside the church +and castle. The whole air was filled with sunset and the sound of bells; +and I wish I could give you the least notion of the _southernness_ and +_Provençality_ of all that I saw. + +I cannot write while I am travelling; _c'est un défaut_; but so it is. I +must have a certain feeling of being at home, and my head must have time +to settle. The new images oppress me, and I have a fever of restlessness +on me. You must not be disappointed at such shabby letters; and besides, +remember my poor head and the fanciful crawling in the spine. + +I am back again in the stage of thinking there is nothing the matter +with me, which is a good sign; but I am wretchedly nervous. Anything +like rudeness I am simply babyishly afraid of; and noises, and +especially the sounds of certain voices, are the devil to me. A blind +poet whom I found selling his immortal works in the streets of Sens, +captivated me with the remarkable equable strength and sweetness of his +voice; and I listened a long while and bought some of the poems; and now +this voice, after I had thus got it thoroughly into my head, proved +false metal and a really bad and horrible voice at bottom. It haunted me +some time, but I think I am done with it now. + +I hope you don't dislike reading bad style like this as much as I do +writing it: it hurts me when neither words nor clauses fall into their +places, much as it would hurt you to sing when you had a bad cold and +your voice deceived you and missed every other note. I do feel so +inclined to break the pen and write no more; and here _àpropos_ begins +my back. + +_After dinner._--It blows to-night from the north down the valley of the +Rhone, and everything is so cold that I have been obliged to indulge in +a fire. There is a fine crackle and roar of burning wood in the chimney +which is very homely and companionable, though it does seem to postulate +a town all white with snow outside. + +I have bought Sainte-Beuve's Chateaubriand and am immensely delighted +with the critic. Chateaubriand is more antipathetic to me than anyone +else in the world. + +I begin to wish myself arrived to-night. Travelling, when one is not +quite well, has a good deal of unpleasantness. One is easily upset by +cross incidents, and wants that _belle humeur_ and spirit of adventure +that makes a pleasure out of what is unpleasant. + +_Tuesday, November 11th._--There! There's a date for you. I shall be in +Mentone for my birthday, with plenty of nice letters to read. I went +away across the Rhone and up the hill on the other side that I might see +the town from a distance. Avignon followed me with its bells and drums +and bugles; for the old city has no equal for multitude of such noises. +Crossing the bridge and seeing the brown turbid water foam and eddy +about the piers, one could scarce believe one's eyes when one looked +down upon the stream and saw the smooth blue mirroring tree and hill. +Over on the other side, the sun beat down so furiously on the white road +that I was glad to keep in the shadow and, when the occasion offered, to +turn aside among the olive-yards. It was nine years and six months since +I had been in an olive-yard. I found myself much changed, not so gay, +but wiser and more happy. I read your letter again, and sat awhile +looking down over the tawny plain and at the fantastic outline of the +city. The hills seemed just fainting into the sky; even the great peak +above Carpentras (Lord knows how many metres above the sea) seemed +unsubstantial and thin in the breadth and potency of the sunshine. + +I should like to stay longer here but I can't. I am driven forward by +restlessness, and leave this afternoon about two. I am just going out +now to visit again the church, castle, and hill, for the sake of the +magnificent panorama, and besides, because it is the friendliest spot in +all Avignon to me. + +_Later._--You cannot picture to yourself anything more steeped in hard +bright sunshine than the view from the hill. The immovable inky shadow +of the old bridge on the fleeting surface of the yellow river seemed +more solid than the bridge itself. Just in the place where I sat +yesterday evening a shaven man in a velvet cap was studying +music--evidently one of the singers for _La Muette de Portici_ at the +theatre to-night. I turned back as I went away: the white Christ stood +out in strong relief on his brown cross against the blue sky, and the +four kneeling angels and lanterns grouped themselves about the foot with +a symmetry that was almost laughable; the musician read on at his music, +and counted time with his hand on the stone step. + +_Menton, November 12th._--My first enthusiasm was on rising at Orange +and throwing open the shutters. Such a great living flood of sunshine +poured in upon me, that I confess to having danced and expressed my +satisfaction aloud; in the middle of which the boots came to the door +with hot water, to my great confusion. + +To-day has been one long delight, coming to a magnificent climax on my +arrival here. I gave up my baggage to an hotel porter and set off to +walk at once. I was somewhat confused as yet as to my directions, for +the station of course was new to me, and the hills had not sufficiently +opened out to let me recognise the peaks. Suddenly, as I was going +forward slowly in this confusion of mind, I was met by a great volley of +odours out of the lemon and orange gardens, and the past linked on to +the present, and in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the whole +scene fell before me into order, and I was at home. I nearly danced +again. + +I suppose I must send off this to-night to notify my arrival in safety +and good-humour and, I think, in good health, before relapsing into the +old weekly vein. I hope this time to send you a weekly dose of sunshine +from the south, instead of the jet of _snell_ Edinburgh east wind that +used to was.--Ever your faithful friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _Hôtel du Pavillon, Menton, November 13, 1873._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--The _Place_ is not where I thought; it is about where +the old Post Office was. The Hôtel de Londres is no more an hotel. I +have found a charming room in the Hôtel du Pavillon, just across the +road from the Prince's Villa; it has one window to the south and one to +the east, with a superb view of Mentone and the hills, to which I move +this afternoon. In the old great _Place_ there is a kiosque for the sale +of newspapers; a string of omnibuses (perhaps thirty) go up and down +under the plane-trees of the Turin Road on the occasion of each train; +the Promenade has crossed both streams, and bids fair to reach the Cap +Martin. The old chapel near Freeman's house at the entrance to the +Gorbio valley is now entirely submerged under a shining new villa, with +pavilion annexed; over which, in all the pride of oak and chestnut and +divers coloured marbles, I was shown this morning by the obliging +proprietor. The Prince's Palace itself is rehabilitated, and shines afar +with white window-curtains from the midst of a garden, all trim borders +and greenhouses and carefully kept walks. On the other side, the villas +are more thronged together, and they have arranged themselves, shelf +after shelf, behind each other. I see the glimmer of new buildings, too, +as far eastward as Grimaldi; and a viaduct carries (I suppose) the +railway past the mouth of the bone caves. F. Bacon (Lord Chancellor) +made the remark that "Time was the greatest innovator"; it is perhaps as +meaningless a remark as was ever made; but as Bacon made it, I suppose +it is better than any that I could make. Does it not seem as if things +were fluid? They are displaced and altered in ten years so that one has +difficulty, even with a memory so very vivid and retentive for that sort +of thing as mine, in identifying places where one lived a long while in +the past, and which one has kept piously in mind during all the +interval. Nevertheless, the hills, I am glad to say, are unaltered; +though I dare say the torrents have given them many a shrewd scar, and +the rains and thaws dislodged many a boulder from their heights, if one +were only keen enough to perceive it. The sea makes the same noise in +the shingle; and the lemon and orange gardens still discharge in the +still air their fresh perfume; and the people have still brown comely +faces; and the Pharmacie Gros still dispenses English medicines; and the +invalids (eheu!) still sit on the promenade and trifle with their +fingers in the fringes of shawls and wrappers; and the shop of Pascal +Amarante still, in its present bright consummate flower of +aggrandisement and new paint, offers everything that it has entered into +people's hearts to wish for in the idleness of a sanatorium; and the +"Château des Morts" is still at the top of the town; and the fort and +the jetty are still at the foot, only there are now two jetties; and--I +am out of breath. (To be continued in our next.) + +For myself, I have come famously through the journey; and as I have +written this letter (for the first time for ever so long) with ease and +even pleasure, I think my head must be better. I am still no good at +coming down hills or stairs; and my feet are more consistently cold than +is quite comfortable. But, these apart, I feel well; and in good spirits +all round. + +I have written to Nice for letters, and hope to get them to-night. +Continue to address Poste Restante. Take care of yourselves. + +This is my birthday, by the way--O, I said that before. Adieu.--Ever +your affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL, + + + _Menton, November 13, 1873._ + +I must pour out my disgust at the absence of a letter; my birthday +nearly gone, and devil a letter--I beg pardon. After all, now I think of +it, it is only a week since I left. + +I have here the nicest room in Mentone. Let me explain. Ah! there's the +bell for the _table d'hôte_. Now to see if there is anyone conversable +within these walls. + +In the interval my letters have come; none from you, but one from Bob, +which both pained and pleased me. He cannot get on without me at all, he +writes; he finds that I have been the whole world for him; that he only +talked to other people in order that he might tell me afterwards about +the conversation. Should I--I really don't know quite what to feel; I am +so much astonished, and almost more astonished that he should have +expressed it than that he should feel it; he never would have _said_ it, +I know. I feel a strange sense of weight and responsibility.--Ever your +faithful friend, R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + In the latter part of this letter will be found the germ of the essay + _Ordered South_. + + _Menton, Sunday [November 23, 1873]._ + +MY DEAR FRIEND,--I sat a long while up among the olive yards to-day at a +favourite corner, where one has a fair view down the valley and on to +the blue floor of the sea. I had a Horace with me, and read a little; +but Horace, when you try to read him fairly under the open heaven, +sounds urban, and you find something of the escaped townsman in his +descriptions of the country, just as somebody said that Morris's +sea-pieces were all taken from the coast. I tried for long to hit upon +some language that might catch ever so faintly the indefinable shifting +colour of olive leaves; and, above all, the changes and little +silverings that pass over them, like blushes over a face, when the wind +tosses great branches to and fro; but the Muse was not favourable. A few +birds scattered here and there at wide intervals on either side of the +valley sang the little broken songs of late autumn; and there was a +great stir of insect life in the grass at my feet. The path up to this +coign of vantage, where I think I shall make it a habit to ensconce +myself a while of a morning, is for a little while common to the peasant +and a little clear brooklet. It is pleasant, in the tempered grey +daylight of the olive shadows, to see the people picking their way among +the stones and the water and the brambles; the women especially, with +the weights poised on their heads and walking all from the hips with a +certain graceful deliberation. + +_Tuesday._--I have been to Nice to-day to see Dr. Bennet; he agrees with +Clark that there is no disease; but I finished up my day with a +lamentable exhibition of weakness. I could not remember French, or at +least I was afraid to go into any place lest I should not be able to +remember it, and so could not tell when the train went. At last I +crawled up to the station and sat down on the steps, and just steeped +myself there in the sunshine until the evening began to fall and the air +to grow chilly. This long rest put me all right; and I came home here +triumphantly and ate dinner well. There is the full, true, and +particular account of the worst day I have had since I left London. I +shall not go to Nice again for some time to come. + +_Thursday._--I am to-day quite recovered, and got into Mentone to-day +for a book, which is quite a creditable walk. As an intellectual being I +have not yet begun to re-exist; my immortal soul is still very nearly +extinct; but we must hope the best. Now, do take warning by me. I am +set up by a beneficent providence at the corner of the road, to warn you +to flee from the hebetude that is to follow. Being sent to the South is +not much good unless you take your soul with you, you see; and my soul +is rarely with me here. I don't see much beauty. I have lost the key; I +can only be placid and inert, and see the bright days go past uselessly +one after another; therefore don't talk foolishly with your mouth any +more about getting liberty by being ill and going south _viâ_ the +sickbed. It is not the old free-born bird that gets thus to freedom; but +I know not what manacled and hide-bound spirit, incapable of pleasure, +the clay of a man. Go south! Why, I saw more beauty with my eyes +healthfully alert to see in two wet windy February afternoons in +Scotland than I can see in my beautiful olive gardens and grey hills in +a whole week in my low and lost estate, as the Shorter Catechism puts it +somewhere. It is a pitiable blindness, this blindness of the soul; I +hope it may not be long with me. So remember to keep well; and remember +rather anything than not to keep well; and again I say, _anything_ +rather than not to keep well. + +Not that I am unhappy, mind you. I have found the words already--placid +and inert, that is what I am. I sit in the sun and enjoy the tingle all +over me, and I am cheerfully ready to concur with any one who says that +this is a beautiful place, and I have a sneaking partiality for the +newspapers, which would be all very well, if one had not fallen from +heaven and were not troubled with some reminiscence of the _ineffable +aurore_. + +To sit by the sea and to be conscious of nothing but the sound of the +waves, and the sunshine over all your body, is not unpleasant; but I was +an Archangel once. + +_Friday._--If you knew how old I felt! I am sure this is what age brings +with it--this carelessness, this disenchantment, this continual bodily +weariness. I am a man of seventy: O Medea, kill me, or make me young +again![9] + +To-day has been cloudy and mild; and I have lain a great while on a +bench outside the garden wall (my usual place now) and looked at the +dove-coloured sea and the broken roof of cloud, but there was no seeing +in my eye. Let us hope to-morrow will be more profitable. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The history of the scruples and ideas of duty in regard to money + expressed in the following letter is set forth and further explained + in retrospect in the fragment called _Lay Morals_, written in 1879. + The Walt Whitman essay here mentioned is not that afterwards printed + in _Men and Books_, but an earlier and more enthusiastic version. Mr. + Dowson (of whom Stevenson lost sight after these Riviera days) was + the father of the unfortunate poet Ernest Dowson. His acquaintance + was the first result of Stevenson's search for "anyone conversable" + in the hotel. + + _Menton, Sunday [November 30, 1873]._ + +MY DEAR FRIEND,--To-day is as hot as it has been in the sun; and as I +was a little tired and seedy, I went down and just drank in sunshine. A +strong wind has risen out of the west; the great big dead leaves from +the roadside planes scuttled about and chased one another over the +gravel round me with a noise like little waves under the keel of a boat, +and jumped up sometimes on to my lap and into my face. I lay down on my +back at last, and looked up into the sky. The white corner of the hotel, +with a wide projection at the top, stood out in dazzling relief; and +there was nothing else, save a few of the plane leaves that had got up +wonderfully high and turned and eddied and flew here and there like +little pieces of gold leaf, to break the extraordinary sea of blue. It +was bluer than anything in the world here; wonderfully blue, and +looking deeply peaceful, although in truth there was a high wind +blowing. + +I am concerned about the plane leaves. Hitherto it has always been a +great feature to see these trees standing up head and shoulders and +chest--head and body, in fact--above the wonderful blue-grey-greens of +the olives, in one glory of red gold. Much more of this wind, and the +gold, I fear, will be all spent. + +9.20.--I must write you another little word. I have found here a new +friend, to whom I grow daily more devoted--George Sand. I go on from one +novel to another and think the last I have read the most sympathetic and +friendly in tone, until I have read another. It is a life in dreamland. +Have you read _Mademoiselle Merquem_? + +_Monday._--I did not quite know last night what to say to you about +_Mlle. Merquem_. If you want to be unpleasantly moved, read it. + +I am gloomy and out of spirits to-night in consequence of a ridiculous +scene at the _table d'hôte_, where a parson whom I rather liked took +offence at something I said and we had almost a quarrel. It was mopped +up and stifled, like spilt wine with a napkin; but it leaves an +unpleasant impression. + +I have again ceased all work, because I felt that it strained my head a +little, and so I have resumed the tedious task of waiting with folded +hands for better days. But thanks to George Sand and the sunshine, I am +very jolly. + +That last word was so much out of key that I could sit no longer, and +went away to seek out my clergyman and apologise to him. He was gone to +bed. I don't know what makes me take this so much to heart. I suppose +it's nerves or pride or something; but I am unhappy about it. I am going +to drown my sorrows in _Consuelo_ and burn some incense in my pipe to +the god of Contentment and Forgetfulness. + +I do not know, but I hope, if I can only get better, I shall be a help +to you soon in every way and no more a trouble and burthen. All my +difficulties about life have so cleared away; the scales have fallen +from my eyes, and the broad road of my duty lies out straight before me +without cross or hindrance. I have given up all hope, all fancy rather, +of making literature my hold: I see that I have not capacity enough. My +life shall be, if I can make it, my only business. I am desirous to +practise now, rather than to preach, for I know that I should ever +preach badly, and men can more easily forgive faulty practice than dull +sermons. If Colvin does not think that I shall be able to support myself +soon by literature, I shall give it up and go (horrible as the thought +is to me) into an office of some sort: the first and main question is, +that I must live by my own hands; after that come the others. + +You will not regard me as a madman, I am sure. It is a very rational +aberration at least to try to put your beliefs into practice. Strangely +enough, it has taken me a long time to see this distinctly with regard +to my whole creed; but I have seen it at last, praised be my sickness +and my leisure! I have seen it at last; the sun of my duty has risen; I +have enlisted for the first time, and after long coquetting with the +shilling, under the banner of the Holy Ghost![10] + +8.15.--If you had seen the moon last night! It was like transfigured +sunshine; as clear and mellow, only showing everything in a new +wonderful significance. The shadows of the leaves on the road were so +strangely black that Dowson and I had difficulty in believing that they +were not solid, or at least pools of dark mire. And the hills and the +trees, and the white Italian houses with lit windows! O! nothing could +bring home to you the keenness and the reality and the wonderful +_Unheimlichkeit_ of all these. When the moon rises every night over the +Italian coast, it makes a long path over the sea as yellow as gold. + +How I happened to be out in the moonlight yesterday, was that Dowson and +I spent the evening with an odd man called Bates, who played Italian +music to us with great feeling; all which was quite a dissipation in my +still existence. + +_Friday._--I cannot endure to be dependent much longer, it stops my +mouth. Something I must find shortly. I mean when I am able for +anything. However I am much better already; and have been writing not +altogether my worst although not very well. Walt Whitman is stopped. I +have bemired it so atrociously by working at it when I was out of humour +that I must let the colour dry; and alas! what I have been doing in its +place doesn't seem to promise any money. However it is all practice and +it interests myself extremely. I have now received £80, some £55 of +which still remain; all this is more debt to civilisation and my +fellowmen. When shall I be able to pay it back? You do not know how much +this money question begins to take more and more importance in my eyes +every day. It is an old phrase of mine that money is the _atmosphere_ of +civilised life, and I do hate to take the breath out of other people's +nostrils. I live here at the rate of more than £3 a week and I do +nothing for it. If I didn't hope to get well and do good work yet and +more than repay my debts to the world, I should consider it right to +invest an extra franc or two in laudanum. But I _will_ repay it.--Always +your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + [_Menton, December, 1873._] + +MY DEAR BAXTER,--At last, I must write. I must say straight out that I +am not recovering as I could wish. I am no stronger than I was when I +came here, and I pay for every walk, beyond say a quarter of a mile in +length, by one or two, or even three, days of more or less prostration. +Therefore let nobody be down upon me for not writing. I was very +thankful to you for answering my letter; and for the princely action of +Simpson in writing to me, I mean before I had written to him, I was +ditto to an almost higher degree. I hope one or another of you will +write again soon; and, remember, I still live in hope of reading Grahame +Murray's address. + +I have not made a joke, upon my living soul, since I left London. O! +except one, a very small one, that I had made before, and that I very +timidly repeated in a half-exhilarated state towards the close of +dinner, like one of those dead-alive flies that we see pretending to be +quite light and full of the frivolity of youth in the first sunshiny +days. It was about mothers' meetings, and it was damned small, and it +was my ewe lamb--the Lord knows I couldn't have made another to save my +life--and a clergyman quarrelled with me, and there was as nearly an +explosion as could be. This has not fostered my leaning towards +pleasantry. I felt that it was a very cold, hard world that night. + +My dear Charles, is the sky blue at Mentone? Was that your question? +Well, it depends upon what you call blue; it's a question of taste, I +suppose. Is the sky blue? You poor critter, you never saw blue sky worth +being called blue in the same day with it. And I should rather fancy +that the sun did shine I should. And the moon doesn't shine either. O +no! (This last is sarcastic.) Mentone is one of the most beautiful +places in the world, and has always had a very warm corner in my heart +since first I knew it eleven years ago. + +_11th December._--I live in the same hotel with Lord X. He has black +whiskers, and has been successful in raising some kids; rather a +melancholy success; they are weedy looking kids in Highland clo'. They +have a tutor with them who respires Piety and that kind of humble +your-lordship's-most-obedient sort of gentlemanliness that noblemen's +tutors have generally. They all get livings, these men, and silvery hair +and a gold watch from their attached pupil; and they sit in the porch +and make the watch repeat for their little grandchildren, and tell them +long stories, beginning, "When I was private tutor in the family of," +etc., and the grandchildren cock snooks at them behind their backs and +go away whenever they can to get the groom to teach them bad words. + +Sidney Colvin will arrive here on Saturday or Sunday; so I shall have +someone to jaw with. And, seriously, this is a great want. I have not +been all these weeks in idleness, as you may fancy, without much +thinking as to my future; and I have a great deal in view that may or +may not be possible (that I do not yet know), but that is at least an +object and a hope before me. I cannot help recurring to seriousness a +moment before I stop; for I must say that living here a good deal alone, +and having had ample time to look back upon my past, I have become very +serious all over. If I can only get back my health, by God! I shall not +be as useless as I have been.--Ever yours, _mon vieux_, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Menton, December, 1873], Sunday._ + +The first violet. There is more sweet trouble for the heart in the +breath of this small flower than in all the wines of all the vineyards +of Europe. I cannot contain myself. I do not think so small a thing has +ever given me such a princely festival of pleasure. I feel as if my +heart were a little bunch of violets in my bosom; and my brain is +pleasantly intoxicated with the wonderful odour. I suppose I am writing +nonsense, but it does not seem nonsense to me. Is it not a wonderful +odour? is it not something incredibly subtle and perishable? It is like +a wind blowing to one out of fairyland. No one need tell me that the +phrase is exaggerated if I say that this violet _sings_; it sings with +the same voice as the March blackbird; and the same adorable tremor goes +through one's soul at the hearing of it. + +_Monday._--All yesterday I was under the influence of opium. I had been +rather seedy during the night and took a dose in the morning, and for +the first time in my life it took effect upon me. I had a day of +extraordinary happiness; and when I went to bed there was something +almost terrifying in the pleasures that besieged me in the darkness. +Wonderful tremors filled me; my head swam in the most delirious but +enjoyable manner; and the bed softly oscillated with me, like a boat in +a very gentle ripple. It does not make me write a good style apparently, +which is just as well, lest I should be tempted to renew the experiment; +and some verses which I wrote turn out on inspection to be not quite +equal to _Kubla Khan_. However, I was happy, and the recollection is not +troubled by any reaction this morning. + +_Wednesday._--Do you know, I think I am much better. I really enjoy +things, and I really feel dull occasionally, neither of which was +possible with me before; and though I am still tired and weak, I almost +think I feel a stirring among the dry bones. O, I should like to +recover, and be once more well and happy and fit for work! And then to +be able to begin really to my life; to have done, for the rest of time, +with preluding and doubting; and to take hold of the pillars strongly +with Samson--to burn my ships with (whoever did it). O, I begin to feel +my spirits come back to me again at the thought! + +_Thursday._--I sat along the beach this morning under some reeds (or +canes--I know not which they are): everything was so tropical; nothing +visible but the glaring white shingle, the blue sea, the blue sky, and +the green plumes of the canes thrown out against the latter some ten or +fifteen feet above my head. The noise of the surf alone broke the quiet. +I had somehow got _Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh_ into my head; and I was +happy for I do not know how long, sitting there and repeating to myself +these lines. It is wonderful how things somehow fall into a full +satisfying harmony, and out of the fewest elements there is established +a sort of small perfection. It was so this morning. I did not want +anything further. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + In the third week of December I went out to join my friend for a part + of the Christmas vacation, and found him without tangible disease, + but very weak and ailing: ill-health and anxiety, however, neither + then nor at any time diminished his charm as a companion. He left + Mentone to meet me at the old town of Monaco, where we spent a few + days and from whence these stray notes of nature and human nature + were written. + + _Monaco, Tuesday [December 1873]._ + +We have been out all day in a boat; lovely weather and almost dead calm, +only the most infinitesimal and indeterminate of oscillations moved us +hither and thither; the sails were duly set, and flapped about idly +overhead. Our boatman was a man of a delightful humour, who told us many +tales of the sea, notably one of a doctor, who was an Englishman, and +who seemed almost an epitome of vices--drunken, dishonest, and utterly +without faith; and yet he was a _charmant garçon_. He told us many +amusing circumstances of the doctor's incompetence and dishonesty, and +imitated his accent with a singular success. I couldn't quite see that +he was a charming _garçon_--"_O, oui_--_comme caractère, un charmant +garçon_." We landed on that Cap Martin, the place of firs and rocks and +myrtle and rosemary of which I spoke to you. As we pulled along in the +fresh shadow, the wonderfully clean scents blew out upon us, as if from +islands of spice--only how much better than cloves and cinnamon! + +_Friday._--Colvin and I are sitting on a seat on the battlemented +gardens of Old Monaco. The day is grey and clouded, with a little red +light on the horizon, and the sea, hundreds of feet below us, is a sort +of purple dove-colour. Shrub-geraniums, firs, and aloes cover all +available shelves and terraces, and where these become impossible, the +prickly pear precipitates headlong downwards its bunches of oval plates; +so that the whole face of the cliff is covered with an arrested fall +(please excuse clumsy language), a sort of fall of the evil angels +petrified midway on its career. White gulls sail past below us every now +and then, sometimes singly, sometimes by twos and threes, and sometimes +in a great flight. The sharp perfume of the shrub-geraniums fills the +air. + +I cannot write, in any sense of the word; but I am as happy as can be, +and wish to notify the fact, before it passes. The sea is blue, grey, +purple and green; very subdued and peaceful; earlier in the day it was +marbled by small keen specks of sun and larger spaces of faint +irradiation; but the clouds have closed together now, and these +appearances are no more. Voices of children and occasional crying of +gulls; the mechanical noise of a gardener somewhere behind us in the +scented thicket; and the faint report and rustle of the waves on the +precipice far below, only break in upon the quietness to render it more +complete and perfect. + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + After spending a few days in one of the more retired hotels of Monte + Carlo, we went on to Mentone and settled at the Hotel Mirabeau, long + since, I believe, defunct, near the eastern extremity of the town. + The little American girl mentioned in the last paragraph is the same + we shall meet later under her full name of Marie Johnstone. + + _[Hotel Mirabeau, Menton], January 2nd, 1874._ + +Here I am over in the east bay of Mentone, where I am not altogether +sorry to find myself. I move so little that I soon exhaust the +immediate neighbourhood of my dwelling places. Our reason for coming +here was however very simple. Hobson's choice. Mentone during my absence +has filled marvellously. + +Continue to address P. R.[11] Menton; and try to conceive it as possible +that I am not a drivelling idiot. When I wish an address changed, it is +quite on the cards that I shall be able to find language explicit enough +to express the desire. My whole desire is to avoid complication of +addresses. It is quite fatal. If two P. R.'s have contradictory orders +they will continue to play battledoor and shuttlecock with an unhappy +epistle, which will never get farther afield but perish there miserably. + +You act too much on the principle that whatever I do is done unwisely; +and that whatever I do not, has been culpably forgotten. This is +wounding to my nat'ral vanity. + +I have not written for three days I think; but what days! They were very +cold; and I must say I was able thoroughly to appreciate the blessings +of Mentone. Old Smoko this winter would evidently have been very summary +with me. I could not stand the cold at all. I exhausted all my own and +all Colvin's clothing; I then retired to the house, and then to bed; in +a condition of sorrow for myself unequalled. The sun is forth again +(laus Deo) and the wind is milder, and I am greatly re-established. A +certain asperity of temper still lingers, however, which Colvin supports +with much mildness. + +In this hotel, I have a room on the first floor! Luxury, however, is not +altogether regardless of expense. We only pay 13 francs per day--3-1/2 +more than at the Pavillon on the third floor.--And beggars must not be +choosers. We were very nearly houseless, the night we came. And it is +rarely that such winds of adversity blow men into king's Palaces. + +Looking over what has gone before, it seems to me that it is not +strictly polite. I beg to withdraw all that is offensive. + +At _table d'hôte_, we have some people who amuse us much; two Americans, +who would try to pass for French people, and their daughter, the most +charming of little girls. Both Colvin and I have planned an abduction +already. The whole hotel is devoted to her; and the waiters continually +do smuggle out comfits and fruit and pudding to her. + +All well.--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + The M'Laren herein mentioned was of course the distinguished Scotch + politician and social reformer, Duncan M'Laren, for sixteen years + M.P. for Edinburgh. + + _[Menton], Sunday, January 4, 1874._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--We have here fallen on the very pink of hotels. I do +not say that it is more pleasantly conducted than the Pavillon, for that +were impossible; but the rooms are so cheery and bright and new, and +then the food! I never, I think, so fully appreciated the phrase "the +fat of the land" as I have done since I have been here installed. There +was a dish of eggs at _déjeûner_ the other day, over the memory of which +I lick my lips in the silent watches. + +Now that the cold has gone again, I continue to keep well in body, and +already I begin to walk a little more. My head is still a very feeble +implement, and easily set a-spinning; and I can do nothing in the way of +work beyond reading books that may, I hope, be of some use to me +afterwards. + +I was very glad to see that M'Laren was sat upon, and principally for +the reason why. Deploring as I do much of the action of the Trades +Unions, these conspiracy clauses and the whole partiality of the Master +and Servant Act are a disgrace to our equal laws. Equal laws become a +byeword when what is legal for one class becomes a criminal offence for +another. It did my heart good to hear that man tell M'Laren how, as he +had talked much of getting the franchise for working men, he must now be +content to see them use it now they had got it. This is a smooth stone +well planted in the foreheads of certain dilettanti radicals, after +M'Laren's fashion, who are willing to give the working men words and +wind, and votes and the like, and yet think to keep all the advantages, +just or unjust, of the wealthier classes without abatement. I do hope +wise men will not attempt to fight the working men on the head of this +notorious injustice. Any such step will only precipitate the action of +the newly enfranchised classes, and irritate them into acting hastily; +when what we ought to desire should be that they should act warily and +little for many years to come, until education and habit may make them +the more fit. + +All this (intended for my father) is much after the fashion of his own +correspondence. I confess it has left my own head exhausted; I hope it +may not produce the same effect on yours. But I want him to look really +into this question (both sides of it, and not the representations of +rabid middle-class newspapers, sworn to support all the little tyrannies +of wealth), and I know he will be convinced that this is a case of +unjust law; and that, however desirable the end may seem to him, he will +not be Jesuit enough to think that any end will justify an unjust law. + +Here ends the political sermon of your affectionate (and somewhat +dogmatical) son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + In the first week of January I went for some necessary work to Paris, + with the intention of returning towards the end of the month. The + following letter introduces the Russian sisters, Madame Zassetsky + and Madame Garschine, whose society and that of their children was to + do so much to cheer Stevenson during his remaining months on the + Riviera. The French painter Robinet (sometimes in his day known as + _le Raphael des cailloux_, from the minuteness of detail which he put + into his Provençal coast landscapes) was a chivalrous and + affectionate soul, in whom R. L. S. delighted in spite of his fervent + clerical and royalist opinions. + + _[Menton], January 7, 1874._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--I received yesterday two most charming letters--the +nicest I have had since I left--December 26th and January 1st: this +morning I got January 3rd. + +Into the bargain with Marie, the American girl, who is grace itself, and +comes leaping and dancing simply like a wave--like nothing else, and who +yesterday was Queen out of the Epiphany cake and chose Robinet (the +French painter) as her _favori_ with the most pretty confusion +possible--into the bargain with Marie, we have two little Russian girls, +with the youngest of whom, a little polyglot button of a three-year old, +I had the most laughable little scene at lunch to-day. I was watching +her being fed with great amusement, her face being as broad as it is +long, and her mouth capable of unlimited extension; when suddenly, her +eye catching mine, the fashion of her countenance was changed, and +regarding me with a really admirable appearance of offended dignity, she +said something in Italian which made everybody laugh much. It was +explained to me that she had said I was very _polisson_ to stare at her. +After this she was somewhat taken up with me, and after some examination +she announced emphatically to the whole table, in German, that I was a +_Mädchen_; which word she repeated with shrill emphasis, as though +fearing that her proposition would be called in question--_Mädchen, +Mädchen, Mädchen, Mädchen_. This hasty conclusion as to my sex she was +led afterwards to revise, I am informed; but her new opinion (which +seems to have been something nearer the truth) was announced in a third +language quite unknown to me, and probably Russian. To complete the +scroll of her accomplishments, she was brought round the table after the +meal was over, and said good-bye to me in very commendable English. + +The weather I shall say nothing about, as I am incapable of explaining +my sentiments upon that subject before a lady. But my health is really +greatly improved: I begin to recognise myself occasionally now and +again, not without satisfaction. + +Please remember me very kindly to Professor Swan; I wish I had a story +to send him; but story, Lord bless you, I have none to tell, sir, unless +it is the foregoing adventure with the little polyglot. The best of that +depends on the significance of _polisson_, which is beautifully out of +place. + +_Saturday, 10th January._--The little Russian kid is only two and a +half: she speaks six languages. She and her sister (æt. 8) and May +Johnstone (æt. 8) are the delight of my life. Last night I saw them all +dancing--O it was jolly; kids are what is the matter with me. After the +dancing, we all--that is the two Russian ladies, Robinet the French +painter, Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone, two governesses, and fitful kids +joining us at intervals--played a game of the stool of repentance in the +Gallic idiom. + +O--I have not told you that Colvin is gone; however, he is coming back +again; has left clothes in pawn to me.--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _[Menton], Sunday, 11th January 1874._ + +In many ways this hotel is more amusing than the Pavillon. There are the +children, to begin with; and then there are games every evening--the +stool of repentance, question and answer, etc.; and then we speak +French, although that is not exactly an advantage in so far as personal +brilliancy is concerned. + +I am in lovely health again to-day: I-walked as far as the Pont St. +Louis very nearly, besides walking and knocking about among the olives +in the afternoon. I do not make much progress with my French; but I do +make a little, I think. I was pleased with my success this evening, +though I do not know if others shared the satisfaction. + +The two Russian ladies are from Georgia all the way. They do not at all +answer to the description of Georgian slaves however, being graceful and +refined, and only good-looking after you know them a bit. + +Please remember me very kindly to the Jenkins, and thank them for having +asked about me. Tell Mrs. J. that I am engaged perfecting myself in the +"Gallic idiom," in order to be a worthier Vatel for the future. Monsieur +Folleté, our host, is a Vatel by the way. He cooks himself, and is not +insensible to flattery on the score of his table. I began, of course, to +complain of the wine (part of the routine of life at Mentone); I told +him that where one found a kitchen so exquisite, one astonished oneself +that the wine was not up to the same form. "Et voilà précisément mon +côté faible, monsieur," he replied, with an indescribable amplitude of +gesture. "Que voulez-vous? Moi, je suis cuisinier!" It was as though +Shakespeare, called to account for some such peccadillo as the Bohemian +seaport, should answer magnificently that he was a poet. So Folleté +lives in a golden zone of a certain sort--a golden, or rather torrid +zone, whence he issues twice daily purple as to his face--and all these +clouds and vapours and ephemeral winds pass far below him and disturb +him not. + +He has another hobby however--his garden, round which it is his highest +pleasure to lead the unwilling guest. Whenever he is not in the kitchen, +he is hanging round loose, seeking whom he may show his garden to. Much +of my time is passed in studiously avoiding him, and I have brought the +art to a very extreme pitch of perfection. The fox, often hunted, +becomes wary.--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + + TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Menton], Tuesday, 13th January 1874._ + +... I lost a Philipine to little Mary Johnstone last night; so to-day I +sent her a rubbishing doll's toilet, and a little note with it, with +some verses telling how happy children made every one near them happy +also, and advising her to keep the lines, and some day, when she was +"grown a stately demoiselle," it would make her "glad to know she gave +pleasure long ago," all in a very lame fashion, with just a note of +prose at the end, telling her to mind her doll and the dog, and not +trouble her little head just now to understand the bad verses; for some +time when she was ill, as I am now, they would be plain to her and make +her happy. She has just been here to thank me, and has left me very +happy. Children are certainly too good to be true. + +Yesterday I walked too far, and spent all the afternoon on the outside +of my bed; went finally to rest at nine, and slept nearly twelve hours +on the stretch. Bennet (the doctor), when told of it this morning, +augured well for my recovery; he said youth must be putting in strong; +of course I ought not to have slept at all. As it was, I dreamed +_horridly_; but not my usual dreams of social miseries and +misunderstandings and all sorts of crucifixions of the spirit; but of +good, cheery, physical things--of long successions of vaulted, dimly lit +cellars full of black water, in which I went swimming among toads and +unutterable, cold, blind fishes. Now and then these cellars opened up +into sort of domed music-hall places, where one could land for a little +on the slope of the orchestra, but a sort of horror prevented one from +staying long, and made one plunge back again into the dead waters. Then +my dream changed, and I was a sort of Siamese pirate, on a very high +deck with several others. The ship was almost captured, and we were +fighting desperately. The hideous engines we used and the perfectly +incredible carnage that we effected by means of them kept me cheery, as +you may imagine; especially as I felt all the time my sympathy with the +boarders, and knew that I was only a prisoner with these horrid Malays. +Then I saw a signal being given, and knew they were going to blow up the +ship. I leaped right off, and heard my captors splash in the water after +me as thick as pebbles when a bit of river bank has given way beneath +the foot. I never heard the ship blow up; but I spent the rest of the +night swimming about some piles with the whole sea full of Malays, +searching for me with knives in their mouths. They could swim any +distance under water, and every now and again, just as I was beginning +to reckon myself safe, a cold hand would be laid on my ankle--ugh! + +However, my long sleep, troubled as it was, put me all right again, and +I was able to work acceptably this morning and be very jolly all day. +This evening I have had a great deal of talk with both the Russian +ladies; they talked very nicely, and are bright, likable women both. +They come from Georgia. + +_Wednesday, 10.30._--We have all been to tea to-night at the Russians' +villa. Tea was made out of a samovar, which is something like a small +steam engine, and whose principal advantage is that it burns the fingers +of all who lay their profane touch upon it. After tea Madame Z. played +Russian airs, very plaintive and pretty; so the evening was Muscovite +from beginning to end. Madame G.'s daughter danced a tarantella, which +was very pretty. + +Whenever Nelitchka cries--and she never cries except from pain--all that +one has to do is to start "Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre." She cannot +resist the attraction; she is drawn through her sobs into the air; and +in a moment there is Nellie singing, with the glad look that comes into +her face always when she sings, and all the tears and pain forgotten. + +It is wonderful, before I shut this up, how that child remains ever +interesting to me. Nothing can stale her infinite variety; and yet it is +not very various. You see her thinking what she is to do or to say next, +with a funny grave air of reserve, and then the face breaks up into a +smile, and it is probably "Berecchino!" said with that sudden little +jump of the voice that one knows in children, as the escape of a +jack-in-the-box, and, somehow, I am quite happy after that! + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Menton, January 1874], Wednesday._ + +MY DEAR FRIEND,--It is still so cold, I cannot tell you how miserable +the weather is. I have begun my "Walt Whitman" again seriously. Many +winds have blown since I last laid it down, when sickness took me in +Edinburgh. It seems almost like an ill-considered jest to take up these +old sentences, written by so different a person under circumstances so +different, and try to string them together and organise them into +something anyway whole and comely; it is like continuing another man's +book. Almost every word is a little out of tune to me now but I shall +pull it through for all that and make something that will interest you +yet on this subject that I had proposed to myself and partly planned +already, before I left for Cockfield last July. + +I am very anxious to hear how you are. My own health is quite very good; +I am a healthy octogenarian; very old, I thank you and of course not so +active as a young man, but hale withal: a lusty December. This is so; +such is R. L. S. + +I am a little bothered about Bob, a little afraid that he is living too +poorly. The fellow he chums with spends only two francs a day on food, +with a little excess every day or two to keep body and soul together, +and though Bob is not so austere I am afraid he draws it rather too fine +himself. + +_Friday._--We have all got our photographs; it is pretty fair, they say, +of me and as they are particular in the matter of photographs, and +besides partial judges I suppose I may take that for proven. Of Nellie +there is one quite adorable. The weather is still cold. My "Walt +Whitman" at last looks really well: I think it is going to get into +shape in spite of the long gestation. + +_Sunday._--Still cold and grey, and a high imperious wind off the sea. I +see nothing particularly _couleur de rose_ this morning: but I am trying +to be faithful to my creed and hope. O yes, one can do something to make +things happier and better; and to give a good example before men and +show them how goodness and fortitude and faith remain undiminished after +they have been stripped bare of all that is formal and outside. We must +do that; you have done it already; and I shall follow and shall make a +worthy life, and you must live to approve of me. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The following are two different impressions of the Mediterranean, + dated on two different Mondays in January:-- + +Yes, I am much better; very much better I think I may say. Although it +is funny how I have ceased to be able to write with the improvement of +my health. Do you notice how for some time back you have had no +descriptions of anything? The reason is that I can't describe anything. +No words come to me when I see a thing. I want awfully to tell you +to-day about a little "_piece_" of green sea, and gulls, and clouded sky +with the usual golden mountain-breaks to the southward. It was +wonderful, the sea near at hand was living emerald; the white breasts +and wings of the gulls as they circled above--high above even--were dyed +bright green by the reflection. And if you could only have seen or if +any right word would only come to my pen to tell you how wonderfully +these illuminated birds floated hither and thither under the grey +purples of the sky! + + * * * * * + +To-day has been windy but not cold. The sea was troubled and had a fine +fresh saline smell like our own seas, and the sight of the breaking +waves, and above all the spray that drove now and again in my face, +carried me back to storms that I have enjoyed, O how much! in other +places. Still (as Madame Zassetsky justly remarked) there is something +irritating in a stormy sea whose waves come always to the same spot and +never farther: it looks like playing at passion: it reminds one of the +loathsome sham waves in a stage ocean. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Menton, January 1874._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I write to let you know that my cousin may possibly +come to Paris before you leave; he will likely look you up to hear about +me, etc. I want to tell you about him before you see him, as I am tired +of people misjudging him. You know _me_ now. Well, Bob is just such +another mutton, only somewhat farther wandered. He has all the same +elements of character that I have: no two people were ever more alike, +only that the world has gone more unfortunately for him although more +evenly. Besides which, he is really a gentleman, and an admirable true +friend, which is not a common article. I write this as a letter of +introduction in case he should catch you ere you leave. + +_Monday._--No letters to-day. _Sacré chien, Dieu de Dieu_--and I have +written with exemplary industry. But I am hoping that no news is good +news and shall continue so to hope until all is blue.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + It had been a very cold Christmas at Monaco and Monte Carlo, and + Stevenson had no adequate overcoat, so it was agreed that when I went + to Paris I should try and find him a warm cloak or wrap. I amused + myself looking for one suited to his taste for the picturesque and + piratical in apparel, and found one in the style of 1830-40, dark + blue and flowing, and fastening with a snake buckle. + + _[Menton, January 1874], Friday._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Thank you very much for your note. This morning I am +stupid again; can do nothing at all; am no good "comme plumitif." I +think it must be the cold outside. At least that would explain my addled +head and intense laziness. + +O why did you tell me about that cloak? Why didn't you buy it? Isn't it +in _Julius Cæsar_ that Pompey blames--no not Pompey but a friend of +Pompey's--well, Pompey's friend, I mean the friend of Pompey--blames +somebody else who was his friend--that is who was the friend of Pompey's +friend--because he (the friend of Pompey's friend) had not done +something right off, but had come and asked him (Pompey's friend) +whether he (the friend of Pompey's friend) ought to do it or no? There I +fold my hands with some complacency: that's a piece of very good +narration. I am getting into good form. These classical instances are +always distracting. I was talking of the cloak. It's awfully dear. Are +there no cheap and nasty imitations? Think of that--if, however, it were +the opinion (ahem) of competent persons that the great cost of the +mantle in question was no more than proportionate to its durability; if +it were to be a joy for ever; if it would cover my declining years and +survive me in anything like integrity for the comfort of my executors; +if--I have the word--if the price indicates (as it seems) the quality of +_perdurability_ in the fabric; if, in fact, it would not be extravagant, +but only the leariest economy to lay out £5 .. 15 .. in a single mantle +without seam and without price, and if--and if--it really fastens with +an agrafe--I would BUY it. But not unless. If not a cheap imitation +would be the move.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + The following is in answer to a set of numbered questions, of which + the first three are of no general interest. + + _[Menton], Monday, January 19th, 1874._ + +ANSWERS to a series of questions. + + * * * * * + +4. Nelitchka, or Nelitska, as you know already by this time, is my +adorable kid's name. Her laugh does more good to one's health than a +month at the seaside: as she said to-day herself, when asked whether she +was a boy or a girl, after having denied both with gravity, she is an +angel. + +5. O no, her brain is not in a chaos; it is only the brains of those who +hear her. It is all plain sailing for her. She wishes to refuse or deny +anything, and there is the English "No fank you" ready to her hand; she +wishes to admire anything, and there is the German "schön"; she wishes +to sew (which she does with admirable seriousness and clumsiness), and +there is the French "coudre"; she wishes to say she is ill, and there is +the Russian "bulla"; she wishes to be down on any one, and there is the +Italian "Berecchino"; she wishes to play at a railway train, and there +is her own original word "Collie" (say the o with a sort of Gaelic +twirl). And all these words are equally good. + +7. I am called M. Stevenson by everybody except Nelitchka, who calls me +M. Berecchino. + +8. The weather to-day is no end: as bright and as warm as ever. I have +been out on the beach all afternoon with the Russians. Madame Garschine +has been reading Russian to me; and I cannot tell prose from verse in +that delectable tongue, which is a pity. Johnson came out to tell us +that Corsica was visible, and there it was over a white, sweltering sea, +just a little darker than the pallid blue of the sky, and when one +looked at it closely, breaking up into sun-brightened peaks. + +I may mention that Robinet has never heard an Englishman with so little +accent as I have--ahem--ahem--eh?--What do you say to that? I don't +suppose I have said five sentences in English to-day; all French; all +bad French, alas! + +I am thought to be looking better. Madame Zassetsky said I was all green +when I came here first, but that I am all right in colour now, and she +thinks fatter. I am very partial to the Russians; I believe they are +rather partial to me. I am supposed to be an _esprit observateur! À mon +age, c'est étonnant comme je suis observateur!_ + +The second volume of _Clément Marot_ has come. Where and O where is the +first?--Ever your affectionate + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _The Bottle_ here mentioned is a story that had been some time in + hand called _The Curate of Anstruther's Bottle_; afterwards abandoned + like so many early attempts of the same kind. + + [_Menton, January 1874._] + +MY DEAR S. C.,--I suppose this will be my last note then. I think you +will find everything very jolly here, I am very jolly myself. I worked +six hours to-day. I am occupied in transcribing _The Bottle_, which is +pleasant work to me; I find much in it that I still think excellent and +much that I am doubtful about; my convention is so terribly difficult +that I have to put out much that pleases me, and much that I still +preserve I only preserve with misgiving. I wonder if my convention is +not a little too hard and too much in the style of those decadent +curiosities, poems without the letter E, poems going with the alphabet +and the like. And yet the idea, if rightly understood and treated as a +convention always and not as an abstract principle, should not so much +hamper one as it seems to do. The idea is not, of course, to put in +nothing but what would naturally have been noted and remembered and +handed down, but not to put in anything that would make a person stop +and say--how could this be known? Without doubt it has the advantage of +making one rely on the essential interest of a situation and not cocker +up and validify feeble intrigue with incidental fine writing and +scenery, and pyrotechnic exhibitions of inappropriate cleverness and +sensibility. I remember Bob once saying to me that the quadrangle of +Edinburgh University was a good thing and our having a talk as to how it +could be employed in different arts. I then stated that the different +doors and staircases ought to be brought before a reader of a story not +by mere recapitulation but by the use of them, by the descent of +different people one after another by each of them. And that the grand +feature of shadow and the light of the one lamp in the corner should +also be introduced only as they enabled people in the story to see one +another or prevented them. And finally that whatever could not thus be +worked into the evolution of the action had no right to be commemorated +at all. After all, it is a story you are telling; not a place you are to +describe; and everything that does not attach itself to the story is out +of place. + +This is a lecture not a letter, and it seems rather like sending coals +to Newcastle to write a lecture to a subsidised professor. I hope you +have seen Bob by this time. I know he is anxious to meet you and I am in +great anxiety to know what you think of his prospects--frankly, of +course: as for his person, I don't care a damn what you think of it: I +am case-hardened in that matter. + +I wrote a French note to Madame Zassetsky the other day, and there were +no errors in it. The complete Gaul, as you may see.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + [_Menton, January, 1874._] + +... Last night I had a quarrel with the American on politics. It is odd +how it irritates you to hear certain political statements made. He was +excited, and he began suddenly to abuse our conduct to America. I, of +course, admitted right and left that we had behaved disgracefully (as we +had); until somehow I got tired of turning alternate cheeks and getting +duly buffeted; and when he said that the Alabama money had not wiped out +the injury, I suggested, in language (I remember) of admirable +directness and force, that it was a pity they had taken the money in +that case. He lost his temper at once, and cried out that his dearest +wish was a war with England; whereupon I also lost my temper, and, +thundering at the pitch of my voice, I left him and went away by myself +to another part of the garden. A very tender reconciliation took place, +and I think there will come no more harm out of it. We are both of us +nervous people, and he had had a very long walk and a good deal of beer +at dinner: that explains the scene a little. But I regret having +employed so much of the voice with which I have been endowed, as I fear +every person in the hotel was taken into confidence as to my +sentiments, just at the very juncture when neither the sentiments nor +(perhaps) the language had been sufficiently considered. + +_Friday._--You have not yet heard of my book?--_Four Great +Scotsmen_--John Knox, David Hume, Robert Burns, Walter Scott. These, +their lives, their work, the social media in which they lived and +worked, with, if I can so make it, the strong current of the race making +itself felt underneath and throughout--this is my idea. You must tell me +what you think of it. The Knox will really be new matter, as his life +hitherto has been disgracefully written, and the events are romantic and +rapid; the character very strong, salient, and worthy; much interest as +to the future of Scotland, and as to that part of him which was truly +modern under his Hebrew disguise. Hume, of course, the urbane, cheerful, +gentlemanly, letter-writing eighteenth century, full of attraction, and +much that I don't yet know as to his work. Burns, the sentimental side +that there is in most Scotsmen, his poor troubled existence, how far his +poems were his personally, and how far national, the question of the +framework of society in Scotland, and its fatal effect upon the finest +natures. Scott again, the ever delightful man, sane, courageous, +admirable; the birth of Romance, in a dawn that was a sunset; snobbery, +conservatism, the wrong thread in History, and notably in that of his +own land. _Voilà, madame, le menu. Comment le trouvez-vous? Il y a de la +bonne viande, si on parvient à la cuire convenablement._ + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _[Menton], Monday, January 26th, 1874._ + +MY DEAR FATHER,--Heh! Heh! business letter finished. Receipt +acknowledged without much ado, and I think with a certain commercial +decision and brevity. The signature is good but not original. + +I should rather think I _had_ lost my heart to the wee princess. Her +mother demanded the other day "_À quand les noces?_" which Mrs. +Stevenson will translate for you in case you don't see it yourself. + +I had a political quarrel last night with the American; it was a real +quarrel for about two minutes; we relieved our feelings and separated; +but a mutual feeling of shame led us to a most moving reconciliation, in +which the American vowed he would shed his best blood for England. In +looking back upon the interview, I feel that I have learned something; I +scarcely appreciated how badly England had behaved, and how well she +deserves the hatred the Americans bear her. It would have made you laugh +if you could have been present and seen your unpatriotic son thundering +anathemas in the moonlight against all those that were not the friend of +England. Johnson being nearly as nervous as I, we were both very ill +after it, which added a further pathos to the reconciliation. + +There is no good in sending this off to-day, as I have sent another +letter this morning already. + +O, a remark of the Princess's amused me the other day. Somebody wanted +to give Nelitchka garlic as a medicine. "_Quoi? Une petite amour comme +ça, qu'on ne pourrait pas baiser? Il n'y a pas de sens en cela!_" + +I am reading a lot of French histories just now, and the spelling keeps +one in a good humour all day long--I mean the spelling of English +names.