Class VIR S^'12 
 
 Book *4o C-^^ 
 
 CopyrigteN^ 
 
 COFJOUGUT DEPOSrr. 
 
Echoes of 
 Robert Louis Stevenson 
 

 
 
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Echoes 
 
 of 
 
 Robert Louis 
 Stevenson 
 
 . By 
 J. Christian Bay 
 
 IRJ 
 
 i^iiii 
 
 Chicago 
 
 Walter M. Hill 
 
 1920 
 
^K' 
 
 ^/^ 
 
 
 Copyrighted IQ20 by 
 J. Christian Bay 
 
 Printed at the Torch Press 
 Cedar Rapids, Iowa 
 
 AL'G -2 1320 
 g>';iAo71845 
 
o 
 
 •o 
 
 To 
 
 Young Ewing Allison 
 with deep gratitude 
 
 — The Author 
 
This Edition 
 
 is limited to 
 
 Fifteeri Copies on Japan Paper, 
 
 ten of these being for sale, 
 
 and 
 
 Five Hundred Copies on 
 
 ordinary paper 
 
 The title-page and the vignettes were 
 done by Axel T. Bay. Grateful acknowl- 
 edgements for favors extended to the writer 
 are due Charles G, Blanden and Thomas 
 Y, Crow el I ^ Company. 
 
C C ^. m -n^t fff-K^ *\ fir^l^^J^'f 
 
 IT IS hardly an exaggeration to 
 say that thousands of persons, 
 young and old, would gladly walk 
 across our continent if their re- 
 ward were to hear Robert Louis 
 Stevenson's living voice. It is 
 fairly possible to imagine how he 
 looked, and this possibility re- 
 mains open to future generations. 
 But speech is music of the heart 
 and soul. No one dies in personal 
 memory as long as there is even 
 one person left behind whose 
 memory retains the sound of the 
 voice, — an experience which, un- 
 fortunately, is incommunicable. 
 But we of the outer circle of 
 friends cannot have this memory. 
 
 Paige 7 
 
Once only did one of the inner 
 circle communicate a remem- 
 brance of Stevenson's voice. Mrs. 
 Jenkin, late on a winter afternoon 
 in 1868, paid her first visit to 17 
 HeriotRow and there found Mrs. 
 Stevenson sitting by the firelight, 
 apparently alone. They began to 
 talk, when suddenly, from out of 
 a dark corner of the room, came a 
 voice, peculiar, vibrating; a boy's 
 voice, she thought it at first. '^I 
 forgot," remarked Mrs. Steven- 
 son, ^'that my son was in the room. 
 Let me introduce him to you." 
 So Robert Louis, or Lewis, as he 
 was called at home, arose and 
 bowed in the dusk. And the voice 
 went on, while Mrs. Jenkin list- 
 ened in perplexity and amaze- 
 ment. Afterward, the young man 
 accompanied the visitor to the 
 front door. It is not impossible 
 that Leary, the lamplighter, at 
 that moment happened trotting 
 
 Page 8 
 
past "with ladder and with light;" 
 nor is it beyond conjecture that 
 Mrs. Jenkin, as she walked into 
 the street, paused to take a good 
 look at her new and surprising 
 acquaintance. She saw a boy in 
 the first flush of youth, slender, 
 almost delicate. His long, soft 
 hair framed a high, narrow fore- 
 head. He looked at her with a 
 smile which lighted up his deep 
 brown eyes with unforgettable 
 geniality. She did not dwell upon 
 these photographic characteristics 
 as her memory, years after, treas- 
 ured the incident. Instead, she 
 recalled another, much more sig- 
 nificant, impression, and it took 
 the form of a most happy simile: 
 young Stevenson ''talked as 
 Charles Lamb wrote/* 
 
 No analysis of this reminis- 
 cence is necessary. Knowing what 
 we do about Lamb, the esthetic 
 fitness of the simile cannot be 
 
 Page 9 
 
doubted. It was a discovery then, 
 as it is to anybody hearing it now 
 for the first time. Even a stray 
 word from Lamb bears witness to 
 the crystalline clearness of his 
 mind and thought. No wonder 
 that the one poet who, in his 
 youth, spoke as Lamb wrote, in 
 time was quite naturally hailed as 
 the clearest voice in Britain's 
 chorus! 
 
 This was the voice of a human- 
 ist. 
 
 Is a reference to Erasmus far- 
 fetched, when we consider Stev- 
 enson's characteristics in life and 
 literature? 
 
 A contemporary has given Eras- 
 mus credit for a fine voice, an ex- 
 quisite language, a festive pres- 
 ence — the same qualities and at- 
 tainments again and again claimed 
 for Stevenson by those who knew 
 him best. 
 Page 10 
 
Further: Are not Stevenson's 
 utterances in their t3^pical forms 
 obviously comparable to Latin 
 and French — just in the same way 
 in which the Latin of Erasmus 
 bears an obvious resemblance to 
 elegant English? It seems that 
 one can hear almost without an 
 effort the sound of much of Stev- 
 enson's writing, as if language 
 reached one in a wordless way, 
 just like music or the scent of 
 flowers. Similarly, anybody read- 
 ing the letters of Erasmus {Opera 
 omnia, Tom. Ill, pars 1-2) must 
 be struck by the fact that they 
 flow into one's consciousness al- 
 most without translation. 
 
 "Latine scribere," says Steven- 
 son in 1874, *^mihi nunc jucundum 
 est;" not, certainly, for the reason 
 that he had studied the writings of 
 the great humanist, or even dipped 
 deeply into the classics, but be- 
 cause he had grown out of the 
 
 Page 11 
 
acquired forms of utterance and 
 was casting about for new forms. 
 At that time, also, he had grown 
 out of the formal mysticism domi- 
 nating his childhood and youth, 
 and was discovering a new world 
 within himself and without. Born 
 of a historic family, reared among 
 traditions, he found it necessary to 
 detach himself from history, to 
 liberate himself from tradition, in 
 order that his spirit might be free 
 to take up its own task. In the 
 mysterious nature of things, his- 
 tory and tradition took their place 
 in his life once more, as his ''task 
 of happiness" evolved. 
 
 This very phrase, ''my high task 
 of happiness," clearly is a human- 
 istic form. There never was ut- 
 tered a higher ideal for a poet. 
 And how was it to be attained? By 
 the will "to contend for the shade 
 of a word." 
 
 Erasmus himself could not have 
 
 Page 12 
 
stated his own ideal more appeal- 
 ingly clearly. 
 
 ^'A lad," says Stevenson in 1881, 
 '^for some liking to the jingle of 
 words, betakes himself to letters 
 for his life." A dozen years later, 
 after having considered all that 
 came of it, he sums up the situa- 
 tion in a poem to his father, the 
 builder of lighthouses: 
 
 And bright on the lone isle, the 
 foundered reef, 
 
 The long resounding foreland, 
 Pharos stands; 
 while the son, in his way 
 
 . . .must arise, O Father, and to 
 port 
 
 Some lost, complaining seaman 
 pilot home. 
 
 It is humanistic to assert, as 
 Stevenson does, that our judg- 
 ments are based first upon the 
 original preferences of our soul, 
 and that the utterance of them in- 
 volves a moral duty. "To conceal 
 
 Page IS 
 
a sentiment, if you hold it, is to 
 take a liberty with truth." 
 
 As a matter of fact, it would be 
 a possible feat to translate the 
 whole of Stevenson's essay, The 
 Morality of the Profession of Let- 
 ters, and pass off much of the work 
 as a newly discovered epistle by 
 Erasmus, — or, if the reader pre- 
 fer, byJohnColet. — Stevenson, on 
 the other hand, might be credited 
 with more than one of those mar- 
 velous letters which Colet inspired 
 Erasmus to write: witness Epist. 
 219, where Erasmus expresses his 
 deep gratitude to Colet for setting 
 an example in style: ". . .this mild, 
 muffled, unaffected style, spring- 
 ing forth, like a clear fountain, 
 from the richest affection, even, 
 always the same, open and direct, 
 with modesty .... You say what 
 you will ; you will what you say." 
 
 Finally, the reservation made by 
 Erasmus that letters {litterae) did 
 
 Page 14 
 
not imply enlightenment, but true 
 enlightenment calls for that quali- 
 ty of letters which are called 
 politiores, might have been pro- 
 nounced by Stevenson himself. 
 The lamps of both men burned 
 with a pure, white light; the wicks 
 being trimmed with the utmost 
 precision. Yet, neither was a 
 scholar. Neither would have 
 qualified for a professorship in the 
 ^^humanities," but both were born 
 to a chair in humaniora. 
 
 There is so much in Stevenson's 
 writings suggestive of his living 
 speech and even his manner, the 
 gleam in his eye, the motions of 
 his hands, that he who loves the 
 writer may easily forget being a 
 stranger to the man. The personal 
 appeal in many of Stevenson's 
 writings is direct and immediate; 
 and once it winds its way into a 
 receptive mind, the sympathy is 
 complete, there is no parting, and 
 
 Page IS 
 
the voice, though quieted now in 
 death, resounds in the very depths 
 of one's soul. 
 
