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diff --git a/old/rlsl110.txt b/old/rlsl110.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c37256b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rlsl110.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12644 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson +Volume 1 +#29 in our series by Robert Louis Stevenson + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson, Volume 1 +Scanned and proofed by David Price +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson - Volume 1 + + + + +CHAPTER I - STUDENT DAYS AT EDINBURGH, TRAVELS AND EXCURSIONS, +1868-1873 + + + + +Letter: 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 ecrit ce lettre. Ma +grande gatteaux est arrive il leve 12 livres et demi le prix etait +17 shillings. Sur la soiree 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'll 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. + + + +Letter: 2 SULYARDE 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +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 EMEUTE 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. + + + +Letter: 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, 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +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 ECLAT; 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +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 R.'s. 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 Cummie +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 M- if he's disengaged, to the +R.'s 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 caetera, 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 personae: pere R., amusing, long-winded, in many points +like papa; mere R., nice, delicate, likes hymns, knew Aunt Margaret +('t'ould man knew Uncle Alan); fille R., nommee 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 +R., 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.' CEST LA MERE 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. S. 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. S. +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. + + +C D ++------------------- +| +| ++------------------- + \ + A\ + \ + B\ + + +C D is the new pier. + +A the schooner ashore. B the salmon house. + +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. + +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 spales 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., +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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. CHURCHILL BABINGTON + + + +[SWANSTON COTTAGE, LOTHIANBURN, SUMMER 1871.] + +MY DEAR MAUD, - If you have forgotten the hand-writing - 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. + + + +Letter: TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO 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 +lifting 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. + + + +Letter: TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +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 Gruyere cheese. + +We had a very good passage, which we certainly deserved, in +compensation for having to sleep on 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. + + + +Letter: 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 cafe, or at least the German +substitute for a cafe; 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. + + + +Letter: 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 APROPOS 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 +SCHOTTLANDER 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. + + +'MEITZ HERZ IST IM HOCHLAND, MEAN HERZ IST NICHT HIER, +MEIN HERZ IST IM HOCHLAND IM GRUNEN REVIER. +IM GRUNEN 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 PIECE-DE-RESISTANCE 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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 GALERE, 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-CHAUSSEE: 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). + + + +Letter: TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + +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 a 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. + + + + +CHAPTER II - STUDENT DAYS - ORDERED SOUTH, SEPTEMBER 1873-JULY 1875 + + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +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 +DEBRIS 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. + + + +Letter: 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 +tumbledown 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 HEBETE, 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. + +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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +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 +ADELAIDE. I have so perfect an idea out of that song! The great +Alps, a wonder in the starlight - the river, strong from the hills, +and turbulent, and loudly audible at night - the country, a scented +FRUHLINGSGARTEN 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 pounds) 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. We went up the stream a little further +to where two Covenanters lie buried in an oakwood; 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. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: 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 +MEDECINS 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. + +II. - 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, +and 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +MENTONE, NOVEMBER 13, 1873. + +MY DEAR MOTHER, - The PLACE is not where I thought; it is about +where the old Post Office was. The Hotel de Londres is no more an +hotel. I have found a charming room in the Hotel 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 St. 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 'Chateau 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +MENTONE, SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 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 VIA 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! + +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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +HOTEL MIRABEAU, MENTONE, 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 DEJEUNER 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +MENTONE, 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 MADCHEN; which word she repeated +with shrill emphasis, as though fearing that her proposition would +be called in question - MADCHEN, MADCHEN, MADCHEN, MADCHEN. 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 (aet. 8) and +May Johnstone (aet. 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; he has left clothes in pawn to me. - Ever your +affectionate son, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +MENTONE, 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 Nelly 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +[MENTONE, 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. VOILA, MADAME, LE MENU. COMMENT LE TROUVEZ- +VOUS? IL Y A DE LA BONNE VIANDO, SI ON PARVIENT A LA CUIRE +CONVENABLEMENT. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +[MENTONE, 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +[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 pounds +a year - I only asked for 80 pounds 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + +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. + +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 files 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. - Ever your faithful +friend, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +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 facades. + +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 litterature (which word, note +here, I do not spell correctly). Good-night, and here's the +verger's health! + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +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 maccaroni with oil: DO, PLEASE. It's BEASTLY +with butter. - Ever your faithful friend, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: 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 Guerin 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +17 HERIOT ROAD, EDINBURGH [JANUARY 1875]. + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I have worked too hard; I have given myself one +day of rest, and that was not enough; 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, Coppee, 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +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 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +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 EBOULEMENT. + +J'Y PARVIENDRAI, NOM DE NOM DE NOM! But it's a long look forward. +- Ever yours, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +17 HERIOT ROW, EDINBURGH, SUNDAY [APRIL 1875]. + +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. + + + +Letter: 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? 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 +coamplicated.' - Ever your faithful + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +[EDINBURGH, SATURDAY, APRIL 1875.] + +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. - A 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; MAIL 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. + + +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. + +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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +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 POEME 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 grave-stones. 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. + + + + +CHAPTER III - ADVOCATE AND AUTHOR, EDINBURGH - PARIS - +FONTAINEBLEAU, JULY 1875-JULY 1879 + + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +CHATEAU 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +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 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 500,00 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 BOSSELIN, all sorts of +rubbish, APROPOS of BURNS, COMMINES, JUVENAL 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 BERANGER, 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. + + + +Letter: TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + +[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 ghaist 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 oor thrapples. + + + +Letter: 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 boson, 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. DE MATTOS + + + +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 REUSSI, 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 PATE 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. + + + +Letter: 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 BOSS, HELAS! + +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 ECLAT 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +[SWANSTON COTTAGE, LOTHIANBURN, 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'Orleans.' About fifteen CORNHILL pages have +already coule'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 pounds, +5s, for it, which has mollified me horrid. 5 pounds, 5s. is a good +deal to pay for a read of it in MS.; I can't complain. - Yours, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +[SWANSTON COTTAGE, LOTHIANBURN, JULY 1876.] + +. . . 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, 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 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +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 +ready: '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! 'THE HAIR TRUNK; OR, THE IDEAL COMMONWEALTH.' 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. + + + +Letter: 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 +Maletroit'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 apropos 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +[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 Maletroit'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 SAINTRE, 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 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. + + + +Letter: TO A. PATCHETT MARTIN + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: 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 Mowbray - 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 Maletroit'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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +HOTEL DES ETRANGERS, 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +HOTEL DU VAL DE GRACE, 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +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! + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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 Gevaudan. Modestine is my anesse; 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +OCTOBER 1878. + +MY DEAR MOTHER, - I have seen Hamerton; he was very kind, all his +family seemed pleased to see an INLAND VOYAGE, 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 Cafe +Felix, 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +[17 HERIOT ROW, 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +17 HERIOT ROW, 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 DENOUEMENT, 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. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +SWANSTON, LOTHIANBURN, EDINBURGH, JULY 24, 1879. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - I have greatly enjoyed your articles 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 CYCLOPAEDIA. Glescow: Blaikie & Bannock. + +Remember me in suitable fashion to Mrs. Gosse, the offspring, and +the cat. - And believe me ever yours, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +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 off 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, who 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. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV - THE AMATEUR EMIGRANT, MONTEREY AND SAN FRANCISCO, JULY +1879-JULY 1880 + + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +ON BOARD SS. '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, tomorrow: +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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +MONTEREY, DITTO CO., CALIFORNIA, 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 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA, SEPTEMBER 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, 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. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +MONTEREY, MONTEREY CO., CALIFORNIA, 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 frontiers-man, 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 A MESURE of +their apparition, 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA, 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA, 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.; (2) a paper with +the announcement of second edition; and (3) the announcement of the +essays in ATHENAEUM. 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 burthen 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 Francois the +baker, perhaps an Italian fisherman, perhaps Augustin Dutra, and +Simoneau himself. Simoneau, Francois, 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. + + + +Letter: TO P. G. HAMERTON + + + +MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA [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. . . . + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA, 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 and a half +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 Hadsel'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. + + + +Letter: 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 CA? 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 reaux; 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. + + + +Letter: To EDMUND GOSSE + + + +MONTEREY, MONTEREY CO., CALIFORNIA, 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +608 BUSH STREET, SAN FRANCISCO [DECEMBER 26, 1879]. + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I am now writing to you in a cafe 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 . . . +. + +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, +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. + + + +Letter: 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 waxcloth, 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 pounds, 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 inkbottle. 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 pounds, 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 pounds; if I can do that, I +can swim: last year, with my ill health I touched only 109 pounds, +that would not do, I could not fight it through on that; but on 200 +pounds, 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. + + + +Letter: 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 and a half d. 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +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 +DENOUEMENT 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 +Grunwald; 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 Z. +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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +SAN FRANCISCO, CAL., 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 pinewoods, +3000 feet, sir, from the disputatious sea. - I am, dear Weg, most +truly yours, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO DR. W. BAMFORD + + + +[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 me. - I am, my dear sir, gratefully yours, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: TO C. W. STODDARD + + + +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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + + +CHAPTER V - ALPINE WINTERS AND HIGHLAND SUMMERS, AUGUST 1880- +OCTOBER 1882 + + + + +Letter: TO A. G. DEW-SMITH + + + +[HOTEL BELVEDERE, DAVOS, NOVEMBER 1880.] + +Figure me to yourself, I pray - +A man of my peculiar cut - +Apart from dancing and deray, +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 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 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. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +HOTEL BELVEDERE, DAVOS PLATZ [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, 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: TO CHARLES WARREN STODDARD + + + +HOTEL BELVEDERE, DAVOS PLATZ, SWITZERLAND [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. 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. + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +DECEMBER 21, 1880. DAVOS. + +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 +then; 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 pounds 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +[HOTEL BELVEDERE, DAVOS, Christmas 1880.] + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Thanks for yours; I waited, as 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +CHRISTMAS SERMON. +[HOTEL BELVEDERE, DAVOS, DECEMBER 26, 1880.] + +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 +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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +[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, A 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! 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. + + + +Letter: TO HORATIO F. BROWN + + + +DAVOS, 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. + + + +Letter: TO HORATIO F. BROWN + + + +DAVOS, 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. + + + +Letter: TO HORATIO F. BROWN + + + +HOTEL BELVEDERE, DAVOS, SPRING 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, 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. + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +PITLOCHRY, PERTHSHIRE, 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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +KINNAIRD COTTAGE, PITLOCHRY, PERTHSHIRE, 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 A Letter.' I believe I shall recover; and I am, in this +blessed hope, yours exuberantly, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO PROFESSOR AENEAS MACKAY + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO PROFESSOR AENEAS MACKAY + + + +KINNAIRD COTTAGE, PITLOCHRY, PERTHSHIRE [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 (1ST) that no overt steps can be taken till your +resignation is accepted; and (2ND) 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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. 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 Saone; 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 Saone. + +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: 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. + + + +Letter: 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 pounds and its light work, would make me. + +It looks as if we should take Cater's chalet 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. } + + + +Letter: 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, Santma Trinid - 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; 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 Athenaeum 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? + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +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 snake 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. + + + +Letter: TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP + + + +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. + + + +Letter: 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 I 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +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 parient 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. + + + +Letter: TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP + + + +BRAEMAR, 1881. + +MY DEAR DR. JAPP, - My father has gone, but I think 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +BRAEMAR, SEPTEMBER 1881. + +MY DEAR HENLEY, - Thanks for your last. The 100 pounds fell +through, or dwindled at least into somewhere about 30 pounds. +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 pounds, 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.' (13) 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 pounds, 10s. So we've 12 pounds, 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. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +[CHALET AM STEIN, DAVOS, AUTUMN 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. + + + +Letter: TO P. G. HAMERTON + + + +CHALET AM STEIN, DAVOS, AUTUMN [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 CONFRERES 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. + + + +Letter: TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + +[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 blight 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. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +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 Prattigau. 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 rheumatic; 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. + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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 sometime 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[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 over-done, 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. + + + +Letter: TO ALEXANDER IRELAND + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE. + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP + + + +[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. + + + +Letter: TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP + + + +CHALET BUOL, 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; 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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[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 sometime - 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 MONSTRUOSITES. 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 exaNIMation I may call it, had this brave result. TAIAUT! +Hillo! Hey! Stand by! Avast! Hurrah! + + + +Letter: 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. + + + +Letter: 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 yesterdays - 1+4+7.5 = 12.5 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 +MECHANTE. - Yours affectionately, + +R. L. S. + +- Did I say I had seen a verse on two of the Buccaneers? I did, +and CA-Y-EST. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +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. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[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 aesthAtic,' 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. + + + + +CHAPTER VI - MARSEILLES AND HYERES, OCTOBER 1882-AUGUST 1884 + + + + +Letter: TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'NEW YORK TRIBUNE' + + + +TERMINUS HOTEL, MARSEILLES, OCTOBER 16, 1882. + +SIR, - It has come to my ears that you have lent the authority of +your columns to an error. + +More than half in pleasantry - and I now think the pleasantry ill- +judged - I complained in a note to my NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS that some +one, who shall remain nameless for me, had borrowed the idea of a +story from one of mine. As if I had not borrowed the ideas of the +half of my own! As if any one who had written a story ill had a +right to complain of any other who should have written it better! +I am indeed thoroughly ashamed of the note, and of the principle +which it implies. + +But it is no mere abstract penitence which leads me to beg a corner +of your paper - it is the desire to defend the honour of a man of +letters equally known in America and England, of a man who could +afford to lend to me and yet be none the poorer; and who, if he +would so far condescend, has my free permission to borrow from me +all that he can find worth borrowing. + +Indeed, sir, I am doubly surprised at your correspondent's error. +That James Payn should have borrowed from me is already a strange +conception. The author of LOST SIR MASSINGBERD and BY PROXY may be +trusted to invent his own stories. The author of A GRAPE FROM A +THORN knows enough, in his own right, of the humorous and pathetic +sides of human nature. + +But what is far more monstrous - what argues total ignorance of the +man in question - is the idea that James Payn could ever have +transgressed the limits of professional propriety. I may tell his +thousands of readers on your side of the Atlantic that there +breathes no man of letters more inspired by kindness and generosity +to his brethren of the profession, and, to put an end to any +possibility of error, I may be allowed to add that I often have +recourse, and that I had recourse once more but a few weeks ago, to +the valuable practical help which he makes it his pleasure to +extend to younger men. + +I send a duplicate of this letter to a London weekly; for the +mistake, first set forth in your columns, has already reached +England, and my wanderings have made me perhaps last of the persons +interested to hear a word of it. - I am, etc., + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO R. A. M. STEVENSON + + + +TERMINUS HOTEL, MARSEILLE, SATURDAY (OCTOBER 1882). + +MY DEAR BOB, - We have found a house! - at Saint Marcel, Banlieue +de Marseille. In a lovely valley between hills part wooded, part +white cliffs; a house of a dining-room, of a fine salon - one side +lined with a long divan - three good bedrooms (two of them with +dressing-rooms), three small rooms (chambers of BONNE and sich), a +large kitchen, a lumber room, many cupboards, a back court, a +large, large olive yard, cultivated by a resident PAYSAN, a well, a +berceau, a good deal of rockery, a little pine shrubbery, a railway +station in front, two lines of omnibus to Marseille. + +48 pounds per annum. + +It is called Campagne Defli! query Campagne Debug? The Campagne +Demosquito goes on here nightly, and is very deadly. Ere we can +get installed, we shall be beggared to the door, I see. + +I vote for separations; F.'s arrival here, after our separation, +was better fun to me than being married was by far. A separation +completed is a most valuable property; worth piles. - Ever your +affectionate cousin, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +TERMINUS HOTEL, MARSEILLE, LE 17TH OCTOBER 1882. + +MY DEAR FATHER, - . . We grow, every time we see it, more +delighted with our house. It is five miles out of Marseilles, in a +lovely spot, among lovely wooded and cliffy hills - most +mountainous in line - far lovelier, to my eyes, than any Alps. To- +day we have been out inventorying; and though a mistral blew, it +was delightful in an open cab, and our house with the windows open +was heavenly, soft, dry, sunny, southern. I fear there are fleas - +it is called Campagne Defli - and I look forward to tons of +insecticide being employed. + +I have had to write a letter to the NEW YORK TRIBUNE and the +ATHENAEUM. Payn was accused of stealing my stories! I think I +have put things handsomely for him. + +Just got a servant! ! ! - Ever affectionate son, + +R. L. STEVENSON. + +Our servant is a Muckle Hash of a Weedy! + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +CAMPAGNE DEFLI, ST. MARCEL, BANLIEUE DE MARSEILLE, NOVEMBER 13, +1882. + +MY DEAR MOTHER, - Your delightful letters duly arrived this +morning. They were the only good feature of the day, which was not +a success. Fanny was in bed - she begged I would not split upon +her, she felt so guilty; but as I believe she is better this +evening, and has a good chance to be right again in a day or two, I +will disregard her orders. I do not go back, but do not go forward +- or not much. It is, in one way, miserable - for I can do no +work; a very little wood-cutting, the newspapers, and a note about +every two days to write, completely exhausts my surplus energy; +even Patience I have to cultivate with parsimony. I see, if I +could only get to work, that we could live here with comfort, +almost with luxury. Even as it is, we should be able to get +through a considerable time of idleness. I like the place +immensely, though I have seen so little of it - I have only been +once outside the gate since I was here! It puts me in mind of a +summer at Prestonpans and a sickly child you once told me of. + +Thirty-two years now finished! My twenty-ninth was in San +Francisco, I remember - rather a bleak birthday. The twenty-eighth +was not much better; but the rest have been usually pleasant days +in pleasant circumstances. + +Love to you and to my father and to Cummy. + +From me and Fanny and Wogg. