robert louis stevenson-第22章
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CHAPTER XXI … UNITY IN STEVENSON'S STORIES
THE unity in Stevenson's stories is generally a unity of subjective impression and reminiscence due； in the first place； to his quick； almost abnormal boyish reverence for mere animal courage； audacity； and doggedness； and； in the second place； to his theory of life； his philosophy； his moral view。 He produces an artificial atmosphere。 Everything then has to be worked up to this … kept really in accordance with it； and he shows great art in the doing of this。 Hence； though； a quaint sense of sameness； of artificial atmosphere … at once really a lack of spontaneity and of freedom。 He is freest when he pretends to nothing but adventure … when he aims professedly at nothing save to let his characters develop themselves by action。 In this respect the most successful of his stories is yet TREASURE ISLAND； and the least successful perhaps CATRIONA； when just as the ambitious aim compels him to pause in incident； the first…person form creates a cold stiffness and artificiality alien to the full impression he would produce upon the reader。 The two stories he left unfinished promised far greater things in this respect than he ever accomplished。 For it is an indisputable fact； and indeed very remarkable； that the ordinary types of men and women have little or no attraction for Stevenson； nor their commonplace passions either。 Yet precisely what his art wanted was due infusion of this very interest。 Nothing else will supply the place。 The ordinary passion of love to the end he SHIES； and must invent no end of expedients to supply the want。 The devotion of the ordinary type； as Thomas Hardy has over and over exhibited it； is precisely what Stevenson wants； to impart to his novels the full sense of reality。 The secret of morals； says Shelley； is a going out of self。 Stevenson was only on the way to secure this grand and all…sufficing motive。 His characters； in a way； are all already like himself； romantic； but the highest is when the ordinary and commonplace is so apprehended that it becomes romantic； and may even； through the artist's deeper perception and unconscious grasp and vision； take the hand of tragedy； and lose nothing。 The very atmosphere Stevenson so loved to create was in itself alien to this； and； so far as he went； his most successful revelations were but records of his own limitations。 It is something that he was to the end so much the youth； with fine impulses； if sometimes with sympathies misdirected； and that； too； in such a way as to render his work cold and artificial； else he might have turned out more of the Swift than of the Sterne or Fielding。 Prince Otto and Seraphina are from this cause mainly complete failures； alike from the point of view of nature and of art； and the Countess von Rosen is not a complete failure； and would perhaps have been a bit of a success； if only she had made Prince Otto come nearer to losing his virtue。 The most perfect in style； perhaps； of all Stevenson's efforts it is yet most out of nature and truth； … a farce； felt to be disguised only when read in a certain mood； and this all the more for its perfections； just as Stevenson would have said it of a human being too icily perfect whom he had met。
On this subject； Mr Baildon has some words so decisive； true； and final； that I cannot refrain from here quoting them：
〃From sheer incapacity to retain it； Prince Otto loses the regard； affection； and esteem of his wife。 He goes eavesdropping among the peasantry； and has to sit silent while his wife's honour is coarsely impugned。 After that I hold it is impossible for Stevenson to rehabilitate his hero； and； with all his brilliant effects； he fails。 。 。 。 I cannot help feeling a regret that such fine work is thrown away on what I must honestly hold to be an unworthy subject。 The music of the spheres is rather too sublime an accompaniment for this genteel comedy Princess。 A touch of Offenbach would seem more appropriate。 Then even in comedy the hero must not be the butt。〃 And it must reluctantly be confessed that in Prince Otto you see in excess that to which there is a tendency in almost all the rest … it is to make up for lack of hold on human nature itself； by resources of style and mere external technical art。
CHAPTER XXII … PERSONAL CHEERFULNESS AND INVENTED GLOOM
NOW； it is in its own way surely a very remarkable thing that Stevenson； who； like a youth； was all for HEITERKEIT； cheerfulness； taking and giving of pleasure； for relief； change； variety； new impressions； new sensations； should； at the time he did； have conceived and written a story like THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE … all in a grave； grey； sombre tone； not aiming even generally at what at least indirectly all art is conceived to aim at … the giving of pleasure： he himself decisively said that it 〃lacked all pleasurableness； and hence was imperfect in essence。〃 A very strange utterance in face of the oft…repeated doctrine of the essays that the one aim of art； as of true life； is to communicate pleasure； to cheer and to elevate and improve； and in face of two of his doctrines that life itself is a monitor to cheerfulness and mirth。 This is true： and it is only explainable on the ground that it is youth alone which can exult in its power of accumulating shadows and dwelling on the dark side … it is youth that revels in the possible as a set…off to its brightness and irresponsibility： it is youth that can delight in its own excess of shade； and can even dispense with sunshine … hugging to its heart the memory of its own often self…created distresses and conjuring up and； with self…satisfaction； brooding over the pain and imagined horrors of a lifetime。 Maturity and age kindly bring their own relief … rendering this kind of ministry to itself no longer desirable； even were it possible。 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE indeed marks the crisis。 It shows； and effectively shows； the other side of the adventure passion … the desire of escape from its own sombre introspections； which yet； in all its 〃go〃 and glow and glitter； tells by its very excess of their tendency to pass into this other and apparently opposite。 But here； too； there is nothing single or separate。 The device of piracy； etc。； at close of BALLANTRAE； is one of the poorest expedients for relief in all fiction。
