PR 5495 
 
 THE PENNY PIPER 
 OF SARANAC 
 
 C5 BY 
 
 '"^ ' STEPHEN CHALMERS 
 
Class ^S^^i^r 
 Book t>< y . 
 
 Copyright N"^ . 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
The Penny Piper of Saranac 
 
\ 
 
 From a Copier Print copyright hy 
 Curtis dr" Cameron^ Inc., Boston 
 
 THE SARANAC LAKE STEVENSON MEMORIAL 
 Designed by Gutzon Borglum 
 
THE PENNY PIPER OF 
 SARANAC 
 
 A?i Episode in Stevensoji's Life 
 
 BY 
 
 STEPHEN CHALMERS 
 
 WITH PREFACE BY 
 LORD GUTHRIE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 MDCCCCXVI 
 

 
 6"^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT, I912, BY THE OUTLOOK COMPANY 
 COPYRIGHT, I916, BY STEPHEN CHALMERS 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 / 
 
 JUN 22 1916 
 ©CI,A4334C8 
 
b 
 
 A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck, 
 Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all, 
 And something of the Shoiter-Catechist. 
 W. E. Henley 
 
PREFACE 
 
 By Lord Guthrie 
 
 "The Penny Piper of Saranac " 
 is a most sane and real sketch of 
 Robert Louis Stevenson. I call it 
 a sketch of Stevenson, and not 
 merely of his life at Saranac, for 
 it shows much insight into his 
 character, which was so complex 
 that many people of broad minds 
 but narrow sympathies thought it 
 contradictory. 
 
 His Puritanism was every bit as 
 genuine as his Bohemianism. Such 
 people could not, and their pres- 
 
 l: vii n 
 
Preface 
 
 ent-day representatives cannot, un- 
 derstand this. But that was, and 
 is, their fault ; not his. When peo- 
 ple ask me what I thought of 
 Stevenson, when, in the early sev- 
 enties, we were much together in 
 Edinburgh, at college and in the 
 Speculative Society, and in 17 
 Heriot Row, his father's house, I 
 usually reply, "Which Stevenson? 
 I knew at least four! '' 
 
 "The Penny Piper of Saranac'' 
 has attained what I thought the 
 impossible, for there is not a "chest- 
 nut" in it! Most Stevensoniana 
 are full of them, always old, some- 
 times stale, and more than occasion- 
 
Preface 
 
 ally rotten, in the sense that they 
 attribute to him sayings and actions 
 which those who knew Stevenson 
 as I knew him are able to say in- 
 stinctively he could never, and 
 would never, have said or done. 
 
 Gutzon Borglum, the sculptor, 
 in his Saranac memorial bas-relief, 
 has got beneath the surface and 
 behind the mask as Saint- Gaudens 
 (fine as his bas-relief is, as a work 
 of art) never did. I liked the first 
 sight of Borglum' s work; and it 
 grows on me. It has charm, and 
 it has strength, and it has pathos. 
 It is the invalid, but the invalid 
 who can say, *'0 Pain! Where is 
 
Preface 
 
 thy victory?" It is the fascinating 
 personahty of a man of genius 
 who, with all his gaiety of manner 
 and desire to give pleasure, was 
 yet, in a matter of essential prin- 
 ciple, like flint — a block of iron 
 painted to look like a lath! 
 
 Swanston Cottage^ 
 
 Colmton^ 
 Midlothian^ Scotland 
 
AUTHOR'S NOTE 
 
 The following brief sketch of 
 Robert Louis Stevenson's life at 
 Saranac Lake during the winter 
 of 1887-88, was done in collabo- 
 ration with the late Dr. Edward 
 Livingston Trudeau, who carefully 
 edited the original manuscript, pay- 
 ing particular attention to the pre- 
 cise wording, so far as his memory 
 served him, of the various conver- 
 sations between the distinguished 
 patient and himself. 
 
 The essay has had a lively ca- 
 reer which, the author hopes, is 
 
 c; xi ] 
 
Author s Note 
 
 only beginning. First published 
 in the Outlook ^ it was later repro- 
 duced from a backwoods printshop 
 as a souvenir of the unveiling at 
 Saranac Lake of Gutzon Borg- 
 lum's memorial tablet, erected by 
 the Stevenson Society. Stevenson 
 himself might have described that 
 modest edition as "a penny plain" 
 and the present one, in the dig- 
 nity of real covers, as " twopence 
 colored." To Munsey's the author 
 acknowledges permission to repro- 
 duce the verses which appear else- 
 where. 
 
 Since the essay's first publication 
 many things connected with it have 
 
Author s Note 
 
 transpired. The present writer's 
 collaborator has passed to his de- 
 served long rest. He died a few 
 days after the lasting bronze had 
 been uncovered <'at the cottage 
 up the road " in honor of his 
 quondam friend and patient ; and 
 his last message from the sick- 
 chamber was, " I am glad to have 
 lived to see it done.'' 
 
 It is not claiming too much to 
 say that it was directly the influ- 
 ence of " The Penny Piper of 
 Saranac " that led to the creation 
 of the Saranac Lake Stevenson 
 Memorial. While the author was 
 working on the manuscript, Rob- 
 
 [^xiii ] 
 
Author s Note 
 
 ert Hobart Davis, a well-known 
 New York editor, visited the Adi- 
 rondacks and heard, through the 
 writer, some of the late Dr. Tru- 
 deau's reminiscent anecdotes of 
 Stevenson. Realizing for the first 
 time, perhaps, that at Saranac 
 Lake the famous Scot had really 
 produced his best contributions 
 to English literature, Mr. Davis 
 started an agitation for the erec- 
 tion of a suitable memorial. He 
 enlisted the interest of his friend, 
 Gutzon Borglum, the noted sculp- 
 tor, who created his design as a 
 personal tribute to the genius of 
 R. L. S. The committee which 
 
 C xiv 3 
 
Author s Note 
 
 had the work in hand is now re- 
 solved into the Stevenson Society 
 of America, with an increasing 
 membership and a rapidly grow- 
 ing collection of Stevensoniana. 
 
 Since the first publication of 
 "The Penny Piper of Saranac" 
 its author has heard but two anec- 
 dotes which might have been in- 
 cluded in the original essay. 
 