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + +GRAND HOTEL, NICE, 12TH JANUARY '83. + +DEAR CHARLES, - Thanks for your good letter. It is true, man, +God's truth, what ye say about the body Stevison. The deil himsel, +it's my belief, couldnae get the soul harled oot o' the creature's +wame, or he had seen the hinder end o' they proofs. Ye crack o' +Maecenas, he's naebody by you! He gied the lad Horace a rax forrit +by all accounts; but he never gied him proofs like yon. Horace may +hae been a better hand at the clink than Stevison - mind, I'm no +sayin' 't - but onyway he was never sae weel prentit. Damned, but +it's bonny! Hoo mony pages will there be, think ye? Stevison maun +hae sent ye the feck o' twenty sangs - fifteen I'se warrant. Weel, +that'll can make thretty pages, gin ye were to prent on ae side +only, whilk wad be perhaps what a man o' your GREAT idees would be +ettlin' at, man Johnson. Then there wad be the Pre-face, an' prose +ye ken prents oot langer than po'try at the hinder end, for ye hae +to say things in't. An' then there'll be a title-page and a +dedication and an index wi' the first lines like, and the deil an' +a'. Man, it'll be grand. Nae copies to be given to the Liberys. + +I am alane myself, in Nice, they ca't, but damned, I think they +micht as well ca't Nesty. The Pile-on, 's they ca't, 's aboot as +big as the river Tay at Perth; and it's rainin' maist like +Greenock. Dod, I've seen 's had mair o' what they ca' the I-talian +at Muttonhole. I-talian! I haenae seen the sun for eicht and +forty hours. Thomson's better, I believe. But the body's fair +attenyated. He's doon to seeven stane eleeven, an' he sooks awa' +at cod liver ile, till it's a fair disgrace. Ye see he tak's it on +a drap brandy; and it's my belief, it's just an excuse for a dram. +He an' Stevison gang aboot their lane, maistly; they're company to +either, like, an' whiles they'll speak o'Johnson. But HE'S far +awa', losh me! Stevison's last book's in a third edeetion; an' +it's bein' translated (like the psaulms o' David, nae less) into +French; and an eediot they ca' Asher - a kind o' rival of Tauchnitz +- is bringin' him oot in a paper book for the Frenchies and the +German folk in twa volumes. Sae he's in luck, ye see. - Yours, + +THOMSON. + + + +Letter: TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM + + + +[NICE FEBRUARY 1883.] + +MY DEAR CUMMY, - You must think, and quite justly, that I am one of +the meanest rogues in creation. But though I do not write (which +is a thing I hate), it by no means follows that people are out of +my mind. It is natural that I should always think more or less +about you, and still more natural that I should think of you when I +went back to Nice. But the real reason why you have been more in +my mind than usual is because of some little verses that I have +been writing, and that I mean to make a book of; and the real +reason of this letter (although I ought to have written to you +anyway) is that I have just seen that the book in question must be +dedicated to + +ALISON CUNNINGHAM, + +the only person who will really understand it. I don't know when +it may be ready, for it has to be illustrated, but I hope in the +meantime you may like the idea of what is to be; and when the time +comes, I shall try to make the dedication as pretty as I can make +it. Of course, this is only a flourish, like taking off one's hat; +but still, a person who has taken the trouble to write things does +not dedicate them to any one without meaning it; and you must just +try to take this dedication in place of a great many things that I +might have said, and that I ought to have done, to prove that I am +not altogether unconscious of the great debt of gratitude I owe +you. This little book, which is all about my childhood, should +indeed go to no other person but you, who did so much to make that +childhood happy. + +Do you know, we came very near sending for you this winter. If we +had not had news that you were ill too, I almost believe we should +have done so, we were so much in trouble. + +I am now very well; but my wife has had a very, very bad spell, +through overwork and anxiety, when I was LOST! I suppose you heard +of that. She sends you her love, and hopes you will write to her, +though she no more than I deserves it. She would add a word +herself, but she is too played out. - I am, ever your old boy, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[NICE, MARCH 1883.] + +MY DEAR LAD, - This is to announce to you the MS. of Nursery +Verses, now numbering XLVIII. pieces or 599 verses, which, of +course, one might augment AD INFINITUM. + +But here is my notion to make all clear. + +I do not want a big ugly quarto; my soul sickens at the look of a +quarto. I want a refined octavo, not large - not LARGER than the +DONKEY BOOK, at any price. + +I think the full page might hold four verses of four lines, that is +to say, counting their blanks at two, of twenty-two lines in +height. The first page of each number would only hold two verses +or ten lines, the title being low down. At this rate, we should +have seventy-eight or eighty pages of letterpress. + +The designs should not be in the text, but facing the poem; so that +if the artist liked, he might give two pages of design to every +poem that turned the leaf, I.E. longer than eight lines, I.E. to +twenty-eight out of the forty-six. I should say he would not use +this privilege (?) above five times, and some he might scorn to +illustrate at all, so we may say fifty drawings. I shall come to +the drawings next. + +But now you see my book of the thickness, since the drawings count +two pages, of 180 pages; and since the paper will perhaps be +thicker, of near two hundred by bulk. It is bound in a quiet green +with the words in thin gilt. Its shape is a slender, tall octavo. +And it sells for the publisher's fancy, and it will be a darling to +look at; in short, it would be like one of the original Heine books +in type and spacing. + +Now for the pictures. I take another sheet and begin to jot notes +for them when my imagination serves: I will run through the book, +writing when I have an idea. There, I have jotted enough to give +the artist a notion. Of course, I don't do more than contribute +ideas, but I will be happy to help in any and every way. I may as +well add another idea; when the artist finds nothing much to +illustrate, a good drawing of any OBJECT mentioned in the text, +were it only a loaf of bread or a candlestick, is a most delightful +thing to a young child. I remember this keenly. + +Of course, if the artist insists on a larger form, I must I +suppose, bow my head. But my idea I am convinced is the best, and +would make the book truly, not fashionably pretty. + +I forgot to mention that I shall have a dedication; I am going to +dedicate 'em to Cummy; it will please her, and lighten a little my +burthen of ingratitude. A low affair is the Muse business. + +I will add no more to this lest you should want to communicate with +the artist; try another sheet. I wonder how many I'll keep +wandering to. + +O I forgot. As for the title, I think 'Nursery Verses' the best. +Poetry is not the strong point of the text, and I shrink from any +title that might seem to claim that quality; otherwise we might +have 'Nursery Muses' or 'New Songs of Innocence' (but that were a +blasphemy), or 'Rimes of Innocence': the last not bad, or - an +idea - 'The Jews' Harp,' or - now I have it - 'The Penny Whistle.' + + +THE PENNY WHISTLE: +NURSERY VERSES +BY +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. +ILLUSTRATED BY - - - + + +And here we have an excellent frontispiece, of a party playing on a +P. W. to a little ring of dancing children. + + +THE PENNY WHISTLE +is the name for me. + + +Fool! this is all wrong, here is the true name:- + + +PENNY WHISTLES +FOR SMALL WHISTLERS. + + +The second title is queried, it is perhaps better, as simply PENNY +WHISTLES. + + +Nor you, O Penny Whistler, grudge +That I your instrument debase: +By worse performers still we judge, +And give that fife a second place! + +Crossed penny whistles on the cover, or else a sheaf of 'em. + + +SUGGESTIONS. + + +IV. The procession - the child running behind it. The procession +tailing off through the gates of a cloudy city. + +IX. FOREIGN LANDS. - This will, I think, want two plates - the +child climbing, his first glimpse over the garden wall, with what +he sees - the tree shooting higher and higher like the beanstalk, +and the view widening. The river slipping in. The road arriving +in Fairyland. + +X. WINDY NIGHTS. - The child in bed listening - the horseman +galloping. + +XII. The child helplessly watching his ship - then he gets smaller, +and the doll joyfully comes alive - the pair landing on the island +- the ship's deck with the doll steering and the child firing the +penny canon. Query two plates? The doll should never come +properly alive. + +XV. Building of the ship - storing her - Navigation - Tom's +accident, the other child paying no attention. + +XXXI. THE WIND. - I sent you my notion of already. + +XXXVII. FOREIGN CHILDREN. - The foreign types dancing in a jing-a- +ring, with the English child pushing in the middle. The foreign +children looking at and showing each other marvels. The English +child at the leeside of a roast of beef. The English child sitting +thinking with his picture-books all round him, and the jing-a-ring +of the foreign children in miniature dancing over the picture- +books. + +XXXIX. Dear artist, can you do me that? + +XLII. The child being started off - the bed sailing, curtains and +all, upon the sea - the child waking and finding himself at home; +the corner of toilette might be worked in to look like the pier. + +XLVII. The lighted part of the room, to be carefully distinguished +from my child's dark hunting grounds. A shaded lamp. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +HOTEL DES ILES D'OR, HYERES, VAR, MARCH 2, [1883]. + +MY DEAR MOTHER, - It must be at least a fortnight since we have had +a scratch of a pen from you; and if it had not been for Cummy's +letter, I should have feared you were worse again: as it is, I +hope we shall hear from you to-day or to-morrow at latest. + +HEALTH. + +Our news is good: Fanny never got so bad as we feared, and we hope +now that this attack may pass off in threatenings. I am greatly +better, have gained flesh, strength, spirits; eat well, walk a good +deal, and do some work without fatigue. I am off the sick list. + +LODGING. + +We have found a house up the hill, close to the town, an excellent +place though very, very little. If I can get the landlord to agree +to let us take it by the month just now, and let our month's rent +count for the year in case we take it on, you may expect to hear we +are again installed, and to receive a letter dated thus:- + + +La Solitude, +Hyeres-les-Palmiers, +Var. + + +If the man won't agree to that, of course I must just give it up, +as the house would be dear enough anyway at 2000 f. However, I +hope we may get it, as it is healthy, cheerful, and close to shops, +and society, and civilisation. The garden, which is above, is +lovely, and will be cool in summer. There are two rooms below with +a kitchen, and four rooms above, all told. - Ever your affectionate +son, + +R. L. STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +HOTEL DES ILES D'OR, BUT MY ADDRESS WILL BE CHALET LA SOLITUDE, +HYERES-LE-PALMIERS, VAR, FRANCE, MARCH 17, 1883. + +DEAR SIR, - Your undated favour from Eastbourne came to hand in +course of post, and I now hasten to acknowledge its receipt. We +must ask you in future, for the convenience of our business +arrangements, to struggle with and tread below your feet this most +unsatisfactory and uncommercial habit. Our Mr. Cassandra is +better; our Mr. Wogg expresses himself dissatisfied with our new +place of business; when left alone in the front shop, he bawled +like a parrot; it is supposed the offices are haunted. + +To turn to the matter of your letter, your remarks on GREAT +EXPECTATIONS are very good. We have both re-read it this winter, +and I, in a manner, twice. The object being a play; the play, in +its rough outline, I now see: and it is extraordinary how much of +Dickens had to be discarded as unhuman, impossible, and +ineffective: all that really remains is the loan of a file (but +from a grown-up young man who knows what he was doing, and to a +convict who, although he does not know it is his father - the +father knows it is his son), and the fact of the convict-father's +return and disclosure of himself to the son whom he has made rich. +Everything else has been thrown aside; and the position has had to +be explained by a prologue which is pretty strong. I have great +hopes of this piece, which is very amiable and, in places, very +strong indeed: but it was curious how Dickens had to be rolled +away; he had made his story turn on such improbabilities, such +fantastic trifles, not on a good human basis, such as I recognised. +You are right about the casts, they were a capital idea; a good +description of them at first, and then afterwards, say second, for +the lawyer to have illustrated points out of the history of the +originals, dusting the particular bust - that was all the +development the thing would bear. Dickens killed them. The only +really well EXECUTED scenes are the riverside ones; the escape in +particular is excellent; and I may add, the capture of the two +convicts at the beginning. Miss Havisham is, probably, the worst +thing in human fiction. But Wemmick I like; and I like Trabb's +boy; and Mr. Wopsle as Hamlet is splendid. + +The weather here is greatly improved, and I hope in three days to +be in the chalet. That is, if I get some money to float me there. + +I hope you are all right again, and will keep better. The month of +March is past its mid career; it must soon begin to turn toward the +lamb; here it has already begun to do so; and I hope milder weather +will pick you up. Wogg has eaten a forpet of rice and milk, his +beard is streaming, his eyes wild. I am besieged by demands of +work from America. + +The 50 pounds has just arrived; many thanks; I am now at ease. - +Ever your affectionate son, PRO Cassandra, Wogg and Co., + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL + + + +CHALET LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, [APRIL 1883]. + +MY DEAR FRIEND, - I am one of the lowest of the - but that's +understood. I received the copy, excellently written, with I think +only one slip from first to last. I have struck out two, and added +five or six; so they now number forty-five; when they are fifty, +they shall out on the world. I have not written a letter for a +cruel time; I have been, and am, so busy, drafting a long story +(for me, I mean), about a hundred CORNHILL pages, or say about as +long as the Donkey book: PRINCE OTTO it is called, and is, at the +present hour, a sore burthen but a hopeful. If I had him all +drafted, I should whistle and sing. But no: then I'll have to +rewrite him; and then there will be the publishers, alas! But some +time or other, I shall whistle and sing, I make no doubt. + +I am going to make a fortune, it has not yet begun, for I am not +yet clear of debt; but as soon as I can, I begin upon the fortune. +I shall begin it with a halfpenny, and it shall end with horses and +yachts and all the fun of the fair. This is the first real grey +hair in my character: rapacity has begun to show, the greed of the +protuberant guttler. Well, doubtless, when the hour strikes, we +must all guttle and protube. But it comes hard on one who was +always so willow-slender and as careless as the daisies. + +Truly I am in excellent spirits. I have crushed through a +financial crisis; Fanny is much better; I am in excellent health, +and work from four to five hours a day - from one to two above my +average, that is; and we all dwell together and make fortunes in +the loveliest house you ever saw, with a garden like a fairy story, +and a view like a classical landscape. + +Little? Well, it is not large. And when you come to see us, you +will probably have to bed at the hotel, which is hard by. But it +is Eden, madam, Eden and Beulah and the Delectable Mountains and +Eldorado and the Hesperidean Isles and Bimini. + +We both look forward, my dear friend, with the greatest eagerness +to have you here. It seems it is not to be this season; but I +appoint you with an appointment for next season. You cannot see us +else: remember that. Till my health has grown solid like an oak- +tree, till my fortune begins really to spread its boughs like the +same monarch of the woods (and the acorn, ay de mi! is not yet +planted), I expect to be a prisoner among the palms. + +Yes, it is like old times to be writing you from the Riviera, and +after all that has come and gone who can predict anything? How +fortune tumbles men about! Yet I have not found that they change +their friends, thank God. + +Both of our loves to your sister and yourself. As for me, if I am +here and happy, I know to whom I owe it; I know who made my way for +me in life, if that were all, and I remain, with love, your +faithful friend, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +CHALET LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, [APRIL 1883]. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - I am very guilty; I should have written to you +long ago; and now, though it must be done, I am so stupid that I +can only boldly recapitulate. A phrase of three members is the +outside of my syntax. + +First, I liked the ROVER better than any of your other verse. I +believe you are right, and can make stories in verse. The last two +stanzas and one or two in the beginning - but the two last above +all - I thought excellent. I suggest a pursuit of the vein. If +you want a good story to treat, get the MEMOIRS OF THE CHEVALIER +JOHNSTONE, and do his passage of the Tay; it would be excellent: +the dinner in the field, the woman he has to follow, the dragoons, +the timid boatmen, the brave lasses. It would go like a charm; +look at it, and you will say you owe me one. + +Second, Gilder asking me for fiction, I suddenly took a great +resolve, and have packed off to him my new work, THE SILVERADO +SQUATTERS. I do not for a moment suppose he will take it; but pray +say all the good words you can for it. I should be awfully glad to +get it taken. But if it does not mean dibbs at once, I shall be +ruined for life. Pray write soon and beg Gilder your prettiest for +a poor gentleman in pecuniary sloughs. + +Fourth, next time I am supposed to be at death's door, write to me +like a Christian, and let not your correspondence attend on +business. - Yours ever, + +R. L. S. + +P.S. - I see I have led you to conceive the SQUATTERS are fiction. +They are not, alas! + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +CHALET SOLITUDE, MAY 5, [1883]. + +MY DEAREST PEOPLE, - I have had a great piece of news. There has +been offered for TREASURE ISLAND - how much do you suppose? I +believe it would be an excellent jest to keep the answer till my +next letter. For two cents I would do so. Shall I? Anyway, I'll +turn the page first. No - well - A hundred pounds, all alive, O! +A hundred jingling, tingling, golden, minted quid. Is not this +wonderful? Add that I have now finished, in draft, the fifteenth +chapter of my novel, and have only five before me, and you will see +what cause of gratitude I have. + +The weather, to look at the per contra sheet, continues vomitable; +and Fanny is quite out of sorts. But, really, with such cause of +gladness, I have not the heart to be dispirited by anything. My +child's verse book is finished, dedication and all, and out of my +hands - you may tell Cummy; SILVERADO is done, too, and cast upon +the waters; and this novel so near completion, it does look as if I +should support myself without trouble in the future. If I have +only health, I can, I thank God. It is dreadful to be a great, big +man, and not be able to buy bread. + +O that this may last! + +I have to-day paid my rent for the half year, till the middle of +September, and got my lease: why they have been so long, I know +not. + +I wish you all sorts of good things. + +When is our marriage day? - Your loving and ecstatic son, + +TREESURE EILAAN, + +It has been for me a Treasure Island verily. + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, MAY 8, 1883. + +MY DEAR PEOPLE, - I was disgusted to hear my father was not so +well. I have a most troubled existence of work and business. But +the work goes well, which is the great affair. I meant to have +written a most delightful letter; too tired, however, and must +stop. Perhaps I'll find time to add to it ere post. + +I have returned refreshed from eating, but have little time, as +Lloyd will go soon with the letters on his way to his tutor, Louis +Robert (!!!!), with whom he learns Latin in French, and French, I +suppose, in Latin, which seems to me a capital education. He, +Lloyd, is a great bicycler already, and has been long distances; he +is most new-fangled over his instrument, and does not willingly +converse on other subjects. + +Our lovely garden is a prey to snails; I have gathered about a +bushel, which, not having the heart to slay, I steal forth withal +and deposit near my neighbour's garden wall. As a case of +casuistry, this presents many points of interest. I loathe the +snails, but from loathing to actual butchery, trucidation of +multitudes, there is still a step that I hesitate to take. What, +then, to do with them? My neighbour's vineyard, pardy! It is a +rich, villa, pleasure-garden of course; if it were a peasant's +patch, the snails, I suppose, would have to perish. + +The weather these last three days has been much better, though it +is still windy and unkind. I keep splendidly well, and am cruelly +busy, with mighty little time even for a walk. And to write at +all, under such pressure, must be held to lean to virtue's side. + +My financial prospects are shining. O if the health will hold, I +should easily support myself. - Your ever affectionate son, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, [MAY 20, 1883]. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - I enclose the receipt and the corrections. As for +your letter and Gilder's, I must take an hour or so to think; the +matter much importing - to me. The 40 pounds was a heavenly thing. + +I send the MS. by Henley, because he acts for me in all matters, +and had the thing, like all my other books, in his detention. He +is my unpaid agent - an admirable arrangement for me, and one that +has rather more than doubled my income on the spot. + +If I have been long silent, think how long you were so and blush, +sir, blush. + +I was rendered unwell by the arrival of your cheque, and, like +Pepys, 'my hand still shakes to write of it.' To this grateful +emotion, and not to D.T., please attribute the raggedness of my +hand. + +This year I should be able to live and keep my family on my own +earnings, and that in spite of eight months and more of perfect +idleness at the end of last and beginning of this. It is a sweet +thought. + +This spot, our garden and our view, are sub-celestial. I sing +daily with my Bunyan, that great bard, + + +'I dwell already the next door to Heaven!' + + +If you could see my roses, and my aloes, and my fig-marigolds, and +my olives, and my view over a plain, and my view of certain +mountains as graceful as Apollo, as severe as Zeus, you would not +think the phrase exaggerated. + +It is blowing to-day a HOT mistral, which is the devil or a near +connection of his. + +This to catch the post. - Yours affectionately, + +R. L. STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, FRANCE, MAY 21, 1883. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - The night giveth advice, generally bad advice; but +I have taken it. And I have written direct to Gilder to tell him +to keep the book back and go on with it in November at his leisure. +I do not know if this will come in time; if it doesn't, of course +things will go on in the way proposed. The 40 pounds, or, as I +prefer to put it, the 1000 francs, has been such a piercing sun-ray +as my whole grey life is gilt withal. On the back of it I can +endure. If these good days of LONGMAN and the CENTURY only last, +it will be a very green world, this that we dwell in and that +philosophers miscall. I have no taste for that philosophy; give me +large sums paid on the receipt of the MS. and copyright reserved, +and what do I care about the non-beent? Only I know it can't last. +The devil always has an imp or two in every house, and my imps are +getting lively. The good lady, the dear, kind lady, the sweet, +excellent lady, Nemesis, whom alone I adore, has fixed her wooden +eye upon me. I fall prone; spare me, Mother Nemesis! But catch +her! + +I must now go to bed; for I have had a whoreson influenza cold, and +have to lie down all day, and get up only to meals and the +delights, June delights, of business correspondence. + +You said nothing about my subject for a poem. Don't you like it? +My own fishy eye has been fixed on it for prose, but I believe it +could be thrown out finely in verse, and hence I resign and pass +the hand. Twig the compliment? - Yours affectionately + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[HYERES, MAY 1883.] + +. . . THE influenza has busted me a good deal; I have no spring, +and am headachy. So, as my good Red Lion Counter begged me for +another Butcher's Boy - I turned me to - what thinkest 'ou? - to +Tushery, by the mass! Ay, friend, a whole tale of tushery. And +every tusher tushes me so free, that may I be tushed if the whole +thing is worth a tush. THE BLACK ARROW: A TALE OF TUNSTALL FOREST +is his name: tush! a poor thing! + +Will TREASURE ISLAND proofs be coming soon, think you? + +I will now make a confession. It was the sight of your maimed +strength and masterfulness that begot John Silver in TREASURE +ISLAND. Of course, he is not in any other quality or feature the +least like you; but the idea of the maimed man, ruling and dreaded +by the sound, was entirely taken from you. + +Otto is, as you say, not a thing to extend my public on. It is +queer and a little, little bit free; and some of the parties are +immoral; and the whole thing is not a romance, nor yet a comedy; +nor yet a romantic comedy; but a kind of preparation of some of the +elements of all three in a glass jar. I think it is not without +merit, but I am not always on the level of my argument, and some +parts are false, and much of the rest is thin; it is more a triumph +for myself than anything else; for I see, beyond it, better stuff. +I have nine chapters ready, or almost ready, for press. My feeling +would be to get it placed anywhere for as much as could be got for +it, and rather in the shadow, till one saw the look of it in print. +- Ever yours, + +PRETTY SICK. