the letters-2-第76章

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he　showed　me　whenever　we　met　with　gratitude。　　And　the　always　is　

such　a　little　while　now！　　He　is　another　of　the　landmarks　gone；　when　

it　comes　to　my　own　turn　to　lay　my　weapons　down；　I　shall　do　so　with　

thankfulness　and　fatigue；　and　whatever　be　my　destiny　afterward；　I　

shall　be　glad　to　lie　down　with　my　fathers　in　honour。　　It　is　human　

at　least；　if　not　divine。　　And　these　deaths　make　me　think　of　it　with　

an　ever　greater　readiness。　　Strange　that　you　should　be　beginning　a　

new　life；　when　I；　who　am　a　little　your　junior；　am　thinking　of　the　

end　of　mine。　　But　I　have　had　hard　lines；　I　have　been　so　long　

waiting　for　death；　I　have　unwrapped　my　thoughts　from　about　life　so　

long；　that　I　have　not　a　filament　left　to　hold　by；　I　have　done　my　

fiddling　so　long　under　Vesuvius；　that　I　have　almost　forgotten　to　

play；　and　can　only　wait　for　the　eruption；　and　think　it　long　of　

coming。　　Literally；　no　man　has　more　wholly　outlived　life　than　I。　　

And　still　it's　good　fun。



R。　L。　S。







Letter：　　TO　R。　A。　M。　STEVENSON







＇VAILIMA；　SEPTEMBER　1894。＇



DEAR　BOB；　…　You　are　in　error　about　the　Picts。　　They　were　a　Gaelic　

race；　spoke　a　Celtic　tongue；　and　we　have　no　evidence　that　I　know　of　

that　they　were　blacker　than　other　Celts。　　The　Balfours；　I　take　it；　

were　plainly　Celts；　their　name　shows　it　…　the　'cold　croft；'　it　

means；　so　does　their　country。　　Where　the　BLACK　Scotch　come　from　

nobody　knows；　but　I　recognise　with　you　the　fact　that　the　whole　of　

Britain　is　rapidly　and　progressively　becoming　more　pigmented；　

already　in　one　man's　life　I　can　decidedly　trace　a　difference　in　the　

children　about　a　school　door。　　But　colour　is　not　an　essential　part　

of　a　man　or　a　race。　　Take　my　Polynesians；　an　Asiatic　people　

probably　from　the　neighbourhood　of　the　Persian　gulf。　　They　range　

through　any　amount　of　shades；　from　the　burnt　hue　of　the　Low　

Archipelago　islander；　which　seems　half　negro；　to　the　'bleached'　