 During Stevenson's stay at the 
 Baker Cottage in the mountain 
 hamlet, the Church of St. Luke 
 the Beloved Physician, founded by 
 Dr. Trudeau, had recently been 
 built. Stevenson's mother, who 
 was staying with him in Saranac 
 
Author s Note 
 
 Lake, was much interested in the 
 church's affairs. It is well known 
 that the author had a strong aver- 
 sion to hero- worshipers and lion- 
 hunters — especially of the more 
 inquisitive sex ; so when Mrs. 
 Estella Martin, a member of an 
 old Adirondack family, drove up 
 to the cottage to confer with Mrs. 
 Stevenson about a proposed church 
 supper, R. L. S. took refuge in his 
 "cubbyhole'' study and firmly 
 shut the door. His mother pre- 
 pared tea for the guest and sud- 
 denly said, '' I would like you to 
 meet my son, Louis." 
 
 Mrs. Martin, who had heard 
 
 L xvi ] 
 
Author s Note 
 
 of the novelist's pet aversion, felt 
 slightly nervous. Mrs. Stevenson 
 went to the study door and there 
 foUow^ed a whispered colloquy 
 through a mere chink. Presently 
 Stevenson came into the room, 
 sat down by the stove, and, after 
 a strained minute or two, asked 
 Mrs. Martin if he might smoke. 
 The moment his cigarette was 
 alight the ice was broken and — 
 
 " I had two hours of R. L. S.," 
 says Mrs. Martin, " and he was the 
 most interesting man I ever met." 
 
 Later, it was planned to give 
 the church benefit supper at the 
 old Berkeley Inn in the village. 
 
 [xvii ] 
 
Author s Note 
 
 On the promise of Stevenson's 
 mother that she would induce her 
 son — somehow — to be present, 
 the church ladies sold every avail- 
 able seat, except one — that re- 
 served for the lion of the occasion. 
 Despite the elder Mrs. Steven- 
 son's assurances, up to the last 
 moment Robert Louis refused to 
 be a party to the party. " Good 
 Heavens ! " he exclaimed. '* They 
 might ask me to make a speech!'' 
 In the end the ladies had to 
 kidnap him bodily. At first he was 
 silent, even morose, when he took 
 his seat at the supper table in the 
 old inn ; but suddenly the humor 
 
 C xviii ] 
 
Author s Noti 
 
 of the situation struck him and 
 his chameleon-like mood changed 
 color. He threw himself into the 
 affair with a spirit that was more 
 Stevensonian than churchlike. He 
 not only proceeded to enjoy him- 
 self, but helped to make that 
 church supper a memorable suc- 
 cess ; and before he escorted his 
 mother home, he insisted upon 
 making a speech. 
 
 All record of that speech is lost 
 — more's the pity! Mrs. Martin 
 does not remember just what he 
 said, but — 
 
 "It was — like him." 
 
 No doubt it was ! 
 
 S. C. 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The Saranac Lake Stevenson Me- 
 morial DESIGNED BY GuTZON BoRG- 
 
 LUM Frontispiece ^ 
 
 The Room where Stevenson wrote 
 "A Christmas Sermon," "The 
 
 Lantern-Bearers," etc. . . . 
 
 8 '^ 
 
 The Stevenson Cottage at Saranac 
 
 
 Lake 
 
 8 ^ 
 
 The Stevenson Cottage . . . . 48 ^ 
 Andrew Baker discussing R. L. S. 
 with a Literary Pilgrim 
 
 The Veranda where Stevenson 
 
 WALKED and DREAMED . . . . 48 ^ 
 
 GuTzoN Borglum and his Tribute 
 
 TO R. L. S 60 ''^ 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Baker . . 60 
 
The Penny Piper of Saranac 
 
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 Out of the land of the ancient bards 
 
 A wandering minstrel strayed ; 
 Courage and hope were the song he sang, 
 
 And faith was the string he played. 
 *<I care not what the end," he cried, 
 
 "So the road be fair and free } 
 For the greater gift of life is his 
 
 Who travels cheerily!" 
 
 Earth was his house and heaven his roof j 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars his light j 
 Voices of wind and wood and wave 
 
 His music day and night. 
 Over his clouds the lark sang still ; 
 
 And when the light was gone. 
 Thrilling the dark of crouching doom. 
 
 His nightingale sang on. 
 
 So let us be, as the minstrel sang. 
 
 Of faith, and hope, and love. 
 Though the snarling waters scowl beneath, 
 
 And thunder rolls above. 
 After the ram, the night of stars j 
 
 After the night, the dawn j 
 And that day goes down to a splendid death, 
 
 Which lights another's morn! 
 
The Penny Piper 
 of Saranac 
 
 He called himself the Penny Piper, 
 and apologized to his friends be- 
 cause sometimes his whistle ex- 
 ploded with strange noises and had 
 to be patched with sticking-plaster. 
 Yet when he played on his pipe the 
 whole world listened, fascinated 
 even by the strange noises ; and the 
 army of earth's children that fol- 
 lowed him — that is following him 
 still — was greater than the Pied 
 Piper of Hamelin ever enthralled. 
 
 n 3 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 He was an odd fellow to look at, 
 as, of course, a magic piper should 
 be. Eagle-beaked and eagle-eyed, 
 his face was ever touched with a 
 Pan-like humor, **a deal of Ariel, 
 just a streak of Puck." Whimsical, 
 purposeful, quick-tempered, gen- 
 erous, selfish, lovable, fierce, for- 
 giving — a human paradox. 
 
 This was the Penny Piper of 
 Saranac, and he was something of 
 a mystery to all who knew him in 
 the little Adirondack village. They 
 did not know that he was a great 
 man, for he never happened to 
 mention the fact himself, and even 
 the beginnings of the world were 
 
of Saranac 
 
 away on the other side of forty 
 miles of tangled forest. 
 
 He did not fish. He did not 
 hunt. He lacked the principal vir- 
 tue of man in the wilderness — 
 physical strength ; and for a living 
 he seemed only to tootle upon a 
 penny whistle and cut a fantastic 
 figure upon skates on the lake be- 
 hind the cottage where he lived. 
 
 The cottage w^as ** a hat-box on 
 a hill," as the Penny Piper himself 
 said. All the winds of heaven blew 
 around it. Below, the Saranac 
 River snarled and guggled under 
 its piled-up jam of ice. Beyond, 
 Mount Pisgah glow^ered under 
 
 [ 5 -] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 icicled brows at Mount Baker be- 
 hind the cottage. The Penny Piper 
 said the only redeeming feature of 
 the place was that it reminded him 
 of some place else. 
 