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, MAY 1883. + +MY DEAR LAD, - The books came some time since, but I have not had +the pluck to answer: a shower of small troubles having fallen in, +or troubles that may be very large. + +I have had to incur a huge vague debt for cleaning sewers; our +house was (of course) riddled with hidden cesspools, but that was +infallible. I have the fever, and feel the duty to work very heavy +on me at times; yet go it must. I have had to leave FONTAINEBLEAU, +when three hours would finish it, and go full-tilt at tushery for a +while. But it will come soon. + +I think I can give you a good article on Hokusai; but that is for +afterwards; FONTAINEBLEAU is first in hand + +By the way, my view is to give the PENNY WHISTLES to Crane or +Greenaway. But Crane, I think, is likeliest; he is a fellow who, +at least, always does his best. + +Shall I ever have money enough to write a play? O dire necessity! + +A word in your ear: I don't like trying to support myself. I hate +the strain and the anxiety; and when unexpected expenses are +foisted on me, I feel the world is playing with false dice. - Now I +must Tush, adieu, + +AN ACHING, FEVERED, PENNY-JOURNALIST. + +A lytle Jape of TUSHERIE. + +By A. Tusher. + +The pleasant river gushes +Among the meadows green; +At home the author tushes; +For him it flows unseen. + +The Birds among the Bushes +May wanton on the spray; +But vain for him who tushes +The brightness of the day! + +The frog among the rushes +Sits singing in the blue. +By'r la'kin! but these tushes +Are wearisome to do! + +The task entirely crushes +The spirit of the bard: +God pity him who tushes - +His task is very hard. + +The filthy gutter slushes, +The clouds are full of rain, +But doomed is he who tushes +To tush and tush again. + +At morn with his hair-brUshes, +Still, 'tush' he says, and weeps; +At night again he tushes, +And tushes till he sleeps. + +And when at length he pushes +Beyond the river dark - +'Las, to the man who tushes, +'Tush' shall be God's remark! + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[CHALET LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, MAY 1883.] + +DEAR HENLEY, - You may be surprised to hear that I am now a great +writer of verses; that is, however, so. I have the mania now like +my betters, and faith, if I live till I am forty, I shall have a +book of rhymes like Pollock, Gosse, or whom you please. Really, I +have begun to learn some of the rudiments of that trade, and have +written three or four pretty enough pieces of octosyllabic +nonsense, semi-serious, semi-smiling. A kind of prose Herrick, +divested of the gift of verse, and you behold the Bard. But I like +it. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +HYERES [JUNE 1883]. + +DEAR LAD, - I was delighted to hear the good news about -. Bravo, +he goes uphill fast. Let him beware of vanity, and he will go +higher; let him be still discontented, and let him (if it might be) +see the merits and not the faults of his rivals, and he may swarm +at last to the top-gallant. There is no other way. Admiration is +the only road to excellence; and the critical spirit kills, but +envy and injustice are putrefaction on its feet. + +Thus far the moralist. The eager author now begs to know whether +you may have got the other Whistles, and whether a fresh proof is +to be taken; also whether in that case the dedication should not be +printed therewith; Bulk Delights Publishers (original aphorism; to +be said sixteen times in succession as a test of sobriety). + +Your wild and ravening commands were received; but cannot be +obeyed. And anyway, I do assure you I am getting better every day; +and if the weather would but turn, I should soon be observed to +walk in hornpipes. Truly I am on the mend. I am still very +careful. I have the new dictionary; a joy, a thing of beauty, and +- bulk. I shall be raked i' the mools before it's finished; that +is the only pity; but meanwhile I sing. + +I beg to inform you that I, Robert Louis Stevenson, author of +BRASHIANA and other works, am merely beginning to commence to +prepare to make a first start at trying to understand my +profession. O the height and depth of novelty and worth in any +art! and O that I am privileged to swim and shoulder through such +oceans! Could one get out of sight of land - all in the blue? +Alas not, being anchored here in flesh, and the bonds of logic +being still about us. + +But what a great space and a great air there is in these small +shallows where alone we venture! and how new each sight, squall, +calm, or sunrise! An art is a fine fortune, a palace in a park, a +band of music, health, and physical beauty; all but love - to any +worthy practiser. I sleep upon my art for a pillow; I waken in my +art; I am unready for death, because I hate to leave it. I love my +wife, I do not know how much, nor can, nor shall, unless I lost +her; but while I can conceive my being widowed, I refuse the +offering of life without my art. I AM not but in my art; it is me; +I am the body of it merely. + +And yet I produce nothing, am the author of BRASHIANA and other +works: tiddy-iddity - as if the works one wrote were anything but +'prentice's experiments. Dear reader, I deceive you with husks, +the real works and all the pleasure are still mine and +incommunicable. After this break in my work, beginning to return +to it, as from light sleep, I wax exclamatory, as you see. + +Sursum Corda: +Heave ahead: +Here's luck. +Art and Blue Heaven, +April and God's Larks. +Green reeds and the sky-scattering river. +A stately music. +Enter God! + +R. L. S. + +Ay, but you know, until a man can write that 'Enter God,' he has +made no art! None! Come, let us take counsel together and make +some! + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES [SUMMER 1883]. + +DEAR LAD, - Glad you like FONTAINEBLEAU. I am going to be the +means, under heaven, of aerating or liberating your pages. The +idea that because a thing is a picture-book all the writing should +be on the wrong tack is TRISTE but widespread. Thus Hokusai will +be really a gossip on convention, or in great part. And the Skelt +will be as like a Charles Lamb as I can get it. The writer should +write, and not illustrate pictures: else it's bosh. . . . + +Your remarks about the ugly are my eye. Ugliness is only the prose +of horror. It is when you are not able to write MACBETH that you +write THERESE RAQUIN. Fashions are external: the essence of art +only varies in so far as fashion widens the field of its +application; art is a mill whose thirlage, in different ages, +widens and contracts; but, in any case and under any fashion, the +great man produces beauty, terror, and mirth, and the little man +produces cleverness (personalities, psychology) instead of beauty, +ugliness instead of terror, and jokes instead of mirth. As it was +in the beginning, is now, and shall be ever, world without end. +Amen! + +And even as you read, you say, 'Of course, QUELLE RENGAINE!' + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES [SUMMER 1883]. + +MY DEAR CUMMY, - Yes, I own I am a real bad correspondent, and am +as bad as can be in most directions. + +I have been adding some more poems to your book. I wish they would +look sharp about it; but, you see, they are trying to find a good +artist to make the illustrations, without which no child would give +a kick for it. It will be quite a fine work, I hope. The +dedication is a poem too, and has been quite a long while written, +but I do not mean you to see it till you get the book; keep the +jelly for the last, you know, as you would often recommend in +former days, so now you can take your own medicine. + +I am very sorry to hear you have been so poorly; I have been very +well; it used to be quite the other way, used it not? Do you +remember making the whistle at Mount Chessie? I do not think it +WAS my knife; I believe it was yours; but rhyme is a very great +monarch, and goes before honesty, in these affairs at least. Do +you remember, at Warriston, one autumn Sunday, when the beech nuts +were on the ground, seeing heaven open? I would like to make a +rhyme of that, but cannot. + +Is it not strange to think of all the changes: Bob, Cramond, +Delhi, Minnie, and Henrietta, all married, and fathers and mothers, +and your humble servant just the one point better off? And such a +little while ago all children together! The time goes swift and +wonderfully even; and if we are no worse than we are, we should be +grateful to the power that guides us. For more than a generation I +have now been to the fore in this rough world, and been most +tenderly helped, and done cruelly wrong, and yet escaped; and here +I am still, the worse for wear, but with some fight in me still, +and not unthankful - no, surely not unthankful, or I were then the +worst of human beings! + +My little dog is a very much better child in every way, both more +loving and more amiable; but he is not fond of strangers, and is, +like most of his kind, a great, specious humbug. + +Fanny has been ill, but is much better again; she now goes donkey +rides with an old woman, who compliments her on her French. That +old woman - seventy odd - is in a parlous spiritual state. + +Pretty soon, in the new sixpenny illustrated magazine, Wogg's +picture is to appear: this is a great honour! And the poor soul +whose vanity would just explode if he could understand it, will +never be a bit the wiser! - With much love, in which Fanny joins, +believe me, your affectionate boy, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, SUMMER 1883. + +DEAR LAD, - Snatches in return for yours; for this little once, I'm +well to windward of you. + +Seventeen chapters of OTTO are now drafted, and finding I was +working through my voice and getting screechy, I have turned back +again to rewrite the earlier part. It has, I do believe, some +merit: of what order, of course, I am the last to know; and, +triumph of triumphs, my wife - my wife who hates and loathes and +slates my women - admits a great part of my Countess to be on the +spot. + +Yes, I could borrow, but it is the joy of being before the public, +for once. Really, 100 pounds is a sight more than TREASURE ISLAND +is worth. + +The reason of my DECHE? Well, if you begin one house, have to +desert it, begin another, and are eight months without doing any +work, you will be in a DECHE too. I am not in a DECHE, however; +DISTINGUO - I would fain distinguish; I am rather a swell, but NOT +SOLVENT. At a touch the edifice, AEDIFICIUM, might collapse. If +my creditors began to babble around me, I would sink with a slow +strain of music into the crimson west. The difficulty in my +elegant villa is to find oil, OLEUM, for the dam axles. But I've +paid my rent until September; and beyond the chemist, the grocer, +the baker, the doctor, the gardener, Lloyd's teacher, and the great +thief creditor Death, I can snap my fingers at all men. Why will +people spring bills on you? I try to make 'em charge me at the +moment; they won't, the money goes, the debt remains. - The +Required Play is in the MERRY MEN. + +Q. E. F. + +I thus render honour to your FLAIR; it came on me of a clap; I do +not see it yet beyond a kind of sunset glory. But it's there: +passion, romance, the picturesque, involved: startling, simple, +horrid: a sea-pink in sea-froth! S'AGIT DE LA DESENTERRER. +'Help!' cries a buried masterpiece. + +Once I see my way to the year's end, clear, I turn to plays; till +then I grind at letters; finish OTTO; write, say, a couple of my +TRAVELLER'S TALES; and then, if all my ships come home, I will +attack the drama in earnest. I cannot mix the skeins. Thus, +though I'm morally sure there is a play in OTTO, I dare not look +for it: I shoot straight at the story. + +As a story, a comedy, I think OTTO very well constructed; the +echoes are very good, all the sentiments change round, and the +points of view are continually, and, I think (if you please), +happily contrasted. None of it is exactly funny, but some of it is +smiling. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES [SUMMER 1883]. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - I have now leisurely read your volume; pretty +soon, by the way, you will receive one of mine. + +It is a pleasant, instructive, and scholarly volume. The three +best being, quite out of sight - Crashaw, Otway, and Etherege. +They are excellent; I hesitate between them; but perhaps Crashaw is +the most brilliant + +Your Webster is not my Webster; nor your Herrick my Herrick. On +these matters we must fire a gun to leeward, show our colours, and +go by. Argument is impossible. They are two of my favourite +authors: Herrick above all: I suppose they are two of yours. +Well, Janus-like, they do behold us two with diverse countenances, +few features are common to these different avatars; and we can but +agree to differ, but still with gratitude to our entertainers, like +two guests at the same dinner, one of whom takes clear and one +white soup. By my way of thinking, neither of us need be wrong. + +The other papers are all interesting, adequate, clear, and with a +pleasant spice of the romantic. It is a book you may be well +pleased to have so finished, and will do you much good. The +Crashaw is capital: capital; I like the taste of it. Preface +clean and dignified. The handling throughout workmanlike, with +some four or five touches of preciosity, which I regret. + +With my thanks for information, entertainment, and a pleasurable +envy here and there. - Yours affectionately, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, SEPTEMBER 19, 1883. + +DEAR BOY, - Our letters vigorously cross: you will ere this have +received a note to Coggie: God knows what was in it. + +It is strange, a little before the first word you sent me - so late +- kindly late, I know and feel - I was thinking in my bed, when I +knew you I had six friends - Bob I had by nature; then came the +good James Walter - with all his failings - the GENTLEMAN of the +lot, alas to sink so low, alas to do so little, but now, thank God, +in his quiet rest; next I found Baxter - well do I remember telling +Walter I had unearthed 'a W.S. that I thought would do' - it was in +the Academy Lane, and he questioned me as to the Signet's +qualifications; fourth came Simpson; somewhere about the same time, +I began to get intimate with Jenkin; last came Colvin. Then, one +black winter afternoon, long Leslie Stephen, in his velvet jacket, +met me in the SPEC. by appointment, took me over to the infirmary, +and in the crackling, blighting gaslight showed me that old head +whose excellent representation I see before me in the photograph. +Now when a man has six friends, to introduce a seventh is usually +hopeless. Yet when you were presented, you took to them and they +to you upon the nail. You must have been a fine fellow; but what a +singular fortune I must have had in my six friends that you should +take to all. I don't know if it is good Latin, most probably not: +but this is enscrolled before my eye for Walter: TANDEM E NUBIBUS +IN APRICUM PROPERAT. Rest, I suppose, I know, was all that +remained; but O to look back, to remember all the mirth, all the +kindness, all the humorous limitations and loved defects of that +character; to think that he was young with me, sharing that +weather-beaten, Fergussonian youth, looking forward through the +clouds to the sunburst; and now clean gone from my path, silent - +well, well. This has been a strange awakening. Last night, when I +was alone in the house, with the window open on the lovely still +night, I could have sworn he was in the room with me; I could show +you the spot; and, what was very curious, I heard his rich +laughter, a thing I had not called to mind for I know not how long. + +I see his coral waistcoat studs that he wore the first time he +dined in my house; I see his attitude, leaning back a little, +already with something of a portly air, and laughing internally. +How I admired him! And now in the West Kirk. + +I am trying to write out this haunting bodily sense of absence; +besides, what else should I write of? + +Yes, looking back, I think of him as one who was good, though +sometimes clouded. He was the only gentle one of all my friends, +save perhaps the other Walter. And he was certainly the only +modest man among the lot. He never gave himself away; he kept back +his secret; there was always a gentle problem behind all. Dear, +dear, what a wreck; and yet how pleasant is the retrospect! God +doeth all things well, though by what strange, solemn, and +murderous contrivances! + +It is strange: he was the only man I ever loved who did not +habitually interrupt. The fact draws my own portrait. And it is +one of the many reasons why I count myself honoured by his +friendship. A man like you HAD to like me; you could not help +yourself; but Ferrier was above me, we were not equals; his true +self humoured and smiled paternally upon my failings, even as I +humoured and sorrowed over his. + +Well, first his mother, then himself, they are gone: 'in their +resting graves.' + +When I come to think of it, I do not know what I said to his +sister, and I fear to try again. Could you send her this? There +is too much both about yourself and me in it; but that, if you do +not mind, is but a mark of sincerity. It would let her know how +entirely, in the mind of (I suppose) his oldest friend, the good, +true Ferrier obliterates the memory of the other, who was only his +'lunatic brother.' + +Judge of this for me, and do as you please; anyway, I will try to +write to her again; my last was some kind of scrawl that I could +not see for crying. This came upon me, remember, with terrible +suddenness; I was surprised by this death; and it is fifteen or +sixteen years since first I saw the handsome face in the SPEC. I +made sure, besides, to have died first. Love to you, your wife, +and her sisters. + +- Ever yours, dear boy, + +R. L. S. + +I never knew any man so superior to himself as poor James Walter. +The best of him only came as a vision, like Corsica from the +Corniche. He never gave his measure either morally or +intellectually. The curse was on him. Even his friends did not +know him but by fits. I have passed hours with him when he was so +wise, good, and sweet, that I never knew the like of it in any +other. And for a beautiful good humour he had no match. I +remember breaking in upon him once with a whole red-hot story (in +my worst manner), pouring words upon him by the hour about some +truck not worth an egg that had befallen me; and suddenly, some +half hour after, finding that the sweet fellow had some concern of +his own of infinitely greater import, that he was patiently and +smilingly waiting to consult me on. It sounds nothing; but the +courtesy and the unselfishness were perfect. It makes me rage to +think how few knew him, and how many had the chance to sneer at +their better. + +Well, he was not wasted, that we know; though if anything looked +liker irony than this fitting of a man out with these rich +qualities and faculties to be wrecked and aborted from the very +stocks, I do not know the name of it. Yet we see that he has left +an influence; the memory of his patient courtesy has often checked +me in rudeness; has it not you? + +You can form no idea of how handsome Walter was. At twenty he was +splendid to see; then, too, he had the sense of power in him, and +great hopes; he looked forward, ever jesting of course, but he +looked to see himself where he had the right to expect. He +believed in himself profoundly; but HE NEVER DISBELIEVED IN OTHERS. +To the roughest Highland student he always had his fine, kind, open +dignity of manner; and a good word behind his back. + +The last time that I saw him before leaving for America - it was a +sad blow to both of us. When he heard I was leaving, and that +might be the last time we might meet - it almost was so - he was +terribly upset, and came round at once. We sat late, in Baxter's +empty house, where I was sleeping. My dear friend Walter Ferrier: +O if I had only written to him more! if only one of us in these +last days had been well! But I ever cherished the honour of his +friendship, and now when he is gone, I know what I have lost still +better. We live on, meaning to meet; but when the hope is gone, +the, pang comes. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, 26TH SEPTEMBER 1883. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - It appears a bolt from Transatlantica is necessary +to produce four lines from you. It is not flattering; but as I was +always a bad correspondent, 'tis a vice to which I am lenient. I +give you to know, however, that I have already twice (this makes +three times) sent you what I please to call a letter, and received +from you in return a subterfuge - or nothing. . . . + +My present purpose, however, which must not be postponed, is to ask +you to telegraph to the Americans. + +After a summer of good health of a very radiant order, toothache +and the death of a very old friend, which came upon me like a +thunderclap, have rather shelved my powers. I stare upon the +paper, not write. I wish I could write like your Sculptors; yet I +am well aware that I should not try in that direction. A certain +warmth (tepid enough) and a certain dash of the picturesque are my +poor essential qualities; and if I went fooling after the too +classical, I might lose even these. But I envied you that page. + +I am, of course, deep in schemes; I was so ever. Execution alone +somewhat halts. How much do you make per annum, I wonder? This +year, for the first time, I shall pass 300 pounds; I may even get +halfway to the next milestone. This seems but a faint +remuneration; and the devil of it is, that I manage, with sickness, +and moves, and education, and the like, to keep steadily in front +of my income. However, I console myself with this, that if I were +anything else under God's Heaven, and had the same crank health, I +should make an even zero. If I had, with my present knowledge, +twelve months of my old health, I would, could, and should do +something neat. As it is, I have to tinker at my things in little +sittings; and the rent, or the butcher, or something, is always +calling me off to rattle up a pot-boiler. And then comes a back- +set of my health, and I have to twiddle my fingers and play +patience. + +Well, I do not complain, but I do envy strong health where it is +squandered. Treasure your strength, and may you never learn by +experience the profound ENNUI and irritation of the shelved artist. +For then, what is life? All that one has done to make one's life +effective then doubles the itch of inefficiency. + +I trust also you may be long without finding out the devil that +there is in a bereavement. After love it is the one great surprise +that life preserves for us. Now I don't think I can be astonished +any more. - Yours affectionately, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR [OCTOBER 1883]. + +COLVIN, COLVIN, COLVIN, - Yours received; also interesting copy of +P. WHISTLES. 'In the multitude of councillors the Bible declares +there is wisdom,' said my great-uncle, 'but I have always found in +them distraction.' It is extraordinary how tastes vary: these +proofs have been handed about, it appears, and I have had several +letters; and - distraction. 'AEsop: the Miller and the Ass.' +Notes on details:- + +1. I love the occasional trochaic line; and so did many excellent +writers before me. + +2. If you don't like 'A Good Boy,' I do. + +3. In 'Escape at Bedtime,' I found two suggestions. 'Shove' for +'above' is a correction of the press; it was so written. +'Twinkled' is just the error; to the child the stars appear to be +there; any word that suggests illusion is a horror. + +4. I don't care; I take a different view of the vocative. + +5. Bewildering and childering are good enough for me. These are +rhymes, jingles; I don't go for eternity and the three unities. + +I will delete some of those condemned, but not all. I don't care +for the name Penny Whistles; I sent a sheaf to Henley when I sent +'em. But I've forgot the others. I would just as soon call 'em +'Rimes for Children' as anything else. I am not proud nor +particular. + +Your remarks on the BLACK ARROW are to the point. I am pleased you +liked Crookback; he is a fellow whose hellish energy has always +fired my attention. I wish Shakespeare had written the play after +he had learned some of the rudiments of literature and art rather +than before. Some day, I will re-tickle the Sable Missile, and +shoot it, MOYENNANT FINANCES, once more into the air; I can lighten +it of much, and devote some more attention to Dick o' Gloucester. +It's great sport to write tushery. + +By this I reckon you will have heard of my proposed excursiolorum +to the Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece, and kindred sites. If +the excursiolorum goes on, that is, if MOYENNANT FINANCES comes +off, I shall write to beg you to collect introductiolorums for me. + +Distinguo: 1. SILVERADO was not written in America, but in +Switzerland's icy mountains. 2. What you read is the bleeding and +disembowelled remains of what I wrote. 3. The good stuff is all to +come - so I think. 'The Sea Fogs,' 'The Hunter's Family,' 'Toils +and Pleasures' - BELLES PAGES. - Yours ever, + +RAMNUGGER. + +O! - Seeley is too clever to live, and the book a gem. But why has +he read too much Arnold? Why will he avoid - obviously avoid - +fine writing up to which he has led? This is a winking, curled- +and-oiled, ultra-cultured, Oxford-don sort of an affectation that +infuriates my honest soul. 