 This sympathetic understanding 
 is more than the common admira- 
 tion of a man who opens his mind 
 freely and tells his story well. It 
 is friendship. It is giving and tak- 
 ing. It is sustained confidence, 
 and memory, daily meditation, and 
 continued remembrance; so that 
 He is not dead, this friend — not 
 
 dead, 
 But in the path we mortals tread, 
 Got some few, trifling steps ahead 
 
 And nearer to the end. 
 So that you, too, once past the bend, 
 Shall meet again, as face to face, 
 
 this friend, 
 You fancy dead. 
 Meanwhile, the forward traveler 
 — loiters with a backward smile 
 
 Till you can overtake. 
 And strains his eye, to search his 
 
 wake, 
 Page 16 
 
Or, whistling, as he sees you 
 through the brake. 
 
 Waits on a stile. 
 
 This picture is significant of one 
 of the deepest and most valuable 
 relations between man and man, — 
 it is this ^'backward smile" which 
 keeps the hearts of Stevenson's 
 friends warm and free, the flowers 
 fresh behind the windows of their 
 homes. All know how much he 
 sufifered bodily and mentally. All 
 feel for his sufferings the heart- 
 ache unmixed with commonplace 
 pity, which is a true soldier's 
 source of strength, — just as he, 
 himself, expressed it in 1881, apro- 
 pos of an essay on Keats: '4t is a 
 brave and sad little story." 
 
 We recall and recollect with our 
 minds and intellects, but we re- 
 member with our hearts. It seems 
 that each one of us has a personal 
 share in that ''high task of happi- 
 ness" which is at once the example 
 
 Page 17 
 
and the fulfilment of William 
 Morris's unforgettable lines: 
 Shall wt wake one morn of Spring, 
 Glad at heart of everything, 
 Yet pensive with the thought of 
 
 eve? 
 and the man who inspires this ef- 
 fort — that man never becomes a 
 distant figure, a mere successful 
 author, a notable person; he takes 
 his place in the seat beside our 
 door, nor do we claim for ourselves 
 any privacy in which he is super- 
 fluous. — 
 
 There is a reason to believe, 
 then, that such of us as owe to 
 Stevenson a desire to make the 
 most of joy and sympathy would 
 not, after all, be greatly surprised 
 one way or the other by hearing 
 his voice. We probably should not 
 be much startled if, hidden in the 
 dusk of a winter's twilight by our 
 fireside, he should speak all at 
 
 Page 18 
 
once, perhaps in a strain like this: 
 ^'I take pleasure in the battle, 
 thank God ; and even a defeat has 
 its honourable side.'^ 
 
 Or, expanding the remark: 
 ''And this one thing I proclaim, 
 that the mere act of living is the 
 healthiest exercise, and gives the 
 greatest strength that a man v^ants. 
 I have bitter moments, I suppose, 
 like my neighbors, but the tenor of 
 my life is easy to me." 
 
 Here, as in the following pages, 
 we quote mainly from the contents 
 of unpublished letters dated be- 
 tween 1873 ^^ ^888, the years of 
 stress, strain, and hard struggle. 
 And thus we awake from our 
 dream about the living speech to 
 face the actual presence of that 
 which approaches more closely to 
 speech than any other form of ut- 
 terance — autographic communica- 
 tion. 
 
 Personal letters forever have 
 
 Page 19 
 
been treasured among the most sig- 
 nificant relics of life. Their im- 
 mediate origin charms even in 
 cases where no personal relation 
 exists. Anybody can appreciate 
 the authentic touch in a letter or 
 even a detached autograph. Some 
 such pieces are treasured because 
 of their artistic touch or their per- 
 sonal appeal of quaintness and 
 beauty, as in the case of Eugene 
 Field or James Whitcomb Riley, 
 and become the spoils of collectors. 
 Generally speaking, it is a noble 
 aspiration to own a good auto- 
 graph. In Stevenson's letters we 
 look in vain for any dainty touches 
 of pictorial or calligraphic art ex- 
 emplified by Thackeray, Morris, 
 or Field. Robert Louis Stevenson 
 appeals by his tone, by the color of 
 his words, his picturesque lan- 
 guage, the intimacy of his penetra- 
 tion, the child-like directness of his 
 confidence. No letter lacking in 
 
 Page 20 
 
one or more of these qualities ever 
 was penned by him. Collectors 
 know it and very naturally have 
 cornered the market and made his 
 A. L. S. as rare and costly as med- 
 ieval script on immortal vellum, 
 but students of language and liter- 
 ature return to them ever and 
 again, because they express a form 
 of life full of uplift, courage, high 
 inspiration, and glorious success. 
 And throughout it all, one feels on 
 the safe side: Here is a man who 
 never turns a trick on you. While 
 distinctly on the forum, he is as 
 innocent of its deceit and jugglery 
 as a child is of Greek. 
 
 Young E. Allison deserves high 
 praise for pointing out that Steven- 
 son is wholly innocent of style. 
 ''Water," says Mr. Allison, ''does 
 not pool itself and laboriously work 
 out the discovery that it can run 
 down hill. It simply runs merrily 
 
 Page 21 
 
along." Stevenson's art is to tell a 
 story passing well and to convince 
 the reader of its validity. With 
 this assertion belongs another — 
 probably quite obvious to us all — 
 namely, that Stevenson first con- 
 vinces himself : his work was a mat- 
 ter of conscience. 
 
 In 1875, at the age of twenty- 
 five, he writes to Colvin, apropos 
 of his paper on Poe: 
 
 "I say I am a damned bad writer. 
 O God, you should see my article 
 on Poe as a poet, just sent oflf — 
 plenty to say (and true, I think), 
 but / can't write, God bless you, I 
 can't write." 
 
 Later in the same year he finds 
 himself in the grasp of a long story, 
 which ''tends more and more to die 
 away into continued rhapsody." 
 But "it's fun to do, from this very 
 reason ; because it's such fun just to 
 give way, and let your pen go ofY 
 with you into the uttermost parts 
 
 Page 22 
 
of the earth and the mountains of 
 the moon." 
 
 No better example of his run- 
 ning off into free imagery can be 
 found, than in a letter dated at 
 Alois, France, in 1878, on a dreamy 
 day: 
 
 ". . .the rain is falling far afield, 
 it wets a tramp on the long high- 
 ways, it wets the deck of a tremb- 
 ling ship at sea. " What a compre- 
 hensive vision, what a wide range 
 of sympathy! Immediately after- 
 wards he turns to himself: 
 
 "God, who made me such as I 
 am, who put me in this tumultuous 
 and complicated scene, and who 
 day by day, in fortune or calamity, 
 leads me through a variety of deeds 
 to the complete possession of my 
 own soul and body, help me, O 
 God, and spare me, that I may be 
 neither broken in body nor soured 
 in mind, but issue from these tribu- 
 lations cheerful, serviceable, and 
 
 Page 23 
 
unambitious, as befits a human man 
 among men." 
 
 It is evident here that he has dis- 
 covered how far more difficult it is 
 to live from day to day in full pos- 
 session of tranquillity and contin- 
 ued purpose, than to rise to mo- 
 mentary inspiration at intervals. 
 
 Already atSwanston, in 1874, he 
 had drawn this conclusion: "There 
 is nothing worth much in the 
 world but work, after all," an 
 assertion which sounds common- 
 place enough, but soon after is 
 complemented with the feeling of 
 freedom expressed as follows: 
 
 "I have bitter moments, I sup- 
 pose, like my neighbors, but the 
 tenor of my life is easy to me. I 
 know it now, and I know what I 
 ought to do for the most part, and 
 that is the important knowledge." 
 
 In 1879, he words a feeling fa- 
 miliar to all men struggling with 
 their future, — the occasional use- 
 
 Page 24 
 
fulness of silence to souls naturally 
 communicative, the old and time- 
 honored Cistercian remedy against 
 a scattering of energies : 
 
 *^ . .1 like solitude and silence; 
 to have been a whole day, and not 
 said twenty words, refreshes me 
 
 The body is tired, and so is 
 
 the mind. And I take my rest in 
 silence. Above all, I must be silent 
 a great deal more than I used, 
 about what really concerns me. I 
 can talk of books and the weather, 
 and cut capers in words with the 
 indifferent, better than talk straight 
 out of my heart, as I used to do. 
 Perhaps I have more in my heart; 
 perhaps I have been spoilt by a 
 very perfect relation; and my heart, 
 having been coddled in a home, 
 has grown delicate and bashful; 
 ... .At least, so it is. And I do 
 not want you to think it cold or 
 judge my friendships by my confi- 
 dence. If the oyster shuts up, 
 
 Page 25 
 
never fear, it is because there's still 
 an oyster." (1879.) 
 