--Your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _[Menton, January 29, 1874], Thursday._ + +_Marot_ vol. 1 arrived. The post has been at its old games. A letter of +the 31st and one of the 2nd arrive at the same moment. + +I have had a great pleasure. Mrs. Andrews had a book of Scotch airs, +which I brought over here, and set Madame Z. to work upon. They are so +like Russian airs that they cannot contain their astonishment. I was +quite out of my mind with delight. "The Flowers of the Forest"--"Auld +Lang Syne"--"Scots wha hae"--"Wandering Willie"--"Jock o' +Hazeldean"--"My Boy Tammie," which my father whistles so often--I had no +conception how much I loved them. The air which pleased Madame Zassetsky +the most was "Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waukin yet?" It is certainly no +end. And I was so proud that they were appreciated. No triumph of my +own, I am sure, could ever give me such vain-glorious satisfaction. You +remember, perhaps, how conceited I was to find "Auld Lang Syne" popular +in its German dress; but even that was nothing to the pleasure I had +yesterday at the success of our dear airs. + +The edition is called _The Songs of Scotland without Words for the +Pianoforte_, edited by J. T. Surenne, published by Wood in George +Street. As these people have been so kind to me, I wish you would get a +copy of this and send it out. If that should be too dear, or anything, +Mr. Mowbray would be able to tell you what is the best substitute, would +he not? _This_ I really would like you to do, as Madame proposes to hire +a copyist to copy those she likes, and so it is evident she wants +them.--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + With reference to the political allusions in the following it will be + remembered that this was the date of Mr. Gladstone's dissolution, + followed by his defeat at the polls notwithstanding his declared + intention of abolishing the income-tax. + + _[Menton], February 1st, 1874._ + +I am so sorry to hear of poor Mr. M.'s death. He was really so amiable +and kind that no one could help liking him, and carrying away a +pleasant recollection of his simple, happy ways. I hope you will +communicate to all the family how much I feel with them. + +Madame Zassetsky is Nelitchka's mamma. They have both husbands, and they +are in Russia, and the ladies are both here for their health. They make +it very pleasant for me here. To-day we all went a drive to the Cap +Martin, and the Cap was adorable in the splendid sunshine. + +I read J. H. A. Macdonald's speech with interest; his sentiments are +quite good, I think. I would support him against M'Laren at once. What +has disgusted me most as yet about this election is the detestable +proposal to do away with the income tax. Is there no shame about the +easy classes? Will those who have nine hundred and ninety-nine +thousandths of the advantage of our society, never consent to pay a +single tax unless it is to be paid also by those who have to bear the +burthen and heat of the day, with almost none of the reward? And the +selfishness here is detestable, because it is so deliberate. A man may +not feel poverty very keenly and may live a quiet self-pleasing life in +pure thoughtlessness; but it is quite another matter when he knows +thoroughly what the issues are, and yet wails pitiably because he is +asked to pay a little more, even if it does fall hardly sometimes, than +those who get almost none of the benefit. It is like the healthy child +crying because they do not give him a goody, as they have given to his +sick brother to take away the taste of the dose. I have not expressed +myself clearly; but for all that, you ought to understand, I think. + +_Friday, February 6th._--The wine has arrived, and a dozen of it has +been transferred to me; it is much better than Folleté's stuff. We had a +masquerade last night at the Villa Marina; Nellie in a little red satin +cap, in a red satin suit of boy's clothes, with a funny little black +tail that stuck out behind her, and wagged as she danced about the room, +and gave her a look of Puss in Boots; Pella as a contadina; Monsieur +Robinet as an old woman, and Mademoiselle as an old lady with blue +spectacles. + +Yesterday we had a visit from one of whom I had often heard from Mrs. +Sellar--Andrew Lang. He is good-looking, delicate, Oxfordish, etc. + +My cloak is the most admirable of all garments. For warmth, unequalled; +for a sort of pensive, Roman stateliness, sometimes warming into +Romantic guitarism, it is simply without concurrent; it starts alone. If +you could see me in my cloak, it would impress you. I am hugely better, +I think: I stood the cold these last few days without trouble, instead +of taking to bed, as I did at Monte Carlo. I hope you are going to send +the Scotch music. + +I am stupid at letter-writing again; I don't know why. I hope it may not +be permanent; in the meantime, you must take what you can get and be +hopeful. The Russian ladies are as kind and nice as ever.--Ever your +affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Menton, February 6, 1874], Friday._ + +Last night we had a masquerade at the Villa Marina. Pella was dressed as +a contadina and looked beautiful; and little Nellie, in red satin cap +and wonderful red satin jacket and little breeches as of a nondescript +impossible boy; to which Madame Garschine had slily added a little black +tail that wagged comically behind her as she danced about the room, and +got deliriously tilted up over the middle bar of the back of her chair +as she sat at tea, with an irresistible suggestion of Puss in +Boots--well, Nellie thus masqueraded (to get back to my sentence again) +was all that I could have imagined. She held herself so straight and +stalwart, and had such an infinitesimal dignity of carriage; and then +her big baby face, already quite definitely marked with her sex, came in +so funnily atop that she got clear away from all my power of similes +and resembled nothing in the world but Nellie in masquerade. Then there +was Robinet in a white night gown, old woman's cap (_mutch_, in my +vernacular), snuff-box and crutch doubled up and yet leaping and +gyrating about the floor with incredible agility; and lastly, +Mademoiselle in a sort of elderly walking-dress and with blue +spectacles. And all this incongruous impossible world went tumbling and +dancing and going hand in hand, in flying circles to the music; until it +was enough to make one forget one was in this wicked world, with +Conservative majorities and Presidents MacMahon and all other +abominations about one. + +Also last night will be memorable to me for another reason, Madame +Zassetsky having given me a light as to my own intellect. They were +talking about things in history remaining in their minds because they +had assisted them to generalisations. And I began to explain how things +remained in my mind yet more vividly for no reason at all. She got +interested, and made me give her several examples; then she said, with +her little falsetto of discovery, "Mais c'est que vous êtes tout +simplement enfant!" This _mot_ I have reflected on at leisure and there +is some truth in it. Long may I be so. Yesterday too I finished _Ordered +South_ and at last had some pleasure and contentment with it. S. C. has +sent it off to Macmillan's this morning and I hope it may be accepted; I +don't care whether it is or no except for the all-important lucre; the +end of it is good, whether the able editor sees it or no.--Ever your +faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _[Menton], February 22nd, 1874._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--I am glad to hear you are better again: nobody can +expect to be _quite_ well in February, that is the only consolation I +can offer you. + +Madame Garschine is ill, I am sorry to say, and was confined to bed all +yesterday, which made a great difference to our little society. À propos +of which, what keeps me here is just precisely the said society. These +people are so nice and kind and intelligent, and then as I shall never +see them any more I have a disagreeable feeling about making the move. +With ordinary people in England, you have more or less chance of +re-encountering one another; at least you may see their death in the +papers; but with these people, they die for me and I die for them when +we separate. + +Andrew Lang, O you of little comprehension, called on Colvin. + +You had not told me before about the fatuous person who thought _Roads_ +like Ruskin--surely the vaguest of contemporaneous humanity. Again my +letter writing is of an enfeebled sort.--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _[Menton], March 1st, 1874._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--The weather is again beautiful, soft, warm, cloudy and +soft again, in provincial sense. Very interesting, I find Robertson; and +Dugald Stewart's life of him a source of unquenchable laughter. Dugald +Stewart is not much better than M^cCrie,[12] and puts me much in mind of +him. By the way, I want my father to find out whether any more of Knox's +Works was ever issued than the five volumes, as I have them. There are +some letters that I am very anxious to see, not printed in any of the +five, and perhaps still in MS. + +I suppose you are now home again in Auld Reekie: that abode of bliss +does not much attract me yet a bit. + +Colvin leaves at the end of this week, I fancy. + +How badly yours sincerely writes. O! Madame Zassetsky has a theory that +"Dumbarton Drums" is an epitome of my character and talents. She plays +it, and goes into ecstasies over it, taking everybody to witness that +each note, as she plays it, is the moral of Berecchino. Berecchino is my +stereotype name in the world now. I am announced as M. Berecchino; a +German hand-maiden came to the hotel, the other night, asking for M. +Berecchino; said hand-maiden supposing in good faith that sich was my +name. + +Your letter come. O, I am all right now about the parting, because it +will not be death, as we are to write. Of course the correspondence will +drop off: but that's no odds, it breaks the back of the trouble.--Ever +your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _[Menton], Monday, March 9th, 1874._ + +We have all been getting photographed, and the proofs are to be seen +to-day. How they will look I know not. Madame Zassetsky arranged me for +mine, and then said to the photographer: "_C'est mon fils. Il vient +d'avoir dix-neuf ans. Il est tout fier de sa jeune moustache. Tâchez de +la faire paraître_," and then bolted leaving me solemnly alone with the +artist. The artist was quite serious, and explained that he would try to +"_faire ressortir ce que veut Madame la Princesse_" to the best of his +ability; he bowed very much to me, after this, in quality of Prince you +see. I bowed in return and handled the flap of my cloak after the most +princely fashion I could command.--Ever your affectionate son, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _[Menton], March 20, 1874._ + +I. _My Cloak._--An exception occurs to me to the frugality described a +letter (or may be two) ago; my cloak: it would certainly have been +possible to have got something less expensive; still it is a fine +thought for absent parents that their son possesses simply THE GREATEST +vestment in Mentone. It is great in size, and unspeakably great in +design; _qua_ raiment, it has not its equal. + +III. _About Spain._--Well, I don't know about _me_ and Spain. I am +certainly in no humour and in no state of health for voyages and +travels. Towards the end of May (see end), up to which time I seem to +see my plans, I might be up to it, or I might not; I think _not_ myself. +I have given up all idea of going on to Italy, though it seems a pity +when one is so near; and Spain seems to me in the same category. But for +all that, it need not interfere with your voyage thither: I would not +lose the chance, if I wanted. + +IV. _Money._--I am much obliged. That makes £180 now. This money irks +me, one feels it more than when living at home. However, if I have +health, I am in a fair way to make a bit of a livelihood for myself. Now +please don't take this up wrong; don't suppose I am thinking of the +transaction between you and me; I think of the transaction between me +and mankind. I think of all this money wasted in keeping up a structure +that may never be worth it--all this good money sent after bad. I shall +be seriously angry if you take me up wrong. + +V. _Roads._--The familiar false concord is not certainly a form of +colloquialism that I should feel inclined to encourage. It is very odd; +I wrote it very carefully, and you seem to have read it very carefully, +and yet none of us found it out. The Deuce is in it. + +VI. _Russian Prince._--A cousin of these ladies is come to stay with +them--Prince Léon Galitzin. He is the image of--whom?--guess now--do you +give it up?--Hillhouse. + +VII. _Miscellaneous._--I send you a pikler of me in the cloak. I think +it is like a hunchback. The moustache is clearly visible to the naked +eye--O diable! what do I hear in my lug? A mosquito--the first of the +season. Bad luck to him! + +Good nicht and joy be wi' you a'. I am going to bed.--Ever your +affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +_Note to III._--I had counted on being back at Embro' by the last week +or so of May. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + This describes another member of the Russian party, recently arrived + at Mentone, who did his best, very nearly with success, to persuade + Stevenson to join him in the study of law for some terms under the + celebrated Professor Jhering at Göttingen. + + _[Menton], March 28, 1874._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--Beautiful weather, perfect weather; sun, pleasant +cooling winds; health very good; only incapacity to write. + +The only new cloud on my horizon (I mean this in no menacing sense) is +the Prince, I have philosophical and artistic discussions with the +Prince. He is capable of talking for two hours upon end, developing his +theory of everything under Heaven from his first position, which is that +there is no straight line. Doesn't that sound like a game of my +father's--I beg your pardon, you haven't read it--I don't mean _my_ +father, I mean Tristram Shandy's. He is very clever, and it is an +immense joke to hear him unrolling all the problems of life--philosophy, +science, what you will--in this charmingly cut-and-dry, +here-we-are-again kind of manner. He is better to listen to than to +argue withal. When you differ from him, he lifts up his voice and +thunders; and you know that the thunder of an excited foreigner often +miscarries. One stands aghast, marvelling how such a colossus of a man, +in such a great commotion of spirit, can open his mouth so much and +emit such a still small voice at the hinder end of it all. All this +while he walks about the room, smokes cigarettes, occupies divers chairs +for divers brief spaces, and casts his huge arms to the four winds like +the sails of a mill. He is a most sportive Prince. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Menton, April 1874], Monday._ + +My last night at Mentone. I cannot tell how strange and sad I feel. I +leave behind me a dear friend whom I have but little hope of seeing +again between the eyes. + +To-day, I hadn't arranged all my plans till five o'clock: I hired a poor +old cabman, whose uncomfortable vehicle and sorry horse make everyone +despise him, and set off to get money and say farewells. It was a dark +misty evening; the mist was down over all the hills; the peach-trees in +beautiful pink bloom. Arranged my plans; that merits a word by the way +if I can be bothered. I have half arranged to go to Göttingen in summer +to a course of lectures. Galitzin is responsible for this. He tells me +the professor is to law what Darwin has been to Natural History, and I +should like to understand Roman Law and a knowledge of law is so +necessary for all I hope to do. + +My poor old cabman; his one horse made me three-quarters of an hour too +late for dinner, but I had not the heart to discharge him and take +another. Poor soul, he was so pleased with his pourboire, I have made +Madame Zassetsky promise to employ him often; so he will be something +the better for me, little as he will know it. + +I have read _Ordered South_; it is pretty decent I think, but poor, +stiff, limping stuff at best--not half so well straightened up as +_Roads_. However the stuff is good. + +God help us all, this is a rough world: address Hotel St. Romain, rue +St. Roch, Paris. I draw the line: a chapter finished.--Ever your +faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +The line. + _______________________________ + +That bit of childishness has made me laugh, do you blame me? + + +FOOTNOTES: + + [7] See Scott himself, in the preface to the Author's edition. + + [8] _i.e._ on his book, _The Reign of Law_. + + [9] Compare the paragraph in _Ordered South_ describing the state of + mind of the invalid doubtful of recovery, and ending: "He will pray + for Medea; when she comes, let her either rejuvenate or slay." + + [10] Alluding to Heine's _Ritter von dem heiligen Geist_. + + [11] _Poste Restante_ + + [12] Thomas M^cCrie, D.D., author of the _Life of John Knox_, _Life + of Andrew Melville_, etc. + + + + +III + +STUDENT DAYS--_Concluded_ + +HOME AGAIN--LITERATURE AND LAW + +MAY 1874--JUNE 1875 + + +Returning to Edinburgh by way of Paris in May 1874, Stevenson went to +live with his parents at Swanston and Edinburgh and resumed his reading +for the Bar. Illness and absence had done their work, and the old +harmony of the home was henceforth quite re-established. In his spare +time during the next year he worked hard at his chosen art, trying his +hand at essays, short stories, criticisms, and prose poems. In all this +experimental writing he had neither the aims nor the facility of the +journalist, but strove always after the higher qualities of literature, +and was never satisfied with what he had done. To find for all he had to +say words of vital aptness and animation--to communicate as much as +possible of what he has somewhere called "the incommunicable thrill of +things"--was from the first his endeavour in literature, nay more, it +was the main passion of his life: and the instrument that should serve +his purpose could not be forged in haste. Neither was it easy for this +past master of the random, the unexpected, the brilliantly back-foremost +and topsy-turvy in talk, to learn in writing the habit of orderly +arrangement and organic sequence which even the lightest forms of +literature cannot lack. + +In the course of this summer Stevenson's excursions included a week or +two spent with me at Hampstead, during which he joined the Savile Club +and made some acquaintance with London literary society; a yachting trip +with his friend Sir Walter Simpson in the western islands of Scotland; a +journey to Barmouth and Llandudno with his parents; and in the late +autumn a walking tour in Buckinghamshire. The Scottish winter (1874-75) +tried him severely, as Scottish winters always did, but was enlivened by +a new and what was destined to be a very fruitful and intimate +friendship, the origin of which was described in the following letters, +namely that of Mr. W. E. Henley. In April 1875 he made his first visit, +in the company of his cousin R. A. M. Stevenson to the artist haunts of +the forest of Fontainebleau, whence he returned to finish his reading +for the Scottish Bar and face the examination which was before him in +July. During all this year, as will be seen, his chief, almost his +exclusive, correspondents and confidants continued to be the same as in +the preceding winter. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + Written in Paris on his way home to Edinburgh. Some of our talk at + Mentone had run on the scheme of a spectacle play on the story of the + burning of the temple of Diana at Ephesus by Herostratus, the type of + insane vanity _in excelsis_. + + [_Hôtel St. Romain, Paris, end of April 1874._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I am a great deal better, but still have to take care. +I have got quite a lot of Victor Hugo done; and not I think so badly: +pitching into this work has straightened me up a good deal. It is the +devil's own weather but that is a trifle. I must know when Cornhill must +see it. I can send some of it in a week easily, but I still have to +read _The Laughing Man_,[13] and I mean to wait until I get to London +and have the loan of that from you. If I buy anything more this +production will not pay itself. The first part is not too well written, +though it has good stuff in it. + +My people have made no objection to my going to Göttingen; but my body +has made I think very strong objections. And you know if it is cold +here, it must be colder there. It is a sore pity; that was a great +chance for me and it is gone. I know very well that between Galitzin and +this swell professor I should have become a good specialist in law and +how that would have changed and bettered all my work it is easy to see; +however I must just be content to live as I have begun, an ignorant, +_chic-y_ penny-a-liner. May the Lord have mercy on my soul! + +Going home not very well is an astonishing good hold for me. I shall +simply be a prince. + +Have you had any thought about Diana of the Ephesians? I will straighten +up a play for you, but it may take years. A play is a thing just like a +story, it begins to disengage itself and then unrolls gradually in +block. It will disengage itself some day for me and then I will send you +the nugget and you will see if you can make anything out of it.--Ever +yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + This and the following letters were written after Stevenson's return + to Scotland. The essay _Ordered South_ appeared in Macmillan's + Magazine at this date; that on Victor Hugo's romances in the Cornhill + a little later. + + _[Swanston], May 1874, Monday._ + +We are now at Swanston Cottage, Lothianburn, Edinburgh. The garden is +but little clothed yet, for, you know, here we are six hundred feet +above the sea. It is very cold, and has sleeted this morning. Everything +wintry. I am very jolly, however, having finished Victor Hugo, and just +looking round to see what I should next take up. I have been reading +Roman Law and Calvin this morning. + +_Evening._--I went up the hill a little this afternoon. The air was +invigorating, but it was so cold that my scalp was sore. With this high +wintry wind, and the grey sky, and faint northern daylight, it was quite +wonderful to hear such a clamour of blackbirds coming up to me out of +the woods, and the bleating of sheep being shorn in a field near the +garden, and to see golden patches of blossom already on the furze, and +delicate green shoots upright and beginning to frond out, among last +year's russet bracken. Flights of crows were passing continually between +the wintry leaden sky and the wintry cold-looking hills. It was the +oddest conflict of seasons. A wee rabbit--this year's making, beyond +question--ran out from under my feet, and was in a pretty perturbation, +until he hit upon a lucky juniper and blotted himself there promptly. +Evidently this gentleman had not had much experience of life. + +I have made an arrangement with my people: I am to have £84 a year--I +only asked for £80 on mature reflection--and as I should soon make a +good bit by my pen, I shall be very comfortable. We are all as jolly as +can be together, so that is a great thing gained. + +_Wednesday._--Yesterday I received a letter that gave me much pleasure +from a poor fellow-student of mine, who has been all winter very ill, +and seems to be but little better even now. He seems very much pleased +with _Ordered South_. "A month ago," he says, "I could scarcely have +ventured to read it; to-day I felt on reading it as I did on the first +day that I was able to sun myself a little in the open air." And much +more to the like effect. It is very gratifying.--Ever your faithful +friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + Mr. John Morley had asked for a notice by R. L. S. for the + Fortnightly Review, which he was then editing, of Lord Lytton's newly + published volume, _Fables in Song._ + + _Swanston, Lothianburn, Edinburgh [May 1874]._ + +All right. I'll see what I can do. Before I could answer I had to see +the book; and my good father, after trying at all our libraries, bought +it for me. I like the book; that is some of it and I'll try to lick up +four or five pages for the Fortnightly. + +It is still as cold as cold, hereaway. And the Spring hammering away at +the New Year in despite. Poor Spring, scattering flowers with red hands +and preparing for Summer's triumphs all in a shudder herself. Health +still good, and the humour for work enduring. + +Jenkin wrote to say he would second me in such a kind little notelet. I +shall go in for it (the Savile I mean) whether _Victor Hugo_ is accepted +or not, being now a man of means. Have I told you by the way that I have +now an income of £84, or as I prefer to put it for dignity's sake, two +thousand one hundred francs, a year. + +In lively hope of better weather and your arrival hereafter.--I remain, +yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _Swanston, Wednesday, May 1874._ + +Struggling away at _Fables in Song_. I am much afraid I am going to make +a real failure; the time is so short, and I am so out of the humour. +Otherwise very calm and jolly: cold still _impossible_. + +_Thursday._--I feel happier about the _Fables_, and it is warmer a bit; +but my body is most decrepit, and I can just manage to be cheery and +tread down hypochondria under foot by work. I lead such a funny life, +utterly without interest or pleasure outside of my work: nothing, +indeed, but work all day long, except a short walk alone on the cold +hills, and meals, and a couple of pipes with my father in the evening. +It is surprising how it suits me, and how happy I keep. + +_Friday._--"My dear Stevenson how do you do? do you annoying yourself or +no? when we go to the Olivses it allways rememberse us you. Nelly and my +aunt went away. And when the organ come and play the Soldaten it mak us +think of Nelly. It is so sad I allmoste went away. I make my baths; and +then we go to Franzensbad; will you come to see us?" + +There is Pella's letter facsimile, punctuation, spelling and all. Mme. +Garschine's was rather sad and gave me the blues a bit; I think it very +likely I may run over to Franzensbad for a week or so this autumn, if I +am wanted that is to say: I shall be able to afford it easily. + +I have got on rather better with the _Fables_; perhaps it won't be a +failure, though I fear. To-day the sun shone brightly although the wind +was cold: I was up the hill a good time. It is very solemn to see the +top of one hill steadfastly regarding you over the shoulder of another: +I never before to-day fully realised the haunting of such a gigantic +face, as it peers over into a valley and seems to command all corners. I +had a long talk with the shepherd about foreign lands, and sheep. A +Russian had once been on the farm as a pupil; he told me that he had the +utmost pity for the Russian's capacities, since (dictionary and all) he +had never managed to understand him; it must be remembered that my +friend the shepherd spoke Scotch of the broadest and often enough +employs words which I do not understand myself. + +_Saturday._--I have received such a nice long letter (four sides) from +Leslie Stephen to-day about my _Victor Hugo_. It is accepted. This ought +to have made me gay, but it hasn't. I am not likely to be much of a +tonic to-night. I have been very cynical over myself to-day, partly, +perhaps, because I have just finished some of the deedest rubbish about +Lord Lytton's _Fables_ that an intelligent editor ever shot into his +wastepaper basket. If Morley prints it I shall be glad, but my respect +for him will be shaken. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + Enclosing Mr. Leslie Stephen's letter accepting the article on Victor + Hugo: the first of Stevenson's many contributions to the Cornhill + Magazine. + + [_Edinburgh, May 1874._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I send you L. Stephen's letter which is certainly very +kind and jolly to get[14]. I wrote some stuff about Lord Lytton, but I +had not the heart to submit it to you. I sent it direct to Morley, with +a Spartan billet. God knows it is bad enough; but it cost me labour +incredible. I was so out of the vein, it would have made you weep to see +me digging the rubbish out of my seven wits with groanings unutterable. +I certainly mean to come to London, and likely before long if all goes +well; so on that ground, I cannot force you to come to Scotland. Still, +the weather is now warm and jolly, and of course it would not be +expensive to live here so long as that did not bore you. If you could +see the hills out of my window to-night, you would start incontinent. +However do as you will, and if the mountain will not come to Mahomet +Mahomet will come to the mountain in due time, Mahomet being me and the +mountain you, Q.E.D., F.R.S.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Swanston, May 1874], Tuesday._ + +Another cold day; yet I have been along the hillside, wondering much at +idiotic sheep, and raising partridges at every second step. One little +plover is the object of my firm adherence. I pass his nest every day, +and if you saw how he flies by me, and almost into my face, crying and +flapping his wings, to direct my attention from his little treasure, you +would have as kind a heart to him as I. To-day I saw him not, although I +took my usual way; and I am afraid that some person has abused his +simple wiliness and harried (as we say in Scotland) the nest. I feel +much righteous indignation against such imaginary aggressor. However, +one must not be too chary of the lower forms. To-day I sat down on a +tree-stump at the skirt of a little strip of planting, and thoughtlessly +began to dig out the touchwood with an end of twig. I found I had +carried ruin, death, and universal consternation into a little community +of ants; and this set me a-thinking of how close we are environed with +frail lives, so that we can do nothing without spreading havoc over all +manner of perishable homes and interests and affections; and so on to my +favourite mood of an holy terror for all action and all inaction +equally--a sort of shuddering revulsion from the necessary +responsibilities of life. We must not be too scrupulous of others, or we +shall die. Conscientiousness is a sort of moral opium; an excitant in +small doses, perhaps, but at bottom a strong narcotic. + +_Saturday._--I have been two days in Edinburgh, and so had not the +occasion to write to you. Morley has accepted the _Fables_, and I have +seen it in proof, and think less of it than ever. However, of course, I +shall send you a copy of the magazine without fail, and you can be as +disappointed as you like, or the reverse if you can. I would willingly +recall it if I could. + +Try, by way of change, Byron's _Mazeppa_; you will be astonished. It is +grand and no mistake, and one sees through it a fire, and a passion, and +a rapid intuition of genius, that makes one rather sorry for one's own +generation of better writers, and--I don't know what to say; I was going +to say "smaller men"; but that's not right; read it, and you will feel +what I cannot express. Don't be put out by the beginning; persevere, and +you will find yourself thrilled before you are at an end with it. + +_Sunday._--The white mist has obliterated the hills and lies heavily +round the cottage, as though it were laying siege to it; the trees wave +their branches in the wind, with a solemn melancholy manner, like +people swaying themselves to and fro in pain. I am alone in the house, +all the world being gone to church; and even in here at the side of the +fire, the air clings about one like a wet blanket. Yet this morning, +when I was just awake, I had thought it was going to be a fine day. +First, a cock crew, loudly and beautifully and often; then followed a +long interval of silence and darkness, the grey morning began to get +into my room; and then from the other side of the garden, a blackbird +executed one long flourish, and in a moment as if a spring had been +touched or a sluice-gate opened, the whole garden just brimmed and ran +over with bird-songs.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + For a part of June Stevenson had come south, spending most of his + time in lodgings with me at Hampstead (where he got the idea for part + of his essay _Notes on the Movements of Young Children_) and making + his first appearance at the Savile Club. Trouble awaited him after + his return. + + _[Swanston, June 1874], Wednesday._ + +News reaches me that Bob is laid down with diphtheria; and you know what +that means. + +_Night._--I am glad to say that I have on the whole a good account of +Bob and I do hope he may pull through in spite of all. I went down and +saw the doctor; but it is not thought right that I should go in to see +him in case of contagion: you know it is a very contagious malady. + +_Thursday._--It is curious how calm I am in such a case. I wait with +perfect composure for farther news; I can do nothing; why should I +disturb myself? And yet if things go wrong I shall be in a fine way I +can tell you. + +How curiously we are built up into our false positions. The other day, +having toothache and the black dog on my back generally, I was rude to +one of the servants at the dinner-table. And nothing of course can be +more disgusting than for a man to speak harshly to a young woman who +will lose her place if she speak back to him; and of course I determined +to apologise. Well, do you know, it was perhaps four days before I found +courage enough, and I felt as red and ashamed as could be. Why? because +I had been rude? not a bit of it; because I was doing a thing that would +be called ridiculous in thus apologising. I did not know I had so much +respect of middle-class notions before; this is my right hand which I +must cut off. Hold the arm please: once--twice--thrice: the offensive +member is amputated: let us hope I shall never be such a cad any more as +to be ashamed of being a gentleman. + +_Night._--I suppose I must have been more affected than I thought; at +least I found I could not work this morning and had to go out. The whole +garden was filled with a high westerly wind, coming straight out of the +hills and richly scented with furze--or whins, as we would say. The +trees were all in a tempest and roared like a heavy surf; the paths all +strewn with fallen apple-blossom and leaves. I got a quiet seat behind a +yew and went away into a meditation. I was very happy after my own +fashion, and whenever there came a blink of sunshine or a bird whistled +higher than usual, or a little powder of white apple-blossom came over +the hedge and settled about me in the grass, I had the gladdest little +flutter at my heart and stretched myself for very voluptuousness. I +wasn't altogether taken up with my private pleasures, however, and had +many a look down ugly vistas in the future, for Bob and others. But we +must all be content and brave, and look eagerly for these little +passages of happiness by the wayside, and go on afterwards, savouring +them under the tongue. + +_Friday._--Our garden has grown beautiful at last, beautiful with fresh +foliage and daisied grass. The sky is still cloudy and the day perhaps +even a little gloomy; but under this grey roof, in this shaded +temperate light, how delightful the new summer is. + +When I shall come to London must always be problematical like all my +movements, and of course this sickness of Bob's makes it still more +uncertain. If all goes well I may have to go to the country and take +care of him in his convalescence. But I shall come shortly. Do not hurry +to write to me; I had rather _you_ had ten minutes more of good, +friendly sleep, than I a longer letter; and you know I am rather partial +to your letters. Yesterday, by the bye, I received the proof of _Victor +Hugo_; it is not nicely written, but the stuff is capital, I think. +Modesty is my most remarkable quality, I may remark in passing. + +1.30.--I was out, behind the yew hedge, reading the _Comtesse de +Rudolstadt_ when I found my eyes grow weary, and looked up from the +book. O the rest of the quiet greens and whites, of the daisied surface! +I was very peaceful, but it began to sprinkle rain and so I fain to come +in for a moment and chat with you. By the way, I must send you +_Consuelo_; you said you had quite forgotten it if I remember aright; +and surely a book that could divert me, when I thought myself on the +very edge of the grave, from the work that I so much desired and was yet +unable to do, and from many painful thoughts, should somewhat support +and amuse you under all the hard things that may be coming upon you. If +you should wonder why I am writing to you so voluminously, know that it +is because I am not suffering myself to work, and in idleness, as in +death, etc. + +_Saturday._--I have had a very cruel day. I heard this morning that +yesterday Bob had been very much worse and I went down to Portobello +with all sorts of horrible presentiments. I was glad when I turned the +corner and saw the blinds still up. He was definitely better, if the +word definitely can be used about such a detestably insidious complaint. +I have ordered _Consuelo_ for you, and you should have it soon this +week; I mean next week of course; I am thinking when you will receive +this letter, not of now when I am writing it. + +I am so tired; but I am very hopeful. All will be well some time, if it +be only when we are dead. One thing I see so clearly. Death is the end +neither of joy nor sorrow. Let us pass into the clods and come up again +as grass and flowers; we shall still be this wonderful, shrinking, +sentient matter--we shall still thrill to the sun and grow relaxed and +quiet after rain, and have all manner of pains and pleasures that we +know not of now. Consciousness, and ganglia, and suchlike, are after all +but theories. And who knows? This God may not be cruel when all is done; +he may relent and be good to us _à la fin des fins_. Think of how he +tempers our afflictions to us, of how tenderly he mixes in bright joys +with the grey web of trouble and care that we call our life. Think of +how he gives, who takes away. Out of the bottom of the miry clay I write +this; and I look forward confidently; I have faith after all; I believe, +I hope, I _will_ not have it reft from me; there _is_ something good +behind it all, bitter and terrible as it seems. The infinite majesty (as +it will be always in regard to us the bubbles of an hour) the infinite +majesty must have moments, if it were no more, of greatness; must +sometimes be touched with a feeling for our infirmities, must sometimes +relent and be clement to those frail playthings that he has made, and +made so bitterly alive. Must it not be so, my dear friend, out of the +depths I cry? I feel it, now when I am most painfully conscious of his +cruelty. He must relent. He must reward. He must give some indemnity, if +it were but in the quiet of a daisy, tasting of the sun and the soft +rain and the sweet shadow of trees, for all the dire fever that he makes +us bear in this poor existence. We make too much of this human life of +ours. It may be that two clods together, two flowers together, two grown +trees together touching each other deliciously with their spread leaves, +it may be that these dumb things have their own priceless sympathies, +surer and more untroubled than ours. + +I don't know quite whether I have wandered. Forgive me, I feel as if I +had relieved myself; so perhaps it may not be unpleasant for you +either.--Believe me, ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL, + + + _Swanston, Sunday (June 1874)._ + +DEAR FRIEND,--I fear to have added something to your troubles by telling +you of the grief in which I find myself; but one cannot always come to +meet a friend smiling, although we should try for the best cheer +possible. All to-day I have been very weary, resting myself after the +trouble and fatigue of yesterday. The day was warm enough, but it blew a +whole gale of wind; and the noise and the purposeless rude violence of +it somehow irritated and depressed me. There was good news however, +though the anxiety must still be long. O peace, peace, whither are you +fled and where have you carried my old quiet humour? I am so bitter and +disquiet and speak even spitefully to people. And somehow, though I +promise myself amendment, day after day finds me equally rough and sour +to those about me. But this would pass with good health and good +weather; and at bottom I am not unhappy; the soil is still good although +it bears thorns; and the time will come again for flowers. + +_Wednesday._--I got your letter this morning and have to thank you so +much for it. Bob is much better; and I do hope out of danger. To-day has +been more glorious than I can tell you. It has been the first day of +blue sky that we have had; and it was happiness for a week to see the +clear bright outline of the hills and the glory of sunlit foliage and +the darkness of green shadows, and the big white clouds that went +voyaging overhead deliberately. My two cousins from Portobello were +here; and they and I and Maggie ended the afternoon by lying half an +hour together on a shawl. The big cloud had all been carded out into a +thin luminous white gauze, miles away; and miles away too seemed the +little black birds that passed between this and us as we lay with faces +upturned. The similarity of what we saw struck in us a curious +similarity of mood; and in consequence of the small size of the shawl, +we all lay so close that we half pretended, half felt, we had lost our +individualities and had become merged and mixed up in a quadruple +existence. We had the shadow of an umbrella over ourselves, and when any +one reached out a brown hand into the golden sunlight overhead we all +feigned that we did not know whose hand it was, until at last I don't +really think we quite did. Little black insects also passed over us and +in the same half wanton manner we pretended we could not distinguish +them from the birds. There was a splendid sunlit silence about us, and +as Katharine said the heavens seemed to be dropping oil on us, or +honey-dew--it was all so bland. + +_Thursday evening_.--I have seen Bob again, and I am charmed at his +convalescence. Le bon Dieu has been _so_ bon this time: here's his +health! Still the danger is not over by a good way; it is so miserable a +thing for reverses. + +I hear the wind outside roaring among our leafy trees as the surf on +some loud shore. The hill-top is whelmed in a passing rain-shower and +the mist lies low in the valleys. But the night is warm and in our +little sheltered garden it is fair and pleasant, and the borders and +hedges and evergreens and boundary trees are all distinct in an equable +diffusion of light from the buried moon and the day not altogether +passed away. My dear friend, as I hear the wind rise and die away in +that tempestuous world of foliage, I seem to be conscious of I know not +what breath of creation. I know what this warm wet wind of the west +betokens, I know how already, in this morning's sunshine, we could see +all the hills touched and accentuated with little delicate golden +patches of young fern; how day by day the flowers thicken and the leaves +unfold; how already the year is a-tip-toe on the summit of its finished +youth; and I am glad and sad to the bottom of my heart at the knowledge. +If you knew how different I am from what I was last year; how the +knowledge of you has changed and finished me, you would be glad and sad +also.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The strain of anxiety recorded in the two last letters had given a + shake to Stevenson's own health, and it was agreed that he should go + for a yachting tour with Sir Walter Simpson in the Inner Hebrides. + + _[Edinburgh, June 1874], Thursday._ + +I have been made so miserable by Chopin's _Marche funèbre_. Try two of +Schubert's songs, "_Ich unglückselige Atlas_" and "_Du schönes +Fischermädchen_"--they are very jolly. I have read aloud my death-cycle +from Walt Whitman this evening. I was very much affected myself, never +so much before, and it fetched the auditory considerable. Reading these +things that I like aloud when I am painfully excited is the keenest +artistic pleasure I know. It does seem strange that these dependent +arts--singing, acting, and in its small way reading aloud seem the best +rewarded of all arts. I am sure it is more exciting for me to read than +it was for W. W. to write; and how much more must this be so with +singing. + +_Friday._--I am going in the yacht on Wednesday. I am not right yet, and +I hope the yacht will set me up. I am too tired to-night to make more of +it. Good-bye.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _[Edinburgh, June 1874], Friday._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I am seedy--very seedy, I may say. I am quite unfit for +any work or any pleasure; and generally very sick. I am going away next +week on Wednesday for my cruise which I hope will set me up again. I +should like a proof here up to Wednesday morning, or at Greenock, +Tontine Hotel, up to Friday morning, as I don't quite know my future +address. I hope you are better, and that it was not that spell of work +you had that did the harm. It is to my spurt of work that I am +_redevable_ for my harm. Walt Whitman is at the bottom of it all, _'cré +nom_! What a pen I have!--a new pen, God be praised, how smoothly it +functions! Would that I could work as well. Chorus--Would that both of +us could work as well--would that all of us could work as well!--Ever +yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +_P.S._--Bob is better; but he might be better yet. All goes smoothly +except my murrained health. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _Swanston [Summer 1874]._ + +MY DEAR FRIEND,--I am back again here, as brown as a berry with sun, and +in good form. I have been and gone and lost my portmanteau, with _Walt +Whitman_ in it and a lot of notes. This is a nuisance. However, I am +pretty happy, only wearying for news of you and for your address. + +_Friday._--_À la bonne heure!_ I hear where you are and that you are +apparently fairish well. That is good at least. I am full of Reformation +work; up to the eyes in it; and begin to feel learned. A beautiful day +outside, though something cold. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + Of the projects here mentioned, that of the little book of essays on + the enjoyment of the world never took shape, nor were those + contributions towards it which he printed in the Portfolio ever + re-published until after the writer's death. _The Appeal to the + Clergy of the Church of Scotland_ was printed in 1874, published as a + pamphlet in February 1875, and attracted, I believe, no attention + whatever. The "fables" must have been some of the earliest numbers of + the series continued at odd times till near the date of his death and + published posthumously: I do not know which, but should guess _The + House of Eld_, _Yellow Paint_, and perhaps those in the vein of + Celtic mystery, _The Touchstone_, _The Poor Thing_, _The Song of + To-morrow_. + + _[Swanston, Summer 1874], Tuesday._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--What is new with you? There is nothing new with me: +Knox and his females begin to get out of restraint altogether; the +subject expands so damnably, I know not where to cut it off. I have +another paper for the PTFL[15] on the stocks: a sequel to the two +others; also, that is to say, a word in season as to contentment and a +hint to the careless to look around them for disregarded pleasures. +Seeley wrote to me asking me "to propose" something: I suppose he +means--well, I suppose I don't know what he means. But I shall write to +him (if you think it wise) when I send him this paper, saying that my +writing is more a matter of God's disposition than of man's proposal; +that I had from _Roads_ upward ever intended to make a little budget of +little papers all with this intention before them, call it ethical or +æsthetic as you will; and thus I shall leave it to him (if he likes) to +regard this little budget, as slowly they come forth, as a unity in its +own small way. Twelve or twenty such essays, some of them mainly ethical +and expository, put together in a little book with narrow print in each +page, antique, vine leaves about, and the following title. + + XII (OR XX) ESSAYS ON THE ENJOYMENT OF THE WORLD: + + By Robert Louis Stevenson + + (_A motto in italics_) + + Publisher + + Place and date + +You know the class of old book I have in my head. I smack my lips; would +it not be nice! I am going to launch on Scotch ecclesiastical affairs, +in a tract addressed to the Clergy; in which doctrinal matters being +laid aside, I contend simply that they should be just and dignified men +at a certain crisis: this for the honour of humanity. Its authorship +must, of course, be secret or the publication would be useless. You +shall have a copy of course, and may God help you to understand it. + +I have done no more to my fables. I find I must let things take their +time. I am constant to my schemes; but I must work at them fitfully as +the humour moves. + +--To return, I wonder, if I have to make a budget of such essays as I +dream, whether Seeley would publish them: I should give them unity, you +know, by the doctrinal essays; nor do I think these would be the least +agreeable. You must give me your advice and tell me whether I should +throw out this delicate feeler to R. S.[16]; or if not, what I am to say +to this "proposal" business. + +I shall go to England or Wales, with parents, shortly: after which, dash +to Poland before setting in for the dismal session at Edinburgh. + +Spirits good, with a general sense of hollowness underneath: wanity of +wanities etc.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +_P.S._--Parents capital; thanks principally to them; yours truly still +rather bitter, but less so. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + The last paragraph of the following means that Dr. Appleton, the + amiable and indefatigable editor of the Academy, then recently + founded, had been a little disturbed in mind by some of the + contributions of his brilliant young friend, but allowed his academic + conscience to be salved by the fact of their signature. + + [_Swanston, Summer 1874._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Am I mad? Have I lived thus long and have you known me +thus long, to no purpose? Do you imagine I could ever write an essay a +month, or promise an essay even every three months? I declare I would +rather die than enter into any such arrangement. The Essays must fall +from me, Essay by Essay, as they ripen; and all that my communication +with Seeley would effect would be to make him see more in them than mere +occasional essays; or at least _look_ far more faithfully, in which +spirit men rarely look in vain. You know both _Roads_ and my little +girls[17] are a part of the scheme which dates from early at Mentone. My +word to Seeley, therefore, would be to inform him of what I hope will +lie ultimately behind them, of how I regard them as contributions +towards a friendlier and more thoughtful way of looking about one, etc. +One other purpose of telling him would be that I should feel myself more +at liberty to write as I please, and not bound to drag in a tag about +Art every time to make it more suitable. Tying myself down to time is an +impossibility. You know my own description of myself as a person with a +poetic character and no poetic talent: just as my prose muse has all the +ways of a poetic one, and I must take my Essays as they come to me. If I +got 12 of 'em done in two years, I should be pleased. Never, please, let +yourself imagine that I am fertile; I am constipated in the brains. + +Look here, Appleton dined here last night and was delightful after the +manner of our Appleton: I was none the less pleased, because I was +somewhat amused, to hear of your kind letter to him in defence of my +productions. I was amused at the tranquil dishonesty with which he told +me that I must put my name to all I write and then all will be +well.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + Written on an expedition to Wales with his parents. + + _Train between Edinburgh and Chester, August 8, 1874._ + +My father and mother reading. I think I shall talk to you for a moment +or two. This morning at Swanston, the birds, poor creatures, had the +most troubled hour or two; evidently there was a hawk in the +neighbourhood; not one sang; and the whole garden thrilled with little +notes of warning and terror. I did not know before that the voice of +birds could be so tragically expressive. I had always heard them before +express their trivial satisfaction with the blue sky and the return of +daylight. Really, they almost frightened me; I could hear mothers and +wives in terror for those who were dear to them; it was easy to +translate, I wish it were as easy to write; but it is very hard in this +flying train, or I would write you more. + +_Chester._--I like this place much; but somehow I feel glad when I get +among the quiet eighteenth century buildings, in cosy places with some +elbow room about them, after the older architecture. This other is +bedevilled and furtive; it seems to stoop; I am afraid of trap-doors, +and could not go pleasantly into such houses. I don't know how much of +this is legitimately the effect of the architecture; little enough +possibly; possibly far the most part of it comes from bad historical +novels and the disquieting statuary that garnishes some façades. + +On the way, to-day, I passed through my dear Cumberland country. Nowhere +to as great a degree can one find the combination of lowland and +highland beauties; the outline of the blue hills is broken by the +outline of many tumultuous tree-clumps; and the broad spaces of moorland +are balanced by a network of deep hedgerows that might rival Suffolk, in +the foreground.--How a railway journey shakes and discomposes one, mind +and body! I grow blacker and blacker in humour as the day goes on; and +when at last I am let out, and have the fresh air about me, it is as +though I were born again, and the sick fancies flee away from my mind +like swans in spring. + +I want to come back on what I have said about eighteenth century and +middle-age houses: I do not know if I have yet explained to you the sort +of loyalty, of urbanity, that there is about the one to my mind; the +spirit of a country orderly and prosperous, a flavour of the presence of +magistrates and well-to-do merchants in bag-wigs, the clink of glasses +at night in fire-lit parlours, something certain and civic and domestic, +is all about these quiet, staid, shapely houses, with no character but +their exceeding shapeliness, and the comely external utterance that they +make of their internal comfort. Now the others are, as I have said, both +furtive and bedevilled; they are sly and grotesque; they combine their +sort of feverish grandeur with their sort of secretive baseness, after +the manner of a Charles the Ninth. They are peopled for me with persons +of the same fashion. Dwarfs and sinister people in cloaks are about +them; and I seem to divine crypts, and, as I said, trap-doors. O God be +praised that we live in this good daylight and this good peace. + +_Barmouth, August 9th._--To-day we saw the cathedral at Chester; and, +far more delightful, saw and heard a certain inimitable verger who took +us round. He was full of a certain recondite, far-away humour that did +not quite make you laugh at the time, but was somehow laughable to +recollect. Moreover, he had so far a just imagination, and could put one +in the right humour for seeing an old place, very much as, according to +my favourite text, Scott's novels and poems do for one. His account of +the monks in the Scriptorium, with their cowls over their heads, in a +certain sheltered angle of the cloister where the big cathedral building +kept the sun off the parchments, was all that could be wished; and so +too was what he added of the others pacing solemnly behind them and +dropping, ever and again, on their knees before a little shrine there is +in the wall, "to keep 'em in the frame of mind." You will begin to think +me unduly biassed in this verger's favour if I go on to tell you his +opinion of me. We got into a little side chapel, whence we could hear +the choir children at practice, and I stopped a moment listening to +them, with, I dare say, a very bright face, for the sound was delightful +to me. "Ah," says he, "you're _very_ fond of music." I said I was. "Yes, +I could tell that by your head," he answered. "There's a deal in that +head." And he shook his own solemnly. I said it might be so, but I found +it hard, at least, to get it out. Then my father cut in brutally, said +anyway I had no ear, and left the verger so distressed and shaken in the +foundations of his creed that, I hear, he got my father aside afterwards +and said he was sure there was something in my face, and wanted to know +what it was, if not music. He was relieved when he heard that I occupied +myself with literature (which word, note here, I do now spell +correctly). Good-night, and here's the verger's health! + +_Friday._--Yesterday received the letter you know of. I have finished my +Portfolio paper, not very good but with things in it: I don't know if +they will take it; and I have got a good start made with my _John Knox_ +articles. The weather here is rainy and miserable and windy: it is warm +and not over boisterous for a certain sort of pleasure. This place, as +I have made my first real inquisition into it to-night is curious +enough; all the days I have been here, I have been at work, and so I was +quite new to it. + +_Saturday._--A most beautiful day. We took a most beautiful drive, also +up the banks of the river. The heather and furze are in flower at once +and make up a splendid richness of colour on the hills; the trees were +beautiful; there was a bit of winding road with larches on one hand and +oaks on the other; the oaks were in shadow and printed themselves off at +every corner on the sunlit background of the larches. We passed a little +family of children by the roadside. The youngest of all sat a good way +apart from the others on the summit of a knoll; it was ensconced in an +old tea-box, out of which issued its head and shoulders in a blue cloak +and scarlet hat. O if you could have seen its dignity! It was +deliciously humorous: and this little piece of comic self-satisfaction +was framed in wonderfully by the hills and the sunlit estuary. We saw +another child in a cottage garden. She had been sick, it seemed, and was +taking the air quietly for health's sake. Over her pale face, she had +decorated herself with all available flowers and weeds; and she was +driving one chair as a horse, sitting in another by way of carriage. We +cheered her as we passed, and she acknowledged the compliment like a +queen. I like children better every day, I think, and most other things +less. _John Knox_ goes on, and a horrible story of a nurse which I think +almost too cruel to go on with: I wonder why my stories are always so +nasty.[18] I am still well, and in good spirits. I say, by the way, have +you any means of finding Madame Garschine's address. If you have, +communicate with me. I fear my last letter has been too late to catch +her at Franzensbad; and so I shall have to go without my visit +altogether, which would vex me. + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Barmouth, September 1874], Tuesday._ + +I wonder if you ever read Dickens' Christmas books? I don't know that I +would recommend you to read them, because they are too much perhaps. I +have only read two of them yet, and feel so good after them and would do +anything, yes and shall do everything, to make it a little better for +people. I wish I could lose no time; I want to go out and comfort some +one; I shall never listen to the nonsense they tell one about not giving +money--I _shall_ give money; not that I haven't done so always, but I +shall do it with a high hand now. + +It is raining here; and I have been working at John Knox, and at the +horrid story I have in hand, and walking in the rain. Do you know this +story of mine is horrible; I only work at it by fits and starts, because +I feel as if it were a sort of crime against humanity--it is so cruel. + +_Wednesday._--I saw such nice children again to-day; one little fellow +alone by the roadside, putting a stick into a spout of water and singing +to himself--so wrapt up that we had to poke him with our umbrellas to +attract his attention; and again, two solid, fleshly, grave, +double-chinned burgomasters in black, with black hats on 'em, riding +together in what they call, I think, a double perambulator. My father is +such fun here. He is always skipping about into the drawing-room, and +speaking to all the girls, and telling them God knows what about us all. +My mother and I are the old people who sit aloof, receive him as a sort +of prodigal when he comes back to us, and listen indulgently to what he +has to tell. + +_Llandudno, Thursday._--A cold bleak place of stucco villas with wide +streets to let the wind in at you. A beautiful journey, however, coming +hither. + +_Friday._--Seeley has taken my paper, which is, as I now think, not to +beat about the bush, bad. However, there are pretty things in it, I +fancy; we shall see what you shall say. + +_Sunday._--I took my usual walk before turning in last night, and +dallied over it a little. It was a cool, dark, solemn night, starry, but +the sky charged with big black clouds. The lights in house windows you +could see, but the houses themselves were lost in the general blackness. +A church clock struck eleven as I went past, and rather startled me. The +whiteness of the road was all I had to go by. I heard an express train +roaring away down the coast into the night, and dying away sharply in +the distance; it was like the noise of an enormous rocket, or a shot +world, one would fancy. I suppose the darkness made me a little +fanciful; but when at first I was puzzled by this great sound in the +night, between sea and hills, I thought half seriously that it might be +a world broken loose--this world to wit. I stood for I suppose five +seconds with this looking-for of destruction in my head, not exactly +frightened but put out; and I wanted badly not to be overwhelmed where I +was, unless I could cry out a farewell with a great voice over the ruin +and make myself heard.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + "John Knox" and "J. K." herein mentioned are the two papers on _John + Knox and His Relations with Women_, first printed in Macmillan's + Magazine and afterwards in _Familiar Studies of Men and Books_. + + _Swanston, Wednesday [Autumn], 1874._ + +I have been hard at work all yesterday, and besides had to write a long +letter to Bob, so I found no time until quite late, and then was sleepy. +Last night it blew a fearful gale; I was kept awake about a couple of +hours, and could not get to sleep for the horror of the wind's noise; +the whole house shook; and, mind you, our house is a house, a great +castle of jointed stone that would weigh up a street of English houses; +so that when it quakes, as it did last night, it means something. But +the quaking was not what put me about; it was the horrible howl of the +wind round the corner; the audible haunting of an incarnate anger about +the house; the evil spirit that was abroad; and, above all, the +shuddering silent pauses when the storm's heart stands dreadfully still +for a moment. O how I hate a storm at night! They have been a great +influence in my life, I am sure; for I can remember them so far +back--long before I was six at least, for we left the house in which I +remember listening to them times without number when I was six. And in +those days the storm had for me a perfect impersonation, as durable and +unvarying as any heathen deity. I always heard it, as a horseman riding +past with his cloak about his head, and somehow always carried away, and +riding past again, and being baffled yet once more, _ad infinitum_, all +night long. I think I wanted him to get past, but I am not sure; I know +only that I had some interest either for or against in the matter; and I +used to lie and hold my breath, not quite frightened, but in a state of +miserable exaltation. + +My first _John Knox_ is in proof, and my second is on the anvil. It is +very good of me so to do; for I want so much to get to my real tour and +my sham tour, the real tour first; it is always working in my head, and +if I can only turn on the right sort of style at the right moment, I am +not much afraid of it. One thing bothers me; what with hammering at this +J. K., and writing necessary letters, and taking necessary exercise +(that even not enough, the weather is so repulsive to me, cold and +windy), I find I have no time for reading except times of fatigue, when +I wish merely to relax myself. O--and I read over again for this purpose +Flaubert's _Tentation de St. Antoine_; it struck me a good deal at +first, but this second time it has fetched me immensely. I am but just +done with it, so you will know the large proportion of salt to take +with my present statement, that it's the finest thing I ever read! Of +course, it isn't that, it's full of _longueurs_, and is not quite "redd +up," as we say in Scotland, not quite articulated; but there are +splendid things in it. + +I say, _do_ take your macaroni with oil: _do, please_. It's _beastly_ +with butter.