'You see' - they say - 'how unbombastic +WE are; we come right up to eloquence, and, when it's hanging on +the pen, dammy, we scorn it!' It is literary Deronda-ism. If you +don't want the woman, the image, or the phrase, mortify your vanity +and avoid the appearance of wanting them. + + + +Letter: TO W. H. LOW + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, OCTOBER [1883]. + +MY DEAR LOW, - . . . Some day or other, in Cassell's MAGAZINE OF +ART, you will see a paper which will interest you, and where your +name appears. It is called 'Fontainebleau: Village Communities of +Artists,' and the signature of R. L. Stevenson will be found +annexed + +Please tell the editor of MANHATTAN the following secrets for me: +1ST, That I am a beast; 2ND, that I owe him a letter; 3RD, that I +have lost his, and cannot recall either his name or address; 4TH, +that I am very deep in engagements, which my absurd health makes it +hard for me to overtake; but 5TH, that I will bear him in mind; 6TH +and last, that I am a brute. + +My address is still the same, and I live in a most sweet corner of +the universe, sea and fine hills before me, and a rich variegated +plain; and at my back a craggy hill, loaded with vast feudal ruins. +I am very quiet; a person passing by my door half startles me; but +I enjoy the most aromatic airs, and at night the most wonderful +view into a moonlit garden. By day this garden fades into nothing, +overpowered by its surroundings and the luminous distance; but at +night and when the moon is out, that garden, the arbour, the flight +of stairs that mount the artificial hillock, the plumed blue gum- +trees that hang trembling, become the very skirts of Paradise. +Angels I know frequent it; and it thrills all night with the flutes +of silence. Damn that garden;- and by day it is gone. + +Continue to testify boldly against realism. Down with Dagon, the +fish god! All art swings down towards imitation, in these days, +fatally. But the man who loves art with wisdom sees the joke; it +is the lustful that tremble and respect her ladyship; but the +honest and romantic lovers of the Muse can see a joke and sit down +to laugh with Apollo. + +The prospect of your return to Europe is very agreeable; and I was +pleased by what you said about your parents. One of my oldest +friends died recently, and this has given me new thoughts of death. +Up to now I had rather thought of him as a mere personal enemy of +my own; but now that I see him hunting after my friends, he looks +altogether darker. My own father is not well; and Henley, of whom +you must have heard me speak, is in a questionable state of health. +These things are very solemn, and take some of the colour out of +life. It is a great thing, after all, to be a man of reasonable +honour and kindness. Do you remember once consulting me in Paris +whether you had not better sacrifice honesty to art; and how, after +much confabulation, we agreed that your art would suffer if you +did? We decided better than we knew. In this strange welter where +we live, all hangs together by a million filaments; and to do +reasonably well by others, is the first prerequisite of art. Art +is a virtue; and if I were the man I should be, my art would rise +in the proportion of my life. + +If you were privileged to give some happiness to your parents, I +know your art will gain by it. BY GOD, IT WILL! SIC SUBSCRIBITUR, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO R. A. M. STEVENSON + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS [OCTOBER 1883]. + +MY DEAR BOB, - Yes, I got both your letters at Lyons, but have been +since then decading in several steps Toothache; fever; Ferrier's +death; lung. Now it is decided I am to leave to-morrow, penniless, +for Nice to see Dr. Williams. + +I was much struck by your last. I have written a breathless note +on Realism for Henley; a fifth part of the subject, hurriedly +touched, which will show you how my thoughts are driving. You are +now at last beginning to think upon the problems of executive, +plastic art, for you are now for the first time attacking them. +Hitherto you have spoken and thought of two things - technique and +the ARS ARTIUM, or common background of all arts. Studio work is +the real touch. That is the genial error of the present French +teaching. Realism I regard as a mere question of method. The +'brown foreground,' 'old mastery,' and the like, ranking with +villanelles, as technical sports and pastimes. Real art, whether +ideal or realistic, addresses precisely the same feeling, and seeks +the same qualities - significance or charm. And the same - very +same - inspiration is only methodically differentiated according as +the artist is an arrant realist or an arrant idealist. Each, by +his own method, seeks to save and perpetuate the same significance +or charm; the one by suppressing, the other by forcing, detail. +All other idealism is the brown foreground over again, and hence +only art in the sense of a game, like cup and ball. All other +realism is not art at all - but not at all. It is, then, an +insincere and showy handicraft. + +Were you to re-read some Balzac, as I have been doing, it would +greatly help to clear your eyes. He was a man who never found his +method. An inarticulate Shakespeare, smothered under forcible- +feeble detail. It is astounding to the riper mind how bad he is, +how feeble, how untrue, how tedious; and, of course, when he +surrendered to his temperament, how good and powerful. And yet +never plain nor clear. He could not consent to be dull, and thus +became so. He would leave nothing undeveloped, and thus drowned +out of sight of land amid the multitude of crying and incongruous +details. There is but one art - to omit! O if I knew how to omit, +I would ask no other knowledge. A man who knew how to omit would +make an ILIAD of a daily paper. + +Your definition of seeing is quite right. It is the first part of +omission to be partly blind. Artistic sight is judicious +blindness. Sam Bough must have been a jolly blind old boy. He +would turn a corner, look for one-half or quarter minute, and then +say, 'This'll do, lad.' Down he sat, there and then, with whole +artistic plan, scheme of colour, and the like, and begin by laying +a foundation of powerful and seemingly incongruous colour on the +block. He saw, not the scene, but the water-colour sketch. Every +artist by sixty should so behold nature. Where does he learn that? +In the studio, I swear. He goes to nature for facts, relations, +values - material; as a man, before writing a historical novel, +reads up memoirs. But it is not by reading memoirs that he has +learned the selective criterion. He has learned that in the +practice of his art; and he will never learn it well, but when +disengaged from the ardent struggle of immediate representation, of +realistic and EX FACTO art. He learns it in the crystallisation of +day-dreams; in changing, not in copying, fact; in the pursuit of +the ideal, not in the study of nature. These temples of art are, +as you say, inaccessible to the realistic climber. It is not by +looking at the sea that you get + + +'The multitudinous seas incarnadine,' + + +nor by looking at Mont Blanc that you find + + +'And visited all night by troops of stars.' + + +A kind of ardour of the blood is the mother of all this; and +according as this ardour is swayed by knowledge and seconded by +craft, the art expression flows clear, and significance and charm, +like a moon rising, are born above the barren juggle of mere +symbols. + +The painter must study more from nature than the man of words. But +why? Because literature deals with men's business and passions +which, in the game of life, we are irresistibly obliged to study; +but painting with relations of light, and colour, and +significances, and form, which, from the immemorial habit of the +race, we pass over with an unregardful eye. Hence this crouching +upon camp-stools, and these crusts. But neither one nor other is a +part of art, only preliminary studies. + +I want you to help me to get people to understand that realism is a +method, and only methodic in its consequences; when the realist is +an artist, that is, and supposing the idealist with whom you +compare him to be anything but a FARCEUR and a DILETTANTE. The two +schools of working do, and should, lead to the choice of different +subjects. But that is a consequence, not a cause. See my chaotic +note, which will appear, I fancy, in November in Henley's sheet. + +Poor Ferrier, it bust me horrid. He was, after you, the oldest of +my friends. + +I am now very tired, and will go to bed having prelected freely. +Fanny will finish. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, 12TH OCTOBER 1883. + +MY DEAR FATHER, - I have just lunched; the day is exquisite, the +air comes though the open window rich with odour, and I am by no +means spiritually minded. Your letter, however, was very much +valued, and has been read oftener than once. What you say about +yourself I was glad to hear; a little decent resignation is not +only becoming a Christian, but is likely to be excellent for the +health of a Stevenson. To fret and fume is undignified, suicidally +foolish, and theologically unpardonable; we are here not to make, +but to tread predestined, pathways; we are the foam of a wave, and +to preserve a proper equanimity is not merely the first part of +submission to God, but the chief of possible kindnesses to those +about us. I am lecturing myself, but you also. To do our best is +one part, but to wash our hands smilingly of the consequence is the +next part, of any sensible virtue. + +I have come, for the moment, to a pause in my moral works; for I +have many irons in the fire, and I wish to finish something to +bring coin before I can afford to go on with what I think +doubtfully to be a duty. It is a most difficult work; a touch of +the parson will drive off those I hope to influence; a touch of +overstrained laxity, besides disgusting, like a grimace, may do +harm. Nothing that I have ever seen yet speaks directly and +efficaciously to young men; and I do hope I may find the art and +wisdom to fill up a gap. The great point, as I see it, is to ask +as little as possible, and meet, if it may be, every view or +absence of view; and it should be, must be, easy. Honesty is the +one desideratum; but think how hard a one to meet. I think all the +time of Ferrier and myself; these are the pair that I address. +Poor Ferrier, so much a better man than I, and such a temporal +wreck. But the thing of which we must divest our minds is to look +partially upon others; all is to be viewed; and the creature +judged, as he must be by his Creator, not dissected through a prism +of morals, but in the unrefracted ray. So seen, and in relation to +the almost omnipotent surroundings, who is to distinguish between +F. and such a man as Dr. Candlish, or between such a man as David +Hume and such an one as Robert Burns? To compare my poor and good +Walter with myself is to make me startle; he, upon all grounds +above the merely expedient, was the nobler being. Yet wrecked +utterly ere the full age of manhood; and the last skirmishes so +well fought, so humanly useless, so pathetically brave, only the +leaps of an expiring lamp. All this is a very pointed instance. +It shuts the mouth. I have learned more, in some ways, from him +than from any other soul I ever met; and he, strange to think, was +the best gentleman, in all kinder senses, that I ever knew. - Ever +your affectionate son, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO W H LOW + + + +[CHALET LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, OCT. 23, 1883.] + +MY DEAR LOW, - C'EST D'UN BON CAMARADE; and I am much obliged to +you for your two letters and the inclosure. Times are a lityle +changed with all of us since the ever memorable days of Lavenue: +hallowed be his name! hallowed his old Fleury! - of which you did +not see - I think - as I did - the glorious apotheosis: advanced +on a Tuesday to three francs, on the Thursday to six, and on Friday +swept off, holus bolus, for the proprietor's private consumption. +Well, we had the start of that proprietor. Many a good bottle came +our way, and was, I think, worthily made welcome. + +I am pleased that Mr. Gilder should like my literature; and I ask +you particularly to thank Mr. Bunner (have I the name right?) for +his notice, which was of that friendly, headlong sort that really +pleases an author like what the French call a 'shake-hands.' It +pleased me the more coming from the States, where I have met not +much recognition, save from the buccaneers, and above all from +pirates who misspell my name. I saw my book advertised in a number +of the CRITIC as the work of one R. L. Stephenson; and, I own, I +boiled. It is so easy to know the name of the man whose book you +have stolen; for there it is, at full length, on the title-page of +your booty. But no, damn him, not he! He calls me Stephenson. +These woes I only refer to by the way, as they set a higher value +on the CENTURY notice. + +I am now a person with an established ill-health - a wife - a dog +possessed with an evil, a Gadarene spirit - a chalet on a hill, +looking out over the Mediterranean - a certain reputation - and +very obscure finances. Otherwise, very much the same, I guess; and +were a bottle of Fleury a thing to be obtained, capable of +developing theories along with a fit spirit even as of yore. Yet I +now draw near to the Middle Ages; nearly three years ago, that +fatal Thirty struck; and yet the great work is not yet done - not +yet even conceived. But so, as one goes on, the wood seems to +thicken, the footpath to narrow, and the House Beautiful on the +hill's summit to draw further and further away. We learn, indeed, +to use our means; but only to learn, along with it, the paralysing +knowledge that these means are only applicable to two or three poor +commonplace motives. Eight years ago, if I could have slung ink as +I can now, I should have thought myself well on the road after +Shakespeare; and now - I find I have only got a pair of walking- +shoes and not yet begun to travel. And art is still away there on +the mountain summit. But I need not continue; for, of course, this +is your story just as much as it is mine; and, strange to think, it +was Shakespeare's too, and Beethoven's, and Phidias's. It is a +blessed thing that, in this forest of art, we can pursue our wood- +lice and sparrows, AND NOT CATCH THEM, with almost the same fervour +of exhilaration as that with which Sophocles hunted and brought +down the Mastodon. + +Tell me something of your work, and your wife. - My dear fellow, I +am yours ever, + +R. L. STEVENSON. + +My wife begs to be remembered to both of you; I cannot say as much +for my dog, who has never seen you, but he would like, on general +principles, to bite you. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[HYERES, NOVEMBER 1883.] + +MY DEAR LAD, - . . . Of course, my seamanship is jimmy: did I not +beseech you I know not how often to find me an ancient mariner - +and you, whose own wife's own brother is one of the ancientest, did +nothing for me? As for my seamen, did Runciman ever know +eighteenth century buccaneers? No? Well, no more did I. But I +have known and sailed with seamen too, and lived and eaten with +them; and I made my put-up shot in no great ignorance, but as a +put-up thing has to be made, I.E. to be coherent and picturesque, +and damn the expense. Are they fairly lively on the wires? Then, +favour me with your tongues. Are they wooden, and dim, and no +sport? Then it is I that am silent, otherwise not. The work, +strange as it may sound in the ear, is not a work of realism. The +next thing I shall hear is that the etiquette is wrong in Otto's +Court! With a warrant, and I mean it to be so, and the whole +matter never cost me half a thought. I make these paper people to +please myself, and Skelt, and God Almighty, and with no ulterior +purpose. Yet am I mortal myself; for, as I remind you, I begged +for a supervising mariner. However, my heart is in the right +place. I have been to sea, but I never crossed the threshold of a +court; and the courts shall be the way I want 'em. + +I'm glad to think I owe you the review that pleased me best of all +the reviews I ever had; the one I liked best before that was -'s on +the ARABIANS. These two are the flowers of the collection, +according to me. To live reading such reviews and die eating +ortolans - sich is my aspiration. + +Whenever you come you will be equally welcome. I am trying to +finish OTTO ere you shall arrive, so as to take and be able to +enjoy a well-earned - O yes, a well-earned - holiday. Longman +fetched by Otto: is it a spoon or a spoilt horn? Momentous, if +the latter; if the former, a spoon to dip much praise and pudding, +and to give, I do think, much pleasure. The last part, now in +hand, much smiles upon me. - Ever yours, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, [NOVEMBER 1883]. + +MY DEAR MOTHER, - You must not blame me too much for my silence; I +am over head and ears in work, and do not know what to do first. I +have been hard at OTTO, hard at SILVERADO proofs, which I have +worked over again to a tremendous extent; cutting, adding, +rewriting, until some of the worst chapters of the original are +now, to my mind, as good as any. I was the more bound to make it +good, as I had such liberal terms; it's not for want of trying if I +have failed. + +I got your letter on my birthday; indeed, that was how I found it +out about three in the afternoon, when postie comes. Thank you for +all you said. As for my wife, that was the best investment ever +made by man; but 'in our branch of the family' we seem to marry +well. I, considering my piles of work, am wonderfully well; I have +not been so busy for I know not how long. I hope you will send me +the money I asked however, as I am not only penniless, but shall +remain so in all human probability for some considerable time. I +have got in the mass of my expectations; and the 100 pounds which +is to float us on the new year can not come due till SILVERADO is +all ready; I am delaying it myself for the moment; then will follow +the binders and the travellers and an infinity of other nuisances; +and only at the last, the jingling-tingling. + +Do you know that TREASURE ISLAND has appeared? In the November +number of Henley's Magazine, a capital number anyway, there is a +funny publisher's puff of it for your book; also a bad article by +me. Lang dotes on TREASURE ISLAND: 'Except TOM SAWYER and the +ODYSSEY,' he writes, 'I never liked any romance so much.' I will +inclose the letter though. The Bogue is angelic, although very +dirty. It has rained - at last! It was jolly cold when the rain +came. + +I was overjoyed to hear such good news of my father. Let him go on +at that! Ever your affectionate, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, [NOVEMBER 1883]. + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I have been bad, but as you were worse, I feel no +shame. I raise a blooming countenance, not the evidence of a self- +righteous spirit. + +I continue my uphill fight with the twin spirits of bankruptcy and +indigestion. Duns rage about my portal, at least to fancy's ear. + +I suppose you heard of Ferrier's death: my oldest friend, except +Bob. It has much upset me. I did not fancy how much. I am +strangely concerned about it. + +My house is the loveliest spot in the universe; the moonlight +nights we have are incredible; love, poetry and music, and the +Arabian Nights, inhabit just my corner of the world - nest there +like mavises. + + +Here lies +The carcase +of +Robert Louis Stevenson, +An active, austere, and not inelegant +writer, +who, +at the termination of a long career, +wealthy, wise, benevolent, and honoured by +the attention of two hemispheres, +yet owned it to have been his crowning favour +TO INHABIT +LA SOLITUDE. + + +(With the consent of the intelligent edility of Hyeres, he has been +interred, below this frugal stone, in the garden which he honoured +for so long with his poetic presence.) + +I must write more solemn letters. Adieu. Write. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. MILNE + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, [NOVEMBER 1883]. + +MY DEAR HENRIETTA, - Certainly; who else would they be? More by +token, on that particular occasion, you were sailing under the +title of Princess Royal; I, after a furious contest, under that of +Prince Alfred; and Willie, still a little sulky, as the Prince of +Wales. We were all in a buck basket about half-way between the +swing and the gate; and I can still see the Pirate Squadron heave +in sight upon the weather bow. + +I wrote a piece besides on Giant Bunker; but I was not happily +inspired, and it is condemned. Perhaps I'll try again; he was a +horrid fellow, Giant Bunker! and some of my happiest hours were +passed in pursuit of him. You were a capital fellow to play: how +few there were who could! None better than yourself. I shall +never forget some of the days at Bridge of Allan; they were one +golden dream. See 'A Good Boy' in the PENNY WHISTLES, much of the +sentiment of which is taken direct from one evening at B. of A. +when we had had a great play with the little Glasgow girl. +Hallowed be that fat book of fairy tales! Do you remember acting +the Fair One with Golden Locks? What a romantic drama! Generally +speaking, whenever I think of play, it is pretty certain that you +will come into my head. I wrote a paper called 'Child's Play' +once, where, I believe, you or Willie would recognise things. . . . + +Surely Willie is just the man to marry; and if his wife wasn't a +happy woman, I think I could tell her who was to blame. Is there +no word of it? Well, these things are beyond arrangement; and the +wind bloweth where it listeth - which, I observe, is generally +towards the west in Scotland. Here it prefers a south-easterly +course, and is called the Mistral - usually with an adjective in +front. But if you will remember my yesterday's toothache and this +morning's crick, you will be in a position to choose an adjective +for yourself. Not that the wind is unhealthy; only when it comes +strong, it is both very high and very cold, which makes it the d-v- +l. But as I am writing to a lady, I had better avoid this topic; +winds requiring a great scope of language. + +Please remember me to all at home; give Ramsay a pennyworth of +acidulated drops for his good taste. - And believe me, your +affectionate cousin, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO MISS FERRIER + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, VAR, NOVEMBER 22, 1883. + +DEAR MISS FERRIER, - Many thanks for the photograph. It is - well, +it is like most photographs. The sun is an artist of too much +renown; and, at any rate, we who knew Walter 'in the brave days of +old' will be difficult to please. + +I was inexpressibly touched to get a letter from some lawyers as to +some money. I have never had any account with my friends; some +have gained and some lost; and I should feel there was something +dishonest in a partial liquidation even if I could recollect the +facts, WHICH I CANNOT. But the fact of his having put aside this +memorandum touched me greatly. + +The mystery of his life is great. Our chemist in this place, who +had been at Malvern, recognised the picture. You may remember +Walter had a romantic affection for all pharmacies? and the bottles +in the window were for him a poem? He said once that he knew no +pleasure like driving through a lamplit city, waiting for the +chemists to go by. + +All these things return now. + +He had a pretty full translation of Schiller's AESTHETIC LETTERS, +which we read together, as well as the second part of FAUST, in +Gladstone Terrace, he helping me with the German. There is no +keepsake I should more value than the MS. of that translation. +They were the best days I ever had with him, little dreaming all +would so soon be over. It needs a blow like this to convict a man +of mortality and its burthen. I always thought I should go by +myself; not to survive. But now I feel as if the earth were +undermined, and all my friends have lost one thickness of reality +since that one passed. Those are happy who can take it otherwise; +with that I found things all beginning to dislimn. Here we have no +abiding city, and one felt as though he had - and O too much acted. + +But if you tell me, he did not feel my silence. However, he must +have done so; and my guilt is irreparable now. I thank God at +least heartily that he did not resent it. + +Please remember me to Sir Alexander and Lady Grant, to whose care I +will address this. When next I am in Edinburgh I will take +flowers, alas! to the West Kirk. Many a long hour we passed in +graveyards, the man who has gone and I - or rather not that man - +but the beautiful, genial, witty youth who so betrayed him. - Dear +Miss Ferrier, I am yours most sincerely, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO W. H. LOW + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, VAR, 13TH DECEMBER 1883. + +MY DEAR LOW, - . . . I was much pleased with what you send about my +work. Ill-health is a great handicapper in the race. I have never +at command that press of spirits that are necessary to strike out a +thing red-hot. SILVERADO is an example of stuff worried and pawed +about, God knows how often, in poor health, and you can see for +yourself the result: good pages, an imperfect fusion, a certain +languor of the whole. Not, in short, art. I have told Roberts to +send you a copy of the book when it appears, where there are some +fair passages that will be new to you. My brief romance, PRINCE +OTTO - far my most difficult adventure up to now - is near an end. +I have still one chapter to write DE FOND EN COMBLE, and three or +four to strengthen or recast. The rest is done. I do not know if +I have made a spoon, or only spoiled a horn; but I am tempted to +hope the first. If the present bargain hold, it will not see the +light of day for some thirteen months. Then I shall be glad to +know how it strikes you. There is a good deal of stuff in it, both +dramatic and, I think, poetic; and the story is not like these +purposeless fables of to-day, but is, at least, intended to stand +FIRM upon a base of philosophy - or morals - as you please. It has +been long gestated, and is wrought with care. ENFIN, NOUS VERRONS. +My labours have this year for the first time been rewarded with +upwards of 350 pounds; that of itself, so base we are! encourages +me; and the better tenor of my health yet more. - Remember me to +Mrs. Low, and believe me, yours most sincerely, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +LA SOLITUDE, DECEMBER 20, 1883. + +MY DEAR FATHER, - I do not know which of us is to blame; I suspect +it is you this time. The last accounts of you were pretty good, I +was pleased to see; I am, on the whole, very well - suffering a +little still from my fever and liver complications, but better. + +I have just finished re-reading a book, which I counsel you above +all things NOT to read, as it has made me very ill, and would make +you worse - Lockhart's SCOTT. It is worth reading, as all things +are from time to time that keep us nose to nose with fact; though I +think such reading may be abused, and that a great deal of life is +better spent in reading of a light and yet chivalrous strain. +Thus, no Waverley novel approaches in power, blackness, bitterness, +and moral elevation to the diary and Lockhart's narrative of the +end; and yet the Waverley novels are better reading for every day +than the Life. You may take a tonic daily, but not phlebotomy. + +The great double danger of taking life too easily, and taking it +too hard, how difficult it is to balance that! But we are all too +little inclined to faith; we are all, in our serious moments, too +much inclined to forget that all are sinners, and fall justly by +their faults, and therefore that we have no more to do with that +than with the thunder-cloud; only to trust, and do our best, and +wear as smiling a face as may be for others and ourselves. But +there is no royal road among this complicated business. Hegel the +German got the best word of all philosophy with his antinomies: +the contrary of everything is its postulate. That is, of course, +grossly expressed, but gives a hint of the idea, which contains a +great deal of the mysteries of religion, and a vast amount of the +practical wisdom of life. For your part, there is no doubt as to +your duty - to take things easy and be as happy as you can, for +your sake, and my mother's, and that of many besides. Excuse this +sermon. - Ever your loving son, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +LA SOLITUDE, DECEMBER 25, 1883. + +MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, - This it is supposed will reach you +about Christmas, and I believe I should include Lloyd in the +greeting. But I want to lecture my father; he is not grateful +enough; he is like Fanny; his resignation is not the 'true blue.' +A man who has gained a stone; whose son is better, and, after so +many fears to the contrary, I dare to say, a credit to him; whose +business is arranged; whose marriage is a picture - what I should +call resignation in such a case as his would be to 'take down his +fiddle and play as lood as ever he could.' That and nought else. +And now, you dear old pious ingrate, on this Christmas morning, +think what your mercies have been; and do not walk too far before +your breakfast - as far as to the top of India Street, then to the +top of Dundas Street, and then to your ain stair heid; and do not +forget that even as LABORARE, so JOCULARI, EST ORARE; and to be +happy the first step to being pious. + +I have as good as finished my novel, and a hard job it has been - +but now practically over, LAUS DEO! My financial prospects better +than ever before; my excellent wife a touch dolorous, like Mr. +Tommy; my Bogue quite converted, and myself in good spirits. O, +send Curry Powder per Baxter. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +[LA SOLITUDE, HYERES], LAST SUNDAY OF '83. + +MY DEAR MOTHER, - I give my father up. I give him a parable: that +the Waverley novels are better reading for every day than the +tragic Life. And he takes it backside foremost, and shakes his +head, and is gloomier than ever. Tell him that I give him up. I +don't want no such a parent. This is not the man for my money. I +do not call that by the name of religion which fills a man with +bile. I write him a whole letter, bidding him beware of extremes, +and telling him that his gloom is gallows-worthy; and I get back an +answer - Perish the thought of it. + +Here am I on the threshold of another year, when, according to all +human foresight, I should long ago have been resolved into my +elements; here am I, who you were persuaded was born to disgrace +you - and, I will do you the justice to add, on no such +insufficient grounds - no very burning discredit when all is done; +here am I married, and the marriage recognised to be a blessing of +the first order, A1 at Lloyd's. There is he, at his not first +youth, able to take more exercise than I at thirty-three, and +gaining a stone's weight, a thing of which I am incapable. There +are you; has the man no gratitude? There is Smeoroch: is he +blind? Tell him from me that all this is + +NOT THE TRUE BLUE! + +I will think more of his prayers when I see in him a spirit of +PRAISE. Piety is a more childlike and happy attitude than he +admits. Martha, Martha, do you hear the knocking at the door? But +Mary was happy. Even the Shorter Catechism, not the merriest +epitome of religion, and a work exactly as pious although not quite +so true as the multiplication table - even that dry-as-dust epitome +begins with a heroic note. What is man's chief end? Let him study +that; and ask himself if to refuse to enjoy God's kindest gifts is +in the spirit indicated. Up, Dullard! It is better service to +enjoy a novel than to mump. + +I have been most unjust to the Shorter Catechism, I perceive. I +wish to say that I keenly admire its merits as a performance; and +that all that was in my mind was its peculiarly unreligious and +unmoral texture; from which defect it can never, of course, +exercise the least influence on the minds of children. But they +learn fine style and some austere thinking unconsciously. - Ever +your loving son, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, JANUARY 1 (1884). + +MY DEAR PEOPLE, - A Good New Year to you. The year closes, leaving +me with 50 pounds in the bank, owing no man nothing, 100 pounds +more due to me in a week or so, and 150 pounds more in the course +of the month; and I can look back on a total receipt of 465 pounds, +0s. 6d. for the last twelve months! + +And yet I am not happy! + +Yet I beg! Here is my beggary:- + +1. Sellar's Trial. +2. George Borrow's Book about Wales. +3. My Grandfather's Trip to Holland. +4. And (but this is, I fear, impossible) the Bell Rock Book. + +When I think of how last year began, after four months of sickness +and idleness, all my plans gone to water, myself starting alone, a +kind of spectre, for Nice - should I not be grateful? Come, let us +sing unto the Lord! + +Nor should I forget the expected visit, but I will not believe in +that till it befall; I am no cultivator of disappointments, 'tis a +herb that does not grow in my garden; but I get some good crops +both of remorse and gratitude. The last I can recommend to all +gardeners; it grows best in shiny weather, but once well grown, is +very hardy; it does not require much labour; only that the +husbandman should smoke his pipe about the flower-plots and admire +God's pleasant wonders. Winter green (otherwise known as +Resignation, or the 'false gratitude plant') springs in much the +same soil; is little hardier, if at all; and requires to be so dug +about and dunged, that there is little margin left for profit. The +variety known as the Black Winter green (H. V. Stevensoniana) is +rather for ornament than profit. + +'John, do you see that bed of resignation?' - 'It's doin' bravely, +sir.' - 'John, I will not have it in my garden; it flatters not the +eye and comforts not the stomach; root it out.' - 'Sir, I ha'e seen +o' them that rase as high as nettles; gran' plants!' - 'What then? +Were they as tall as alps, if still unsavoury and bleak, what +matters it? Out with it, then; and in its place put Laughter and a +Good Conceit (that capital home evergreen), and a bush of Flowering +Piety - but see it be the flowering sort - the other species is no +ornament to any gentleman's Back Garden.' + +JNO. BUNYAN. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, 9TH MARCH 1884. + +MY DEAR S. C., - You will already have received a not very sane +note from me; so your patience was rewarded - may I say, your +patient silence? However, now comes a letter, which on receipt, I +thus acknowledge. + +I have already expressed myself as to the political aspect. About +Grahame, I feel happier; it does seem to have been really a good, +neat, honest piece of work. We do not seem to be so badly off for +commanders: Wolseley and Roberts, and this pile of Woods, +Stewarts, Alisons, Grahames, and the like. Had we but ONE +statesman on any side of the house! + +Two chapters of OTTO do remain: one to rewrite, one to create; and +I am not yet able to tackle them. For me it is my chief o' works; +hence probably not so for others, since it only means that I have +here attacked the greatest difficulties. But some chapters towards +the end: three in particular - I do think come off. I find them +stirring, dramatic, and not unpoetical. We shall see, however; as +like as not, the effort will be more obvious than the success. +For, of course, I strung myself hard to carry it out. The next +will come easier, and possibly be more popular. I believe in the +covering of much paper, each time with a definite and not too +difficult artistic purpose; and then, from time to time, drawing +oneself up and trying, in a superior effort, to combine the +facilities thus acquired or improved. Thus one progresses. But, +mind, it is very likely that the big effort, instead of being the +masterpiece, may be the blotted copy, the gymnastic exercise. This +no man can tell; only the brutal and licentious public, snouting in +Mudie's wash-trough, can return a dubious answer. + +I am to-day, thanks to a pure heaven and a beneficent, loud- +talking, antiseptic mistral, on the high places as to health and +spirits. Money holds out wonderfully. Fanny has gone for a drive +to certain meadows which are now one sheet of jonquils: sea-bound +meadows, the thought of which may freshen you in Bloomsbury. 'Ye +have been fresh and fair, Ye have been filled with flowers' - I +fear I misquote. Why do people babble? Surely Herrick, in his +true vein, is superior to Martial himself, though Martial is a very +pretty poet. + +Did you ever read St. Augustine? The first chapters of the +CONFESSIONS are marked by a commanding genius. Shakespearian in +depth. I was struck dumb, but, alas! when you begin to wander into +controversy, the poet drops out. His description of infancy is +most seizing. And how is this: 'Sed majorum nugae negotia +vocantur; puerorum autem talia cum sint puniuntur a majoribus.' +Which is quite after the heart of R. L. S. See also his splendid +passage about the 'luminosus limes amicitiae' and the 'nebulae de +limosa concupiscentia carnis'; going on 'UTRUMQUE in confuso +aestuabat et rapiebat imbecillam aetatem per abrupta cupiditatum.' +That 'Utrumque' is a real contribution to life's science. Lust +ALONE is but a pigmy; but it never, or rarely, attacks us single- +handed. + +Do you ever read (to go miles off, indeed) the incredible Barbey +d'Aurevilly? A psychological Poe - to be for a moment Henley. I +own with pleasure I prefer him with all his folly, rot, sentiment, +and mixed metaphors, to the whole modern school in France. It +makes me laugh when it's nonsense; and when he gets an effect +(though it's still nonsense and mere Poery, not poesy) it wakens +me. CE QUI NE MEURT PAS nearly killed me with laughing, and left +me - well, it left me very nearly admiring the old ass. At least, +it's the kind of thing one feels one couldn't do. The dreadful +moonlight, when they all three sit silent in the room - by George, +sir, it's imagined - and the brief scene between the husband and +wife is all there. QUANT AU FOND, the whole thing, of course, is a +fever dream, and worthy of eternal laughter. Had the young man +broken stones, and the two women been hard-working honest +prostitutes, there had been an end of the whole immoral and +baseless business: you could at least have respected them in that +case. + +I also read PETRONIUS ARBITER, which is a rum work, not so immoral +as most modern works, but singularly silly. I tackled some Tacitus +too. I got them with a dreadful French crib on the same page with +the text, which helps me along and drives me mad. The French do +not even try to translate. They try to be much more classical than +the classics, with astounding results of barrenness and tedium. +Tacitus, I fear, was too solid for me. I liked the war part; but +the dreary intriguing at Rome was too much. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MR. DICK + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, VAR, 12TH MARCH 1884. + +MY DEAR MR. DICK, - I have been a great while owing you a letter; +but I am not without excuses, as you have heard. I overworked to +get a piece of work finished before I had my holiday, thinking to +enjoy it more; and instead of that, the machinery near hand came +sundry in my hands! like Murdie's uniform. However, I am now, I +think, in a fair way of recovery; I think I was made, what there is +of me, of whipcord and thorn-switches; surely I am tough! But I +fancy I shall not overdrive again, or not so long. It is my theory +that work is highly beneficial, but that it should, if possible, +and certainly for such partially broken-down instruments as the +thing I call my body, be taken in batches, with a clear break and +breathing space between. I always do vary my work, laying one +thing aside to take up another, not merely because I believe it +rests the brain, but because I have found it most beneficial to the +result. Reading, Bacon says, makes a full man, but what makes me +full on any subject is to banish it for a time from all my +thoughts. However, what I now propose is, out of every quarter, to +work two months' and rest the third. I believe I shall get more +done, as I generally manage, on my present scheme, to have four +months' impotent illness and two of imperfect health - one before, +one after, I break down. This, at least, is not an economical +division of the year. + +I re-read the other day that heartbreaking book, the LIFE OF SCOTT. +One should read such works now and then, but O, not often. As I +live, I feel more and more that literature should be cheerful and +brave-spirited, even if it cannot be made beautiful and pious and +heroic. We wish it to be a green place; the WAVERLEY NOVELS are +better to re-read than the over-true life, fine as dear Sir Walter +was. The Bible, in most parts, is a cheerful book; it is our +little piping theologies, tracts, and sermons that are dull and +dowie; and even the Shorter Catechism, which is scarcely a work of +consolation, opens with the best and shortest and completest sermon +ever written - upon Man's chief end. - Believe me, my dear Mr. +Dick, very sincerely yours, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +P.S. - You see I have changed my hand. I was threatened apparently +with scrivener's cramp, and at any rate had got to write so small, +that the revisal of my MS. tried my eyes, hence my signature alone +remains upon the old model; for it appears that if I changed that, +I should be cut off from my 'vivers.' + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO COSMO MONKHOUSE + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, MARCH 16, 1884. + +MY DEAR MONKHOUSE, - You see with what promptitude I plunge into +correspondence; but the truth is, I am condemned to a complete +inaction, stagnate dismally, and love a letter. Yours, which would +have been welcome at any time, was thus doubly precious. + +Dover sounds somewhat shiveringly in my ears. You should see the +weather I have - cloudless, clear as crystal, with just a punkah- +draft of the most aromatic air, all pine and gum tree. You would +be ashamed of Dover; you would scruple to refer, sir, to a spot so +paltry. To be idle at Dover is a strange pretension; pray, how do +you warm yourself? If I were there I should grind knives or write +blank verse, or - But at least you do not bathe? It is idle to +deny it: I have - I may say I nourish - a growing jealousy of the +robust, large-legged, healthy Britain-dwellers, patient of grog, +scorners of the timid umbrella, innocuously breathing fog: all +which I once was, and I am ashamed to say liked it. How ignorant +is youth! grossly rolling among unselected pleasures; and how +nobler, purer, sweeter, and lighter, to sip the choice tonic, to +recline in the luxurious invalid chair, and to tread, well-shawled, +the little round of the constitutional. Seriously, do you like to +repose? Ye gods, I hate it. I never rest with any acceptation; I +do not know what people mean who say they like sleep and that +damned bedtime which, since long ere I was breeched, has rung a +knell to all my day's doings and beings. And when a man, seemingly +sane, tells me he has 'fallen in love with stagnation,' I can only +say to him, 'You will never be a Pirate!' This may not cause any +regret to Mrs. Monkhouse; but in your own soul it will clang hollow +- think of it! Never! After all boyhood's aspirations and youth's +immoral day-dreams, you are condemned to sit down, grossly draw in +your chair to the fat board, and be a beastly Burgess till you die. +Can it be? Is there not some escape, some furlough from the Moral +Law, some holiday jaunt contrivable into a Better Land? Shall we +never shed blood? This prospect is too grey. + + +'Here lies a man who never did +Anything but what he was bid; +Who lived his life in paltry ease, +And died of commonplace disease.' + + +To confess plainly, I had intended to spend my life (or any leisure +I might have from Piracy upon the high seas) as the leader of a +great horde of irregular cavalry, devastating whole valleys. I can +still, looking back, see myself in many favourite attitudes; +signalling for a boat from my pirate ship with a pocket- +handkerchief, I at the jetty end, and one or two of my bold blades +keeping the crowd at bay; or else turning in the saddle to look +back at my whole command (some five thousand strong) following me +at the hand-gallop up the road out of the burning valley: this +last by moonlight. + +ET POINT DU TOUT. I am a poor scribe, and have scarce broken a +commandment to mention, and have recently dined upon cold veal! As +for you (who probably had some ambitions), I hear of you living at +Dover, in lodgings, like the beasts of the field. But in heaven, +when we get there, we shall have a good time, and see some real +carnage. For heaven is - must be - that great Kingdom of +Antinomia, which Lamb saw dimly adumbrated in the COUNTRY WIFE, +where the worm which never dies (the conscience) peacefully +expires, and the sinner lies down beside the Ten Commandments. +Till then, here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling, with neither +health nor vice for anything more spirited than procrastination, +which I may well call the Consolation Stakes of Wickedness; and by +whose diligent practice, without the least amusement to ourselves, +we can rob the orphan and bring down grey hairs with sorrow to the +dust. + +This astonishing gush of nonsense I now hasten to close, envelope, +and expedite to Shakespeare's Cliff. Remember me to Shakespeare, +and believe me, yours very sincerely, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, MARCH 17, 1884. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - Your office - office is profanely said - your +bower upon the leads is divine. Have you, like Pepys, 'the right +to fiddle' there? I see you mount the companion, barbiton in hand, +and, fluttered about by city sparrows, pour forth your spirit in a +voluntary. Now when the spring begins, you must lay in your +flowers: how do you say about a potted hawthorn? Would it bloom? +Wallflower is a choice pot-herb; lily-of-the-valley, too, and +carnation, and Indian cress trailed about the window, is not only +beautiful by colour, but the leaves are good to eat. I recommend +thyme and rosemary for the aroma, which should not be left upon one +side; they are good quiet growths. + +On one of your tables keep a great map spread out; a chart is still +better - it takes one further - the havens with their little +anchors, the rocks, banks, and soundings, are adorably marine; and +such furniture will suit your ship-shape habitation. I wish I +could see those cabins; they smile upon me with the most intimate +charm. From your leads, do you behold St. Paul's? I always like +to see the Foolscap; it is London PER SE and no spot from which it +is visible is without romance. Then it is good company for the man +of letters, whose veritable nursing Pater-Noster is so near at +hand. + +I am all at a standstill; as idle as a painted ship, but not so +pretty. My romance, which has so nearly butchered me in the +writing, not even finished; though so near, thank God, that a few +days of tolerable strength will see the roof upon that structure. +I have worked very hard at it, and so do not expect any great +public favour. IN MOMENTS OF EFFORT, ONE LEARNS TO DO THE EASY +THINGS THAT PEOPLE LIKE. There is the golden maxim; thus one +should strain and then play, strain again and play again. The +strain is for us, it educates; the play is for the reader, and +pleases. Do you not feel so? We are ever threatened by two +contrary faults: both deadly. To sink into what my forefathers +would have called 'rank conformity,' and to pour forth cheap +replicas, upon the one hand; upon the other, and still more +insidiously present, to forget that art is a diversion and a +decoration, that no triumph or effort is of value, nor anything +worth reaching except charm. - Yours affectionately, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MISS FERRIER + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, [MARCH 22, 1884]. + +MY DEAR MISS FERRIER, - Are you really going to fall us? This +seems a dreadful thing. My poor wife, who is not well off for +friends on this bare coast, has been promising herself, and I have +been promising her, a rare acquisition. And now Miss Burn has +failed, and you utter a very doubtful note. You do not know how +delightful this place is, nor how anxious we are for a visit. Look +at the names: 'The Solitude' - is that romantic? The palm-trees? +- how is that for the gorgeous East? 'Var'? the name of a river - +'the quiet waters by'! 'Tis true, they are in another department, +and consist of stones and a biennial spate; but what a music, what +a plash of brooks, for the imagination! We have hills; we have +skies; the roses are putting forth, as yet sparsely; the meadows by +the sea are one sheet of jonquils; the birds sing as in an English +May - for, considering we are in France and serve up our song- +birds, I am ashamed to say, on a little field of toast and with a +sprig of thyme (my own receipt) in their most innocent and now +unvocal bellies - considering all this, we have a wonderfully fair +wood-music round this Solitude of ours. What can I say more? - All +this awaits you. KENNST DU DAS LAND, in short. - Your sincere +friend, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO W. H. LOW + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES-LES-PALMIERS, VAR, [APRIL 1884]. + +MY DEAR LOW, - The blind man in these sprawled lines sends +greeting. I have been ill, as perhaps the papers told you. The +news - 'great news - glorious news - sec-ond ed-ition!' - went the +round in England. + +Anyway, I now thank you for your pictures, which, particularly the +Arcadian one, we all (Bob included, he was here sick-nursing me) +much liked. + +Herewith are a set of verses which I thought pretty enough to send +to press. Then I thought of the MANHATTAN, towards whom I have +guilty and compunctious feelings. Last, I had the best thought of +all - to send them to you in case you might think them suitable for +illustration. It seemed to me quite in your vein. If so, good; if +not, hand them on to MANHATTAN, CENTURY, or LIPPINCOTT, at your +pleasure, as all three desire my work or pretend to. But I trust +the lines will not go unattended. Some riverside will haunt you; +and O! be tender to my bathing girls. The lines are copied in my +wife's hand, as I cannot see to write otherwise than with the pen +of Cormoran, Gargantua, or Nimrod. Love to your wife. - Yours +ever, + +R. L. S. + +Copied it myself. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +LA SOLITUDE, APRIL 19, 1884. + +MY DEAR FATHER, - Yesterday I very powerfully stated the HERESIS +STEVENSONIANA, or the complete body of divinity of the family +theologian, to Miss Ferrier. She was much impressed; so was I. +You are a great heresiarch; and I know no better. Whaur the devil +did ye get thon about the soap? Is it altogether your own? I +never heard it elsewhere; and yet I suspect it must have been held +at some time or other, and if you were to look up you would +probably find yourself condemned by some Council. + +I am glad to hear you are so well. The hear is excellent. The +CORNHILLS came; I made Miss Ferrier read us 'Thrawn Janet,' and was +quite bowled over by my own works. The 'Merry Men' I mean to make +much longer, with a whole new denouement, not yet quite clear to +me. 'The Story of a Lie,' I must rewrite entirely also, as it is +too weak and ragged, yet is worth saving for the Admiral. Did I +ever tell you that the Admiral was recognised in America? + +When they are all on their legs this will make an excellent +collection. + +Has Davie never read GUY MANNERING, ROB ROY, or THE ANTIQUARY? All +of which are worth three WAVERLEYS. I think KENILWORTH better than +WAVERLEY; NIGEL, too; and QUENTIN DURWARD about as good. But it +shows a true piece of insight to prefer WAVERLEY, for it IS +different; and though not quite coherent, better worked in parts +than almost any other: surely more carefully. It is undeniable +that the love of the slap-dash and the shoddy grew upon Scott with +success. Perhaps it does on many of us, which may be the granite +on which D.'s opinion stands. However, I hold it, in Patrick +Walker's phrase, for an 'old, condemned, damnable error.' Dr. +Simson was condemned by P. W. as being 'a bagful of' such. One of +Patrick's amenities! + +Another ground there may be to D.'s opinion; those who avoid (or +seek to avoid) Scott's facility are apt to be continually straining +and torturing their style to get in more of life. And to many the +extra significance does not redeem the strain. + +DOCTOR STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO COSMO MONKHOUSE + + + +LA SOLITUDE, HYERES, [APRIL 24, 1884]. + +DEAR MONKHOUSE, - If you are in love with repose, here is your +occasion: change with me. I am too blind to read, hence no +reading; I am too weak to walk, hence no walking; I am not allowed +to speak, hence no talking; but the great simplification has yet to +be named; for, if this goes on, I shall soon have nothing to eat - +and hence, O Hallelujah! hence no eating. The offer is a fair one: +I have not sold myself to the devil, for I could never find him. I +am married, but so are you. I sometimes write verses, but so do +you. Come! HIC QUIES! As for the commandments, I have broken +them so small that they are the dust of my chambers; you walk upon +them, triturate and toothless; and with the Golosh of Philosophy, +they shall not bite your heel. True, the tenement is falling. Ay, +friend, but yours also. Take a larger view; what is a year or two? +dust in the balance! 'Tis done, behold you Cosmo Stevenson, and me +R. L. Monkhouse; you at Hyeres, I in London; you rejoicing in the +clammiest repose, me proceeding to tear your tabernacle into rags, +as I have already so admirably torn my own. + +My place to which I now introduce you - it is yours - is like a +London house, high and very narrow; upon the lungs I will not +linger; the heart is large enough for a ballroom; the belly greedy +and inefficient; the brain stocked with the most damnable +explosives, like a dynamiter's den. The whole place is well +furnished, though not in a very pure taste; Corinthian much of it; +showy and not strong. + +About your place I shall try to find my way alone, an interesting +exploration. Imagine me, as I go to bed, falling over a blood- +stained remorse; opening that cupboard in the cerebellum and being +welcomed by the spirit of your murdered uncle. I should probably +not like your remorses; I wonder if you will like mine; I have a +spirited assortment; they whistle in my ear o' nights like a north- +easter. I trust yours don't dine with the family; mine are better +mannered; you will hear nought of them till, 2 A.M., except one, to +be sure, that I have made a pet of, but he is small; I keep him in +buttons, so as to avoid commentaries; you will like him much - if +you like what is genuine. + +Must we likewise change religions? Mine is a good article, with a +trick of stopping; cathedral bell note; ornamental dial; supported +by Venus and the Graces; quite a summer-parlour piety. Of yours, +since your last, I fear there is little to be said. + +There is one article I wish to take away with me: my spirits. +They suit me. I don't want yours; I like my own; I have had them a +long while in bottle. It is my only reservation. - Yours (as you +decide), + +R. L. MONKHOUSE. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +HYERES, MAY 1884. + +DEAR BOY, - OLD MORTALITY is out, and I am glad to say Coggie likes +it. We like her immensely. + +I keep better, but no great shakes yet; cannot work - cannot: that +is flat, not even verses: as for prose, that more active place is +shut on me long since. + +My view of life is essentially the comic; and the romantically +comic. AS YOU LIKE IT is to me the most bird-haunted spot in +letters; TEMPEST and TWELFTH NIGHT follow. These are what I mean +by poetry and nature. I make an effort of my mind to be quite one +with Moliere, except upon the stage, where his inimitable JEUX DE +SCENE beggar belief; but you will observe they are stage-plays - +things AD HOC; not great Olympian debauches of the heart and fancy; +hence more perfect, and not so great. Then I come, after great +wanderings, to Carmosine and to Fantasio; to one part of La +Derniere Aldini (which, by the by, we might dramatise in a week), +to the notes that Meredith has found, Evan and the postillion, Evan +and Rose, Harry in Germany. And to me these things are the good; +beauty, touched with sex and laughter; beauty with God's earth for +the background. Tragedy does not seem to me to come off; and when +it does, it does so by the heroic illusion; the anti-masque has +been omitted; laughter, which attends on all our steps in life, and +sits by the deathbed, and certainly redacts the epitaph, laughter +has been lost from these great-hearted lies. But the comedy which +keeps the beauty and touches the terrors of our life (laughter and +tragedy-in-a-good-humour having kissed), that is the last word of +moved representation; embracing the greatest number of elements of +fate and character; and telling its story, not with the one eye of +pity, but with the two of pity and mirth. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +FROM MY BED, MAY 29, 1884. + +DEAR GOSSE, - The news of the Professorate found me in the article +of - well, of heads or tails; I am still in bed, and a very poor +person. You must thus excuse my damned delay; but, I assure you, I +was delighted. You will believe me the more, if I confess to you +that my first sentiment was envy; yes, sir, on my blood-boltered +couch I envied the professor. However, it was not of long +duration; the double thought that you deserved and that you would +thoroughly enjoy your success fell like balsam on my wounds. How +came it that you never communicated my rejection of Gilder's offer +for the Rhone? But it matters not. Such earthly vanities are over +for the present. This has been a fine well-conducted illness. A +month in bed; a month of silence; a fortnight of not stirring my +right hand; a month of not moving without being lifted. Come! CA +Y EST: devilish like being dead. - Yours, dear Professor, +academically, + +R. L. S. + +I am soon to be moved to Royat; an invalid valet goes with me! I +got him cheap - second-hand. + +In turning over my late friend Ferrier's commonplace book, I find +three poems from VIOL AND FLUTE copied out in his hand: 'When +Flower-time,' 'Love in Winter,' and 'Mistrust.' They are capital +too. But I thought the fact would interest you. He was no poetist +either; so it means the more. 