 Most of all was he a mystery 
 to his landlady and her lord. The 
 Penny Piper burned holes in Mrs. 
 Baker's sitting-room mantelpiece 
 with the live ends of his cigarettes. 
 In the evenings he would play An- 
 cient Mariner to Andrew Baker's 
 Wedding Guest. The Piper would 
 talk to the woodsman, uttering 
 strange matters, until Andrew's 
 eyes grew heavy and his head nod- 
 ded, and he was lulled to sleep in 
 
 [61 
 
of Saranac 
 
 his chair by the magic spell of a 
 genius. 
 
 In the daytime, when the bliz- 
 zard piled snowdrifts window-high, 
 the Penny Piper made " big medi- 
 cine " in his little room under the 
 southern gable of the ^'hat-box.'' 
 In this room there was an old desk 
 adorned with pens, ink, and pa- 
 per ; also a piano — and the penny 
 whistle. 
 
 " He tootles the whistle better 'n 
 he plays the piano!" said Mrs. 
 Baker to her spouse. 
 
 *' And a sight oftener," said the 
 woodsman. 
 
 Of course he did! Who ever 
 
 C 7] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 heard of Ariel, or Puck, or Pan 
 playing a piano ? True, there were 
 times when the Penny Piper's 
 hands grew numb with cold. Then 
 he would get up from the table and 
 make a fierce attack upon Bee- 
 thoven with a heavy bunch of rusty 
 keys. But he would usually wind 
 up with a Jacobite air upon the 
 penny whistle, after which he 
 would resume with the pen. You 
 remember his words : " To earn a 
 little and to spend a little less ; to 
 make, upon the whole, a family 
 happier for his presence." 
 
 Yet in this little cottage in the 
 Adirondack wilderness, during the 
 
 C 8 : 
 
THE STEVENSON COTTAGE AT SARANAC LAKE 
 
 s 
 
 ■MP 
 
 THE ROOM WHERE STEVENSON WROTE "A CHRISTMAS 
 SERMON," "THE LANTERN-BEARERS," ETC. 
 
of Saranac 
 
 bitter winter of 1 8 8 7-8 8 , the Penny 
 Piper played some of his sweet- 
 est melodies; his notes reached 
 their purest and clearest heights ; 
 and to-day what he wrote under 
 that little southern gable, where 
 the drift-snow piled up against the 
 window, is bound in morocco and 
 gold, is scrolled on vellum and 
 hung as mottoes in garret and man- 
 sion alike, in the offices of com- 
 merce and in the waiting-rooms of 
 pain, in the temples of wisdom and 
 in the heart of humanity, for it 
 brings strength to the strong and 
 cheer to the sick. 
 
 These but conspired with his 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 genius and the keen air of the 
 hills to such results as " Pulvis et 
 Umbra," " The Lantern-Bearers," 
 "Gentlemen," "Beggars," "A 
 Christmas Sermon," and last (per- 
 haps least) "The Master of Bal- 
 lantrae," which ends in story where 
 it was begun in fact — in the fro- 
 zen forest under the shadow of 
 Mount Baker. 
 
 When Robert Louis Stevenson 
 lived there, Saranac Lake village 
 was but a backwoods hamlet. The 
 first locomotive had not yet star- 
 tled the buck and the bear. 
 
 The community which is now 
 
of Saranac 
 
 the metropolis of the Adirondacks 
 had in 1887 less than a handful of 
 the thousands who have since fol- 
 lowed the trail first blazed in that 
 region by Dr. Edward L. Tru- 
 deau, himself a victim of tuber- 
 culosis. Everybody knows why 
 Stevenson went to Saranac, and 
 everybody knows that Dr. Tru- 
 deau was his physician. 
 
 It has been said, upon hearsay, 
 that Dr. Trudeau, the famous 
 head of the Adirondack Cottage 
 Sanitarium,' and Robert Louis 
 Stevenson did not get along to- 
 
 ^ Since Dr. Trudeau's death, " Trudeau 
 Sanatorium." 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 gether very well. This is with- 
 out foundation in fact. Stevenson 
 himself wrote on a leaf of the 
 "Jekyll and Hyde '' of ''Dr. Tru- 
 deau's Complete Set, from the 
 Author '': — 
 
 ' ' Trudeau was all the winter at my 
 side, 
 I never spied the nose of Mr. Hyde. ' ' 
 
 Dr. Trudeau was probably one 
 of the few in the village at that 
 time who appreciated what man- 
 ner of man had come to it ; and 
 it is clear that Stevenson was 
 quick to appreciate the intellectual 
 qualities of the man who came to 
 see him, first with a cold stetho- 
 
 : 12 ] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 scope, then with the warm hand 
 of friendship. 
 
 This friendship was spontane- 
 ous. The nature of it may be 
 judged from the fact that, when 
 they did not agree, they did not 
 agree to disagree, — after the man- 
 ner of the lukewarm, — but quar- 
 reled ! 
 
 But the quarrels ! They were of 
 the kind indulged in by brothers 
 who part with black murder in 
 their hearts and burst out laugh- 
 ing next time they meet. They 
 were quarrels of the kind in which 
 one holds it a private, personal 
 privilege to criticize the other, but 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 woe unto the third person who 
 ventures to criticize either to the 
 other ! 
 
 On the really great things of 
 life they were in perfect accord ; 
 so they chose the most trivial mat- 
 ters upon which to differ. 
 
 The best illustration of this is, 
 perhaps, the "check story," which 
 Dr. Trudeau used to relate, and 
 always with immense delight. 
 There was no stenographer pres- 
 ent, and Dr. Trudeau himself did 
 not undertake to repeat the exact 
 dialogue, but fit)m the facts and 
 from a knowledge of the two per- 
 sonalities this is how it was : — 
 
of Saranac 
 
 Stevenson : My dear Trudeau ! 
 I have the greatest respect for 
 your intelHgence. For that reason 
 it distresses me — distresses me ! 
 — to hear you utter such fallacy. 
 How can the American baggage 
 system be superior to the British 
 luggage system? 
 