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + Mr. (later Sir) George Grove was for some years before and after this + date the editor of Macmillan's Magazine (but the true monument to his + memory is of course his _Dictionary of Music_). After the Knox + articles no more contributions from R. L. S. appeared in this + magazine, partly, I think, because Mr. Alexander Macmillan + disapproved of his essay on Burns published the following year. The + Portfolio paper here mentioned is that entitled _On the Enjoyment of + Unpleasant Places_. + + _[Swanston, Autumn 1874], Thursday._ + +MY DEAR FRIEND,--I have another letter from Grove, about my _John Knox_, +which is flattering in its way: he is a very gushing and spontaneous +person. I am busy with another Portfolio paper for which I can find no +name; I think I shall require to leave it without. + +I am afraid I shall not get to London on my way to Poland, but I must +try to manage it on my way back; I must see you anyway, before I tackle +this sad winter work, just to get new heart. As it is, I am as jolly as +three, in good health, fairish working trim and on good, very good, +terms with my people. + +Look here, I must have people well. If they will keep well, I am all +right: if they won't--well I'll do as well as I can, and forgive them, +and try to be something of a comfortable thought in spite. So with that +cheerful sentiment, good-night dear friend and good health to you. + +_Saturday._--Your letter to-day. Thank you. It is a horrid day, outside. +You talk of my setting to a book, as if I could; don't you know that +things must _come_ to me? I can do but little; I mostly wait and look +out. I am struggling with a Portfolio paper just now, which will not +come straight somehow and _will_ get too gushy; but a little patience +will get it out of the kink and sober it down I hope. I have been +thinking over my movements, and am not sure but that I may get to London +on my way to Poland after all. Hurrah! But we must not halloo till we +are out of the wood; this may be only a clearing. + +God help us all, it is a funny world. To see people skipping all round +us with their eyes sealed up with indifference, knowing nothing of the +earth or man or woman, going automatically to offices and saying they +are happy or unhappy out of a sense of duty, I suppose, surely at least +from no sense of happiness or unhappiness, unless perhaps they have a +tooth that twinges, is it not like a bad dream? Why don't they stamp +their foot upon the ground and awake? There is the moon rising in the +east, and there is a person with their heart broken and still glad and +conscious of the world's glory up to the point of pain; and behold they +know nothing of all this! I should like to kick them into consciousness, +for damp gingerbread puppets as they are. S. C. is down on me for being +bitter; who can help it sometimes, especially after they have slept ill? + +I am going to have a lot of lunch presently; and then I shall feel all +right again, and the loneliness will pass away as often before. It is +the flesh that is weak. Already I have done myself all the good in the +world by this scribble, and feel alive again and pretty jolly. + +_Sunday._--What a day! Cold and dark as mid-winter. I shall send with +this two new photographs of myself for your opinion. My father regards +this life "as a shambling sort of omnibus which is taking him to his +hotel." Is that not well said? It came out in a rather pleasant and +entirely amicable discussion which we had this afternoon on a walk. The +colouring of the world, to-day is of course hideous; we saw only one +pleasant sight, a couple of lovers under a thorn-tree by the wayside, +he with his arm about her waist: they did not seem to find it so cold as +we. I have made a lot of progress to-day with my Portfolio paper. I +think some of it should be nice, but it rambles a little; I like +rambling, if the country be pleasant; don't you?--Ever your faithful +friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[October 27, 1874], Edinburgh, Thursday._ + +It is cold, but very sunshiny and dry; I wish you were here; it would +suit you and it doesn't suit me; if we could change? This is the Fast +day--Thursday preceding bi-annual Holy Sacrament that is--nobody does +any work, they go to Church twice, they read nothing secular (except the +newspapers, that is the nuance between Fast day and Sunday), they eat +like fighting-cocks. Behold how good a thing it is and becoming well to +fast in Scotland. I am progressing with _John Knox and Women No. 2_; I +shall finish it, I think, in a fortnight hence; and then I shall begin +to enjoy myself. _J. K. and W. No. 2_ is not uninteresting however; it +only bores me because I am so anxious to be at something else which I +like better. I shall perhaps go to Church this afternoon from a sort of +feeling that it is rather a wholesome thing to do of an afternoon; it +keeps one from work and it lets you out so late that you cannot weary +yourself walking and so spoil your evening's work. + +_Friday._--I got your letter this morning, and whether owing to that, or +to the fact that I had spent the evening before in comparatively riotous +living, I managed to work five hours and a half well and without +fatigue; besides reading about an hour more at history. This is a thing +to be proud of. + +We have had lately some of the most beautiful sunsets; our autumn +sunsets here are always admirable in colour. To-night there was just a +little lake of tarnished green deepening into a blood-orange at the +margins, framed above by dark clouds and below by the long roof-line of +the Egyptian buildings on what we call the Mound, the statues on the top +(of her Britannic Majesty and diverse nondescript Sphinxes) printing +themselves off black against the lit space. + +_Saturday._--It has been colder than ever; and to-night there is a +truculent wind about the house, shaking the windows and making a hollow +inarticulate grumbling in the chimney. I cannot say how much I hate the +cold. It makes my scalp so tight across my head and gives me such a +beastly rheumatism about my shoulders, and wrinkles and stiffens my +face; O I have such a _Sehnsucht_ for Mentone, where the sun is shining +and the air still, and (a friend writes to me) people are complaining of +the heat. + +_Sunday._--I was chased out by my lamp again last night; it always goes +out when I feel in the humour to write to you. To-day I have been to +Church, which has not improved my temper I must own. The clergyman did +his best to make me hate him, and I took refuge in that admirable poem +the Song of Deborah and Barak; I should like to make a long scroll of +painting (say to go all round a cornice) illustrative of this poem; with +the people seen in the distance going stealthily on footpaths while the +great highways go vacant; with the archers besetting the draw-wells; +with the princes in hiding on the hills among the bleating sheep-flocks; +with the overthrow of Sisera, the stars fighting against him in their +courses and that ancient river, the river Kishon, sweeping him away in +anger; with his mother looking and looking down the long road in the red +sunset, and never a banner and never a spear-clump coming into sight, +and her women with white faces round her, ready with lying comfort. To +say nothing of the people on white asses. + +O, I do hate this damned life that I lead. Work--work--work; that's all +right, it's amusing; but I want women about me and I want pleasure. John +Knox had a better time of it than I, with his godly females all leaving +their husbands to follow after him; I would I were John Knox; I hate +living like a hermit. Write me a nice letter if ever you are in the +humour to write to me, and it doesn't hurt your head. Good-bye.--Ever +your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL. + + + The projected visit to his Russian friend in Poland did not come off, + and shortly after the preceding letter Stevenson went for a few days' + walking tour in the Chiltern Hills of Buckinghamshire, as recorded in + his essay _An Autumn Effect_. He then came on for a visit to London. + + [_London, November 1874._] + +When I left you I found an organ-grinder in Russell Square playing to a +child; and the simple fact that there was a child listening to him, that +he was giving this pleasure, entitled him, according to my theory, as +you know, to some money; so I put some coppers on the ledge of his +organ, without so much as looking at him, and I was going on when a +woman said to me: "Yes, sir, he do look bad, don't he? scarcely fit like +to be working." And then I looked at the man, and O! he was so ill, so +yellow and heavy-eyed and drooping. I did not like to go back somehow, +and so I gave the woman a shilling and asked her to give it to him for +me. I saw her do so and walked on; but the face followed me, and so when +I had got to the end of the division, I turned and came back as hard as +I could and filled his hand with money--ten to thirteen shillings, I +should think. I was sure he was going to be ill, you know, and he was a +young man; and I dare say he was alone, and had no one to love him. + +I had my reward; for a few yards farther on, here was another +organ-grinder playing a dance tune, and perhaps a dozen children all +dancing merrily to his music, singly, and by twos and threes, and in +pretty little figures together. Just what my organ-grinder in my story +wanted to have happen to him! It was so gay and pleasant in the twilight +under the street lamp. + +I am very well, have eaten well, and am so sleepy I can write no more. +This I write to let you know I am no worse; all the better.--Ever your +faithful friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Edinburgh, November 1874], Sunday._ + +I was never more sorry to leave you, but I never left you with a better +heart, than last night. I had a long journey and a cold one; but never +was sick nor sorry the whole way. It was a long one because when we got +to Berwick, we had to go round through the hills by Kelso, as there was +a block on the main line. I knew nothing of this, and you may imagine my +bewilderment when I came to myself, the train standing and whistling +dismally in the black morning, before a little vacant half-lit station, +with a name up that I had never heard before. My fellow-traveller woke +up and wanted to know what was wrong. "O, it's nothing," I said, +"nothing at all, it's an evil dream." However we had the thing explained +to us at the end of ends, and trailed on in the dark among the snowy +hills, stopping every now and again and whistling in an appealing kind +of way, as much as to say, "God knows where we are, for God's sake don't +run into us"; until at last we came to a dead standstill and remained so +for perhaps an hour and a quarter. This wakened us up for a little; and +we managed, at last, to attract the attention of one of the officials +whom we could see picking their way about the snow with lanterns. This +man (very wide awake, and hale, and lusty) informed us we were waiting +for another conductor, as our own guard did not know the line. "Where +is the new guard coming from?" we ask. "O, close by; only--he, he--he +was married last night." And immediately we heard much hoarse laughter +in the dark about us; and the moving lanterns were shaken to and fro, as +if in a wind. This poor conductor! However, I recomposed myself for +slumber, and did not re-awake much before Edinburgh, where I was +discharged three hours too late and found my father waiting for me in +the snow, with a very long face.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + I forget what the Japanese prints were which I had been sending to + Stevenson at his wish, but they sound like specimens of Hiroshigé and + Kuniyoshi. The taste for these things was then quite new and had laid + hold on him strongly. + + [_Edinburgh, November 1874._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Thank you, and God bless you for ever: this is a far +better lot than the last; I have chosen four complete sets out of it for +setting, quite admirable: the others are not quite one's taste; I find +the colour far from always being agreeable, it is a great toss up. They +have sent me duplicates of first a mad little scene with a white horse, +a red monarch and a blue arm of the sea in it; and second of a night +scene with water, flowers and a black and white umbrella and a wonderful +grey distance and a wonderful general effect--one of my best in fact. Do +not now force yourself to make any more purchases for me; but if ever +you see a thing you would like to lecture off, remember I am the person +who is ready to buy it and let you have the use of it: keep this in view +_always_. + +I am working very hard (for me) and am very happy over my picters. + +Goodbye, _mon vieux_.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +P.S.--In fact if ever you see anything exceptionally fine, purchase for +R. L. S. I owe you lots of money besides this, don't I? _John Knox_ is +red and sparkling on the anvil and the hammer goes about six hours on +him. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + During his days in London Stevenson had gone with Mrs. Sitwell to + revisit the Elgin marbles, and had carried off photographs of them to + put up in his room at Edinburgh. _King Matthias's Hunting Horn_ has + perished like so many other stories of this time. + + _[Edinburgh, November 1874], Tuesday._ + +Well, I've got some women now, and they're better than nothing. Three, +without heads, who have been away getting framed. And you know they are +more to me, after a fashion, than they can be to you, because, after a +fashion also, they are women. I have come now to think the sitting +figure in spite of its beautiful drapery rather a blemish, rather an +interruption to the sentiment. The two others are better than one has +ever dreamed; I think these two women are the only things in the world +that have been better than, in Bible phrase, it had entered into my +heart to conceive. Who made them? Was it Pheidias? or do they not know? +It is wonderful what company they are--noble company. And then I have +now three Japanese pictures that are after my own heart, and I get up +from time to time and turn a bit of favourite colour over and over, roll +it under my tongue, savour it till it gets all through me; and then back +to my chair and to work. + +This afternoon about six there was a small orange moon, lost in a great +world of blue evening. A few leafless boughs, and a bit of garden +railing, criss-cross its face; and below it there was blueness and the +spread lights of Leith, lost in blue haze. To the east, the town, also +subdued to the same blue, piled itself up, with here and there a lit +window, until it could print off its outline against a faint patch of +green and russet that remained behind the sunset. + +I must tell you about my way of life, which is regular to a degree. +Breakfast 8.30; during breakfast and my smoke afterwards till ten, when +I begin work, I read Reformation; from ten, I work until about a quarter +to one; from one until two, I lunch and read a book on Schopenhauer or +one on Positivism; two to three work, three to six anything; if I am in +before six, I read about Japan: six, dinner and a pipe with my father +and coffee until 7.30; 7.30 to 9.30, work; after that either supper and +a pipe at home, or out to Simpson's or Baxter's: bed between eleven and +twelve. + +_Wednesday._--Two good things have arrived to me to-day: your letter for +one, and the end of _John Knox_ for another. I cannot write English +because I have been speaking French all evening with some French people +of my knowledge. It's a sad thing the state I get into, when I cannot +remember English and yet do not know French! And it is worse when it is +complicated, as at present, with a pen that will not write! If you knew +how I have to paint and how I have to manoeuvre to get the stuff legible +at all. + +_Thursday._--I have said the Fates are only women after a fashion; and +that is one of the strangest things about them. They are wonderfully +womanly--they are more womanly than any woman--and those girt draperies +are drawn over a wonderful greatness of body instinct with sex; I do not +see a line in them that could be a line in a man. And yet, when all is +said, they are not women for us; they are of another race, immortal, +separate; one has no wish to look at them with love, only with a sort of +lowly adoration, physical, but wanting what is the soul of all love, +whether admitted to oneself or not, hope; in a word "the desire of the +moth for the star." O great white stars of eternal marble, O shapely, +colossal women, and yet not women. It is not love that we seek from +them, we do not desire to see their great eyes troubled with our +passions, or the great impassive members contorted by any hope or pain +or pleasure; only now and again, to be conscious that they exist, to +have knowledge of them far off in cloudland or feel their steady eyes +shining, like quiet watchful stars, above the turmoil of the earth. + +I write so ill; so cheap and miserable and penny-a-linerish is this +_John Knox_ that I have just sent, that I am low. Only I keep my heart +up by thinking of you. And if all goes to the worst, shall I not be able +to lay my head on the great knees of the middle Fate--O these great +knees--I know all Baudelaire meant now with his _géante_--to lay my head +on her great knees and go to sleep. + +_Friday._--I have finished _The Story of King Matthias' Hunting Horn_, +whereof I spoke to you, and I think it should be good. It excites me +like wine, or fire, or death, or love, or something; nothing of my own +writing ever excited me so much; it does seem to me so weird and +fantastic. + +_Saturday._--I know now that there is a more subtle and dangerous sort +of selfishness in habit than there ever can be in disorder. I never +ceased to be generous when I was most _déréglé_; now when I am beginning +to settle into habits, I see the danger in front of me--one might cease +to be generous and grow hard and sordid in time and trouble. However, +thank God it is life I want, and nothing posthumous, and for two good +emotions I would sacrifice a thousand years of fame. Moreover I know so +well that I shall never be much as a writer that I am not very sorely +tempted. + +My only chance is in my stories; and so you will forgive me if I +postpone everything else to copy out _King Matthias_; I have learned by +experience that a story should be copied out and finished fairly off at +the first heat if ever. I am even thinking of finishing up half-a-dozen +perhaps and trying the publishers? what do you say? Give me your +advice? + +_Sunday._--Good-bye. A long story to tell but no time to tell it: well +and happy. Adieu.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _Edinburgh [Sunday, November 1874]._ + +Here is my long story: yesterday night, after having supped, I grew so +restless that I was obliged to go out in search of some excitement. +There was a half-moon lying over on its back, and incredibly bright in +the midst of a faint grey sky set with faint stars: a very inartistic +moon, that would have damned a picture. + +At the most populous place of the city I found a little boy, three years +old perhaps, half frantic with terror, and crying to every one for his +"Mammy." This was about eleven, mark you. People stopped and spoke to +him, and then went on, leaving him more frightened than before. But I +and a good-humoured mechanic came up together; and I instantly developed +a latent faculty for setting the hearts of children at rest. Master +Tommy Murphy (such was his name) soon stopped crying, and allowed me to +take him up and carry him; and the mechanic and I trudged away along +Princes Street to find his parents. I was soon so tired that I had to +ask the mechanic to carry the bairn; and you should have seen the +puzzled contempt with which he looked at me, for knocking in so soon. He +was a good fellow, however, although very impracticable and sentimental; +and he soon bethought him that Master Murphy might catch cold after his +excitement, so we wrapped him up in my greatcoat. "Tobauga (Tobago) +Street" was the address he gave us; and we deposited him in a little +grocer's shop and went through all the houses in the street without +being able to find any one of the name of Murphy. Then I set off to the +head police office, leaving my greatcoat in pawn about Master Murphy's +person. As I went down one of the lowest streets in the town, I saw a +little bit of life that struck me. It was now half-past twelve, a little +shop stood still half-open, and a boy of four or five years old was +walking up and down before it imitating cockcrow. He was the only living +creature within sight. + +At the police offices no word of Master Murphy's parents; so I went back +empty-handed. The good groceress, who had kept her shop open all this +time, could keep the child no longer; her father, bad with bronchitis, +said he must forth. So I got a large scone with currants in it, wrapped +my coat about Tommy, got him up on my arm, and away to the police office +with him: not very easy in my mind, for the poor child, young as he +was--he could scarce speak--was full of terror for the "office," as he +called it. He was now very grave and quiet and communicative with me; +told me how his father thrashed him, and divers household matters. +Whenever he saw a woman on our way he looked after her over my shoulder +and then gave his judgment: "That's no _her_," adding sometimes, "She +has a wean wi' her." Meantime I was telling him how I was going to take +him to a gentleman who would find out his mother for him quicker than +ever I could, and how he must not be afraid of him, but be brave, as he +had been with me. We had just arrived at our destination--we were just +under the lamp--when he looked me in the face and said appealingly, +"He'll no put me in the office?" And I had to assure him that he would +not, even as I pushed open the door and took him in. + +The serjeant was very nice, and I got Tommy comfortably seated on a +bench, and spirited him up with good words and the scone with the +currants in it; and then, telling him I was just going out to look for +Mammy, I got my greatcoat and slipped away. + +Poor little boy! he was not called for, I learn, until ten this morning. +This is very ill written, and I've missed half that was picturesque in +it; but to say truth, I am very tired and sleepy: it was two before I +got to bed. However, you see, I had my excitement. + +_Monday._--I have written nothing all morning; I cannot settle to it. +Yes--I _will_ though. + +10.45.--And I did. I want to say something more to you about the three +women. I wonder so much why they should have been _women_, and halt +between two opinions in the matter. Sometimes I think it is because they +were made by a man for men; sometimes, again, I think there is an +abstract reason for it, and there is something more substantive about a +woman than ever there can be about a man. I can conceive a great +mythical woman, living alone among inaccessible mountain-tops or in some +lost island in the pagan seas, and ask no more. Whereas if I hear of a +Hercules, I ask after Iole or Dejanira. I cannot think him a man without +women. But I can think of these three deep-breasted women, living out +all their days on remote hilltops, seeing the white dawn and the purple +even, and the world outspread before them for ever, and no more to them +for ever than a sight of the eyes, a hearing of the ears, a far-away +interest of the inflexible heart, not pausing, not pitying, but austere +with a holy austerity, rigid with a calm and passionless rigidity; and I +find them none the less women to the end. + +And think, if one could love a woman like that once, see her once grow +pale with passion, and once wring your lips out upon hers, would it not +be a small thing to die? Not that there is not a passion of a quite +other sort, much less epic, far more dramatic and intimate, that comes +out of the very frailty of perishable women; out of the lines of +suffering that we see written about their eyes, and that we may wipe out +if it were but for a moment; out of the thin hands, wrought and tempered +in agony to a fineness of perception, that the indifferent or the merely +happy cannot know; out of the tragedy that lies about such a love, and +the pathetic incompleteness. This is another thing, and perhaps it is a +higher. I look over my shoulder at the three great headless Madonnas, +and they look back at me and do not move; see me, and through and over +me, the foul life of the city dying to its embers already as the night +draws on; and over miles and miles of silent country, set here and there +with lit towns, thundered through here and there with night expresses +scattering fire and smoke; and away to the ends of the earth, and the +furthest star, and the blank regions of nothing; and they are not moved. +My quiet, great-kneed, deep-breasted, well-draped ladies of Necessity, I +give my heart to you! + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _[Edinburgh] December 23, 1874._ + +_Monday._--I have come from a concert, and the concert was rather a +disappointment. Not so my afternoon skating--Duddingston, our big loch, +is bearing; and I wish you could have seen it this afternoon, covered +with people, in thin driving snow flurries, the big hill grim and white +and alpine overhead in the thick air, and the road up the gorge, as it +were into the heart of it, dotted black with traffic. Moreover, I _can_ +skate a little bit; and what one can do is always pleasant to do. + +_Tuesday._--I got your letter to-day, and was so glad thereof. It was of +good omen to me also. I worked from ten to one (my classes are suspended +now for Xmas holidays), and wrote four or five Portfolio pages of my +Buckinghamshire affair. Then I went to Duddingston and skated all +afternoon. If you had seen the moon rising, a perfect sphere of smoky +gold, in the dark air above the trees, and the white loch thick with +skaters, and the great hill, snow-sprinkled, overhead! It was a sight +for a king. + +_Wednesday._--I stayed on Duddingston to-day till after nightfall. The +little booths that hucksters set up round the edge were marked each one +by its little lamp. There were some fires too; and the light, and the +shadows of the people who stood round them to warm themselves, made a +strange pattern all round on the snow-covered ice. A few people with +torches began to travel up and down the ice, a lit circle travelling +along with them over the snow. A gigantic moon rose, meanwhile, over the +trees and the kirk on the promontory among perturbed and vacillating +clouds. + +The walk home was very solemn and strange. Once, through a broken gorge, +we had a glimpse of a little space of mackerel sky, moon-litten, on the +other side of the hill; the broken ridges standing grey and spectral +between; and the hilltop over all, snow-white, and strangely magnified +in size. + +This must go to you to-morrow, so that you may read it on Christmas Day +for company. I hope it may be good company to you. + +_Thursday._--Outside, it snows thick and steadily. The gardens before +our house are now a wonderful fairy forest. And O, this whiteness of +things, how I love it, how it sends the blood about my body! Maurice de +Guérin hated snow; what a fool he must have been! Somebody tried to put +me out of conceit with it by saying that people were lost in it. As if +people don't get lost in love, too, and die of devotion to art; as if +everything worth were not an occasion to some people's end. + +What a wintry letter this is! Only I think it is winter seen from the +inside of a warm greatcoat. And there is, at least, a warm heart about +it somewhere. Do you know, what they say in Xmas stories is true. I +think one loves their friends more dearly at this season.--Ever your +faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The Portfolio article here mentioned is _An Autumn Effect_ (see + _Essays of Travel_). The Italian story so delightedly begun was by + and by condemned and destroyed like all the others of this time. + + _[Edinburgh, January 1875], Monday._ + +Have come from a concert. Sinico sang, _tant bien que mal_, "Ah perfido +spergiuro!"; and then we had the Eroica symphony (No. 3). I can, and +need, say no more; I am rapt out of earth by it; Beethoven is certainly +the greatest man the world has yet produced. I wonder, is there anything +so superb--I can find no word for it more specific than superb--all I +know is that all my knowledge is transcended. I finished to-day and sent +off (and a mighty mean detail it is, to set down after Beethoven's grand +passion) my Portfolio article about Buckinghamshire. In its own way I +believe it to be a good thing; and I hope you will find something in it +to like; it touches, in a dry enough manner, upon most things under +heaven, and if you like me, I think you ought to like this +intellectual--no, I withdraw the word--this artistic dog of mine. +Thaw--thaw--thaw, up here; and farewell skating, and farewell the clear +dry air and the wide, bright, white snow-surface, and all that was so +pleasant in the past. + +_Wednesday._--Yesterday I wasn't well and to-night I have been ever so +busy. There came a note from the Academy, sent by John H. Ingram, the +editor of the edition of Poe's works I have been reviewing, challenging +me to find any more faults. I have found nearly sixty; so I may be +happy; but that makes me none the less sleepy; so I must go to bed. + +_Friday._--I am awfully out of the humour to write; I am very inert +although quite happy; I am informed by those who are more expert that I +am bilious. _Bien_; let it be so; I am still content; and though I can +do no original work, I get forward making notes for my Knox at a good +trot. + +_Saturday._--I am so happy. I am no longer here in Edinburgh. I have +been all yesterday evening and this forenoon in Italy, four hundred +years ago, with one Sannazzaro, a sculptor, painter, poet, etc., and one +Ippolita, a beautiful Duchess. O I like it badly! I wish you could hear +it at once; or rather I wish you could see it immediately in beautiful +type on such a page as it ought to be, in my first little volume of +stories. What a change this is from collecting dull notes for _John +Knox_, as I have been all the early part of the week--the difference +between life and death.--I am quite well again and in such happy +spirits, as who would not be, having spent so much of his time at that +convent on the hills with these sweet people. _Vous verrez_, and if you +don't like this story--well, I give it up if you don't like it. Not but +what there's a long way to travel yet; I am no farther than the +threshold; I have only set the men, and the game has still to be played, +and a lot of dim notions must become definite and shapely, and a deal be +clear to me that is anything but clear as yet. The story shall be +called, I think, _When the Devil was well_, in allusion to the old +proverb. + +Good-bye. + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh [January 1875]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I have worked too hard; I have given myself one day of +rest, and that was not enough; so I am giving myself another. I shall go +to bed again likewise so soon as this is done, and slumber most +potently. + +9 P.M.--Slept all afternoon like a lamb. + +About my coming south, I think the still small unanswerable voice of +coins will make it impossible until the session is over (end of March); +but for all that, I think I shall hold out jolly. I do not want you to +come and bother yourself; indeed, it is still not quite certain whether +my father will be quite fit for you, although I have now no fear of that +really. Now don't take up this wrongly; I wish you could come; and I do +not know anything that would make me happier, but I see that it is wrong +to expect it, and so I resign myself: some time after. I offered +Appleton a series of papers on the modern French school--the +Parnassiens, I think they call them--de Banville, Coppée, Soulary, and +Sully Prudhomme. But he has not deigned to answer my letter. + +I shall have another Portfolio paper so soon as I am done with this +story, that has played me out; the story is to be called _When the Devil +was well_: scene, Italy, Renaissance; colour, purely imaginary of +course, my own unregenerate idea of what Italy then was. O, when shall I +find the story of my dreams, that shall never halt nor wander nor step +aside, but go ever before its face, and ever swifter and louder, until +the pit receives it, roaring? The Portfolio paper will be about Scotland +and England.--Ever yours, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + [_Edinburgh, January 1875._] + +I wish I could write better letters to you. Mine must be very dull. I +must try to give you news. Well, I was at the annual dinner of my old +Academy schoolfellows last night. We sat down ten, out of seventy-two! +The others are scattered all over the places of the earth, some in San +Francisco, some in New Zealand, some in India, one in the backwoods--it +gave one a wide look over the world to hear them talk so. I read them +some verses. It is great fun; I always read verses, and in the vinous +enthusiasm of the moment they always propose to have them printed; _Ce +qui n'arrive jamais du reste_: in the morning, they are more calm. + +_Sunday._--It occurs to me that one reason why there is no news in my +letters is because there is so little in my life. I always tell you of +my concerts: I was at another yesterday afternoon: a recital of Hallé +and Norman Neruda. I went in the evening to the pantomime with the +Mackintoshes--cousins of mine. Their little boy, aged four, was there +for the first time. To see him with his eyes fixed and open like +saucers, and never varying his expression save in so far as he might +sometimes open his mouth a little wider, was worth the money. He laughed +only once--when the giant's dwarf fed his master as though he were a +child. Coming home, he was much interested as to who made the fairies, +and wanted to know if they were like _berries_. I should like to know +how much this question was due to the idea of their coming up from under +the stage, and how much to a vague idea of rhyme. When he was told that +they were not like berries, he then asked if they had not been flowers +before they were fairies. It was a good deal in the vein of Herbert +Spencer's primitive man all this. + +I am pretty well but have not got back to work much since Tuesday. I +work far too hard at the story; but I wish I had finished it before I +stopped as I feel somewhat out of the swing now.--Ever your faithful + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + Another of the literary projects which came to naught, no one of the + stories mentioned having turned out according to Stevenson's dream + and desire at its first conception, or even having been preserved for + use afterwards as the foundation of riper work. "Clytie" is of course + the famous Roman bust from the Townley collection in the British + Museum. + + [_Edinburgh, January 1875._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Thanks for your letter, I too am in such a state of +business that I know not when to find the time to write. Look +here--Seeley does not seem to me to have put that paper of mine in this +month; so I remain unable to pay you; which is a sad pity and must be +forgiven me. + +What am I doing? Well I wrote my second _John Knox_, which is not a bad +piece of work for me; begun and finished ready for press in nine days. +Then I have since written a story called _King Matthias's Hunting Horn_, +and I am engaged in finishing another called _The Two Falconers of +Cairnstane_. I find my stories affect me rather more perhaps than is +wholesome. I have only been two hours at work to-day, and yet I have +been crying and am shaking badly, as you can see in my handwriting, and +my back is a bit bad. They give me pleasure though, quite worth all +results. However I shall work no more to-day. + +I am to get £1000 when I pass Advocate, it seems; which is good. + +O I say, will you kindly tell me all about the bust of Clytie. + + * * * * * + +Then I had the wisdom to stop and look over Japanese picture books until +lunch time. + +Well, tell me all about Clytie, how old is it, who did it, what's it +about, etc. Send it on a sheet that I can forward without indiscretion +to another, as I desire the information for a friend whom I wish to +please. + +Now, look here. When I have twelve stories ready--these twelve-- + + A / I. The Devil on Cramond Sands + l | (needs copying about half). + l | + | II. The Curate of Anstruther's Bottle + S | (needs copying altogether). + c < + o | III. The Two Falconers of Cairnstane + t | (wants a few pages). + c | + h | IV. Strange Adventures of Mr. Nehemiah Solny + . \ (wants reorganisation). + + V. King Matthias's Hunting Horn (all ready). + + VI. Autolycus at Court (in gremio). + + VII. The Family of Love (in gremio). + + VIII. The Barrel Organ (all ready). + + IX. The Last Sinner (wants copying). + + X. Margery Bonthron (wants a few pages). + + XI. Martin's Madonna (in gremio). + + XII. Life and Death (all ready). + +--when I have these twelve ready, should I not do better to try to get a +publisher for them, call them _A Book of Stories_ and put a good +dedicatory letter at the fore end of them. I should get less coin than +by going into magazines perhaps; but I should also get more notice, +should I not? and so, do better for myself in the long run. Now, should +I not? Besides a book with boards is a book with boards, even if it +bain't a very fat one and has no references to Ammianus Marcellinus and +German critics at the foot of the pages. On all this, I shall want your +serious advice. I am sure I shall stand or fall by the stories; and +you'll think so too, when you see those poor excrescences the two John +Knox and Women games. However, judge for yourself and be prudent on my +behalf, like a good soul. + +Yes, I'll come to Cambridge then or thereabout, if God doesn't put a +real tangible spoke in my wheel. + +My terms with my parents are admirable; we are a very united family. + +Good-bye, _mon cher, je ne puis plus écrire_. I have not quite got over +a damned affecting part in my story this morning. O cussed stories, they +will never affect any one but me I fear.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + In the following is related Stevenson's first introduction to Mr. W. + E. Henley. The acquaintance thus formed ripened quickly, as is well + known, into a close and stimulating friendship. Of the story called + _A Country Dance_ no trace remains. + + _Edinburgh, Tuesday [February 1875]._ + +I got your nice long gossiping letter to-day--I mean by that that there +was more news in it than usual--and so, of course, I am pretty jolly. I +am in the house, however, with such a beastly cold in the head. Our east +winds begin already to be very cold. + +O, I have such a longing for children of my own; and yet I do not think +I could bear it if I had one. I fancy I must feel more like a woman than +like a man about that. I sometimes hate the children I see on the +street--you know what I mean by hate--wish they were somewhere else, and +not there to mock me; and sometimes, again, I don't know how to go by +them for the love of them, especially the very wee ones. + +_Thursday._--I have been still in the house since I wrote, and I _have_ +worked. I finished the Italian story; not well, but as well as I can +just now; I must go all over it again, some time soon, when I feel in +the humour to better and perfect it. And now I have taken up an old +story, begun years ago; and I have now re-written all I had written of +it then, and mean to finish it. What I have lost and gained is odd. As +far as regards simple writing, of course, I am in another world now; but +in some things, though more clumsy, I seem to have been freer and more +plucky: this is a lesson I have taken to heart. I have got a jolly new +name for my old story. I am going to call it _A Country Dance_; the two +heroes keep changing places, you know; and the chapter where the most of +this changing goes on is to be called "Up the middle, down the middle." +It will be in six or (perhaps) seven chapters. I have never worked +harder in my life than these last four days. If I can only keep it up. + +_Saturday._--Yesterday, Leslie Stephen, who was down here to lecture, +called on me and took me up to see a poor fellow, a sort of poet who +writes for him, and who has been eighteen months in our infirmary, and +may be, for all I know, eighteen months more. It was very sad to see him +there, in a little room with two beds, and a couple of sick children in +the other bed; a girl came in to visit the children, and played dominoes +on the counterpane with them; the gas flared and crackled, the fire +burned in a dull economical way; Stephen and I sat on a couple of +chairs, and the poor fellow sat up in his bed with his hair and beard +all tangled, and talked as cheerfully as if he had been in a King's +palace, or the great King's palace of the blue air. He has taught +himself two languages since he has been lying there. I shall try to be +of use to him. + +We have had two beautiful spring days, mild as milk, windy withal, and +the sun hot. I dreamed last night I was walking by moonlight round the +place where the scene of my story is laid; it was all so quiet and +sweet, and the blackbirds were singing as if it was day; it made my +heart very cool and happy.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _[Edinburgh] February 8, 1875._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Forgive my bothering you. Here is the proof of my +second _Knox_. Glance it over, like a good fellow, and if there's +anything very flagrant send it to me marked. I have no confidence in +myself; I feel such an ass. What have I been doing? As near as I can +calculate, nothing. And yet I have worked all this month from three to +five hours a day, that is to say, from one to three hours more than my +doctor allows me; positively no result. + +No, I can write no article just now; I am _pioching_, like a madman, at +my stories, and can make nothing of them; my simplicity is tame and +dull--my passion tinsel, boyish, hysterical. Never mind--ten years +hence, if I live, I shall have learned, so help me God. I know one must +work, in the meantime (so says Balzac) _comme le mineur enfoui sous un +éboulement_. + +_J'y parviendrai, nom de nom de nom!_ But it's a long look +forward.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + As the spring advanced Stevenson had again been much out of sorts, + and had gone for a change, in the company of Mr. R. A. M. Stevenson, + on his first visit to the artist haunts of Fontainebleau which were + afterwards so much endeared to him. + + [_Barbizon, April 1875._] + +MY DEAR FRIEND,--This is just a line to say I am well and happy. I am +here in my dear forest all day in the open air. It is very be--no, not +beautiful exactly, just now, but very bright and living. There are one +or two song birds and a cuckoo; all the fruit-trees are in flower, and +the beeches make sunshine in a shady place. I begin to go all right; you +need not be vexed about my health; I really was ill at first, as bad as +I have been for nearly a year; but the forest begins to work, and the +air, and the sun, and the smell of the pines. If I could stay a month +here, I should be as right as possible. Thanks for your letter.--Your +faithful + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + [_Swanston, Tuesday, April 1875._] + +MY DEAR FRIEND,--I have been so busy, away to Bridge of Allan with my +father first, and then with Simpson and Baxter out here from Saturday +till Monday. I had no time to write, and, as it is, am strangely +incapable. Thanks for your letter. I have been reading such lots of law, +and it seems to take away the power of writing from me. From morning to +night, so often as I have a spare moment, I am in the embrace of a law +book--barren embraces. I am in good spirits; and my heart smites me as +usual, when I am in good spirits, about my parents. If I get a bit dull, +I am away to London without a scruple; but so long as my heart keeps up, +I am all for my parents. + +What do you think of Henley's hospital verses?[19] They were to have +been dedicated to me, but Stephen wouldn't allow it--said it would be +pretentious. + +_Wednesday._--I meant to have made this quite a decent letter this +morning, but listen. I had pain all last night, and did not sleep well, +and now am cold and sickish, and strung up ever and again with another +flash of pain. Will you remember me to everybody? My principal +characteristics are cold, poverty, and Scots Law--three very bad things. +Oo, how the rain falls! The mist is quite low on the hill. The birds are +twittering to each other about the indifferent season. O, here's a gem +for you. An old godly woman predicted the end of the world, because the +seasons were becoming indistinguishable; my cousin Dora objected that +last winter had been pretty well marked. "Yes, my dear," replied the +soothsayeress; "but I think you'll find the summer will be rather +co-amplicated."--Ever your faithful + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The rehearsals were those of Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_ for + amateur theatricals at Professor Fleeming Jenkin's, in which + Stevenson played the part of Orsino. + + _[Edinburgh, April 1875] Saturday._ + +I am getting on with my rehearsals, but I find the part very hard. I +rehearsed yesterday from a quarter to seven, and to-day from four (with +interval for dinner) to eleven. You see the sad strait I am in for +ink.--_À demain._ + +_Sunday._--This is the third ink-bottle I have tried, and still it's +nothing to boast of. My journey went off all right, and I have kept ever +in good spirits. Last night, indeed, I did think my little bit of gaiety +was going away down the wind like a whiff of tobacco smoke, but to-day +it has come back to me a little. The influence of this place is +assuredly all that can be worst against one; _mais il faut lutter_. I +was haunted last night when I was in bed by the most cold, desolate +recollections of my past life here; I was glad to try and think of the +forest, and warm my hands at the thought of it. O the quiet, grey +thickets, and the yellow butterflies, and the woodpeckers, and the +outlook over the plain as it were over a sea! O for the good, fleshly +stupidity of the woods, the body conscious of itself all over and the +mind forgotten, the clean air nestling next your skin as though your +clothes were gossamer, the eye filled and content, the whole MAN HAPPY! +Whereas here it takes a pull to hold yourself together; it needs both +hands, and a book of stoical maxims, and a sort of bitterness at the +heart by way of armour.--Ever your faithful R. L. S. + +_Wednesday._--I am so played out with a cold in my eye that I cannot see +to write or read without difficulty. It is swollen _horrible_; so how I +shall look as Orsino, God knows! I have my fine clothes tho'. Henley's +sonnets have been taken for the Cornhill. He is out of hospital now, and +dressed, but still not too much to brag of in health, poor fellow, I am +afraid. + +_Sunday._--So. I have still rather bad eyes, and a nasty sore throat. I +play Orsino every day, in all the pomp of Solomon, splendid Francis the +First clothes, heavy with gold and stage jewellery. I play it ill +enough, I believe; but me and the clothes, and the wedding wherewith the +clothes and me are reconciled, produce every night a thrill of +admiration. Our cook told my mother (there is a servants' night, you +know) that she and the housemaid were "just prood to be able to say it +was oor young gentleman." To sup afterwards with these clothes on, and a +wonderful lot of gaiety and Shakespearean jokes about the table, is +something to live for. It is so nice to feel you have been dead three +hundred years, and the sound of your laughter is faint and far off in +the centuries.--Ever your faithful + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + [_Edinburgh, April 1875._] + +_Wednesday._--A moment at last. These last few days have been as jolly +as days could be, and by good fortune I leave to-morrow for Swanston, so +that I shall not feel the whole fall back to habitual self. The pride of +life could scarce go further. To live in splendid clothes, velvet and +gold and fur, upon principally champagne and lobster salad, with a +company of people nearly all of whom are exceptionally good talkers; +when your days began about eleven and ended about four--I have lost that +sentence; I give it up; it is very admirable sport, any way. Then both +my afternoons have been so pleasantly occupied--taking Henley drives. I +had a business to carry him down the long stair, and more of a business +to get him up again, but while he was in the carriage it was splendid. +It is now just the top of spring with us. The whole country is mad with +green. To see the cherry-blossom bitten out upon the black firs, and the +black firs bitten out of the blue sky, was a sight to set before a king. +You may imagine what it was to a man who has been eighteen months in an +hospital ward. The look of his face was a wine to me. He plainly has +been little in the country before. Imagine this: I always stopped him on +the Bridges to let him enjoy the great _cry_ of green that goes up to +Heaven out of the river beds, and he asked (more than once) "What noise +is that?"--"The water."--"O!" almost incredulously; and then quite a +long while after: "Do you know the noise of the water astonished me very +much?" I was much struck by his putting the question _twice_; I have +lost the sense of wonder of course; but there must be something to +wonder at, for Henley has eyes and ears and an immortal soul of his own. + +I shall send this off to-day to let you know of my new +address--Swanston Cottage, Lothianburn, Edinburgh. Salute the faithful +in my name. Salute Priscilla, salute Barnabas, salute Ebenezer--O no, +he's too much, I withdraw Ebenezer; enough of early Christians.--Ever +your faithful + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Edinburgh, May or June 1875._] + +I say, we have a splendid picture here in Edinburgh. A Ruysdael of which +one can never tire: I think it is one of the best landscapes in the +world: a grey still day, a grey still river, a rough oak wood on one +shore, on the other chalky banks with very complicated footpaths, oak +woods, a field where a man stands reaping, church towers relieved +against the sky and a beautiful distance, neither blue nor green. It is +so still, the light is so cool and temperate, the river woos you to +bathe in it. O I like it! + +I say, I wonder if our Scottish Academy's exhibition is going to be done +at all for Appleton or whether he does not care for it. It might amuse +me, although I am not fit for it. Why and O why doesn't Grove publish +me?--Ever yours, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + I was at this time, if I remember rightly, preparing some lectures on + Hogarth for a course at Cambridge. + + [_Swanston, June 1875._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I am a devil certainly; but write I cannot. Look here, +you had better get hold of G. C. Lichtenberg's _Ausfürliche Erklarung +der Hogarthischen Kupferstiche_: Göttingen, 1794 to 1816 (it was +published in numbers seemingly). Douglas the publisher lent it to me: +and tho' I hate the damned tongue too cordially to do more than dip into +it, I have seen some shrewd things. If you cannot get it for yourself, +(it seems scarce), I dare say I could negotiate with Douglas for a loan. +This adorable spring has made me quite drunken, drunken with green +colour and golden sound. We have the best blackbird here that we have +had for years; we have two; but the other is but an average performer. +Anything so rich and clear as the pipe of our first fiddle, it never +entered into the heart of man to fancy. How the years slip away, Colvin; +and we walk little cycles, and turn in little abortive spirals, and come +out again, hot and weary, to find the same view before us, the same hill +barring the road. Only, bless God for it, we have still the same eye to +see with, and if the scene be not altogether unsightly, we can enjoy it +whether or no. I feel quite happy, but curiously inert and passive, +something for the winds to blow over, and the sun to glimpse on and go +off again, as it might be a tree or a gravestone. All this willing and +wishing and striving leads a man nowhere after all. Here I am back again +in my old humour of a sunny equanimity; to see the world fleet about me; +and the days chase each other like sun patches, and the nights like +cloud-shadows, on a windy day; content to see them go and no wise +reluctant for the cool evening, with its dew and stars and fading strain +of tragic red. And I ask myself why I ever leave this humour? What I +have gained? And the winds blow in the trees with a sustained "Pish"! +and the birds answer me in a long derisive whistle. + +So that for health, happiness, and indifferent literature, apply +to--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + "_Burns_" means the article on Burns which R. L. S. had been + commissioned to write for the Encyclopædia Britannica. The "awfully + nice man" was the Hon. J. Seed, formerly Secretary to the Customs and + Marine Department of New Zealand; and it was from his conversation + that the notion of the Samoan Islands as a place of refuge for the + sick and world-worn first entered Stevenson's mind, to lie dormant (I + never heard him speak of it) and be revived thirteen years later. + + [_Edinburgh, June 1875._] + +Simply a scratch. All right, jolly, well, and through with the +difficulty. My father pleased about the _Burns_. Never travel in the +same carriage with three able-bodied seamen and a fruiterer from Kent; +the A.-B.'s speak all night as though they were hailing vessels at sea; +and the fruiterer as if he were crying fruit in a noisy +market-place--such, at least, is my _funeste_ experience. I wonder if a +fruiterer from some place else--say Worcestershire--would offer the same +phenomena? insoluble doubt. + + R. L. S. + +_Later._--Forgive me, couldn't get it off. Awfully nice man here +to-night. Public servant--New Zealand. Telling us all about the South +Sea Islands till I was sick with desire to go there: beautiful places, +green for ever; perfect climate; perfect shapes of men and women, with +red flowers in their hair; and nothing to do but to study oratory and +etiquette, sit in the sun, and pick up the fruits as they fall. +Navigator's Island is the place; absolute balm for the weary.--Ever your +faithful friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The examination for the Bar at Edinburgh was approaching. + _Fontainebleau_ is the paper called _Forest Notes_, afterwards + printed in the Cornhill Magazine. The church is Glencorse Church in + the Pentlands, to the thoughts of which Stevenson reverted in his + last days with so much emotion (see _Weir of Hermiston_, chap. v.). + + [_Swanston. End of June 1875._] + +_Thursday._--This day fortnight I shall fall or conquer. Outside the +rain still soaks; but now and again the hilltop looks through the mist +vaguely. I am very comfortable, very sleepy, and very much satisfied +with the arrangements of Providence. + +_Saturday--no, Sunday_, 12.45.--Just been--not grinding, alas!--I +couldn't--but doing a bit of _Fontainebleau_. I don't think I'll be +plucked. I am not sure though--I am so busy, what with this d----d law, +and this _Fontainebleau_ always at my elbow, and three plays (three, +think of that!) and a story, all crying out to me, "Finish, finish, make +an entire end, make us strong, shapely, viable creatures!" It's enough +to put a man crazy. Moreover, I have my thesis given out now, which is a +fifth (is it fifth? I can't count) incumbrance. + +_Sunday._--I've been to church, and am not depressed--a great step. I +was at that beautiful church my _petit poëme en prose_ was about. It is +a little cruciform place, with heavy cornices and string course to +match, and a steep slate roof. The small kirkyard is full of old +gravestones. One of a Frenchman from Dunkerque--I suppose he died +prisoner in the military prison hard by--and one, the most pathetic +memorial I ever saw, a poor school-slate, in a wooden frame, with the +inscription cut into it evidently by the father's own hand. In church, +old Mr. Torrence preached--over eighty, and a relic of times forgotten, +with his black thread gloves and mild old foolish face. One of the +nicest parts of it was to see John Inglis, the greatest man in Scotland, +our Justice-General, and the only born lawyer I ever heard, listening to +the piping old body, as though it had all been a revelation, grave and +respectful.--Ever your faithful + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + [_Edinburgh, July 15, 1875._] + +PASSED. + + Ever your + R. + L. + S. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + [13] _L'Homme qui rit._ + + [14] This letter, accepting the first contribution of R. L. S., has + by an accident been preserved, and is so interesting, both for its + occasion and for the light it throws on the writer's care and + kindness as an editor, that by permission of his representatives I + here print it. '93 stands, of course, for the novel _Quatre-vingt + Treize_. + + _15 Waterloo Place, S. W., 15/5/74_ + + DEAR SIR,--I have read with great interest your article on Victor + Hugo and also that which appeared in the last number of Macmillan. I + shall be happy to accept Hugo, and if I have been rather long in + answering you, it is only because I wished to give a second reading + to the article, and have lately been very much interrupted. + + I will now venture to make a few remarks, and by way of preface I + must say that I do not criticise you because I take a low view of + your powers: but for the very contrary reason. I think very highly + of the promise shown in your writings and therefore think it worth + while to write more fully than I can often to contributors. Nor do I + set myself up as a judge--I am very sensible of my own failings in + the critical department and merely submit what has occurred to me + for your consideration. + + I fully agree with the greatest portion of your opinions and think + them very favourably expressed. The following points struck me as + doubtful when I read and may perhaps be worth notice. + + First, you seem to make the distinction between dramatic and + novelistic art coincide with the distinction between romantic and + 18th century. This strikes me as doubtful, as at least to require + qualification. To my mind Hugo is far more dramatic in spirit than + Fielding, though his method involves (as you show exceedingly well) + a use of scenery and background which would hardly be admissible in + drama. I am not able--I fairly confess--to define the dramatic + element in Hugo or to say why I think it absent from Fielding and + Richardson. Yet surely Hugo's own dramas are a sufficient proof that + a drama may be romantic as well as a novel: though, of course, the + pressure of the great moral forces, etc., must be indicated by + different means. The question is rather a curious one and too wide + to discuss in a letter. I merely suggest what seems to me to be an + obvious criticism on your argument. + + Secondly, you speak very sensibly of the melodramatic and clap-trap + element in Hugo. I confess that it seems to me to go deeper into his + work than you would apparently allow. I think it, for example, very + palpable even in _Notre Dame_, and I doubt the historical fidelity + though my ignorance of mediæval history prevents me from putting my + finger on many faults. The consequence is that in my opinion you are + scarcely just to Scott or Fielding as compared with Hugo. Granting + fully his amazing force and fire, he seems to me to be deficient + often in that kind of healthy realism which is so admirable in + Scott's best work. For example, though my Scotch blood (for I can + boast of some) may prejudice me I am profoundly convinced that + Balfour of Burley would have knocked M. Lantenac into a cocked hat + and stormed la Tourgue if it had been garrisoned by 19 x 19 French + spouters of platitude in half the time that Gauvain and Cimourdain + took about it. In fact, Balfour seems to me to be flesh and blood + and Gauvain & Co. to be too often mere personified bombast: and + therefore I fancy that _Old Mortality_ will outlast '93, though + _Notre Dame_ is far better than _Quentin Durward_, and _Les + Misérables_, perhaps, better than any. This is, of course, fair + matter of opinion. + + Thirdly, I don't think that you quite bring out your meaning in + saying that '93 is a decisive symptom. I confess that I don't quite + see in what sense it decides precisely what question. A sentence or + so would clear this up. + + Fourthly, as a matter of form, I think (but I am very doubtful) that + it might possibly have been better not to go into each novel in + succession; but to group the substance of your remarks a little + differently. Of course I don't want you to alter the form, I merely + notice the point as suggesting a point in regard to any future + article. + + Many of your criticisms in detail strike me as very good. I was much + pleased by your remarks on the storm in the _Travailleurs_. There + was another very odd storm, as it struck me on a hasty reading in + '93, where there is mention of a beautiful summer evening and yet + the wind is so high that you can't hear the tocsin. You do justice + also and more than justice to Hugo's tenderness about children. + That, I think, points to one great source of his power. + + It would be curious to compare Hugo to a much smaller man, Chas. + Reade, who is often a kind of provincial or Daily Telegraph Hugo. + However that would hardly do in the Cornhill. I shall send your + article to the press and hope to use it in July. Any alterations can + be made when the article is in type, if any are desirable. I cannot + promise definitely in advance; but at any rate it shall appear as + soon as may be. + + Excuse this long rigmarole and believe me to be, yours very truly, + + LESLIE STEPHEN. + + I shall hope to hear from you again. If ever you come to town you + will find me at 8 Southwell Gardens (close to the Gloucester Road + Station of the Underground). I am generally at home, except from 3 + to 5. + + [15] Portfolio. + + [16] Richmond Seeley. + + [17] The essay _Notes on the Movements of Young Children_. + + [18] I remember nothing of either the title or the tenor of this story. + + [19] Printed by Mr. Leslie Stephen in the Cornhill. + + + + +IV + +ADVOCATE AND AUTHOR + +EDINBURGH--PARIS--FONTAINEBLEAU + +JULY 1875-JULY 1879 + + +Having on the 14th of July 1875 passed with credit his examination for +the Bar at Edinburgh, Stevenson thenceforth enjoyed whatever status and +consideration attaches to the title of Advocate. But he made no serious +attempt to practise, and by the 25th of the same month had started with +Sir Walter Simpson for France. Here he lived and tramped for several +weeks among the artist haunts of Fontainebleau and the neighbourhood, +occupying himself chiefly with studies of the French poets and poetry of +the fifteenth century, which afterwards bore fruit in his papers on +Charles of Orleans and François Villon. Thence he travelled to join his +parents at Wiesbaden and Homburg. Returning in the autumn to Scotland, +he made, to please them, an effort to live the ordinary life of an +Edinburgh advocate--attending trials and spending his mornings in wig +and gown at the Parliament House. But this attempt was before long +abandoned as tending to waste of time and being incompatible with his +real occupation of literature. Through the next winter and spring he +remained in Edinburgh, except for a short winter walking tour in +Ayrshire and Galloway, and a month spent among his friends in London. In +the late summer of 1876, after a visit to the West Highlands, he made +the canoe trip with Sir Walter Simpson which furnished the subject of +the _Inland Voyage_, followed by a prolonged autumn stay at Grez and +Barbizon. The life, atmosphere, and scenery of these forest haunts had +charmed and soothed him, as we have seen, since he was first introduced +to them by his cousin, Mr. R. A. M. Stevenson, in the spring of 1875. An +unfettered, unconventional, open-air existence, passed face to face with +nature and in the company of congenial people engaged, like himself, in +grappling with the problems and difficulties of an art, had been what he +had longed for most consistently through all the agitations of his +youth. And now he had found just such an existence, and with it, as he +thought, peace of mind, health, and the spirit of unimpeded work. + +But peace of mind was not to be his for long. What indeed awaited him in +the forest was something different and more momentous: it was his fate: +the romance which decided his life, and the companion whom he resolved +to make his own at all hazards. But of this hereafter. To continue +briefly the annals of the time: the year 1877 was again spent between +Edinburgh, London, the Fontainebleau region, and several different +temporary abodes in the artists' and other quarters of Paris; with an +excursion in the company of his parents to the Land's End in August. In +1878 a similar general mode of life was varied by a visit with his +parents in March to Burford Bridge, where he made warm friends with a +senior to whom he had long looked up from a distance, Mr. George +Meredith; by a spell of secretarial work under Professor Fleeming +Jenkin, who was serving as a juror on the Paris Exhibition; and lastly, +by the autumn tramp through the Cévennes, afterwards recounted with so +much charm in _Travels with a Donkey_. The first half of 1879 was again +spent between London, Scotland, and France. + +During these four years, it should be added, Stevenson's health was very +passable. It often, indeed, threatened to give way after any prolonged +residence in Edinburgh, but was generally soon restored by open-air +excursions (during which he was capable of fairly vigorous and sustained +daily exercise), or by a spell of life among the woods of Fontainebleau. +They were also the years in which he settled for good into his chosen +profession of letters. He worked rather desultorily for the first twelve +months after his call to the Bar, but afterwards with ever-growing +industry and success, winning from the critical a full measure of +recognition, though relatively little, so far, from the general public. +In 1875 and 1876 he contributed as a journalist, though not frequently, +to the Academy and Vanity Fair, and in 1877 more abundantly to London, a +weekly review founded by Mr. Glasgow Brown, an acquaintance of Edinburgh +Speculative days, and carried on, after the failure of that gentleman's +health, by Mr. Henley. But he had no great gift or liking for +journalism, or for any work not calling for the best literary form and +finish he could give. Where he found special scope for such work was in +the Cornhill Magazine under the editorship of Mr. Leslie Stephen. Here +he continued his critical papers on men and books, already begun in 1874 +with _Victor Hugo_, and began in 1876 the series of papers afterwards +collected in _Virginibus Puerisque_. They were continued in 1877, and in +greater number throughout 1878. His first published stories appeared as +follows:--_A Lodging for the Night_, Temple Bar, October 1877; _The Sire +de Malétroit's Door_, Temple Bar, January 1878; and _Will o' the Mill_, +Cornhill Magazine, January 1878. In May 1878 followed his first travel +book, _The Inland Voyage_, containing the account of his canoe trip from +Antwerp to Grez. This was to Stevenson a year of great and various +productiveness. Besides six or eight characteristic essays of the +_Virginibus Puerisque_ series, there appeared in London the set of +fantastic modern tales called the _New Arabian Nights_, conceived and +written in an entirely different key from any of his previous work, as +well as the kindly, sentimental comedy of French artist life, +_Providence and the Guitar_; and in the Portfolio the _Picturesque Notes +on Edinburgh_, republished at the end of the year in book form. During +the autumn and winter of this year he wrote _Travels with a Donkey in +the Cévennes_, and was much and eagerly engaged in the planning of plays +in collaboration with Mr. Henley; of which one, _Deacon Brodie_, was +finished in the spring of 1879. In the same spring he drafted in +Edinburgh, but afterwards laid by, four chapters on ethics, a study of +which he once spoke as being always his "veiled mistress," under the +name of _Lay Morals_. + +But abounding in good work as this period was, and momentous as it was +in regard to Stevenson's future life, it is a period which figures but +meagrely in his correspondence, and in this book must fill +disproportionately little space. Without the least breach of friendship, +or even of intimate confidence on occasion, Stevenson had begun, as was +natural and necessary, to wean himself from his entire dependence on his +friend and counsellor of the last two years; to take his life more into +his own hands; and to intermit the regularity of his correspondence with +her. A few new correspondents appear; but to none of us in these days +did he write more than scantily. Partly his growing absorption by the +complications of his life and the interests of his work left him little +time or inclination for letter-writing; partly his greater freedom of +movement made it unnecessary. On his way backwards and forwards between +Scotland and France, his friends in London had the chance of seeing him +much more frequently than of yore. He avoided formal and dress-coated +society; but in the company of congenial friends, whether men or women, +and in places like the Savile Club (his favourite haunt), he was as +brilliant and stimulating as ever, and however acute his inward +preoccupations, his visits were always a delight. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Edinburgh, end of July 1875._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Herewith you receive the rest of Henley's hospital +work. He was much pleased by what you said of him, and asked me to +forward these to you for your opinion. One poem, the _Spring Sorrow_, +seems to me the most beautiful. I thank God for this _petit bout de +consolation_, that by Henley's own account, this one more lovely thing +in the world is not altogether without some trace of my influence: let +me say that I have been something sympathetic which the mother found and +contemplated while she yet carried it in her womb. This, in my profound +discouragement, is a great thing for me; if I cannot do good with +myself, at least, it seems, I can help others better inspired; I am at +least a skilful accoucheur. My discouragement is from many causes: among +others the re-reading of my Italian story. Forgive me, Colvin, but I +cannot agree with you; it seems green fruit to me, if not really +unwholesome; it is profoundly feeble, damn its weakness! Moreover I +stick over my _Fontainebleau_, it presents difficulties to me that I +surmount slowly. + +I am very busy with Béranger for the Britannica. Shall be up in town on +Friday or Saturday.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S., _Advocate_. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + [_Chez Siron, Barbizon, Seine et Marne, August 1875._] + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--I have been three days at a place called Grez, a pretty +and very melancholy village on the plain. A low bridge of many arches +choked with sedge; great fields of white and yellow water-lilies; +poplars and willows innumerable; and about it all such an atmosphere of +sadness and slackness, one could do nothing but get into the boat and +out of it again, and yawn for bedtime. + +Yesterday Bob and I walked home; it came on a very creditable +thunderstorm; we were soon wet through; sometimes the rain was so heavy +that one could only see by holding the hand over the eyes; and to crown +all, we lost our way and wandered all over the place, and into the +artillery range, among broken trees, with big shot lying about among the +rocks. It was near dinner-time when we got to Barbizon; and it is +supposed that we walked from twenty-three to twenty-five miles, which is +not bad for the Advocate, who is not tired this morning. I was very glad +to be back again in this dear place, and smell the wet forest in the +morning. + +Simpson and the rest drove back in a carriage, and got about as wet as +we did. + +Why don't you write? I have no more to say.--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + At this time Stevenson was much occupied, as were several young + writers his contemporaries, with imitating the artificial forms of + early French verse. Only one of his attempts, I believe, has been + preserved, besides the two contained in this letter. The second is a + variation on a theme of Banville's. + + _Château Renard, Loiret, August 1875._ + +I have been walking these last days from place to place; and it does +make it hot for walking with a sack in this weather. I am burned in +horrid patches of red; my nose, I fear, is going to take the lead in +colour; Simpson is all flushed, as if he were seen by a sunset. I send +you here two rondeaux; I don't suppose they will amuse anybody but me; +but this measure, short and yet intricate, is just what I desire; and I +have had some good times walking along the glaring roads, or down the +poplar alley of the great canal, pitting my own humour to this old +verse. + + Far have you come, my lady, from the town, + And far from all your sorrows, if you please, + To smell the good sea-winds and hear the seas, + And in green meadows lay your body down. + + To find your pale face grow from pale to brown, + Your sad eyes growing brighter by degrees; + Far have you come, my lady, from the town, + And far from all your sorrows, if you please. + + Here in this seaboard land of old renown, + In meadow grass go wading to the knees; + Bathe your whole soul a while in simple ease; + There is no sorrow but the sea can drown; + Far have you come, my lady, from the town. + + _Nous n'irons plus au bois_ + + We'll walk the woods no more, + But stay beside the fire, + To weep for old desire + And things that are no more. + The woods are spoiled and hoar, + The ways are full of mire; + We'll walk the woods no more, + But stay beside the fire. + We loved, in days of yore, + Love, laughter, and the lyre. + Ah God, but death is dire, + And death is at the door-- + We'll walk the woods no more. + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The special mood or occasion of unaccustomed bitterness which + prompted this rhapsody has passed from memory beyond recall. The date + must be after his return from his second excursion to Fontainebleau. + + _[Swanston, late Summer 1875] Thursday._ + +I have been staying in town, and could not write a word. It is a fine +strong night, full of wind; the trees are all crying out in the +darkness; funny to think of the birds asleep outside, on the tossing +branches, the little bright eyes closed, the brave wings folded, the +little hearts that beat so hard and thick (so much harder and thicker +than ever human heart) all stilled and quieted in deep slumber, in the +midst of this noise and turmoil. Why, it will be as much as I can do to +sleep in here in my walled room; so loud and jolly the wind sounds +through the open window. The unknown places of the night invite the +travelling fancy; I like to think of the sleeping towns and sleeping +farm-houses and cottages, all the world over, here by the white road +poplar-lined, there by the clamorous surf. Isn't that a good dormitive? + +_Saturday._--I cannot tell how I feel, who can ever? I feel like a +person in a novel of George Sand's; I feel I desire to go out of the +house, and begin life anew in the cool blue night; never to come back +here; never, never. Only to go on for ever by sunny day and grey day, by +bright night and foul, by high-way and by-way, town and hamlet, until +somewhere by a road-side or in some clean inn clean death opened his +arms to me and took me to his quiet heart for ever. If soon, good; if +late, well then, late--there would be many a long bright mile behind me, +many a goodly, many a serious sight; I should die ripe and perfect, and +take my garnered experience with me into the cool, sweet earth. For I +have died already and survived a death; I have seen the grass grow +rankly on my grave; I have heard the train of mourners come weeping and +go laughing away again. And when I was alone there in the kirk-yard, and +the birds began to grow familiar with the grave-stone, I have begun to +laugh also, and laughed and laughed until night-flowers came out above +me. I have survived myself, and somehow live on, a curious changeling, a +merry ghost; and do not mind living on, finding it not unpleasant; only +had rather, a thousandfold, died and been done with the whole damned +show for ever. It is a strange feeling at first to survive yourself, but +one gets used to that as to most things. _Et puis_, is it not one's own +fault? Why did not one lie still in the grave? Why rise again among +men's troubles and toils, where the wicked wag their shock beards and +hound the weary out to labour? When I was safe in prison, and stone +walls and iron bars were an hermitage about me, who told me to burst the +mild constraint and go forth where the sun dazzles, and the wind +pierces, and the loud world sounds and jangles all through the weary +day? I mind an old print of a hermit coming out of a great wood towards +evening and shading his bleared eyes to see all the kingdoms of the +earth before his feet, where towered cities and castled hills, and +stately rivers, and good corn lands made one great chorus of temptation +for his weak spirit, and I think I am the hermit, and would to God I had +dwelt ever in the wood of penitence[20]---- + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + The _Burns_ herein mentioned is an article undertaken in the early + summer of the same year for the Encyclopædia Britannica. In the end + Stevenson's work was thought to convey a view of the poet too frankly + critical, and too little in accordance with the accepted Scotch + tradition; and the publishers, duly paying him for his labours, + transferred the task to Professor Shairp. The volume here announced + on the three Scottish eighteenth-century poets unfortunately never + came into being. The _Charles of Orleans_ essay appeared in the + Cornhill Magazine for December of the following year; that on Villon + (with the story on the same theme, _A Lodging for the Night_) not + until the autumn of 1877. The essay on Béranger referred to at the + end of the letter was one commissioned and used by the editor of the + Encyclopædia; _Spring_ was a prose poem, of which the manuscript, + sent to me at Cambridge, was unluckily lost in the confusion of a + change of rooms. + + [_Edinburgh, Autumn 1875._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Thanks for your letter and news. No--my _Burns_ is not +done yet, it has led me so far afield that I cannot finish it; every +time I think I see my way to an end, some new game (or perhaps wild +goose) starts up, and away I go. And then, again, to be plain, I shirk +the work of the critical part, shirk it as a man shirks a long jump. It +is awful to have to express and differentiate _Burns_ in a column or +two. O golly, I say, you know, it _can't_ be done at the money. All the +more as I'm going to write a book about it. _Ramsay, Fergusson, and +Burns: an Essay_ (or _a critical essay?_ but then I'm going to give +lives of the three gentlemen, only the gist of the book is the +criticism) by Robert Louis Stevenson, Advocate. How's that for cut and +dry? And I _could_ write this book. Unless I deceive myself, I could +even write it pretty adequately. I feel as if I was really in it, and +knew the game thoroughly. You see what comes of trying to write an essay +on Burns in ten columns. + +Meantime, when I have done Burns, I shall finish Charles of Orleans (who +is in a good way, about the fifth month, I should think, and promises to +be a fine healthy child, better than any of his elder brothers for a +while); and then perhaps a Villon, for Villon is a very essential part +of my _Ramsay-Fergusson-Burns_; I mean, is a note in it, and will recur +again and again for comparison and illustration; then, perhaps, I may +try Fontainebleau, by the way. But so soon as Charles of Orleans is +polished off, and immortalised for ever, he and his pipings, in a solid +imperishable shrine of R. L. S., my true aim and end will be this little +book. Suppose I could jerk you out 100 Cornhill pages; that would easy +make 200 pages of decent form; and then thickish paper--eh? would that +do? I dare say it could be made bigger; but I know what 100 pages of +copy, bright consummate copy, imply behind the scenes of weary +manuscribing; I think if I put another nothing to it, I should not be +outside the mark; and 100 Cornhill pages of 500 words means, I fancy +(but I never was good at figures), means 50,000 words. There's a +prospect for an idle young gentleman who lives at home at ease! The +future is thick with inky fingers. And then perhaps nobody would +publish. _Ah nom de dieu!_ What do you think of all this? will it +paddle, think you? + +I hope this pen will write; it is the third I have tried. + +About coming up, no, that's impossible; for I am worse than a bankrupt. +I have at the present six shillings and a penny; I have a sounding lot +of bills for Christmas; new dress suit, for instance, the old one having +gone for Parliament House; and new white shirts to live up to my new +profession; I'm as gay and swell and gummy as can be; only all my boots +leak; one pair water, and the other two simple black mud; so that my rig +is more for the eye than a very solid comfort to myself. That is my +budget. Dismal enough, and no prospect of any coin coming in; at least +for months. So that here I am, I almost fear, for the winter; certainly +till after Christmas, and then it depends on how my bills "turn out" +whether it shall not be till spring. So, meantime, I must whistle in my +cage. My cage is better by one thing; I am an Advocate now. If you ask +me why that makes it better, I would remind you that in the most +distressing circumstances a little consequence goes a long way, and even +bereaved relatives stand on precedence round the coffin. I idle finely. +I read Boswell's _Life of Johnson_, Martin's _History of France_, _Allan +Ramsay_, _Olivier Basselin_, all sorts of rubbish _àpropos_ of _Burns_, +_Commines_, _Juvénal des Ursins_, etc. I walk about the Parliament House +five forenoons a week, in wig and gown; I have either a five or six mile +walk, or an hour or two hard skating on the rink, every afternoon, +without fail. + +I have not written much; but, like the seaman's parrot in the tale, I +have thought a deal. You have never, by the way, returned me either +_Spring_ or _Béranger_, which is certainly a d----d shame. I always +comforted myself with that when my conscience pricked me about a letter +to you. "Thus conscience"--O no, that's not appropriate in this +connection.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +I say, is there any chance of your coming north this year? Mind you that +promise is now more respectable for age than is becoming. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + The following epistle in verse, with its mixed flavour of Burns and + Horace, gives a lively picture of winter forenoons spent in the + Parliament House:-- + + [_Edinburgh, October 1875._] + + Noo lyart leaves blaw ower the green, + Red are the bonny woods o' Dean, + An' here we're back in Embro, freen', + To pass the winter. + Whilk noo, wi' frosts afore, draws in, + An' snaws ahint her. + + I've seen's hae days to fricht us a', + The Pentlands poothered weel wi' snaw, + The ways half-smoored wi' liquid thaw, + An' half-congealin', + The snell an' scowtherin' norther blaw + Frae blae Brunteelan'. + + I've seen's been unco sweir to sally, + And at the door-cheeks daff an' dally, + Seen's daidle thus an' shilly-shally + For near a minute-- + Sae cauld the wind blew up the valley, + The deil was in it!-- + + Syne spread the silk an' tak the gate + In blast an' blaudin' rain, deil hae't! + The hale toon glintin', stane an' slate, + Wi' cauld an' weet, + An' to the Court, gin we'se be late, + Bicker oor feet. + + And at the Court, tae, aft I saw + Whaur Advocates by twa an' twa + Gang gesterin' end to end the ha' + In weeg an' goon, + To crack o' what ye wull but Law + The hale forenoon. + + That muckle ha', maist like a kirk, + I've kent at braid mid-day sae mirk + Ye'd seen white weegs an' faces lurk + Like ghaists frae Hell, + But whether Christian ghaists or Turk + Deil ane could tell. + + The three fires lunted in the gloom, + The wind blew like the blast o' doom, + The rain upo' the roof abune + Played Peter Dick---- + Ye wad nae'd licht enough i' the room + Your teeth to pick! + + But, freend, ye ken how me an' you, + The ling-lang lanely winter through, + Keep'd a guid speerit up, an' true + To lore Horatian, + We aye the ither bottle drew + To inclination. + + Sae let us in the comin' days + Stand sicker on our auncient ways-- + The strauchtest road in a' the maze + Since Eve ate apples; + An' let the winter weet our cla'es-- + We'll weet our thrapples. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + The two following letters refer to the essay on the Spirit of Spring + which I was careless enough to lose in the process of a change of + rooms at Cambridge. _The Petits Poèmes en Prose_ were attempts, not + altogether successful, in the form though not in the spirit of + Baudelaire. + + _Swanston [Autumn 1875]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Thanks. Only why don't you tell me if I can get my +_Spring_ printed? I want to print it; because it's nice, and genuine to +boot, and has got less side on than my other game. Besides I want coin +badly. + +I am writing _Petits Poèmes en Prose_. Their principal resemblance to +Baudelaire's is that they are rather longer and not quite so good. They +are ve-ry cle-ver (words of two syllables), O so aw-ful-ly cle-ver +(words of three), O so dam-na-bly cle-ver (words of a devil of a number +of syllables). I have written fifteen in a fortnight. I have also +written some beautiful poetry. I would like a cake and a cricket-bat; +and a pass-key to Heaven if you please, and as much money as my friend +the Baron Rothschild can spare. I used to look across to Rothschild of a +morning when we were brushing our hair, and say--(this is quite true, +only we were on the opposite side of the street, and though I used to +look over I cannot say I ever detected the beggar, he feared to meet my +eagle eye)--well, I used to say to him, "Rothschild, old man, lend us +five hundred francs," and it is characteristic of Rothy's dry humour +that he used never to reply when it was a question of money. He was a +very humorous dog indeed, was Rothy. Heigh-ho! those happy old days. +Funny, funny fellow, the dear old Baron. + +How's that for genuine American wit and humour? Take notice of this in +your answer; say, for instance, "Even although the letter had been +unsigned, I could have had no difficulty in guessing who was my dear, +_lively_, _witty_ correspondent. Yours, Letitia Languish." + +O!--my mind has given way. I have gone into a mild, babbling, sunny +idiocy. I shall buy a Jew's harp and sit by the roadside with a woman's +bonnet on my manly head begging my honest livelihood. Meantime, adieu. + +I would send you some of these _PP. Poèmes_ of mine, only I know you +would never acknowledge receipt or return them.--Yours, and +Rothschild's, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Edinburgh, Autumn 1875._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--_Fous ne me gombrennez pas._ Angry with you? No. Is the +thing lost? Well, so be it. There is one masterpiece fewer in the world. +The world can ill spare it, but I, sir, I (and here I strike my hollow +bosom so that it resounds) I am full of this sort of bauble; I am made +of it; it comes to me, sir, as the desire to sneeze comes upon poor +ordinary devils on cold days, when they should be getting out of bed and +into their horrid cold tubs by the light of a seven o'clock candle, with +the dismal seven o'clock frost-flowers all over the window. + +Show Stephen what you please; if you could show him how to give me +money, you would oblige, sincerely yours, R. L. S. + +I have a scroll of _Springtime_ somewhere, but I know that it is not in +very good order, and do not feel myself up to very much grind over it. I +am damped about _Springtime_, that's the truth of it. It might have been +four or five quid! + +Sir, I shall shave my head, if this goes on. All men take a pleasure to +gird at me. The laws of nature are in open war with me. The wheel of a +dog-cart took the toes off my new boots. Gout has set in with extreme +rigour, and cut me out of the cheap refreshment of beer. I leant my back +against an oak, I thought it was a trusty tree, but first it bent, and +syne--it lost the Spirit of Springtime, and so did Professor Sidney +Colvin, Trinity College, to me.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +Along with this, I send you some _P.P.P._'s; if you lose them, you need +not seek to look upon my face again. Do, for God's sake, answer me about +them also; it is a horrid thing for a fond architect to find his +monuments received in silence.--Yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + [_Edinburgh, November 12, 1875._] + +MY DEAR FRIEND,--Since I got your letter I have been able to do a little +more work, and I have been much better contented with myself; but I +can't get away, that is absolutely prevented by the state of my purse +and my debts, which, I may say, are red like crimson. I don't know how +I am to clear my hands of them, nor when, not before Christmas anyway. +Yesterday I was twenty-five; so please wish me many happy +returns--directly. This one was not unhappy anyway. I have got back a +good deal into my old random, little-thought way of life, and do not +care whether I read, write, speak, or walk, so long as I do something. I +have a great delight in this wheel-skating; I have made great advance in +it of late, can do a good many amusing things (I mean amusing in _my_ +sense--amusing to do). You know, I lose all my forenoons at Court! So it +is, but the time passes; it is a great pleasure to sit and hear cases +argued or advised. This is quite autobiographical, but I feel as if it +was some time since we met, and I can tell you, I am glad to meet you +again. In every way, you see, but that of work the world goes well with +me. My health is better than ever it was before; I get on without any +jar, nay, as if there never had been a jar, with my parents. If it +weren't about that work, I'd be happy. But the fact is, I don't +think--the fact is, I'm going to trust in Providence about work. If I +could get one or two pieces I hate out of my way all would be well, I +think; but these obstacles disgust me, and as I know I ought to do them +first, I don't do anything. I must finish this off, or I'll just lose +another day. I'll try to write again soon.--Ever your faithful friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + The review of Robert Browning's _Inn Album_ here mentioned appears in + Vanity Fair, Dec. 11, 1875. The matter of the poem is praised; the + "slating" is only for the form and metres. + + [_Edinburgh, December 1875._] + +Well, I am hardy! Here I am in the midst of this great snowstorm, +sleeping with my window open and _smoking_ in my cold tub in the morning +so as it would do your heart good to see. Moreover I am in pretty good +form otherwise. Fontainebleau lags; it has turned out more difficult +than I expected in some places, but there is a deal of it ready, and (I +think) straight. + +I was at a concert on Saturday and heard Hallé and Norman Neruda play +that Sonata of Beethoven's you remember, and I felt very funny. But I +went and took a long spanking walk in the dark and got quite an appetite +for dinner. I did; that's not bragging. + +As you say, a concert wants to be gone to _with_ someone, and I know +who. I have done rather an amusing paragraph or two for Vanity Fair on +the _Inn Album_. I have slated R. B. pretty handsomely. I am in a +desperate hurry; so good-bye.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. DE MATTOS + + + The state of health and spirits mentioned in the last soon gave way + to one of the fits of depression, frequent with him in Edinburgh + winters. In the following letter he unbosoms himself to a favourite + cousin (sister to R. A. M. Stevenson). + + _Edinburgh, January 1876._ + +MY DEAR KATHARINE,--The prisoner reserved his defence. He has been +seedy, however; principally sick of the family evil, despondency; the +sun is gone out utterly; and the breath of the people of this city lies +about as a sort of damp, unwholesome fog, in which we go walking with +bowed hearts. If I understand what is a contrite spirit, I have one; it +is to feel that you are a small jar, or rather, as I feel myself, a very +large jar, of pottery work rather _mal réussi_, and to make every +allowance for the potter (I beg pardon; Potter with a capital P.) on his +ill-success, and rather wish he would reduce you as soon as possible to +potsherds. However, there are many things to do yet before we go + + _Grossir la pâte universelle + Faite des formes que Dieu fond._ + +For instance, I have never been in a revolution yet. I pray God I may be +in one at the end, if I am to make a mucker. The best way to make a +mucker is to have your back set against a wall and a few lead pellets +whiffed into you in a moment, while yet you are all in a heat and a fury +of combat, with drums sounding on all sides, and people crying, and a +general smash like the infernal orchestration at the end of the +_Huguenots_.... + +Please pardon me for having been so long of writing, and show your +pardon by writing soon to me; it will be a kindness, for I am sometimes +very dull. Edinburgh is much changed for the worse by the absence of +Bob; and this damned weather weighs on me like a curse. Yesterday, or +the day before, there came so black a rain squall that I was +frightened--what a child would call frightened, you know, for want of a +better word--although in reality it has nothing to do with fright. I lit +the gas and sat cowering in my chair until it went away again.--Ever +yours, + + R. L. S. + +O, I am trying my hand at a novel just now; it may interest you to know, +I am bound to say I do not think it will be a success. However, it's an +amusement for the moment, and work, work is your only ally against the +"bearded people" that squat upon their hams in the dark places of life +and embrace people horribly as they go by. God save us from the bearded +people! to think that the sun is still shining in some happy places! + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + [_Edinburgh, January 1876._] + +... OUR weather continues as it was, bitterly cold, and raining often. +There is not much pleasure in life certainly as it stands at present. +_Nous n'irons plus au bois, hélas!_ + +I meant to write some more last night, but my father was ill and it put +it out of my way. He is better this morning. + +If I had written last night, I should have written a lot. But this +morning I am so dreadfully tired and stupid that I can say nothing. I +was down at Leith in the afternoon. God bless me, what horrid women I +saw; I never knew what a plain-looking race it was before. I was sick at +heart with the looks of them. And the children, filthy and ragged! And +the smells! And the fat black mud! + +My soul was full of disgust ere I got back. And yet the ships were +beautiful to see, as they are always; and on the pier there was a clean +cold wind that smelt a little of the sea, though it came down the Firth, +and the sunset had a certain _éclat_ and warmth. Perhaps if I could get +more work done, I should be in a better trim to enjoy filthy streets and +people and cold grim weather; but I don't much feel as if it was what I +would have chosen. I am tempted every day of my life to go off on +another walking tour. I like that better than anything else that I +know.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _Fontainebleau_ is the paper called _Forest Notes_ which appeared in + the Cornhill Magazine in May of this year (reprinted in _Essays of + Travel_). The _Winter's Walk_, as far as it goes one of the most + charming of his essays of the Road, was for some reason never + finished; reprinted _ibidem_. + + [_Edinburgh, February 1876._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--_1st_. I have sent _Fontainebleau_ long ago, long ago. +And Leslie Stephen is worse than tepid about it--liked "some parts" of +it "very well," the son of Belial. Moreover, he proposes to shorten it; +and I, who want _money_, and money soon, and not glory and the +illustration of the English language, I feel as if my poverty were going +to consent. + +_2nd._ I'm as fit as a fiddle after my walk. I am four inches bigger +about the waist than last July! There, that's your prophecy did that. I +am on _Charles of Orleans_ now, but I don't know where to send him. +Stephen obviously spews me out of his mouth, and I spew him out of mine, +so help me! A man who doesn't like my _Fontainebleau_! His head must be +turned. + +_3rd._ If ever you do come across my _Spring_ (I beg your pardon for +referring to it again, but I don't want you to forget) send it off at +once. + +_4th._ I went to Ayr, Maybole, Girvan, Ballantrae, Stranraer, Glenluce, +and Wigton. I shall make an article of it some day soon, _A Winter's +Walk in Carrick and Galloway_. I had a good time.--Yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + "Baynes" in the following is Stevenson's good friend and mine, the + late Professor Spencer Baynes, who was just relinquishing the + editorship of the Encyclopædia Britannica by reason of ill-health. + + [_Swanston, July 1876._] + +Here I am, here, and very well too. I am glad you liked _Walking Tours_; +I like it, too; I think it's prose; and I own with contrition that I +have not always written prose. However, I am "endeavouring after new +obedience" (Scot. Shorter Catechism). You don't say aught of _Forest +Notes_, which is kind. There is one, if you will, that was too sweet to +be wholesome. + +I am at Charles d'Orléans. About fifteen Cornhill pages have already +coulé'd from under my facile plume--no, I mean eleven, fifteen of +MS.--and we are not much more than half-way through, Charles and I; but +he's a pleasant companion. My health is very well; I am in a fine +exercisy state. Baynes is gone to London; if you see him, inquire about +my _Burns_. They have sent me £5, 5s. for it, which has mollified me +horrid. £5, 5s. is a good deal to pay for a read of it in MS.; I can't +complain.--Yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + This dates from just before the canoeing trip recounted in the + _Inland Voyage_. + + [_Swanston, July 1876._] + +Well, here I am at last; it is a Sunday, blowing hard, with a grey sky +with the leaves flying; and I have nothing to say. I ought to have no +doubt; since it's so long since last I wrote; but there are times when +people's lives stand still. If you were to ask a squirrel in a +mechanical cage for his autobiography, it would not be very gay. Every +spin may be amusing in itself, but is mighty like the last; you see I +compare myself to a lighthearted animal; and indeed I have been in a +very good humour. For the weather has been passable; I have taken a deal +of exercise, and done some work. But I have the strangest repugnance for +writing; indeed, I have nearly got myself persuaded into the notion that +letters don't arrive, in order to salve my conscience for never sending +them off. I'm reading a great deal of fifteenth century: _Trial of Joan +of Arc_, _Paston Letters_, _Basin_,[21] etc., also Boswell daily by way +of a Bible; I mean to read Boswell now until the day I die. And now and +again a bit of _Pilgrim's Progress_. Is that all? Yes, I think that's +all. I have a thing in proof for the Cornhill called _Virginibus +Puerisque_. _Charles of Orleans_ is again laid aside, but in a good +state of furtherance this time. A paper called _A Defence of Idlers_ +(which is really a defence of R. L. S.) is in a good way. So, you see, I +am busy in a tumultuous, knotless sort of fashion; and as I say, I take +lots of exercise, and I'm as brown as a berry. + +This is the first letter I've written for--O I don't know how long. + +_July 30th._--This is, I suppose, three weeks after I began. Do, please, +forgive me. + +To the Highlands, first, to the Jenkins'; then to Antwerp; thence, by +canoe with Simpson, to Paris and Grez (on the Loing, and an old +acquaintance of mine on the skirts of Fontainebleau) to complete our +cruise next spring (if we're all alive and jolly) by Loing and Loire, +Saone and Rhone to the Mediterranean. It should make a jolly book of +gossip, I imagine. + +God bless you. + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +_P.S._--_Virginibus Puerisque_ is in August Cornhill. _Charles of +Orleans_ is finished, and sent to Stephen; _Idlers_ ditto, and sent to +Grove; but I've no word of either. So I've not been idle. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + In a well-known passage of the _Inland Voyage_ the following incident + is related to the same purport, but in another style:-- + + _Chauny, Aisne [September 1876]._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Here I am, you see; and if you will take to a map, you +will observe I am already more than two doors from Antwerp, whence I +started. I have fought it through under the worst weather I ever saw in +France; I have been wet through nearly every day of travel since the +second (inclusive); besides this, I have had to fight against pretty +mouldy health; so that, on the whole, the essayist and reviewer has +shown, I think, some pluck. Four days ago I was not a hundred miles from +being miserably drowned, to the immense regret of a large circle of +friends and the permanent impoverishment of British Essayism and +Reviewery. My boat culbutted me under a fallen tree in a very rapid +current; and I was a good while before I got on to the outside of that +fallen tree; rather a better while than I cared about. When I got up, I +lay some time on my belly, panting, and exuded fluid. All my symptoms +_jusqu' ici_ are trifling. But I've a damned sore throat.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + Part of _The Hair Trunk_ still exists in MS. It contains some + tolerable fooling, but is chiefly interesting from the fact that the + seat of the proposed Bohemian colony from Cambridge is to be in the + Navigator Islands; showing the direction which had been given to + Stevenson's thoughts by the conversation of the New Zealand official, + Mr. Seed, two years before. + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh, May 1877._ + +... A perfect chorus of repudiation is sounding in my ears; and although +you say nothing, I know you must be repudiating me, all the same. Write +I cannot--there's no good mincing matters, a letter frightens me worse +than the devil; and I am just as unfit for correspondence as if I had +never learned the three R.'s. + +Let me give my news quickly before I relapse into my usual idleness. I +have a terror lest I should relapse before I get this finished. Courage, +R. L. S.! On Leslie Stephen's advice, I gave up the idea of a book of +essays. He said he didn't imagine I was rich enough for such an +amusement; and moreover, whatever was worth publication was worth +republication. So the best of those I had already, _An Apology for +Idlers_, is in proof for the Cornhill. I have Villon to do for the same +magazine, but God knows when I'll get it done, for drums, trumpets--I'm +engaged upon--trumpets, drums--a novel! "<sc>The Hair Trunk; or, the Ideal +Commonwealth</sc>." It is a most absurd story of a lot of young Cambridge +fellows who are going to found a new society, with no ideas on the +subject, and nothing but Bohemian tastes in the place of ideas; and who +are--well, I can't explain about the trunk--it would take too long--but +the trunk is the fun of it--everybody steals it; burglary, marine fight, +life on desert island on west coast of Scotland, sloops, etc. The first +scene where they make their grand schemes and get drunk is supposed to +be very funny, by Henley. I really saw him laugh over it until he cried. + +Please write to me, although I deserve it so little, and show a +Christian spirit.--Ever your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Edinburgh, August 1877._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I'm to be whipped away to-morrow to Penzance, where at +the post-office a letter will find me glad and grateful. I am well, but +somewhat tired out with overwork. I have only been home a fortnight this +morning, and I have already written to the tune of forty-five Cornhill +pages and upwards. The most of it was only very laborious re-casting and +re-modelling, it is true; but it took it out of me famously, all the +same. + +Temple Bar appears to like my _Villon_, so I may count on another market +there in the future, I hope. At least, I am going to put it to the proof +at once, and send another story, _The Sire de Malétroit's Mousetrap_: a +true novel, in the old sense; all unities preserved moreover, if that's +anything, and I believe with some little merits; not so _clever_ perhaps +as the last, but sounder and more natural. + +My _Villon_ is out this month; I should so much like to know what you +think of it. Stephen has written to me à propos of _Idlers_, that +something more in that vein would be agreeable to his views. From +Stephen I count that a devil of a lot. + +I am honestly so tired this morning that I hope you will take this for +what it's worth and give me an answer in peace.--Ever yours, + + LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + Neither _The Stepfather's Story_ nor the _St. Michael's Mounts_ essay + here mentioned ever, to my knowledge, came into being. + + [_Penzance, August 1877._] + +... You will do well to stick to your burn, that is a delightful life +you sketch, and a very fountain of health. I wish I could live like +that, but, alas! it is just as well I got my "Idlers" written and done +with, for I have quite lost all power of resting. I have a goad in my +flesh continually, pushing me to work, work, work. I have an essay +pretty well through for Stephen; a story, _The Sire de Malétroit's +Mousetrap_, with which I shall try Temple Bar; another story, in the +clouds, _The Stepfather's Story_, most pathetic work of a high morality +or immorality, according to point of view; and lastly, also in the +clouds, or perhaps a little farther away, an essay on _The Two St. +Michael's Mounts_, historical and picturesque; perhaps if it didn't come +too long, I might throw in the _Bass Rock_, and call it _Three Sea +Fortalices_, or something of that kind. You see how work keeps bubbling +in my mind. Then I shall do another fifteenth century paper this +autumn--La Sale and _Petit Jehan de Saintré_, which is a kind of +fifteenth century _Sandford and Merton_, ending in horrid immoral +cynicism, as if the author had got tired of being didactic, and just had +a good wallow in the mire to wind up with and indemnify himself for so +much restraint. + +Cornwall is not much to my taste, being as bleak as the bleakest parts +of Scotland, and nothing like so pointed and characteristic. It has a +flavour of its own, though, which I may try and catch, if I find the +space, in the proposed article. _Will o' the Mill_ I sent, red hot, to +Stephen in a fit of haste, and have not yet had an answer. I am quite +prepared for a refusal. But I begin to have more hope in the story line, +and that should improve my income anyway. I am glad you liked _Villon_; +some of it was not as good as it ought to be, but on the whole it seems +pretty vivid, and the features strongly marked. Vividness and not style +is now my line; style is all very well, but vividness is the real line +of country; if a thing is meant to be read, it seems just as well to try +and make it readable. I am such a dull person now, I cannot keep off my +own immortal works. Indeed, they are scarcely ever out of my head. And +yet I value them less and less every day. But occupation is the great +thing; so that a man should have his life in his own pocket, and never +be thrown out of work by anything. I am glad to hear you are better. I +must stop--going to Land's End.--Always your faithful friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO A. PATCHETT MARTIN + + + This correspondent, living at the time in Australia, was, I believe, + the first to write and seek Stevenson's acquaintance from admiration + of his work, meaning especially the Cornhill essays of the + _Virginibus Puerisque_ series so far as they had yet appeared. The + "present" herein referred to is Mr. Martin's volume called _A Sweet + Girl Graduate and other Poems_ (Melbourne, 1876). + + [1877] + +DEAR SIR,--It would not be very easy for me to give you any idea of the +pleasure I found in your present. People who write for the magazines +(probably from a guilty conscience) are apt to suppose their works +practically unpublished. It seems unlikely that any one would take the +trouble to read a little paper buried among so many others; and reading +it, read it with any attention or pleasure. And so, I can assure you, +your little book, coming from so far, gave me all the pleasure and +encouragement in the world. + +I suppose you know and remember Charles Lamb's essay on distant +correspondents? Well, I was somewhat of his way of thinking about my +mild productions. I did not indeed imagine they were read, and (I +suppose I may say) enjoyed right round upon the other side of the big +Football we have the honour to inhabit. And as your present was the +first sign to the contrary, I feel I have been very ungrateful in not +writing earlier to acknowledge the receipt. I dare say, however, you +hate writing letters as much as I can do myself (for if you like my +article, I may presume other points of sympathy between us); and on this +hypothesis you will be ready to forgive me the delay. + +I may mention with regard to the piece of verses called _Such is Life_ +that I am not the only one on this side of the Football aforesaid to +think it a good and bright piece of work, and recognised a link of +sympathy with the poets who "play in hostelries at euchre."--Believe me, +dear sir, yours truly, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO A. PATCHETT MARTIN + + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh [December 1877]._ + +MY DEAR SIR,--I am afraid you must already have condemned me for a very +idle fellow truly. Here it is more than two months since I received your +letter; I had no fewer than three journals to acknowledge; and never a +sign upon my part. If you have seen a Cornhill paper of mine upon +idling, you will be inclined to set it all down to that. But you will +not be doing me justice. Indeed, I have had a summer so troubled that I +have had little leisure and still less inclination to write letters. I +was keeping the devil at bay with all my disposable activities; and more +than once I thought he had me by the throat. The odd conditions of our +acquaintance enable me to say more to you than I would to a person who +lived at my elbow. And besides, I am too much pleased and flattered at +our correspondence not to go as far as I can to set myself right in your +eyes. + +In this damnable confusion (I beg pardon) I have lost all my +possessions, or near about, and quite lost all my wits. I wish I could +lay my hands on the numbers of the Review, for I know I wished to say +something on that head more particularly than I can from memory; but +where they have escaped to, only time or chance can show. However, I can +tell you so far, that I was very much pleased with the article on Bret +Harte; it seemed to me just, clear, and to the point. I agreed pretty +well with all you said about George Eliot: a high, but, may we not +add?--a rather dry lady. Did you--I forget--did you have a kick at the +stern works of that melancholy puppy and humbug Daniel Deronda +himself?--the Prince of Prigs; the literary abomination of desolation in +the way of manhood; a type which is enough to make a man forswear the +love of women, if that is how it must be gained.... Hats off all the +same, you understand: a woman of genius. + +Of your poems I have myself a kindness for _Noll and Nell_, although I +don't think you have made it as good as you ought: verse five is surely +not _quite melodious_. I confess I like the Sonnet in the last number of +the Review--the _Sonnet to England_. + +Please, if you have not, and I don't suppose you have, already read it, +institute a search in all Melbourne for one of the rarest and certainly +one of the best of books--_Clarissa Harlowe_. For any man who takes an +interest in the problems of the two sexes, that book is a perfect mine +of documents. And it is written, sir, with the pen of an angel. Miss +Howe and Lovelace, words cannot tell how good they are! And the scene +where Clarissa beards her family, with her fan going all the while; and +some of the quarrel scenes between her and Lovelace; and the scene where +Colonel Marden goes to Mr. Hall, with Lord M. trying to compose matters, +and the Colonel with his eternal "finest woman in the world," and the +inimitable affirmation of Mobray--nothing, nothing could be better! You +will bless me when you read it for this recommendation; but, indeed, I +can do nothing but recommend Clarissa. I am like that Frenchman of the +eighteenth century who discovered Habakkuk, and would give no one peace +about that respectable Hebrew. For my part, I never was able to get over +his eminently respectable name; Isaiah is the boy, if you must have a +prophet, no less. About Clarissa, I meditate a choice work: _A Dialogue +on Man, Woman, and "Clarissa Harlowe."_ It is to be so clever that no +array of terms can give you any idea; and very likely that particular +array in which I shall finally embody it, less than any other. + +Do you know, my dear sir, what I like best in your letter? The egotism +for which you thought necessary to apologise. I am a rogue at egotism +myself; and to be plain, I have rarely or never liked any man who was +not. The first step to discovering the beauties of God's universe is +usually a (perhaps partial) apprehension of such of them as adorn our +own characters. When I see a man who does not think pretty well of +himself, I always suspect him of being in the right. And besides, if he +does not like himself, whom he has seen, how is he ever to like one whom +he never can see but in dim and artificial presentments? + +I cordially reciprocate your offer of a welcome; it shall be at least a +warm one. Are you not my first, my only, admirer--a dear tie? Besides, +you are a man of sense, and you treat me as one by writing to me as you +do, and that gives me pleasure also. Please continue to let me see your +work. I have one or two things coming out in the Cornhill: a story +called _The Sire de Malétroit's Door_ in Temple Bar; and a series of +articles on Edinburgh in the Portfolio; but I don't know if these last +fly all the way to Melbourne.--Yours very truly, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + The _Inland Voyage_, it must be remembered, at this time just put + into the publisher's hands, was the author's first book. The "Crane + sketch" mentioned in the second of the following notes to me was the + well-known frontispiece to that book on which Mr. Walter Crane was + then at work. The essay _Pan's Pipes_, reprinted in _Virginibus + Puerisque_, was written about this time. + + _Hôtel des Étrangers, Dieppe, January 1, 1878._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I am at the _Inland Voyage_ again: have finished +another section, and have only two more to execute. But one at least of +these will be very long--the longest in the book--being a great +digression on French artistic tramps. I only hope Paul may take the +thing; I want coin so badly, and besides it would be something +done--something put outside of me and off my conscience; and I should +not feel such a muff as I do, if once I saw the thing in boards with a +ticket on its back. I think I shall frequent circulating libraries a +good deal. The Preface shall stand over, as you suggest, until the last, +and then, sir, we shall see. This to be read with a big voice. + +This is New Year's Day: let me, my dear Colvin, wish you a very good +year, free of all misunderstanding and bereavement, and full of good +weather and good work. You know best what you have done for me, and so +you will know best how heartily I mean this.--Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + I had had business in Edinburgh, and had stayed with Stevenson's + parents in his absence. + + [_Paris, January or February 1878._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Many thanks for your letter. I was much interested by +all the Edinburgh gossip. Most likely I shall arrive in London next +week. I think you know all about the Crane sketch; but it should be a +river, not a canal, you know, and the look should be "cruel, lewd, and +kindly," all at once. There is more sense in that Greek myth of Pan than +in any other that I recollect except the luminous Hebrew one of the +Fall: one of the biggest things done. If people would remember that all +religions are no more than representations of life, they would find +them, as they are, the best representations, licking Shakespeare. + +What an inconceivable cheese is Alfred de Musset! His comedies are, to +my view, the best work of France this century: a large order. Did you +ever read them? They are real, clear, living work.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _Café de la Source, Bd. St. Michel, Paris, 15th Feb. 1878._ + +MY DEAR FATHER,--A thought has come into my head which I think would +interest you. Christianity is among other things, a very wise, noble, +and strange doctrine of life. Nothing is so difficult to specify as the +position it occupies with regard to asceticism. It is not ascetic. +Christ was of all doctors (if you will let me use the word) one of the +least ascetic. And yet there is a theory of living in the Gospels which +is curiously indefinable, and leans towards asceticism on one side, +although it leans away from it on the other. In fact, asceticism is used +therein as a means, not as an end. The wisdom of this world consists in +making oneself very little in order to avoid many knocks; in preferring +others, in order that, even when we lose, we shall find some pleasure in +the event; in putting our desires outside of ourselves, in another ship, +so to speak, so that, when the worst happens, there will be something +left. You see, I speak of it as a doctrine of life, and as a wisdom for +this world. People must be themselves, I suppose. I feel every day as if +religion had a greater interest for me; but that interest is still +centred on the little rough-and-tumble world in which our fortunes are +cast for the moment. I cannot transfer my interests, not even my +religious interest, to any different sphere.... I have had some sharp +lessons and some very acute sufferings in these last seven-and-twenty +years--more even than you would guess. I begin to grow an old man; a +little sharp, I fear, and a little close and unfriendly; but still I +have a good heart, and believe in myself and my fellow-men and the God +who made us all.... There are not many sadder people in this world, +perhaps, than I. I have my eye on a sickbed;[22] I have written letters +to-day that it hurt me to write, and I fear it will hurt others to +receive; I am lonely and sick and out of heart. Well, I still hope; I +still believe; I still see the good in the inch, and cling to it. It is +not much, perhaps, but it is always something. + +I find I have wandered a thousand miles from what I meant. It was this: +of all passages bearing on Christianity in that form of a worldly +wisdom, the most Christian, and so to speak, the key of the whole +position, is the Christian doctrine of revenge. And it appears that this +came into the world through Paul! There is a fact for you. It was to +speak of this that I began this letter; but I have got into deep seas +and must go on. + +There is a fine text in the Bible, I don't know where, to the effect +that all things work together for good to those who love the Lord. +Strange as it may seem to you, everything has been, in one way or the +other, bringing me a little nearer to what I think you would like me to +be. 'Tis a strange world, indeed, but there is a manifest God for those +who care to look for him. + +This is a very solemn letter for my surroundings in this busy café; but +I had it on my heart to write it; and, indeed, I was out of the humour +for anything lighter.--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +_P.S._--While I am writing gravely, let me say one word more. I have +taken a step towards more intimate relations with you. But don't expect +too much of me. Try to take me as I am. This is a rare moment, and I +have profited by it; but take it as a rare moment. Usually I hate to +speak of what I really feel, to that extent that when I find myself +_cornered_, I have a tendency to say the reverse. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _Paris, 44 Bd. Haussmann, Friday, February 21, 1878._ + +MY DEAR PEOPLE,--Do you know who is my favourite author just now? How +are the mighty fallen! Anthony Trollope. I batten on him; he is so +nearly wearying you, and yet he never does; or rather, he never does, +until he gets near the end, when he begins to wean you from him, so that +you're as pleased to be done with him as you thought you would be sorry. +I wonder if it's old age? It is a little, I am sure. A young person +would get sickened by the dead level of meanness and cowardliness; you +require to be a little spoiled and cynical before you can enjoy it. I +have just finished the _Way of the World_; there is only one person in +it--no, there are three--who are nice: the wild American woman, and two +of the dissipated young men, Dolly and Lord Nidderdale. All the heroes +and heroines are just ghastly. But what a triumph is Lady Carbury! That +is real, sound, strong, genuine work: the man who could do that, if he +had had courage, might have written a fine book; he has preferred to +write many readable ones. I meant to write such a long, nice letter, but +I cannot hold the pen. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + The following refers to the newspaper criticisms on the _Inland + Vogage_:-- + + _Hôtel du Val de Grâce, Rue St. Jacques, Paris, Sunday [June 1878]._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--About criticisms, I was more surprised at the tone of +the critics than I suppose any one else. And the effect it has produced +in me is one of shame. If they liked that so much, I ought to have given +them something better, that's all. And I shall try to do so. Still, it +strikes me as odd; and I don't understand the vogue. It should sell the +thing.--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + This letter tells of the progress of the Portfolio papers called + _Picturesque Notes on Edinburgh_, and of preparations for the walking + tour narrated in _Travels with a Donkey_. The late Philip Gilbert + Hamerton, editor of the Portfolio and author of _A Painter's Camp in + the Highlands_ and of many well-known works on art, landscape, and + French social life, was at this time and for many years living at a + small chateau near Autun; and the visit here proposed was actually + paid and gave great pleasure alike to host and guest (see _P. G. + Hamerton, an Autobiography_, etc., p. 451). + + _Monastier, September 1878._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--You must not expect to hear much from me for the next +two weeks; for I am near starting. Donkey purchased--a love--price, 65 +francs and a glass of brandy. My route is all pretty well laid out; I +shall go near no town till I get to Alais. Remember, Poste Restante, +Alais, Gard. Greyfriars will be in October. You did not say whether you +liked September; you might tell me that at Alais. The other No.'s of +Edinburgh are: Parliament Close, Villa Quarters (which perhaps may not +appear), Calton Hill, Winter and New Year, and to the Pentland Hills. +'Tis a kind of book nobody would ever care to read; but none of the +young men could have done it better than I have, which is always a +consolation. I read _Inland Voyage_ the other day: what rubbish these +reviewers did talk! It is not badly written, thin, mildly cheery, and +strained. _Selon moi._ I mean to visit Hamerton on my return journey; +otherwise, I should come by sea from Marseilles. I am very well known +here now; indeed, quite a feature of the place.--Your affectionate son, + + R. L. S. + +The Engineer is the Conductor of Roads and Bridges; then I have the +Receiver of Registrations, the First Clerk of Excise, and the Perceiver +of the Impost. That is our dinner party. I am a sort of hovering +government official, as you see. But away--away from these great +companions! + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + [_Monastier, September 1878._] + +DEAR HENLEY,--I hope to leave Monastier this day (Saturday) week; +thenceforward Poste Restante, Alais, Gard, is my address. _Travels with +a Donkey in the French Highlands._ I am no good to-day. I cannot work, +nor even write letters. A colossal breakfast yesterday at Puy has, I +think, done for me for ever; I certainly ate more than ever I ate before +in my life--a big slice of melon, some ham and jelly, a _filet_, a +helping of gudgeons, the breast and leg of a partridge, some green peas, +eight crayfish, some Mont d'Or cheese, a peach, and a handful of +biscuits, macaroons, and things. It sounds Gargantuan: it cost three +francs a head. So that it was inexpensive to the pocket, although I fear +it may prove extravagant to the fleshly tabernacle. I can't think how I +did it or why. It is a new form of excess for me; but I think it pays +less than any of them. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + _Monastier, at Morel's [September 1878]._ + + Lud knows about date, _vide_ postmark. + +MY DEAR CHARLES,--Yours (with enclosures) of the 16th to hand. All work +done. I go to Le Puy to-morrow to dispatch baggage, get cash, stand +lunch to engineer, who has been very jolly and useful to me, and hope by +five o'clock on Saturday morning to be driving Modestine towards the +Gévaudan. Modestine is my ânesse; a darling, mouse-colour, about the +size of a Newfoundland dog (bigger, between you and me), the colour of a +mouse, costing 65 francs and a glass of brandy. Glad you sent on all the +coin; was half afraid I might come to a stick in the mountains, donkey +and all, which would have been the devil. Have finished _Arabian Nights_ +and Edinburgh book, and am a free man. Next address, Poste Restante, +Alais, Gard. Give my servilities to the family. Health bad; spirits, I +think, looking up.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + _Paris, October 1878._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--I have seen Hamerton; he was very kind, all his family +seemed pleased to see an _Inland Voyager_, and the book seemed to be +quite a household word with them. P. G. himself promised to help me in +my bargains with publishers, which, said he, and I doubt not very +truthfully, he could manage to much greater advantage than I. He is also +to read an _Inland Voyage_ over again, and send me his cuts and cuffs in +private, after having liberally administered his kisses _coram publico_. +I liked him very much. Of all the pleasant parts of my profession, I +think the spirit of other men of letters makes the pleasantest. + +Do you know, your sunset was very good? The "attack" (to speak +learnedly) was so plucky and odd. I have thought of it repeatedly since. +I have just made a delightful dinner by myself in the Café Félix, where +I am an old established beggar, and am just smoking a cigar over my +coffee. I came last night from Autun, and I am muddled about my plans. +The world is such a dance!