'Love in W.!' I like the best. + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +HOTEL CHABASSIERE, ROYAT, [JULY 1884]. + +MY DEAR PEOPLE, - The weather has been demoniac; I have had a skiff +of cold, and was finally obliged to take to bed entirely; to-day, +however, it has cleared, the sun shines, and I begin to + +(SEVERAL DAYS AFTER.) + +I have been out once, but now am back in bed. I am better, and +keep better, but the weather is a mere injustice. The imitation of +Edinburgh is, at times, deceptive; there is a note among the +chimney pots that suggests Howe Street; though I think the +shrillest spot in Christendom was not upon the Howe Street side, +but in front, just under the Miss Graemes' big chimney stack. It +had a fine alto character - a sort of bleat that used to divide the +marrow in my joints - say in the wee, slack hours. That music is +now lost to us by rebuilding; another air that I remember, not +regret, was the solo of the gas-burner in the little front room; a +knickering, flighty, fleering, and yet spectral cackle. I mind it +above all on winter afternoons, late, when the window was blue and +spotted with rare rain-drops, and, looking out, the cold evening +was seen blue all over, with the lamps of Queen's and Frederick's +Street dotting it with yellow, and flaring east-ward in the +squalls. Heavens, how unhappy I have been in such circumstances - +I, who have now positively forgotten the colour of unhappiness; who +am full like a fed ox, and dull like a fresh turf, and have no more +spiritual life, for good or evil, than a French bagman. + +We are at Chabassiere's, for of course it was nonsense to go up the +hill when we could not walk. + +The child's poems in a far extended form are likely soon to be +heard of - which Cummy I dare say will be glad to know. They will +make a book of about one hundred pages. - Ever your affectionate, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +[ROYAT, JULY 1884.] + +. . . HERE is a quaint thing, I have read ROBINSON, COLONEL JACK, +MOLL FLANDERS, MEMOIRS OF A CAVALIER, HISTORY OF THE PLAGUE, +HISTORY OF THE GREAT STORM, SCOTCH CHURCH AND UNION. And there my +knowledge of Defoe ends - except a book, the name of which I +forget, about Peterborough in Spain, which Defoe obviously did not +write, and could not have written if he wanted. To which of these +does B. J. refer? I guess it must be the history of the Scottish +Church. I jest; for, of course, I KNOW it must be a book I have +never read, and which this makes me keen to read - I mean CAPTAIN +SINGLETON. Can it be got and sent to me? If TREASURE ISLAND is at +all like it, it will be delightful. I was just the other day +wondering at my folly in not remembering it, when I was writing T. +I., as a mine for pirate tips. T. I. came out of Kingsley's AT +LAST, where I got the Dead Man's Chest - and that was the seed - +and out of the great Captain Johnson's HISTORY OF NOTORIOUS +PIRATES. The scenery is Californian in part, and in part CHIC. + +I was downstairs to-day! So now I am a made man - till the next +time. + +R. L. STEVENSON. + +If it was CAPTAIN SINGLETON, send it to me, won't you? + +LATER. - My life dwindles into a kind of valley of the shadow +picnic. I cannot read; so much of the time (as to-day) I must not +speak above my breath, that to play patience, or to see my wife +play it, is become the be-all and the end-all of my dim career. To +add to my gaiety, I may write letters, but there are few to answer. +Patience and Poesy are thus my rod and staff; with these I not +unpleasantly support my days. + +I am very dim, dumb, dowie, and damnable. I hate to be silenced; +and if to talk by signs is my forte (as I contend), to understand +them cannot be my wife's. Do not think me unhappy; I have not been +so for years; but I am blurred, inhabit the debatable frontier of +sleep, and have but dim designs upon activity. All is at a +standstill; books closed, paper put aside, the voice, the eternal +voice of R. L. S., well silenced. Hence this plaint reaches you +with no very great meaning, no very great purpose, and written part +in slumber by a heavy, dull, somnolent, superannuated son of a +bedpost. + + + + +CHAPTER VII - LIFE AT BOURNEMOUTH, SEPTEMBER 1884-DECEMBER 1885 + + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +WENSLEYDALE, BOURNEMOUTH, SUNDAY, 28TH SEPTEMBER 1884. + +MY DEAR PEOPLE, - I keep better, and am to-day downstairs for the +first time. I find the lockers entirely empty; not a cent to the +front. Will you pray send us some? It blows an equinoctial gale, +and has blown for nearly a week. Nimbus Britannicus; piping wind, +lashing rain; the sea is a fine colour, and wind-bound ships lie at +anchor under the Old Harry rocks, to make one glad to be ashore. + +The Henleys are gone, and two plays practically done. I hope they +may produce some of the ready. - I am, ever affectionate son, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[WENSLEYDALE, BOURNEMOUTH, OCTOBER 1884?] + +DEAR BOY, - I trust this finds you well; it leaves me so-so. The +weather is so cold that I must stick to bed, which is rotten and +tedious, but can't be helped. + +I find in the blotting book the enclosed, which I wrote to you the +eve of my blood. Is it not strange? That night, when I naturally +thought I was coopered, the thought of it was much in my mind; I +thought it had gone; and I thought what a strange prophecy I had +made in jest, and how it was indeed like to be the end of many +letters. But I have written a good few since, and the spell is +broken. I am just as pleased, for I earnestly desire to live. +This pleasant middle age into whose port we are steering is quite +to my fancy. I would cast anchor here, and go ashore for twenty +years, and see the manners of the place. Youth was a great time, +but somewhat fussy. Now in middle age (bar lucre) all seems mighty +placid. It likes me; I spy a little bright cafe in one corner of +the port, in front of which I now propose we should sit down. +There is just enough of the bustle of the harbour and no more; and +the ships are close in, regarding us with stern-windows - the ships +that bring deals from Norway and parrots from the Indies. Let us +sit down here for twenty years, with a packet of tobacco and a +drink, and talk of art and women. By-and-by, the whole city will +sink, and the ships too, and the table, and we also; but we shall +have sat for twenty years and had a fine talk; and by that time, +who knows? exhausted the subject. + +I send you a book which (or I am mistook) will please you; it +pleased me. But I do desire a book of adventure - a romance - and +no man will get or write me one. Dumas I have read and re-read too +often; Scott, too, and I am short. I want to hear swords clash. I +want a book to begin in a good way; a book, I guess, like TREASURE +ISLAND, alas! which I have never read, and cannot though I live to +ninety. I would God that some one else had written it! By all +that I can learn, it is the very book for my complaint. I like the +way I hear it opens; and they tell me John Silver is good fun. And +to me it is, and must ever be, a dream unrealised, a book +unwritten. O my sighings after romance, or even Skeltery, and O! +the weary age which will produce me neither! + + +CHAPTER I + + +The night was damp and cloudy, the ways foul. The single horseman, +cloaked and booted, who pursued his way across Willesden Common, +had not met a traveller, when the sound of wheels - + + +CHAPTER I + + +'Yes, sir,' said the old pilot, 'she must have dropped into the bay +a little afore dawn. A queer craft she looks.' + +'She shows no colours,' returned the young gentleman musingly. + +'They're a-lowering of a quarter-boat, Mr. Mark,' resumed the old +salt. 'We shall soon know more of her.' + +'Ay,' replied the young gentleman called Mark, 'and here, Mr. +Seadrift, comes your sweet daughter Nancy tripping down the cliff.' + +'God bless her kind heart, sir,' ejaculated old Seadrift. + + +CHAPTER I + + +The notary, Jean Rossignol, had been summoned to the top of a great +house in the Isle St. Louis to make a will; and now, his duties +finished, wrapped in a warm roquelaure and with a lantern swinging +from one hand, he issued from the mansion on his homeward way. +Little did he think what strange adventures were to befall him! - + +That is how stories should begin. And I am offered HUSKS instead. + +What should be: What is: +The Filibuster's Cache. Aunt Anne's Tea Cosy. +Jerry Abershaw. Mrs. Brierly's Niece. +Blood Money: A Tale. Society: A Novel + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO THE REV. PROFESSOR LEWIS CAMPBELL + + + +[WENSLEYDALE, BOURNEMOUTH, NOVEMBER 1884.] + +MY DEAR CAMPBELL, - The books came duly to hand. My wife has +occupied the translation ever since, nor have I yet been able to +dislodge her. As for the primer, I have read it with a very +strange result: that I find no fault. If you knew how, dogmatic +and pugnacious, I stand warden on the literary art, you would the +more appreciate your success and my - well, I will own it - +disappointment. For I love to put people right (or wrong) about +the arts. But what you say of Tragedy and of Sophocles very amply +satisfies me; it is well felt and well said; a little less +technically than it is my weakness to desire to see it put, but +clear and adequate. You are very right to express your admiration +for the resource displayed in OEdipus King; it is a miracle. Would +it not have been well to mention Voltaire's interesting onslaught, +a thing which gives the best lesson of the difference of neighbour +arts? - since all his criticisms, which had been fatal to a +narrative, do not amount among them to exhibit one flaw in this +masterpiece of drama. For the drama, it is perfect; though such a +fable in a romance might make the reader crack his sides, so +imperfect, so ethereally slight is the verisimilitude required of +these conventional, rigid, and egg-dancing arts. + +I was sorry to see no more of you; but shall conclude by hoping for +better luck next time. My wife begs to be remembered to both of +you. - Yours sincerely, + + + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO ANDREW CHATTO + + + +WENSLEYDALE, BOURNEMOUTH, OCTOBER 3, 1884. + +DEAR MR. CHATTO, - I have an offer of 25 pounds for OTTO from +America. I do not know if you mean to have the American rights; +from the nature of the contract, I think not; but if you understood +that you were to sell the sheets, I will either hand over the +bargain to you, or finish it myself and hand you over the money if +you are pleased with the amount. You see, I leave this quite in +your hands. To parody an old Scotch story of servant and master: +if you don't know that you have a good author, I know that I have a +good publisher. Your fair, open, and handsome dealings are a good +point in my life, and do more for my crazy health than has yet been +done by any doctor. - Very truly yours, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO W. H. LOW + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, BOURNEMOUTH, HANTS, ENGLAND, FIRST +WEEK IN NOVEMBER, I GUESS, 1884. + +MY DEAR LOW, - NOW, look here, the above is my address for three +months, I hope; continue, on your part, if you please, to write to +Edinburgh, which is safe; but if Mrs. Low thinks of coming to +England, she might take a run down from London (four hours from +Waterloo, main line) and stay a day or two with us among the pines. +If not, I hope it will be only a pleasure deferred till you can +join her. + +My Children's Verses will be published here in a volume called A +CHILD'S GARDEN. The sheets are in hand; I will see if I cannot +send you the lot, so that you might have a bit of a start. In that +case I would do nothing to publish in the States, and you might try +an illustrated edition there; which, if the book went fairly over +here, might, when ready, be imported. But of this more fully ere +long. You will see some verses of mine in the last MAGAZINE OF +ART, with pictures by a young lady; rather pretty, I think. If we +find a market for PHASELLULUS LOQUITUR, we can try another. I hope +it isn't necessary to put the verse into that rustic printing. I +am Philistine enough to prefer clean printer's type; indeed, I can +form no idea of the verses thus transcribed by the incult and +tottering hand of the draughtsman, nor gather any impression beyond +one of weariness to the eyes. Yet the other day, in the CENTURY, I +saw it imputed as a crime to Vedder that he had not thus travestied +Omar Khayyam. We live in a rum age of music without airs, stories +without incident, pictures without beauty, American wood engravings +that should have been etchings, and dry-point etchings that ought +to have been mezzo-tints. I think of giving 'em literature without +words; and I believe if you were to try invisible illustration, it +would enjoy a considerable vogue. So long as an artist is on his +head, is painting with a flute, or writes with an etcher's needle, +or conducts the orchestra with a meat-axe, all is well; and +plaudits shower along with roses. But any plain man who tries to +follow the obtrusive canons of his art, is but a commonplace +figure. To hell with him is the motto, or at least not that; for +he will have his reward, but he will never be thought a person of +parts. + +JANUARY 3, 1885. + +And here has this been lying near two months. I have failed to get +together a preliminary copy of the Child's Verses for you, in spite +of doughty efforts; but yesterday I sent you the first sheet of the +definitive edition, and shall continue to send the others as they +come. If you can, and care to, work them - why so, well. If not, +I send you fodder. But the time presses; for though I will delay a +little over the proofs, and though - it is even possible they may +delay the English issue until Easter, it will certainly not be +later. Therefore perpend, and do not get caught out. Of course, +if you can do pictures, it will be a great pleasure to me to see +our names joined; and more than that, a great advantage, as I +daresay you may be able to make a bargain for some share a little +less spectral than the common for the poor author. But this is all +as you shall choose; I give you CARTE BLANCHE to do or not to do. - +Yours most sincerely, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +O, Sargent has been and painted my portrait; a very nice fellow he +is, and is supposed to have done well; it is a poetical but very +chicken-boned figure-head, as thus represented. R. L. S. Go on. + +P.P.S. - Your picture came; and let me thank you for it very much. +I am so hunted I had near forgotten. I find it very graceful; and +I mean to have it framed. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, NOVEMBER 1884. + +MY DEAR FATHER, - I have no hesitation in recommending you to let +your name go up; please yourself about an address; though I think, +if we could meet, we could arrange something suitable. What you +propose would be well enough in a way, but so modest as to suggest +a whine. From that point of view it would be better to change a +little; but this, whether we meet or not, we must discuss. Tait, +Chrystal, the Royal Society, and I, all think you amply deserve +this honour and far more; it is not the True Blue to call this +serious compliment a 'trial'; you should be glad of this +recognition. As for resigning, that is easy enough if found +necessary; but to refuse would be husky and unsatisfactory. SIC +SUBS. + +R. L. S. + +My cold is still very heavy; but I carry it well. Fanny is very +very much out of sorts, principally through perpetual misery with +me. I fear I have been a little in the dumps, which, AS YOU KNOW, +SIR, is a very great sin. I must try to be more cheerful; but my +cough is so severe that I have sometimes most exhausting nights and +very peevish wakenings. However, this shall be remedied, and last +night I was distinctly better than the night before. There is, my +dear Mr. Stevenson (so I moralise blandly as we sit together on the +devil's garden-wall), no more abominable sin than this gloom, this +plaguey peevishness; why (say I) what matters it if we be a little +uncomfortable - that is no reason for mangling our unhappy wives. +And then I turn and GIRN on the unfortunate Cassandra. - Your +fellow culprit, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +WENSLEYDALE, BOURNEMOUTH, NOVEMBER 1884. + +DEAR HENLEY, - We are all to pieces in health, and heavily +handicapped with Arabs. I have a dreadful cough, whose attacks +leave me AETAT. 90. I never let up on the Arabs, all the same, and +rarely get less than eight pages out of hand, though hardly able to +come downstairs for twittering knees. + +I shall put in -'s letter. He says so little of his circumstances +that I am in an impossibility to give him advice more specific than +a copybook. Give him my love, however, and tell him it is the mark +of the parochial gentleman who has never travelled to find all +wrong in a foreign land. Let him hold on, and he will find one +country as good as another; and in the meanwhile let him resist the +fatal British tendency to communicate his dissatisfaction with a +country to its inhabitants. 'Tis a good idea, but it somehow fails +to please. In a fortnight, if I can keep my spirit in the box at +all, I should be nearly through this Arabian desert; so can tackle +something fresh. - Yours ever, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, BOURNEMOUTH (THE THREE B'S) +[NOVEMBER 5, 1884]. + +MY DEAR FATHER, - Allow me to say, in a strictly Pickwickian sense, +that you are a silly fellow. I am pained indeed, but how should I +be offended? I think you exaggerate; I cannot forget that you had +the same impression of the DEACON; and yet, when you saw it played, +were less revolted than you looked for; and I will still hope that +the ADMIRAL also is not so bad as you suppose. There is one point, +however, where I differ from you very frankly. Religion is in the +world; I do not think you are the man to deny the importance of its +role; and I have long decided not to leave it on one side in art. +The opposition of the Admiral and Mr. Pew is not, to my eyes, +either horrible or irreverent; but it may be, and it probably is, +very ill done: what then? This is a failure; better luck next +time; more power to the elbow, more discretion, more wisdom in the +design, and the old defeat becomes the scene of the new victory. +Concern yourself about no failure; they do not cost lives, as in +engineering; they are the PIERRES PERDUES of successes. Fame is +(truly) a vapour; do not think of it; if the writer means well and +tries hard, no failure will injure him, whether with God or man. + +I wish I could hear a brighter account of yourself; but I am +inclined to acquit the ADMIRAL of having a share in the +responsibility. My very heavy cold is, I hope, drawing off; and +the change to this charming house in the forest will, I hope, +complete my re-establishment. - With love to all, believe me, your +ever affectionate, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, BOURNEMOUTH, NOVEMBER 11, [1884]. + +MY DEAR CHARLES, - I am in my new house, thus proudly styled, as +you perceive; but the deevil a tower ava' can be perceived (except +out of window); this is not as it should be; one might have hoped, +at least, a turret. We are all vilely unwell. I put in the dark +watches imitating a donkey with some success, but little pleasure; +and in the afternoon I indulge in a smart fever, accompanied by +aches and shivers. There is thus little monotony to be deplored. +I at least am a REGULAR invalid; I would scorn to bray in the +afternoon; I would indignantly refuse the proposal to fever in the +night. What is bred in the bone will come out, sir, in the flesh; +and the same spirit that prompted me to date my letter regulates +the hour and character of my attacks. - I am, sir, yours, + +THOMSON. + + + +Letter: TO CHARLES BAXTER + + + +POSTMARK, BOURNEMOUTH, 13TH NOVEMBER 1884. + +MY DEAR THOMSON, - It's a maist remarkable fac', but nae shuner had +I written yon braggin', blawin' letter aboot ma business habits, +when bang! that very day, ma hoast begude in the aifternune. It is +really remaurkable; it's providenshle, I believe. The ink wasnae +fair dry, the words werenae weel ooten ma mouth, when bang, I got +the lee. The mair ye think o't, Thomson, the less ye'll like the +looks o't. Proavidence (I'm no' sayin') is all verra weel IN ITS +PLACE; but if Proavidence has nae mainners, wha's to learn't? +Proavidence is a fine thing, but hoo would you like Proavidence to +keep your till for ye? The richt place for Proavidence is in the +kirk; it has naething to do wi' private correspondence between twa +gentlemen, nor freendly cracks, nor a wee bit word of sculduddery +ahint the door, nor, in shoart, wi' ony HOLE-AND-CORNER WARK, what +I would call. I'm pairfec'ly willin' to meet in wi' Proavidence, +I'll be prood to meet in wi' him, when my time's come and I cannae +dae nae better; but if he's to come skinking aboot my stair-fit, +damned, I micht as weel be deid for a' the comfort I'll can get in +life. Cannae he no be made to understand that it's beneath him? +Gosh, if I was in his business, I wouldnae steir my heid for a +plain, auld ex-elder that, tak him the way he taks himsel,' 's just +aboot as honest as he can weel afford, an' but for a wheen auld +scandals, near forgotten noo, is a pairfec'ly respectable and +thoroughly decent man. Or if I fashed wi' him ava', it wad be kind +o' handsome like; a pun'-note under his stair door, or a bottle o' +auld, blended malt to his bit marnin', as a teshtymonial like yon +ye ken sae weel aboot, but mair successfu'. + +Dear Thomson, have I ony money? If I have, SEND IT, for the +loard's sake. + +JOHNSON. + + + +Letter: TO MISS FERRIER + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, NOVEMBER 12, 1884. + +MY DEAR COGGIE, - Many thanks for the two photos which now decorate +my room. I was particularly glad to have the Bell Rock. I wonder +if you saw me plunge, lance in rest, into a controversy thereanent? +It was a very one-sided affair. I slept upon the field of battle, +paraded, sang Te Deum, and came home after a review rather than a +campaign. + +Please tell Campbell I got his letter. The Wild Woman of the West +has been much amiss and complaining sorely. I hope nothing more +serious is wrong with her than just my ill-health, and consequent +anxiety and labour; but the deuce of it is, that the cause +continues. I am about knocked out of time now: a miserable, +snuffling, shivering, fever-stricken, nightmare-ridden, knee- +jottering, hoast-hoast-hoasting shadow and remains of man. But +we'll no gie ower jist yet a bittie. We've seen waur; and dod, +mem, it's my belief that we'll see better. I dinna ken 'at I've +muckle mair to say to ye, or, indeed, onything; but jist here's +guid-fallowship, guid health, and the wale o' guid fortune to your +bonny sel'; and my respecs to the Perfessor and his wife, and the +Prinshiple, an' the Bell Rock, an' ony ither public chara'ters that +I'm acquaunt wi'. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, BOURNEMOUTH, NOV. 15, 1884. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - This Mr. Morley of yours is a most desperate +fellow. He has sent me (for my opinion) the most truculent +advertisement I ever saw, in which the white hairs of Gladstone are +dragged round Troy behind my chariot wheels. What can I say? I +say nothing to him; and to you, I content myself with remarking +that he seems a desperate fellow. + +All luck to you on your American adventure; may you find health, +wealth, and entertainment! If you see, as you likely will, Frank +R. Stockton, pray greet him from me in words to this effect:- + + +My Stockton if I failed to like, +It were a sheer depravity, +For I went down with the THOMAS HYKE +And up with the NEGATIVE GRAVITY! + + +I adore these tales. + +I hear flourishing accounts of your success at Cambridge, so you +leave with a good omen. Remember me to GREEN CORN if it is in +season; if not, you had better hang yourself on a sour apple tree, +for your voyage has been lost. - Yours affectionately, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO AUSTIN DOBSON + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH [DECEMBER 1884?]. + +DEAR DOBSON, - Set down my delay to your own fault; I wished to +acknowledge such a gift from you in some of my inapt and slovenly +rhymes; but you should have sent me your pen and not your desk. +The verses stand up to the axles in a miry cross-road, whence the +coursers of the sun shall never draw them; hence I am constrained +to this uncourtliness, that I must appear before one of the kings +of that country of rhyme without my singing robes. For less than +this, if we may trust the book of Esther, favourites have tasted +death; but I conceive the kingdom of the Muses mildlier mannered; +and in particular that county which you administer and which I seem +to see as a half-suburban land; a land of holly-hocks and country +houses; a land where at night, in thorny and sequestered bypaths, +you will meet masqueraders going to a ball in their sedans, and the +rector steering homeward by the light of his lantern; a land of the +windmill, and the west wind, and the flowering hawthorn with a +little scented letter in the hollow of its trunk, and the kites +flying over all in the season of kites, and the far away blue +spires of a cathedral city. + +Will you forgive me, then, for my delay and accept my thanks not +only for your present, but for the letter which followed it, and +which perhaps I more particularly value, and believe me to be, with +much admiration, yours very truly, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO HENRY JAMES + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, BOURNEMOUTH, DECEMBER 8, 1884. + +MY DEAR HENRY JAMES, - This is a very brave hearing from more +points than one. The first point is that there is a hope of a +sequel. For this I laboured. Seriously, from the dearth of +information and thoughtful interest in the art of literature, those +who try to practise it with any deliberate purpose run the risk of +finding no fit audience. People suppose it is 'the stuff' that +interests them; they think, for instance, that the prodigious fine +thoughts and sentiments in Shakespeare impress by their own weight, +not understanding that the unpolished diamond is but a stone. They +think that striking situations, or good dialogue, are got by +studying life; they will not rise to understand that they are +prepared by deliberate artifice and set off by painful +suppressions. Now, I want the whole thing well ventilated, for my +own education and the public's; and I beg you to look as quick as +you can, to follow me up with every circumstance of defeat where we +differ, and (to prevent the flouting of the laity) to emphasise the +points where we agree. I trust your paper will show me the way to +a rejoinder; and that rejoinder I shall hope to make with so much +art as to woo or drive you from your threatened silence. I would +not ask better than to pass my life in beating out this quarter of +corn with such a seconder as yourself. + +Point the second - I am rejoiced indeed to hear you speak so kindly +of my work; rejoiced and surprised. I seem to myself a very rude, +left-handed countryman; not fit to be read, far less complimented, +by a man so accomplished, so adroit, so craftsmanlike as you. You +will happily never have cause to understand the despair with which +a writer like myself considers (say) the park scene in Lady +Barberina. Every touch surprises me by its intangible precision; +and the effect when done, as light as syllabub, as distinct as a +picture, fills me with envy. Each man among us prefers his own +aim, and I prefer mine; but when we come to speak of performance, I +recognise myself, compared with you, to be a lout and slouch of the +first water. + +Where we differ, both as to the design of stories and the +delineation of character, I begin to lament. Of course, I am not +so dull as to ask you to desert your walk; but could you not, in +one novel, to oblige a sincere admirer, and to enrich his shelves +with a beloved volume, could you not, and might you not, cast your +characters in a mould a little more abstract and academic (dear +Mrs. Pennyman had already, among your other work, a taste of what I +mean), and pitch the incidents, I do not say in any stronger, but +in a slightly more emphatic key - as it were an episode from one of +the old (so-called) novels of adventure? I fear you will not; and +I suppose I must sighingly admit you to be right. And yet, when I +see, as it were, a book of Tom Jones handled with your exquisite +precision and shot through with those side-lights of reflection in +which you excel, I relinquish the dear vision with regret. Think +upon it. + +As you know, I belong to that besotted class of man, the invalid: +this puts me to a stand in the way of visits. But it is possible +that some day you may feel that a day near the sea and among +pinewoods would be a pleasant change from town. If so, please let +us know; and my wife and I will be delighted to put you up, and +give you what we can to eat and drink (I have a fair bottle of +claret). - On the back of which, believe me, yours sincerely, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +P.S. - I reopen this to say that I have re-read my paper, and +cannot think I have at all succeeded in being either veracious or +polite. I knew, of course, that I took your paper merely as a pin +to hang my own remarks upon; but, alas! what a thing is any paper! +What fine remarks can you not hang on mine! How I have sinned +against proportion, and with every effort to the contrary, against +the merest rudiments of courtesy to you! You are indeed a very +acute reader to have divined the real attitude of my mind; and I +can only conclude, not without closed eyes and shrinking shoulders, +in the well-worn words + +Lay on, Macduff! + + + +Letter: TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, DECEMBER 9, 1884. + +MY DEAR PEOPLE, - The dreadful tragedy of the PALL MALL has come to +a happy but ludicrous ending: I am to keep the money, the tale +writ for them is to be buried certain fathoms deep, and they are to +flash out before the world with our old friend of Kinnaird, 'The +Body Snatcher.' When you come, please to bring - + +(1) My MONTAIGNE, or, at least, the two last volumes. +(2) My MILTON in the three vols. in green. +(3) The SHAKESPEARE that Babington sent me for a wedding-gift. +(4) Hazlitt's TABLE TALK AND PLAIN SPEAKER. + +If you care to get a box of books from Douglas and Foulis, let them +be SOLID. CROKER PAPERS, CORRESPONDENCE OF NAPOLEON, HISTORY OF +HENRY IV., Lang's FOLK LORE, would be my desires. + +I had a charming letter from Henry James about my LONGMAN paper. I +did not understand queries about the verses; the pictures to the +Seagull I thought charming; those to the second have left me with a +pain in my poor belly and a swimming in the head. + +About money, I am afloat and no more, and I warn you, unless I have +great luck, I shall have to fall upon you at the New Year like a +hundredweight of bricks. Doctor, rent, chemist, are all +threatening; sickness has bitterly delayed my work; and unless, as +I say, I have the mischief's luck, I shall completely break down. +VERBUM SAPIENTIBUS. I do not live cheaply, and I question if I +ever shall; but if only I had a halfpenny worth of health, I could +now easily suffice. The last breakdown of my head is what makes +this bankruptcy probable. + +Fanny is still out of sorts; Bogue better; self fair, but a +stranger to the blessings of sleep. - Ever affectionate son, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, [DECEMBER 1884]. + +DEAR LAD, - I have made up my mind about the P. M. G., and send you +a copy, which please keep or return. As for not giving a +reduction, what are we? Are we artists or city men? Why do we +sneer at stock-brokers? O nary; I will not take the 40 pounds. I +took that as a fair price for my best work; I was not able to +produce my best; and I will be damned if I steal with my eyes open. +SUFFICIT. This is my lookout. As for the paper being rich, +certainly it is; but I am honourable. It is no more above me in +money than the poor slaveys and cads from whom I look for honesty +are below me. Am I Pepys, that because I can find the countenance +of 'some of our ablest merchants,' that because - and - pour forth +languid twaddle and get paid for it, I, too, should 'cheerfully +continue to steal'? I am not Pepys. I do not live much to God and +honour; but I will not wilfully turn my back on both. I am, like +all the rest of us, falling ever lower from the bright ideas I +began with, falling into greed, into idleness, into middle-aged and +slippered fireside cowardice; but is it you, my bold blade, that I +hear crying this sordid and rank twaddle in my ear? Preaching the +dankest Grundyism and upholding the rank customs of our trade - +you, who are so cruel hard upon the customs of the publishers? O +man, look at the Beam in our own Eyes; and whatever else you do, do +not plead Satan's cause, or plead it for all; either embrace the +bad, or respect the good when you see a poor devil trying for it. +If this is the honesty of authors - to take what you can get and +console yourself because publishers are rich - take my name from +the rolls of that association. 