MRS STRONG, in her chapter of TABLE TALK IN MEMORIES OF VAILIMA, tells a story of the natives' love for Stevenson."The other day the cook was away," she writes, "and Louis, who was busy writing, took his meals in his room.Knowing there was no one to cook his lunch, he told Sosimo to bring him some bread and cheese.To his surprise he was served with an excellent meal - an omelette, a good salad, and perfect coffee.'Who cooked this?' asked Louis in Samoan.'I did,' said Sosimo.'Well,' said Louis, 'great is your wisdom.' Sosimo bowed and corrected him - 'Great is my love!'"
Miss Stubbs, in her STEVENSON'S SHRINE; THE RECORD OF A PILGRIMAGE, illustrates the same devotion.On the top of Mount Vaea, she writes, is the massive sarcophagus, "not an ideal structure by any means, not even beautiful, and yet in its massive ruggedness it somehow suited the man and the place."
"The wind sighed softly in the branches of the 'Tavau' trees, from out the green recesses of the 'Toi' came the plaintive coo of the wood-pigeon.In and out of the branches of the magnificent 'Fau'
tree, which overhangs the grave, a king-fisher, sea-blue, iridescent, flitted to and fro, whilst a scarlet hibiscus, in full flower, showed up royally against the gray lichened cement.All around was light and life and colour, and I said to myself, 'He is made one with nature'; he is now, body and soul and spirit, commingled with the loveliness around.He who longed in life to scale the height, he who attained his wish only in death, has become in himself a parable of fulfilment.No need now for that heart-sick cry:-
"'Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I?'
No need now for the despairing finality of:
"'I have trod the upward and the downward slope, I have endured and done in the days of yore, I have longed for all, and bid farewell to hope, And I have lived, and loved, and closed the door.'
"Death has set his seal of peace on the unequal conflict of mind and matter; the All-Mother has gathered him to herself.
"In years to come, when his grave is perchance forgotten, a rugged ruin, home of the lizard and the bat, Tusitala - the story-teller -
'the man with a heart of gold' (as I so often heard him designated in the Islands), will live, when it may be his tales have ceased to interest, in the tender remembrance of those whose lives he beautified, and whose hearts he warmed into gratitude."
The chiefs have prohibited the use of firearms or other weapons on Mount Vaea, "in order that the birds may live there undisturbed and unafraid, and build their nests in the trees around Tusitala's grave."
Miss Stubbs has many records of the impression produced on those he came in contact with in Samoa - white men and women as well as natives.She met a certain Austrian Count, who adored Stevenson's memory.Over his camp bed was a framed photograph of R.L.
Stevenson.
"So," he said, "I keep him there, for he was my saviour, and I wish 'good-night' and 'good-morning,' every day, both to himself and to his old home." The Count then told us that when he was stopping at Vailima he used to have his bath daily on the verandah below his room.One lovely morning he got up very early, got into the bath, and splashed and sang, feeling very well and very happy, and at last beginning to sing very loudly, he forgot Mr Stevenson altogether.All at once there was Stevenson himself, his hair all ruffled up, his eyes full of anger."Man," he said, "you and your infernal row have cost me more than two hundred pounds in ideas,"