 Of his work, Stevenson enter- 
 tained no foolish superstition. But 
 he vindicates himself. Writing to 
 Colvin, in the summer of 1877, he 
 announces an article to appear in 
 Temple Bar, ^4n which, for the 
 first time to my knowledge, you 
 will meet the real Villon. It is, 
 Mr. Colvin, sir, a remarkable pro- 
 duction, not in the way of style, 
 but in the way of taking a man in 
 the fact. ..." The letter contin- 
 ues: ^'And look here, while I was 
 full of Villon, I wrote a little story, 
 10 or 12 pages, about him." This 
 refers to nothing less than A Lodg- 
 ing for the Night; and he asks a 
 suggestion of where to send it, ^'for 
 
 I want money sorely Can you 
 
 suggest any place for me to hide 
 this little bauble in? It ain't so — 
 good; but I daresay it may pass in 
 
 Page 26 
 
the ten thousand; or at least bits 
 of it." 
 
 It seems often, as one reads Stev- 
 enson's letters, that he had thrown 
 into them thoughts and ideas which 
 were crowded out, so to speak, of 
 his more formal works, — not with 
 an eye to publication, but to liber- 
 ate his mind and set free his en- 
 ergy. Thus, the following whim- 
 sical and surprising declaration 
 reached Colvin from Bourne- 
 mouth: ^^Everything is true; only 
 the opposite is true too; you must 
 believe both equally or be damned. 
 This is where you and Morrison 
 fail ; you cannot see the huge truths 
 in the lie on the other side; you 
 only see your own side; this is 
 what made Torquemada, Robes- 
 pierre, and — I beg your pardon — 
 the low church clergyman." 
 
 This letter is signed in quadru- 
 plicate, as follows: R. L. Mc- 
 
 Page 27 
 
Guckin. Andrew Croslynofif. Ju- 
 lius Creason. Archbishop Sharpe. 
 
 Almost in the same hour he tires 
 of it all and exclaims : '^ . . . I want 
 — I want — I want a holiday; I 
 want to be happy; I want the 
 moon, or the sun, or something. I 
 want .... a big forest; and fine 
 breathing, sweating, sunny walks; 
 and the trees all crying aloud in 
 a summer's wind; and a camp un- 
 der the stars. Much of which I 
 could have for the taking, and 
 mustn't take. Alas! Alas poor 
 Arethusa, poor Inland Voyage! 
 Poor R. L. S., so much respected 
 in the society of the literati!. . . ." 
 
 Stevenson's sense of sonorous 
 and exalted phrasing developed 
 with his knowledge of Latin, and 
 inspired the following gorgeous 
 note written in Mentone, January, 
 
 1874: 
 
 ^^Latine scribere mihi nunc ju- 
 cundum est; si bene, laudes deo 
 Page 28 
 
soli reddendae; verum, ut timeo, si 
 male, male sine ullo decenti scri- 
 bam pudori [pudore]. Muscovi- 
 tas semper amabiles inveni, semper 
 ingeniosas amoenasque foeminas. 
 Stopconus simplicissimus est et, ut 
 it a die am, brebisissimus, Currit 
 per arduos [ardua], per gramina, 
 et tenuem voculam ad voces mon- 
 tium marisque semper jungit. 
 Heri, in certis tenebrarum pene- 
 traliis [penetralibus], remoto in 
 cubiculo suo, multum fertur fie- 
 visse, quia Principessa flores eum 
 iterum donaturum more Junonis 
 vetuit. [See Appendix III.] 
 
 ^^Fere degambolatus sum — O 
 Lord that's good, that's a triumph, 
 it's better than the English; there 
 is no language like latin after all — 
 fere degambolatus sum; spero tan- 
 dem; et me here I e jam iterum tri- 
 umpho. Pictor amabilis; puer 
 quoque bonus; tener, facilis, ab 
 
 Page 29 
 
omni parte (nescio quomodo) mihi 
 ridiculus, Stopconus, ie absentee 
 has been asking my advice about 
 his pictures and has taken it and 
 thinks it good; which pleases me 
 as I thought I wanted the organ of 
 pictures altogether." 
 
 Amidst this frolic of phrase and 
 sound we are reminded of the se- 
 riousness of things, as he goes on: 
 
 "I have nearly finished a com- 
 plete draught of Ordered South, 
 but shall wait your arrival before 
 I transcribe it, lest perhaps it 
 should be unfit for human food." 
 
 It proved a highly acceptable 
 bauble. 
 
 It is not easy to over-estimate 
 Sir Sidney Colvin's share in Stev- 
 enson's literary success. In 1875 — 
 they first met in 1873 — he declares: 
 ''I suppose I shall take all your 
 damned corrections;" and in an- 
 other letter, speaking of his essay 
 on Fontainebleau, expresses him- 
 
 Page 30 
 
self "glad to get my Mss. back, 
 cum pencillationibus.^'' 
 
 Nine years later, in a letter ad- 
 dressed to his cousin Robert, we 
 find Stevenson voicing a fully con- 
 scious philosophy of art. Even in 
 its mere outline, it is well worth 
 knowing: 
 
 "In my art, studies can be made 
 to go down by one quality, facture: 
 a person like Gautier — dam"* bad 
 art — factures to such a point that 
 people take simple unadulterated 
 strings of facts from him. But the 
 right way is to get the sentiment 
 first and let the sentiment assimi- 
 late facts by natural congruity. . . . 
 The tune of my article for Henley 
 is this, that realism, intent upon 
 continual vivid truth to nature, 
 forces these facts as strongly as the 
 other, naturally selected and more 
 constructive ( bildende ) facts ; 
 while idealism, intent on the main 
 
 Page 31 
 
concept, takes instead languid con- 
 ventions to fill up the field. 
 
 "In lyric poetry, where litera- 
 ture leans towards music, and 
 ceases to be a representative art, an 
 artist remains content with one or 
 two constructive facts that fired his 
 imagination. Whistler, coolly, for- 
 getting that painting must be a 
 representative art, being bound in 
 space, tries to get the public to take 
 the like from him. They will not. 
 The persons who "look for fidel- 
 ity" are not to be catered for; but 
 the call of your art to be represen- 
 tative must never be forgotten. 
 'Tis true, when you step aside to a 
 pure convention, like drawing, 
 three strokes suffice, and satisfy 
 plenarily the most captious. But 
 I do not think we yet understand 
 the living vigour of a frank con- 
 vention, boldly forced. Decorative 
 art has thus liberties denied to the 
 representative; and the coolness of 
 
 Page 32 
 
Whistler is that he takes the liber- 
 ties without performing the duties 
 of the decorator. If you invent a 
 sublime design, paint it a la Whist- 
 ler, and you will be a deity; but to 
 paint nothings and diurnal facts in 
 this manner is a simple calmness. 
 "Literature taking place in time 
 and not in space, shares some of the 
 life of music, while as representa- 
 tive art, it shares some of that of 
 painting. Now by the mere filling 
 in of the time, the sound sequences 
 and breaks, a study of a very tame 
 kind, quo ad representation, may 
 be ^endued with artistic merit;' 
 that is the musical affair. Again 
 as I said, by mere vivacity and va- 
 riety of facture, the public may be 
 cheated into admiration; Manet's 
 cock and lady that I wanted to buy, 
 is the game; or etching as a paral- 
 lel for the best sort In my 
 
 art, of course, there is one sum- 
 mity: Shakespeare, the only realist 
 
 Page 33 
 
who ever succeeded! that is who 
 reached the clear design and force 
 of the ideal, and yet carried along 
 with him the bulk and lineament, 
 colour, and brute imprint, of actual 
 detail. And of course, the result is 
 simply staggering. It doesn't seem 
 like art; all is moved into clearer 
 space and puts on beauty; the ugly 
 becomes the terrible, the maudlin 
 rises into the pathetic; and every 
 fact, placed where it belongs, shines 
 many-coloured like a gem; the rest 
 of us have to strip if we are to 
 climb, to refuse not only facts but 
 sentiments, truncate, blur and de- 
 form, make dirt upon the palette; 
 and, when time comes to fight, 
 babble an excuse and give a subter- 
 fuge. Well, now, look at this con- 
 queror in his early and unsure 
 works where we can trace the 
 working of his hand; look, for in- 
 stance, at the rotten, swollen, red- 
 cheeked rant of Richard III — he 
 
 Page 34 
 
is pursuing the ideal at full gallop! 
 Yet by this path he came out alone 
 above all competitors upon the al- 
 pine top of realism. Again, how 
 long were you before you got this 
 freshness and quality of truth into 
 your studies? Yet you expect, with 
 a mere turn of the body, to trans- 
 pose it into the foreign and far more 
 difficult province of the studio 
 picture. 'Tis all time and style. 
 We are both idealists born out of 
 season, and infected with the con- 
 temporary and inconsistent taste." 
 
 Some of these ideas were elabo- 
 rated by Stevenson in his essay on 
 the elements of style in literature. 
 There is one element of writing 
 which is mentioned with scant re- 
 spect and then dropped with a 
 warning: the conscious and un- 
 conscious artifices which may at- 
 tract the uncritical, and even serve 
 for popularity. Stevenson consid- 
 
 Page 35 
 
ers these elements unworthy of the 
 serious artist, but points out that 
 they may be lifted into a higher 
 sphere and serve artistic ends. 
 These artifices indeed are unrecog- 
 nized in rhetoric, and thanks are 
 due to Stevenson for calling atten- 
 tion to them, not as individual fac- 
 tors of work, but — when they are 
 rightly used — as indications of a 
 delicacy of sense finer than we con- 
 ceive, and as hints of ancient har- 
 monies in nature. 
 