 Tiiideau : But, my dear Steven- 
 son, we are dealing with facts! 
 I know that, as a Britisher, you 
 are naturally prejudiced — 
 
 Stevenson (interrupting) : I beg 
 your pardon, Dr. Trudeau. I would 
 never allow racial prejudice to 
 warp my judgment in the matter 
 of a ten-and-sixpenny trunk. The 
 British system is the best. You 
 hire a porter. You look after your 
 
 i 15 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 own luggage. At your destination 
 you claim it in person. It is not 
 at all necessary to put your head 
 out of the compartment at every 
 stop and cry, like the Irishman : 
 ^' Gyard ! Is me tronk all right ? " 
 Trudeau [who has been waiting 
 with fortitude for a chance to con- 
 tinue ) : Of course not. Now, then, 
 — the American system ! You are 
 bound, say, from New York to 
 San Francisco. You buy your 
 railway ticket, indicate your bag- 
 gage to a baggage-master with a 
 pencil stuck in his ear and a bunch 
 of tags in his hands. He gives 
 you a brass check. In a week 
 you are in San Francisco. You 
 have n't seen or heard of your 
 
 [ is;] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 blessed trunk since you left New 
 York; yet there it is, safe and 
 sound. And all that is required 
 of you in San Francisco is that 
 brass check. JVbw what have you 
 to say ? 
 
 Stevenson [ivho is cornered, hut 
 hates to ad?nit it): We — ell . . . 
 ( He puffs great clouds of cigarette 
 smoke and walks up and down, 
 greatly agitated. Then, with a 
 hurst oj exasperation) That is just 
 you Americans all over ! Checks ! 
 Checks ! Checks ! You eat on the 
 check system. You hang your 
 hat on the check system. Why, 
 an American can't speak of dying 
 without saying that he " hands in 
 his checks" ! 
 
 L ^7 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 Trudeau {^twenty years later) : 
 He had me that time. 
 
 After such animated discussion 
 one may picture Dr. Trudeau as 
 he tramps down the road to his 
 own house, a muffled figure in 
 coonskin cap and coat, his thick 
 moccasins crunching on the frozen 
 snow under the clear, snapping 
 stars of the Adirondack midwinter, 
 and vowing never to darken the 
 Penny Piper's door again ! 
 
 But next day Trudeau would 
 remember that Stevenson was a 
 sick man, that he was his physician, 
 and that it was his duty to go and 
 see his patient even if he could 
 
 C 18 3 
 
of Saranac 
 
 never meet him again as a friend. 
 If he did n't go, no doubt the 
 Penny Piper would be sitting in 
 that eight-by-ten room with the 
 piano and the old desk and the 
 penny whistle, and with all the air 
 excluded through the keyhole by 
 cigarette smoke and sideward dis- 
 placement. 
 
 Probably about the same time 
 Stevenson would be blowing from 
 his whistle that mournful Jacobite 
 air to which he fitted ^*Sing me 
 a song of a lad that is gone,'' 
 and wondering whether he ought 
 not to put on his buffalo coat 
 and Indian moccasins and carry 
 
 I 19 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 the hatchet to the Doctor for 
 burial. 
 
 If it happened that he did not 
 go, the Doctor would come sooner 
 or later — - professionally, of course ! 
 Robert Louis would receive him 
 like a prince. Each would admit 
 that the other was possibly right 
 about the baggage system, except, 
 perhaps, that — 
 
 And as like as not they would 
 start in just where they had left off; 
 or, if that subject were exhausted, 
 take up another for argument, such 
 as whether, according to Trudeau's 
 theory, it were not wiser to con- 
 serve the health by observing mod- 
 
 [ 20 ] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 eration (say in the use of ciga- 
 rettes), or, according to Steven- 
 son's theory, regard ill health as 
 something altogether outside a 
 man and death merely a possi- 
 bility of any minute and from any 
 of a number of unexpected causes. 
 
 In this connection it is interest- 
 ing to hear what Dr. Trudeau has 
 to say about Stevenson's death in 
 Samoa in i 894. It has been said 
 that he died of tuberculosis. It has 
 been said that he died of apoplexy . 
 
 " He did not die of tuberculosis," 
 says Dr. Trudeau, " as I made 
 a point of finding out. I have no 
 documentary evidence that he died 
 
 c: 21 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 of anything else, but all the dis- 
 patches from Samoa agreed that 
 it was cerebral apoplexy. Yet it 
 is a mistake to say that he never 
 had tuberculosis. Although, while I 
 took care of him, he had none of 
 the active symptoms, such as hem- 
 ' orrhage, or fever, or tubercle ba- 
 cilli, present, yet he undoubtedly 
 had had tuberculosis. It may have 
 become active again after he left 
 Saranac, so there is no telling just 
 how much that disease may have 
 contributed to his mortal illness at 
 Samoa." 
 
 Regarding a theory brought 
 forward some years ago in a 
 
 C 22 3 
 
of Sara?tac 
 
 prominent medical publication, and 
 copied extensively in the news- 
 papers, that the morbid phase of 
 Stevenson's genius was cause*d by 
 tubercular toxin in his blood, Dr. 
 Trudeau laughed heartily. If any- 
 thing could be named to account 
 for the production of such strange 
 or morbid tales as "Jekyll and 
 Hyde," " Olalla," and *^The Merry 
 Men," it would be the Celtic cor- 
 puscles in his blood! 
 
 The horrible fascination of the 
 supernatural for the Scot is well 
 known. The fearful fascination of 
 the sea, as exploited in "The 
 Merry Men,'' is also a character- 
 
 I 23 1 
 
 li I 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 istic of the high northern races, 
 especially of the Scottish High- 
 landers, who in ancient days drew 
 an infusion of blood from the Vik- 
 ings. There was evidence of the 
 Viking strain in Stevenson and his 
 seagoing forefathers. Race toxin 
 / is the only influence his blood may 
 / have brought to his writings. 
 
 W^hile on the subject, it is hardly 
 necessary to state that Stevenson 
 was much interested in the admi- 
 rable work Dr. Trudeau was do- 
 ing in tuberculosis research. Unfor- 
 tunately, while on paper the Penny 
 Piper could deal so beautifully with 
 the philosophy of illness and death, 
 
 C 24 ] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 his own ph3^sical weakness, and 
 that personal sensitiveness which 
 he so ably embodied in young Weir 
 of Hermiston, compelled in him 
 a horror of the material facts. He 
 did not fish or hunt, because he 
 could not bear the sight of suffer- 
 ing and death, even in animals 
 that are regarded as fair game. 
 
 Imagine, then, what happened 
 when, in a heroic moment, Steven- 
 son ventured into Dr. Trudeau's 
 laboratory, where the little guinea- 
 pigs were being immortalized for 
 the ultimate benefit of humanity 
 and humaneness. Had Stevenson 
 lived to hear the anti-vivisection 
 
 C 25 J 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 uproar of recent years, the zo- 
 ophiles might have offered him 
 their permanent chairmanship. But 
 if we know anything of the Penny 
 Piper's spirit, we fancy he would 
 have refused it. The fact that he 
 himself suffered imaginative ago- 
 nies of sympathy for the guinea- 
 pigs did not in the least becloud his 
 vision of the end toward which sac- 
 rifice of some sort, not necessarily 
 of blood, is ever the only means. 
 