'Tis a caucus of weaker thieves, +jealous of the stronger. - Ever yours, + +THE ROARING R. L. S. + +You will see from the enclosed that I have stuck to what I think my +dues pretty tightly in spite of this flourish: these are my words +for a poor ten-pound note! + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, [WINTER, 1884]. + +MY DEAR LAD, - Here was I in bed; not writing, not hearing, and +finding myself gently and agreeably ill used; and behold I learn +you are bad yourself. Get your wife to send us a word how you are. +I am better decidedly. Bogue got his Christmas card, and behaved +well for three days after. It may interest the cynical to learn +that I started my last haemorrhage by too sedulous attentions to my +dear Bogue. The stick was broken; and that night Bogue, who was +attracted by the extraordinary aching of his bones, and is always +inclined to a serious view of his own ailments, announced with his +customary pomp that he was dying. In this case, however, it was +not the dog that died. (He had tried to bite his mother's ankles.) +I have written a long and peculiarly solemn paper on the technical +elements of style. It is path-breaking and epoch-making; but I do +not think the public will be readily convoked to its perusal. Did +I tell you that S. C. had risen to the paper on James? At last! O +but I was pleased; he's (like Johnnie) been lang, lang o' comin', +but here he is. He will not object to my future manoeuvres in the +same field, as he has to my former. All the family are here; my +father better than I have seen him these two years; my mother the +same as ever. I do trust you are better, and I am yours ever, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO H. A. JONES + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, BOURNEMOUTH, DEC. 30, 1884. + +DEAR SIR, - I am so accustomed to hear nonsense spoken about all +the arts, and the drama in particular, that I cannot refrain from +saying 'Thank you,' for your paper. In my answer to Mr. James, in +the December LONGMAN, you may see that I have merely touched, I +think in a parenthesis, on the drama; but I believe enough was said +to indicate our agreement in essentials. + +Wishing you power and health to further enunciate and to act upon +these principles, believe me, dear sir, yours truly, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, BOURNEMOUTH, JAN. 4, 1885. + +DEAR S. C., - I am on my feet again, and getting on my boots to do +the IRON DUKE. Conceive my glee: I have refused the 100 pounds, +and am to get some sort of royalty, not yet decided, instead. 'Tis +for Longman's ENGLISH WORTHIES, edited by A. Lang. Aw haw, haw! + +Now, look here, could you get me a loan of the Despatches, or is +that a dream? I should have to mark passages I fear, and certainly +note pages on the fly. If you think it a dream, will Bain get me a +second-hand copy, or who would? The sooner, and cheaper, I can get +it the better. If there is anything in your weird library that +bears on either the man or the period, put it in a mortar and fire +it here instanter; I shall catch. I shall want, of course, an +infinity of books: among which, any lives there may be; a life of +the Marquis Marmont (the Marechal), MARMONT'S MEMOIRS, GREVILLE'S +MEMOIRS, PEEL'S MEMOIRS, NAPIER, that blind man's history of +England you once lent me, Hamley's WATERLOO; can you get me any of +these? Thiers, idle Thiers also. Can you help a man getting into +his boots for such a huge campaign? How are you? A Good New Year +to you. I mean to have a good one, but on whose funds I cannot +fancy: not mine leastways, as I am a mere derelict and drift beam- +on to bankruptcy. + +For God's sake, remember the man who set out for to conquer Arthur +Wellesley, with a broken bellows and an empty pocket. - Yours ever, + +R. L. STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +[BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH,] 14TH JANUARY 1885. + +MY DEAR FATHER, - I am glad you like the changes. I own I was +pleased with my hand's darg; you may observe, I have corrected +several errors which (you may tell Mr. Dick) he had allowed to pass +his eagle eye; I wish there may be none in mine; at least, the +order is better. The second title, 'Some new Engineering Questions +involved in the M. S. C. Scheme of last Session of P.', likes me +the best. I think it a very good paper; and I am vain enough to +think I have materially helped to polish the diamond. I ended by +feeling quite proud of the paper, as if it had been mine; the next +time you have as good a one, I will overhaul it for the wages of +feeling as clever as I did when I had managed to understand and +helped to set it clear. I wonder if I anywhere misapprehended you? +I rather think not at the last; at the first shot I know I missed a +point or two. Some of what may appear to you to be wanton changes, +a little study will show to be necessary. + +Yes, Carlyle was ashamed of himself as few men have been; and let +all carpers look at what he did. He prepared all these papers for +publication with his own hand; all his wife's complaints, all the +evidence of his own misconduct: who else would have done so much? +Is repentance, which God accepts, to have no avail with men? nor +even with the dead? I have heard too much against the thrawn, +discomfortable dog: dead he is, and we may be glad of it; but he +was a better man than most of us, no less patently than he was a +worse. To fill the world with whining is against all my views: I +do not like impiety. But - but - there are two sides to all +things, and the old scalded baby had his noble side. - Ever +affectionate son, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, JANUARY 1885. + +DEAR S. C., - I have addressed a letter to the G. O. M., A PROPOS +of Wellington; and I became aware, you will be interested to hear, +of an overwhelming respect for the old gentleman. I can BLAGUER +his failures; but when you actually address him, and bring the two +statures and records to confrontation, dismay is the result. By +mere continuance of years, he must impose; the man who helped to +rule England before I was conceived, strikes me with a new sense of +greatness and antiquity, when I must actually beard him with the +cold forms of correspondence. I shied at the necessity of calling +him plain 'Sir'! Had he been 'My lord,' I had been happier; no, I +am no equalitarian. Honour to whom honour is due; and if to none, +why, then, honour to the old! + +These, O Slade Professor, are my unvarnished sentiments: I was a +little surprised to find them so extreme, and therefore I +communicate the fact. + +Belabour thy brains, as to whom it would be well to question. I +have a small space; I wish to make a popular book, nowhere obscure, +nowhere, if it can be helped, unhuman. It seems to me the most +hopeful plan to tell the tale, so far as may be, by anecdote. He +did not die till so recently, there must be hundreds who remember +him, and thousands who have still ungarnered stories. Dear man, to +the breach! Up, soldier of the iron dook, up, Slades, and at 'em! +(which, conclusively, he did not say: the at 'em-ic theory is to +be dismissed). You know piles of fellows who must reek with +matter; help! help! - Yours ever, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, FEBRUARY 1885. + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - You are indeed a backward correspondent, and much +may be said against you. But in this weather, and O dear! in this +political scene of degradation, much must be forgiven. I fear +England is dead of Burgessry, and only walks about galvanised. I +do not love to think of my countrymen these days; nor to remember +myself. Why was I silent? I feel I have no right to blame any +one; but I won't write to the G. O. M. I do really not see my way +to any form of signature, unless 'your fellow criminal in the eyes +of God,' which might disquiet the proprieties. + +About your book, I have always said: go on. The drawing of +character is a different thing from publishing the details of a +private career. No one objects to the first, or should object, if +his name be not put upon it; at the other, I draw the line. In a +preface, if you chose, you might distinguish; it is, besides, a +thing for which you are eminently well equipped, and which you +would do with taste and incision. I long to see the book. People +like themselves (to explain a little more); no one likes his life, +which is a misbegotten issue, and a tale of failure. To see these +failures either touched upon, or COASTED, to get the idea of a +spying eye and blabbing tongue about the house, is to lose all +privacy in life. To see that thing, which we do love, our +character, set forth, is ever gratifying. See how my TALK AND +TALKERS went; every one liked his own portrait, and shrieked about +other people's; so it will be with yours. If you are the least +true to the essential, the sitter will be pleased; very likely not +his friends, and that from VARIOUS MOTIVES. + +R. L. S. + +When will your holiday be? I sent your letter to my wife, and +forget. Keep us in mind, and I hope we shall he able to receive +you. + + + +Letter: TO J. A. SYMONDS + + + +BOURNEMOUTH, FEBRUARY 1885. + +MY DEAR SYMONDS, - Yes, we have both been very neglectful. I had +horrid luck, catching two thundering influenzas in August and +November. I recovered from the last with difficulty, but have come +through this blustering winter with some general success; in the +house, up and down. My wife, however, has been painfully upset by +my health. Last year, of course, was cruelly trying to her nerves; +Nice and Hyeres are bad experiences; and though she is not ill, the +doctor tells me that prolonged anxiety may do her a real mischief. + +I feel a little old and fagged, and chary of speech, and not very +sure of spirit in my work; but considering what a year I have +passed, and how I have twice sat on Charon's pierhead, I am +surprising. + +My father has presented us with a very pretty home in this place, +into which we hope to move by May. My CHILD'S VERSES come out next +week. OTTO begins to appear in April; MORE NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS as +soon as possible. Moreover, I am neck deep in Wellington; also a +story on the stocks, GREAT NORTH ROAD. O, I am busy! Lloyd is at +college in Edinburgh. That is, I think, all that can be said by +way of news. + +Have you read HUCKLEBERRY FINN? It contains many excellent things; +above all, the whole story of a healthy boy's dealings with his +conscience, incredibly well done. + +My own conscience is badly seared; a want of piety; yet I pray for +it, tacitly, every day; believing it, after courage, the only gift +worth having; and its want, in a man of any claims to honour, quite +unpardonable. The tone of your letter seemed to me very sound. In +these dark days of public dishonour, I do not know that one can do +better than carry our private trials piously. What a picture is +this of a nation! No man that I can see, on any side or party, +seems to have the least sense of our ineffable shame: the +desertion of the garrisons. I tell my little parable that Germany +took England, and then there was an Indian Mutiny, and Bismarck +said: 'Quite right: let Delhi and Calcutta and Bombay fall; and +let the women and children be treated Sepoy fashion,' and people +say, 'O, but that is very different!' And then I wish I were dead. +Millais (I hear) was painting Gladstone when the news came of +Gordon's death; Millais was much affected, and Gladstone said, +'Why? IT IS THE MAN'S OWN TEMERITY!' Voila le Bourgeois! le voila +nu! But why should I blame Gladstone, when I too am a Bourgeois? +when I have held my peace? Why did I hold my peace? Because I am +a sceptic: I.E. a Bourgeois. We believe in nothing, Symonds; you +don't, and I don't; and these are two reasons, out of a handful of +millions, why England stands before the world dripping with blood +and daubed with dishonour. I will first try to take the beam out +of my own eye, trusting that even private effort somehow betters +and braces the general atmosphere. See, for example, if England +has shown (I put it hypothetically) one spark of manly sensibility, +they have been shamed into it by the spectacle of Gordon. Police- +Officer Cole is the only man that I see to admire. I dedicate my +NEW ARABS to him and Cox, in default of other great public +characters. - Yours ever most affectionately, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, MARCH 12, 1885. + +MY DEAR GOSSE, - I was indeed much exercised how I could be worked +into Gray; and lo! when I saw it, the passage seemed to have been +written with a single eye to elucidate the - worst? - well, not a +very good poem of Gray's. Your little life is excellent, clean, +neat, efficient. I have read many of your notes, too, with +pleasure. Your connection with Gray was a happy circumstance; it +was a suitable conjunction. + +I did not answer your letter from the States, for what was I to +say? I liked getting it and reading it; I was rather flattered +that you wrote it to me; and then I'll tell you what I did - I put +it in the fire. Why? Well, just because it was very natural and +expansive; and thinks I to myself, if I die one of these fine +nights, this is just the letter that Gosse would not wish to go +into the hands of third parties. Was I well inspired? And I did +not answer it because you were in your high places, sailing with +supreme dominion, and seeing life in a particular glory; and I was +peddling in a corner, confined to the house, overwhelmed with +necessary work, which I was not always doing well, and, in the very +mild form in which the disease approaches me, touched with a sort +of bustling cynicism. Why throw cold water? How ape your +agreeable frame of mind? In short, I held my tongue. + +I have now published on 101 small pages THE COMPLETE PROOF OF MR. +R. L. STEVENSON'S INCAPACITY TO WRITE VERSE, in a series of +graduated examples with table of contents. I think I shall issue a +companion volume of exercises: 'Analyse this poem. Collect and +comminate the ugly words. Distinguish and condemn the CHEVILLES. +State Mr. Stevenson's faults of taste in regard to the measure. +What reasons can you gather from this example for your belief that +Mr. S. is unable to write any other measure?' + +They look ghastly in the cold light of print; but there is +something nice in the little ragged regiment for all; the +blackguards seem to me to smile, to have a kind of childish treble +note that sounds in my ears freshly; not song, if you will, but a +child's voice. + +I was glad you enjoyed your visit to the States. Most Englishmen +go there with a confirmed design of patronage, as they go to France +for that matter; and patronage will not pay. Besides, in this year +of - grace, said I? - of disgrace, who should creep so low as an +Englishman? 'It is not to be thought of that the flood' - ah, +Wordsworth, you would change your note were you alive to-day! + +I am now a beastly householder, but have not yet entered on my +domain. When I do, the social revolution will probably cast me +back upon my dung heap. There is a person called Hyndman whose eye +is on me; his step is beHynd me as I go. I shall call my house +Skerryvore when I get it: SKERRYVORE: C'EST BON POUR LA POESHIE. +I will conclude with my favourite sentiment: 'The world is too +much with me.' + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, +THE HERMIT OF SKERRYVORE. + +Author of 'John Vane Tempest: a Romance,' 'Herbert and Henrietta: +or the Nemesis of Sentiment,' 'The Life and Adventures of Colonel +Bludyer Fortescue,' 'Happy Homes and Hairy Faces,' 'A Pound of +Feathers and a Pound of Lead,' part author of 'Minn's Complete +Capricious Correspondent: a Manual of Natty, Natural, and Knowing +Letters,' and editor of the 'Poetical Remains of Samuel Burt +Crabbe, known as the melodious Bottle-Holder.' + +Uniform with the above: + +'The Life and Remains of the Reverend Jacob Degray Squah,' author +of 'Heave-yo for the New Jerusalem.' 'A Box of Candles; or the +Patent Spiritual Safety Match,' and 'A Day with the Heavenly +Harriers.' + + + +Letter: TO W. H. LOW + + + +BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, MARCH 13, 1885. + +MY DEAR LOW, - Your success has been immense. I wish your letter +had come two days ago: OTTO, alas! has been disposed of a good +while ago; but it was only day before yesterday that I settled the +new volume of Arabs. However, for the future, you and the sons of +the deified Scribner are the men for me. Really they have behaved +most handsomely. I cannot lay my hand on the papers, or I would +tell you exactly how it compares with my English bargain; but it +compares well. Ah, if we had that copyright, I do believe it would +go far to make me solvent, ill-health and all. + +I wrote you a letter to the Rembrandt, in which I stated my views +about the dedication in a very brief form. It will give me sincere +pleasure, and will make the second dedication I have received, the +other being from John Addington Symonds. It is a compliment I +value much; I don't know any that I should prefer. + +I am glad to hear you have windows to do; that is a fine business, +I think; but, alas! the glass is so bad nowadays; realism invading +even that, as well as the huge inferiority of our technical +resource corrupting every tint. Still, anything that keeps a man +to decoration is, in this age, good for the artist's spirit. + +By the way, have you seen James and me on the novel? James, I +think in the August or September - R. L. S. in the December +LONGMAN. I own I think the ECOLE BETE, of which I am the champion, +has the whip hand of the argument; but as James is to make a +rejoinder, I must not boast. Anyway the controversy is amusing to +see. I was terribly tied down to space, which has made the end +congested and dull. I shall see if I can afford to send you the +April CONTEMPORARY - but I dare say you see it anyway - as it will +contain a paper of mine on style, a sort of continuation of old +arguments on art in which you have wagged a most effective tongue. +It is a sort of start upon my Treatise on the Art of Literature: a +small, arid book that shall some day appear. + +With every good wish from me and mine (should I not say 'she and +hers'?) to you and yours, believe me yours ever, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO P. G. HAMERTON + + + +BOURNEMOUTH, MARCH 16, 1885. + +MY DEAR HAMERTON, - Various things have been reminding me of my +misconduct: First, Swan's application for your address; second, a +sight of the sheets of your LANDSCAPE book; and last, your note to +Swan, which he was so kind as to forward. I trust you will never +suppose me to be guilty of anything more serious than an idleness, +partially excusable. My ill-health makes my rate of life heavier +than I can well meet, and yet stops me from earning more. My +conscience, sometimes perhaps too easily stifled, but still (for my +time of life and the public manners of the age) fairly well alive, +forces me to perpetual and almost endless transcriptions. On the +back of all this, my correspondence hangs like a thundercloud; and +just when I think I am getting through my troubles, crack, down +goes my health, I have a long, costly sickness, and begin the world +again. It is fortunate for me I have a father, or I should long +ago have died; but the opportunity of the aid makes the necessity +none the more welcome. My father has presented me with a beautiful +house here - or so I believe, for I have not yet seen it, being a +cage bird but for nocturnal sorties in the garden. I hope we shall +soon move into it, and I tell myself that some day perhaps we may +have the pleasure of seeing you as our guest. I trust at least +that you will take me as I am, a thoroughly bad correspondent, and +a man, a hater, indeed, of rudeness in others, but too often rude +in all unconsciousness himself; and that you will never cease to +believe the sincere sympathy and admiration that I feel for you and +for your work. + +About the LANDSCAPE, which I had a glimpse of while a friend of +mine was preparing a review, I was greatly interested, and could +write and wrangle for a year on every page; one passage +particularly delighted me, the part about Ulysses - jolly. Then, +you know, that is just what I fear I have come to think landscape +ought to be in literature; so there we should be at odds. Or +perhaps not so much as I suppose, as Montaigne says it is a pot +with two handles, and I own I am wedded to the technical handle, +which (I likewise own and freely) you do well to keep for a +mistress. I should much like to talk with you about some other +points; it is only in talk that one gets to understand. Your +delightful Wordsworth trap I have tried on two hardened +Wordsworthians, not that I am not one myself. By covering up the +context, and asking them to guess what the passage was, both (and +both are very clever people, one a writer, one a painter) +pronounced it a guide-book. 'Do you think it an unusually good +guide-book?' I asked, and both said, 'No, not at all!' Their +grimace was a picture when I showed the original. + +I trust your health and that of Mrs. Hamerton keep better; your +last account was a poor one. I was unable to make out the visit I +had hoped, as (I do not know if you heard of it) I had a very +violent and dangerous haemorrhage last spring. I am almost glad to +have seen death so close with all my wits about me, and not in the +customary lassitude and disenchantment of disease. Even thus +clearly beheld I find him not so terrible as we suppose. But, +indeed, with the passing of years, the decay of strength, the loss +of all my old active and pleasant habits, there grows more and more +upon me that belief in the kindness of this scheme of things, and +the goodness of our veiled God, which is an excellent and pacifying +compensation. I trust, if your health continues to trouble you, +you may find some of the same belief. But perhaps my fine +discovery is a piece of art, and belongs to a character cowardly, +intolerant of certain feelings, and apt to self-deception. I don't +think so, however; and when I feel what a weak and fallible vessel +I was thrust into this hurly-burly, and with what marvellous +kindness the wind has been tempered to my frailties, I think I +should be a strange kind of ass to feel anything but gratitude. + +I do not know why I should inflict this talk upon you; but when I +summon the rebellous pen, he must go his own way; I am no Michael +Scott, to rule the fiend of correspondence. Most days he will none +of me; and when he comes, it is to rape me where he will. - Yours +very sincerely, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO WILLIAM ARCHER + + + +BOURNEMOUTH, MARCH 29, 1885. + +DEAR MR. ARCHER, - Yes, I have heard of you and read some of your +work; but I am bound in particular to thank you for the notice of +my verses. 