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Robert Louis Stevenson-Part4_Alexander H.Japp(1839-1905)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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to it. It is not much, perhaps, but it is always something."

Yes, "Cumy" was a very effective teacher, whose influence and



teaching long remained. His other teachers, however famous and

highly gifted, did not attain to such success with him. And



because of this non-success they blamed him, as is usual. He was

fond of playing truant - declared, indeed, that he was about as



methodic a truant as ever could have existed. He much loved to go

on long wanderings by himself on the Pentland Hills and read about



the Covenanters, and while yet a youth of sixteen he wrote THE

PENTLAND RISING - a pamphlet in size and a piece of fine work -



which was duly published, is now scarce, and fetches a high price.

He had made himself thoroughly familiar with all the odd old



corners of Edinburgh - John Knox's haunts and so on, all which he

has turned to account in essays, descriptions and in stories -



especially in CATRIONA. When a mere youth at school, as he tells

us himself, he had little or no desire to carry off prizes and do



just as other boys did; he was always wishing to observe, and to

see, and try things for himself - was, in fact, in the eyes of



schoolmasters and tutors something of an IDLER, with splendid gifts

which he would not rightly apply. He was applying them rightly,



though not in their way. It is not only in his APOLOGY FOR IDLERS

that this confession is made, but elsewhere, as in his essay on A



COLLEGE MAGAZINE, where he says, "I was always busy on my own

private end, which was to learn to write. I kept always two books



in my pocket, one to read and one to write in!"

When he went to College it was still the same - he tells us in the



funniest way how he managed to wheedle a certificate for Greek out

of Professor Blackie, though the Professor owned "his face was not



familiar to him"! He fared very differently when, afterwards his

father, eager that he should follow his profession, got him to



enter the civil engineering class under Professor Fleeming Jenkin.

He still stuck to his old courses - wandering about, and, in



sheltered corners, writing in the open air, and was not present in

class more than a dozen times. When the session was ended he went



up to try for a certificate from Fleeming Jenkin. "No, no, Mr

Stevenson," said the Professor; "I might give it in a doubtful



case, but yours is not doubtful: you have not kept my classes."

And the most characteristic" target="_blank" title="a.特有的 n.特性">characteristic thing - honourable to both men - is to



come; for this was the beginning of a friendship which grew and

strengthened and is finally celebrated in the younger man's sketch



of the elder. He learned from Professor Fleeming Jenkin, perhaps

unconsciously, more of the HUMANIORES, than consciously he did of



engineering. A friend of mine, who knew well both the Stevenson

family and the Balfours, to which R. L. Stevenson's mother



belonged, recalls, as we have seen, his acting in the private

theatricals that were got up by the Professor, and adds, "He was



then a very handsome fellow, and looked splendidly as Sir Charles

Pomander, and essayed, not wholly without success, Sir Peter



Teazle," which one can well believe, no less than that he acted

such parts splendidly as well as looked them.



LONGMAN'S MAGAZINE, immediately after his death, published the

following poem, which took a very pathetic touch from the



circumstances of its appearance - the more that, while it

imaginatively and finely commemorated these days of truant



wanderings, it showed the ruling passion for home and the old

haunts, strongly and vividly, even not unnigh to death:



"The tropics vanish, and meseems that I,

From Halkerside, from topmost Allermuir,



Or steep Caerketton, dreaming gaze again.

Far set in fields and woods, the town I see



Spring gallant from the shallows of her smoke,

Cragg'd, spired, and turreted, her virgin fort



Beflagg'd. About, on seaward drooping hills,

New folds of city glitter. Last, the Forth



Wheels ample waters set with sacred isles,

And populous Fife smokes with a score of towns,



There, on the sunny frontage of a hill,




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