The herald. [microfilm reel] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1893-1900, 1895-02-17
THE LATE ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Personal "Reminiscences OF the Dead Author by Andrew
Lang in the North American Review

tons on a novel then and now very pop.
ular, but not to his taste, nor, indeed, bG
any means impeccable, though stirring.
Mr.. Stevenson $ censure and praise were
both Just. From his occasional fine
effort the author, he said,
should have cleared away acres
OF brushwood of Intellectual matter.
1t was SO, no doubt, as the writer spoken
OF would be ready to acknowledge. But
he was an improviser of genius, and Mr..
Stevenson was a conscious artist
OF course we did by no means always
agree in literary estimates; no two people
do But when certain works-in his line
in one way--werc stupidity set up as rivals
of his, the person who was most irrltated
was not he, but his equally magnanimous
contemporary. There was no thought OF
rivalry or competition in either mind
The younger romancists who arose after
Mr.. Stevenson went to Samoa were his
friends by correspondence; from them.
who never saw his face, | hear OF
his sympathy and encouragement;
Every writer knows the special
temptations of his tribe they were tempt
atoms not even felt, | do believe, by MIR.
Stevenson. His heart was far too high,
his nature was every way as generous as
his hand was open. 1t is in thinking OF
these things that one feels afresh the
I =
heart is much more than style, writes
one who knew him only by way of letters.
1t is u trivial "reminiscences that we once
plotted Boisgobesque story together.
There was prisoner in u Muscovite dun
geon.
We'll extract information from him, "
| said
"How?'
with corkscrews."
! But the mere suggestion of such pro-
cess was terribly distasteful to him; not
that | really meant to go to these extreme
lengths. We never, fcourse, could really
have worked together; and his maladies,
! increasing, he became more. and more of
wanderer living at Bournemouth; at
Davos, in the Gusons; finally, as all
| know, in Samoa. Thus, though we cor
responded not unfrequently, never was of
the inner circle of his friends; among men
there were school or college companions or
cousins, like Mr.. Il. A. M. Stevenson, or
a stray senior, like Mr.. Sidney Colvin.
| From some of them, or from Mr.. Steven
son himself, | have heavy tales OF The
Wild Prince and Pons. That he and a
friend travelled utterly without bag
gage, buying shirt where shirt
was needed, is a fact, and the incident is
used in The Wrecker. Legend says that
once he and friend did possess bag,
and also nobody ever knew why, large
bottle of scent. But there was no room
for the bottle in the bag, SO
Mr.. Stevenson spilled the whole
contents over the other mans head tax
ing him unawares that nothing might
be wasted. think the tale of the end
less staircase, in the Wrecker is founded
on fact so are the stories of the atelier,
which | heard Mr.. Stevenson narrate al
the Oxford and Cambridge Club.
For nocturnal adventure, in the man
3 ~ A ,..I,% ~ .;
already spoken of must be consulted. II
is not my story. In Paris, at a cafe,
remember that Mr.. Stevenson heard a
Frenchman say the English were towards
He got up and slapped the mans face.
Monsieur, vousmiavez frappe!" said
the Gaul.
"a ce quill parail," said the Scot, and
there it ended. He also told me that years
ago he was present at play, l forget
what play, in Paris, where the moral here
exposes woman with history He
got up and went out. saying to himself
What play what people!"
.Ah, monsieur, vous etes, bein jeune'
said an old French gentleman.
Like right Scot Mr.. Stevenson wa.
fond of our auld ally of France tc
whom our country and our exiled kings
owe much good and some evil.
| rather vaguely remember another an
ecdote. He missed his train from Edin
DuGSn W LOlluOu, anu HIS sue
! property was Il return ticket, meer
i schaum pipe and a volume OF MIR. Swim
burne's poems. The last he found I'M
marketab BILE; the pipe, | think, he made
merchandise Of but somehow his prov
ender for the day consisted of one Bath
| bun, which he could not finish.
| These trivial tales illustrate a period in
his life and adventures which | only
knew by rumor. Our own acquaintance
was, to great degree, literary and book.
ish. Perhaps it began with slight
aversion, but it seemed, like medeia, tc
be ripened and improved by his long sea
voyage and the bitter news of last week
has taught me, at least, the true nature
of the affection he was destined to win. In
deed, our acquaintance was like the
friendship of "A wild, singing bird and Of
punctual, domesticated barn-door fowl
laying its daily article" for the break
fast table Of the citizens. He often wrote
| to me from Samoa, sometimes with news
of native manners and folklore. He sent
me devil-box, the ''luck" OF some
strange island, which he bought at good
price. After parting with its luck, - OIL
fetish Ca shell in curious wooden box)
the island was unfortunate, and was raw.
aged by measles.
| occasionally sent out books needed fol
will be said. But | must make it plain
that, in the body, we met but rarely. His
really intimate friends were Mr.. Colvir
and Mr.. Baxter, who managed the prac
teal side of his literary business between
them; Mr.. Henley, in partnership with
whom he wrote several plays; his cousin
Mr.. r. A. M. Stevenson, and, among
other literati, Mr.. Gosse, Mr.. Austin Dob
son, Mr.. Saintsbury, Mr.. Walter Pollock
knew him well. The best portrait OF
Mr.. Stevenson that / know is by Mr.
W. B. Richmond, A. r. A., and is in that
gentleman's collection of contemporaries,
with the effigies of Mr. Holman Hunt,
Mr.. William Morris, Mr.. Browning, and
others. 1t is unfinished, owing to an i'll
ness which stopped the sittings, and does
not show the subject at his best, physic.
ally speaking. There is also a brilliant,
slight sketch, almost a caricature, by Mr..
Sargent 1t represents Mr.. Stevenson
walking about the room in conversation.
The people ! have named, or some OF
them, knew Mr.. Stevenson more init
matey than | can boast of doing. I'm.
like each other, opposites in a dozen
ways were united by the love of letters
and of Scotland our dear country. He
was patriot, yet he spoke his mind quite
freely about Burns, about that apparent
want OF heart in the poets amours, which
our countrymen do not care to hear men
toned. Well, perhaps, for some reasons
| it had to be mentioned once, and 50 nc
more of it.
Mr.. Stevenson possessed more than an,
man | ever met, the power of MAKING
other men fall in love with him. | NEAR
that he excited passionate admiration
and affection, so much so that | veril,
believe some men We're jealous OF othel