Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (936 page)

I saw the note, and I was so sorry my article had not come in time for the old lady. We should all hurry up and praise the living. I must praise Tupper. A propos, did you ever read him? — or know any one who had? That is very droll; but the truth is we all live in a clique, buy each other’s books and like each other’s books; and the great, gaunt, grey, gaping public snaps its big fingers and reads Talmage and Tupper — and
Black Canyon
.

My wife is better; I, for the moment, am but so-so myself; but the printer is in very — how shall we say? — large type at this present, and the sound of the press never ceases. Remember me to Weg. — Yours very truly,

Robert Louis Stevenson.

NOTICE

To-day is published by S. L. Osbourne & Co.

ILLUSTRATED

BLACK CANYON,

or

Wild Adventures in the Far West.

An

Instructive and amusing TALE written by

Samuel Lloyd Osbourne

Price 6d.

Opinions of the Press

Although
Black Canyon
is rather shorter than ordinary for that kind of story, it is an excellent work. We cordially recommend it to our readers. —
Weekly Messenger.

S. L. Osbourne’s new work (
Black Canyon
) is splendidly illustrated. In the story, the characters are bold and 349 striking. It reflects the highest honour on its writer. —
Morning Call.

A very remarkable work. Every page produces an effect. The end is as singular as the beginning. I never saw such a work before. —
R. L. Stevenson.

To Sidney Colvin

I had written to him of the proposal that I should do the volume on Keats for Macmillan’s
English Men of Letters
series. From his essay,
Talk and Talkers
, I was eventually left out.

[
Chalet am Stein, Davos-Platz, Spring 1882.
]

DEAR COLVIN, — About Keats — well yes, I wonder; I see all your difficulties and yet, I have the strongest kind of feeling that critical biography is your real vein. The Landor was one nail; another, I think, would be good for you and the public. Indeed I would do the Keats. He is worth doing; it is a brave and a sad little story, and the critical part lies deep in the very vitals of art. All summed, I would do him; remember it is but a small order alongside of Landor; and £100, and kudos, and a good word for the poor, great lad, who will otherwise fall among the molluscs. Up, heart! give me a John Keats! Houghton, though he has done it with grace, has scarce done it with grip.

I have put you into
Talk and Talkers
sure enough. God knows, I hope I shall offend nobody; I do begin to quake mightily over that paper. I have a
Gossip on Romance
about done; it puts some real criticism in a light way, I think. It is destined for Longman who (dead secret) is bringing out a new Mag. (6d.) in the Autumn. Dead Secret: all his letters are three deep with masks and passwords, and I swear on a skull daily. F. has reread
Treasure Id.
, against which she protested; and now she thinks the end about as good as the beginning; only some six chapters situate about the midst of the tale to 350 be rewritten. This sounds hopefuller. My new long story,
The Adventures of John Delafield
, is largely planned.

R. L. S.

To Edmund Gosse

Stevenson and Mr. Gosse were still meditating a book in which some of the famous historical murder cases should be retold (see above, ). “Gray” and “Keats” are volumes in the
English Men of Letters
series.

[
Chalet am Stein, Davos, March 23, 1882.
]

MY DEAR WEG, — And I had just written the best note to Mrs. Gosse that was in my power. Most blameable.

I now send (for Mrs. Gosse)

BLACK CANYON

Also an advertisement of my new appearance as poet (bard, rather) and hartis on wood. The cut represents the Hero and the Eagle, and is emblematic of Cortez first viewing the Pacific Ocean, which (according to the bard Keats) it took place in Darien. The cut is much admired for the sentiment of discovery, the manly proportions of the voyager, and the fine impression of tropical scenes and the untrodden WASTE, so aptly rendered by the hartis.

I would send you the book; but I declare I’m ruined. I got a penny a cut and a halfpenny a set of verses from the flint-hearted publisher, and only one specimen copy, as I’m a sinner. —  — was apostolic alongside of Osbourne.