 Here is the guinea-pig story, 
 which illustrates the theory : — 
 
 One day the Penny Piper's 
 genius was deeply stirred. The 
 whistle had been silent all mom- 
 
of Saranac 
 
 ing, for it was a great thought he 
 had seized upon. It was that of 
 the lantern-bearers, the playful 
 Scottish boys who carried bull's- 
 eyes under their jackets and occa- 
 sionally flashed them upon aston- 
 ished passers-by. You could not 
 see the lanterns, but it was a se- 
 cret joy to each lad to know that 
 he had his under cover, even if 
 his whole being did reek of oil. 
 
 Ah! it was a grand thought, 
 this, of the light under the bushel 
 that smelled of oil, and in his lit- 
 tle room the Penny Piper's pen 
 moved slowly and steadily over 
 the paper : — 
 
 i: 27 -\ 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 . . . Not a ray escaping, whether 
 to conduct your footsteps or to 
 make your glory pubhc ; a mere 
 pillar of darkness in the dark, and 
 all the while deep down in the 
 privacy of your fool's heart, to 
 know you had a bull's-eye at your 
 belt, and to exult and sing over 
 the knowledge. 
 
 When it was finished, the Penny 
 Piper remembered that Dr. Tru- 
 deau had promised to show him 
 the mysteries of his laboratory. 
 Still aglow with the high thoughts 
 of "The Lantern-Bearers," Stev- 
 enson put on his buffalo coat and 
 hurried away through the snow. 
 
 C 28 -] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 The sight of the grave scien- 
 tist bending over his work in that 
 strange place of crucibles and tubes 
 stirred the dreamer's enthusiasm 
 afresh. Here was the thought 
 materialized — the man with the 
 bull's-eye, who was thinking less 
 of fame than of the moment's task 
 allotted. 
 
 The Penny Piper told his friend 
 of the day's work, talking as only 
 he talked, every muscle and facial 
 expression in action, his eyes aglow, 
 and his long arms gesturing in il- 
 lustration. But suddenly he re- 
 membered why he had come to 
 the laboratory. 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 " Now, Trudeau/' said he, <'let 
 me see your light ! '' 
 
 Dr. Trudeau picked up a tube 
 containing a sickly-looking liq- 
 uid. 
 
 "The scum you see in this 
 tube,' ' said he, "is consumption. It 
 is the cause of more human suf- 
 fering than anything else in the 
 world. We can produce tubercu- 
 losis in the guinea-pig with it, and 
 if we could cure tuberculosis in the 
 guinea-pig, this great burden of 
 human suffering might be lifted 
 from the world." 
 
 Then he told of his own ex- 
 periments upon guinea-pigs with 
 
 C so] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 cultures of tubercle bacilli, and 
 produced charts showing results 
 that made similar symptoms in 
 the human case comprehensible, 
 and more combatable. He pointed 
 to a row of large stoppered bot- 
 tles containing tuberculous organs 
 of guinea-pigs, ghastly evidences 
 of the destroyer's poison. With 
 a bottle in his hand, Trudeau 
 turned to his very silent compan- 
 ion and — found that Robert Louis 
 Stevenson had vanished ! 
 
 Astonished and puzzled, the 
 medical scientist laid down his 
 charts and went in search of the 
 Penny Piper. He found him in the 
 
The Pen?ry Piper 
 
 open air, leaning against a veranda 
 post and looking very pale. 
 
 Trade au [rushing to his side): 
 Stevenson, are you ill? 
 
 Stevenson {^swallowing hard) : 
 N — no. 
 
 Trudeau : You don't look well. 
 How do you feel ? 
 
 Stevenson ( with a brave but sickly 
 smile) : Trudeau, I know — I know 
 your lamp is very bright, but — 
 to me it smells of oil like the 
 devil ! 
 
 The Penny Piper was fair above 
 all things, however, and he gen- 
 erously admitted that the fact of 
 an oil smell upsetting a particular 
 
 C 32 ] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 stomach did not dim the luster 
 of a particular light. 
 
 Seven years after Stevenson's 
 death, Thomas Bailey Aldrich 
 came to Saranac Lake on account 
 of the illness of his son, Charles. 
 He lived on the side of Mount Pis- 
 gah that overlooked the " hat-box '' 
 where the Penny Piper lived thir- 
 teen years before. In a letter to 
 William Dean Howells at this 
 time (December, 1901 ), Aldrich 
 wrote : " We are very literary up 
 here. Why did Hutton go to 
 Jerusalem for 'Literary Land- 
 marks ' when he might have 
 
 [ 33 ^ 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 found plenty of them in the Ad- 
 irondacks ? Among others who 
 have left footprints on the sands 
 of time are Stillman, Emerson, 
 and Stevenson." 
 
 Referring to Mr. Howells's ad- 
 mission that up to that time he 
 had never read a novel of Steven- 
 son's, Mr. Aldrich wrote in the 
 same letter : " You have missed 
 an entertaining writer, though not 
 a great one." 
 
 In passing, it may be mentioned 
 that that dear fiction about Rich- 
 ard Mansfield visiting the Baker 
 cottage and acting "Jekyll and 
 Hyde " for the author's benefit is 
 
 c 34:1 
 
of Saranac 
 
 without foundation. Our talkative 
 Penny Piper would surely have 
 mentioned such an event in his 
 letters to Henry James, or J. A. 
 Symonds, or Sidney Colvin. Cer- 
 tainly he could hardly have helped 
 doing so, had the incident occurred, 
 to his collaborator in dramas, 
 W.E.Henley. But he did not. Dr. 
 Trudeau has no knowledge of such 
 a visit. Andrew Baker, Steven- 
 son's landlord, thinks that the per- 
 sistent tale grew out of the visit of 
 a dramatic agent of Boston,' who 
 came to Saranac Lake in the hope 
 
 ^ I hav^e ascertained since that the Thes- 
 pian visitor was Daniel Bandmann. (S. C.) 
 
 C 35 3 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 of procuring certain dramatic rights 
 from Stevenson. 
 
 As to Stevenson's being <<not 
 very popular," to revert to a sug- 
 gestion in one of Mr. Aldrich's 
 letters, he had little in common 
 coin with the "natives" of that 
 time, and the social, literary, and 
 intellectual circle was limited. He 
 was highly popular among those in 
 the little colony who could appre- 
 ciate him ; and interesting, though 
 few, are the true stories touching 
 his social intercourse at this time. 
 