 Whether one or the other; 
 whether indicative of a delicacy of 
 sense or a revival of ancient har- 
 monies in nature: there are certain 
 unconscious artifices about Steven- 
 son's work, which count as much as 
 the story itself, and at least more 
 than the choice of words, the 
 rhythm of the phrase, or anything 
 else discoverable by the literary 
 anatomist. One is brevity, or the 
 foreshortening of phrases and peri- 
 Page 36 
 
ods susceptible to considerable pa- 
 laver. In the Inland Voyage, be- 
 fore the end of the first, shortened, 
 page, both canoes are landed in 
 Antwerp, loaded, manned by the 
 two travelers, and away out in the 
 middle of the Scheldt. It requires 
 precisely twelve lines of printed 
 text to anticipate the departure 
 from England, to cover the arrival 
 in Belgium, to stow away pro- 
 visions, to look around, to talk over 
 things, to be done with the launch- 
 ing of the craft. — The Silverado 
 Squatters shares in the same virtue : 
 ^^The scene of this little book is on 
 a high mountain;" there you are, 
 all ready for the story, as in a saga 
 of ancient times, purged of all 
 superfluous detail, foot-notes and 
 other historical apparatus. 
 
 Another unconscious quality in 
 Stevenson's work is that his writing 
 appeals to the ear more than to the 
 
 Page 37 
 
eye. No imitation, no experiment- 
 ing, no juggling, could produce the 
 same result. Even his controvers- 
 ial writings, such as the letter to 
 Dr. Hyde, or the Footnote to His- 
 tory, are entirely free from the 
 hypnotism of advertising. The 
 world is full of conscious and cun- 
 ning appeals to the eye, and shrewd 
 agitators see to it that the masses 
 are whipped into line, and that 
 goggles are provided for the un- 
 convinced. Political propaganda 
 through editorials, systematized 
 paragraph writing, comic pages 
 and slogans, fall amongst us day 
 by day like dew on a sere meadow. 
 Nobody seems to have any excuse 
 for not knowing by heart the 
 square root of the collective wis- 
 dom. Yet, cunning drives on pub- 
 lic opinion grow less and less effica- 
 cious, because the average man 
 consciously or unconsciously seeks 
 
 Page 38 
 
enlightenment for his soul and not 
 excitement for the hour. 
 
 When it comes to real enlighten- 
 ment, one of the smallest library 
 buildings would accommodate the 
 World's Library of Live Books 
 without crowding. In a handful 
 of exquisite stories and heart-grip- 
 ping songs we have the romance of 
 the Middle Ages unfolded before 
 us; and no literary genius of this 
 day can improve upon them any 
 more than a modern composer can 
 bring the Gregorian chants up to 
 date. 
 
 Stevenson unconsciously but 
 readily fell in with the ancient 
 harmony in human nature, as he 
 acquired the art of expression. 
 Will of the Mill is a direct descen- 
 dant of the saga literature. 
 
 — ''Year after year went away 
 into nothing." 
 
 — "Up in Will's valley only the 
 winds and seasons made an epoch." 
 
 Page 39 
 
— ^'Miss Marjory," he said, "I 
 never knew any one I liked so well 
 as you. I am mostly a cold, un- 
 kindly sort of man; not from want 
 of heart, but out of strangeness in 
 my way of thinking; and people 
 seem far away from me." 
 
 Such writing hardly can occupy 
 space on a book shelf alongside of 
 artificial stories and produce of a 
 commercial craft. It is a reversion 
 to the old art of telling tales. Will 
 is an ancient saga recounted by a 
 clear-eyed man rising in his turn at 
 the round table, by the King's re- 
 quest, and opening his mind natur- 
 ally, and freely. He speaks as the 
 waters roll, as the winds blow 
 through the tops of ancient trees, 
 as the waves break upon an even 
 shore. You could listen and listen 
 until the world went under. 
 
 In the fragment of an autobi- 
 ography now in the Widener Col- 
 lection Stevenson says of his fami- 
 
 Page 40 
 
ly : ''We rose out of obscurity at a 
 clap." Could any elaborate state- 
 ment be more illumining? The 
 almost curt statement abundantly 
 suffices for all detail. 
 
 It is incredible that serious cri- 
 tics, students of organic forms in 
 literature and life, will continue to 
 confuse the conscious moulding of 
 form with the historical and racial 
 inspiration. Any school can dis- 
 tribute information about style, 
 but where is the teacher, or even 
 the critic, who will guide a man, 
 when he 77211st write, to the sources 
 of a historical understanding of 
 himself? 
 
 Racial inspiration is the founda- 
 tion of healthy dreams, as surely 
 as historical inspiration is the be- 
 ginning of all true education. 
 
 The poet may sense neither, un- 
 til he becomes aware that some- 
 body listens to him; that his form 
 of utterance makes an appeal; 
 
 Page 41 
 
that, as one may put it, two blades 
 of grass grow where but one grew 
 before. He may not see this clear- 
 ly, — he may be deceived by the 
 false alarm of popularity. But 
 time will show. Style is evanes- 
 cent, a mere fluctuating value. 
 True poetic work lies in the facul- 
 ty of dreaming and translating to 
 the untutored minds of the sens- 
 ible. That, as Mr. Allison says, is 
 not style; that is Genius. 
 
 Continuing this thought, — is Ge- 
 nius anything but historical inspi- 
 ration crystallized in an individual 
 as insight and reflected through 
 his work as character \ 
 
 The personal character of Ro- 
 bert Louis Stevenson penetrates all 
 his work as an ever-present, yet un- 
 obtrusive exhortation to the reader. 
 His essays and poems yield many 
 a moral lesson in the direct, old- 
 fashioned manner; his letters even 
 
 Page 42 
 
more so. It seems that in very ear- 
 ly life he decided firmly for cour- 
 age, good will, friendliness, a posi- 
 tive faith, honor with freedom, 
 sympathy with respect. Even be- 
 fore his literary method was fully 
 developed his mind must have be- 
 come attracted toward its natural 
 meridian, for in all his published 
 writings, in even his early corre- 
 spondence, we cannot find a serious 
 phrase not befitting the man who 
 has elected the task of bearing a 
 banner in the strife. How natural, 
 if he had faltered more or less; if 
 he had failed to show to the world 
 a glorious morning face. 
 
 The exhortation invariably fol- 
 lows a positive motive or purpose. 
 No better evidence of this is found 
 except in his occasional addresses 
 at solemn gatherings. Take his 
 speech to the Samoan students at 
 Malua, in 1890: ''Do not deceive 
 yourselves; when Christ came, all 
 
 Page 43 
 
was changed. The injunction was 
 then laid upon us not to refrain 
 from doing, but to do. At the last 
 day he is to ask us not what sins we 
 have avoided, but what righteous- 
 ness we have done, what we have 
 done for others, how we have 
 helped good and hindered evil; 
 what difference has it made to this 
 world, and to our country and our 
 family and our friends, that we 
 have lived. The man who has 
 been only pious and not useful will 
 stand with a long face on that great 
 day, when Christ puts to him his 
 questions. 
 
 ''But this is not all that we must 
 learn : we must beware everywhere 
 of the letter that kills, seek every- 
 where for the spirit that makes 
 glad and strong." 
 
 Here is an unpublished letter 
 addressed to Mrs. Sitwell from 
 Mentone, in March, 1874, two 
 months before his essay, ''Ordered 
 
 Page 44 
 
South," appeared in Macmillan's 
 Magazine : 
 
 [Mentone, March, 1874.] 
 My dear friend, 
 
 I am up again in an arm chair 
 by the open window, the air 
 very warm and soft and full of 
 pleasant noise of streets. I have 
 had a very violent cold; the 
 chirruppy french-english doctor 
 who attended me, said I might 
 compliment myself on what I 
 had, as I might just as well have 
 had small pox or tiphoid fever 
 or what you will; how, look 
 here, with all this violetit cold, 
 my chest remains unafifected: I 
 am bronchial a bit and cough, 
 and I have mucous membrane 
 raw over the best part of me and 
 my eyes are the laughablest de- 
 formed loopholes you ever saw; 
 and withal my lungs are all 
 right. So you see that's good. I 
 have not had a letter from home 
 since I left Mentone. You know 
 I was doing what they didn't 
 
 Page 45 
 
want; but I put myself out of 
 my way to make it less unplea- 
 sant for them; and surely when 
 one is nearly 24 years of age one 
 should be allowed to do a bit of 
 what one wants without their 
 quarrelling with one. I would 
 explain the whole thing to you 
 but believe me I am too weary. 
 Also, please show Colvin this 
 letter and explain to him that 
 whenever I can I will write to 
 him; and that in the meantime, 
 if it will not bind him, a note 
 from him will be most agree- 
 able. 
 