pretty　women　of　the　Marquesas　（close　by　on　the　map）；　who　come　out　

for　a　festival　no　darker　than　an　Italian；　their　colour　seems　to　

vary　directly　with　the　degree　of　exposure　to　the　sun。　　And；　as　with　

negroes；　the　babes　are　born　white；　only　it　should　seem　a　LITTLE　

SACK　of　pigment　at　the　lower　part　of　the　spine；　which　presently　

spreads　over　the　whole　field。　　Very　puzzling。　　But　to　return。　　The　

Picts　furnish　to…day　perhaps　a　third　of　the　population　of　Scotland；　

say　another　third　for　Scots　and　Britons；　and　the　third　for　Norse　

and　Angles　is　a　bad　third。　　Edinburgh　was　a　Pictish　place。　　But　the　

fact　is；　we　don't　know　their　frontiers。　　Tell　some　of　your　

journalist　friends　with　a　good　style　to　popularise　old　Skene；　or　

say　your　prayers；　and　read　him　for　yourself；　he　was　a　Great　

Historian；　and　I　was　his　blessed　clerk；　and　did　not　know　it；　and　

you　will　not　be　in　a　state　of　grace　about　the　Picts　till　you　have　

studied　him。　　J。　Horne　Stevenson　（do　you　know　him？）　is　working　this　

up　with　me；　and　the　fact　is　…　it's　not　interesting　to　the　public　…　

but　it's　interesting；　and　very　interesting；　in　itself；　and　just　now　

very　embarrassing　…　this　rural　parish　supplied　Glasgow　with　such　a　

quantity　of　Stevensons　in　the　beginning　of　last　century！　　There　is　

just　a　link　wanting；　and　we　might　be　able　to　go　back　to　the　

eleventh　century；　always　undistinguished；　but　clearly　traceable。　　

When　I　say　just　a　link；　I　guess　I　may　be　taken　to　mean　a　dozen。　　

What　a　singular　thing　is　this　undistinguished　perpetuation　of　a　

family　throughout　the　centuries；　and　the　sudden　bursting　forth　of　

character　and　capacity　that　began　with　our　grandfather！　　But　as　I　

go　on　in　life；　day　by　day；　I　become　more　of　a　bewildered　child；　I　

cannot　get　used　to　this　world；　to　procreation；　to　heredity；　to　

sight；　to　hearing；　the　commonest　things　are　a　burthen。　　The　prim　

obliterated　polite　face　of　life；　and　the　broad；　bawdy；　and　

orgiastic　…　or　maenadic　…　foundations；　form　a　spectacle　to　which　no　

habit　reconciles　me；　and　'I　could　wish　my　days　to　be　bound　each　to　

each'　by　the　same　open…mouthed　wonder。　　They　ARE　anyway；　and　

whether　I　wish　it　or　not。



I　remember　very　well　your　attitude　to　life；　this　conventional　

surface　of　it。　　You　had　none　of　that　curiosity　for　the　social　stage　

directions；　the　trivial　FICELLES　of　the　business；　it　is　simian；　but　

that　is　how　the　wild　youth　of　man　is　captured；　you　wouldn't　

imitate；　hence　you　kept　free　…　a　wild　dog；　outside　the　kennel　…　and　

came　dam'　near　starving　for　your　pains。　　The　key　to　the　business　is　

of　course　the　belly；　difficult　as　it　is　to　keep　that　in　view　in　the　

zone　of　three　miraculous　meals　a　day　in　which　we　were　brought　up。　　

Civilisation　has　become　reflex　with　us；　you　might　think　that　hunger　

was　the　name　of　the　best　sauce；　but　hunger　to　the　cold　solitary　

under　a　bush　of　a　rainy　night　is　the　name　of　something　quite　

different。　　I　defend　civilisation　for　the　thing　it　is；　for　the　

thing　it　has　COME　to　be；　the　standpoint　of　a　real　old　Tory。　　My　

ideal　would　be　the　Female　Clan。　　But　how　can　you　turn　these　

crowding　dumb　multitudes　BACK？　　They　don't　do　anything　BECAUSE；　

they　do　things；　write　able　articles；　stitch　shoes；　dig；　from　the　

purely　simian　impulse。　　Go　and　reason　with　monkeys！



No；　I　am　right　about　Jean　Lillie。　　Jean　Lillie；　our　double　great…

grandmother；　the　daughter　of　David　Lillie；　sometime　Deacon　of　the　

Wrights；　married；　first；　Alan　Stevenson；　who　died　May　26；　1774；　'at　

Santt　Kittes　of　a　fiver；'　by　whom　she　had　Robert　Stevenson；　born　

8th　June　1772；　and；　second；　in　May　or　June　1787；　Thomas　Smith；　a　

widower；　and　already　the　father　of　our　grandmother。　　This　

improbable　double　connection　always　tends　to　confuse　a　student　of　

the　family；　Thomas　Smith　being　doubly　our　great…grandfather。



I　looked　on　the　perpetuation　of　our　honoured　name　with　veneration。　　

My　mother　collared　one　of　the　photos；　of　course；　the　other　is　stuck　

up　on　my　wall　as　the　chief　of　our　sept。　　Do　you　know　any　of　the　

Gaelic…Celtic　sharps？　you　might　ask　what　the　name　means。　　It　

puzzles　me。　　I　find　a　M'STEIN　and　a　MACSTEPHANE；　and　our　own　great…

grandfather　always　called　himself　Steenson；　though　he　wrote　it　

Stevenson。　　There　are　at　least　three　PLACES　called　Stevenson　…　

STEVENSON　in　Cunningham；　STEVENSON　in　Peebles；　and　STEVENSON　in　

Haddington。　　And　it　was　not　the　Celtic　trick；　I　understand；　to　call　

places　after　people。　　I　am　going　to　write　to　Sir　Herbert　Maxwell　

about　the　name；　but　you　might　find　some　one。



Get　the　Anglo…Saxon　heresy　out　of　your　head；　they　superimposed　

their　language；　they　scarce　modified　the　race；　only　in　Berwickshire　

and　Roxburgh　have　they　very　largely　affected　the　place　names。　　The　

Scandinavians　did　much　more　to　Scotland　than　the　Angles。　　The　

Saxons　didn't　come。



Enough　of　this　sham　antiquarianism。　　Yes；　it　is　in　the　matter　of　

the　book；　of　course；　that　collaboration　shows；　as　for　the　manner；　

it　is　superficially　all　mine；　in　the　sense　that　the　last　copy　is　

all　in　my　hand。　　Lloyd　did　not　even　put　pen　to　paper　in　the　Paris　

scenes　or　the　Barbizon　scene；　it　was　no　good；　he　wrote　and　often　

rewrote　all　the　rest；　I　had　the　best　service　from　him　on　the　

character　of　Nares。　　You　see；　we　had　been　just　meeting　the　man；　and　

his　memory　was　full　of　the　man's　words　and　ways。　　And　Lloyd　is　an　

impressionist；　pure　and　simple。　　The　great　difficulty　of　

collaboration　is　that　you　can't　explain　what　you　mean。　　I　know　what　

kind　of　effect　I　mean　a　character　to　give　…　what　kind　of　TACHE　he　

is　to　make；　but　how　am　I　to　tell　my　collaborator　in　words？　　Hence　

it　was　necessary　to　say；　'Make　him　So…and…so'；　and　this　was　all　

right　for　Nares　and　Pinkerton　and　Loudon　Dodd；　whom　we　both　knew；　

but　for　Bellairs；　for　instance　…　a　man　with　whom　I　passed　ten　

minutes　fifteen　years　ago　…　what　was　I　to　say？　and　what　could　Lloyd　

do？　　I；　as　a　personal　artist；　can　begin　a　character　with　only　a　

haze　in　my　head；　but　how　if　I　have　to　translate　the　haze　into　words　

before　I　begin？　　In　our　manner　of　collaborati