 One dinner of unusual cere- 
 mony may have suggested to 
 Stevenson the sentence, " I have 
 
of Saranac 
 
 learned to move among pompous 
 menials without much terror, never 
 without much respect." 
 
 At this particular dinner Steven- 
 son was not in evening dress. The 
 Penny Piper was notoriously un- 
 conventional in attire. Besides, as 
 Aldrich mentioned later, "the Sar- 
 anackers don't dress for dinner, 
 they dress for breakfast," and did 
 not Stevenson assure Will H. Low 
 that he was " a rank Saranacker, 
 a wild man of the woods"? 
 
 Anyway, the dinner was a fine 
 affair. The butler appeared at an 
 appropriate moment and elevated 
 a single eyebrow to convey that 
 
 i: 37 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 madam was served. As there were 
 more gentlemen present than la- 
 dies, Dr. Trudeau <* took in " Stev- 
 enson. As the Doctor playfully 
 offered his arm, the Penny Piper 
 clutched it in a kind of panic. 
 
 Trudeau : What 's the matter ? 
 
 Stevenson : Honest, now — are 
 n't you scared ? 
 
 Trudeau : Well, not exactly 
 scared; impressed, perhaps. 
 
 Stevenson ( shaking his head) : 
 Trudeau, I 'm scared to death ! 
 
 It was after one less imposing 
 dinner that Stevenson expressed 
 his terror of a hero-worshiping 
 admirer. She was of the type that 
 
 I 38 ] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 qualifies everything with super- 
 latives. All through the evening 
 she kept assuring the Penny Piper 
 that "Jekyll and Hyde'' was the 
 «* weirdest," " Treasure Island " 
 the "loveliest," and" Will o' the 
 Mill" the " sweetest " — ever ! 
 
 When Stevenson escaped, he 
 sought Dr. Trudeau's protection. 
 
 "I don't mind the Great Un- 
 washed," he whispered tragically. 
 " It 's the Great Washed I dread ! " 
 
 From the literary standpoint the 
 most interesting story of the Penny 
 Piper and his friends in Saranac has 
 to do with the genesis of "The 
 
 I 39 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 Master of Ballantrae '' and the be- 
 ginning of the real Stevenson wo- 
 man in fiction. 
 
 Up to this time the women in his 
 books, excepting Jim Hawkins's 
 mother in ** Treasure Island," had 
 been somewhat of stage type. Jim 
 Hawkins's mother was true, but 
 Stevenson had his own deeply hon- 
 est and just mother to draw from. 
 There was an elusive girl in '' The 
 Merry Men," but she was shad- 
 owy ; and in " Prince Otto" Sera- 
 phina and Madame von Rosen 
 were encased in court artifice. He 
 had not yet touched the deep 
 springs of natural womanhood. 
 
 [ 40 J 
 
of Saranac 
 
 To appreciate the far-reaching 
 effects of the incident that brought 
 the Penny Piper's magic pen to the 
 true delineation of women in his la- 
 ter works, it is necessary to begin 
 at Saranac with "The Master of 
 Ballantrae " and to show how Gen- 
 eral Custer's widow injected a fail- 
 ure into it. But it was a failure on 
 which success was to be built. 
 
 Even as at Saranac the plot of 
 "The White Feather" flashed 
 upon Thomas Bailey Aldrich "out 
 of a blue sky of idleness," so came 
 the genesis of " Ballantrae " to the 
 Penny Piper. In Stevenson's own 
 words, this is how it was : — 
 
 . 1:41 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 I was walking one night on the 
 verandah of a small house in which 
 I lived, outside the hamlet of Sar- 
 anac. It was winter ; the night was 
 very dark ; the air extraordinarily 
 clear and cold, and sweet with the 
 purity of forests. From a good way 
 below, the river was to be heard 
 contending with ice and boulders ; 
 a few lights appeared, scattered 
 unevenly in the darkness, but so 
 far away as not to lessen the sense 
 of isolation. For the making of a 
 story here were fine conditions. . . . 
 
 " Come," said I to my engine, 
 " let us make a tale, a story of 
 many years and countries, of the 
 sea and the land, savagery and 
 civilization. . . ^ 
 
 1 42 :i 
 
of Saranac 
 
 Shortly after that December 
 night he was again at a dinner- 
 party. Most of the little colony 
 were present, but for my purpose 
 it is only needful to mention Mrs. 
 Custer, Dr. Trudeau, and Robert 
 Louis Stevenson. After the soup, 
 Mrs. Guster opened fire upon the 
 Penny Piper. 
 
 Mrs. Custer: Now, why is it, 
 Mr. Stevenson, that you never put 
 a real woman in your stories ? 
 
 Stevenson (with twinkling grav- 
 ity ) : Madam, I have little knowl- 
 edge of Greek. 
 
 Mrs, Custer : But you have some 
 knowledge of women, surely! 
 
 C43 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 Why, you have been a married 
 man these seven years ! 
 
 Stevenson: With the result, 
 Mrs. Custer, that I have forgotten 
 all the Greek I ever knew. 
 
 Mrs. Custer: But the public ex- 
 pects it of you, and the feminine 
 portion demands it. Come ! When 
 are we to be introduced to the 
 Stevenson woman in fiction ? 
 
 Stevenson (zvith sudden enthu- 
 siasm) : Mrs. Custer ! I promise 
 you there shall be a woman in 
 my next book ! 
 
 The Penny Piper regretted his 
 rash gallantry before the close of 
 the evening. Later, he confided his 
 fears to Dr. Trudeau. 
 
 [ 44 ] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 Trudeau: Tve often wondered, 
 Stevenson, but never thought to 
 ask : Why do you never put a real 
 woman in a story ? 
 
 Stevenson : Good Heavens ! Tru- 
 deau, when I have tried I find she 
 talks like a grenadier ! 
 
 Nevertheless, he kept his prom- 
 ise to Mrs. Custer, and the result 
 is that wooden effigy in ''The 
 Master of Ballantrae," who is 
 called, for - identification's sake, 
 Alison Durie. 
 
 But the ice was broken, and 
 from this point the evolution of the 
 real Stevenson woman in fiction 
 is interesting to trace. Jim Pinker- 
 
 C 45 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 ton's wife in "The Wrecker" is 
 true — almost painfully true. Ca- 
 triona in " David Balfour " is better 
 — much; but both are girls. It is 
 not until we meet Uma in " The 
 Beach of Falesa " and a full-grown 
 heroine in "St. Ives" that we be- 
 gin to find boldness and accuracy 
 in his strokes. 
 