 Nothing can be done to assist 
 me: if I get permission, I shall 
 probably go straight away to 
 Germany without delay: by per- 
 mission, I mean money. 
 
 I cannot pretend that I have 
 been happy this while back; but 
 this morning I was relieved 
 from a great part of my physi- 
 cal sufferings and at the same 
 time heard you speak more de- 
 terminedly about your troubles. 
 For God's sake carry these 
 
 Page 46 
 
through; if you do, I'll promise 
 to get better and do my work in 
 spite of all. 
 
 Monday. 
 
 Last night, I set to work and 
 Bob wrote to my dictation three 
 or four pages of ^'V. Hugo's 
 Romances'': it is d — d nonsense, 
 but to have a brouillon is al- 
 ready a great thing. If I had 
 the health of a (simile wanting) 
 I could still rake it together in 
 time. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon, I got 
 quite a nice note from my father 
 (after a fortnight's silence), 
 with scarcely a word of anger or 
 vexation or anything: I don't 
 know what to make of that. 
 But it does not matter; as I see 
 clearly enough that I must give 
 up the game for the present; 
 this morning I am so ill that I 
 can see nothing else for it than 
 to crawl very cautiously home; 
 the fact is the doctor would give 
 me medicine, and I think that 
 has just put the copestone on my 
 weakness. I just simply per- 
 
 Page 47 
 
spire without ceasing in big 
 drops tliat 1 can hear falling in 
 the heii, anil 1 liave a fine gener- 
 ous tie that makes niy forehead 
 into that sort of hideous damned- 
 soul mask of bitterness and pain 
 with whieh the public are al- 
 ready ac(]uainted — I mean such 
 of the public as know me. I am 
 going to cut the doctor and sort 
 myself; and the first warm day, 
 1 shall ilv: a change of air is the 
 only thing that will pull me 
 through. Hut the North is such 
 an error; cold 1 am unfit for, 1 
 caiHiot come cold at all. My 
 spirits are not at all bad, 1 thank 
 you; but my temper is a little 
 embittered, and I have employ- 
 ed more french oaths this mor- 
 ning, in order to try to awaken 
 the placid imperturbable gar- 
 con dc chambre to the fact that 
 I was angrv, than I thought that 
 1 had in me. 
 
 It is curious how in some 
 ways real pain is better than 
 simple prostration, and uneasi- 
 ness. T seem to have wakened 
 
 Page 48 
 
u\) \f) nirj:\ tfji's tic, it h;is fjut inc 
 oil tiic r'llcrt, J crjfDf: r^rj srniliu'^. 
 It is so r;fjfl ; a rlay ;i;.y>, I fjirl nr>t 
 care rJt all fr^r life and wouM 
 just. ;r, '.',()n have died; f)ain 
 cornf,',, ;jfjd 1 he;^ f)arrjf;rj, sir, 
 you have rrj^ide a mistake, I 
 Bfiall [)ull tf)rr>»u;4h irj spite arjfi 
 be d d to you that is my sen- 
 timent; J also want to make it a 
 fact. 
 
 Tell ('olvin tfiat tfjc instant 
 my fiealth is anyway together 
 a^ain, J sfiall prdcr to take to 
 plays than to anytfiin^ else. I 
 have already a ;(ood subject in 
 (iibf)on; or ratfier, it was su;^- 
 gcstefl lon;^ u/fTo by the corpus 
 juris; anri has been recalled to 
 me by Oibbrjn: a sort of domes- 
 tic drama under the low em- 
 pire; tax gatherers, slaves, chea- 
 tcry, chicane, poverty; surjdenly 
 drums and sunlight anri the pa- 
 geantry of imperial violence: an 
 admirable contrast, anri one just 
 suiterl for the sta^e. So you sec 
 I shall just be in the humr^ur to 
 
consider Diana of the Ephesi- 
 ans. 
 
 ever your faithful friend 
 Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 
 I shall be in London shortly, 
 if I can; I shall seek rooms at 
 the Paddington Hotel, where 
 my people were, so that on the 
 first opportunity I can come 
 along and see you; if you can, I 
 should like to see you alone, but 
 of course, that must be how it 
 can. I shall see you, and S.C. & 
 show Clarke my carcase & lift 
 coins from Portfolio, and then 
 slowly north by easy stages. And 
 O! if I could get into a sort of 
 clean white bed in an airy room, 
 and sleep for months, and be 
 wakened in mid July by birds 
 and the shadows of leaves in the 
 room, and rise and dress myself 
 and be quite well and strong 
 and find that dozens of things 
 had been dreams and were gone 
 away for ever! 
 
 R. L. S. 
 
 Page SO 
 
One determining factor in 
 Stevenson's resolute emigration 
 from home in 1879 often has been 
 overlooked: his desire of facing 
 the world alone and to paddle his 
 own canoe. While, as is common- 
 ly asserted, a considerable motive 
 of knight-errantry was the imme- 
 diate impulse, the young man had 
 scarcely landed in America than 
 he felt in his bodily freedom the 
 anticipation of a still more desir- 
 able, and even necessary, social in- 
 dependence. 
 
 It was a terrible experience, 
 more terrible even than the pub- 
 lished letters reveal. But in all 
 we know about it we see the devel- 
 opment of mental traits, attitudes, 
 and habits in the young man, 
 which not only characterized him 
 but afford an example to every- 
 body for all time. The funda- 
 mental trait is his readiness to un- 
 derstand the persons with whom 
 
 Page 51 
 
circumstances brought him into 
 contact, to deal with them on the 
 basis of their, rather than his own, 
 qualifications, to be a friend to 
 them. As time passed, this be- 
 came more than a trait, it grew in- 
 to a habit, a part of the man him- 
 self. Stevenson, in his first letter 
 to Colvin after his arrival in Cali- 
 fornia, tells of having been be- 
 friended by an old angora-goat 
 rancher and his men. Immediately 
 he constitutes himself teacher to 
 the ranch children, the mother 
 being away from home, sick. 
 How sick he himself was, we 
 learn from this little sigh at the 
 end of the letter: ^'I should say to 
 you — pray for me. I am obliged 
 to lie down to write, for reasons 
 best known to my heart.'' 
 
 The Monterey circle of friends 
 hardly would rival in social dis- 
 tinction the humblest party of his 
 admirers now. There was San- 
 
 Page 52 
 
chez, the keeper of a saloon, and 
 Bronson, the local editor; there 
 was an Italian fisherman, and Au- 
 gustin Dutra. Then, there was old 
 Simoneau, in his little white- 
 washed room. Each one was a 
 friend, counting in Stevenson's 
 world for some quality which he, 
 Robert Louis Stevenson, discov- 
 ered in his friend and developed, 
 made much of, enlarged upon, ver- 
 ified before the world. 
 
 He made the difficulties which 
 surrounded him, strictly his own. 
 '^Nobody," he says, 'Svould write 
 for advice at six weeks post," so he 
 kept for a while his own counsel. 
 ^^My present trouble is one in 
 which no one can help me; till my 
 own common sense can see the 
 right path.'' The upshot was an 
 inner satisfaction with the course 
 taken, in spite of all his privations: 
 ^'O Colvin, you don't know how 
 much good I have done myself." 
 
 Page 53 
 
The letter of January lo, 1880, 
 famous for a detailed description 
 of his daily life in San Francisco, 
 contains the following conclusion, 
 till now unpublished, which brings 
 out the contrast between his life at 
 home, unhappy as it was in various 
 ways, and the routine of a penni- 
 less emigrant subsisting on coffee 
 and rolls: ^^The mere contempla- 
 tion of a life so vile is more than 
 enough for a professing Christian; 
 comment could only pierce it with 
 loathsome details — ." Every emi- 
 grant some time has shared this 
 feeling. Still, his determination to 
 fight his own battle remained firm. 
 When, on the morning of January 
 23, 1880, Stevenson received a 
 message announcing that a hun- 
 dred Pounds Sterling had been 
 sent by telegram, he hardly knew 
 whether to be glad or sorry. Sur- 
 mising it came from Colvin he 
 wrote: ''Had I required money. 
 
 Page 54 
 
should I not have asked it? My 
 dear old man, I would take a pres- 
 ent from (say) the Duke of Argyll 
 and be damned glad of it." But: 
 . . . *'have I not brought trouble 
 enough on other people? Do not 
 make me hate myself outright as a 
 curse to all who love me. My 
 concern is to see how I can do best 
 for myself — ; I have taken my own 
 way, and I mean to try my best to 
 walk it. If this money is from you, 
 it is not income but capital, any- 
 way; and it goes into the bank, not 
 to be touched but in case of sick- 
 ness. It is my income, what I 
 make with these two hands, that I 
 care about, and that I mean, please 
 God, to support myself and my 
 wife." 
 
 Mark these last words. Many 
 a poet would state his case differ- 
 ently; would commiserate with 
 himself and complain about the 
 hard, cold world. It is the com- 
 
 Page 55 
 
mon course to take, and who can 
 quarrel with the man that does! 
 For, as he puts it almost jokingly 
 three years later: ^'It is dreadful 
 to be a great big man, and not be 
 able to buy bread." At that time a 
 hundred Pounds was offered for 
 "Treasure Island;" — scarcely the 
 price now paid by the collector for 
 a page of manuscript in the au- 
 thor's hand, signed. 
 