'There,' I said, throwing it over to the friend who was +staying with me, 'it's worth writing a book to draw an article like +that.' Had you been as hard upon me as you were amiable, I try to +tell myself I should have been no blinder to the merits of your +notice. For I saw there, to admire and to be very grateful for, a +most sober, agile pen; an enviable touch; the marks of a reader, +such as one imagines for one's self in dreams, thoughtful, +critical, and kind; and to put the top on this memorial column, a +greater readiness to describe the author criticised than to display +the talents of his censor. + +I am a man BLASE to injudicious praise (though I hope some of it +may be judicious too), but I have to thank you for THE BEST +CRITICISM I EVER HAD; and am therefore, dear Mr. Archer, the most +grateful critickee now extant. + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +P.S. - I congratulate you on living in the corner of all London +that I like best. A PROPOS, you are very right about my voluntary +aversion from the painful sides of life. My childhood was in +reality a very mixed experience, full of fever, nightmare, +insomnia, painful days and interminable nights; and I can speak +with less authority of gardens than of that other 'land of +counterpane.' But to what end should we renew these sorrows? The +sufferings of life may be handled by the very greatest in their +hours of insight; it is of its pleasures that our common poems +should be formed; these are the experiences that we should seek to +recall or to provoke; and I say with Thoreau, 'What right have I to +complain, who have not ceased to wonder?' and, to add a rider of my +own, who have no remedy to offer. + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO MRS. FLEEMING JENKIN + + + +[SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, JUNE 1885.] + +MY DEAR MRS. JENKIN, - You know how much and for how long I have +loved, respected, and admired him; I am only able to feel a little +with you. But I know how he would have wished us to feel. I never +knew a better man, nor one to me more lovable; we shall all feel +the loss more greatly as time goes on. It scarce seems life to me; +what must it be to you? Yet one of the last things that he said to +me was, that from all these sad bereavements of yours he had +learned only more than ever to feel the goodness and what we, in +our feebleness, call the support of God; he had been ripening so +much - to other eyes than ours, we must suppose he was ripe, and +try to feel it. I feel it is better not to say much more. It will +be to me a great pride to write a notice of him: the last I can +now do. What more in any way I can do for you, please to think and +let me know. For his sake and for your own, I would not be a +useless friend: I know, you know me a most warm one; please +command me or my wife, in any way. Do not trouble to write to me; +Austin, I have no doubt, will do so, if you are, as I fear you will +be, unfit. + +My heart is sore for you. At least you know what you have been to +him; how he cherished and admired you; how he was never so pleased +as when he spoke of you; with what a boy's love, up to the last, he +loved you. This surely is a consolation. Yours is the cruel part +- to survive; you must try and not grudge to him his better +fortune, to go first. It is the sad part of such relations that +one must remain and suffer; I cannot see my poor Jenkin without +you. Nor you indeed without him; but you may try to rejoice that +he is spared that extremity. Perhaps I (as I was so much his +confidant) know even better than you can do what your loss would +have been to him; he never spoke of you but his face changed; it +was - you were - his religion. + +I write by this post to Austin and to the ACADEMY. - Yours most +sincerely, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, + + + +Letter: TO MRS. FLEEMING JENKIN + + + +[SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, JUNE 1885.] + +MY DEAR MRS. JENKIN, - I should have written sooner, but we are in +a bustle, and I have been very tired, though still well. Your very +kind note was most welcome to me. I shall be very much pleased to +have you call me Louis, as he has now done for so many years. +Sixteen, you say? is it so long? It seems too short now; but of +that we cannot judge, and must not complain. + +I wish that either I or my wife could do anything for you; when we +can, you will, I am sure, command us. + +I trust that my notice gave you as little pain as was possible. I +found I had so much to say, that I preferred to keep it for another +place and make but a note in the ACADEMY. To try to draw my friend +at greater length, and say what he was to me and his intimates, +what a good influence in life and what an example, is a desire that +grows upon me. It was strange, as I wrote the note, how his old +tests and criticisms haunted me; and it reminded me afresh with +every few words how much I owe to him. + +I had a note from Henley, very brief and very sad. We none of us +yet feel the loss; but we know what he would have said and wished. + +Do you know that Dew Smith has two photographs of him, neither very +bad? and one giving a lively, though not flattering air of him in +conversation? If you have not got them, would you like me to write +to Dew and ask him to give you proofs? + +I was so pleased that he and my wife made friends; that is a great +pleasure. We found and have preserved one fragment (the head) of +the drawing he made and tore up when he was last here. He had +promised to come and stay with us this summer. May we not hope, at +least, some time soon to have one from you? - Believe me, my dear +Mrs. Jenkin, with the most real sympathy, your sincere friend, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +Dear me, what happiness I owe to both of you! + + + +Letter: TO W. H. LOW + + + +SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, OCTOBER 22, 1885. + +MY DEAR LOW, - I trust you are not annoyed with me beyond +forgiveness; for indeed my silence has been devilish prolonged. I +can only tell you that I have been nearly six months (more than +six) in a strange condition of collapse, when it was impossible to +do any work, and difficult (more difficult than you would suppose) +to write the merest note. I am now better, but not yet my own man +in the way of brains, and in health only so-so. I suppose I shall +learn (I begin to think I am learning) to fight this vast, vague +feather-bed of an obsession that now overlies and smothers me; but +in the beginnings of these conflicts, the inexperienced wrestler is +always worsted, and I own I have been quite extinct. I wish you to +know, though it can be no excuse, that you are not the only one of +my friends by many whom I have thus neglected; and even now, having +come so very late into the possession of myself, with a substantial +capital of debts, and my work still moving with a desperate +slowness - as a child might fill a sandbag with its little handfuls +- and my future deeply pledged, there is almost a touch of virtue +in my borrowing these hours to write to you. Why I said 'hours' I +know not; it would look blue for both of us if I made good the +word. + +I was writing your address the other day, ordering a copy of my +next, PRINCE OTTO, to go your way. I hope you have not seen it in +parts; it was not meant to be so read; and only my poverty +(dishonourably) consented to the serial evolution. + +I will send you with this a copy of the English edition of the +CHILD'S GARDEN. I have heard there is some vile rule of the post- +office in the States against inscriptions; so I send herewith a +piece of doggerel which Mr. Bunner may, if he thinks fit, copy off +the fly leaf. + +Sargent was down again and painted a portrait of me walking about +in my own dining-room, in my own velveteen jacket, and twisting as +I go my own moustache; at one corner a glimpse of my wife, in an +Indian dress, and seated in a chair that was once my grandfather's; +but since some months goes by the name of Henry James's, for it was +there the novelist loved to sit - adds a touch of poesy and +comicality. It is, I think, excellent, but is too eccentric to be +exhibited. I am at one extreme corner; my wife, in this wild +dress, and looking like a ghost, is at the extreme other end; +between us an open door exhibits my palatial entrance hall and a +part of my respected staircase. All this is touched in lovely, +with that witty touch of Sargent's; but, of course, it looks dam +queer as a whole. + +Pray let me hear from you, and give me good news of yourself and +your wife, to whom please remember me. - + +Yours most sincerely, my dear Low, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY + + + +[SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, AUTUMN 1885.] + +DEAR LAD, - If there was any more praise in what you wrote, I think +[the editor] has done us both a service; some of it stops my +throat. What, it would not have been the same if Dumas or Musset +had done it, would it not? Well, no, I do not think it would, do +you know, now; I am really of opinion it would not; and a dam good +job too. Why, think what Musset would have made of Otto! Think +how gallantly Dumas would have carried his crowd through! And +whatever you do, don't quarrel with -. It gives me much pleasure +to see your work there; I think you do yourself great justice in +that field; and I would let no annoyance, petty or justifiable, +debar me from such a market. I think you do good there. Whether +(considering our intimate relations) you would not do better to +refrain from reviewing me, I will leave to yourself: were it all +on my side, you could foresee my answer; but there is your side +also, where you must be the judge. + +As for the SATURDAY. Otto is no 'fool,' the reader is left in no +doubt as to whether or not Seraphina was a Messalina (though much +it would matter, if you come to that); and therefore on both these +points the reviewer has been unjust. Secondly, the romance lies +precisely in the freeing of two spirits from these court intrigues; +and here I think the reviewer showed himself dull. Lastly, if +Otto's speech is offensive to him, he is one of the large class of +unmanly and ungenerous dogs who arrogate and defile the name of +manly. As for the passages quoted, I do confess that some of them +reek Gongorically; they are excessive, but they are not inelegant +after all. However, had he attacked me only there, he would have +scored. + +Your criticism on Gondremark is, I fancy, right. I thought all +your criticisms were indeed; only your praise - chokes me. - Yours +ever, + +R. L. S. + + + +Letter: TO WILLIAM ARCHER + + + +SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, OCTOBER 28, 1885. + +DEAR MR. ARCHER, - I have read your paper with my customary +admiration; it is very witty, very adroit; it contains a great deal +that is excellently true (particularly the parts about my stories +and the description of me as an artist in life); but you will not +be surprised if I do not think it altogether just. It seems to me, +in particular, that you have wilfully read all my works in terms of +my earliest; my aim, even in style, has quite changed in the last +six or seven years; and this I should have thought you would have +noticed. Again, your first remark upon the affectation of the +italic names; a practice only followed in my two affected little +books of travel, where a typographical MINAUDERIE of the sort +appeared to me in character; and what you say of it, then, is quite +just. But why should you forget yourself and use these same +italics as an index to my theology some pages further on? This is +lightness of touch indeed; may I say, it is almost sharpness of +practice? + +Excuse these remarks. I have been on the whole much interested, +and sometimes amused. Are you aware that the praiser of this +'brave gymnasium' has not seen a canoe nor taken a long walk since +'79? that he is rarely out of the house nowadays, and carries his +arm in a sling? Can you imagine that he is a backslidden +communist, and is sure he will go to hell (if there be such an +excellent institution) for the luxury in which he lives? And can +you believe that, though it is gaily expressed, the thought is hag +and skeleton in every moment of vacuity or depression? Can you +conceive how profoundly I am irritated by the opposite affectation +to my own, when I see strong men and rich men bleating about their +sorrows and the burthen of life, in a world full of 'cancerous +paupers,' and poor sick children, and the fatally bereaved, ay, and +down even to such happy creatures as myself, who has yet been +obliged to strip himself, one after another, of all the pleasures +that he had chosen except smoking (and the days of that I know in +my heart ought to be over), I forgot eating, which I still enjoy, +and who sees the circle of impotence closing very slowly but quite +steadily around him? In my view, one dank, dispirited word is +harmful, a crime of LESE- HUMANITE, a piece of acquired evil; every +gay, every bright word or picture, like every pleasant air of +music, is a piece of pleasure set afloat; the reader catches it, +and, if he be healthy, goes on his way rejoicing; and it is the +business of art so to send him, as often as possible. + +For what you say, so kindly, so prettily, so precisely, of my +style, I must in particular thank you; though even here, I am vexed +you should not have remarked on my attempted change of manner: +seemingly this attempt is still quite unsuccessful! Well, we shall +fight it out on this line if it takes all summer. + +And now for my last word: Mrs. Stevenson is very anxious that you +should see me, and that she should see you, in the flesh. If you +at all share in these views, I am a fixture. Write or telegraph +(giving us time, however, to telegraph in reply, lest the day be +impossible), and come down here to a bed and a dinner. What do you +say, my dear critic? I shall be truly pleased to see you; and to +explain at greater length what I meant by saying narrative was the +most characteristic mood of literature, on which point I have great +hopes I shall persuade you. - Yours truly, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +P.S. - My opinion about Thoreau, and the passage in THE WEEK, is +perhaps a fad, but it is sincere and stable. I am still of the +same mind five years later; did you observe that I had said +'modern' authors? and will you observe again that this passage +touches the very joint of our division? It is one that appeals to +me, deals with that part of life that I think the most important, +and you, if I gather rightly, so much less so? You believe in the +extreme moment of the facts that humanity has acquired and is +acquiring; I think them of moment, but still or much less than +those inherent or inherited brute principles and laws that sit upon +us (in the character of conscience) as heavy as a shirt of mail, +and that (in the character of the affections and the airy spirit of +pleasure) make all the light of our lives. The house is, indeed, a +great thing, and should be rearranged on sanitary principles; but +my heart and all my interest are with the dweller, that ancient of +days and day-old infant man. + +R. L. S. + +An excellent touch is p. 584. 'By instinct or design he eschews +what demands constructive patience.' I believe it is both; my +theory is that literature must always be most at home in treating +movement and change; hence I look for them. + + + +Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON + + + +[SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH,] OCTOBER 28, 1885. + +MY DEAREST FATHER, - Get the November number of TIME, and you will +see a review of me by a very clever fellow, who is quite furious at +bottom because I am too orthodox, just as Purcell was savage +because I am not orthodox enough. I fall between two stools. It +is odd, too, to see how this man thinks me a full-blooded fox- +hunter, and tells me my philosophy would fail if I lost my health +or had to give up exercise! + +An illustrated TREASURE ISLAND will be out next month. I have had +an early copy, and the French pictures are admirable. The artist +has got his types up in Hogarth; he is full of fire and spirit, can +draw and can compose, and has understood the book as I meant it, +all but one or two little accidents, such as making the HISPANIOLA +a brig. I would send you my copy, BUT I CANNOT; it is my new toy, +and I cannot divorce myself from this enjoyment. + +I am keeping really better, and have been out about every second +day, though the weather is cold and very wild. + +I was delighted to hear you were keeping better; you and Archer +would agree, more shame to you! (Archer is my pessimist critic.) +Good-bye to all of you, with my best love. We had a dreadful +overhauling of my conduct as a son the other night; and my wife +stripped me of my illusions and made me admit I had been a +detestable bad one. Of one thing in particular she convicted me in +my own eyes: I mean, a most unkind reticence, which hung on me +then, and I confess still hangs on me now, when I try to assure you +that I do love you. - Ever your bad son, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO HENRY JAMES + + + +SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, OCTOBER 28, 1885. + +MY DEAR HENRY JAMES, - At last, my wife being at a concert, and a +story being done, I am at some liberty to write and give you of my +views. And first, many thanks for the works that came to my +sickbed. And second, and more important, as to the PRINCESS. +Well, I think you are going to do it this time; I cannot, of +course, foresee, but these two first numbers seem to me picturesque +and sound and full of lineament, and very much a new departure. As +for your young lady, she is all there; yes, sir, you can do low +life, I believe. The prison was excellent; it was of that nature +of touch that I sometimes achingly miss from your former work; with +some of the grime, that is, and some of the emphasis of skeleton +there is in nature. I pray you to take grime in a good sense; it +need not be ignoble: dirt may have dignity; in nature it usually +has; and your prison was imposing. + +And now to the main point: why do we not see you? Do not fail us. +Make an alarming sacrifice, and let us see 'Henry James's chair' +properly occupied. I never sit in it myself (though it was my +grandfather's); it has been consecrated to guests by your approval, +and now stands at my elbow gaping. We have a new room, too, to +introduce to you - our last baby, the drawing-room; it never cries, +and has cut its teeth. Likewise, there is a cat now. It promises +to be a monster of laziness and self-sufficiency. + +Pray see, in the November TIME (a dread name for a magazine of +light reading), a very clever fellow, W. Archer, stating his views +of me; the rosy-gilled 'athletico-aesthete'; and warning me, in a +fatherly manner, that a rheumatic fever would try my philosophy (as +indeed it would), and that my gospel would not do for 'those who +are shut out from the exercise of any manly virtue save +renunciation.' To those who know that rickety and cloistered +spectre, the real R. L. S., the paper, besides being clever in +itself, presents rare elements of sport. The critical parts are in +particular very bright and neat, and often excellently true. Get +it by all manner of means. + +I hear on all sides I am to be attacked as an immoral writer; this +is painful. Have I at last got, like you, to the pitch of being +attacked? 'Tis the consecration I lack - and could do without. +Not that Archer's paper is an attack, or what either he or I, I +believe, would call one; 'tis the attacks on my morality (which I +had thought a gem of the first water) I referred to. + +Now, my dear James, come - come - come. The spirit (that is me) +says, Come; and the bride (and that is my wife) says, Come; and the +best thing you can do for us and yourself and your work is to get +up and do so right away, - Yours affectionately, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +Letter: TO WILLIAM ARCHER + + + +[SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH,] OCTOBER 30, 1885. + +DEAR MR. ARCHER. - It is possible my father may be soon down with +me; he is an old man and in bad health and spirits; and I could +neither leave him alone, nor could we talk freely before him. If +he should be here when you offer your visit, you will understand if +I have to say no, and put you off. + +I quite understand your not caring to refer to things of private +knowledge. What still puzzles me is how you ('in the witness box' +- ha! I like the phrase) should have made your argument actually +hinge on a contention which the facts answered. + +I am pleased to hear of the correctness of my guess. It is then as +I supposed; you are of the school of the generous and not the +sullen pessimists; and I can feel with you. I used myself to rage +when I saw sick folk going by in their Bath-chairs; since I have +been sick myself (and always when I was sick myself), I found life, +even in its rough places, to have a property of easiness. That +which we suffer ourselves has no longer the same air of monstrous +injustice and wanton cruelty that suffering wears when we see it in +the case of others. So we begin gradually to see that things are +not black, but have their strange compensations; and when they draw +towards their worst, the idea of death is like a bed to lie on. I +should bear false witness if I did not declare life happy. And +your wonderful statement that happiness tends to die out and misery +to continue, which was what put me on the track of your frame of +mind, is diagnostic of the happy man raging over the misery of +others; it could never be written by the man who had tried what +unhappiness was like. And at any rate, it was a slip of the pen: +the ugliest word that science has to declare is a reserved +indifference to happiness and misery in the individual; it declares +no leaning toward the black, no iniquity on the large scale in +fate's doings, rather a marble equality, dread not cruel, giving +and taking away and reconciling. + +Why have I not written my TIMON? Well, here is my worst quarrel +with you. You take my young books as my last word. The tendency +to try to say more has passed unperceived (my fault, that). And +you make no allowance for the slowness with which a man finds and +tries to learn his tools. I began with a neat brisk little style, +and a sharp little knack of partial observation; I have tried to +expand my means, but still I can only utter a part of what I wish +to say, and am bound to feel; and much of it will die unspoken. +But if I had the pen of Shakespeare, I have no TIMON to give forth. +I feel kindly to the powers that be; I marvel they should use me so +well; and when I think of the case of others, I wonder too, but in +another vein, whether they may not, whether they must not, be like +me, still with some compensation, some delight. To have suffered, +nay, to suffer, sets a keen edge on what remains of the agreeable. +This is a great truth, and has to be learned in the fire. - Yours +very truly, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +We expect you, remember that. + + + +Letter: TO WILLIAM ARCHER + + + +SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, NOVEMBER 1, 1885. + +DEAR MR. ARCHER, - You will see that I had already had a sight of +your article and what were my thoughts. + +One thing in your letter puzzles me. Are you, too, not in the +witness-box? And if you are, why take a wilfully false hypothesis? +If you knew I was a chronic invalid, why say that my philosophy was +unsuitable to such a case? My call for facts is not so general as +yours, but an essential fact should not be put the other way about. + +The fact is, consciously or not, you doubt my honesty; you think I +am making faces, and at heart disbelieve my utterances. And this I +am disposed to think must spring from your not having had enough of +pain, sorrow, and trouble in your existence. It is easy to have +too much; easy also or possible to have too little; enough is +required that a man may appreciate what elements of consolation and +joy there are in everything but absolutely over-powering physical +pain or disgrace, and how in almost all circumstances the human +soul can play a fair part. You fear life, I fancy, on the +principle of the hand of little employment. But perhaps my +hypothesis is as unlike the truth as the one you chose. Well, if +it be so, if you have had trials, sickness, the approach of death, +the alienation of friends, poverty at the heels, and have not felt +your soul turn round upon these things and spurn them under - you +must be very differently made from me, and I earnestly believe from +the majority of men. But at least you are in the right to wonder +and complain. + +To 'say all'? Stay here. All at once? That would require a word +from the pen of Gargantua. We say each particular thing as it +comes up, and 'with that sort of emphasis that for the time there +seems to be no other.' Words will not otherwise serve us; no, nor +even Shakespeare, who could not have put AS YOU LIKE IT and TIMON +into one without ruinous loss both of emphasis and substance. Is +it quite fair then to keep your face so steadily on my most light- +hearted works, and then say I recognise no evil? Yet in the paper +on Burns, for instance, I show myself alive to some sorts of evil. +But then, perhaps, they are not your sorts. + +And again: 'to say all'? All: yes. Everything: no. The task +were endless, the effect nil. But my all, in such a vast field as +this of life, is what interests me, what stands out, what takes on +itself a presence for my imagination or makes a figure in that +little tricky abbreviation which is the best that my reason can +conceive. That I must treat, or I shall be fooling with my +readers. That, and not the all of some one else. + +And here we come to the division: not only do I believe that +literature should give joy, but I see a universe, I suppose, +eternally different from yours; a solemn, a terrible, but a very +joyous and noble universe, where suffering is not at least wantonly +inflicted, though it falls with dispassionate partiality, but where +it may be and generally is nobly borne; where, above all (this I +believe; probably you don't: I think he may, with cancer), ANY +BRAVE MAN MAY MAKE out a life which shall be happy for himself, +and, by so being, beneficent to those about him. And if he fails, +why should I hear him weeping? I mean if I fail, why should I +weep? Why should YOU hear ME? Then to me morals, the conscience, +the affections, and the passions are, I will own frankly and +sweepingly, so infinitely more important than the other parts of +life, that I conceive men rather triflers who become immersed in +the latter; and I will always think the man who keeps his lip +stiff, and makes 'a happy fireside clime,' and carries a pleasant +face about to friends and neighbours, infinitely greater (in the +abstract) than an atrabilious Shakespeare or a backbiting Kant or +Darwin. No offence to any of these gentlemen, two of whom probably +(one for certain) came up to my standard. + +And now enough said; it were hard if a poor man could not criticise +another without having so much ink shed against him. But I shall +still regret you should have written on an hypothesis you knew to +be untenable, and that you should thus have made your paper, for +those who do not know me, essentially unfair. The rich, fox- +hunting squire speaks with one voice; the sick man of letters with +another. - Yours very truly, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + +(PROMETHEUS-HEINE IN MINIMIS). + +P.S. - Here I go again. To me, the medicine bottles on my chimney +and the blood on my handkerchief are accidents; they do not colour +my view of life, as you would know, I think, if you had experience +of sickness; they do not exist in my prospect; I would as soon drag +them under the eyes of my readers as I would mention a pimple I +might chance to have (saving your presence) on my posteriors. What +does it prove? what does it change? it has not hurt, it has not +changed me in any essential part; and I should think myself a +trifler and in bad taste if I introduced the world to these +unimportant privacies. + +But, again, there is this mountain-range between us - THAT YOU DO +NOT BELIEVE ME. It is not flattering, but the fault is probably in +my literary art. + + + +Letter: TO W. H. LOW + + + +SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, DECEMBER 26, 1885. + +MY DEAR LOW, - LAMIA has not yet turned up, but your letter came to +me this evening with a scent of the Boulevard Montparnasse that was +irresistible. The sand of Lavenue's crumbled under my heel; and +the bouquet of the old Fleury came back to me, and I remembered the +day when I found a twenty franc piece under my fetish. Have you +that fetish still? and has it brought you luck? I remembered, too, +my first sight of you in a frock coat and a smoking-cap, when we +passed the evening at the Cafe de Medicis; and my last when we sat +and talked in the Parc Monceau; and all these things made me feel a +little young again, which, to one who has been mostly in bed for a +month, was a vivifying change. + +Yes, you are lucky to have a bag that holds you comfortably. Mine +is a strange contrivance; I don't die, damme, and I can't get along +on both feet to save my soul; I am a chronic sickist; and my work +cripples along between bed and the parlour, between the medicine +bottle and the cupping glass. Well, I like my life all the same; +and should like it none the worse if I could have another talk with +you, though even my talks now are measured out to me by the minute +hand like poisons in a minim glass. + +A photograph will be taken of my ugly mug and sent to you for +ulterior purposes: I have another thing coming out, which I did +not put in the way of the Scribners, I can scarce tell how; but I +was sick and penniless and rather back on the world, and mismanaged +it. I trust they will forgive me. + +I am sorry to hear of Mrs. Low's illness, and glad to hear of her +recovery. I will announce the coming LAMIA to Bob: he steams away +at literature like smoke. I have a beautiful Bob on my walls, and +a good Sargent, and a delightful Lemon; and your etching now hangs +framed in the dining-room. So the arts surround me. - Yours, + +R. L. S. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText The Letters of Robert Louis +Stevenson, Volume 1. + |