 For this, as for many other rea- 
 sons, what a pity that death stayed 
 his hand in " Weir of Hermiston," 
 for in the elder Kirstie he was 
 etching a masterpiece of deep 
 womanhood — "a severe case of 
 middle age." But the work had 
 progressed far enough to indicate 
 
 C 46 -\ 
 
of Saranac 
 
 beyond cavil that " Greek " might 
 safely be added to his accomplish- 
 ments. 
 
 Stevenson's place in the mem- 
 ory of Saranac Lake is unique. 
 The people have forgotten the 
 actual face of the man ; and the 
 record of his life there — of the 
 many little things not down on 
 the page of conventional literary 
 history — is becoming obliterated 
 by time. Seldom does a visitor 
 make pilgrimage to that little 
 room under the southern gable 
 where the Penny Piper tootled 
 on his whistle and penned golden 
 
 [47 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 letters in the intervals. But the 
 echo of the magic pipe is still in 
 the air, although the Penny Piper 
 has vanished. 
 
 There is no place where his 
 works are more popular for their 
 own sake, aside from their auth- 
 or's having lived there; for in 
 ail the world there is no place 
 that needs and benefits by his 
 brave creed of living more than 
 Saranac Lake. It is a place of pa- 
 tient suffering, of ships that some- 
 times pass in the night. It is, like 
 Stevenson personally, something 
 of a tragedy, but, as in the case 
 of the Penny Piper, none would 
 
 [ 48 •} 
 
THE STEVENSON COTTAGE 
 Andkew Baker discussing R. L. S. with a Literary Pilgrim 
 
 THE VERANDA WHERE STEVENSON 
 WALKED AND DREAMED 
 
of Saranac 
 
 ever know it except from acute 
 contact and observation. 
 
 There are over one thousand 
 persons in that Adirondack vil- 
 lage brought there by the same 
 chance that led Robert Louis Ste- 
 venson to the hills; and if they 
 would keep their courage strong 
 and their faith in the world's good- 
 ness intact, their viewpoint must 
 of necessity be that which Steven- 
 son engraved upon the rocks of 
 Mount Baker. It was indeed " big 
 medicine'' for the after-comers 
 that the Penny Piper made in the 
 little house up the road. 
 
 No one asserts that the brief 
 
 L 49 ] 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 passage of Stevenson through one 
 Saranac winter is wholly respon- 
 sible for the atmosphere of peace 
 and good- will which is a peculiar 
 and seemingly unchangeable char- 
 acteristic of that mountain village. 
 But what he wrote while there has 
 a tremendous application there^ 
 and Dr. Trudeau pressed the ap- 
 plication with that of his own 
 broad humanity. The result is 
 startling to the newcomer — a 
 place with an atmosphere dis- 
 tinctively its own. It would take 
 a genius to define this atmosphere, 
 but the genius of Thomas Bailey 
 Aldrich did it when, the shadow 
 
 C50 ] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 of his son's doom hanging heavily 
 upon him, he could write to Wil- 
 liam Dean Howells : "There's a 
 charm about the place. There's 
 something in the air to heal the 
 heart of sorrow." 
 
 The works of the Penny Piper 
 are ever in demand at the village 
 library, but there is one book in 
 that institution which none may 
 borrow or even touch. It is <^ Mor- 
 ley Ernstein," by G. P. R. James. 
 
 A few months ago the libra- 
 rian was looking over Stevenson's 
 "Letters," when he came upon 
 one to Mr. E. L. Burlingame. In it 
 the Penny Piper feverishly asked 
 
 C 51 3 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 for certain works of "dear old 
 G. P. R." 
 
 " This return to an ancient fa- 
 vorite," wrote the Piper, "hangs 
 upon an accident. The Franklin 
 County Library contains two works 
 of his, ' The Cavalier ' and ' Mor- 
 ley Ernstein.' I read the first with 
 indescribable amusement — it was 
 worse than I feared, and yet some- 
 how engaging ; the second ( to my 
 surprise) was better than I dared 
 to hope ; a good, honest, dull, in- 
 teresting tale." 
 
 The librarian laid down the 
 volume of letters, and walked to 
 the shelf where the remaining 
 
 c 52 :i 
 
of Saranac 
 
 tatters of G. P. R. should be. 
 "The Cavalier" was gone — long 
 since defunct ; but there was the 
 "Morley Ernstein," yellowed and 
 falling to pieces with age, for none 
 had thought it fit to read since 
 the days of the Penny Piper. 
 There followed a sudden demand 
 for " Morley Ernstein," by G. P. 
 R. James, but the librarian was 
 firm. Morley is now an honored 
 pensioner, withdrawn from com- 
 mon traflSc. 
 
 The creed of the Penny Piper 
 is almost a rule of mental conduct 
 laid down for patients, not only 
 
 i: 53 :i 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 by specialists of Saranac Lake, but 
 by many of the medical fraternity 
 elsewhere. There is a case on 
 record of a young man who ar- 
 rived in the village with the usual 
 excuse for arriving. He was ex- 
 amined by a physician, who pres- 
 ently asked the new patient wheth- 
 er his New York physician had 
 prescribed anything. 
 
 " Yes," said the patient, and he 
 produced this prescription : — 
 
 Fresh air, 
 " eggs. 
 Read Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 Potter, M.D. 
 
 [ 54 ] 
 
of Saranac 
 
 "Continue to take!" said the 
 physician. 
 
 The influence of Dr. Trudeau 
 upon the methods of anti-tuber- 
 culosis fighters is not without a 
 suggestion of the influence of 
 Stevenson upon Trudeau. When, 
 as President of the Eighth Con- 
 gress of American Physicians and 
 Surgeons, Dr. Trudeau addressed 
 his fellows at Washington, he thus 
 paid tribute to the Penny Piper 
 of Saranac, who had seen the 
 light in his laboratory away back 
 in the dark days : — 
 
 Let us not, therefore, quench 
 
The Penny Piper 
 
 the faith nor turn from the vision 
 which, whether we own it or not, 
 we carry, as Stevenson's lantern- 
 bearers their lanterns, hidden from 
 the outer world, and, thus inspired, 
 many will reach the goal; and if 
 for most of us our achievements 
 inevitably fall short of our ideals, 
 if when age and infirmity over- 
 take us " we come not within 
 sight of the castle of our dream,'' 
 nevertheless all will be well with 
 us, for, as Stevenson tells us 
 rightly, <* to travel hopefully is 
 better than to arrive, and the true 
 success is in labor." 
 