 Stevenson's readiness to under- 
 stand persons, and the facility 
 with which he met and became an 
 active participant even of the 
 strangest episodes in a tropical 
 fairyland, are unique in the annals 
 of modern literature. A host of 
 persons not otherwise interested in 
 biographical details about favorite 
 authors, have become quite fa- 
 miliar with the daily life of the 
 family at Vailima, and with the 
 history of Samoa. Election rab- 
 
 Page 56 
 
bles in Podunk, Indiana, or Chi- 
 cago, Illinois, have been obscured, 
 at least temporarily, by the issues 
 of Malietoa and Mataafa. The 
 Mataafa party still is strong in 
 Kentucky. Everybody who knows 
 his way intelligently in Philadel- 
 phia also could ride from Vailima 
 along the road of shifting sun and 
 shadow into Apia, and stop at the 
 shop of Mr. Moors — that fine Ja- 
 nus of a trader, whose front eleva- 
 tion shows us a merchant of the 
 highest type, while, when we turn 
 him about, we grasp the hand of a 
 literary gentleman and a philoso- 
 pher. We hardly would invite 
 Chief Justice Cedarkrantz or Ba- 
 ron Senflft von Pilsach to spend 
 Sunday with us, but Tuimalealii- 
 fagu, if he should ring our door- 
 bell, would be certain of the best 
 we could afford. In thought and 
 intention we have offered our 
 choicest cigars to old King Malie- 
 
 Page 57 
 
toa and called up our best manners 
 in saluting the taupou of Matautu. 
 What would we not have given to 
 be able to sit down to one of the 
 feasts spread on the broad and 
 hospitable veranda of Vailima! 
 Would the road be too steep, the 
 cliff's too bare, the tangle of under- 
 brush and creepers too impenetra- 
 ble, to prevent us from ascending 
 Mount Vaea to its very top and 
 lay our tribute of flowers on the 
 grave of the man who stirred our 
 hearts if not, indeed, stabbed our 
 spirits broad awake? 
 
 Time and chance may be here 
 and now to tell a story not gener- 
 ally known, of Stevenson's circle. 
 One of the close friends of the 
 Vailima household was the Hon. 
 James Mulligan, then Consul 
 General of the United States in 
 Samoa, and author of the famous 
 poem "In Kentucky," and an ar- 
 dent collector of books. One ver- 
 
 Page 58 
 
sion of the story is given by Mr. 
 Moors, iFi his excellent account, 
 ''With Stevenson in Samoa," 1910, 
 pages 5H-59. Mr. Mulligan, with- 
 out objecting to the main facts, in- 
 sisted on making his own point, 
 and for this reason his version can- 
 not be neglected. 
 
 Jack Buckland, the original of 
 Tommy fladdon in The Wrecker, 
 had one of Stevenson's books 
 which was autographed by the au- 
 thor. 'J'his book formed exactly 
 one-half of Buckland's library. 
 Mulligan borrowed the inscribed 
 book and could not persuade him- 
 self to part with it. I le vested him- 
 self with a trustee's power. Months 
 after, when Jack Buckland wanted 
 to give the book to a mere chance 
 acquaintance, he asked its return, 
 and Mulligan evaded the cjuestion. 
 *4Ie" — continues Mr. Mulligan 
 in a private memorandum — ''pest- 
 ered the life out of me for its re- 
 
 PaRc 59 
 
turn. I professed to have lost it. 
 He did not believe my profession 
 and became insistent. Then his 
 sweetheart, a handsome and good 
 half-caste girl, Lizzie Johnston, 
 having become possessed of one of 
 these awful autograph albums, 
 took a notion that she wanted 
 twelve autographs of President 
 Cleveland, — and Jack agreed that 
 if I would furnish the autographs, 
 that he might give them to her, he 
 would quit-claim the book and I 
 might keep it. I gave him the 
 Cleveland autographs." Then 
 comes the point of the story, which 
 shall remain unwritten, as it is evi- 
 dent to all good Irishmen, whether 
 Hibernian or American! 
 
 It fell to Mr. Mulligan's share 
 in life to announce the death of 
 Mr. Stevenson in America, and he 
 arose to the occasion by addressing 
 to the State Department the fol- 
 lowing telegram : 
 
 Page 60 
 
It is with profound sorrow 
 and a sincere sense of direct per- 
 sonal loss that I report the sud- 
 den and wholly unexpected 
 death of the distinguished au- 
 thor and great novelist, Robert 
 Louis Stevenson, which took 
 place at his residence, Vailima, 
 near this place, at 8:io p.m. on 
 Monday, the 3rd instant, from 
 a stroke of apoplexy received 
 about an hour and a half before 
 while seated at his own hospit- 
 able table. 
 
 Aside from his world-wide 
 reputation in literature, Mr. 
 Stevenson was easily the first 
 citizen of Samoa and the center 
 of its social life. As is so widely 
 known, he was very frail, but 
 within the last two months had 
 become stronger and apparently 
 more vigorous than ever before. 
 
 His hospitality was on a 
 splendid scale and was equally 
 constant and unfaltering. A 
 British subject himself, he was 
 surrounded by his family of 
 American citizens, and it was 
 
 PsLge 61 
 
doubtful if on the whole he was 
 not in sentiment and thought as 
 much American as British, 
 
 The last manifestation of his 
 elegant hospitality was, peculi- 
 arly enough, a dining in cele- 
 bration of our American 
 Thanksgiving Day, which oc- 
 curred exactly four days before 
 his death, and at which, in re- 
 sponse to a toast to his health, he 
 spoke at length of his admira- 
 tion of the American festival of 
 Thanksgiving and proceeded in 
 a spirit of religious sentiment to 
 recount the many blessings he 
 had to be grateful for. His re- 
 marks were at length, full of 
 genuine feeling, and almost pro- 
 phetic of the end that lay so 
 near. 
 
 His remains were interred on 
 the very summit of the moun- 
 tain overlooking his late home 
 at I o'clock yesterday, whither 
 they were borne with infinite 
 difficulty by the willing hands 
 of a great number of Samoans, 
 who recognized in his death the 
 
 Page 62 
 
last champion of their people 
 and country. 
 
 Stevenson's marvelous powers of 
 expression reach a climax in his 
 Footnote to History. In this 
 book he not only rendered great 
 service to his adopted country and 
 people, but drew for all time a 
 picture of the mean and miserable 
 management of remote tropical 
 colonies by modern imperial gov- 
 ernments. He reveals in the mi- 
 crocosm of Samoa all the trickery 
 and trumpery of faithless diplo- 
 mats in contradistinction to the 
 serenity, the innate honesty, of the 
 common people subject to the ma- 
 chinations of self-appointed mas- 
 ters. God help any ^Mependency'' 
 falling under the domination of 
 such a combination as Cedarkrantz 
 and von Pilsach! Imagine a chief 
 justice of Samoa presiding over a 
 court whose proceedings were 
 
 Page 63 
 
stipulated to be conducted in Eng- 
 lish, although he could scarcely 
 speak a word of Shakespeare's 
 language and had never seen a 
 law-book in his life. He declined 
 to open his court for a year, until 
 he could pick up information and 
 find out what it all meant. 
 
 The petty meanness, the fatal of- 
 ficial ugliness of it all! 
 
 There is in existence a rare and 
 curious pamphlet which serves as 
 an appendix to the Footnote and to 
 Mr. Moors' manly defense of ^'the 
 great old man of Samoa;" — it 
 bears the title The Cry of Mataafa 
 for his People, and was printed in 
 Auckland in 1899. It shows all 
 the little traits of true honor and 
 patriotism which made the old 
 King so dear to Stevenson. It also 
 shows that if Samoa as a center of 
 native civilization and enlighten- 
 ment, disappears, being replaced 
 by a highly governed and admin- 
 
 Page 64 
 
istered colony of Mongolian- Sa- 
 moan half-breeds, the disappear- 
 ance of all that bound Stevenson to 
 Samoa with a friendship as deep 
 as death, will have been owing to 
 interference by foreign powers, 
 whose efforts were worthy of bet- 
 ter purposes. 
 
 All readers of A Footnote to 
 Hitory will be interested in Ma- 
 taafa's appeal. As it was printed 
 in a remote place and thus has be- 
 come known but to a limited circle 
 of readers, we reproduce it here 
 from Judge Mulligan's copy. (See 
 Appendix I.) 
 
 In their ideal views of right and 
 wrong; in their estimate of men 
 and events, the Samoan king and 
 the Scotch patrician met and sym- 
 pathized. The exiled wanderer in 
 the South Seas became an immi- 
 grant in Samoa on the basis of that 
 humanity which unites all enlight- 
 ened minds. 
 
 Page 65 
 
Thus Stevenson, although an 
 immigrant in Samoa and a stran- 
 ger, never became exiled from his 
 own kind. 
 