--Ever your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + Stevenson, hard at work upon _Providence and the Guitar_, _New + Arabian Nights_, and _Travels with a Donkey_, was at this time + occupying for a few days my rooms at Trinity in my absence. The + college buildings and gardens, the ideal setting and careful tutelage + of English academic life--in these respects so strongly contrasted + with the Scottish--affected him always with a sense of unreality. The + gyp mentioned is the present head porter of the college. + + [_Trinity College, Cambridge, Autumn 1878._] + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Here I am living like a fighting-cock, and have not +spoken to a real person for about sixty hours. Those who wait on me are +not real. The man I know to be a myth, because I have seen him acting so +often in the Palais Royal. He plays the Duke in _Tricoche et Cacolet_; I +knew his nose at once. The part he plays here is very dull for him, but +conscientious. As for the bedmaker, she's a dream, a kind of cheerful, +innocent nightmare; I never saw so poor an imitation of humanity. I +cannot work--_cannot_. Even the _Guitar_ is still undone; I can only +write ditch-water. 'Tis ghastly; but I am quite cheerful, and that is +more important. Do you think you could prepare the printers for a +possible breakdown this week? I shall try all I know on Monday; but if I +can get nothing better than I got this morning, I prefer to drop a week. +Telegraph to me if you think it necessary. I shall not leave till +Wednesday at soonest. Shall write again. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + The matter of the loan and its repayment, here touched on, comes up + again in Stevenson's last letter of all, that which closes the book. + Stevenson and Mr. Gosse had planned a joint book of old murder + stories retold, and had been to visit the scene of one famous murder + together. + + _[Edinburgh, April 16, 1879] Pool of Siloam, by El Dorado, + Delectable Mountains, Arcadia._ + +MY DEAR GOSSE,--Herewith of the dibbs--a homely fiver. How, and why, do +you continue to exist? I do so ill, but for a variety of reasons. First, +I wait an angel to come down and trouble the waters; second, more +angels; third--well, more angels. The waters are sluggish; the +angels--well, the angels won't come, that's about all. But I sit waiting +and waiting, and people bring me meals, which help to pass time (I'm +sure it's very kind of them), and sometimes I whistle to myself; and as +there's a very pretty echo at my pool of Siloam, the thing's agreeable +to hear. The sun continues to rise every day, to my growing wonder. "The +moon by night thee shall not smite." And the stars are all doing as well +as can be expected. The air of Arcady is very brisk and pure, and we +command many enchanting prospects in space and time. I do not yet know +much about my situation; for, to tell the truth, I only came here by the +run since I began to write this letter; I had to go back to date it; and +I am grateful to you for having been the occasion of this little outing. +What good travellers we are, if we had only faith; no man need stay in +Edinburgh but by unbelief; my religious organ has been ailing for a +while past, and I have lain a great deal in Edinburgh, a sheer hulk in +consequence. But I got out my wings, and have taken a change of air. + +I read your book with great interest, and ought long ago to have told +you so. An ordinary man would say that he had been waiting till he could +pay his debts.... The book is good reading. Your personal notes of those +you saw struck me as perhaps most sharp and "best held." See as many +people as you can, and make a book of them before you die. That will be +a living book, upon my word. You have the touch required. I ask you to +put hands to it in private already. Think of what Carlyle's caricature +of old Coleridge is to us who never saw S. T. C. With that and _Kubla +Khan_, we have the man in the fact. Carlyle's picture, of course, is not +of the author of _Kubla_, but of the author of that surprising _Friend_ +which has knocked the breath out of two generations of hopeful youth. +Your portraits would be milder, sweeter, more true perhaps, and perhaps +not so truth-_telling_--if you will take my meaning. + +I have to thank you for an introduction to that beautiful--no, that's +not the word--that jolly, with an Arcadian jollity--thing of +Vogelweide's. Also for your preface. Some day I want to read a whole +book in the same picked dialect as that preface. I think it must be one +E. W. Gosse who must write it. He has got himself into a fix with me by +writing the preface; I look for a great deal, and will not be easily +pleased. + +I never thought of it, but my new book, which should soon be out, +contains a visit to a murder scene, but not done as we should like to +see them, for, of course, I was running another hare. + +If you do not answer this in four pages, I shall stop the enclosed fiver +at the bank, a step which will lead to your incarceration for life. As +my visits to Arcady are somewhat uncertain, you had better address 17 +Heriot Row, Edinburgh, as usual. I shall walk over for the note if I am +not yet home.--Believe me, very really yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +I charge extra for a flourish when it is successful; this isn't, so you +have it gratis. Is there any news in Babylon the Great? My +fellow-creatures are electing school boards here in the midst of the +ages. It is very composed of them. I can't think why they do it. Nor why +I have written a real letter. If you write a real letter back, damme, +I'll try to _correspond_ with you. A thing unknown in this age. It is a +consequence of the decay of faith; we cannot believe that the fellow +will be at the pains to read us. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + This is in reply to some technical criticisms of his correspondent on + the poem _Our Lady of the Snows_, referring to the Trappist + monastery in the Cévennes so called, and afterwards published in + _Underwoods_. + + _Edinburgh [April 1879]._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Heavens! have I done the like? "Clarify and strain," +indeed? "Make it like Marvell," no less. I'll tell you what--you may go +to the devil; that's what I think. "Be eloquent" is another of your +pregnant suggestions. I cannot sufficiently thank you for that one. +Portrait of a person about to be eloquent at the request of a literary +friend. You seem to forget, sir, that rhyme is rhyme, sir, and--go to +the devil. + +I'll try to improve it, but I shan't be able to--O go to the devil. + +Seriously, you're a cool hand. And then you have the brass to ask me +_why_ "my steps went one by one"? Why? Powers of man! to rhyme with +_sun_, to be sure. Why else could it be? And you yourself have been a +poet! G-r-r-r-r-r! I'll never be a poet any more. Men are so d----d +ungrateful and captious, I declare I could weep. + + O Henley, in my hours of ease + You may say anything you please, + But when I join the Muse's revel, + Begad, I wish you at the devil! + In vain my verse I plane and bevel, + Like Banville's rhyming devotees; + In vain by many an artful swivel + Lug in my meaning by degrees; + I'm sure to hear my Henley cavil; + And grovelling prostrate on my knees, + Devote his body to the seas, + His correspondence to the devil! + +Impromptu poem. + +I'm going to Shandon Hydropathic _cum parentibus_. Write here. I heard +from Lang. Ferrier prayeth to be remembered; he means to write, likes +his Tourgenieff greatly. Also likes my _What was on the Slate_, which, +under a new title, yet unfound, and with a new and, on the whole, +kindly _dénouement_, is going to shoot up and become a star.... + +I see I must write some more to you about my Monastery. I am a weak +brother in verse. You ask me to re-write things that I have already +managed just to write with the skin of my teeth. If I don't re-write +them, it's because I don't see how to write them better, not because I +don't think they should be. But, curiously enough, you condemn two of my +favourite passages, one of which is J. W. Ferrier's favourite of the +whole. Here I shall think it's you who are wrong. You see, I did not try +to make good verse, but to say what I wanted as well as verse would let +me. I don't like the rhyme "ear" and "hear." But the couplet, "My +undissuaded heart I hear Whisper courage in my ear," is exactly what I +want for the thought, and to me seems very energetic as speech, if not +as verse. Would "daring" be better than "courage"? _Je me le demande._ +No, it would be ambiguous, as though I had used it licentiously for +"daringly," and that would cloak the sense. + +In short, your suggestions have broken the heart of the scald. He +doesn't agree with them all; and those he does agree with, the spirit +indeed is willing, but the d----d flesh cannot, cannot, cannot, see its +way to profit by. I think I'll lay it by for nine years, like Horace. I +think the well of Castaly's run out. No more the Muses round my pillow +haunt. I am fallen once more to the mere proser. God bless you. + + R. L. S. + + + +TO MISS JANE BALFOUR + + + This correspondent, the long-lived spinster among the Balfour sisters + (died 1907, aged 91) and the well-beloved "auntie" of a numerous clan + of nephews and nieces, is the subject of the set of verses, _Auntie's + Skirts_, in the _Child's Garden_. She had been reading _Travels with + a Donkey_ on its publication. + + [_Swanston, June 1879._] + +MY DEAR AUNTIE,--If you could only think a little less of me and others, +and a great deal more of your delightful self, you would be as nearly +perfect as there is any need to be. I think I have travelled with +donkeys all my life; and the experience of this book could be nothing +new to me. But if ever I knew a real donkey, I believe it is yourself. +You are so eager to think well of everybody else (except when you are +angry on account of some third person) that I do not believe you have +ever left yourself time to think properly of yourself. You never +understand when other people are unworthy, nor when you yourself are +worthy in the highest degree. Oblige us all by having a guid conceit o' +yoursel and despising in the future the whole crowd, including your +affectionate nephew, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + This letter is contemporary with the much-debated Cornhill essay _On + some Aspects of Burns_, afterwards published in _Familiar Studies of + Men and Books_. "Meredith's story" is probably the _Tragic + Comedians_. + + _Swanston, July 24, 1879._ + +MY DEAR GOSSE,--I have greatly enjoyed your article, which seems to me +handsome in tone, and written like a fine old English gentleman. But is +there not a hitch in the sentence at foot of page 153? I get lost in it. + +Chapters VIII. and IX. of Meredith's story are very good, I think. But +who wrote the review of my book? Whoever he was, he cannot write; he is +humane, but a duffer; I could weep when I think of him; for surely to be +virtuous and incompetent is a hard lot. I should prefer to be a bold +pirate, the gay sailor-boy of immorality, and a publisher at once. My +mind is extinct; my appetite is expiring; I have fallen altogether into +a hollow-eyed, yawning way of life, like the parties in Burne Jones's +pictures.... Talking of Burns. (Is this not sad, Weg? I use the term of +reproach not because I am angry with you this time, but because I am +angry with myself and desire to give pain.) Talking, I say, of Robert +Burns, the inspired poet is a very gay subject for study. I made a kind +of chronological table of his various loves and lusts, and have been +comparatively speechless ever since. I am sorry to say it, but there was +something in him of the vulgar, bagmanlike, professional +seducer.--Oblige me by taking down and reading, for the hundredth time, +I hope, his _Twa Dogs_ and his _Address to the Unco Guid_. I am only a +Scotchman, after all, you see; and when I have beaten Burns, I am driven +at once, by my parental feelings, to console him with a sugar-plum. But +hang me if I know anything I like so well as the _Twa Dogs_. Even a +common Englishman may have a glimpse, as it were from Pisgah, of its +extraordinary merits. + +"_English, The_:--a dull people, incapable of comprehending the Scottish +tongue. Their history is so intimately connected with that of Scotland, +that we must refer our readers to that heading. Their literature is +principally the work of venal Scots."--Stevenson's _Handy Cyclopædia_. +Glescow: Blaikie & Bannock. + +Remember me in suitable fashion to Mrs. Gosse, the offspring, and the +cat.--And believe me ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _Rembrandt_ refers to an article in the Edinburgh Review. "Bummkopf" + was Stevenson's name for the typical pedant, German or other, who + cannot clear his edifice of its scaffolding, nor set forth the + results of research without intruding on the reader all its + processes, evidences, and supports. _Burns_ is the aforesaid Cornhill + essay: not the rejected Encyclopædia article. + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh [July 28, 1879]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I am just in the middle of your _Rembrandt_. The taste +for Bummkopf and his works is agreeably dissembled so far as I have +gone; and the reins have never for an instant been thrown upon the neck +of that wooden Pegasus; he only perks up a learned snout from a footnote +in the cellarage of a paragraph; just, in short, where he ought to be, +to inspire confidence in a wicked and adulterous generation. But, mind +you, Bummkopf is not human; he is Dagon the fish god, and down he will +come, sprawling on his belly or his behind, with his hands broken from +his helpless carcase, and his head rolling oft into a corner. Up will +rise on the other side, sane, pleasurable, human knowledge: a thing of +beauty and a joy, etc. + +I'm three parts through _Burns_; long, dry, unsympathetic, but sound +and, I think, in its dry way, interesting. Next I shall finish the +story, and then perhaps Thoreau. Meredith has been staying with Morley, +has been cracking me up, he writes, to that literary Robespierre; and he +(the L. R.) is about, it is believed, to write to me on a literary +scheme. Is it Keats, hope you? My heart leaps at the thought.--Yours +ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + With reference to the "term of reproach," it must be explained that + Mr. Gosse, who now signs with only one initial, used in these days to + sign with two, E. W. G. The nickname Weg was fastened on him by + Stevenson, partly under a false impression as to the order of these + initials, partly in friendly derision of a passing fit of lameness, + which called up the memory of Silas Wegg, the immortal literary + gentleman "_with_ a wooden leg" of _Our Mutual Friend_. + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh [July 29, 1879]._ + +MY DEAR GOSSE,--Yours was delicious; you are a young person of wit; one +of the last of them; wit being quite out of date, and humour confined to +the Scotch Church and the _Spectator_ in unconscious survival. You will +probably be glad to hear that I am up again in the world; I have +breathed again, and had a frolic on the strength of it. The frolic was +yesterday, Sawbath; the scene, the Royal Hotel, Bathgate; I went there +with a humorous friend to lunch. The maid soon showed herself a lass of +character. She was looking out of window. On being asked what she was +after, "I'm lookin' for my lad," says she. "Is that him?" "Weel, I've +been lookin' for him a' my life, and I've never seen him yet," was the +response. I wrote her some verses in the vernacular; she read them. +"They're no bad for a beginner," said she. The landlord's daughter, Miss +Stewart, was present in oil colour; so I wrote her a declaration in +verse, and sent it by the handmaid. She (Miss S.) was present on the +stair to witness our departure, in a warm, suffused condition. Damn it, +Gosse, you needn't suppose that you're the only poet in the world. + +Your statement about your initials, it will be seen, I pass over in +contempt and silence. When once I have made up my mind, let me tell you, +sir, there lives no pock-pudding who can change it. Your anger I defy. +Your unmanly reference to a well-known statesman I puff from me, sir, +like so much vapour. Weg is your name; Weg. W E G. + +My enthusiasm has kind of dropped from me. I envy you your wife, your +home, your child--I was going to say your cat. There would be cats in my +home too if I could but get it. I may seem to you "the impersonation of +life," but my life is the impersonation of waiting, and that's a poor +creature. God help us all, and the deil be kind to the hindmost! Upon my +word, we are a brave, cheery crew, we human beings, and my admiration +increases daily--primarily for myself, but by a roundabout process for +the whole crowd; for I dare say they have all their poor little secrets +and anxieties. And here am I, for instance, writing to you as if you +were in the seventh heaven, and yet I know you are in a sad anxiety +yourself. I hope earnestly it will soon be over, and a fine pink Gosse +sprawling in a tub, and a mother in the best of health and spirits, glad +and tired, and with another interest in life. Man, you are out of the +trouble when this is through. A first child is a rival, but a second is +only a rival to the first; and the husband stands his ground and may +keep married all his life--a consummation heartily to be desired. +Good-bye, Gosse. Write me a witty letter with good news of the mistress. + + R. L. S. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + [20] The letter breaks off here. + + [21] Thomas Basin or Bazin, the historian of Charles VIII. and Louis XI. + + [22] R. Glasgow Brown lay dying in the Riviera. + + + + +V + +THE AMATEUR EMIGRANT + +S.S. DEVONIA--MONTEREY AND SAN FRANCISCO--MARRIAGE + +July 1879-July 1880 + + +In France, as has been already indicated, Stevenson had met the American +lady, Mrs. Osbourne, who was afterwards to become his wife. Her domestic +relations had not been fortunate; to his chivalrous nature her +circumstances appealed no less than her person; and almost from their +first meeting, which befell at Grez, immediately after the canoe voyage +of 1876, he conceived for her an attachment which was to transform and +determine his life. On her return to America with her children in the +autumn of 1878, she determined to seek a divorce from her husband. +Hearing of her intention, together with very disquieting news of her +health, and hoping that after she had obtained the divorce he might make +her his wife, Stevenson suddenly started for California at the beginning +of August 1879. + +For what he knew must seem to his friends, and especially to his father, +so wild an errand, he would ask for no supplies from home; but resolved, +risking his whole future on the issue, to test during this adventure his +power of supporting himself, and eventually others, by his own labours +in literature. In order from the outset to save as much as possible, he +made the journey in the steerage and the emigrant train. With this +prime motive of economy was combined a second--that of learning for +himself the pinch of life as it is felt by the unprivileged and the poor +(he had long ago disclaimed for himself the character of a "consistent +first-class passenger in life")--and also, it should be added, a third, +that of turning his experiences to literary account. On board ship he +took daily notes with this intent, and wrote moreover _The Story of a +Lie_ for an English magazine. Arrived at his destination, he found his +health, as was natural, badly shaken by the hardships of the journey; +tried his favourite open-air cure for three weeks at an Angora +goat-ranche some twenty miles from Monterey; and then lived from +September to December in that old Californian coast-town itself, under +the conditions set forth in the earlier of the following letters, and +under a heavy combined strain of personal anxiety and literary effort. +From the notes taken on board ship and in the emigrant train he drafted +an account of his journey, intending to make a volume matching in form, +though in contents much unlike, the earlier _Inland Voyage_ and _Travels +with a Donkey_. He wrote also the essays on Thoreau and the Japanese +reformer, Yoshida Torajiro, afterwards published in _Familiar Studies of +Men and Books_; one of the most vivid of his shorter tales, _The +Pavilion on the Links_, hereinafter referred to as a "blood and +thunder," as well as a great part of another and longer story drawn from +his new experiences and called _A Vendetta in the West_; but this did +not satisfy him, and was never finished. He planned at the same time, in +the spirit of romantic comedy, that tale which took final shape four +years later as _Prince Otto_. Towards the end of December 1879 Stevenson +moved to San Francisco, where he lived for three months in a workman's +lodging, leading a life of frugality amounting, it will be seen, to +self-imposed penury, and working always with the same intensity of +application, until his health utterly broke down. One of the causes +which contributed to his illness was the fatigue he underwent in helping +to watch beside the sickbed of a child, the son of his landlady. During +a part of March and April he lay at death's door--his first really +dangerous sickness since childhood--and was slowly tended back to life +by the joint ministrations of his future wife and the physician to whom +his letter of thanks will be found below. His marriage ensued in May +1880; immediately afterwards, to try and consolidate his recovery, he +moved to a deserted mining-camp in the Californian coast range; and has +recorded the aspects and humours of his life there with a master's touch +in the _Silverado Squatters_. + +The news of his dangerous illness and approaching marriage had in the +meantime unlocked the parental heart and purse; supplies were sent +ensuring his present comfort, with the promise of their continuance for +the future, and of a cordial welcome for the new daughter-in-law in his +father's house. The following letters, chosen from among those written +during the period in question, depict his way of life, and reflect at +once the anxiety of his friends and the strain of the time upon himself. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + The story mentioned at the beginning of this letter is _The Story of a + Lie_. + + _On board s.s. "Devonia," an hour or two out of New York [August + 1879]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I have finished my story. The handwriting is not good +because of the ship's misconduct: thirty-one pages in ten days at sea is +not bad. + +I shall write a general procuration about this story on another bit of +paper. I am not very well; bad food, bad air, and hard work have brought +me down. But the spirits keep good. The voyage has been most +interesting, and will make, if not a series of _Pall Mall_ articles, at +least the first part of a new book. The last weight on me has been +trying to keep notes for this purpose. Indeed, I have worked like a +horse, and am now as tired as a donkey. If I should have to push on far +by rail, I shall bring nothing but my fine bones to port. + +Good-bye to you all. I suppose it is now late afternoon with you and all +across the seas. What shall I find over there? I dare not wonder.--Ever +yours, + + R. L. S. + +_P.S._--I go on my way to-night, if I can; if not, to-morrow; emigrant +train ten to fourteen days' journey; warranted extreme discomfort. The +only American institution which has yet won my respect is the rain. One +sees it is a new country, they are so free with their water. I have been +steadily drenched for twenty-four hours; water-proof wet through; +immortal spirit fitfully blinking up in spite. Bought a copy of my own +work, and the man said "by Stevenson."--"Indeed," says I.--"Yes, sir," +says he.--Scene closes. + +I am not beaten yet, though disappointed. If I am, it's for good this +time; you know what "for good" means in my vocabulary--something inside +of 12 months perhaps; but who knows? At least, if I fail in my great +purpose, I shall see some wild life in the West and visit both Florida +and Labrador ere I return. But I don't yet know if I have the courage to +stick to life without it. Man, I was sick, sick, sick of this last year. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_In the Emigrant Train from New York to San Francisco, August + 1879._] + +DEAR COLVIN,--I am in the cars between Pittsburgh and Chicago, just now +bowling through Ohio. I am taking charge of a kid, whose mother is +asleep, with one eye, while I write you this with the other. I reached +N. Y. Sunday night; and by five o'clock Monday was under way for the +West. It is now about ten on Wednesday morning, so I have already been +about forty hours in the cars. It is impossible to lie down in them, +which must end by being very wearying. + +I had no idea how easy it was to commit suicide. There seems nothing +left of me; I died a while ago; I do not know who it is that is +travelling. + + Of where or how, I nothing know; + And why, I do not care; + Enough if, even so, + My travelling eyes, my travelling mind can go + By flood and field and hill, by wood and meadow fair, + Beside the Susquehannah and along the Delaware. + + I think, I hope, I dream no more + The dreams of otherwhere, + The cherished thoughts of yore; + I have been changed from what I was before; + And drunk too deep perchance the lotus of the air + Beside the Susquehannah and along the Delaware. + + Unweary God me yet shall bring + To lands of brighter air, + Where I, now half a king, + Shall with enfranchised spirit loudlier sing, + And wear a bolder front than that which now I wear + Beside the Susquehannah and along the Delaware. + +Exit Muse, hurried by child's games.... + +Have at you again, being now well through Indiana. In America you eat +better than anywhere else: fact, The food is heavenly. + +No man is any use until he has dared everything; I feel just now as if I +had, and so might become a man. "If ye have faith like a grain of +mustard seed." That is so true! Just now I have faith as big as a +cigar-case; I will not say die, and do not fear man nor fortune. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + _Crossing Nebraska [Saturday, August 23, 1879]._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--I am sitting on the top of the cars with a mill party +from Missouri going west for his health. Desolate flat prairie upon all +hands. Here and there a herd of cattle, a yellow butterfly or two; a +patch of wild sunflowers; a wooden house or two; then a wooden church +alone in miles of waste; then a windmill to pump water. When we stop, +which we do often, for emigrants and freight travel together, the kine +first, the men after, the whole plain is heard singing with cicadae. +This is a pause, as you may see from the writing. What happened to the +old pedestrian emigrants, what was the tedium suffered by the Indians +and trappers of our youth, the imagination trembles to conceive. This is +now Saturday, 23rd, and I have been steadily travelling since I parted +from you at St. Pancras. It is a strange vicissitude from the Savile +Club to this; I sleep with a man from Pennsylvania who has been in the +States Navy, and mess with him and the Missouri bird already alluded to. +We have a tin wash-bowl among four. I wear nothing but a shirt and a +pair of trousers, and never button my shirt. When I land for a meal, I +pass my coat and feel dressed. This life is to last till Friday, +Saturday, or Sunday next. It is a strange affair to be an emigrant, as +I hope you shall see in a future work. I wonder if this will be +legible; my present station on the waggon roof, though airy compared to +the cars, is both dirty and insecure. I can see the track straight +before and straight behind me to either horizon. Peace of mind I enjoy +with extreme serenity; I am doing right; I know no one will think so; +and don't care. My body, however, is all to whistles; I don't eat; but, +man, I can sleep. The car in front of mine is chock full of Chinese. + +_Monday._--What it is to be ill in an emigrant train let those declare +who know. I slept none till late in the morning, overcome with laudanum, +of which I had luckily a little bottle. All to-day I have eaten nothing, +and only drunk two cups of tea, for each of which, on the pretext that +the one was breakfast, and the other dinner, I was charged fifty cents. +Our journey is through ghostly deserts, sage brush and alkali, and +rocks, without form or colour, a sad corner of the world. I confess I am +not jolly, but mighty calm, in my distresses. My illness is a subject of +great mirth to some of my fellow-travellers, and I smile rather sickly +at their jests. + +We are going along Bitter Creek just now, a place infamous in the +history of emigration, a place I shall remember myself among the +blackest. I hope I may get this posted at Ogden, Utah. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Coast Line Mountains, California, September, 1879._] + +Here is another curious start in my life. I am living at an Angora +goat-ranche, in the Coast Line Mountains, eighteen miles from Monterey. +I was camping out, but got so sick that the two rancheros took me in and +tended me. One is an old bear-hunter, seventy-two years old, and a +captain from the Mexican war; the other a pilgrim, and one who was out +with the bear flag and under Fremont when California was taken by the +States. They are both true frontiersmen, and most kind and pleasant. +Captain Smith, the bear-hunter, is my physician, and I obey him like an +oracle. + +The business of my life stands pretty nigh still. I work at my notes of +the voyage. It will not be very like a book of mine; but perhaps none +the less successful for that. I will not deny that I feel lonely to-day; +but I do not fear to go on, for I am doing right. I have not yet had a +word from England, partly, I suppose, because I have not yet written for +my letters to New York; do not blame me for this neglect; if you knew +all I have been through, you would wonder I had done so much as I have. +I teach the ranche children reading in the morning, for the mother is +from home sick.--Ever your affectionate friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Monterey, California, October 1879._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I received your letter with delight; it was the first +word that reached me from the old country. I am in good health now; I +have been pretty seedy, for I was exhausted by the journey and anxiety +below even my point of keeping up; I am still a little weak, but that is +all; I begin to ingrease,[23] it seems, already. My book is about half +drafted: the _Amateur Emigrant_, that is. Can you find a better name? I +believe it will be more popular than any of my others; the canvas is so +much more popular and larger too. Fancy, it is my fourth. That +voluminous writer. I was vexed to hear about the last chapter of _The +Lie_, and pleased to hear about the rest; it would have been odd if it +had no birthmark, born where and how it was. It should by rights have +been called the _Devonia_, for that is the habit with all children born +in a steerage. + +I write to you, hoping for more. Give me news of all who concern me, +near or far, or big or little. Here, sir, in California you have a +willing hearer. + +Monterey is a place where there is no summer or winter, and pines and +sand and distant hills and a bay all filled with real water from the +Pacific. You will perceive that no expense has been spared. I now live +with a little French doctor; I take one of my meals in a little French +restaurant; for the other two, I sponge. The population of Monterey is +about that of a dissenting chapel on a wet Sunday in a strong church +neighbourhood. They are mostly Mexican and Indian--mixed.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + _Monterey, 8th October 1879._ + +MY DEAR WEG,--I know I am a rogue and the son of a dog. Yet let me tell +you, when I came here I had a week's misery and a fortnight's illness, +and since then I have been more or less busy in being content. This is a +kind of excuse for my laziness. I hope you will not excuse yourself. My +plans are still very uncertain, and it is not likely that anything will +happen before Christmas. In the meanwhile, I believe I shall live on +here "between the sandhills and the sea," as I think Mr. Swinburne hath +it. I was pretty nearly slain; my spirit lay down and kicked for three +days; I was up at an Angora goat-ranche in the Santa Lucia Mountains, +nursed by an old frontiersman, a mighty hunter of bears, and I scarcely +slept, or ate, or thought for four days. Two nights I lay out under a +tree in a sort of stupor, doing nothing but fetch water for myself and +horse, light a fire and make coffee, and all night awake hearing the +goat-bells ringing and the tree-frogs singing when each new noise was +enough to set me mad. Then the bear-hunter came round, pronounced me +"real sick," and ordered me up to the ranche. + +It was an odd, miserable piece of my life; and according to all rule, it +should have been my death; but after a while my spirit got up again in a +divine frenzy, and has since kicked and spurred my vile body forward +with great emphasis and success. + +My new book, _The Amateur Emigrant_, is about half drafted. I don't know +if it will be good, but I think it ought to sell in spite of the deil +and the publishers; for it tells an odd enough experience, and one, I +think, never yet told before. Look for my _Burns_ in the Cornhill, and +for my _Story of a Lie_ in Paul's withered babe, the New Quarterly. You +may have seen the latter ere this reaches you; tell me if it has any +interest, like a good boy, and remember that it was written at sea in +great anxiety of mind. What is your news? Send me your works, like an +angel, _au fur et à mesure_ of their apparation, for I am naturally +short of literature, and I do not wish to rust. + +I fear this can hardly be called a letter. To say truth, I feel already +a difficulty of approach; I do not know if I am the same man I was in +Europe, perhaps I can hardly claim acquaintance with you. My head went +round and looks another way now; for when I found myself over here in a +new land, and all the past uprooted in the one tug, and I neither +feeling glad nor sorry, I got my last lesson about mankind; I mean my +latest lesson, for of course I do not know what surprises there are yet +in store for me. But that I could have so felt astonished me beyond +description. There is a wonderful callousness in human nature which +enables us to live. I had no feeling one way or another from New York to +California, until, at Dutch Flat, a mining camp in the Sierra, I heard a +cock crowing with a home voice; and then I fell to hope and regret both +in the same moment. + +Is there a boy or a girl? and how is your wife? I thought of you more +than once, to put it mildly. + +I live here comfortably enough; but I shall soon be left all alone, +perhaps till Christmas. Then you may hope for correspondence--and may +not I?--Your friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + [_Monterey, October 1879._] + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Herewith the _Pavilion on the Links_, grand carpentry +story in nine chapters, and I should hesitate to say how many tableaux. +Where is it to go? God knows. It is the dibbs that are wanted. It is not +bad, though I say it; carpentry, of course, but not bad at that; and who +else can carpenter in England, now that Wilkie Collins is played out? It +might be broken for magazine purposes at the end of Chapter IV. I send +it to you, as I dare say Payn may help, if all else fails. Dibbs and +speed are my mottoes. + +Do acknowledge the _Pavilion_ by return. I shall be so nervous till I +hear, as of course I have no copy except of one or two places where the +vein would not run. God prosper it, poor _Pavilion_! May it bring me +money for myself and my sick one, who may read it, I do not know how +soon. + +Love to your wife, Anthony, and all. I shall write to Colvin to-day or +to-morrow.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + The story spoken of in these letters as A _Vendetta in the West_ was + three parts written and then given up and destroyed. + + + [_Monterey, October 1879._] + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Many thanks for your good letter, which is the best way +to forgive you for your previous silence. I hope Colvin or somebody has +sent me the Cornhill and the New Quarterly, though I am trying to get +them in San Francisco. I think you might have sent me (1) some of your +articles in the P. M. G.[24]; (2) a paper with the announcement of +second edition; and (3) the announcement of the essays in Athenæum. This +to prick you in the future. Again, choose, in your head, the best volume +of Labiche there is, and post it to Jules Simoneau, Monterey, Monterey +Co., California: do this at once, as he is my restaurant man, a most +pleasant old boy with whom I discuss the universe and play chess daily. +He has been out of France for thirty-five years, and never heard of +Labiche. I have eighty-three pages written of a story called _A Vendetta +in the West_, and about sixty pages of the first draft of the _Amateur +Emigrant_. They should each cover from 130 to 150 pages when done. That +is all my literary news. Do keep me posted, won't you? Your letter and +Bob's made the fifth and sixth I have had from Europe in three months. + +At times I get terribly frightened about my work, which seems to advance +too slowly. I hope soon to have a greater burden to support, and must +make money a great deal quicker than I used. I may get nothing for the +_Vendetta_; I may only get some forty quid for the _Emigrant_; I cannot +hope to have them both done much before the end of November. + +O, and look here, why did you not send me the Spectator which slanged +me? Rogues and rascals, is that all you are worth? + +Yesterday I set fire to the forest, for which, had I been caught, I +should have been hung out of hand to the nearest tree, Judge Lynch being +an active person hereaway. You should have seen my retreat (which was +entirely for strategical purposes). I ran like hell. It was a fine +sight. At night I went out again to see it; it was a good fire, though I +say it that should not. I had a near escape for my life with a revolver: +I fired six charges, and the six bullets all remained in the barrel, +which was choked from end to end, from muzzle to breach, with solid +lead; it took a man three hours to drill them out. Another shot, and +I'd have gone to kingdom come. + +This is a lovely place, which I am growing to love. The Pacific licks +all other oceans out of hand; there is no place but the Pacific Coast to +hear eternal roaring surf. When I get to the top of the woods behind +Monterey, I can hear the seas breaking all round over ten or twelve +miles of coast from near Carmel on my left, out to Point Pinas in front, +and away to the right along the sands of Monterey to Castroville and the +mouth of the Salinas. I was wishing yesterday that the world could +get--no, what I mean was that you should be kept in suspense like +Mahomet's coffin until the world had made half a revolution, then +dropped here at the station as though you had stepped from the cars; you +would then comfortably enter Walter's waggon (the sun has just gone +down, the moon beginning to throw shadows, you hear the surf rolling, +and smell the sea and the pines). That shall deposit you at Sanchez's +saloon, where we take a drink; you are introduced to Bronson, the local +editor ("I have no brain music," he says; "I'm a mechanic, you see," but +he's a nice fellow); to Adolpho Sanchez, who is delightful. Meantime I +go to the P. O. for my mail; thence we walk up Alvarado Street together, +you now floundering in the sand, now merrily stumping on the wooden +side-walks; I call at Hadsell's for my paper; at length behold us +installed in Simoneau's little white-washed back-room, round a dirty +tablecloth, with François the baker, perhaps an Italian fisherman, +perhaps Augustin Dutra, and Simoneau himself. Simoneau, François, and I +are the three sure cards; the others mere waifs. Then home to my great +airy rooms with five windows opening on a balcony; I sleep on the floor +in my camp blankets; you instal yourself abed; in the morning coffee +with the little doctor and his little wife; we hire a waggon and make a +day of it; and by night, I should let you up again into the air, to be +returned to Mrs. Henley in the forenoon following. By God, you would +enjoy yourself. So should I. I have tales enough to keep you going till +five in the morning, and then they would not be at an end. I forget if +you asked me any questions, and I sent your letter up to the city to one +who will like to read it. I expect other letters now steadily. If I have +to wait another two months, I shall begin to be happy. Will you remember +me most affectionately to your wife? Shake hands with Anthony from me; +and God bless your mother. + +God bless Stephen! Does he not know that I am a man, and cannot live by +bread alone, but must have guineas into the bargain. _Burns_, I believe, +in my own mind, is one of my high-water marks; Meiklejohn flames me a +letter about it, which is so complimentary that I must keep it or get it +published in the Monterey Californian. Some of these days I shall send +an exemplaire of that paper; it is huge.--Ever your affectionate friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _Monterey, 21st October [1879]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Although you have absolutely disregarded my plaintive +appeals for correspondence, and written only once as against God knows +how many notes and notikins of mine--here goes again. I am now all alone +in Monterey, a real inhabitant, with a box of my own at the P. O. I have +splendid rooms at the doctor's, where I get coffee in the morning (the +doctor is French), and I mess with another jolly old Frenchman, the +stranded fifty-eight-year-old wreck of a good-hearted, dissipated, and +once wealthy Nantais tradesman. My health goes on better; as for work, +the draft of my book was laid aside at p. 68 or so; and I have now, by +way of change, more than seventy pages of a novel, a one-volume novel, +alas! to be called either _A Chapter in the Experience of Arizona_ +_Breckonridge_ or _A Vendetta in the West_, or a combination of the +two. The scene from Chapter IV. to the end lies in Monterey and the +adjacent country; of course, with my usual luck, the plot of the story +is somewhat scandalous, containing an illegitimate father for piece of +resistance.... Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO P.G. HAMERTON + + + The following refers to Mr. Hamerton's candidature, which was not + successful, for the Professorship of Fine Art at Edinburgh:-- + + _Monterey [November 1879]._ + +MY DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--Your letter to my father was forwarded to me by +mistake, and by mistake I opened it. The letter to myself has not yet +reached me. This must explain my own and my father's silence. I shall +write by this or next post to the only friends I have who, I think, +would have an influence, as they are both professors. I regret +exceedingly that I am not in Edinburgh, as I could perhaps have done +more, and I need not tell you that what I might do for you in the matter +of the election is neither from friendship nor gratitude, but because +you are the only man (I beg your pardon) worth a damn. I shall write to +a third friend, now I think of it, whose father will have great +influence. + +I find here (of all places in the world) your _Essays on Art_, which I +have read with signal interest. I believe I shall dig an essay of my own +out of one of them, for it set me thinking; if mine could only produce +yet another in reply, we could have the marrow out between us. + +I hope, my dear sir, you will not think badly of me for my long silence. +My head has scarce been on my shoulders. I had scarce recovered from a +long fit of useless ill-health than I was whirled over here double-quick +time and by cheapest conveyance. + +I have been since pretty ill, but pick up, though still somewhat of a +mossy ruin. If you would view my countenance aright, come--view it by +the pale moonlight. But that is on the mend. I believe I have now a +distant claim to tan. + +A letter will be more than welcome in this distant clime, where I have a +box at the post-office--generally, I regret to say, empty. Could your +recommendation introduce me to an American publisher? My next book I +should really try to get hold of here, as its interest is international, +and the more I am in this country the more I understand the weight of +your influence. It is pleasant to be thus most at home abroad, above +all, when the prophet is still not without honour in his own land.... + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + The copy of the Monterey paper here mentioned never came to hand, nor + have the contributions of R. L. S. to that journal ever been traced. + + _Monterey, 15th November 1879._ + +MY DEAR GOSSE,--Your letter was to me such a bright spot that I answer +it right away to the prejudice of other correspondents or -dants (don't +know how to spell it) who have prior claims.... It is the history of our +kindnesses that alone makes this world tolerable. If it were not for +that, for the effect of kind words, kind looks, kind letters, +multiplying, spreading, making one happy through another and bringing +forth benefits, some thirty, some fifty, some a thousandfold, I should +be tempted to think our life a practical jest in the worst possible +spirit. So your four pages have confirmed my philosophy as well as +consoled my heart in these ill hours. + +Yes, you are right; Monterey is a pleasant place; but I see I can write +no more to-night. I am tired and sad, and being already in bed, have no +more to do but turn out the light.--Your affectionate friend, R. L. S. + + +I try it again by daylight. Once more in bed however; for to-day it is +_mucho frio, as_ we Spaniards say; and I had no other means of keeping +warm for my work. I have done a good spell, 9-1/2 foolscap pages; at +least 8 of Cornhill; ah, if I thought that I could get eight guineas for +it. My trouble is that I am all too ambitious just now. A book whereof +70 out of 120 are scrolled. A novel whereof 85 out of, say 140, are +pretty well nigh done. A short story of 50 pp., which shall be finished +to-morrow, or I'll know the reason why. This may bring in a lot of +money: but I dread to think that it is all on three chances. If the +three were to fail, I am in a bog. The novel is called _A Vendetta in +the West_. I see I am in a grasping, dismal humour, and should, as we +Americans put it, quit writing. In truth, I am so haunted by anxieties +that one or other is sure to come up in all that I write. + +I will send you herewith a Monterey paper where the works of R. L. S. +appear, nor only that, but all my life on studying the advertisements +will become clear. I lodge with Dr. Heintz; take my meals with Simoneau; +have been only two days ago shaved by the tonsorial artist Michaels; +drink daily at the Bohemia saloon; get my daily paper from Hadsell's; +was stood a drink to-day by Albano Rodriguez; in short, there is scarce +a person advertised in that paper but I know him, and I may add scarce a +person in Monterey but is there advertised. The paper is the marrow of +the place. Its bones--pooh, I am tired of writing so sillily. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Monterey, December 1879._] + +TO-DAY, my dear Colvin, I send you the first part of the _Amateur +Emigrant_, 71 pp., by far the longest and the best of the whole. It is +not a monument of eloquence; indeed, I have sought to be prosaic in view +of the nature of the subject; but I almost think it is interesting. + +Whatever is done about any book publication, two things remember: I +must keep a royalty; and, second, I must have all my books advertised, +in the French manner, on the leaf opposite the title. I know from my own +experience how much good this does an author with book _buyers_. + +The entire _A. E._ will be a little longer than the two others, but not +very much. Here and there, I fancy, you will laugh as you read it; but +it seems to me rather a _clever_ book than anything else: the book of a +man, that is, who has paid a great deal of attention to contemporary +life, and not through the newspapers. + +I have never seen my _Burns!_ the darling of my heart! I await your +promised letter. Papers, magazines, articles by friends; reviews of +myself, all would be very welcome. I am reporter for the Monterey +Californian, at a salary of two dollars a week! _Comment trouvez-vous +ça?_ I am also in a conspiracy with the American editor, a French +restaurant-man, and an Italian fisherman against the Padre. The enclosed +poster is my last literary appearance. It was put up to the number of +200 exemplaires at the witching hour; and they were almost all destroyed +by eight in the morning. But I think the nickname will stick. _Dos +Reales; deux réaux_; two bits; twenty-five cents; about a shilling; but +in practice it is worth from ninepence to threepence: thus two glasses +of beer would cost two bits. The Italian fisherman, an old Garibaldian, +is a splendid fellow. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + The following is in acknowledgment of Mr. Gosse's volume called _New + Poems_:-- + + _Monterey, Dec. 8, 1879._ + +MY DEAR WEG,--I received your book last night as I lay abed with a +pleurisy, the result, I fear, of overwork, gradual decline of appetite, +etc. You know what a wooden-hearted curmudgeon I am about contemporary +verse. I like none of it, except some of my own. (I look back on that +sentence with pleasure; it comes from an honest heart.) Hence you will +be kind enough to take this from me in a kindly spirit; the piece "To my +daughter" is delicious. And yet even here I am going to pick holes. I am +a _beastly_ curmudgeon. It is the last verse. "Newly budded" is off the +venue; and haven't you gone ahead to make a poetry daybreak instead of +sticking to your muttons, and comparing with the mysterious light of +stars the plain, friendly, perspicuous, human day? But this is to be a +beast. The little poem is eminently pleasant, human, and original. + +I have read nearly the whole volume, and shall read it nearly all over +again; you have no rivals! + +Bancroft's _History of the United States_, even in a centenary edition, +is essentially heavy fare; a little goes a long way; I respect Bancroft, +but I do not love him; he has moments when he feels himself inspired to +open up his improvisations upon universal history and the designs of +God; but I flatter myself I am more nearly acquainted with the latter +than Mr. Bancroft. A man, in the words of my Plymouth Brother, "who +knows the Lord," must needs, from time to time, write less emphatically. +It is a fetter dance to the music of minute guns--not at sea, but in a +region not a thousand miles from the Sahara. Still, I am half-way +through volume three, and shall count myself unworthy of the name of an +Englishman if I do not see the back of volume six. The countryman of +Livingstone, Burton, Speke, Drake, Cook, etc.! + +I have been sweated not only out of my pleuritic fever, but out of all +my eating cares, and the better part of my brains (strange +coincidence!), by aconite. I have that peculiar and delicious sense of +being born again in an expurgated edition which belongs to +convalescence. It will not be for long; I hear the breakers roar; I +shall be steering head first for another rapid before many days; _nitor +aquis_, said a certain Eton boy, translating for his sins a part of the +_Inland Voyage_ into Latin elegiacs; and from the hour I saw it, or +rather a friend of mine, the admirable Jenkin, saw and recognised its +absurd appropriateness, I took it for my device in life. I am going for +thirty now; and unless I can snatch a little rest before long, I have, I +may tell you in confidence, no hope of seeing thirty-one. My health +began to break last winter, and has given me but fitful times since +then. This pleurisy, though but a slight affair in itself, was a huge +disappointment to me, and marked an epoch. To start a pleurisy about +nothing, while leading a dull, regular life in a mild climate, was not +my habit in past days; and it is six years, all but a few months, since +I was obliged to spend twenty-four hours in bed. I may be wrong, but if +the niting is to continue, I believe I must go. It is a pity in one +sense, for I believe the class of work I _might_ yet give out is better +and more real and solid than people fancy. But death is no bad friend; a +few aches and gasps, and we are done; like the truant child, I am +beginning to grow weary and timid in this big jostling city, and could +run to my nurse, even although she should have to whip me before putting +me to bed. + +Will you kiss your little daughter from me, and tell her that her father +has written a delightful poem about her? Remember me, please, to Mrs. +Gosse, to Middlemore, to whom some of these days I will write, to ----, +to ----, yes, to ----, and to ----. I know you will gnash your teeth at +some of these; wicked, grim, catlike old poet. If I were God, I would +sort you--as we say in Scotland.--Your sincere friend, + + R. L. S. + +"Too young to be our child": blooming good. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _Monterey [December 1879]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I have been down with pleurisy but now convalesce; it +was a slight attack, but I had a hot fever; pulse 150; and the thing +reminds me of my weakness. These miseries tell on me cruelly. But things +are not so hopeless as they might be so I am far from despair. Besides I +think I may say I have some courage for life. + +But now look here: + + Fables and Tales + + Story of a Lie 100 pp. like the Donkey. + Providence and the Guitar 52 + Will o' the Mill 45 + A Lodging for the Night 40 (about) + Sieur de Malétroit's Door 42 + --- + say 280 pp. in all. + +Here is my scheme. Henley already proposed that Caldecott should +illustrate _Will o' the Mill_. The _Guitar_ is still more suited to him; +he should make delicious things for that. And though the _Lie_ is not +much in the way for pictures, I should like to see my dear Admiral in +the flesh. I love the Admiral; I give my head, that man's alive. As for +the other two they need not be illustrated at all unless he likes. + +Is this a dream altogether? I would if necessary ask nothing down for +the stories, and only a small royalty but to begin _from the first copy +sold_. + +I hate myself for being always on business. But I cannot help my fears +and anxieties about money; even if all came well, it would be many a +long day before we could afford to leave this coast. Is it true that the +_Donkey_ is in a second edition? That should bring some money, too, ere +long, though not much I dare say. You will see the _Guitar_ is made for +Caldecott; moreover it's a little thing I like. I am no lover of either +of the things in Temple Bar; but they will make up the volume, and +perhaps others may like them better than I do. They say republished +stories do not sell. Well, that is why I am in a hurry to get this out. +The public must be educated to buy mine or I shall never make a cent. I +have heaps of short stories in view. The next volume will probably be +called _Stories_ or A _Story-Book_, and contain quite a different lot: +_The Pavilion on the Links_: _Professor Rensselaer_: _The Dead Man's +Letter_: _The Wild Man of the Woods_: _The Devil on Cramond Sands_. They +would all be carpentry stories; pretty grim for the most part; but of +course that's all in the air as yet.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + _Monterey, December 11th, 1879._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Many, many thanks for your long letter. And now to +rectifications:-- + +1. You are wrong about the _Lie_, from choosing a wrong standard. +Compare it with my former stories, not with Scott, or Fielding, or +Balzac, or Charles Reade, or even Wilkie Collins; and where will you +find anything half or a tenth part as good as the Admiral, or even Dick, +or even the Squire, or even Esther. If you had thought of that, you +would have complimented me for advance. But you were not quite sincere +with yourself: you were seeking arguments to make me devote myself to +plays, unbeknown, of course, to yourself. + +2. Plays, dear boy, are madness for me just now. The best play is +hopeless before six months, and more likely eighteen for outsiders like +you and me. And understand me, I have to get money _soon_, or it has no +further interest for me; I am nearly through my capital; with what pluck +I can muster against great anxieties and in a very shattered state of +health, I am trying to do things that will bring in money soon; and I +could not, if I were not mad, step out of my way to work at what might +perhaps bring me in more but months ahead. Journalism, you know well, is +not my forte; yet if I could only get a roving commission from a paper, +I should leap at it and send them goodish (no more than that) goodish +stuff. + +As for my poor literature, dear Henley, you must expect for a time to +find it worse and worse. Perhaps, if God favours me a little at last, it +will pick up again. Now I am fighting with both hands, a hard battle, +and my work, while it will be as good as I can make it, will probably be +worth twopence. If you despised the _Donkey_, dear boy, you should have +told me so at the time, not reserved it for a sudden revelation just now +when I am down in health, wealth, and fortune. But I am glad you have +said so at last. Never, please, delay such confidences any more. If they +come quickly, they are a help; if they come after long silence, they +feel almost like a taunt. + +Now, to read all this, any one would think you had written unkindly, +which is not so, as God who made us knows. But I wished to put myself +right ere I went on to state myself. Nothing has come but the volume of +Labiche; the _Burns_ I have now given up; the P.O. authorities plainly +regard it as contraband; make no further efforts in that direction. But, +please, if anything else of mine appears, _see that my people have a +copy_. I hoped and supposed my own copy would go as usual to the old +address, and, let me use Scotch, I was fair affrontit when I found this +had not been done. + +You have not told me how you are and I heard you had not been well. +Please remedy this. + +The end of life? Yes, Henley, I can tell you what that is. How old are +all truths, and yet how far from commonplace; old, strange, and +inexplicable, like the Sphinx. So I learn day by day the value and high +doctrinality of suffering. Let me suffer always; not more than I am able +to bear, for that makes a man mad, as hunger drives the wolf to sally +from the forest; but still to suffer some, and never to sink up to my +eyes in comfort and grow dead in virtues and respectability. I am a bad +man by nature, I suppose; but I cannot be good without suffering a +little. And the end of life, you will ask? The pleasurable death of +self: a thing not to be attained, because it is a thing belonging to +Heaven. All this apropos of that good, weak, feverish, fine spirit, ---- +----. We have traits in common; we have almost the same strength and +weakness intermingled; and if I had not come through a very hot +crucible, I should be just as feverish. My sufferings have been +healthier than his; mine have been always a choice, where a man could be +manly; his have been so too, if he knew it, but were not so upon the +face; hence a morbid strain, which his wounded vanity has helped to +embitter. + +I wonder why I scratch every one to-day. And I believe it is because I +am conscious of so much truth in your strictures on my damned stuff. I +don't care; there is something in me worth saying, though I can't find +what it is just yet; and ere I die, if I do not die too fast, I shall +write something worth the boards, which with scarce an exception I have +not yet done. At the same time, dear boy, in a matter of vastly more +importance than Opera Omnia Ludovici Stevenson, I mean my life, I have +not been a perfect cad; God help me to be less and less so as the days +go on. + +The _Emigrant_ is not good, and will never do for P.M.G., though it must +have a kind of rude interest. R. L. S. + +I am now quite an American--yellow envelopes. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco [December 26, 1879]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I am now writing to you in a café waiting for some +music to begin. For four days I have spoken to no one but to my landlady +or landlord or to restaurant waiters. This is not a gay way to pass +Christmas, is it? and I must own the guts are a little knocked out of +me. If I could work, I could worry through better. But I have no style +at command for the moment, with the second part of the _Emigrant_, the +last of the novel, the essay on Thoreau, and God knows all, waiting for +me. But I trust something can be done with the first part, or, by God, +I'll starve here....[25] + +O Colvin, you don't know how much good I have done myself. I feared to +think this out by myself. I have made a base use of you, and it comes +out so much better than I had dreamed. But I have to stick to work now; +and here's December gone pretty near useless. But, Lord love you, +October and November saw a great harvest. It might have affected the +price of paper on the Pacific coast. As for ink, they haven't any, not +what I call ink; only stuff to write cookery-books with, or the works of +Hayley, or the pallid perambulations of the--I can find nobody to beat +Hayley. I like good, knock-me-down black-strap to write with; that makes +a mark and done with it.--By the way, I have tried to read the +_Spectator_,[26] which they all say I imitate, and--it's very wrong of +me, I know--but I can't. It's all very fine, you know, and all that, but +it's vapid. They have just played the overture to _Norma_, and I know +it's a good one, for I bitterly wanted the opera to go on; I had just +got thoroughly interested--and then no curtain to rise. + +I have written myself into a kind of spirits, bless your dear heart, by +your leave. But this is wild work for me, nearly nine and me not back! +What will Mrs. Carson think of me! Quite a night-hawk, I do declare. You +are the worst correspondent in the world--no, not that, Henley is +that--well, I don't know, I leave the pair of you to him that made +you--surely with small attention. But here's my service, and I'll away +home to my den O! much the better for this crack, Professor Colvin. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco [January 10, 1880]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--This is a circular letter to tell my estate fully. You +have no right to it, being the worst of correspondents; but I wish to +efface the impression of my last, so to you it goes. + +Any time between eight and half-past nine in the morning, a slender +gentleman in an ulster, with a volume buttoned into the breast of it, +may be observed leaving No. 608 Bush and descending Powell with an +active step. The gentleman is R. L. S.; the volume relates to Benjamin +Franklin, on whom he meditates one of his charming essays. He descends +Powell, crosses Market, and descends in Sixth on a branch of the +original Pine Street Coffee House, no less; I believe he would be +capable of going to the original itself, if he could only find it. In +the branch he seats himself at a table covered with wax-cloth, and a +pampered menial, of High-Dutch extraction and, indeed, as yet only +partially extracted, lays before him a cup of coffee, a roll and a pat +of butter, all, to quote the deity, very good. A while ago and R. L. S. +used to find the supply of butter insufficient; but he has now learned +the art to exactitude, and butter and roll expire at the same moment. +For this refection he pays ten cents, or five pence sterling (£0, 0s. +5d.). + +Half an hour later, the inhabitants of Bush Street observe the same +slender gentleman armed, like George Washington, with his little +hatchet, splitting, kindling, and breaking coal for his fire. He does +this quasi-publicly upon the window-sill; but this is not to be +attributed to any love of notoriety, though he is indeed vain of his +prowess with the hatchet (which he persists in calling an axe), and +daily surprised at the perpetuation of his fingers. The reason is this: +that the sill is a strong, supporting beam, and that blows of the same +emphasis in other parts of his room might knock the entire shanty into +hell. Thenceforth, for from three to four hours, he is engaged darkly +with an ink bottle. Yet he is not blacking his boots, for the only pair +that he possesses are innocent of lustre and wear the natural hue of the +material turned up with caked and venerable slush. The youngest child of +his landlady remarks several times a day, as this strange occupant +enters or quits the house, "Dere's de author." Can it be that this +bright-haired innocent has found the true clue to the mystery? The being +in question is, at least, poor enough to belong to that honourable +craft. + +His next appearance is at the restaurant of one Donadieu, in Bush +Street, between Dupont and Kearney, where a copious meal, half a bottle +of wine, coffee and brandy may be procured for the sum of four bits, +_alias_ fifty cents, £0, 2s. 2d. sterling. The wine is put down in a +whole bottleful, and it is strange and painful to observe the greed with +which the gentleman in question seeks to secure the last drop of his +allotted half, and the scrupulousness with which he seeks to avoid +taking the first drop of the other. This is partly explained by the fact +that if he were to go over the mark--bang would go a tenpence. He is +again armed with a book, but his best friends will learn with pain that +he seems at this hour to have deserted the more serious studies of the +morning. When last observed, he was studying with apparent zest the +exploits of one Rocambole by the late Viscomte Ponson du Terrail. This +work, originally of prodigious dimensions, he had cut into liths or +thicknesses apparently for convenience of carriage. + +Then the being walks, where is not certain. But by about half-past four, +a light beams from the windows of 608 Bush, and he may be observed +sometimes engaged in correspondence, sometimes once again plunged in the +mysterious rites of the forenoon. About six he returns to the Branch +Original, where he once more imbrues himself to the worth of fivepence +in coffee and roll. The evening is devoted to writing and reading, and +by eleven or half-past darkness closes over this weird and truculent +existence. + +As for coin, you see I don't spend much, only you and Henley both seem +to think my work rather bosh nowadays, and I do want to make as much as +I was making, that is £200; if I can do that, I can swim: last year with +my ill health I touched only £109; that would not do, I could not fight +it through on that; but on £200, as I say, I am good for the world, and +can even in this quiet way save a little, and that I must do. The worst +is my health; it is suspected I had an ague chill yesterday; I shall +know by to-morrow, and you know if I am to be laid down with ague the +game is pretty well lost. But I don't know; I managed to write a good +deal down in Monterey, when I was pretty sickly most of the time, and, +by God, I'll try, ague and all. I have to ask you frankly, when you +write, to give me any good news you can, and chat a little, but _just in +the meantime_, give me no bad. If I could get _Thoreau_, _Emigrant_ and +_Vendetta_ all finished and out of my hand, I should feel like a man who +had made half a year's income in a half year; but until the two last are +_finished_, you see, they don't fairly count. + +I am afraid I bore you sadly with this perpetual talk about my affairs; +I will try and stow it; but you see, it touches me nearly. I'm the miser +in earnest now: last night, when I felt so ill, the supposed ague chill, +it seemed strange not to be able to afford a drink. I would have walked +half a mile, tired as I felt, for a brandy and soda.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco, January 1880._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--You have got a letter ahead of me, owing to the Alpine +accumulation of ill news I had to stagger under. I will stand no +complaints of my correspondence from England, I having written near half +as many letters again as I have received. + +Do not damp me about my work; _qu'elle soit bonne ou mauvaise_, it has +to be done. You know the wolf is at the door, and I have been seriously +ill. I am now at Thoreau. I almost blame myself for persevering in +anything so difficult under the circumstances: but it may set me up +again in style, which is the great point. I have now £80 in the world +and two houses to keep up for an indefinite period. It is odd to be on +so strict a regimen; it is a week for instance since I have bought +myself a drink, and unless times change, I do not suppose I shall ever +buy myself another. The health improves. The Pied Piper is an idea; it +shall have my thoughts, and so shall you. The character of the P. P. +would be highly comic, I seem to see. Had you looked at the _Pavilion_, +I do not think you would have sent it to Stephen; 'tis a mere story, and +has no higher pretension: Dibbs is its name, I wish it was its nature +also. The _Vendetta_, at which you ignorantly puff out your lips, is a +real novel, though not a good one. As soon as I have found strength to +finish the _Emigrant_, I shall also finish the _Vend._ and draw a +breath--I wish I could say, "and draw a cheque." My spirits have risen +_contra fortunam_; I will fight this out, and conquer. You are all +anxious to have me home in a hurry. There are two or three objections to +that; but I shall instruct you more at large when I have time, for +to-day I am hunted, having a pile of letters before me. Yet it is +already drawing into dusk.--Yours affectionately, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + The Dook de Karneel (= Cornhill) and Marky de Stephen is of course + Mr. Leslie Stephen. The "blood and thunder" is _The Pavilion on the + Links. Hester Noble_ and _Don Juan_ were the titles of two plays + planned and begun with W. E. Henley the previous winter. They were + never finished. The French novels mentioned are by Joseph Méry. The + _Dialogue on Character and Destiny_ still exists in a fragmentary + condition. George the Pieman is a character in _Deacon Brodie_. + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco, January 23rd, 1880._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--That was good news. The Dook de Karneel, K.C.B., taken +a blood and thunder! Well, I _thought_ it had points; now, I know it. +And I'm to see a proof once more! O Glory Hallelujah, how beautiful is +proof, And how distressed that author man who dwells too far aloof. His +favourite words he always finds his friends misunderstand, With oaths, +he reads his articles, moist brow and clenchéd hand. Impromtoo. The last +line first-rate. When may I hope to see the _Deacon_? I pine for the +_Deacon_, for proofs of the _Pavilion_--O and for a categorical +confession from you that the second edition of the _Donkey_ was a false +alarm, which I conclude from hearing no more. + +I have twice written to the Marky de Stephen; each time with one of my +bright papers, so I should hear from him soon. How are Baron Payn, Sir +Robert de Bob, and other members of the Aristocracy? + + Here's breid an' wine an' kebbuck an' canty cracks at e'en + To the folks that mind o' me when I'm awa', + But them that hae forgot me, O ne'er to be forgi'en-- + They may a' gae tapsalteerie in a raw! + +I have mighty little to say, dear boy, to seem worth 2-1/2d. I have +thought of the Piper, but he does not seem to come as yet; I get him too +metaphysical. I shall make a shot for _Hester_, as soon as I have +finished the _Emigrant_ and the _Vendetta_ and perhaps my _Dialogue on +Character and Destiny_. Hester and Don Juan are the two that smile on +me; but I will touch nothing in the shape of a play until I have made my +year's income sure. You understand, and you see that I am right? + +I have read _M. Auguste_ and the _Crime inconnu_, being now abonné to a +library, and found them very readable, highly ingenious, and so French +that I could not keep my gravity. The _Damned Ones of the Indies_ now +occupy my attention; I have myself already damned them repeatedly. I am, +as you know, the original person the wheels of whose chariot tarried; +but though I am so slow, I am rootedly tenacious. Do not despair. +_Hester_ and the _Don_ are sworn in my soul; and they shall be. + +Is there no _news_? Real news, newsy news. Heavenly blue, this is +strange. Remember me to the lady of the Cawstle, my toolip, and ever +was, + + GEORGE THE PIEMAN. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + With reference to the following, it must be explained that the first + draft of the first part of the _Amateur Emigrant_, when it reached me + about Christmas, had seemed to me, compared to his previous travel + papers, a somewhat wordy and spiritless record of squalid + experiences, little likely to advance his still only half-established + reputation; and I had written to him to that effect, inopportunely + enough, with a fuller measure even than usual of the frankness which + always marked our intercourse. + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco, California [January 1880]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I received this morning your long letter from Paris. +Well, God's will be done; if it's dull, it's dull; it was a fair fight, +and it's lost, and there's an end. But, fortunately, dulness is not a +fault the public hates; perhaps they may like this vein of dulness. If +they don't, damn them, we'll try them with another. I sat down on the +back of your letter, and wrote twelve Cornhill pages this day as ever +was of that same despised _Emigrant_; so you see my moral courage has +not gone down with my intellect. Only, frankly, Colvin, do you think it +a good plan to be so eminently descriptive, and even eloquent in +dispraise? You rolled such a lot of polysyllables over me that a better +man than I might have been disheartened.--However, I was not, as you +see, and am not. The _Emigrant_ shall be finished and leave in the +course of next week. And then, I'll stick to stories. I am not +frightened. I know my mind is changing; I have been telling you so for +long; and I suppose I am fumbling for the new vein. Well, I'll find it. + +The _Vendetta_ you will not much like, I dare say: and that must be +finished next; but I'll knock you with _The Forest State: A Romance_. + +I'm vexed about my letters; I know it is painful to get these +unsatisfactory things; but at least I have written often enough. And not +one soul ever gives me any _news_, about people or things; everybody +writes me sermons; it's good for me, but hardly the food necessary for a +man who lives all alone on forty-five cents a day, and sometimes less, +with quantities of hard work and many heavy thoughts. If one of you +could write me a letter with a jest in it, a letter like what is written +to real people in this world--I am still flesh and blood--I should enjoy +it. Simpson did, the other day, and it did me as much good as a bottle +of wine. A lonely man gets to feel like a pariah after awhile--or no, +not that, but like a saint and martyr, or a kind of macerated clergyman +with pebbles in his boots, a pillared Simeon, I'm damned if I know what, +but, man alive, I want gossip. + +My health is better, my spirits steadier, I am not the least cast down. +If the _Emigrant_ was a failure, the _Pavilion_, by your leave, was not: +it was a story quite adequately and rightly done, I contend; and when I +find Stephen, for whom certainly I did not mean it, taking it in, I am +better pleased with it than before. I know I shall do better work than +ever I have done before; but, mind you, it will not be like it. My +sympathies and interests are changed. There shall be no more books of +travel for me. I care for nothing but the moral and the dramatic, not a +jot for the picturesque or the beautiful, other than about people. It +bored me hellishly to write the _Emigrant_; well, it's going to bore +others to read it; that's only fair. + +I should also write to others; but indeed I am jack-tired, and must go +to bed to a French novel to compose myself for slumber.--Ever your +affectionate friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco, California, Jan. 23, 1880._ + +MY DEAR AND KIND WEG,--It was a lesson in philosophy that would have +moved a bear, to receive your letter in my present temper. For I am now +well and well at my ease, both by comparison. First, my health has +turned a corner; it was not consumption this time, though consumption it +has to be some time, as all my kind friends sing to me, day in, day out. +Consumption! how I hate that word; yet it can sound innocent, as, +_e.g._, consumption of military stores. What was wrong with me, apart +from colds and little pleuritic flea-bites, was a lingering malaria; and +that is now greatly overcome, I eat once more, which is a great +amusement and, they say, good for the health. Second, many of the +thunderclouds that were overhanging me when last I wrote, have silently +stolen away like Longfellow's Arabs: and I am now engaged to be married +to the woman whom I have loved for three years and a half. I do not yet +know when the marriage can come off; for there are many reasons for +delay. But as few people before marriage have known each other so long +or made more trials of each other's tenderness and constancy, I permit +myself to hope some quiet at the end of all. At least I will boast +myself so far; I do not think many wives are better loved than mine will +be. Third and last, in the order of what has changed my feelings, my +people have cast me off, and so that thundercloud, as you may almost +say, has overblown. You know more than most people whether or not I +loved my father.[27] These things are sad; nor can any man forgive +himself for bringing them about; yet they are easier to meet in fact +than by anticipation. I almost trembled whether I was doing right, until +I was fairly summoned; then, when I found that I was not shaken one jot, +that I could grieve, that I could sharply blame myself, for the past, +and yet never hesitate one second as to my conduct in the future, I +believed my cause was just and I leave it with the Lord. I certainly +look for no reward, nor any abiding city either here or hereafter, but I +please myself with hoping that my father will not always think so badly +of my conduct nor so very slightingly of my affection as he does at +present. + +You may now understand that the quiet economical citizen of San +Francisco who now addresses you, a bonhomme given to cheap living, early +to bed though scarce early to rise in proportion (que diable! let us +have style, anyway), busied with his little bits of books and essays and +with a fair hope for the future, is no longer the same desponding, +invalid son of a doubt and an apprehension who last wrote to you from +Monterey. I am none the less warmly obliged to you and Mrs. Gosse for +your good words. I suppose that I am the devil (hearing it so often), +but I am not ungrateful. Only please, Weg, do not talk of genius about +me; I do not think I want for a certain talent, but I am heartily +persuaded I have none of the other commodity; so let that stick to the +wall: you only shame me by such friendly exaggerations. + +When shall I be married? When shall I be able to return to England? When +shall I join the good and blessed in a forced march upon the New +Jerusalem? That is what I know not in any degree; some of them, let us +hope, will come early, some after a judicious interval. I have three +little strangers knocking at the door of Leslie Stephen: _The Pavilion +on the Links_, a blood and thunder story, _accepted_; _Yoshida +Torajiro_, a paper on a Japanese hero who will warm your blood, +_postulant_; and _Henry David Thoreau_: _his character and +opinions_--postulant also. I give you these hints knowing you to love +the best literature, that you may keep an eye at the mast-head for these +little tit-bits. Write again, and soon, and at greater length to your +friend.--Your friend, + + (signed) R. L. S. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco, Jan. 26, '80._ + +MY DEAR CHARLES,--I have to drop from a 50 cent to a 25 cent dinner; +to-day begins my fall. That brings down my outlay in food and drink to +45 cents or 1s. 10-1/2d. per day. How are the mighty fallen! Luckily, +this is such a cheap place for food; I used to pay as much as that for +my first breakfast in the Savile in the grand old palmy days of yore. I +regret nothing, and do not even dislike these straits, though the flesh +will rebel on occasion. It is to-day bitter cold, after weeks of lovely +warm weather, and I am all in a chitter. I am about to issue for my +little shilling and halfpenny meal, taken in the middle of the day, the +poor man's hour; and I shall eat and drink to your prosperity.--Ever +yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO PROFESSOR MEIKLEJOHN + + + One day at the Savile Club, Stevenson, hearing a certain laugh, cried + out that he must know the laugher, who turned out to be a + fellow-countryman, the late John Meiklejohn, the well-known + educational authority and professor at St. Andrews University. + Stevenson introduced himself, and the two became firm friends. + Allusion was made a few pages back to a letter from Professor + Meiklejohn about the _Burns_ essay. + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco, California, Feb. 1st, 1880._ + +MY DEAR MEIKLEJOHN,--You must think me a thankless fellow by this time; +but if you knew how harassed and how sick I had been, and how I have +twice begun to write to you already, you might condescend to forgive the +puir gangrel body. To tell you what I have been doing, thinking, and +coming through these six or seven months would exhilarate nobody: least +of all me. _Infandum jubes_, so I hope you won't. I have done a great +deal of work, but perhaps my health of mind and body should not let me +expect much from what I have done. At least I have turned the corner; my +feet are on the rock again, I believe, and I shall continue to pour +forth pure and wholesome literature for the masses as per invoice. + +I am glad you liked _Burns_; I think it is the best thing I ever did. +Did not the national vanity exclaim? Do you know what Shairp thought? I +think I let him down gently, did I not? + +I have done a _Thoreau_, which I hope you may like, though I have a +feeling that perhaps it might be better. Please look out for a little +paper called _Yoshida Torajiro_, which, I hope, will appear in Cornhill +ere very long; the subject, at least, will interest you. I am to appear +in the same magazine with a real "blood and bones in the name of God" +story. Why Stephen took it, is to me a mystery; anyhow, it was fun to +write, and if you can interest a person for an hour and a half, you have +not been idle. When I suffer in mind, stories are my refuge; I take them +like opium; and I consider one who writes them as a sort of doctor of +the mind. And frankly, Meiklejohn, it is not Shakespeare we take to, +when we are in a hot corner; nor, certainly, George Eliot--no, nor even +Balzac. It is Charles Reade, or old Dumas, or the Arabian Nights, or the +best of Walter Scott; it is stories we want, not the high poetic +function which represents the world; we are then like the Asiatic with +his improvisatore or the middle-agee with his trouvère. We want +incident, interest, action: to the devil with your philosophy. When we +are well again, and have an easy mind, we shall peruse your important +work; but what we want now is a drug. So I, when I am ready to go beside +myself, stick my head into a story-book, as the ostrich with her bush; +let fate and fortune meantime belabour my posteriors at their will. + +I have not seen the Spectator article; nobody sent it to me. If you had +an old copy lying by you, you would be very good to despatch it to me. A +little abuse from my grandmamma would do me good in health, if not in +morals. + +This is merely to shake hands with you and give you the top of the +morning in 1880. But I look to be answered; and then I shall promise to +answer in return. For I am now, so far as that can be in this world, my +own man again, and when I have heard from you, I shall be able to write +more naturally and at length. + +At least, my dear Meiklejohn, I hope you will believe in the sincerely +warm and friendly regard in which I hold you, and the pleasure with +which I look forward, not only to hearing from you shortly, but to +seeing you again in the flesh with another good luncheon and good talk. +Tell me when you don't like my work.--Your friend, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + The essays here mentioned on Benjamin Franklin and William Penn were + projects long cherished but in the end abandoned: _The Forest State_ + came to maturity three years later as _Prince Otto_. + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco, Cal., February 1880._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Before my work or anything I sit down to answer your +long and kind letter. + +I am well, cheerful, busy, hopeful; I cannot be knocked down; I do not +mind about the _Emigrant_. I never thought it a masterpiece. It was +written to sell, and I believe it will sell; and if it does not, the +next will. You need not be uneasy about my work; I am only beginning to +see my true method. + +(1) As to _Studies_. There are two more already gone to Stephen. +_Yoshida Torajiro_, which I think temperate and adequate; and _Thoreau_, +which will want a really Balzacian effort over the proofs. But I want +_Benjamin Franklin and the Art of Virtue_ to follow; and perhaps also +_William Penn_, but this last may be perhaps delayed for another +volume--I think not, though. The _Studies_ will be an intelligent +volume, and in their latter numbers more like what I mean to be my +style, or I mean what my style means to be, for I am passive. (2) The +Essays. Good news indeed. I think _Ordered South_ must be thrown in. It +always swells the volume, and it will never find a more appropriate +place. It was May 1874, Macmillan, I believe. (3) Plays. I did not +understand you meant to try the draft. I shall make you a full scenario +as soon as the _Emigrant_ is done. (4) _Emigrant._ He shall be sent off +next week. (5) Stories. You need not be alarmed that I am going to +imitate Meredith. You know I was a story-teller ingrain; did not that +reassure you? The _Vendetta_, which falls next to be finished, is not +entirely pleasant. But it has points. _The Forest State_ or _The +Greenwood State: A Romance_, is another pair of shoes. It is my old +Semiramis, our half-seen Duke and Duchess, which suddenly sprang into +sunshine clearness as a story the other day. The kind, happy +_dénouement_ is unfortunately absolutely undramatic, which will be our +only trouble in quarrying out the play. I mean we shall quarry from it. +_Characters_--Otto Frederick John, hereditary Prince of Grünwald; Amelia +Seraphina, Princess; Conrad, Baron Gondremarck, Prime Minister; +Cancellarius Greisengesang; Killian Gottesacker, Steward of the River +Farm; Ottilie, his daughter; the Countess von Rosen. Seven in all. A +brave story, I swear; and a brave play too, if we can find the trick to +make the end. The play, I fear, will have to end darkly, and that spoils +the quality as I now see it of a kind of crockery, eighteenth century, +high-life-below-stairs life, breaking up like ice in spring before the +nature and the certain modicum of manhood of my poor, clever, +feather-headed Prince, whom I love already. I see Seraphina too. +Gondremarck is not quite so clear. The Countess von Rosen, I have; I'll +never tell you who she is; it's a secret; but I have known the countess; +well, I will tell you; it's my old Russian friend, Madame Zassetsky. +Certain scenes are, in conception, the best I have ever made, except for +_Hester Noble_. Those at the end, Von Rosen and the Princess, the Prince +and Princess, and the Princess and Gondremarck, as I now see them from +here, should be nuts, Henley, nuts. It irks me not to go to them +straight. But the _Emigrant_ stops the way; then a reassured scenario +for _Hester_; then the _Vendetta_; then two (or three) essays--_Benjamin +Franklin_, _Thoughts on Literature as an Art_, _Dialogue on Character +and Destiny between two Puppets_, _The Human Compromise_; and then, at +length--come to me, my Prince. O Lord, it's going to be courtly! And +there is not an ugly person nor an ugly scene in it. The _Slate_ both +Fanny and I have damned utterly; it is too morbid, ugly, and unkind; +better starvation. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + I had written proposing that a collected volume of his short stories + should be published with illustrations by Caldecott. At the end of + this letter occurs his first allusion to his now famous _Requiem_. + + [_608 Bush Street, San Francisco, February 1880._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I received a very nice letter from you with two +enclosures. I am still unable to finish the _Emigrant_, although there +are only some fifteen pages to do. The _Vendetta_ is, I am afraid, +scarce Fortnightly form, though after the _Pavilion_ being taken by +Stephen, I am truly at sea about all such matters. I dare say my _Prince +of Grünewald_--the name still uncertain--would be good enough for +anything if I could but get it done: I believe that to be a really good +story. The _Vendetta_ is somewhat cheap in motive; very rum and unlike +the present kind of novels both for good and evil in writing; and on the +whole, only remarkable for the heroine's character, and that I believe +to be in it. + +I am not well at all. But hope to be better. You know I have been hawked +to death these last months. And then I lived too low, I fear; and any +way I have got pretty low and out at elbows in health. I wish I could +say better,--but I cannot. With a constitution like mine, you never +know--to-morrow I may be carrying topgallant sails again: but just at +present I am scraping along with a jurymast and a kind of amateur +rudder. Truly I have some misery, as things go; but these things are +mere detail. However, I do not want to _crever_, _claquer_, and cave in +just when I have a chance of some happiness; nor do I mean to. All the +same, I am more and more in a difficulty how to move every day. What a +day or an hour might bring forth, God forbid that I should prophesy. +Certainly, do what you like about the stories; _Will o' the Mill_, or +not. It will be Caldecott's book or nobody's. I am glad you liked the +_Guitar_: I always did: and I think C. could make lovely pikters to it: +it almost seems as if I must have written it for him express. + +I have already been a visitor at the Club for a fortnight; but that's +over, and I don't much care to renew the period. I want to be married, +not to belong to all the Clubs in Christendie.... I half think of +writing up the Sand-lot agitation for Morley; it is a curious business; +were I stronger, I should try to sugar in with some of the leaders: a +chield amang 'em takin' notes; one, who kept a brothel, I reckon, before +she started socialist, particularly interests me. If I am right as to +her early industry, you know she would be sure to adore me. I have been +all my days a dead hand at a harridan, I never saw the one yet that +could resist me. When I die of consumption, you can put that upon my +tomb. + + * * * * * + +Sketch of my tomb follows:-- + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + born 1850, of a family of engineers, + died ... + + "Nitor aquis." + Home is the sailor, home from sea, + And the hunter home from the hill. + +You, who pass this grave, put aside hatred; love kindness; be all +services remembered in your heart and all offences pardoned; and as you +go down again among the living, let this be your question: can I make +some one happier this day before I lie down to sleep? Thus the dead man +speaks to you from the dust: you will hear no more from him. + + +Who knows, Colvin, but I may thus be of more use when I am buried than +ever when I was alive? The more I think of it, the more earnestly do I +desire this. I may perhaps try to write it better some day; but that is +what I want in sense. The verses are from a beayootiful poem by me. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _608 Bush Street, San Francisco [March 1880]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--My landlord and landlady's little four-year-old child +is dying in the house; and O, what he has suffered! It has really +affected my health. O never, never any family for me! I am cured of +that. + +I have taken a long holiday--have not worked for three days, and will +not for a week; for I was really weary. Excuse this scratch; for the +child weighs on me, dear Colvin. I did all I could to help; but all +seems little, to the point of crime, when one of these poor innocents +lies in such misery.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO J. W. FERRIER + + + In the interval between this letter and the last, the writer had been + down with an acute and dangerous illness. _Forester_, here mentioned, + was an autobiographical paper by J. W. F. on his own boyhood. + + _P.O. San Francisco, April 8th, 1880._ + +MY DEAR FERRIER,--Many thanks for your letter, and the instalment of +_Forester_ which accompanied it, and which I read with amusement and +pleasure. I fear Somerset's letter must wait; for my dear boy, I have +been very nearly on a longer voyage than usual; I am fresh from giving +Charon a quid instead of an obolus: but he, having accepted the payment, +scorned me, and I had to make the best of my way backward through the +mallow-wood, with nothing to show for this displacement but the fatigue +of the journey. As soon as I feel fit, you shall have the letter, trust +me. But just now even a note such as I am now writing takes it out of +me. I have, truly, been very sick; I fear I am a vain man, for I thought +it a pity I should die. I could not help thinking that a good many would +be disappointed; but for myself, although I still think life a business +full of agreeable features I was not entirely unwilling to give it up. +It is so difficult to behave well; and in that matter, I get more +dissatisfied with myself, because more exigent, every day. I shall be +pleased to hear again from you soon. I shall be married early in May and +then go to the mountains, a very withered bridegroom. I think your MS. +Bible, if that were a specimen, would be a credit to humanity. Between +whiles, collect such thoughts both from yourself and others: I somehow +believe every man should leave a Bible behind him,--if he is unable to +leave a jest book. I feel fit to leave nothing but my benediction. It is +a strange thing how, do what you will, nothing seems accomplished. I +feel as far from having paid humanity my board and lodging as I did six +years ago when I was sick at Mentone. But I dare say the devil would +keep telling me so, if I had moved mountains, and at least I have been +very happy on many different occasions, and that is always something. I +can read nothing, write nothing; but a little while ago and I could eat +nothing either; but now that is changed. This is a long letter for me; +rub your hands, boy, for 'tis an honour.--Yours, from Charon's strand, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + A poetical counterpart to this letter will be found in the piece + beginning 'Not yet, my soul, these friendly fields desert,' which was + composed at the same time and is printed in _Underwoods_. + + _San Francisco, April 16 [1880]._ + +MY DEAR GOSSE,--You have not answered my last; and I know you will +repent when you hear how near I have been to another world. For about +six weeks I have been in utter doubt; it was a toss-up for life or death +all that time; but I won the toss, sir, and Hades went off once more +discomfited. This is not the first time, nor will it be the last, that I +have a friendly game with that gentleman. I know he will end by cleaning +me out; but the rogue is insidious, and the habit of that sort of +gambling seems to be a part of my nature; it was, I suspect, too much +indulged in youth; break your children of this tendency, my dear Gosse, +from the first. It is, when once formed, a habit more fatal than +opium--I speak, as St. Paul says, like a fool. I have been very very +sick; on the verge of a galloping consumption, cold sweats, prostrating +attacks of cough, sinking fits in which I lost the power of speech, +fever, and all the ugliest circumstances of the disease; and I have +cause to bless God, my wife that is to be, and one Dr. Bamford (a name +the Muse repels), that I have come out of all this, and got my feet once +more upon a little hilltop, with a fair prospect of life and some new +desire of living. Yet I did not wish to die, neither; only I felt unable +to go on farther with that rough horseplay of human life: a man must be +pretty well to take the business in good part. Yet I felt all the time +that I had done nothing to entitle me to an honourable discharge; that I +had taken up many obligations and begun many friendships which I had no +right to put away from me; and that for me to die was to play the cur +and slinking sybarite, and desert the colours on the eve of the decisive +fight. Of course I have done no work for I do not know how long; and +here you can triumph. I have been reduced to writing verses for +amusement. A fact. The whirligig of time brings in its revenges, after +all. But I'll have them buried with me, I think, for I have not the +heart to burn them while I live. Do write. I shall go to the mountains +as soon as the weather clears; on the way thither, I marry myself; then +I set up my family altar among the pine-woods, 3,000 feet, sir, from the +disputatious sea.--I am, dear Weg, most truly yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO DR. W. BAMFORD + + + With a copy of _Travels with a Donkey_. + + [_San Francisco, April 1880._] + +My dear Sir,--Will you let me offer you this little book? If I had +anything better, it should be yours. May you not dislike it, for it will +be your own handiwork if there are other fruits from the same tree! But +for your kindness and skill, this would have been my last book, and now +I am in hopes that it will be neither my last nor my best. + +You doctors have a serious responsibility. You recall a man from the +gates of death, you give him health and strength once more to use or to +abuse. I hope I shall feel your responsibility added to my own, and seek +in the future to make a better profit of the life you have renewed to +me.--I am, my dear sir, gratefully yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_San Francisco, April 1880._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--You must be sick indeed of my demand for books, for you +have seemingly not yet sent me one. Still, I live on promises: waiting +for Penn, for H. James's _Hawthorne_, for my _Burns_, etc.; and now, to +make matters worse, pending your Centuries, etc., I do earnestly desire +the best book about mythology (if it be German, so much the worse; send +a bunctionary along with it, and pray for me). This is why. If I +recover, I feel called on to write a volume of gods and demi-gods in +exile: Pan, Jove, Cybele, Venus, Charon, etc.; and though I should like +to take them very free, I should like to know a little about 'em to +begin with. For two days, till last night, I had no night sweats, and my +cough is almost gone, and I digest well; so all looks hopeful. However, +I was near the other side of Jordan. I send the proof of _Thoreau_ to +you, so that you may correct and fill up the quotation from Goethe. It +is a pity I was ill, as, for matter, I think I prefer that to any of my +essays except _Burns_; but the style, though quite manly, never attains +any melody or lenity. So much for consumption: I begin to appreciate +what the _Emigrant_ must be. As soon as I have done the last few pages +of the _Emigrant_ they shall go to you. But when will that be? I know +not quite yet--I have to be so careful.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + [_San Francisco, April 1880._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--My dear people telegraphed me in these words: "Count on +250 pounds annually." You may imagine what a blessed business this was. +And so now recover the sheets of the _Emigrant_, and post them +registered to me. And now please give me all your venom against it; say +your worst, and most incisively, for now it will be a help, and I'll +make it right or perish in the attempt. Now, do you understand why I +protested against your depressing eloquence on the subject? When I _had_ +to go on any way, for dear life, I thought it a kind of pity and not +much good to discourage me. Now all's changed. God only knows how much +courage and suffering is buried in that MS. The second part was written +in a circle of hell unknown to Dante--that of the penniless and dying +author. For dying I was, although now saved. Another week, the doctor +said, and I should have been past salvation. I think I shall always +think of it as my best work. There is one page in Part II., about having +got to shore, and sich, which must have cost me altogether six hours of +work as miserable as ever I went through. I feel sick even to think of +it.--Ever your friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_San Francisco, May 1880._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I received your letter and proof to-day, and was +greatly delighted with the last. + +I am now out of danger; in but a short while (_i.e._ as soon as the +weather is settled), F. and I marry and go up to the hills to look for a +place; "I to the hills will lift mine eyes, from whence doth come mine +aid": once the place found, the furniture will follow. There, sir, in, I +hope, a ranche among the pine-trees and hard by a running brook, we are +to fish, hunt, sketch, study Spanish, French, Latin, Euclid, and +History; and, if possible, not quarrel. Far from man, sir, in the virgin +forest. Thence, as my strength returns, you may expect works of genius. +I always feel as if I must write a work of genius some time or other; +and when is it more likely to come off, than just after I have paid a +visit to Styx and go thence to the eternal mountains? Such a revolution +in a man's affairs, as I have somewhere written, would set anybody +singing. When we get installed, Lloyd and I are going to print my +poetical works; so all those who have been poetically addressed shall +receive copies of their addresses. They are, I believe, pretty correct +literary exercises, or will be, with a few filings; but they are not +remarkable for white-hot vehemence of inspiration; tepid works! +respectable versifications of very proper and even original sentiments: +kind of Hayleyistic, I fear--but no, this is morbid self-depreciation. +The family is all very shaky in health, but our motto is now _Al Monte_! +in the words of Don Lope, in the play the sister and I are just beating +through with two bad dictionaries and an insane grammar. I to the +hills.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO C. W. STODDARD + + + This correspondent is the late Mr. Charles Warren Stoddard, author of + _Summer Cruising in the South Seas_, etc., with whom Stevenson had + made friends in the manner and amid the scenes faithfully described + in _The Wrecker_, in the chapter called "Faces on the City Front." + + _East Oakland, Cal., May 1880._ + +MY DEAR STODDARD,--I am guilty in thy sight and the sight of God. +However, I swore a great oath that you should see some of my manuscript +at last; and though I have long delayed to keep it, yet it was to be. +You re-read your story and were disgusted; that is the cold fit +following the hot. I don't say you did wrong to be disgusted, yet I am +sure you did wrong to be disgusted altogether. There was, you may depend +upon it, some reason for your previous vanity, as well as your present +mortification. I shall hear you, years from now, timidly begin to retrim +your feathers for a little self-laudation, and trot out this misdespised +novelette as not the worst of your performances. I read the album +extracts with sincere interest; but I regret that you spared to give the +paper more development; and I conceive that you might do a great deal +worse than expand each of its paragraphs into an essay or sketch, the +excuse being in each case your personal intercourse; the bulk, when that +would not be sufficient, to be made up from their own works and stories. +Three at least--Menken, Yelverton, and Keeler--could not fail of a vivid +human interest. Let me press upon you this plan; should any document be +wanted from Europe, let me offer my services to procure it. I am +persuaded that there is stuff in the idea. + +Are you coming over again to see me some day soon? I keep returning, and +now hand over fist, from the realms of Hades; I saw that gentleman +between the eyes, and fear him less after each visit. Only Charon, and +his rough boatmanship, I somewhat fear. + +I have a desire to write some verses for your album; so, if you will +give me the entry among your gods, goddesses, and godlets, there will be +nothing wanting but the Muse. I think of the verses like Mark Twain; +sometimes I wish fulsomely to belaud you; sometimes to insult your city +and fellow-citizens; sometimes to sit down quietly, with the slender +reed, and troll a few staves of Panic ecstasy--but fy! fy! as my +ancestors observed, the last is too easy for a man of my feet and +inches. + +At least, Stoddard, you now see that, although so costive, when I once +begin I am a copious letter-writer. I thank you, and _au revoir_. + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_San Francisco, May 1880._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--It is a long while since I have heard from you; nearly +a month, I believe; and I begin to grow very uneasy. At first I was +tempted to suppose that I had been myself to blame in some way; but now +I have grown to fear lest some sickness or trouble among those whom you +love may not be the impediment. I believe I shall soon hear; so I wait +as best I can. I am, beyond a doubt, greatly stronger, and yet still +useless for any work, and, I may say, for any pleasure. My affairs and +the bad weather still keep me here unmarried; but not, I earnestly hope, +for long. Whenever I get into the mountain, I trust I shall rapidly pick +up. Until I get away from these sea fogs and my imprisonment in the +house, I do not hope to do much more than keep from active harm. My +doctor took a desponding fit about me, and scared Fanny into blue fits; +but I have talked her over again. It is the change I want, and the +blessed sun, and a gentle air in which I can sit out and see the trees +and running water: these mere defensive hygienics cannot advance one, +though they may prevent evil. I do nothing now, but try to possess my +soul in peace, and continue to possess my body on any terms. + +_Calistoga, Napa County, California._--All which is a fortnight old and +not much to the point nowadays. Here we are, Fanny and I, and a certain +hound, in a lovely valley under Mount Saint Helena, looking around, or +rather wondering when we shall begin to look around, for a house of our +own. I have received the first sheets of the _Amateur Emigrant_; not yet +the second bunch, as announced. It is a pretty heavy, emphatic piece of +pedantry; but I don't care; the public, I verily believe, will like it. +I have excised all you proposed and more on my own movement. But I have +not yet been able to rewrite the two special pieces which, as you said, +so badly wanted it; it is hard work to rewrite passages in proof; and +the easiest work is still hard to me. But I am certainly recovering +fast; a married and convalescent being. + +Received James's _Hawthorne_, on which I meditate a blast, Miss Bird, +Dixon's _Penn_, a _wrong_ Cornhill (like my luck) and _Coquelin_: for +all which, and especially the last, I tender my best thanks. I have +opened only James; it is very clever, very well written, and out of +sight the most inside-out thing in the world; I have dug up the hatchet; +a scalp shall flutter at my belt ere long. I think my new book should be +good; it will contain our adventures for the summer, so far as these are +worth narrating; and I have already a few pages of diary which should +make up bright. I am going to repeat my old experiment, after +buckling-to a while to write more correctly, lie down and have a +wallow. Whether I shall get any of my novels done this summer I do not +know; I wish to finish the _Vendetta_ first, for it really could not +come after _Prince Otto_. Lewis Campbell has made some noble work in +that Agamemnon; it surprised me. We hope to get a house at Silverado, a +deserted mining-camp eight miles up the mountain, now solely inhabited +by a mighty hunter answering to the name of Rufe Hansome, who slew last +year a hundred and fifty deer. This is the motto I propose for the new +volume: "_Vixerunt nonnulli in agris, delectati re sua familiari. His +idem propositum fuit quod regibus, ut ne qua re egerent, ne cui +parerent, libertate uterentur; cujus proprium est sic vivere ut velis._" +I always have a terror lest the wish should have been father to the +translation, when I come to quote; but that seems too plain sailing. I +should put _regibus_ in capitals for the pleasantry's sake. We are in +the Coast range, that being so much cheaper to reach; the family, I +hope, will soon follow. Love to all.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + [23] _Engraisser_, grow fat. + + [24] Pall Mall Gazette. + + [25] Here follows a long calculation of ways and means. + + [26] Addison's. + + [27] In reference to the father's estrangement at this time, Sir James + Dewar, an old friend of the elder Stevenson, tells a story which + would have touched R. L. S. infinitely had he heard it. Sir James + (then Professor) Dewar and Mr. Thomas Stevenson were engaged + together on some official scientific work near Duns in Berwickshire. + "Spending the evening together," writes Sir James, "at an hotel in + Berwick-on-Tweed, the two, after a long day's work, fell into close + fireside talk over their toddy, and Mr. Stevenson opened his heart + upon what was to him a very sore grievance. He spoke with anger and + dismay of his son's journey and intentions, his desertion of the old + firm, and taking to the devious and barren paths of literature. The + Professor took up the cudgels in the son's defence, and at last, by + way of ending the argument, half jocularly offered to wager that in + ten years from that moment R. L. S. would be earning a bigger income + than the old firm had ever commanded. To his surprise, the father + became furious, and repulsed all attempts at reconciliation. But six + and a half years later, Mr. Stevenson, broken in health, came to + London to seek medical advice, and although so feeble that he had to + be lifted out and into his cab, called at the Royal Institute to see + the Professor. He said: "I am here to consult a doctor, but I + couldna be in London without coming to shake your hand and confess + that you were richt after a' about Louis, and I was wrang." The + frail old frame shook with emotion, and he muttered, "I ken this is + my last visit to the south." A few weeks later he was dead. + + + + +VI + +ALPINE WINTERS AND HIGHLAND SUMMERS + +AUGUST 1880-OCTOBER 1882 + + +After spending the months of June and July 1880 in the rough Californian +mountain quarters described in the _Silverado Squatters_, Stevenson took +passage with his wife and young stepson from New York on the 7th of +August, and arrived on the 17th at Liverpool, where his parents and I +were waiting to meet him. Of her new family, the Mrs. Robert Louis +Stevenson brought thus strangely and from far into their midst made an +immediate conquest. To her husband's especial happiness, there sprang up +between her and his father the closest possible affection and +confidence. Parents and friends--if it is permissible to one of the +latter to say as much--rejoiced to recognise in Stevenson's wife a +character as strong, interesting, and romantic almost as his own; an +inseparable sharer of all his thoughts and staunch companion of all his +adventures; the most open-hearted of friends to all who loved him; the +most shrewd and stimulating critic of his work; and in sickness, despite +her own precarious health, the most devoted and most efficient of +nurses. + +From Liverpool the Stevenson party went on to make a stay in Scotland, +first at Edinburgh, and afterwards for a few weeks at Strathpeffer, +resting at Blair Athol on the way. It was now, in his thirtieth year, +among the woods of Tummelside and under the shoulder of Ben Wyvis, that +Stevenson acknowledged for the first time the full power and beauty of +the Highland scenery, which in youth, with his longings fixed ever upon +the South, he had been accustomed to think too bleak and desolate. In +the history of the country and its clans, on the other hand, and +especially of their political and social transformation during the +eighteenth century, he had been always keenly interested. In +conversations with Principal Tulloch at Strathpeffer this interest was +now revived, and he resolved to attempt a book on the subject, his +father undertaking to keep him supplied with books and authorities; for +it had quickly become apparent that he could not winter in Scotland. The +state of his health continued to be very threatening. He suffered from +acute chronic catarrh, accompanied by disquieting lung symptoms and +great weakness; and was told accordingly that he must go for the winter, +and probably for several succeeding winters, to the mountain valley of +Davos in Switzerland, which within the last few years had been coming +into repute as a place of recovery, or at least of arrested mischief, +for lung patients. Thither he and his wife and stepson travelled +accordingly at the end of October. Nor must another member of the party +be forgotten, a black thoroughbred Skye terrier, the gift of Sir Walter +Simpson. This creature was named, after his giver, Walter--a name +subsequently corrupted into Wattie, Woggie, Wogg, Woggin, Bogie, Bogue, +and a number of other affectionate diminutives which will be found +occurring often enough in the following pages. He was a remarkably +pretty, engaging, excitable, ill-behaved little specimen of his race, +the occasion of infinite anxiety and laughing care to his devoted +master and mistress until his death six years later. + +The Davos of 1880, approached by an eight-hours' laborious drive up the +valley of the Prättigau, was a very different place from the extended +and embellished Davos of to-day, with its railway, its modern shops, its +electric lighting, and its crowd of winter visitors bent on outdoor and +indoor entertainment. The Stevensons' quarters for the first winter were +at the Hotel Belvedere, then a mere nucleus of the huge establishment it +has since become. Besides the usual society of an invalid hotel, with +its mingled tragedies and comedies, they had there the great advantage +of the presence, in a neighbouring house, of an accomplished man of +letters and one of the most charming of companions, John Addington +Symonds, with his family. Mr. Symonds, whose health had been desperate +before he tried the place, was a living testimony to its virtues, and +was at this time engaged in building the chalet which became his home +until he died fourteen years later. During Stevenson's first season at +Davos, though his mind was full of literary enterprises, he was too ill +to do much actual work. For the Highland history he read much, but +composed little or nothing, and eventually this history went to swell +the long list of his unwritten books. He saw through the press his first +volume of collected essays, _Virginibus Puerisque_, which came out early +in 1881; wrote the essays _Samuel Pepys_ and _The Morality of the +Profession of Letters_, for the Cornhill and the Fortnightly Review +respectively, and sent to the Pall Mall Gazette the papers on the life +and climate of Davos, posthumously reprinted in _Essays of Travel_. +Beyond this, he only amused himself with verses, some of them afterwards +published in _Underwoods_. Leaving the Alps at the end of April 1881, +he returned, after a short stay in France (at Fontainebleau, Paris, and +St. Germain), to his family in Edinburgh. Thence the whole party again +went to the Highlands, this time to Pitlochry and Braemar. + +During the summer Stevenson heard of the intended retirement of +Professor Æneas Mackay from the chair of History and Constitutional Law +at Edinburgh University. He determined, with the encouragement of the +outgoing professor and of several of his literary friends, to become a +candidate for the post, which had to be filled by the Faculty of +Advocates from among their own number. The duties were limited to the +delivery of a short course of lectures in the summer term, and Stevenson +thought that he might be equal to them, and might prove, though +certainly a new, yet perhaps a stimulating, type of professor. But +knowing the nature of his public reputation, especially in Edinburgh, +where the recollection of his daft student days was as yet stronger than +the impression made by his recent performances in literature, he was +well aware that his candidature must seem paradoxical, and stood little +chance of success. The election took place in the late autumn of the +same year, and he was defeated, receiving only three votes. + +At Pitlochry Stevenson was for a while able to enjoy his life and to +work well, writing two of the strongest of his short stories of Scottish +life and superstition, _Thrawn Janet_ and _The Merry Men_, originally +designed to form part of a volume to be written by himself and his wife +in collaboration. At Braemar he made a beginning of the nursery verses +which afterwards grew into the volume called _The Child's Garden_, and +conceived and half executed the fortunate project of _Treasure Island_, +the book which was destined first to make him famous. But one of the +most inclement of Scottish summers had before long undone all the good +gained in the previous winter at Davos, and in the autumn of the year +1881 he repaired thither again. + +This time his quarters were in a small chalet belonging to the +proprietors of the Buol Hotel, the Chalet am Stein, or Chalet Buol, in +the near neighbourhood of the Symonds's house. The beginning of his +second stay was darkened by the serious illness of his wife; +nevertheless the winter was one of much greater literary activity than +the last. A Life of Hazlitt was projected, and studies were made for it, +but for various reasons the project was never carried out. _Treasure +Island_ was finished; the greater part of the _Silverado Squatters_ +written; so were the essays _Talk and Talkers_, _A Gossip on Romance_, +and several other of his best papers for magazines. By way of whim and +pastime he occupied himself, to his own and his stepson's delight, with +a little set of woodcuts and verses printed by the latter at his toy +press--"The Davos Press," as they called it--as well as with mimic +campaigns carried on between the man and boy with armies of lead +soldiers in the spacious loft which filled the upper floor of the +chalet. For the first and almost the only time in his life there awoke +in him during these winters in Davos the spirit of lampoon; and he +poured forth sets of verses, not without touches of a Swiftean fire, +against commercial frauds in general, and those of certain local +tradesmen in particular, as well as others in memory of a defunct +publican of Edinburgh who had been one of his butts in youth +(_Casparidea_ and _Brashiana_, both unpublished: see pp. 14, 15, 38 in +vol. 24 of the present edition). Finally, much revived in health by the +beneficent air of the Alpine valley, he left it again in mid-spring of +1882, to return once more to Scotland, and to be once more thrown back +to, or below, the point whence he had started. After a short excursion +from Edinburgh into the Appin country, where he made inquiries on the +spot into the traditions concerning the murder of Campbell of Glenure, +his three resting-places in Scotland during this summer were Stobo Manse +near Peebles, Lochearnhead, and Kingussie. At Stobo the dampness of the +season and the place quickly threw him again into a very low state of +health, from which three subsequent weeks of brilliant sunshine in +Speyside did but little to restore him. In spite of this renewed +breakdown, when autumn came he would not face the idea of returning for +a third season to Davos. He had himself felt deeply the austerity and +monotony of the white Alpine world in winter; and though he had +unquestionably gained in health there, his wife on her part had suffered +much. So he made up his mind once again to try the Mediterranean coast +of France, and Davos knew him no more. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + I forget what were the two sets of verses (apparently satirical) here + mentioned. The volume of essays must be _Virginibus Puerisque_, + published the following spring; but it is dedicated in prose to W. E. + Henley. + + _Ben Wyvis Hotel, Strathpeffer [July 1880]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--One or two words. We are here: all goes exceeding well +with the wife and with the parents. Near here is a valley; birch woods, +heather, and a stream; I have lain down and died; no country, no place, +was ever for a moment so delightful to my soul. And I have been a +Scotchman all my life, and denied my native land! Away with your gardens +of roses, indeed! Give me the cool breath of Rogie waterfall, +henceforth and for ever, world without end. + +I enclose two poems of, I think, a high order. One is my dedication for +my essays; it was occasioned by that delicious article in the Spectator. +The other requires no explanation; c'est tout bonnement un petit chef +d'oeuvre de grâce, de délicatesse, et de bon sens humanitaire. Celui qui +ne s'en sent pas touché jusqu'aux larmes--celui-là n'a pas vécu. I wish +both poems back, as I am copyless: but they might return _via_ Henley. + +My father desires me still to withdraw the _Emigrant_. Whatever may be +the pecuniary loss, he is willing to bear it; and the gain to my +reputation will be considerable. + +I am writing against time and the post runner. But you know what kind +messages we both send to you. May you have as good a time as possible so +far from Rogie! + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + A further stay at Strathpeffer led to disenchantment, not with + outdoor nature but with human nature as there represented, and he + relieves his feelings as follows:-- + + _Ben Wyvis Hotel, Strathpeffer, July 1880._ + +MY DEAR CHERLS,--I am well but have a little over-tired myself which is +disgusting. This is a heathenish place near delightful places, but +inhabited, alas! by a wholly bestial crowd. + + +ON SOME GHOSTLY COMPANIONS AT A SPA + + I had an evil day when I + To Strathpeffer drew anigh, + For there I found no human soul, + But Ogres occupied the whole. + They had at first a human air + In coats and flannel underwear. + They rose and walked upon their feet + And filled their bellies full of meat, + Then wiped their lips when they had done-- + But they were ogres every one. + Each issuing from his secret bower + I marked them in the morning hour. + By limp and totter, list and droop, + I singled each one from the group. + Detected ogres, from my sight + Depart to your congenial night + From these fair vales: from this fair day + Fleet, spectres, on your downward way, + Like changing figures in a dream + To Muttonhole and Pittenweem! + Or, as by harmony divine + The devils quartered in the swine, + If any baser place exist + In God's great registration list-- + Some den with wallow and a trough-- + Find it, ye ogres, and be off! + + Yours, R. L. S. + + + + +TO ISOBEL STRONG + + + Further letters from Scotland during these months are lacking. The + next was written, in answer to an inquiry from his stepdaughter at + San Francisco, on the second day after his arrival at Davos. + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, November 1880._ + +No my che-ild--not Kamschatka this trip, only the top of the Alps, or +thereby; up in a little valley in a wilderness of snowy mountains; the +Rhine not far from us, quite a little highland river; eternal snow-peaks +on every hand. Yes; just this once I should like to go to the Vienna +gardens[28] with the family and hear Tweedledee and drink something and +see Germans--though God knows we have seen Germans enough this while +back. Naturally some in the Customs House on the Alsatian frontier, who +would have made one die from laughing in a theatre, and provoked a +smile from us even in that dismal juncture. To see them, big, blond, +sham-Englishmen, but with an unqualifiable air of not quite fighting the +sham through, diving into old women's bags and going into paroxysms of +arithmetic in white chalk, three or four of them (in full uniform) in +full cry upon a single sum, with their brows bent and a kind of +arithmetical agony upon their mugs. Madam, the diversion of +cock-fighting has been much commended, but it was not a circumstance to +that Custom House. They only opened one of our things: a basket. But +when they met from within the intelligent gaze of _Woggs_, they all lay +down and died. Woggs is a fine dog.... + +God bless you! May coins fall into your coffee and the finest wines and +wittles lie smilingly about your path, with a kind of dissolving view of +fine scenery by way of background; and may all speak well of you--and me +too for that matter--and generally all things be ordered unto you +totally regardless of expense and with a view to nothing in the world +but enjoyment, edification, and a portly and honoured age.--Your dear +papa, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO A. G. DEW-SMITH + + + This, from the same place and about the same date, is addressed by + way of thanks to a friend at Cambridge, the late Mr. A. G. Dew-Smith, + who had sent him a present of a box of cigarettes. Mr. Dew-Smith, a + man of fine artistic tastes and mechanical genius, with a silken, + somewhat foreign, urbanity of bearing, was the original, so far as + concerns manner and way of speech, of Attwater in the _Ebb-Tide_. + + [_Hotel Belvedere, Davos, November 1880_]. + + Figure me to yourself, I pray-- + A man of my peculiar cut-- + Apart from dancing and deray,[29] + Into an Alpine valley shut; + + Shut in a kind of damned Hotel, + Discountenanced by God and man; + The food?--Sir, you would do as well + To cram your belly full of bran. + + The company? Alas, the day + That I should dwell with such a crew, + With devil anything to say, + Nor any one to say it to! + + The place? Although they call it Platz, + I will be bold and state my view; + It's not a place at all--and that's + The bottom verity, my Dew. + + There are, as I will not deny, + Innumerable inns; a road; + Several Alps indifferent high; + The snow's inviolable abode; + + Eleven English parsons, all + Entirely inoffensive; four + True human beings--what I call + Human--the deuce a cipher more; + + A climate of surprising worth; + Innumerable dogs that bark; + Some air, some weather, and some earth; + A native race--God save the mark!-- + + A race that works, yet cannot work, + Yodels, but cannot yodel right, + Such as, unhelp'd, with rusty dirk, + I vow that I could wholly smite. + + A river[30] that from morn to night + Down all the valley plays the fool; + Not once she pauses in her flight, + Nor knows the comfort of a pool; + + But still keeps up, by straight or bend, + The selfsame pace she hath begun-- + Still hurry, hurry, to the end-- + Good God, is that the way to run? + + If I a river were, I hope + That I should better realise + The opportunities and scope + Of that romantic enterprise. + + I should not ape the merely strange, + But aim besides at the divine; + And continuity and change + I still should labour to combine. + + Here should I gallop down the race, + Here charge the sterling[31] like a bull; + There, as a man might wipe his face, + Lie, pleased and panting, in a pool. + + But what, my Dew, in idle mood, + What prate I, minding not my debt? + What do I talk of bad or good? + The best is still a cigarette. + + Me whether evil fate assault, + Or smiling providences crown-- + Whether on high the eternal vault + Be blue, or crash with thunder down-- + + I judge the best, whate'er befall, + Is still to sit on one's behind, + And, having duly moistened all, + Smoke with an unperturbed mind. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + R. L. S. here sketches for his father the plan of the work on + Highland history which they had discussed together in the preceding + summer, and which Principal Tulloch had urged him to attempt. + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos [December 12, 1880]._ + +MY DEAR FATHER,--Here is the scheme as well as I can foresee. I begin +the book immediately after the '15, as then began the attempt to +suppress the Highlands. + + + I. THIRTY YEARS' INTERVAL + + (1) Rob Roy. + (2) The Independent Companies: the Watches. + (3) Story of Lady Grange. + (4) The Military Roads, and Disarmament: Wade and + (5) Burt. + + + II. THE HEROIC AGE + + (1) Duncan Forbes of Culloden. + (2) Flora Macdonald. + (3) The Forfeited Estates; including Hereditary Jurisdictions; and the + admirable conduct of the tenants. + + + III. LITERATURE HERE INTERVENES + + (1) The Ossianic Controversy. + (2) Boswell and Johnson. + (3) Mrs. Grant of Laggan. + + + IV. Economy + + (1) Highland Economics. + (2) The Reinstatement of the Proprietors. + (3) The Evictions. + (4) Emigration. + (5) Present State. + + + V. RELIGION + + (1) The Catholics, Episcopals, and Kirk, and Soc. Prop. Christ. + Knowledge. + (2) The Men. + (3) The Disruption. + +All this, of course, will greatly change in form, scope, and order; this +is just a bird's-eye glance. Thank you for _Burt_, which came, and for +your Union notes. I have read one-half (about 900 pages) of Wodrow's +_Correspondence_, with some improvement, but great fatigue. The doctor +thinks well of my recovery, which puts me in good hope for the future. I +should certainly be able to make a fine history of this. + +My Essays are going through the press, and should be out in January or +February.--Ever affectionate son, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Hotel Belvedere, Davos, December 1880_] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I feel better, but variable. I see from the doctor's +report that I have more actual disease than I supposed; but there seems +little doubt of my recovery. I like the place and shall like it much +better when you come at Christmas. That is written on my heart: S. C. +comes at Christmas: so if you play me false, I shall have a lie upon my +conscience. I like Symonds very well, though he is much, I think, of an +invalid in mind and character. But his mind is interesting, with many +beautiful corners, and his consumptive smile very winning to see. We +have had some good talks; one went over Zola, Balzac, Flaubert, Whitman, +Christ, Handel, Milton, Sir Thomas Browne; do you see the _liaison_?--in +another, I, the Bohnist, the un-Grecian, was the means of his conversion +in the matter of the Ajax. It is truly not for nothing that I have read +my Buckley.[32] + +To-day the south wind blows; and I am seedy in consequence. + +_Later._--I want to know when you are coming, so as to get you a room. +You will toboggan and skate your head off, and I will talk it off, and +briefly if you don't come pretty soon, I will cut you off with a +shilling. + +It would be handsome of you to write. The doctor says I may be as well +as ever; but in the meantime I go slow and am fit for little.--Ever +yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + The suggestions contained in the following two letters to Mr. Gosse + refer to the collection of English Odes which that gentleman was then + engaged in editing (Kegan Paul, 1881). + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, [Dec. 6, 1880]._ + +MY DEAR WEG,--I have many letters that I ought to write in preference to +this; but a duty to letters and to you prevails over any private +consideration. You are going to collect odes; I could not wish a better +man to do so; but I tremble lest you should commit two sins of omission. +You will not, I am sure, be so far left to yourself as to give us no +more of Dryden than the hackneyed St. Cecilia; I know you will give us +some others of those surprising masterpieces where there is more +sustained eloquence and harmony of English numbers than in all that has +been written since; there is a machine about a poetical young lady,[33] +and another about either Charles or James, I know not which; and they +are both indescribably fine. (Is Marvell's Horatian Ode good enough? I +half think so.) But my great point is a fear that you are one of those +who are unjust to our old Tennyson's Duke of Wellington. I have just +been talking it over with Symonds; and we agreed that whether for its +metrical effects, for its brief, plain, stirring words of portraiture, +as--he "that never lost an English gun," or--the soldier salute; or for +the heroic apostrophe to Nelson; that ode has never been surpassed in +any tongue or time. Grant me the Duke, O Weg! I suppose you must not put +in yours about the warship; you will have to admit worse ones, +however.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, Dec. 19, 1880._ + + This letter is a report of a long sederunt, also steterunt, in small + committee at Davos Platz, Dec. 15, 1880. Its results are + unhesitatingly shot at your head. + +MY DEAR WEG,--We both insist on the Duke of Wellington. Really it cannot +be left out. Symonds said you would cover yourself with shame, and I +add, your friends with confusion, if you leave it out. Really, you know +it is the only thing you have, since Dryden, where that irregular odic, +odal, odous (?) verse is used with mastery and sense. And it's one of +our few English blood-boilers. + +(2) Byron: if anything: _Prometheus_. + +(3) Shelley (1) _The World's Great Age_ from Hellas; we are both dead +on. After that you have, of course, _The West Wind_ thing. But we think +(1) would maybe be enough; no more than two any way. + +(4) Herrick. _Meddowes_ and _Come, my Corinna_. After that _Mr. Wickes_: +two any way. + +(5) Leave out stanza 3rd of Congreve's thing, like a dear; we can't +stand the "sigh" nor the "peruke." + +(6) Milton. _Time_ and the _Solemn Music_. We both agree we would rather +go without L'Allegro and Il Penseroso than these; for the reason that +these are not so well known to the brutish herd. + +(7) Is the _Royal George_ an ode, or only an elegy? It's so good. + +(8) We leave Campbell to you. + +(9) If you take anything from Clough, but we don't either of us fancy +you will, let it be _Come back_. + +(10) Quite right about Dryden. I had a hankering after _Threnodia +Augustalis_; but I find it long and with very prosaic holes: though, O! +what fine stuff between whiles. + +(11) Right with Collins. + +(12) Right about Pope's Ode. But what can you give? _The Dying +Christian?_ or one of his inimitable courtesies? These last are fairly +odes, by the Horatian model, just as my dear _Meddowes_ is an ode in the +name and for the sake of Bandusia. + +(13) Whatever you do, you'll give us the Greek Vase. + +(14) Do you like Jonson's "loathed stage"? Verses 2, 3, and 4 are so +bad, also the last line. But there is a fine movement and feeling in the +rest. + +We will have the Duke of Wellington by God. Pro Symonds and Stevenson. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO CHARLES WARREN STODDARD + + + The prospect here alluded to of a cheap edition of the little + travel-books did not get realised. The volume of essays in the + printer's hands was _Virginibus Puerisque_. I do not know what were + the pages in broad Scots copied by way of enclosure. + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, [December 1880]._ + +DEAR CHARLES WARREN STODDARD,--Many thanks to you for the letter and the +photograph. Will you think it mean if I ask you to wait till there +appears a promised cheap edition? Possibly the canny Scot does feel +pleasure in the superior cheapness; but the true reason is this, that I +think to put a few words, by way of notes, to each book in its new form, +because that will be the Standard Edition, without which no g.'s l.[34] +will be complete. The edition, briefly, _sine qua non_. Before that, I +shall hope to send you my essays, which are in the printer's hands. I +look to get yours soon. I am sorry to hear that the Custom House has +proved fallible, like all other human houses and customs. Life consists +of that sort of business, and I fear that there is a class of man, of +which you offer no inapt type, doomed to a kind of mild, general +disappointment through life. I do not believe that a man is the more +unhappy for that. Disappointment, except with one's self, is not a very +capital affair; and the sham beatitude, "Blessed is he that expecteth +little," one of the truest, and in a sense, the most Christlike things +in literature. + +Alongside of you, I have been all my days a red cannon ball of +dissipated effort; here I am by the heels in this Alpine valley, with +just so much of a prospect of future restoration as shall make my +present caged estate easily tolerable to me--shall or should, I would +not swear to the word before the trial's done. I miss all my objects in +the meantime; and, thank God, I have enough of my old, and maybe +somewhat base philosophy, to keep me on a good understanding with myself +and Providence. + +The mere extent of a man's travels has in it something consolatory. That +he should have left friends and enemies in many different and distant +quarters gives a sort of earthly dignity to his existence. And I think +the better of myself for the belief that I have left some in California +interested in me and my successes. Let me assure you, you who have made +friends already among such various and distant races, that there is a +certain phthisical Scot who will always be pleased to hear good news of +you, and would be better pleased by nothing than to learn that you had +thrown off your present incubus, largely consisting of letters I +believe, and had sailed into some square work by way of change. + +And by way of change in itself, let me copy on the other pages some +broad Scotch I wrote for you when I was ill last spring in Oakland. It +is no muckle worth: but ye should na look a gien horse in the +moo'.--Yours ever, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + The verses here mentioned to Dr. John Brown (the admired author of + _Rab and his Friends_) were meant as a reply to a letter of + congratulation on the _Inland Voyage_ received from him the year + before. They are printed in _Underwoods_. + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, December 21, 1880._ + +MY DEAR PEOPLE,--I do not understand these reproaches. The letters come +between seven and nine in the evening; and every one about the books was +answered that same night, and the answer left Davos by seven o'clock +next morning. Perhaps the snow delayed them; if so, 'tis a good hint to +you not to be uneasy at apparent silences. There is no hurry about my +father's notes; I shall not be writing anything till I get home again, I +believe. Only I want to be able to keep reading _ad hoc_ all winter, as +it seems about all I shall be fit for. About John Brown, I have been +breaking my heart to finish a Scotch poem to him. Some of it is not +really bad, but the rest will not come, and I mean to get it right +before I do anything else. + +The bazaar is over, £160 gained, and everybody's health lost: +altogether, I never had a more uncomfortable time; apply to Fanny for +further details of the discomfort. + +We have our Wogg in somewhat better trim now, and vastly better +spirits. The weather has been bad--for Davos, but indeed it is a +wonderful climate. It never feels cold; yesterday, with a little, chill, +small, northerly draught, for the first time, it was pinching. Usually, +it may freeze, or snow, or do what it pleases, you feel it not, or +hardly any. + +Thanks for your notes; that fishery question will come in, as you +notice, in the Highland Book, as well as under the Union; it is very +important. I hear no word of Hugh Miller's _Evictions_; I count on that. +What you say about the old and new Statistical is odd. It seems to me +very much as if I were gingerly embarking on a _History of Modern +Scotland_. Probably Tulloch will never carry it out. And, you see, once +I have studied and written these two vols., _The Transformation of the +Scottish Highlands_ and _Scotland and the Union_, I shall have a good +ground to go upon. The effect on my mind of what I have read has been to +awaken a livelier sympathy for the Irish; although they never had the +remarkable virtues, I fear they have suffered many of the injustices, of +the Scottish Highlanders. Ruedi has seen me this morning; he says the +disease is at a standstill, and I am to profit by it to take more +exercise. Altogether, he seemed quite hopeful and pleased.--I am your +ever affectionate son, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, [Christmas 1880]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Thanks for yours; I waited, as I said I would. I now +expect no answer from you, regarding you as a mere dumb cock-shy, or a +target, at which we fire our arrows diligently all day long, with no +anticipation it will bring them back to us. We are both sadly mortified +you are not coming, but health comes first; alas, that man should be so +crazy. What fun we could have, if we were all well, what work we could +do, what a happy place we could make it for each other! If I were able +to do what I want; but then I am not, and may leave that vein. + +No. I do not think I shall require to know the Gaelic; few things are +written in that language, or ever were; if you come to that, the number +of those who could write, or even read it, through almost all my period, +must, by all accounts, have been incredibly small. Of course, until the +book is done, I must live as much as possible in the Highlands, and that +suits my book as to health. It is a most interesting and sad story, and +from the '45 it is all to be written for the first time. This, of +course, will cause me a far greater difficulty about authorities; but I +have already learned much, and where to look for more. One pleasant +feature is the vast number of delightful writers I shall have to deal +with: Burt, Johnson, Boswell, Mrs. Grant of Laggan, Scott. There will be +interesting sections on the Ossianic controversy and the growth of the +taste for Highland scenery. I have to touch upon Rob Roy, Flora +Macdonald, the strange story of Lady Grange, the beautiful story of the +tenants on the Forfeited Estates, and the odd, inhuman problem of the +great evictions. The religious conditions are wild, unknown, very +surprising. And three out of my five parts remain hitherto entirely +unwritten. Smack!--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, [December 26, 1880]. Christmas Sermon._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--I was very tired yesterday and could not write; +tobogganed so furiously all morning; we had a delightful day, crowned by +an incredible dinner--more courses than I have fingers on my hands. Your +letter arrived duly at night, and I thank you for it as I should. You +need not suppose I am at all insensible to my father's extraordinary +kindness about this book; he is a brick; I vote for him freely. + +... The assurance you speak of is what we all ought to have, and might +have, and should not consent to live without. That people do not have it +more than they do is, I believe, because persons speak so much in +large-drawn, theological similitudes, and won't say out what they mean +about life, and man, and God, in fair and square human language. I +wonder if you or my father ever thought of the obscurities that lie upon +human duty from the negative form in which the Ten Commandments are +stated, or of how Christ was so continually substituting affirmations. +"Thou shalt not" is but an example; "Thou shalt" is the law of God. It +was this that seems meant in the phrase that "not one jot nor tittle of +the law should pass." But what led me to the remark is this: A kind of +black, angry look goes with that statement of the law of negatives. "To +love one's neighbour as oneself" is certainly much harder, but states +life so much more actively, gladly, and kindly, that you can begin to +see some pleasure in it; and till you can see pleasure in these hard +choices and bitter necessities, where is there any Good News to men? It +is much more important to do right than not to do wrong; further, the +one is possible, the other has always been and will ever be impossible; +and the faithful _design to do right_ is accepted by God; that seems to +me to be the Gospel, and that was how Christ delivered us from the Law. +After people are told that, surely they might hear more encouraging +sermons. To blow the trumpet for good would seem the Parson's business; +and since it is not in our own strength, but by faith and perseverance +(no account made of slips), that we are to run the race, I do not see +where they get the material for their gloomy discourses. Faith is not to +believe the Bible, but to believe in God; if you believe in God (or, for +it's the same thing, have that assurance you speak about), where is +there any more room for terror? There are only three possible +attitudes--Optimism, which has gone to smash; Pessimism, which is on the +rising hand, and very popular with many clergymen who seem to think they +are Christians. And this Faith, which is the Gospel. Once you hold the +last, it is your business (1) to find out what is right in any given +case, and (2) to try to do it; if you fail in the last, that is by +commission, Christ tells you to hope; if you fail in the first, that is +by omission, his picture of the last day gives you but a black lookout. +The whole necessary morality is kindness; and it should spring, of +itself, from the one fundamental doctrine, Faith. If you are sure that +God, in the long run, means kindness by you, you should be happy; and if +happy, surely you should be kind. + +I beg your pardon for this long discourse; it is not all right, of +course, but I am sure there is something in it. One thing I have not got +clearly; that about the omission and the commission; but there is truth +somewhere about it, and I have no time to clear it just now. Do you +know, you have had about a Cornhill page of sermon? It is, however, +true. + +Lloyd heard with dismay Fanny was not going to give me a present; so F. +and I had to go and buy things for ourselves, and go through a +representation of surprise when they were presented next morning. It +gave us both quite a Santa Claus feeling on Xmas Eve to see him so +excited and hopeful; I enjoyed it hugely.--Your affectionate son, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + I did go out to Davos after all in January, and found Stevenson + apparently little improved in health, and depressed by a sad turn of + destiny which had brought out his old friend Mrs. Sitwell to the same + place, at the same time, to watch beside the deathbed of her son--the + youth commemorated in the verses headed _F. A. S., In Memoriam_, + afterwards published in _Underwoods_. The following letter refers to + a copy of Carlyle's _Reminiscences_ which I had sent him some time + after I came back to England. + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, [Spring 1881]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--My health is not just what it should be; I have lost +weight, pulse, respiration, etc., and gained nothing in the way of my +old bellows. But these last few days, with tonic, cod-liver oil, better +wine (there is some better now), and perpetual beef-tea, I think I have +progressed. To say truth, I have been here a little over long. I was +reckoning up, and since I have known you, already quite a while, I have +not, I believe, remained so long in any one place as here in Davos. That +tells on my old gipsy nature; like a violin hung up, I begin to lose +what music there was in me; and with the music, I do not know what +besides, or do not know what to call it, but something radically part of +life, a rhythm, perhaps, in one's old and so brutally over-ridden +nerves, or perhaps a kind of variety of blood that the heart has come to +look for. + +I purposely knocked myself off first. As to F. A. S., I believe I am no +sound authority; I alternate between a stiff disregard and a kind of +horror. In neither mood can a man judge at all. I know the thing to be +terribly perilous, I fear it to be now altogether hopeless. Luck has +failed; the weather has not been favourable; and in her true heart, the +mother hopes no more. But--well, I feel a great deal, that I either +cannot or will not say, as you well know. It has helped to make me more +conscious of the wolverine on my own shoulders, and that also makes me a +poor judge and poor adviser. Perhaps, if we were all marched out in a +row, and a piece of platoon firing to the drums performed, it would be +well for us; although, I suppose--and yet I wonder!--so ill for the poor +mother and for the dear wife. But you can see this makes me morbid. +_Sufficit; explicit_. + +You are right about the Carlyle book; F. and I are in a world not ours; +but pardon me, as far as sending on goes, we take another view: the +first volume, _à la bonne_ _heure!_ but not--never--the second. Two +hours of hysterics can be no good matter for a sick nurse, and the +strange, hard, old being in so lamentable and yet human a +desolation--crying out like a burnt child, and yet always wisely and +beautifully--how can that end, as a piece of reading, even to the +strong--but on the brink of the most cruel kind of weeping? I observe +the old man's style is stronger on me than ever it was, and by rights, +too, since I have just laid down his most attaching book. God rest the +baith o' them I But even if they do not meet again, how we should all be +strengthened to be kind, and not only in act, in speech also, that so +much more important part. See what this apostle of silence most regrets, +not speaking out his heart. + +I was struck as you were by the admirable, sudden, clear sunshine upon +Southey--even on his works. Symonds, to whom I repeated it, remarked at +once, a man who was thus respected by both Carlyle and Landor must have +had more in him than we can trace. So I feel with true humility. + +It was to save my brain that Symonds proposed reviewing. He and, it +appears, Leslie Stephen fear a little some eclipse: I am not quite +without sharing the fear. I know my own languor as no one else does; it +is a dead down-draught, a heavy fardel. Yet if I could shake off the +wolverine aforesaid, and his fangs are lighter, though perhaps I feel +them more, I believe I could be myself again a while. I have not written +any letter for a great time; none saying what I feel, since you were +here, I fancy. Be duly obliged for it, and take my most earnest thanks +not only for the books but for your letter.--Your affectionate, + + R. L. S. + +The effect of reading this on Fanny shows me I must tell you I am very +happy, peaceful, and jolly, except for questions of work and the states +of other people. + +Woggin sends his love. + + + + +TO HORATIO F. BROWN + + + A close intimate of J. A. Symonds, and frequent visitor at Davos, was + Mr. Horatio F. Brown, author of _Life on the Lagoons_, etc. He took + warmly, as did every one, to Stevenson. The following two notes are + from a copy of Penn's _Fruits of Solitude_, printed at Philadelphia, + which Stevenson sent him as a gift this winter after his return to + Venice. + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, [February 1881]._ + +MY DEAR BROWN,--Here it is, with the mark of a San Francisco +_bouquiniste_. And if ever in all my "human conduct" I have done a +better thing to any fellow-creature than handing on to you this sweet, +dignified, and wholesome book, I know I shall hear of it on the last +day. To write a book like this were impossible; at least one can hand it +on--with a wrench--one to another. My wife cries out and my own heart +misgives me, but still here it is. I could scarcely better prove +myself--Yours affectionately, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO HORATIO F. BROWN + + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, [February 1881]._ + +MY DEAR BROWN,--I hope, if you get thus far, you will know what an +invaluable present I have made you. Even the copy was dear to me, +printed in the colony that Penn established, and carried in my pocket +all about the San Francisco streets, read in street cars and +ferry-boats, when I was sick unto death, and found in all times and +places a peaceful and sweet companion. But I hope, when you shall have +reached this note, my gift will not have been in vain; for while just +now we are so busy and intelligent, there is not the man living, no, nor +recently dead, that could put, with so lovely a spirit, so much honest, +kind wisdom into words. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO HORATIO F. BROWN + + + The following experiment in English alcaics was suggested by + conversations with Mr. Brown and J. A. Symonds on metrical forms, + followed by the despatch of some translations from old Venetian + boat-songs by the former after his return to Venice. + + _Hotel Belvedere, Davos, [April 1881]._ + +MY DEAR BROWN,--Nine years I have conded them. + + Brave lads in olden musical centuries + Sang, night by night, adorable choruses, + Sat late by alehouse doors in April + Chaunting in joy as the moon was rising: + + Moon-seen and merry, under the trellises, + Flush-faced they played with old polysyllables; + Spring scents inspired,[35] old wine diluted; + Love and Apollo were there to chorus. + + Now these, the songs, remain to eternity, + Those, only those, the bountiful choristers + Gone--those are gone, those unremembered + Sleep and are silent in earth for ever. + + So man himself appears and evanishes, + So smiles and goes; as wanderers halting at + Some green-embowered house, play their music, + Play and are gone on the windy highway; + + Yet dwells the strain enshrined in the memory + Long after they departed eternally, + Forth-faring tow'rd far mountain summits, + Cities of men on the sounding Ocean. + + Youth sang the song in years immemorial; + Brave chanticleer, he sang and was beautiful; + Bird-haunted, green tree-tops in springtime + Heard and were pleased by the voice of singing; + + Youth goes, and leaves behind him a prodigy-- + Songs sent by thee afar from Venetian + Sea-grey lagunes, sea-paven highways, + Dear to me here in my Alpine exile. + +Please, my dear Brown, forgive my horrid delay. Symonds overworked and +knocked up. I off my sleep; my wife gone to Paris. Weather +lovely.--Yours ever, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +Monte Generoso in May; here, I think, till the end of April; write +again, to prove you are forgiving. + + + + +TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + Monte Generoso was given up; and on the way home to Scotland + Stevenson had stopped for a while at Fontainebleau, and then in + Paris; whence, finding himself unpleasantly affected by the climate, + he presently took refuge at St. Germain. + + _Hotel du Pavillon Henry IV., St. Germain-en-Laye, Sunday, May 1st, + 1881._ + +MY DEAR PEOPLE,--A week in Paris reduced me to the limpness and lack of +appetite peculiar to a kid glove, and gave Fanny a jumping sore throat. +It's my belief there is death in the kettle there; a pestilence or the +like. We came out here, pitched on the _Star and Garter_ (they call it +Somebody's pavilion), found the place a bed of lilacs and nightingales +(first time I ever heard one), and also of a bird called the _piasseur_, +cheerfulest of sylvan creatures, an ideal comic opera in itself. "Come +along, what fun, here's Pan in the next glade at picnic, and this-yer's +Arcadia, and it's awful fun, and I've had a glass, I will not deny, but +not to see it on me," that is his meaning as near as I can gather. Well, +the place (forest of beeches all new-fledged, grass like velvet, fleets +of hyacinth) pleased us and did us good. We tried all ways to find a +cheaper place, but could find nothing safe; cold, damp, brick-floored +rooms and sich; we could not leave Paris till your seven days' sight on +draft expired; we dared not go back to be miasmatised in these homes of +putridity; so here we are till Tuesday in the _Star and Garter_. My +throat is quite cured, appetite and strength on the mend. Fanny seems +also picking up. + +If we are to come to Scotland, I _will_ have fir-trees, and I want a +burn, the firs for my physical, the water for my moral health.--Ever +affectionate son, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + At Pitlochry, Stevenson was for some weeks in good health and working + order. The inquiries about the later life of Jean Cavalier, the + Protestant leader in the Cévennes, refer to a literary scheme, + whether of romance or history I forget, which had been in his mind + ever since the _Travels with a Donkey_. + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry, June 6, 1881._ + +MY DEAR WEG,--Here I am in my native land, being gently blown and hailed +upon, and sitting nearer and nearer to the fire. A cottage near a moor +is soon to receive our human forms; it is also near a burn to which +Professor Blackie (no less!) has written some verses in his hot old age, +and near a farm from whence we shall draw cream and fatness. Should I be +moved to join Blackie, I shall go upon my knees and pray hard against +temptation; although, since the new Version, I do not know the proper +form of words. The swollen, childish, and pedantic vanity that moved the +said revisers to put "bring" for "lead," is a sort of literary fault +that calls for an eternal hell; it may be quite a small place, a star +of the least magnitude, and shabbily furnished; there shall ----, ----, +the revisers of the Bible and other absolutely loathsome literary +lepers, dwell among broken pens, bad, _groundy_ ink and ruled +blotting-paper made in France--all eagerly burning to write, and all +inflicted with incurable aphasia. I should not have thought upon that +torture had I not suffered it in moderation myself, but it is too horrid +even for a hell; let's let 'em off with an eternal toothache. + +All this talk is partly to persuade you that I write to you out of good +feeling only, which is not the case. I am a beggar; ask Dobson, +Saintsbury, yourself, and any other of these cheeses who know something +of the eighteenth century, what became of Jean Cavalier between his +coming to England and his death in 1740. Is anything interesting known +about him? Whom did he marry? The happy French, smilingly following one +another in a long procession headed by the loud and empty Napoleon +Peyrat, say, Olympe Dunoyer, Voltaire's old flame. Vacquerie even thinks +that they were rivals, and is very French and very literary and very +silly in his comments. Now I may almost say it consists with my +knowledge that all this has not a shadow to rest upon. It is very odd +and very annoying; I have splendid materials for Cavalier till he comes +to my own country; and there, though he continues to advance in the +service, he becomes entirely invisible to me. Any information about him +will be greatly welcome: I may mention that I know as much as I desire +about the other prophets, Marion, Fage, Cavalier (de Sonne), my +Cavalier's cousin, the unhappy Lions, and the idiotic Mr. Lacy; so if +any erudite starts upon that track, you may choke him off. If you can +find aught for me, or if you will but try, count on my undying +gratitude. Lang's "Library" is very pleasant reading. My book _will_ +reach you soon, for I write about it to-day.--Yours ever, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + Work on a series of tales of terror, or, as he called them, + "crawlers," planned in collaboration with his wife, soon superseded + for the moment other literary interests in his mind. _Thrawn Janet_ + and the _Body-Snatchers_ were the only two of the set completed under + their original titles: _The Wreck of the Susanna_ contained, I think, + the germ of _The Merry Men_. + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry [June 1881]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--_The Black Man and Other Tales._ + + The Black Man: + I. Thrawn Janet. + II. The Devil on Cramond Sands. + The Shadow on the Bed. + The Body-Snatchers. + The Case Bottle. + The King's Horn. + The Actor's Wife. + The Wreck of the Susanna. + +This is the new work on which I am engaged with Fanny; they are all +supernatural. _Thrawn Janet_ is off to Stephen, but as it is all in +Scotch he cannot take it, I know. It was _so good_, I could not help +sending it. My health improves. We have a lovely spot here: a little +green glen with a burn, a wonderful burn, gold and green and snow-white, +singing loud and low in different steps of its career, now pouring over +miniature crags, now fretting itself to death in a maze of rocky stairs +and pots; never was so sweet a little river. Behind, great purple +moorlands reaching to Ben Vrackie. Hunger lives here, alone with larks +and sheep. Sweet spot, sweet spot. + +Write me a word about Bob's professoriate and Landor, and what you think +of _The Black Man_. The tales are all ghastly. _Thrawn Janet_ frightened +me to death. There will maybe be another--_The Dead Man's Letter_. I +believe I shall recover; and I am, in this blessed hope, yours +exuberantly, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO PROFESSOR ÆNEAS MACKAY + + + This and the next four or five letters refer to the candidature of R. + L. S. for the Edinburgh Chair. + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry, Wednesday, June 21, 1881._ + +MY DEAR MACKAY,--What is this I hear?--that you are retiring from your +chair. It is not, I hope, from ill-health? + +But if you are retiring, may I ask if you have promised your support to +any successor? I have a great mind to try. The summer session would suit +me; the chair would suit me--if only I would suit it; I certainly should +work it hard: that I can promise. I only wish it were a few years from +now, when I hope to have something more substantial to show for myself. +Up to the present time, all that I have published, even bordering on +history, has been in an occasional form, and I fear this is much against +me. + +Please let me hear a word in answer, and believe me, yours very +sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + + + +TO PROFESSOR ÆNEAS MACKAY + + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry [June 1881]._ + +MY DEAR MACKAY,--Thank you very much for your kind letter, and still +more for your good opinion. You are not the only one who has regretted +my absence from your lectures; but you were to me, then, only a part of +a mangle through which I was being slowly and unwillingly dragged--part +of a course which I had not chosen--part, in a word, of an organised +boredom. + +I am glad to have your reasons for giving up the chair; they are partly +pleasant, and partly honourable to you. And I think one may say that +every man who publicly declines a plurality of offices, makes it +perceptibly more difficult for the next man to accept them. + +Every one tells me that I come too late upon the field, every one being +pledged, which, seeing it is yet too early for any one to come upon the +field, I must regard as a polite evasion. Yet all advise me to stand, as +it might serve me against the next vacancy. So stand I shall, unless +things are changed. As it is, with my health this summer class is a +great attraction; it is perhaps the only hope I may have of a permanent +income. I had supposed the needs of the chair might be met by choosing +every year some period of history in which questions of Constitutional +Law were involved; but this is to look too far forward. + +I understand (1_st_) that no overt steps can be taken till your +resignation is accepted; and (2_nd_) that in the meantime I may, without +offence, mention my design to stand. + +If I am mistaken about these, please correct me as I do not wish to +appear where I should not. + +Again thanking you very heartily for your coals of fire I remain yours +very sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry [June 1881]._ + +MY DEAR S. C.,--Great and glorious news. Your friend, the bold unfearing +chap, Aims at a professorial cap, And now besieges, do and dare, The +Edinburgh History chair. Three months in summer only it Will bind him to +that windy bit; The other nine to arrange abroad, Untrammel'd in the eye +of God. Mark in particular one thing: He means to work that cursed +thing, and to the golden youth explain Scotland and England, France and +Spain. + +In short, sir, I mean to try for this chair. I do believe I can make +something out of it. It will be a pulpit in a sense; for I am nothing if +not moral, as you know. My works are unfortunately so light and trifling +they may interfere. But if you think, as I think, I am fit to fight it, +send me the best kind of testimonial stating all you can in favour of me +and, with your best art, turning the difficulty of my never having done +anything in history, strictly speaking. Second, is there anybody else, +think you, from whom I could wring one--I mean, you could wring one for +me. Any party in London or Cambridge who thinks well enough of my little +books to back me up with a few heartfelt words? Jenkin approves highly; +but says, pile in _English_ testimonials. Now I only know Stephen, +Symonds, Lang, Gosse and you, and Meredith, to be sure. The chair is in +the gift of the Faculty of Advocates, where I believe I am more wondered +at than loved. I do not know the foundation; one or two hundred, I +suppose. But it would be a good thing for me, out and out good. Help me +to live, help me to _work_, for I am the better of pressure, and help me +to say what I want about God, man and life. + + R. L. S. + +Heart-broken trying to write rightly to people. + +History and Constitutional Law is the full style. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry, June 24,1881._ + +MY DEAR GOSSE,--I wonder if I misdirected my last to you. I begin to +fear it. I hope, however, this will go right. I am in act to do a mad +thing--to stand for the Edinburgh Chair of History; it is elected for by +the advocates, _quorum pars_; I am told that I am too late this year; +but advised on all hands to go on, as it is likely soon to be once more +vacant; and I shall have done myself good for the next time. Now, if I +got the thing (which I cannot, it appears), I believe, in spite of all +my imperfections, I could be decently effectual. If you can think so +also, do put it in a testimonial. + +Heavens! _Je me sauve_, I have something else to say to you, but after +that (which is not a joke) I shall keep it for another shoot.--Yours +testimonially, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +I surely need not add, dear lad, that if you don't feel like it, you +will only have to pacify me by a long letter on general subjects, when I +shall hasten to respond in recompense for my assault upon the postal +highway. + + + + +TO CHARLES J. GUTHRIE + + + The next two letters are addressed to an old friend and fellow-member + of the Speculative Society, who had passed Advocate six years before, + on the same day as R. L. S. himself, and is now Lord Guthrie, a + Senator of the Scottish Courts of Justice, and has Swanston Cottage, + sacred to the memory of R. L. S., for his summer home. + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry, June 30, 1881._ + +MY DEAR GUTHRIE,--I propose to myself to stand for Mackay's chair. I can +promise that I will not spare to work. If you can see your way to help +me, I shall be glad; and you may at least not mind making my candidature +known.--Believe me, yours sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO CHARLES J. GUTHRIE + + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry, July 2nd, 1881._ + +MY DEAR GUTHRIE,--Many thanks for your support, and many more for the +kindness and thoughtfulness of your letter. I shall take your advice in +both directions; presuming that by "electors" you mean the curators. I +must see to this soon; and I feel it would also do no harm to look in +at the P.H.[36] As soon then as I get through with a piece of work that +both sits upon me like a stone and attracts me like a piece of travel, I +shall come to town and go a-visiting. Testimonial-hunting is a queer +form of sport--but has its pleasures. + +If I got that chair, the Spec. would have a warm defender near at hand! +The sight of your fist made me Speculative on the past.--Yours most +sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry [July 1881]._ + +MY DEAR WEG,--Many thanks for the testimonial; many thanks for your +blind, wondering letter; many wishes, lastly, for your swift recovery. +Insomnia is the opposite pole from my complaint; which brings with it a +nervous lethargy, an unkind, unwholesome, and ungentle somnolence, +fruitful in heavy heads and heavy eyes at morning. You cannot sleep; +well, I can best explain my state thus: I cannot wake. Sleep, like the +lees of a posset, lingers all day, lead-heavy, in my knees and ankles. +Weight on the shoulders, torpor on the brain. And there is more than too +much of that from an ungrateful hound who is now enjoying his first +decently competent and peaceful weeks for close upon two years; happy in +a big brown moor behind him, and an incomparable burn by his side; +happy, above all, in some work--for at last I am at work with that +appetite and confidence that alone makes work supportable. + +I told you I had something else to say. I am very tedious--it is another +request. In August and a good part of September we shall be in Braemar, +in a house with some accommodation. Now Braemar is a place patronised by +the royalty of the Sister Kingdoms--Victoria and the Cairngorms, sir, +honouring that countryside by their conjunct presence. This seems to me +the spot for A Bard. Now can you come to see us for a little while? I +can promise you, you must like my father, because you are a human being; +you ought to like Braemar, because of your avocation; and you ought to +like me, because I like you; and again, you must like my wife, because +she likes cats; and as for my mother--well, come and see, what do you +think? that is best. Mrs. Gosse, my wife tells me, will have other fish +to fry; and to be plain, I should not like to ask her till I had seen +the house. But a lone man I know we shall be equal to. _Qu'en dis tu? +Viens._--Yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO P. G. HAMERTON + + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry [July 1881]._ + +MY DEAR MR. HAMMERTON,--(There goes the second M.; it is a certainty.) +Thank you for your prompt and kind answer, little as I deserved it, +though I hope to show you I was less undeserving than I seemed. But just +might I delete two words in your testimonial? The two words "and legal" +were unfortunately winged by chance against my weakest spot, and would +go far to damn me. + +It was not my bliss that I was interested in when I was married; it was +a sort of marriage _in extremis_; and if I am where I am, it is thanks +to the care of that lady who married me when I was a mere complication +of cough and bones, much fitter for an emblem of mortality than a +bridegroom. + +I had a fair experience of that kind of illness when all the women (God +bless them!) turn round upon the streets and look after you with a look +that is only too kind not to be cruel. I have had nearly two years of +more or less prostration. I have done no work whatever since the +February before last until quite of late. To be precise, until the +beginning of last month, exactly two essays. All last winter I was at +Davos; and indeed I am home here just now against the doctor's orders, +and must soon be back again to that unkindly haunt "upon the mountains +visitant"--there goes no angel there but the angel of death.[37] The +deaths of last winter are still sore spots to me.... So, you see, I am +not very likely to go on a "wild expedition," cis-Stygian at least. The +truth is, I am scarce justified in standing for the chair, though I hope +you will not mention this; and yet my health is one of my reasons, for +the class is in summer. + +I hope this statement of my case will make my long neglect appear less +unkind. It was certainly not because I ever forgot you, or your unwonted +kindness; and it was not because I was in any sense rioting in +pleasures. + +I am glad to hear the catamaran is on her legs again; you have my +warmest wishes for a good cruise down the Saône; and yet there comes +some envy to that wish, for when shall I go cruising? Here a sheer hulk, +alas! lies R. L. S. But I will continue to hope for a better time, +canoes that will sail better to the wind, and a river grander than the +Saône. + +I heard, by the way, in a letter of counsel from a well-wisher, one +reason of my town's absurdity about the chair of Art:[38] I fear it is +characteristic of her manners. It was because you did not call upon the +electors! + +Will you remember me to Mrs. Hamerton and your son?--And believe me, +etc., etc., + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry [July 1881]._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--I do believe I am better, mind and body; I am tired +just now, for I have just been up the burn with Wogg, daily growing +better and boo'f'ler; so do not judge my state by my style in this. I am +working steady, four Cornhill pages scrolled every day, besides the +correspondence about this chair, which is heavy in itself. My first +story, _Thrawn Janet_, all in Scotch, is accepted by Stephen; my second, +_The Body Snatchers_, is laid aside in a justifiable disgust, the tale +being horrid; my third, _The Merry Men_, I am more than half through, +and think real well of. It is a fantastic sonata about the sea and +wrecks; and I like it much above all my other attempts at story-telling; +I think it is strange; if ever I shall make a hit, I have the line now, +as I believe. + +Fanny has finished one of hers, _The Shadow on the Bed_, and is now +hammering at a second, for which we have "no name" as yet--not by Wilkie +Collins. + +_Tales for Winter Nights._ Yes, that, I think, we will call the lot of +them when republished. + +Why have you not sent me a testimonial? Everybody else but you has +responded, and Symonds, but I'm afraid he's ill. Do think, too, if +anybody else would write me a testimonial. I am told quantity goes far. +I have good ones from Rev. Professor Campbell, Professor Meiklejohn, +Leslie Stephen, Lang, Gosse, and a very shaky one from Hamerton. + +Grant is an elector, so can't, but has written me kindly. From Tulloch I +have not yet heard. Do help me with suggestions. This old chair, with +its £250 and its light work, would make me. + +It looks as if we should take Cater's chalet[39] after all; but O! to go +back to that place, it seems cruel. I have not yet received the Landor; +but it may be at home, detained by my mother, who returns to-morrow. + +Believe me, dear Colvin, ever yours, + + R. L. S. + +Yours came; the class is in summer; many thanks for the testimonial, it +is bully; arrived along with it another from Symonds, also bully; he is +ill, but not lungs, thank God--fever got in Italy. We _have_ taken +Cater's chalet; so we are now the aristo's of the valley. There is no +hope for me, but if there were, you would hear sweetness and light +streaming from my lips. + + _The Merry Men._ + Chap. I. Eilean Aros. \ + II. What the Wreck had brought to Aros. | Tip + III. Past and Present in Sandag Bay. > Top + IV. The Gale. | Tale. + V. A Man out of the Sea. / + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + _Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry, July 1881._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--I hope, then, to have a visit from you. If before +August, here; if later, at Braemar. Tupe! + +And now, _mon bon_, I must babble about _The Merry Men_, my favourite +work. It is a fantastic sonata about the sea and wrecks. Chapter I. +"Eilean Aros"--the island, the roost, the "merry men," the three people +there living--sea superstitions. Chapter II. "What the Wreck had brought +to Aros." Eh, boy? what had it? Silver and clocks and brocades, and what +a conscience, what a mad brain! Chapter III. "Past and Present in Sandag +Bay"--the new wreck and the old--so old--the Armada treasure-ship, +Sant^ma Trini^d--the grave in the heather--strangers there. Chapter IV. +"The Gale"--the doomed ship--the storm--the drunken madman on the +head--cries in the night. Chapter V. "A Man out of the Sea." But I must +not breathe to you my plot. It is, I fancy, my first real shoot at a +story; an odd thing, sir, but, I believe, my own, though there is a +little of Scott's _Pirate_ in it, as how should there not? He had the +root of romance in such places. Aros is Earraid, where I lived lang +syne;[40] the Ross of Grisapol is the Ross of Mull; Ben Ryan, Ben More. +I have written to the middle of Chapter IV. Like enough, when it is +finished I shall discard all chapterings; for the thing is written +straight through. It must, unhappily, be re-written--too well written +not to be. + +The chair is only three months in summer; that is why I try for it. If I +get it, which I shall not, I should be independent at once. Sweet +thought. I liked your Byron well; your Berlioz better. No one would +remark these cuts; even I, who was looking for it, knew it not at all to +be a torso. The paper strengthens me in my recommendation to you to +follow Colvin's hint. Give us an 1830; you will do it well, and the +subject smiles widely on the world:-- + +1830: _A Chapter of Artistic History_, by William Ernest Henley (or _of +Social and Artistic History_, as the thing might grow to you). Sir, you +might be in the Athenæum yet with that; and, believe me, you might and +would be far better, the author of a readable book.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + +The following names have been invented for Wogg by his dear papa:-- + + Grunty-pig (when he is scratched), + + Rose-mouth (when he comes flying up with his rose-leaf tongue + depending), and + + Hoofen-boots (when he has had his foots wet). + + How would _Tales for Winter Nights_ do? + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + The spell of good health did not last long, and with a break of the + weather came a return of catarrhal troubles and hemorrhage. This + letter answers some criticisms made by his correspondent on _The + Merry Men_ as drafted in MS. + + _Pitlochry, if you please [August], 1881._ + +DEAR HENLEY,--To answer a point or two. First, the Spanish ship was +sloop-rigged and clumsy, because she was fitted out by some private +adventurers, not over wealthy, and glad to take what they could get. Is +that not right? Tell me if you think not. That, at least, was how I +meant it. As for the boat-cloaks, I am afraid they are, as you say, +false imagination; but I love the name, nature, and being of them so +dearly, that I feel as if I would almost rather ruin a story than omit +the reference. The proudest moments of my life have been passed in the +stern-sheets of a boat with that romantic garment over my shoulders. +This, without prejudice to one glorious day when standing upon some +water stairs at Lerwick I signalled with my pocket-handkerchief for a +boat to come ashore for me. I was then aged fifteen or sixteen; conceive +my glory. + +Several of the phrases you object to are proper nautical, or long-shore +phrases, and therefore, I think, not out of place in this long-shore +story. As for the two members which you thought at first so ill-united; +I confess they seem perfectly so to me. I have chosen to sacrifice a +long-projected story of adventure because the sentiment of that is +identical with the sentiment of "My uncle." My uncle himself is not the +story as I see it, only the leading episode of that story. It's really a +story of wrecks, as they appear to the dweller on the coast. It's a view +of the sea. Goodness knows when I shall be able to re-write; I must +first get over this copper-headed cold. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + The reference to Landor in the following is to a volume of mine in + Macmillan's series _English Men of Letters_. This and the next two or + three years were those of the Fenian dynamite outrages at the Tower + of London, the House of Lords, etc. + + [_Kinnaird Cottage, Pitlochry, August 1881._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--This is the first letter I have written this good +while. I have had a brutal cold, not perhaps very wisely treated; lots +of blood--for me, I mean. I was so well, however, before, that I seem to +be sailing through with it splendidly. My appetite never failed; indeed, +as I got worse, it sharpened--a sort of reparatory instinct. Now I feel +in a fair way to get round soon. + +_Monday, August_ (_2nd_, is it?).--We set out for the Spital of +Glenshee, and reach Braemar on Tuesday. The Braemar address we cannot +learn; it looks as if "Braemar" were all that was necessary; if +particular, you can address 17 Heriot Row. We shall be delighted to see +you whenever, and as soon as ever, you can make it possible. + +... I hope heartily you will survive me, and do not doubt it. There are +seven or eight people it is no part of my scheme in life to survive--yet +if I could but heal me of my bellowses, I could have a jolly life--have +it, even now, when I can work and stroll a little, as I have been doing +till this cold. I have so many things to make life sweet to me, it seems +a pity I cannot have that other one thing--health. But though you will +be angry to hear it, I believe, for myself at least, what is is best. I +believed it all through my worst days, and I am not ashamed to profess +it now. + +Landor has just turned up; but I had read him already. I like him +extremely; I wonder if the "cuts" were perhaps not advantageous. It +seems quite full enough; but then you know I am a compressionist. + +If I am to criticise, it is a little staid; but the classical is apt to +look so. It is in curious contrast to that inexpressive, unplanned +wilderness of Forster's; clear, readable, precise, and sufficiently +human. I see nothing lost in it, though I could have wished, in my +Scotch capacity, a trifle clearer and fuller exposition of his moral +attitude, which is not quite clear "from here." + +He and his tyrannicide! I am in a mad fury about these explosions. If +that is the new world! Damn O'Donovan Rossa; damn him behind and before, +above, below, and roundabout; damn, deracinate, and destroy him, root +and branch, self and company, world without end. Amen. I write that for +sport if you like, but I will pray in earnest, O Lord, if you cannot +convert, kindly delete him! + +Stories naturally at halt. Henley has seen one and approves. I believe +it to be good myself, even real good. He has also seen and approved one +of Fanny's. It will make a good volume. We have now + + Thrawn Janet (with Stephen), proof to-day. + The Shadow on the Bed (Fanny's copying). + The Merry Men (scrolled). + The Body Snatchers (scrolled). + + _In germis_ + + The Travelling Companion. + The Torn Surplice (_not final title_). + +Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP + + + Dr. Japp (known in literature at this date and for some time + afterwards under his pseudonym H. A. Page; later under his own name + the biographer of De Quincey) had written to R. L. S. criticising + statements of fact and opinion in his essay on Thoreau, and + expressing the hope that they might meet and discuss their + differences. In the interval between the last letter and this + Stevenson with all his family had moved to Braemar. + + _The Cottage, Castleton of Braemar, Sunday [August 1881]._ + +MY DEAR SIR,--I should long ago have written to thank you for your kind +and frank letter; but in my state of health papers are apt to get +mislaid, and your letter has been vainly hunted for until this (Sunday) +morning. + +I regret I shall not be able to see you in Edinburgh; one visit to +Edinburgh has already cost me too dear in that invaluable particular +health; but if it should be at all possible for you to push on as far as +Braemar, I believe you would find an attentive listener, and I can offer +you a bed, a drive, and necessary food, etc. + +If, however, you should not be able to come thus far, I can promise you +two things: First, I shall religiously revise what I have written, and +bring out more clearly the point of view from which I regarded Thoreau; +second, I shall in the Preface record your objection. + +The point of view (and I must ask you not to forget that any such short +paper is essentially only a _section through_ a man) was this: I desired +to look at the man through his books. Thus, for instance, when I +mentioned his return to the pencil-making, I did it only in passing +(perhaps I was wrong), because it seemed to me not an illustration of +his principles, but a brave departure from them. Thousands of such there +were I do not doubt; still, they might be hardly to my purpose, though, +as you say so, some of them would be. + +Our difference as to pity I suspect was a logomachy of my making. No +pitiful acts on his part would surprise me; I know he would be more +pitiful in practice than most of the whiners; but the spirit of that +practice would still seem to be unjustly described by the word pity. + +When I try to be measured, I find myself usually suspected of a sneaking +unkindness for my subject; but you may be sure, sir, I would give up +most other things to be so good a man as Thoreau. Even my knowledge of +him leads me thus far. + +Should you find yourself able to push on to Braemar--it may even be on +your way--believe me, your visit will be most welcome. The weather is +cruel, but the place is, as I dare say you know, the very "wale" of +Scotland--bar Tummelside.--Yours very sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO MRS. SITWELL + + + _The Cottage, Castleton of Braemar, [August 1881]._ + +... Well, I have been pretty mean, but I have not yet got over my cold +so completely as to have recovered much energy. It is really +extraordinary that I should have recovered as well as I have in this +blighting weather; the wind pipes, the rain comes in squalls, great +black clouds are continually overhead, and it is as cold as March. The +country is delightful, more cannot be said; it is very beautiful, a +perfect joy when we get a blink of sun to see it in. The Queen knows a +thing or two, I perceive; she has picked out the finest habitable spot +in Britain. + +I have done no work, and scarce written a letter for three weeks, but I +think I should soon begin again; my cough is now very trifling. I eat +well, and seem to have lost but little flesh in the meanwhile. I was +_wonderfully_ well before I caught this horrid cold. I never thought I +should have been as well again; I really enjoyed life and work; and, of +course, I now have a good hope that this may return. + +I suppose you heard of our ghost stories. They are somewhat delayed by +my cold and a bad attack of laziness, embroidery, etc., under which +Fanny had been some time prostrate. It is horrid that we can get no +better weather. I did not get such good accounts of you as might have +been. You must imitate me. I am now one of the most conscientious people +at trying to get better you ever saw. I have a white hat, it is much +admired; also a plaid, and a heavy stoop; so I take my walks abroad, +witching the world. + +Last night I was beaten at chess, and am still grinding under the +blow.--Ever your faithful friend, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + _The Cottage (late the late Miss M'Gregor's), Castleton of Braemar, + August 10, 1881._ + +MY DEAR GOSSE,--Come on the 24th, there is a dear fellow. Everybody else +wants to come later, and it will be a godsend for, sir--Yours sincerely. + +You can stay as long as you behave decently, and are not sick of, +sir--Your obedient, humble servant. + +We have family worship in the home of, sir--Yours respectfully. + +Braemar is a fine country, but nothing to (what you will also see) the +maps of, sir--Yours in the Lord. + +A carriage and two spanking hacks draw up daily at the hour of two +before the house of, sir--Yours truly. + +The rain rains and the winds do beat upon the cottage of the late Miss +Macgregor and of, sir--Yours affectionately. + +It is to be trusted that the weather may improve ere you know the halls +of, sir--Yours emphatically. + +All will be glad to welcome you, not excepting, sir--Yours ever. + +You will now have gathered the lamentable intellectual collapse of, +sir--Yours indeed. + +And nothing remains for me but to sign myself, sir--Yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +_N.B._--Each of these clauses has to be read with extreme glibness, +coming down whack upon the "Sir." This is very important. The fine +stylistic inspiration will else be lost. + +I commit the man who made, the man who sold, and the woman who supplied +me with my present excruciating gilt nib to that place where the worm +never dies. + +The reference to a deceased Highland lady (tending as it does to foster +unavailing sorrow) may be with advantage omitted from the address, which +would therefore run--The Cottage, Castleton of Braemar. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + _The Cottage, Castleton of Braemar, August 19, 1881._ + +If you had an uncle who was a sea captain and went to the North Pole, +you had better bring his outfit. _Verbum Sapientibus._ I look towards +you. + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + [_Braemar, August 19, 1881._] + +MY DEAR WEG,--I have by an extraordinary drollery of Fortune sent off to +you by this day's post a P.C. inviting you to appear in sealskin. But +this had reference to the weather, and not at all, as you may have been +led to fancy, to our rustic raiment of an evening. + +As to that question, I would deal, in so far as in me lies, fairly with +all men. We are not dressy people by nature; but it sometimes occurs to +us to entertain angels. In the country, I believe, even angels may be +decently welcomed in tweed; I have faced many great personages, for my +own part, in a tasteful suit of sea-cloth with an end of carpet pending +from my gullet. Still, we do maybe twice a summer burst out in the +direction of blacks--and yet we do it seldom. In short, let your own +heart decide, and the capacity of your portmanteau. If you came in +camel's hair, you would still, although conspicuous, be welcome. + +The sooner the better after Tuesday.--Yours ever, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + The following records the beginning of work upon _Treasure Island_, + the name originally proposed for which was _The Sea Cook_:-- + + [_Braemar, August 25, 1881._] + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Of course I am a rogue. Why, Lord, it's known, man; but +you should remember I have had a horrid cold. Now, I'm better, I think; +and see here--nobody, not you, nor Lang, nor the devil, will hurry me +with our crawlers. They are coming. Four of them are as good as done, +and the rest will come when ripe; but I am now on another lay for the +moment, purely owing to Lloyd, this one; but I believe there's more coin +in it than in any amount of crawlers: now, see here, _The Sea Cook, or +Treasure Island: A Story for Boys_. + +If this don't fetch the kids, why, they have gone rotten since my day. +Will you be surprised to learn that it is about Buccaneers, that it +begins in the "Admiral Benbow" public-house on Devon coast, that it's +all about a map, and a treasure, and a mutiny, and a derelict ship, and +a current, and a fine old Squire Trelawney (the real Tre, purged of +literature and sin, to suit the infant mind), and a doctor, and another +doctor, and a sea cook with one leg, and a sea-song with the chorus +"Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum" (at the third Ho you heave at the capstan +bars), which is a real buccaneer's song, only known to the crew of the +late Captain Flint (died of rum at Key West, much regretted, friends +will please accept this intimation); and lastly, would you be surprised +to hear, in this connection, the name of _Routledge_? That's the kind of +man I am, blast your eyes. Two chapters are written, and have been tried +on Lloyd with great success; the trouble is to work it off without +oaths. Buccaneers without oaths--bricks without straw. But youth and the +fond parent have to be consulted. + +And now look here--this is next day--and three chapters are written and +read. (Chapter I. The Old Sea-dog at the "Admiral Benbow." Chapter II. +Black Dog appears and disappears. Chapter III. The Black Spot.) All now +heard by Lloyd, F., and my father and mother, with high approval. It's +quite silly and horrid fun, and what I want is the _best_ book about the +Buccaneers that can be had--the latter B's above all, Blackbeard and +sich, and get Nutt or Bain to send it skimming by the fastest post. And +now I know you'll write to me, for _The Sea Cook's_ sake. + +Your Admiral Guinea is curiously near my line, but of course I'm +fooling; and your Admiral sounds like a shublime gent, Stick to him like +wax--he'll do. My Trelawney is, as I indicate, several thousand +sea-miles off the lie of the original or your Admiral Guinea; and +besides, I have no more about him yet but one mention of his name, and I +think it likely he may turn yet farther from the model in the course of +handling. A chapter a day I mean to do; they are short; and perhaps in a +month _The Sea Cook_ may to Routledge go, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +My Trelawney has a strong dash of Landor, as I see him from here. No +women in the story, Lloyd's orders; and who so blithe to obey? It's +awful fun boys' stories; you just indulge the pleasure of your heart, +that's all; no trouble, no strain. The only stiff thing is to get it +ended--that I don't see, but I look to a volcano. O sweet, O generous, O +human toils. You would like my blind beggar in Chapter III. I believe; +no writing, just drive along as the words come and the pen will scratch! + + R. L. S. + Author of Boys' Stories. + + + + +TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP + + + This correspondent had paid his visit as proposed, discussed the + Thoreau differences, listened delightedly to the first chapters of + _Treasure Island_, and proposed to offer the story for publication + to his friend Mr. Henderson, proprietor and editor of Young Folks. + + [_Braemar, September 1881._] + +MY DEAR DR. JAPP,--My father has gone, but I think I may take it upon me +to ask you to keep the book. Of all things you could do to endear +yourself to me, you have done the best, for my father and you have taken +a fancy to each other. + +I do not know how to thank you for all your kind trouble in the matter +of _The Sea Cook_, but I am not unmindful. My health is still poorly, +and I have added intercostal rheumatism--a new attraction--which sewed +me up nearly double for two days, and still gives me a list to +starboard--let us be ever nautical! + +I do not think with the start I have there will be any difficulty in +letting Mr. Henderson go ahead whenever he likes. I will write my story +up to its legitimate conclusion; and then we shall be in a position to +judge whether a sequel would be desirable, and I would then myself know +better about its practicability from the story-teller's point of +view.