 THE END 
 
Appendix 
 
Appendix 
 
 Address by Lloyd Oshounie {read by 
 proxy) at the Unveiling of the Me- 
 moiial to Robert Louis Stevenson at 
 the Baker Cottage^ Saranac Lake^ 
 j\exu York, October 20, 1915. 
 
 How little could Stevenson have an- 
 ticipated, as he walked up and down 
 the veranda in the rare intervals of 
 a very bleak sunshine, or (so much 
 more often the case), as he huddled 
 close to the fire with the logs hissing 
 and the frosted windows steaming, 
 that twenty-nine years later this spot 
 would be hallowed to many through 
 no other fact than his once having 
 lived here. He would have been pro- 
 foundly touched, and no doubt as 
 profoundly dismayed. He had ever 
 
 C 59 ] 
 
Appendix 
 
 too much humor to take himself seri- 
 ously. I can almost hear him cry out: 
 "Good Heavens, I hope nobody is 
 going to take me as the model of any- 
 thing." Yet deep down, of course, he 
 would have felt a very human thrill 
 of pleasure. It is no small thing in 
 this forgetful world for any one to be 
 remembered years after his death ; to 
 have one's memory kept green and 
 one's personal mementoes treasured ; 
 to evoke from the hearts of the living, 
 and those strangers, affection and 
 homage. 
 
 Once in this house Stevenson laid 
 down the copy of ' ' Don Quixote ' ' 
 he was reading, and said, with a curi- 
 ous poignancy that lingers still in my 
 ears: " That's what I am — just an- 
 other Don Quixote. ' ' I think this was 
 the most illuminating thing he ever said 
 about himself. It was the realization 
 
 C 60 ] 
 
GUTZON BORGLUM AND HIS TRIBUTE TO R. L. S. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. ANDREW BAKER 
 
Appendix 
 
 that his high-flown ideals, his super- 
 sensitive honor, his vehement resent- 
 ment of wrong and injustice were per- 
 haps hopelessly at discord with the 
 world he lived in — the momentary 
 faltering of a great altruist. It is sur- 
 prising that in his essay on ' ' Books 
 that have Influenced Me " I believe he 
 made no mention of ' ' Don Quixote, ' ' 
 yet in conversation I can recall his 
 referring to it often — "that it was 
 the saddest book he had ever read ' ' ; 
 "that Don Quixote was the great- 
 est gentleman in fiction"; " that the 
 Duke and Duchess were a pair of 
 detestable cads to make sport of the 
 old fellow^ and he their guest. ' ' More- 
 over, he had even stumbled through 
 the original in his halting, laborious 
 Spanish. 
 
 Stevenson had a wonderful reading 
 voice; I ha^'e ne\'er heard any one 
 
 c 61 : 
 
Appendix 
 
 who could equal him ; in listening to 
 him one was stirred by an indescrib- 
 able sense of romance, of emotion, — 
 of the heartstrings being played upon. 
 I imagine, from what I have heard, 
 that Charles Dickens possessed the 
 same magic quality of evolving so com- 
 plete an illusion that the fictive char- 
 acters seemed alive — that one seemed 
 to see as well as hear them — that the 
 scenes merged imperceptibly from de- 
 scription into poetic fact. In the long 
 winter evenings in Saranac, Steven- 
 son read aloud "Othello," "The 
 Tempest," " Julius Caesar," and 
 ' ' Macbeth ' ' ; read them with mant- 
 ling face and increasing enthusiasm 
 till the old room seemed to disappear 
 in the glittering pageantry and match- 
 less, swelling periods of Shakespeare. 
 It is one of the most regrettable 
 things about Stevenson that his long 
 
 C 62 3 
 
Appendix 
 
 hair and strange attire are always as- 
 sumed to be an affectation. On the 
 contrary, he was a man absolutely de- 
 void of pose, and hated it and derided 
 it in others. But during his prolonged 
 illnesses, when often for weeks at a 
 time he would be condemned to lie in 
 the same position lest a single move- 
 ment might bring on a fresh hemor- 
 rhage of the lungs, his hair would 
 grow excessively long ; as cutting it 
 afterwards often caused him to catch 
 cold (and a cold to him meant a repe- 
 tition of the frightful illness) , it Avas 
 left much as it was, save for a slight 
 trimming. The shawls, cloaks, etc., 
 so familiar and so fantastic, in his 
 photographs, were only too often seized 
 up hastily and thrown over his night- 
 %o\\w to keep him from the fatigue 
 of dressing. The truth is, that until 
 he went to Samoa, where he enjoyed 
 
 C 63 ] 
 
Appendix 
 
 a sufficiency of health that allowed 
 him to dress and wear his hair in the 
 ordinary manner, every day might 
 have been his last. So far, indeed, 
 from his long hair and singular cloth- 
 ing being a mark of affectation, they 
 are a pathetic reminder of his sick- 
 room, and show how rarely he emerged 
 from it into the light of day. 
 
 It is not easy for those who loved 
 him to forgive such tales as his walk- 
 ing down Piccadilly — "very jauntily," 
 as the book observes — in a lady's fur 
 coat, pilfered from a party, and with 
 a bunch of daffodils at his neck ; and 
 similar falsehoods, too often malicious 
 in their origin. I would beg all ad- 
 mirers of Robert Louis Stevenson not 
 to credit such idiocies, which some 
 people, who knew him well, have not 
 been ashamed to put into circulation. 
 It is hard to conceive of a more sue- 
 
 C 64 ^ 
 
Appendix 
 
 cessful form of disparagement, nor one 
 better calculated to rouse dislike and 
 scorn. 
 
 I wish I could write more, and that 
 better, of this high-minded, high- 
 hearted, generous, inspiring man, 
 ^\hose hfe was a tragedy of ill health 
 redeemed by an heroic courage. That 
 he faltered at times — that he had his 
 moments of despair — only serves to 
 make his intrepid spirit shine the 
 brighter, and aids us to emulate him 
 in our lesser trials. I think those who 
 honor his memory honor themselves, 
 for it is the generous who appreciate 
 generosity, and the courageous, cour- 
 age, and the charitable, charity and 
 kindness, and it is in fellow-feeling 
 that this little party assembles here 
 to-day to pay a beautiful tribute to 
 the dead. 
 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S . A