 The ideal immigrant in any 
 country is the person who accepts 
 the new surroundings, adopts the 
 new conditions of thought and con- 
 duct, makes the best of life as he 
 finds it, enters whole-souled into 
 his duties to a new form of society, 
 shows faith in the affairs of his 
 adopted land, and makes use of his 
 racial inheritance and early ac- 
 quirements to enlighten his new 
 circle. If this tentative outline of 
 a great problem is true, Stevenson 
 was an ideal immigrant. It is an 
 irregularity for anybody to leave 
 the land of his birth, memories and 
 native language. The temptation 
 always to make comparison, is pre- 
 sent at every turn. To the native 
 Scot, San Francisco is as strange 
 
 Page 66 
 
and wild as the South Sea Islands. 
 It requires philosophy and a strong 
 will to overcome the consequences 
 of this irregularity, to choke down 
 comparisons, to burn bridges in 
 one's life no longer used, and to 
 use such as are traveled to advan- 
 tage. 
 
 Charles Warren Stoddard has 
 pointed out that Stevenson's ven- 
 ture in the South Seas laid upon 
 him — ^ Stevenson — the burden of 
 proving his moral integrity. The 
 tropics afford the greatest oppor- 
 tunity for the requisite test. The 
 tropics invite a peculiar philoso- 
 phic languor, but also afford the 
 opportunity for a broadened vision 
 and the display of superior mer- 
 its. Did Stevenson stand the test? 
 
 He did, but not altogether in the 
 way Stoddard expected. His art, 
 it must be admitted, took no color 
 from the gorgeous display about 
 him. But he came — and went — in 
 
 Page 67 
 
a manner wholly different from 
 the usual foreign invasion. There 
 was no kinship between him and 
 "that insalubrious old marauder, 
 Captain Cook," and his mildewed 
 crew; he was as far removed from 
 them as he was from the modern 
 missionaries and the politico-pira- 
 tic zelotes of the Great Powers, the 
 beach-combers, the exploiters. It 
 is not so much Stevenson's virtue 
 that he presented us with faithful- 
 ly drawn types of white as wtII as 
 brown men peculiar to Oceania, or 
 with the most exquisitely pencilled 
 sketches of land and sea; it is 
 in his stories of Scottish life and 
 by his complete reversion to his 
 own native type, that he met, and 
 stood, the test of moral integrity. 
 No wonder that Rahero could 
 be written in the tropics, but 
 The Master of Ballantrae, Catri- 
 ona, St. Ives, Weir of Hermiston! 
 And also the Vailima Prayers. 
 
 Page 68 
 
These works prove, as nothing else 
 proves it, that a true man's heart 
 never is at rest very far from home, 
 but that even at the very end of the 
 world the life of the soul sinks its 
 roots even deeper than before into 
 the native soil. There is a Samoa, 
 there is an island of rest, joy and 
 sweet relaxation at the world's end 
 for every one. But the ultimate 
 test of a man's moral value is that 
 when he grows into greatness, as 
 was the case with Stevenson; and 
 chiefs, kings and other good men 
 crowd in to listen to his wisdom 
 and to hear the music of his voice; 
 and he is happy over his good for- 
 tune, — that, when all this comes to 
 pass, this man is restless, until 
 somewhere beyond the seas, in the 
 old home, the people that fostered 
 him, and the old circle of friends 
 of the early years, share the know- 
 ledge of the victory won. 
 
 So there is a sweet significance 
 
 Page 69 
 
in the fact that forty years after 
 Stevenson wrote his Song of the 
 Road, with its rousing motive 
 ^^Over the Hills and Far Away," 
 another poet, seeing the thread of 
 gold in his own life, craved the 
 complement to that song. On 
 March i8, 1918, Mr. Charles 
 Granger Blanden, of Chicago, 
 wrote the following beautiful 
 lines: 
 
 You sang to me, one distant day, 
 *^Over the hills and far away/^ 
 A sad sweet song that still I hear, 
 After how many a vanished year. 
 
 I pray you sing once more to me. 
 No song to set the spirit free. 
 But one to cheer the weary heart. 
 After the soul has played its 
 part. 
 
 Page 70 
 
Sing me a song that tells of rest, 
 For love at last has found its 
 nest; 
 Sing me a song of happy men: 
 
 Over the Hills and Home 
 Again. 
 
 Page 71 
 
APPENDIX I 
 The Cry of Mataafa 
 
THE CRY OF MATAAFA 
 On behalf of my people, whom I love 
 with a great love, I beseech the Three 
 Great Powers of England, Germany, and 
 the United States of America to listen to 
 my voice and grant my prayer. I ask and 
 desire nothing for myself. My years can- 
 not be many, for now I am old. The grave 
 will soon enclose me, and I shall be no 
 more. But the people who have loved me 
 long, and love me still, will live for many 
 years after I am gone. The strong men 
 who have served me so bravely and faith- 
 fully, the women who for my sake have 
 endured many hardships and privations, and 
 the children whose laughter and sport make 
 the villages joyous and happy — these will 
 be living when I am known no longer in 
 Samoa. It is for their sakes that I raise my 
 voice, and pray that the Three Great Pow- 
 ers, in their generosity and kindness, will 
 grant my request. 
 
 Thrice have I been elected King of Sa- 
 moa, by the free will and choice of the 
 great majority of the people, and according 
 to our own laws and customs. At Faleula, 
 
 Page 75 
 
1 888; at Vaiala, in 1889; and at Muli- 
 nu'u, in 1898, the people asked me to reign 
 over them. When the people asked me on 
 the last occasion to become their King, I 
 thought there were none to oppose or cause 
 trouble, for it seemed to me that all Samoa 
 was united. I was not eager to rule, for I 
 had been five years in exile from my native 
 land, and I wished to live peaceably and 
 quietly in Samoa for the remainder of my 
 life; moreover, Kings of Samoa have ever 
 been beset with dangers, difficulties and 
 troubles. But I believed the people desired 
 me to rule over them, and I thought that I 
 could govern them in such a way that all 
 Samoa would be happy, contented, and 
 peaceful. But certain evil white men led a 
 portion of the people astray, beguiling them 
 with falsehoods and deceptive promises. 
 These evil men persuaded a small minority 
 of the Samoans to choose a boy as King. 
 They forced him, against his will, to leave 
 his school at Leulumoega, and he came to 
 Apia, and lived in the houses of some of the 
 white men, so that he might always be 
 under their control. They desired him to 
 be King, so that they might do with him as 
 they pleased, for their own selfish purposes, 
 and not for the good of Samoa. 
 
 Page 76 
 
It has been said by some people, that be- 
 fore I left Jaluit, to return to Samoa, I 
 signed a written promise not to concern my- 
 self with Samoan politics, and these persons 
 also say that by reason of this promise I 
 could not be rightfully elected King of 
 Samoa. But this statement is not true. I 
 did not promise to have nothing to do with 
 politics in Samoa, and the writing which I 
 signed does not contain anything that 
 should prevent me from becoming King of 
 Samoa, after the death of IVIalietoa Lau- 
 pepa. 
 
 I believed, also, and felt sure, that the 
 German Government no longer objected to 
 me being appointed King. And this being 
 so, I cannot understand why evil and de- 
 signing white men, who were not author- 
 ized by the German Government, should 
 make an objection which did not concern 
 England or America, but only Germany. 
 But the Chief Justice, being an ignorant 
 man, and also not upright, listened to the 
 lawyers, who spoke with many deceptive 
 words, and also paid great heed to the evil 
 counsels of others, and declared the boy to 
 be King of Samoa, but not according to the 
 laws and customs of Samoa; for such a 
 thing has never been known in Samoa; 
 
 Page 77 
 
that a boy should be clothed with the power 
 and authority of a High Chief or King. 
 It was an unrighteous judgment, and 
 against the wishes of the majority of the 
 Samoan people. Then my people rose up 
 in their anger and indignation, driving the 
 small minority, who wished the boy to be 
 King, out of Apia, and establishing a Gov- 
 ernment of Samoa at Mulinu'u. This 
 Government was recognized by the Consuls 
 of Great Britain, Germany, and the United 
 States of America, in the name of the 
 Three Powers, until the Powers should de- 
 termine what should be done concerning the 
 unrighteous decision of the Chief Justice. 
 But before the Three Great Powers had 
 time to consult among themselves and make 
 their wishes known, the American Admiral 
 commanded me to submit to the boy whom 
 the Chief Justice had unlawfully declared 
 to be King. He likewise ordered that the 
 Government which had been established at 
 Mulinu'u, and had been recognized by the 
 Three Great Powers, should be over- 
 thrown, and that my people should yield to 
 the small party opposed to them. He also 
 said that if his orders were not obeyed he 
 would fire upon the people at Mulinu'u, 
 who could not resist, with his great guns 
 