I hope you will be able to decipher this, written at steam speed with a breaking pen, the hotfast postman at my heels. No excuse, says you. None, sir, says I, and touches my ‘at most civil (extraordinary evolution of pen, now quite doomed — to resume — ) I have not put pen to the Bloody Murder yet. But it is early on my list; and when once I get to it, three weeks should see the last bloodstain — maybe a fortnight. For I am beginning to combine an extraordinary laborious slowness while at 351 work, with the most surprisingly quick results in the way of finished manuscripts. How goes Gray? Colvin is to do Keats. My wife is still not well. — Yours ever,

R. L. S.

To Dr. Alexander Japp

“The enclosed” means a packet of the Davos Press cuts.

[
Chalet am Stein, Davos, March 1882.
]

MY DEAR DR. JAPP, — You must think me a forgetful rogue, as indeed I am; for I have but now told my publisher to send you a copy of the
Familiar Studies
. However, I own I have delayed this letter till I could send you the enclosed. Remembering the nights at Braemar when we visited the Picture Gallery, I hoped they might amuse you. You see, we do some publishing hereaway. I shall hope to see you in town in May. — Always yours faithfully,

Robert Louis Stevenson.

To Dr. Alexander Japp

The references in the first paragraph are to the volume
Familiar Studies of Men and Books
.

Chalet am Stein, Davos, April 1, 1882.

MY DEAR DR. JAPP, — A good day to date this letter, which is in fact a confession of incapacity. During my wife’s illness I somewhat lost my head, and entirely lost a great quire of corrected proofs. This is one of the results; I hope there are none more serious. I was never so sick of any volume as I was of that; I was continually receiving fresh proofs with fresh infinitesimal difficulties. I was ill — I did really fear my wife was worse than ill. Well, it’s out now; and though I have observed several carelessnesses myself, and now here’s another of your finding — of which, indeed, I ought to be ashamed — it will only justify the sweeping humility of the Preface.

Symonds was actually dining with us when your letter 352 came, and I communicated your remarks.... He is a far better and more interesting thing than any of his books.

The Elephant was my wife’s; so she is proportionately elate you should have picked it out for praise — from a collection, let me add, so replete with the highest qualities of art.

My wicked carcase, as John Knox calls it, holds together wonderfully. In addition to many other things, and a volume of travel, I find I have written, since December, 90 Cornhill pages of magazine work — essays and stories: 40,000 words, and I am none the worse — I am the better. I begin to hope I may, if not outlive this wolverine upon my shoulders, at least carry him bravely like Symonds and Alexander Pope. I begin to take a pride in that hope.

I shall be much interested to see your criticisms; you might perhaps send them to me. I believe you know that is not dangerous; one folly I have not — I am not touchy under criticism.

Lloyd and my wife both beg to be remembered; and Lloyd sends as a present a work of his own. I hope you feel flattered; for this is
simply the first time he has ever given one away
. I have to buy my own works, I can tell you. — Yours very sincerely,

Robert Louis Stevenson.

To W. E. Henley

From about this time until 1885 Mr. Henley acted in an informal way as agent for R. L. S. in most of his dealings with publishers in London. “Both” in the second paragraph means, I think,
Treasure Island
and
Silverado Squatters
.

[
Chalet am Stein, Davos, April 1882.
]

MY DEAR HENLEY, — I hope and hope for a long letter — soon I hope to be superseded by long talks — and it comes not. I remember I have never formally thanked 353 you for that hundred quid, nor in general for the introduction to Chatto and Windus, and continue to bury you in copy as if you were my private secretary. Well, I am not unconscious of it all; but I think least said is often best, generally best; gratitude is a tedious sentiment, it’s not ductile, not dramatic.

If Chatto should take both,
cui dedicare
? I am running out of dedikees; if I do, the whole fun of writing is stranded.
Treasure Island
, if it comes out, and I mean it shall, of course goes to Lloyd. Lemme see, I have now dedicated to

There remain: C. B., the Williamses — you know they were the parties who stuck up for us about our marriage, and Mrs. W. was my guardian angel, and our Best Man and Bridesmaid rolled in one, and the only third of the wedding party — my sister-in-law, who is booked for
Prince Otto
— Jenkin I suppose some time — George Meredith, the only man of genius of my acquaintance, and then I believe I’ll have to take to the dead, the immortal memory business.

