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第37章

robert louis stevenson-第37章

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oo  assertive 〃invisible reality;〃 that Stevenson most often fails; and  is; in his own words; 〃execrable〃; the ending shaming; if not  degrading; the beginning … 〃and without the true sense of  pleasurableness; and therefore really imperfect IN ESSENCE。〃  Ah;  it is to be feared that Stevenson; viewing it in retrospect; was a  far truer critic of his own work; than many or most of his all too  effusive and admiring critics … from Lord Rosebery to Mr Marriott  Watson。

Amid the too extreme deliverances of detractors and especially of  erewhile friends; become detractors or panegyrists; who disturb  judgment by overzeal; which is often but half…blindness; it is  pleasant to come on one who bears the balances in his hand; and  will report faithfully as he has seen and felt; neither more nor  less than what he holds is true。  Mr Andrew Lang wrote an article  in the MORNING POST of 16th December 1901; under the title  〃Literary Quarrels;〃 in which; as I think; he fulfilled his part in  midst of the talk about Mr Henley's regrettable attack on  Stevenson。


〃Without defending the character of a friend whom even now I almost  daily miss; as that character was displayed in circumstances  unknown to me; I think that I ought to speak of him as I found him。   Perhaps our sympathy was mainly intellectual。  Constantly do those  who knew him desire to turn to him; to communicate with him; to  share with him the pleasure of some idea; some little discovery  about men or things in which he would have taken pleasure;  increasing our own by the gaiety of his enjoyment; the brilliance  of his appreciation。  We may say; as Scott said at the grave of  John Ballantyne; that he has taken with him half the sunlight out  of our lives。  That he was sympathetic and interested in the work  of others (which I understand has been denied) I have reason to  know。  His work and mine lay far apart:  mine; I think; we never  discussed; I did not expect it to interest him。  But in a  fragmentary manuscript of his after his death I found the unlooked  for and touching evidence of his kindness。  Again; he once wrote to  me from Samoa about the work of a friend of mine whom he had never  met。  His remarks were ideally judicious; a model of serviceable  criticism。  I found him chivalrous as an honest boy; brave; with an  indomitable gaiety of courage; on the point of honour; a Sydney or  a Bayard (so he seemed to me); that he was open…handed I have  reason to believe; he took life 'with a frolic welcome。'  That he  was self…conscious; and saw himself as it were; from without; that  he was fond of attitude (like his own brave admirals) he himself  knew well; and I doubt not that he would laugh at himself and his  habit of 'playing at' things after the fashion of childhood。   Genius is the survival into maturity of the inspiration of  childhood; and Stevenson is not the only genius who has retained  from childhood something more than its inspiration。  Other examples  readily occur to the memory … in one way Byron; in another  Tennyson。  None of us is perfect:  I do not want to erect an  immaculate clay…cold image of a man; in marble or in sugar…candy。   But I will say that I do not remember ever to have heard Mr  Stevenson utter a word against any mortal; friend or foe。  Even in  a case where he had; or believed himself to have; received some  wrong; his comment was merely humorous。  Especially when very  young; his dislike of respectability and of the BOURGEOIS (a  literary tradition) led him to show a kind of contempt for virtues  which; though certainly respectable; are no less certainly  virtuous。  He was then more or less seduced by the Bohemian legend;  but he was intolerant of the fudge about the rights and privileges  of genius。  A man's first business; he thought; was 'keep his end  up' by his work。  If; what he reckoned his inspired work would not  serve; then by something else。  Of many virtues he was an ensample  and an inspiring force。  One foible I admit:  the tendency to  inopportune benevolence。  Mr Graham Balfour says that if he fell  into ill terms with a man he would try to do him good by stealth。   Though he had seen much of the world and of men; this practice  showed an invincible ignorance of mankind。  It is improbable; on  the doctrine of chances; that he was always in the wrong; and it is  probable; as he was human; that he always thought himself in the  right。  But as the other party to the misunderstanding; being also  human; would necessarily think himself in the right; such secret  benefits would be; as Sophocles says; 'the gifts of foeman and  unprofitable。'  The secret would leak out; the benefits would be  rejected; the misunderstanding would be embittered。  This reminds  me of an anecdote which is not given in Mr Graham Balfour's  biography。  As a little delicate; lonely boy in Edinburgh; Mr  Stevenson read a book called MINISTERING CHILDREN。  I have a faint  recollection of this work concerning a small Lord and Lady  Bountiful。  Children; we know; like to 'play at' the events and  characters they have read about; and the boy wanted to play at  being a ministering child。  He 'scanned his whole horizon' for  somebody to play with; and thought he had found his playmate。  From  the window he observed street boys (in Scots 'keelies') enjoying  themselves。  But one child was out of the sports; a little lame  fellow; the son of a baker。  Here was a chance!  After some  misgivings Louis hardened his heart; put on his cap; walked out … a  refined little figure … approached the object of his sympathy; and  said; 'Will you let me play with you?'  'Go to hell!' said the  democratic offspring of the baker。  This lesson against doing good  by stealth to persons of unknown or hostile disposition was; it  seems; thrown away。  Such endeavours are apt to be misconstrued。〃



CHAPTER XXVIII … UNEXPECTED COMBINATIONS



THE complete artist should not be mystical…moralist any more than  the man who 〃perceives only the visible world〃 … he should not  engage himself with problems in the direct sense any more than he  should blind himself to their effect upon others; whom he should  study; and under certain conditions represent; though he should not  commit himself to any form of zealot faith; yet should he not be;  as Lord Tennyson puts it in the Palace of Art:


〃As God holding no form of creed; But contemplating all;〃


because his power lies in the broadness of his humanity touched to  fine issues whenever there is the seal at once of truth; reality;  and passion; and the tragedy bred of their contact and conflict。

All these things are to him real and clamant in the measure that  they aid appeal to heart and emotion … in the measure that they  may; in his hands; be made to tell for sympathy and general effect。   He creates an atmosphere in which each and all may be seen the more  effectively; but never seen alone or separate; but only in strict  relation to each other that they may heighten the sense of some  supreme controlling power in the destinies of men; which with the  ancients was figured as Fate; and for which the moderns have hardly  yet found an enduring and exhaustive name。  Character revealed in  reference to that; is the ideal and the aim of all high creative  art。  Stevenson's narrowness; allied to a quaint and occasionally  just a wee pedantic finickiness; as we may call it … an over… elaborate; almost tricky play with mere words and phrases; was in  so far alien to the very highest … he was too often like a man  magnetised and moving at the dictates of some outside influence  rather than according to his own freewill and as he would。

Action in creative literary art is a SINE QUA NON; keeping all the  characters and parts in unison; that a true DENOUEMENT; determined  by their own tendencies and temperaments; may appear; dialogue and  all asides; if we may call them so; being supererogatory and weak  really unless they aid this and are constantly contributory to it。   Egotistical predeterminations; however artfully intruded; are;  alien to the full result; the unity which is finally craved:   Stevenson fails; when he does fail; distinctly from excess of  egotistic regards; he is; as Henley has said; in the French sense;  t

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