Will in WILL O' THE MILL presents another。 When at the last moment he decides that it is not worth while to get married； the author's then rather incontinent philosophy … which； by…the…bye； he did not himself act on … spoils his story as it did so much else。 Such an ending to such a romance is worse even than any blundering such as the commonplace inventor could be guilty of； for he would be in a low sense natural if he were but commonplace。 We need not therefore be surprised to find Mr Gwynn thus writing：
〃The love scenes in WEIR OF HERMISTON are almost unsurpassable； but the central interest of the story lies elsewhere … in the relations between father and son。 Whatever the cause； the fact is clear that in the last years of his life Stevenson recognised in himself an ability to treat subjects which he had hitherto avoided； and was thus no longer under the necessity of detaching fragments from life。 Before this； he had largely confined himself to the adventures of roving men where women had made no entrance； or； if he treated of a settled family group； the result was what we see in THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE。〃
In a word； between this work and WEIR OF HERMISTON we have the passage from mere youth to manhood； with its wider； calmer views； and its patience； inclusiveness； and mild； genial acceptance of types that before did not come； and could not by any effort of will be brought； within range or made to adhere consistently with what was already accepted and workable。 He was less the egotist now and more the realist。 He was not so prone to the high lights in which all seems overwrought； exaggerated； concerned really with effects of a more subdued order； if still the theme was a wee out of ordinary nature。 Enough is left to prove that Stevenson's life… long devotion to his art anyway was on the point of being rewarded by such a success as he had always dreamt of： that in the man's nature there was power to conceive scenes of a tragic beauty and intensity unsurpassed in our prose literature； and to create characters not unworthy of his greatest predecessors。 The blind stroke of fate had nothing to say to the lesson of his life； and though we deplore that he never completed his masterpieces； we may at least be thankful that time enough was given him to prove to his fellow…craftsmen； that such labour for the sake of art is not without art's peculiar reward … the triumph of successful execution。
CHAPTER XXIII … EDINBURGH REVIEWERS' DICTA INAPPLICABLE TO LATER WORK
FROM many different points of view discerning critics have celebrated the autobiographic vein … the self…revealing turn； the self…portraiture； the quaint； genial； yet really child…like egotistic and even dreamy element that lies like an amalgam； behind all Stevenson's work。 Some have even said； that because of this； he will finally live by his essays and not by his stories。 That is extreme； and is not critically based or justified； because； however true it may be up to a certain point； it is not true of Stevenson's quite latest fictions where we see a decided breaking through of the old limits； and an advance upon a new and a fresher and broader sphere of interest and character altogether。 But these ideas set down truly enough at a certain date； or prior to a certain date； are wrong and falsely directed in view of Stevenson's latest work and what it promised。 For instance； what a discerning and able writer in the EDINBURGH REVIEW of July 1895 said truly then was in great part utterly inapplicable to the whole of the work of the last years； for in it there was grasp； wide and deep； of new possibilities … promise of clear insight； discrimination； and contrast of character； as well as firm hold of new and great human interest under which the egotistic or autobiographic vein was submerged or weakened。 The EDINBURGH REVIEWER wrote：
〃There was irresistible fascination in what it would be unfair to characterise as egotism； for it came natural to him to talk frankly and easily of himself。 。 。 。 He could never have dreamed； like Pepys； of locking up his confidence in a diary。 From first to last； in inconsecutive essays； in the records of sentimental touring； in fiction and in verse； he has embodied the outer and the inner autobiography。 He discourses … he prattles … he almost babbles about himself。 He seems to have taken minute and habitual introspection for the chief study in his analysis of human nature； as a subject which was immediately in his reach； and would most surely serve his purpose。 We suspect much of the success of his novels was due to the fact that as he seized for a substructure on the scenery and situations which had impressed him forcibly； so in the characters of the most different types； there was always more or les