 Page 78 
 
and small guns. These orders grieved and 
 astonished the people, because they knew 
 that the Great Powers had not ordered 
 these things to be done, but that all these 
 things were being done because of the evil 
 influence of certain officials and white men. 
 So my people and I left Mulinu'u and we 
 went into the bush. Then the great guns 
 of the American warships and the British 
 warships shelled the town of Apia and the 
 mountain of Vaea, and sent armed men 
 ashore to hold the town. After this there 
 was much fighting, and many of my people 
 were killed and wounded by the guns 
 which fire many bullets, like the drops of 
 rain in a heavy shower. Some of the white 
 officers and men were slain also, and for 
 this I was very sorrowful, for I desired not 
 that any should be killed. Many times 
 when the w^hite soldiers were marching 
 along, my people were on each side of them, 
 unseen, and could have killed many of 
 them, but they let them pass unharmed. 
 Then the British warships proceeded up 
 and down the coasts of Upolu and Savaii, 
 shelling many towns and villages, none ,of 
 which could defend themselves, for the 
 people in them had no thought of fighting, 
 being nearly all old men, women, children, 
 
 Page 79 
 
and pastors. These were compelled to seek 
 refuge in the bush and in the churches ; but 
 even these sacred buildings were not safe, 
 some of them being pierced by shells and 
 bullets, and there was great trouble and 
 fear amongst the people. Then white of- 
 ficers came ashore in small steamers (steam 
 launches) and boats, landing Samoan war- 
 riors, even the British Consul being with 
 the officers, and carrying a sword and re- 
 volver. The white officers commanded the 
 Samoans to burn down the houses in the 
 towns and villages, and they did so, leaving 
 only the pastors' houses unharmed. Many 
 things were burned in the houses. They 
 likewise destroyed many plantations, and 
 they also destroyed many very large and 
 valuable boats, the building of which had 
 cost many thousands of dollars. 
 
 In consequence of the destruction of their 
 houses, and the sacking of their towns and 
 villages, the old men, the women and the 
 children w^ere compelled to take shelter in 
 the bush, residing in poor huts, which v^^ere 
 not weather-proof, and were in unhealthy 
 situations. They were also compelled to 
 subsist on unwholesome and unsuitable 
 food. In consequence of these things, many 
 of these old men, women, and children have 
 
 Page 80 
 
sickened and died, causing great sorrow and 
 distress in almost every town and village. 
 Even now the people are living in tempo- 
 rary houses hastily erected in the towns and 
 villages, and subject to great discomfort. I 
 humbly implore the Great Powers to regard 
 with compassion my people in their trouble 
 and distress. They have obeyed the High 
 Commissioners whom the Great Powers 
 have sent to Samoa. They have surrend- 
 ered their guns, they have faithfully com- 
 plied with all that the High Commissioners 
 required of them, and they are resolved to 
 obey the Provisional Government establish- 
 ed by the Commissioners before they left 
 Samoa. 
 
 Though my people are subject to fre- 
 quent insult and ill-treatment from the 
 small party who were opposed to them — 
 these things being done in order to provoke 
 them to renewed strife — they desire to live 
 at peace with all Samoa. If the bad influ- 
 ence of a few evil-minded white people 
 were stopped, by these men being removed 
 from the country, there would no longer be 
 any trouble, for then all Samoa would be 
 at peace. I rejoice, and my people are glad, 
 at the prospect of a new and stable Govern- 
 ment for Samoa. If the Great Powers will 
 
 Page 81 
 
send good men to take charge of the Gov- 
 ernment and not those who care only for 
 the money they receive, Samoa will become 
 peaceful, happy, and prosperous. I pray to 
 God that this may be so, for I love my 
 country and my people greatly. 
 
 But now I again beseech the Great Pow- 
 ers, out of their abundant wealth, to grant 
 my people some compensation for the great 
 loss and damage inflicted upon them. To 
 His Majesty the German Emperor I ap- 
 peal, in great confidence and trust, for dur- 
 ing the trials and troubles of this year he 
 and his Government have been true and 
 steadfast friends of my people and myself, 
 and this w^e shall ever remember with deep 
 and abiding gratitude. To President Mc- 
 Kinley and the Government of the United 
 States of America I appeal, for that great 
 country has alwaj^s been friendly to Samoa, 
 and has, in past years, assisted and strength- 
 ened us in times of peril and tribulation. 
 To Her Majesty Queen Victoria and the 
 Government of Great Britain I appeal, for 
 all the world knows the Queen to be good, 
 kind, and humane, and the British Govern- 
 ment has always been ready to succour the 
 needy and help the weak and distressed in 
 all countries. To the great peoples of 
 
 Page 82 
 
Germany, America, and England I appeal, 
 and beseech them to make their voices 
 heard in our behalf, and assist my people in 
 their cause. 
 
 The smile of God brightens the lives of 
 those who assist the injured and the wrong- 
 ed, and the blessings of those whom they 
 relieve and assist will continually follow 
 them. 
 
 (Signed) o /. Mataafa 
 Amaile, Upolu, Samoa, 
 
 1 6th August, 1899 
 
 Page 83 
 
APPENDIX II 
 
 Three Poems in Memory of 
 R. L. S. 
 
 By 
 
 Frederic Smith 
 
 To travel happily is a better thing than 
 to arrive. — R. L. S. 
 
A PARAPHRASE 
 Better the pilgrim's staff, the cheerful song, 
 The distant hills to beckon us along, 
 A free highway and the wide sky above, 
 The foot to travel and the heart to love, 
 Youth's eager fancies and the morning light. 
 Than the high festival of crowning night. 
 
 So long our vision shines, our hopes be- 
 friend, 
 Better the journey than the journey's end. 
 The cozy resting place that shines ahead 
 Is not so blessed as the steps we tread. 
 Better a mountain streamlet in the sun 
 Than a still pool with all our journeys 
 
 done. 
 Better the toil and stress though spent in 
 
 vain. 
 Than the brief joys we labour to obtain. 
 The flowers we stop to gather by the way 
 Before our journey's end are thrown away. 
 But all the joy of search and sight is ours, 
 That shall go with us though we lose the 
 
 flowers. 
 Thrice happy he who learns the truth I tell, 
 He shall arrive at last, and all be well. 
 (Unpublished.) 
 
 Page 87 
 
TO R. L. S. 
 Dear Friend, all love, that love unanswered 
 may, 
 I gave to thee — my spirit leapt to thine. 
 Lured by the spell of many a magic line 
 I joined thy fellowship, and sailed away 
 To glowing isles, where golden treasures 
 lay. 
 With thee, all night, I lay among the 
 
 pine, 
 'Mid dews and perfume in the fresh 
 starshine. 
 Till darkness moved and thrilled with com- 
 ing day. 
 
 And now thou liest lone on Vaea's height, 
 
 The visions on thine eyes we may not 
 
 know. 
 
 I think of thee, awake, with keen delight. 
 
 Hearing the forests wave, the grasses 
 
 grow. 
 The rush of spectral breakers far below. 
 Through all the starry splendor of the 
 night. 
 
 From A Chest of Viols, 1896. 
 
 Page 88 
 
R. L. S. 
 On Reading "Travels With A Don- 
 key." 
 How sweet the way where we poor mortals 
 stray 
 When, with enlightened eyes, unveiled 
 
 we see 
 Earth's wondrous beauty and her mys- 
 tery! 
 Nature revealed, a living thing alway. 
 Alert in listening night or bountiful day 
 Moves to our mood with finest sympathy. 
 With watchful service sets our spirit free ; 
 Sings in our joy or wipes our tears away. 
 
 Surely the fault is ours, so long we rest 
 
 Content with darkened vision at the gate, 
 When we might stand within, in reverence 
 drest, 
 With sense refined, with subtle joy elate. 
 In that hushed portal where such won- 
 ders wait. 
 As they may see whom God has fitly blest. 
 (Unpublished.) 
 
 Page 89 
 
APPENDIX III 
 
 Facsimile 
 
 OF 
 
 Letter in Latin 
 
Mr. Payson S. Wild has been kind 
 enough to transliterate the Latin portion of 
 this letter and to elucidate its formal diffi- 
 culties. The following are Mr. Wild's 
 comments : 
 
 Brebisissimus. Doubtless coined from 
 the French brebis, a sheep. The follow- 
 ing sentence carries out the figure. 
 
 Principessa. Italian form for princess. 
 
 Fiores. As it appears in the text this 
 word is susceptible of two other readings, 
 namely, flans, and flares; but neither of 
 these can possibly be construed. Further- 
 more Stevenson's classical training was not 
 carried far, as we know, and so we must 
 expect to find him using common and well 
 known words in a **stunt" of this kind. 
 Fiores is a common and well known word, 
 whereas the others are not. The probable 
 meaning of the sentence, which is somewhat 
 blind, is this: "Yesterday, off in the dark 
 on his bed, he is reported to have wept co- 
 piously becaues the Princess forbade him, 
 Juno fashion, ever again to present her with 
 flowers." Little can be said for the latin- 
 ity of this sentence. 
 
 More. Mare is the more obvious read- 
 ing, but fails utterly in meaning. 
 
 Deganibolatus sum. This needs no oth- 
 er comment than the author's own. 
 
 P. S. W. 
 
 Page 93 
 


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