TO have created a school of idolaters, who will out and out swear by everything, and as though by necessity, at the same time, a school of studious detractors, who will suspiciously question everything, or throw out suggestions of disparagement, is at all events, a proof of greatness, the countersign of undoubted genius, and an assurance of lasting fame.R.L.Stevenson has certainly secured this.Time will tell what of virtue there is with either party.For me, who knew Stevenson, and loved him, as finding in the sweet-tempered, brave, and in some things, most generous man, what gave at once tone and elevation to the artist, I would fain indicate here my impressions of him and his genius - impressions that remain almost wholly uninfluenced by the vast mass of matter about him that the press now turns out.Books, not to speak of articles, pour forth about him - about his style, his art, his humour and his characters - aye, and even about his religion.
Miss Simpson follows Mr Bellyse Baildon with the EDINBURGH DAYS, Miss Moyes Black comes on with her picture in the FAMOUS SCOTS, and Professor Raleigh succeeds her; Mr Graham Balfour follows with his LIFE; Mr Kelman's volume about his Religion comes next, and that is reinforced by more familiar letters and TABLE TALK, by Lloyd Osbourne and Mrs Strong, his step-children; Mr J.Hammerton then comes on handily with STEVENSONIANA - fruit lovingly gathered from many and far fields, and garnered with not a little tact and taste, and catholicity; Miss Laura Stubbs then presents us with her touching STEVENSON'S SHRINE: THE RECORD OF A PILGRIMAGE; and Mr Sidney Colvin is now busily at work on his LIFE OF STEVENSON, which must do not a little to enlighten and to settle many questions.
Curiosity and interest grow as time passes; and the places connected with Stevenson, hitherto obscure many of them, are now touched with light if not with romance, and are known, by name at all events, to every reader of books.Yes; every place he lived in, or touched at, is worthy of full description if only on account of its associations with him.If there is not a land of Stevenson, as there is a land of Scott, or of Burns, it is due to the fact that he was far-travelled, and in his works painted many scenes:
but there are at home - Edinburgh, and Halkerside and Allermuir, Caerketton, Swanston, and Colinton, and Maw Moss and Rullion Green and Tummel, "the WALE of Scotland," as he named it to me, and the Castletown of Braemar - Braemar in his view coming a good second to Tummel, for starting-points to any curious worshipper who would go the round in Scotland and miss nothing.Mr Geddie's work on THE
HOME COUNTRY OF STEVENSON may be found very helpful here.
1.It is impossible to separate Stevenson from his work, because of the imperious personal element in it; and so I shall not now strive to gain the appearance of cleverness by affecting any distinction here.The first thing I would say is, that he was when I knew him - what pretty much to the end he remained - a youth.His outlook on life was boyishly genial and free, despite all his sufferings from ill-health - it was the pride of action, the joy of endurance, the revelry of high spirits, and the sense of victory that most fascinated him; and his theory of life was to take pleasure and give pleasure, without calculation or stint - a kind of boyish grace and bounty never to be overcome or disturbed by outer accident or change.If he was sometimes haunted with the thought of changes through changed conditions or circumstances, as my very old friend, Mr Charles Lowe, has told even of the College days that he was always supposing things to undergo some sea-change into something else, if not "into something rich and strange," this was but to add to his sense of enjoyment, and the power of conferring delight, and the luxuries of variety, as boys do when they let fancy loose.And this always had, with him, an individual reference or return.He was thus constantly, and latterly, half-
consciously, trying to interpret himself somehow through all the things which engaged him, and which he so transmogrified - things that especially attracted him and took his fancy.Thus, if it must be confessed, that even in his highest moments, there lingers a touch - if no more than a touch - of self-consciousness which will not allow him to forget manner in matter, it is also true that he is cunningly conveying traits in himself; and the sense of this is often at the root of his sweet, gentle, naive humour.There is, therefore, some truth in the criticisms which assert that even "long John Silver," that fine pirate, with his one leg, was, after all, a shadow of Stevenson himself - the genial buccaneer who did his tremendous murdering with a smile on his face was but Stevenson thrown into new circumstances, or, as one has said, Stevenson-cum-
Henley, so thrown as was also Archer in WEIR OF HERMISTON, and more than this, that his most successful women-folk - like Miss Grant and Catriona - are studies of himself, and that in all his heroes, and even heroines, was an unmistakable touch of R.L.Stevenson.
Even Mr Baildon rather maladroitly admits that in Miss Grant, the Lord Advocate's daughter, THERE IS A GOOD DEAL OF THE AUTHOR
HIMSELF DISGUISED IN PETTICOATS.I have thought of Stevenson in many suits, beside that which included the velvet jacket, but -
petticoats!
Youth is autocratic, and can show a grand indifferency: it goes for what it likes, and ignores all else - it fondly magnifies its favourites, and, after all, to a great extent, it is but analysing, dealing with and presenting itself to us, if we only watch well.