Talking of Meredith, I have just re-read for the third and fourth time
The Egoist
. When I shall have read it the sixth or seventh, I begin to see I shall know about it. You will be astonished when you come to re-read it; I had no idea of the matter — human, red matter he has contrived to plug and pack into that strange and admirable book. Willoughby is, of course, a pure discovery; a complete set of nerves, not heretofore examined, and yet running all over the human body — a suit of nerves. Clara is the best girl ever I saw anywhere. Vernon is almost as good. The manner and the faults of the book 354 greatly justify themselves on further study. Only Dr. Middleton does not hang together; and Ladies Busshe and Culmer
sont des monstruosités
. Vernon’s conduct makes a wonderful odd contrast with Daniel Deronda’s. I see more and more that Meredith is built for immortality.

Talking of which, Heywood, as a small immortal, an immortalet, claims some attention.
The Woman killed with Kindness
is one of the most striking novels — not plays, though it’s more of a play than anything else of his — I ever read. He had such a sweet, sound soul, the old boy. The death of the two pirates in
Fortune by Sea and Land
is a document. He had obviously been present, and heard Purser and Clinton take death by the beard with similar braggadocios. Purser and Clinton, names of pirates; Scarlet and Bobbington, names of highwaymen. He had the touch of names, I think. No man I ever knew had such a sense, such a tact, for English nomenclature: Rainsforth, Lacy, Audley, Forrest, Acton, Spencer, Frankford — so his names run.

Byron not only wrote
Don Juan
; he called Joan of Arc “a fanatical strumpet.” These are his words. I think the double shame, first to a great poet, second to an English noble, passes words.

Here is a strange gossip. — I am yours loquaciously,

R. L. S.

My lungs are said to be in a splendid state. A cruel examination, an exa
nim
ation I may call it, had this brave result.
Taïaut
! Hillo! Hey! Stand by! Avast! Hurrah!

To Mrs. T. Stevenson

[
Chalet am Stein, Davos, April 9, 1882.
]

MY DEAR MOTHER, — Herewith please find belated birthday present. Fanny has another.

355

My dear mother, how can I keep up with your breathless changes? Innerleithen, Cramond, Bridge of Allan, Dunblane, Selkirk. I lean to Cramond, but I shall be pleased anywhere, any respite from Davos; never mind, it has been a good, though a dear lesson. Now, with my improved health, if I can pass the summer, I believe I shall be able no more to exceed, no more to draw on you. It is time I sufficed for myself indeed. And I believe I can.

I am still far from satisfied about Fanny; she is certainly better, but it is by fits a good deal, and the symptoms continue, which should not be. I had her persuaded to leave without me this very day (Saturday 8th), but the disclosure of my mismanagement broke up that plan; she would not leave me lest I should mismanage more. I think this an unfair revenge; but I have been so bothered that I cannot struggle. All Davos has been drinking our wine. During the month of March, three litres a day were drunk — O it is too sickening — and that is only a specimen. It is enough to make any one a misanthrope, but the right thing is to hate the donkey that was duped — which I devoutly do.

I have this winter finished
Treasure Island
, written the preface to the
Studies
, a small book about the
Inland Voyage
size,
The Silverado Squatters
, and over and above that upwards of ninety (90) Cornhill pages of magazine work. No man can say I have been idle. — Your affectionate son,

R. L. Stevenson.

To R. A. M. Stevenson

[
Chalet am Stein, Davos-Platz, April 1882.
]

MY DEAR BOB, — Yours received. I have received a communication by same mail from my mother, clamouring for news, which I must answer as soon as I’ve done this. Of course, I shall paint your game in lively colours.

I hope to get away from here — let me not speak of it ungratefully — from here — by Thursday at latest. I am indeed much better; but a slip of the foot may still cast me back. I must walk circumspectly yet awhile. But O to be able to go out and get wet, and not spit blood next day!