--Yours ever very sincerely, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + This tells of the farther progress of _Treasure Island_, of the price + paid for it, and of the modest hopes with which it was launched. "The + poet" is Mr. Gosse. The project of a highway story, _Jerry Abershaw_, + remained a favourite one with Stevenson until it was superseded three + or four years later by another, that of the _Great North Road_, which + in its turn had to be abandoned, from lack of health and leisure, + after some six or eight chapters had been written. + + _Braemar, September 1881._ + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Thanks for your last. The £100 fell through, or +dwindled at least into somewhere about £30. However, that I've taken as +a mouthful, so you may look out for _The Sea Cook, or Treasure Island: A +Tale of the Buccaneers_, in Young Folks. (The terms are £2, 10s. a page +of 4500 words; that's not noble, is it? But I have my copyright safe. I +don't get illustrated--a blessing; that's the price I have to pay for my +copyright.) + +I'll make this boys' book business pay; but I have to make a beginning. +When I'm done with Young Folks, I'll try Routledge or some one. I feel +pretty sure the _Sea Cook_ will do to reprint, and bring something +decent at that. + +Japp is a good soul. The poet was very gay and pleasant. He told me +much: he is simply the most active young man in England, and one of the +most intelligent. "He shall o'er Europe, shall o'er earth extend."[41] +He is now extending over adjacent parts of Scotland. + +I propose to follow up _The Sea Cook_ at proper intervals by _Jerry +Abershaw: A Tale of Putney Heath_ (which or its site I must visit): _The +Leading Light: A Tale of the Coast_, _The Squaw Men: or the Wild West_, +and other instructive and entertaining work. _Jerry Abershaw_ should be +good, eh? I love writing boys' books. This first is only an experiment; +wait till you see what I can make 'em with my hand in. I'll be the +Harrison Ainsworth of the future; and a chalk better by St. Christopher; +or at least as good. You'll see that even by _The Sea Cook_. + +Jerry Abershaw--O what a title! Jerry Abershaw: d--n it, sir, it's a +poem. The two most lovely words in English; and what a sentiment! Hark +you, how the hoofs ring! Is this a blacksmith's? No, it's a wayside inn. +Jerry Abershaw. "It was a clear, frosty evening, not 100 miles from +Putney," etc. Jerry Abershaw. Jerry Abershaw. Jerry Abershaw. _The Sea +Cook_ is now in its sixteenth chapter, and bids for well up in the +thirties. Each three chapters is worth £2, 10s. So we've £12, 10s. +already. + +Don't read Marryat's _Pirate_ anyhow; it is written in sand with a +salt-spoon: arid, feeble, vain, tottering production. But then we're +not always all there. _He_ was _all_ somewhere else that trip. It's +_damnable_, Henley. I don't go much on _The Sea Cook_; but, Lord, it's a +little fruitier than the _Pirate_ by Cap'n. Marryat. + +Since this was written _The Cook_ is in his nineteenth chapter. Yo-heave +ho! + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + Stevenson's uncle, Dr. George Balfour, had recommended him to wear a + specially contrived and hideous respirator for the inhalation of + pine-oil. + + _Braemar, 1881._ + + Dear Henley, with a pig's snout on + I am starting for London, + Where I likely shall arrive, + On Saturday, if still alive: + Perhaps your pirate doctor might + See me on Sunday? If all's right, + I should then lunch with you and with she + Who's dearer to you than you are to me. + I shall remain but little time + In London, as a wretched clime, + But not so wretched (for none are) + As that of beastly old Braemar. + My doctor sends me skipping. I + Have many facts to meet your eye. + My pig's snout's now upon my face; + And I inhale with fishy grace, + My gills outflapping right and left, + _Ol. pin. sylvest._ I am bereft + Of a great deal of charm by this-- + Not quite the bull's eye for a kiss-- + But like a gnome of olden time + Or bogey in a pantomime. + For ladies' love I once was fit, + But now am rather out of it. + Where'er I go, revolted curs + Snap round my military spurs; + The children all retire in fits + And scream their bellowses to bits. + Little I care: the worst's been done: + Now let the cold impoverished sun + Drop frozen from his orbit; let + Fury and fire, cold, wind and wet, + And cataclysmal mad reverses + Rage through the federate universes; + Let Lawson triumph, cakes and ale, + Whisky and hock and claret fail;-- + Tobacco, love, and letters perish, + With all that any man could cherish: + You it may touch, not me. I dwell + Too deep already--deep in hell; + And nothing can befall, O damn! + To make me uglier than I am. + + R. L. S. + +This-yer refers to an ori-nasal respirator for the inhalation of +pine-wood oil, _oleum pini sylvestris_. + + + + +TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + With all his throat and lung troubles actively renewed, Stevenson + fled to Davos again in October. This time he and his wife and stepson + occupied a small house by themselves, the Chalet am Stein, near the + Buol Hotel. The election to the Edinburgh Professorship was still + pending, and the following note to his father shows that he thought + for a moment of giving the electors a specimen of his qualifications + in the shape of a magazine article on the Appin murder--a theme + afterwards turned to more vital account in the tales of _Kidnapped_ + and _Catriona_. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, October 1881._] + +MY DEAR FATHER,--It occurred to me last night in bed that I could write + + The Murder of Red Colin, + A Story of the Forfeited Estates. + +This I have all that is necessary for, with the following exceptions:-- + +_Trials of the Sons of Roy Rob with Anecdotes_: Edinburgh, 1818, and + +The second volume of Blackwood's Magazine. + +You might also look in Arnot's _Criminal Trials_ up in my room, and see +what observations he has on the case (Trial of James Stewart in Appin +for murder of Campbell of Glenure, 1752); if he has none, perhaps you +could see--O yes, see if Burton has it in his two vols. of trial +stories. I hope he hasn't; but care not; do it over again anyway. + +The two named authorities I must see. With these, I could soon pull off +this article; and it shall be my first for the electors.--Ever +affectionate son, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + Some of the habitual readers of Young Folks had written objecting to + the early instalments of _Treasure Island_, and the editor had come + forward in their defence. + + _Davos Printing Office, managed by Samuel Lloyd Osbourne & Co., The + Chalet [Nov. 9, 1881]._ + +DEAR WEG,--If you are taking Young Folks, for God's Sake Twig the +editorial style; it is incredible; we are all left panting in the rear; +twig, O twig it. His name is Clinton; I should say the most melodious +prosewriter now alive; it's like buttermilk and blacking; it sings and +hums away in that last sheet, like a great old kettle full of bilge +water. You know: none of us could do it, boy. See No. 571, last page: an +article called "Sir Claude the Conqueror," and read it _aloud_ in your +best rhythmic tones; mon cher, c'est épatant. + +Observe in the same number, how Will J. Shannon girds at your poor +friend; and how the rhythmic Clinton steps chivalrously forth in his +defence. First the Rev. Purcell; then Will J. Shannon: thick fall the +barbéd arrows.[42] + +I wish I could play a game of chess with you. + +If I survive, I shall have Clinton to dinner: it is plain I must make +hay while the sun shines; I shall not long keep a footing in the world +of penny writers, or call them obolists. It is a world full of +surprises, a romantic world. Weg, I was known there; even I. The +obolists, then, sometimes peruse our works. It is only fair; since I so +much batten upon theirs. Talking of which, in Heaven's name, get _The +Bondage of Brandon_ (3 vols.) by Bracebridge Hemming. It's the devil and +all for drollery. There is a Superior (sic) of the Jesuits, straight out +of Skelt. + +And now look here, I had three points: Clinton--disposed of--(2nd) Benj. +Franklin--do you want him? (3rd) A radiant notion begot this morning +over an atlas: why not, you who know the lingo, give us a good legendary +and historical book on Iceland? It would, or should, be as romantic as a +book of Scott's; as strange and stirring as a dream. Think on't. My wife +screamed with joy at the idea; and the little Lloyd clapped his hands; +so I offer you three readers on the spot. + +Fanny and I have both been in bed, tended by the hired sick nurse; Lloyd +has a broken finger (so he did not clap his hands literally); Wogg has +had an abscess in his ear; our servant is a devil.--I am yours ever, +with both of our best regards to Mrs. Gosse, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, + The Rejected Obolist. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + This letter speaks of contributions to the Magazine of Art (in these + years edited by Mr. Henley) from J. A. Symonds and from R. L. S. + himself, "Bunyan" meaning the essay on the cuts in Bagster's edition + of the _Pilgrim's Progress_. A toy press had just been set up in the + chalet for the lad Lloyd. + + _Davos Printing Office, managed by Samuel Lloyd Osbourne & Co., The + Chalet [Nov. 1881]._ + +DEAR HENLEY,--I have done better for you than you deserved to hope; the +Venice Medley is withdrawn; and I have a Monte Oliveto (short) for you, +with photographs and sketches. I think you owe luck a candle; for this +no skill could have accomplished without the aid of accident. + +How about carving and gilding? I have nearly killed myself over Bunyan; +and am too tired to finish him to-day, as I might otherwise have done. +For his back is broken. For some reason, it proved one of the hardest +things I ever tried to write; perhaps--but no--I have no theory to +offer--it went against the spirit. But as I say I girt my loins up and +nearly died of it. + +In five weeks, six at the latest, I should have a complete proof of +_Treasure Island_. It will be from 75 to 80,000 words; and with anything +like half good pictures, it should sell. I suppose I may at least hope +for eight pic's? I aspire after ten or twelve. You had better + +--Two days later. + +Bunyan skips to-day, pretty bad, always with an official letter. Yours +came last night. I had already spotted your Dickens; very pleasant and +true. + +My wife is far from well; quite confined to bed now; drain poisoning. I +keep getting better slowly; appetite dicky; but some days I feel and eat +well. The weather has been hot and heartless and unDavosy. + +I shall give Symonds his note in about an hour from now. + +Have done so; he will write of Vesalius and of Botticelli's Dante for +you. + +Morris's _Sigurd_ is a grrrrreat poem; that is so. I have cried aloud at +this re-reading; he had fine stuff to go on, but he has touched it, in +places, with the hand of a master. Yes. Regin and Fafnir are incredibly +fine. Love to all.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO P. G. HAMERTON + + + The volume of republished essays here mentioned is _Familiar + Studies of Men and Books_. "The silly story of the election" refers + again to his correspondent's failure as a candidate for the Edinburgh + Chair of Fine Arts. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, December 1881._] + +MY DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--My conscience has long been smiting me, till it +became nearly chronic. My excuses, however, are many and not pleasant. +Almost immediately after I last wrote to you, I had a hemorreage (I +can't spell it), was badly treated by a doctor in the country, and have +been a long while picking up--still, in fact, have much to desire on +that side. Next, as soon as I got here, my wife took ill; she is, I +fear, seriously so; and this combination of two invalids very much +depresses both. + +I have a volume of republished essays coming out with Chatto and Windus; +I wish they would come, that my wife might have the reviews to divert +her. Otherwise my news is _nil_. I am up here in a little chalet, on the +borders of a pinewood, overlooking a great part of the Davos Thal, a +beautiful scene at night, with the moon upon the snowy mountains, and +the lights warmly shining in the village. J. A. Symonds is next door to +me, just at the foot of my Hill Difficulty (this you will please regard +as the House Beautiful), and his society is my great stand-by. + +Did you see I had joined the band of the rejected? "Hardly one of us," +said my _confrères_ at the bar. + +I was blamed by a common friend for asking you to give me a testimonial; +in the circumstances he thought it was indelicate. Lest, by some +calamity, you should ever have felt the same way, I must say in two +words how the matter appeared to me. That silly story of the election +altered in no tittle the value of your testimony: so much for that. On +the other hand, it led me to take quite a particular pleasure in asking +you to give it; and so much for the other. I trust, even if you cannot +share it, you will understand my view. + +I am in treaty with Bentley for a life of Hazlitt; I hope it will not +fall through, as I love the subject, and appear to have found a +publisher who loves it also. That, I think, makes things more pleasant. +You know I am a fervent Hazlittite; I mean regarding him as _the_ +English writer who has had the scantiest justice. Besides which, I am +anxious to write biography; really, if I understand myself in quest of +profit, I think it must be good to live with another man from birth to +death. You have tried it, and know. + +How has the cruising gone? Pray remember me to Mrs. Hamerton and your +son, and believe me, yours very sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + The memory here evoked of Brash the publican, who had been a special + butt for some of the youthful pranks of R. L. S. and his friends, + inspired in the next few weeks the sets of verses mentioned below + (vol. 24, pp. 14, 15, 38) in letters which show that the fictitious + Johnson and Thomson were far from being dead. + + _[Chalet am Stein], Davos, December 5, 1881._ + +MY DEAR CHARLES,--We have been in miserable case here; my wife worse and +worse; and now sent away with Lloyd for sick nurse, I not being allowed +to go down. I do not know what is to become of us; and you may imagine +how rotten I have been feeling, and feel now, alone with my weasel-dog +and my German maid, on the top of a hill here, heavy mist and thin snow +all about me, and the devil to pay in general. I don't care so much for +solitude as I used to; results, I suppose, of marriage. + +Pray write me something cheery. A little Edinburgh gossip, in Heaven's +name. Ah! what would I not give to steal this evening with you through +the big, echoing, college archway, and away south under the street +lamps, and away to dear Brash's, now defunct! But the old time is dead +also, never, never to revive. It was a sad time too, but so gay and so +hopeful, and we had such sport with all our low spirits and all our +distresses, that it looks like a kind of lamplit fairyland behind me. O +for ten Edinburgh minutes--sixpence between us, and the ever-glorious +Lothian Road, or dear mysterious Leith Walk! But here, a sheer hulk, +lies poor Tom Bowling; here in this strange place, whose very +strangeness would have been heaven to him then; and aspires, yes, C. B., +with tears, after the past. See what comes of being left alone. Do you +remember Brash? the sheet of glass that we followed along George Street? +Granton? the night at Bonny mainhead? the compass near the sign of the +_Twinkling Eye_? the night I lay on the pavement in misery? + + I swear it by the eternal sky + Johnson--nor--Thomson ne'er shall die! + +Yet I fancy they are dead too; dead like Brash. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + The next is after going down to meet his wife and stepson, when the + former had left the doctor's hands at Berne. + + _Chalet Buol, Davos-Platz, December 26, 1881._ + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--Yesterday, Sunday and Christmas, we finished this +eventful journey by a drive in an _open_ sleigh--none others were to be +had--seven hours on end through whole forests of Christmas trees. The +cold was beyond belief. I have often suffered less at a dentist's. It +was a clear, sunny day, but the sun even at noon falls, at this season, +only here and there into the Prättigau. I kept up as long as I could in +an imitation of a street singer:-- + + "Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses," etc. + +At last Lloyd remarked, a blue mouth speaking from a corpse-coloured +face, "You seem to be the only one with any courage left?" And, do you +know, with that word my courage disappeared, and I made the rest of the +stage in the same dumb wretchedness as the others. My only terror was +lest Fanny should ask for brandy, or laudanum, or something. So awful +was the idea of putting my hands out, that I half thought I would +refuse. + +Well, none of us are a penny the worse, Lloyd's cold better; I, with a +twinge of the rheumatiz; and Fanny better than her ordinary. + +General conclusion between Lloyd and me as to the journey: A prolonged +visit to the dentist's, complicated with the fear of death. + +Never, O never, do you get me there again.--Ever affectionate son, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + Mr. Gosse and R. L. S. had proposed to Mr. R. W. Gilder, of the + Century Magazine, that they should collaborate for him on a series of + murder papers, beginning with the Elstree murder; and he had accepted + the proposal on terms which they thought liberal. + + _Hotel Buol, Davos, Dec. 26, 1881._ + +MY DEAR GOSSE,--I have just brought my wife back, through such cold, in +an open sleigh too, as I had never fancied to exist. I won't use the +word torture, but go to your dentist's and in nine cases out of ten you +will not suffer more pain than we suffered. + +This is merely in acknowledgment of your editorial: to say that I shall +give my mind at once to the Murder. But I bethink me you can say so much +and convey my sense of the liberality of our Cousins, without +exhibiting this scrawl. So I may go on to tell you that I have at last +found a publisher as eager to publish, as I am to write a Hazlitt. +Bentley is the Boy; and very liberal, at least, as per last advices; +certainly very friendly and eager, which makes work light, like +whistling. I wish I was with the rest of--well, of us--in the red books. +But I am glad to get a whack at Hazlitt, howsoe'er. + +How goes your Gray? I would not change with you; brother! Gray would +never be suited to my temperament, while Hazlitt fits me like a glove. + +I hope in your studies in Young Folks you did not miss the delicious +reticences, the artistic concealments, and general fine-shade +graduation, through which the fact of the Xmas Nr. being 3d. was +instilled--too strong--inspired into the mind of the readers. It was +superb. + +I may add as a postscript: I wish to God I or anybody knew what was the +matter with my wife.--Yours ever, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos-Platz, March 1882._] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,--Herewith _Moral Emblems_. The elephant by Fanny--the +rest by me. + +I would have sent it long ago. But I must explain. I brought home with +me from my bad times in America two strains of unsoundness of mind, the +first, a perpetual fear that I can do no more work--the second, a +perpetual fear that my friends have quarrelled with me.[43] This last +long silence of yours drove me into really believing it, and I dared not +write to you. + +Well, it's ancient history now, and here are the emblems. A second +series is in the press. + +_Silverado_ is still unfinished; but I think I have done well on the +whole, as you say. I shall be home, I hope, sometime in May, perhaps +before; it depends on Fanny's health, which is still far from good and +often alarms me. I shall then see your collectanea. I shall not put pen +to paper till I settle somewhere else; Hazlitt had better simmer awhile. +I have to see Ireland too, who has most kindly written to me and invited +me to see his collections. + +Symonds grows much on me: in many ways, what you would least expect, a +very sound man, and very wise in a wise way. It is curious how F. and I +always turn to him for advice: we have learned that his advice is +good.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM + + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos-Platz, February 1882._] + +MY DEAR CUMMY,--My wife and I are very much vexed to hear you are still +unwell. We are both keeping far better; she especially seems quite to +have taken a turn--_the_ turn, we shall hope. Please let us know how you +get on, and what has been the matter with you; Braemar I believe--the +vile hole. You know what a lazy rascal I am, so you won't be surprised +at a short letter, I know; indeed, you will be much more surprised at my +having had the decency to write at all. We have got rid of our young, +pretty, and incompetent maid; and now we have a fine, canny, twinkling, +shrewd, auld-farrant peasant body, who gives us good food and keeps us +in good spirits. If we could only understand what she says! But she +speaks Davos language, which is to German what Aberdeen-awa' is to +English, so it comes heavy. God bless you, my dear Cummy; and so says +Fanny forbye.--Ever your affectionate, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + _[Chalet am Stein, Davos], 22nd February '82._ + +MY DEAR CHARLES,--Your most welcome letter has raised clouds of sulphur +from my horizon.... + +I am glad you have gone back to your music. Life is a poor thing, I am +more and more convinced, without an art, that always waits for us and is +always new. Art and marriage are two very good stand-by's. + +In an article which will appear some time in the Cornhill, _Talk and +Talkers_, and where I have full-lengthened the conversation of Bob, +Henley, Jenkin, Simpson, Symonds, and Gosse, I have at the end one +single word about yourself. It may amuse you to see it. + +We are coming to Scotland after all, so we shall meet, which pleases me, +and I do believe I am strong enough to stand it this time. My knee is +still quite lame. + +My wife is better again.... But we take it by turns; it is the dog that +is ill now.--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + In the early months of this year a hurt knee kept Stevenson more + indoors than was good for him. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos-Platz, February 1882._] + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Here comes the letter as promised last night. And first +two requests: Pray send the enclosed to c/o Blackmore's publisher, 'tis +from Fanny; second, pray send us Routledge's shilling book, Edward +Mayhew's _Dogs_, by return if it can be managed. + +Our dog is very ill again, poor fellow, looks very ill too, only sleeps +at night because of morphine; and we do not know what ails him, only +fear it to be canker of the ear. He makes a bad, black spot in our life, +poor, selfish, silly, little tangle; and my wife is wretched. Otherwise +she is better, steadily and slowly moving up through all her relapses. +My knee never gets the least better; it hurts to-night, which it has not +done for long. I do not suppose my doctor knows any least thing about +it. He says it is a nerve that I struck, but I assure you he does not +know. + +I have just finished a paper, _A Gossip on Romance_, in which I have +tried to do, very popularly, about one-half of the matter you wanted me +to try. In a way, I have found an answer to the question. But the +subject was hardly fit for so chatty a paper, and it is all loose ends. +If ever I do my book on the Art of Literature, I shall gather them +together and be clear. + +To-morrow, having once finished off the touches still due on this, I +shall tackle _San Francisco_ for you. Then the tide of work will fairly +bury me, lost to view and hope. You have no idea what it costs me to +wring out my work now. I have certainly been a fortnight over this +_Romance_, sometimes five hours a day; and yet it is about my usual +length--eight pages or so, and would be a d----d sight the better for +another curry. But I do not think I can honestly re-write it all; so I +call it done, and shall only straighten words in a revision currently. + +I had meant to go on for a great while, and say all manner of +entertaining things. But all's gone. I am now an idiot.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + The following flight of fancy refers to supposed errors of judgment + on the part of an eminent firm of publishers, with whom Stevenson had + at this time no connection. Very soon afterwards he entered into + relations with them which proved equally pleasant and profitable to + both parties, and were continued on the most cordial terms until his + death. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, March 1882._] + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--Last night we had a dinner-party, consisting of the +John Addington, curry, onions (lovely onions), and beefsteak. So +unusual is any excitement, that F. and I feel this morning as if we had +been to a coronation. However I must, I suppose, write. + +I was sorry about your female contributor squabble. 'Tis very comic, but +really unpleasant. But what care I? Now that I illustrate my own books, +I can always offer you a situation in our house--S. L. Osbourne and Co. +As an author gets a halfpenny a copy of verses, and an artist a penny a +cut, perhaps a proof-reader might get several pounds a year. + +O that Coronation! What a shouting crowd there was! I obviously got a +firework in each eye. The king looked very magnificent, to be sure; and +that great hall where we feasted on seven hundred delicate foods, and +drank fifty royal wines--_quel coup d'oeil_! but was it not overdone, +even for a coronation--almost a vulgar luxury? And eleven is certainly +too late to begin dinner. (It was really 6.30 instead of 5.30.) + +Your list of books that Cassells have refused in these weeks is not +quite complete; they also refused:-- + +1. Six undiscovered Tragedies, one romantic Comedy, a fragment of +Journal extending over six years, and an unfinished Autobiography +reaching up to the first performance of King John. By William +Shakespeare. + +2. The Journals and Private Correspondence of David, King of Israel. + +3. Poetical Works of Arthur, Iron Dook of Wellington including a Monody +on Napoleon. + +4. Eight books of an unfinished novel, _Solomon Crabb_. By Henry +Fielding. + +5. Stevenson's Moral Emblems. + +You also neglected to mention, as _per contra_, that they had during the +same time accepted and triumphantly published Brown's _Handbook to +Cricket_, _Jones's First French Reader_, and Robinson's _Picturesque +Cheshire_, uniform with the same author's _Stately Homes of Salop_. + +O if that list could come true! How we would tear at _Solomon Crabb_! O +what a bully, bully, bully business. Which would you read +first--Shakespeare's autobiography, or his journals? What sport the +monody on Napoleon would be--what wooden verse, what stucco ornament! I +should read both the autobiography and the journals before I looked at +one of the plays, beyond the names of them, which shows that Saintsbury +was right, and I do care more for life than for poetry. No--I take it +back. Do you know one of the tragedies--a Bible tragedy +too--_David_--was written in his third period--much about the same time +as Lear? The comedy, _April Rain_, is also a late work. _Beckett_ is a +fine ranting piece, like _Richard II._, but very fine for the stage. +Irving is to play it this autumn when I'm in town; the part rather suits +him--but who is to play Henry--a tremendous creation, sir. Betterton in +his private journal seems to have seen this piece; and he says +distinctly that Henry is the best part in any play. "Though," he adds, +"how it be with the ancient plays I know not. But in this I have ever +feared to do ill, and indeed will not be persuaded to that undertaking." +So says Betterton. _Rufus_ is not so good; I am not pleased with +_Rufus_; plainly a _rifaccimento_ of some inferior work; but there are +some damned fine lines. As for the purely satiric ill-minded _Abelard +and Heloise_, another _Troilus, quoi!_ it is not pleasant, truly, but +what strength, what verve, what knowledge of life, and the Canon! What a +finished, humorous, rich picture is the Canon! Ah, there was nobody like +Shakespeare. But what I like is the David and Absalom business: Absalom +is so well felt--you love him as David did; David's speech is one roll +of royal music from the first act to the fifth. + +I am enjoying _Solomon Crabb_ extremely; Solomon's capital adventure +with the two highwaymen and Squire Trecothick and Parson Vance; it is as +good, I think, as anything in Joseph Andrews. I have just come to the +part where the highwayman with the black patch over his eye has tricked +poor Solomon into his place, and the squire and the parson are hearing +the evidence. Parson Vance is splendid. How good, too, is old Mrs. Crabb +and the coastguardsman in the third chapter, or her delightful quarrel +with the sexton of Seaham; Lord Conybeare is surely a little overdone; +but I don't know either; he's such damned fine sport. Do you like Sally +Barnes? I'm in love with her. Constable Muddon is as good as Dogberry +and Verges put together; when he takes Solomon to the cage, and the +highwayman gives him Solomon's own guinea for his pains, and kisses Mrs. +Muddon, and just then up drives Lord Conybeare, and instead of helping +Solomon, calls him all the rascals in Christendom--O Henry Fielding, +Henry Fielding! Yet perhaps the scenes at Seaham are the best. But I'm +bewildered among all these excellences. + + Stay, cried a voice that made the welkin crack--This + here's a dream, return and study BLACK! + +--Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO ALEXANDER IRELAND + + + The following is in reply to a letter Stevenson had received on some + questions connected with his proposed Life of Hazlitt from the + veteran critic and bibliographer since deceased, Mr. Alexander + Ireland. At the foot is to be found the first reference to his new + amusement of wood engraving for the Davos Press:-- + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, March 1882._] + +MY DEAR SIR,--This formidable paper need not alarm you; it argues +nothing beyond penury of other sorts, and is not at all likely to lead +me into a long letter. If I were at all grateful it would, for yours has +just passed for me a considerable part of a stormy evening. And speaking +of gratitude, let me at once and with becoming eagerness accept your +kind invitation to Bowdon. I shall hope, if we can agree as to dates +when I am nearer hand, to come to you sometime in the month of May. I +was pleased to hear you were a Scot; I feel more at home with my +compatriots always; perhaps the more we are away, the stronger we feel +that bond. + +You ask about Davos; I have discoursed about it already, rather sillily +I think, in the _Pall Mall_, and I mean to say no more, but the ways of +the Muse are dubious and obscure, and who knows? I may be wiled again. +As a place of residence, beyond a splendid climate, it has to my eyes +but one advantage--the neighbourhood of J. A. Symonds--I dare say you +know his work, but the man is far more interesting. It has done me, in +my two winters' Alpine exile, much good; so much, that I hope to leave +it now for ever, but would not be understood to boast. In my present +unpardonably crazy state, any cold might send me skipping, either back +to Davos, or further off. Let us hope not. It is dear; a little dreary; +very far from many things that both my taste and my needs prompt me to +seek; and altogether not the place that I should choose of my free will. + +I am chilled by your description of the man in question, though I had +almost argued so much from his cold and undigested volume. If the +republication does not interfere with my publisher, it will not +interfere with me; but there, of course, comes the hitch. I do not know +Mr. Bentley, and I fear all publishers like the devil from legend and +experience both. However, when I come to town, we shall, I hope, meet +and understand each other as well as author and publisher ever do. I +liked his letters; they seemed hearty, kind, and personal. Still--I am +notedly suspicious of the trade--your news of this republication alarms +me. + +The best of the present French novelists seems to me, incomparably, +Daudet. _Les Rois en Exil_ comes very near being a masterpiece. For Zola +I have no toleration, though the curious, eminently bourgeois, and +eminently French creature has power of a kind. But I would he were +deleted. I would not give a chapter of old Dumas (meaning himself, not +his collaborators) for the whole boiling of the Zolas. Romance with the +smallpox--as the great one: diseased anyway and blackhearted and +fundamentally at enmity with joy. + +I trust that Mrs. Ireland does not object to smoking; and if you are a +teetotaller, I beg you to mention it before I come--I have all the +vices; some of the virtues also, let us hope--that, at least, of being a +Scotchman, and yours very sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +_P.S._--My father was in the old High School the last year, and walked +in the procession to the new. I blush to own I am an Academy boy; it +seems modern, and smacks not of the soil. + +_P.P.S._--I enclose a good joke--at least, I think so--my first efforts +at wood engraving printed by my stepson, a boy of thirteen. I will put +in also one of my later attempts. I have been nine days at the +art--observe my progress. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO MRS. GOSSE + + + Mrs. Gosse had sent R. L. S. a miniature Bible illustrated with rude + cuts, picked up at an outdoor stall. "Lloyd's new work" is _Black + Canyon_. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, March 16, 1882._] + +DEAR MRS. GOSSE,--Thank you heartily for the Bible, which is exquisite. +I thoroughly appreciate the whole; but have you done justice to the +third lion in Daniel (like the third murderer in Macbeth)--a singular +animal--study him well. The soldier in the fiery furnace beats me. + +I enclose a programme of Lloyd's new work. The work I shall send +to-morrow, for the publisher is out and I dare not touch his "plant": +_il m'en cuirait_. The work in question I think a huge lark, but still +droller is the author's attitude. Not one incident holds with another +from beginning to end; and whenever I discover a new inconsistency, Sam +is the first to laugh--with a kind of humorous pride at the thing being +so silly. + +I saw the note, and I was so sorry my article had not come in time for +the old lady. We should all hurry up and praise the living. I must +praise Tupper. A propos, did you ever read him?--or know any one who +had? That is very droll; but the truth is we all live in a clique, buy +each other's books and like each other's books; and the great, gaunt, +grey, gaping public snaps its big fingers and reads Talmage and +Tupper--and _Black Canyon_. + +My wife is better; I, for the moment, am but so-so myself; but the +printer is in very--how shall we say?--large type at this present, and +the sound of the press never ceases. Remember me to Weg.--Yours very +truly, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + * * * * * + + NOTICE + To-day is published by S. L. Osbourne & Co. + ILLUSTRATED + BLACK CANYON, + + or + WILD ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST. + + An + Instructive and amusing TALE written by + Samuel Lloyd Osbourne + Price 6d. + + +OPINIONS OF THE PRESS + +Although _Black Canyon_ is rather shorter than ordinary for that kind of +story, it is an excellent work. We cordially recommend it to our +readers.--_Weekly Messenger._ + +S. L. Osbourne's new work (_Black Canyon_) is splendidly illustrated. In +the story, the characters are bold and striking. It reflects the +highest honour on its writer.--_Morning Call._ + +A very remarkable work. Every page produces an effect. The end is as +singular as the beginning. I never saw such a work before.--_R. L. +Stevenson._ + + + + +TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + I had written to him of the proposal that I should do the volume on + Keats for Macmillan's _English Men of Letters_ series. From his + essay, _Talk and Talkers_, I was eventually left out. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos-Platz, Spring 1882._] + +DEAR COLVIN,--About Keats--well yes, I wonder; I see all your +difficulties and yet, I have the strongest kind of feeling that critical +biography is your real vein. The Landor was one nail; another, I think, +would be good for you and the public. Indeed I would do the Keats. He is +worth doing; it is a brave and a sad little story, and the critical part +lies deep in the very vitals of art. All summed, I would do him; +remember it is but a small order alongside of Landor; and £100, and +kudos, and a good word for the poor, great lad, who will otherwise fall +among the molluscs. Up, heart! give me a John Keats! Houghton, though he +has done it with grace, has scarce done it with grip. + +I have put you into _Talk and Talkers_ sure enough. God knows, I hope I +shall offend nobody; I do begin to quake mightily over that paper. I +have a _Gossip on Romance_ about done; it puts some real criticism in a +light way, I think. It is destined for Longman who (dead secret) is +bringing out a new Mag. (6d.) in the Autumn. Dead Secret: all his +letters are three deep with masks and passwords, and I swear on a skull +daily. F. has reread _Treasure I^d._, against which she protested; and +now she thinks the end about as good as the beginning; only some six +chapters situate about the midst of the tale to be rewritten. This +sounds hopefuller. My new long story, _The Adventures of John +Delafield_, is largely planned. + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + Stevenson and Mr. Gosse were still meditating a book in which some of + the famous historical murder cases should be retold (see above, p. + 338). "Gray" and "Keats" are volumes in the _English Men of Letters_ + series. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, March 23, 1882._] + +MY DEAR WEG,--And I had just written the best note to Mrs. Gosse that +was in my power. Most blameable. + +I now send (for Mrs. Gosse) + + +BLACK CANYON + +Also an advertisement of my new appearance as poet (bard, rather) and +hartis on wood. The cut represents the Hero and the Eagle, and is +emblematic of Cortez first viewing the Pacific Ocean, which (according +to the bard Keats) it took place in Darien. The cut is much admired for +the sentiment of discovery, the manly proportions of the voyager, and +the fine impression of tropical scenes and the untrodden WASTE, so aptly +rendered by the hartis. + +I would send you the book; but I declare I'm ruined. I got a penny a cut +and a halfpenny a set of verses from the flint-hearted publisher, and +only one specimen copy, as I'm a sinner. ---- was apostolic alongside of +Osbourne. + +I hope you will be able to decipher this, written at steam speed with a +breaking pen, the hotfast postman at my heels. No excuse, says you. +None, sir, says I, and touches my 'at most civil (extraordinary +evolution of pen, now quite doomed--to resume--) I have not put pen to +the Bloody Murder yet. But it is early on my list; and when once I get +to it, three weeks should see the last bloodstain--maybe a fortnight. +For I am beginning to combine an extraordinary laborious slowness while +at work, with the most surprisingly quick results in the way of +finished manuscripts. How goes Gray? Colvin is to do Keats. My wife is +still not well.--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP + + + "The enclosed" means a packet of the Davos Press cuts. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, March 1882._] + +MY DEAR DR. JAPP,--You must think me a forgetful rogue, as indeed I am; +for I have but now told my publisher to send you a copy of the _Familiar +Studies_. However, I own I have delayed this letter till I could send +you the enclosed. Remembering the nights at Braemar when we visited the +Picture Gallery, I hoped they might amuse you. You see, we do some +publishing hereaway. I shall hope to see you in town in May.--Always +yours faithfully, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP + + + The references in the first paragraph are to the volume _Familiar + Studies of Men and Books_. + + _Chalet am Stein, Davos, April 1, 1882._ + +MY DEAR DR. JAPP,--A good day to date this letter, which is in fact a +confession of incapacity. During my wife's illness I somewhat lost my +head, and entirely lost a great quire of corrected proofs. This is one +of the results; I hope there are none more serious. I was never so sick +of any volume as I was of that; I was continually receiving fresh proofs +with fresh infinitesimal difficulties. I was ill--I did really fear my +wife was worse than ill. Well, it's out now; and though I have observed +several carelessnesses myself, and now here's another of your +finding--of which, indeed, I ought to be ashamed--it will only justify +the sweeping humility of the Preface. + +Symonds was actually dining with us when your letter came, and I +communicated your remarks.... He is a far better and more interesting +thing than any of his books. + +The Elephant was my wife's; so she is proportionately elate you should +have picked it out for praise--from a collection, let me add, so replete +with the highest qualities of art. + +My wicked carcase, as John Knox calls it, holds together wonderfully. In +addition to many other things, and a volume of travel, I find I have +written, since December, 90 Cornhill pages of magazine work--essays and +stories: 40,000 words, and I am none the worse--I am the better. I begin +to hope I may, if not outlive this wolverine upon my shoulders, at least +carry him bravely like Symonds and Alexander Pope. I begin to take a +pride in that hope. + +I shall be much interested to see your criticisms; you might perhaps +send them to me. I believe you know that is not dangerous; one folly I +have not--I am not touchy under criticism. + +Lloyd and my wife both beg to be remembered; and Lloyd sends as a +present a work of his own. I hope you feel flattered; for this is +_simply the first time he has ever given one away_. I have to buy my own +works, I can tell you.--Yours very sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + From about this time until 1885 Mr. Henley acted in an informal way + as agent for R. L. S. in most of his dealings with publishers in + London. "Both" in the second paragraph means, I think, _Treasure + Island_ and _Silverado Squatters_. + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, April 1882._] + +MY DEAR HENLEY,--I hope and hope for a long letter--soon I hope to be +superseded by long talks--and it comes not. I remember I have never +formally thanked you for that hundred quid, nor in general for the +introduction to Chatto and Windus, and continue to bury you in copy as +if you were my private secretary. Well, I am not unconscious of it all; +but I think least said is often best, generally best; gratitude is a +tedious sentiment, it's not ductile, not dramatic. + +If Chatto should take both, _cui dedicare_? I am running out of +dedikees; if I do, the whole fun of writing is stranded. _Treasure +Island_, if it comes out, and I mean it shall, of course goes to Lloyd. +Lemme see, I have now dedicated to + + W. E. H. [William Ernest Henley]. + S. C. [Sidney Colvin]. + T. S. [Thomas Stevenson]. + Simp. [Sir Walter Simpson]. + +There remain: C. B., the Williamses--you know they were the parties who +stuck up for us about our marriage, and Mrs. W. was my guardian angel, +and our Best Man and Bridesmaid rolled in one, and the only third of the +wedding party--my sister-in-law, who is booked for _Prince Otto_--Jenkin +I suppose some time--George Meredith, the only man of genius of my +acquaintance, and then I believe I'll have to take to the dead, the +immortal memory business. + +Talking of Meredith, I have just re-read for the third and fourth time +_The Egoist_. When I shall have read it the sixth or seventh, I begin to +see I shall know about it. You will be astonished when you come to +re-read it; I had no idea of the matter--human, red matter he has +contrived to plug and pack into that strange and admirable book. +Willoughby is, of course, a pure discovery; a complete set of nerves, +not heretofore examined, and yet running all over the human body--a suit +of nerves. Clara is the best girl ever I saw anywhere. Vernon is almost +as good. The manner and the faults of the book greatly justify +themselves on further study. Only Dr. Middleton does not hang together; +and Ladies Busshe and Culmer _sont des monstruosités_. Vernon's conduct +makes a wonderful odd contrast with Daniel Deronda's. I see more and +more that Meredith is built for immortality. + +Talking of which, Heywood, as a small immortal, an immortalet, claims +some attention. _The Woman killed with Kindness_ is one of the most +striking novels--not plays, though it's more of a play than anything +else of his--I ever read. He had such a sweet, sound soul, the old boy. +The death of the two pirates in _Fortune by Sea and Land_ is a document. +He had obviously been present, and heard Purser and Clinton take death +by the beard with similar braggadocios. Purser and Clinton, names of +pirates; Scarlet and Bobbington, names of highwaymen. He had the touch +of names, I think. No man I ever knew had such a sense, such a tact, for +English nomenclature: Rainsforth, Lacy, Audley, Forrest, Acton, Spencer, +Frankford--so his names run. + +Byron not only wrote _Don Juan_; he called Joan of Arc "a fanatical +strumpet." These are his words. I think the double shame, first to a +great poet, second to an English noble, passes words. + +Here is a strange gossip.--I am yours loquaciously, + + R. L. S. + +My lungs are said to be in a splendid state. A cruel examination, an +exa_nim_ation I may call it, had this brave result. _Taïaut!_ Hillo! +Hey! Stand by! Avast! Hurrah! + + + + +TO MRS. T. STEVENSON + + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, April 9, 1882._] + +MY DEAR MOTHER,--Herewith please find belated birthday present. Fanny +has another. + + Cockshot = Jenkin. But + Jack = Bob. pray + Burly = Henley. regard + Athelred = Simpson. these + Opalstein = Symonds. as + Purcel = Gosse. secrets. + +My dear mother, how can I keep up with your breathless changes? +Innerleithen, Cramond, Bridge of Allan, Dunblane, Selkirk. I lean to +Cramond, but I shall be pleased anywhere, any respite from Davos; never +mind, it has been a good, though a dear lesson. Now, with my improved +health, if I can pass the summer, I believe I shall be able no more to +exceed, no more to draw on you. It is time I sufficed for myself indeed. +And I believe I can. + +I am still far from satisfied about Fanny; she is certainly better, but +it is by fits a good deal, and the symptoms continue, which should not +be. I had her persuaded to leave without me this very day (Saturday +8th), but the disclosure of my mismanagement broke up that plan; she +would not leave me lest I should mismanage more. I think this an unfair +revenge; but I have been so bothered that I cannot struggle. All Davos +has been drinking our wine. During the month of March, three litres a +day were drunk--O it is too sickening--and that is only a specimen. It +is enough to make any one a misanthrope, but the right thing is to hate +the donkey that was duped--which I devoutly do. + +I have this winter finished _Treasure Island_, written the preface to +the _Studies_, a small book about the _Inland Voyage_ size, _The +Silverado Squatters_, and over and above that upwards of ninety (90) +Cornhill pages of magazine work. No man can say I have been idle.--Your +affectionate son, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +TO R. A. M. STEVENSON + + + [_Chalet am Stein, Davos-Platz, April 1882._] + +MY DEAR BOB,--Yours received. I have received a communication by same +mail from my mother, clamouring for news, which I must answer as soon as +I've done this. Of course, I shall paint your game in lively colours. + +I hope to get away from here--let me not speak of it ungratefully--from +here--by Thursday at latest. I am indeed much better; but a slip of the +foot may still cast me back. I must walk circumspectly yet awhile. But O +to be able to go out and get wet, and not spit blood next day! + +Yes, I remember the _enfantement_ of the Arabian Nights; the first idea +of all was the handsome cabs, which I communicated to you in St. +Leonard's Terrace drawing-room. That same afternoon the Prince de Galles +and the Suicide Club were invented; and several more now forgotten. I +must try to start 'em again. + +Lloyd I believe is to be a printer--in the meantime he confines himself +to being an expense. He is a first-rate lad for all that. He is now +interrupting me about twice to the line, which does not condooce to +clarity, I'm afraid. + +Fanny is still far from well, quite far from well. My faith is in the +Pirate. + +I enclose all my artistic works; they are woodcuts--I cut them with a +knife out of blocks of wood: I am a wood-engraver; I aaaam a wooooood +engraaaaver. Lloyd then prints 'em: are they not fun? I doat on them; in +my next venture, I am going to have colour printing; it will be very +laborious, six blocks to cut for each picter, but the result would be +pyramidal. + +If I get through the summer, I settle in Autumn in le pays de France; I +believe in the Brittany and become a _Snoozer_. You will come and snooze +awhile won't you, and try and get Louisa to join. + +Pepys was a decent fellow; singularly like Charles Baxter, by the way, +in every character of mind and taste, and not unlike him in face. I did +not mean I had been too just to him but not just enough to bigger +swells. I would rather have _known_ Pepys than the whole jing-bang; I +doat on him as a card to know. + +We shall be pretty poor at the start, of course, but I guess we can haul +through. Only intending visitors to the Brittannic Castle must not look +for nightingales' tongues. When next you see the form of the jeune et +beau pray give him my love, when I come to Weybridge, I'll hope to see +him.--Ever yours affectionately, + + R. L. STEVENSON, 1er Roi de Béotie. + + Pour copie conforme, Le sécrétaire Royale, W. P. BANNATYNE. + + + + +TO TREVOR HADDON + + + The few remaining letters of this period are dated from Edinburgh and + from Stobo Manse, near Peebles. This, in the matter of weather and + health, was the most disappointing of all Stevenson's attempts at + summer residence in Scotland. Before going to Stobo he made a short + excursion with his father to Lochearnhead; and later spent some three + weeks with me at Kingussie, but from neither place wrote any letters + worth preserving. The following was addressed to a young art-student + who had read the works of Walt Whitman after reading Stevenson's + essay on him, and being staggered by some things he found there had + written asking for further comment and counsel. + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh [June 1882]._ + +DEAR SIR,--If I have in any way disquieted you, I believe you are +justified in bidding me stand and deliver a remedy if there be one: +which is the point. + +1st I am of your way of thinking: that a good deal of Whitman is as well +taken once but 2nd I quite believe that it is better to have everything +brought before one in books. In that way the problems reach us when we +are cool, and not warped by the sophistries of an instant passion. Life +itself presents its problems with a terrible directness and at the very +hour when we are least able to judge calmly. Hence this Pisgah sight of +all things, off the top of a book, is only a rational preparation for +the ugly grips that must follow. + +But 3rd, no man can settle another's life for him. It is the test of the +nature and courage of each that he shall decide it for himself. Each in +turn must meet and beard the Sphynx. Some things however I must say--and +you will treat them as things read in a book for you to accept or refuse +as you shall see most fit. + +Go not out of your way to make difficulties. Hang back from life while +you are young. Shoulder no responsibilities. You do not yet know how far +you can trust yourself--it will not be very far, or you are more +fortunate than I am. If you can keep your sexual desires in order, be +glad, be very glad. Some day, when you meet your fate, you will be free, +and the better man. _Don't make a boy and girl friendship that which it +is not._ Look at Burns: that is where amourettes conduct an average good +man; and a tepid marriage is only a more selfish amourette--in the long +run. Whatever you do, see that you don't sacrifice a woman; that's where +all imperfect loves conduct us. At the same time, if you can make it +convenient to be chaste, for God's sake, avoid the primness of your +virtue; hardness to a poor harlot is a sin lower than the ugliest +unchastity. + +Never be in a hurry anyhow. + +There is my sermon. + +Certainly, you cannot too earnestly go in for the Greek; and about any +art, think last of what pays, first of what pleases. It is in that +spirit only that an art can be made. Progress in art is made by learning +to _enjoy_ it. That which seems a little dull at first, is found to +contain the elements of pleasure more largely though more quietly +commingled. + +I return to my sermon for one more word: Natural desire gives you no +right to any particular woman: that comes with love only, and don't be +too ready to believe in love: there are many shams: the true love will +not allow you to reason about it. + +It is your fault if I appear so pulpiteering. + +Wishing you well in life and art, and that you may long be +young.--Believe me, yours truly, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + _[Edinburgh] Sunday [June 1882]._ + +... NOTE turned up, but no gray opuscule, which, however, will probably +turn up to-morrow in time to go out with me to Stobo Manse, +Peeblesshire, where, if you can make it out, you will be a good soul to +pay a visit. I shall write again about the opuscule; and about Stobo, +which I have not seen since I was thirteen, though my memory speaks +delightfully of it. + +I have been very tired and seedy, or I should have written before, +_inter alia_, to tell you that I had visited my murder place and found +_living traditions_ not yet in any printed book; most startling. I also +got photographs taken, but the negatives have not yet turned up. I lie +on the sofa to write this, whence the pencil; having slept yesterday--1 ++ 4 + 7-1/2 = 12-1/2 hours and being (9 A.M.) very anxious to sleep +again. The arms of Porpus, quoi! A poppy gules, etc. + +From Stobo you can conquer Peebles and Selkirk, or to give them their +old decent names, Tweeddale and Ettrick. Think of having been called +Tweeddale, and being called PEEBLES! Did I ever tell you my skit on my +own travel books? We understand that Mr. Stevenson has in the press +another volume of unconventional travels: _Personal Adventures in +Peeblesshire_. Je la trouve méchante.--Yours affectionately, + + R. L. S. + +Did I say I had seen a verse on two of the Buccaneers? I did, and +_ça-y-est_. + + + + +TO TREVOR HADDON + + + _17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh [June 1882]._ + +MY DEAR SIR,--I see nothing "cheekie" in anything you have done. Your +letters have naturally given me much pleasure, for it seems to me you +are a pretty good young fellow, as young fellows go; and if I add that +you remind me of myself, you need not accuse me of retrospective vanity. + +You now know an address which will always find me; you might let me have +your address in London; I do not promise anything--for I am always +overworked in London--but I shall, if I can arrange it, try to see you. + +I am afraid I am not so rigid on chastity: you are probably right in +your view; but this seems to me a dilemma with two horns, the real curse +of a man's life in our state of society--and a woman's too, although, +for many reasons, it appears somewhat differently with the enslaved sex. +By your "fate" I believe I meant your marriage, or that love at least +which may befall any one of us at the shortest notice and overthrow the +most settled habits and opinions. I call that your fate, because then, +if not before, you can no longer hang back, but must stride out into +life and act.--Believe me, yours sincerely, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + Mr. Gosse had mistaken the name of the Peeblesshire manse, and is + reproached accordingly. "Gray" is Mr. Gosse's volume on that poet in + Mr. Morley's series of _English Men of Letters_. + + _Stobo Manse, Peeblesshire [July 1882]._ + + I would shoot you, but I have no bow: + The place is not called Stobs, but Stobo. + As Gallic Kids complain of "Bobo," + I mourn for your mistake of Stobo. + +First, we shall be gone in September. But if you think of coming in +August, my mother will hunt for you with pleasure. We should all be +overjoyed--though Stobo it could not be, as it is but a kirk and manse, +but possibly somewhere within reach. Let us know. + +Second, I have read your Gray with care. A more difficult subject I can +scarce fancy; it is crushing; yet I think you have managed to shadow +forth a man, and a good man too; and honestly, I doubt if I could have +done the same. This may seem egoistic; but you are not such a fool as to +think so. It is the natural expression of real praise. The book as a +whole is readable; your subject peeps every here and there out of the +crannies like a shy violet--he could do no more--and his aroma hangs +there. + +I write to catch a minion of the post. Hence brevity. Answer about the +house.--Yours affectionately, + + R. L. S. + + + + +TO W. E. HENLEY + + + In the heat of conversation Stevenson was accustomed to invent any + number of fictitious personages, generally Scottish, and to give them + names and to set them playing their imaginary parts in life, + reputable or otherwise. Many of these inventions, including Mr. + Pirbright Smith and Mr. Pegfurth Bannatyne, were a kind of + incarnations of himself, or of special aspects of himself; they + assumed for him and his friends a kind of substantial existence; and + constantly in talk, and occasionally in writing, he would keep up the + play of reporting their sayings and doings quite gravely, as in the + following:-- + + [_Stobo Manse, July 1882._] + +DEAR HENLEY,... I am not worth an old damn. I am also crushed by bad +news of Symonds; his good lung going; I cannot help reading it as a +personal hint; God help us all! Really, I am not very fit for work; but +I try, try, and nothing comes of it. + +I believe we shall have to leave this place; it is low, damp, and +_mauchy_; the rain it raineth every day; and the glass goes +tol-de-rol-de-riddle. + +Yet it's a bonny bit; I wish I could live in it, but doubt. I wish I was +well away somewhere else. I feel like flight some days; honour bright. + +Pirbright Smith is well. Old Mr. Pegfurth Bannatyne is here staying at a +country inn. His whole baggage is a pair of socks and a book in a +fishing-basket; and he borrows even a rod from the landlord. He walked +here over the hills from Sanquhar, "singin'," he says, "like a mavis." I +naturally asked him about Hazlitt. "He wouldnae take his drink," he +said, "a queer, queer fellow." But did not seem further communicative. +He says he has become "releegious," but still swears like a trooper. I +asked him if he had no headquarters. "No likely," said he. He says he is +writing his memoirs, which will be interesting. He once met Borrow; they +boxed; "and Geordie," says the old man chuckling, "gave me the damnedest +hiding." Of Wordsworth he remarked, "He wasnae sound in the faith, sir, +and a milk-blooded, blue-spectacled bitch forbye. But his po'mes are +grand--there's no denying that." I asked him what his book was. "I +havenae mind," said he--that was his only book! On turning it out, I +found it was one of my own, and on showing it to him, he remembered it +at once. "O aye," he said, "I mind now. It's pretty bad; ye'll have to +do better than that, chieldy," and chuckled, chuckled. He is a strange +old figure, to be sure. He cannot endure Pirbright Smith--"a mere +æsthatic," he said. "Pooh!" "Fishin' and releegion--these are my +aysthatics," he wound up. + +I thought this would interest you, so scribbled it down. I still hope to +get more out of him about Hazlitt, though he utterly pooh-poohed the +idea of writing H.'s life. "Ma life now," he said, "there's been queer +things in _it_." He is seventy-nine! but may well last to a +hundred!--Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + [28] In San Francisco. + + [29] "The whole front of the house was lighted, and there were pipes + and fiddles, and as much dancing and deray within as used to be in + Sir Robert's house at Pace and Yule, and such high seasons."--See + _Wandering Willie's Tale_ in _Redgauntlet_, borrowed perhaps from + _Christ's Kirk of the Green_. + + [30] The Davoser Landwasser. + + [31] In architecture, a series of piles to defend the pier of a bridge. + + [32] The translator of Sophocles in Bohn's Classics. + + [33] Anne Killigrew. + + [34] Gentleman's library. + + [35] _i.e._ breathed in, inhaled: a rare but legitimate use of the + word. + + [36] _Parliament House._ + + [37] "He knew the rocks where angels haunt, + Upon the mountains visitant." + + Wordsworth's _Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle_. + + [38] Mr. Hamerton had been an unsuccessful candidate for the + Professorship of Fine Art at Edinburgh University. + + [39] The Chalet am Stein (or Chalet Buol) at Davos. + + [40] In the summer of 1870: see above, pp. 24-30, and the essay + _Memories of an Islet_ in _Memories and Portraits_. + + [41] From Landor's _Gebir_: the line refers to Napoleon Bonaparte. + + [42] The Editor's defence was in the following terms: "That which + you condemn is really the best story now appearing in the paper, and + the impress of an able writer is stamped on every paragraph of the + _Treasure Island_. You will probably share this opinion when you + have read a little more of it." + + [43] I struggle as hard as I know how against both, but a judicious + postcard would sometimes save me the expense of the second. + + + + +END OF VOL. XXIII. + + +PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - +Swanston Edition Vol. 23 (of 25), by Robert Louis Stevenson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF STEVENSON *** + +***** This file should be named 30894-8.txt or 30894-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/8/9/30894/ + +Produced by Marius Masi, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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