be, to make his endings "disgrace, or perhaps,
degrade his
beginnings," and that no true and
effectivedramatic unity and
effect and
climax was to be gained. Pity that he did so much on
this perverted view of life and world and art: and well it is that
he came to
perceive it, even though almost too late:- certainly too
late for that full presentment of that awful yet gladdening
presence of a God's power and
equity in this
seeming tangled web of
a world, the idea which inspired Robert Browning as well as
Wordsworth, when he wrote, and gathered it up into a few lines in
PIPPA PASSES:
"The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillsides dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in His heaven,
All's right with the world.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"All service ranks the same with God,
If now, as
formerly he trod
Paradise, His presence fills
Our earth, each only as God wills
Can work - God's puppets best and worst,
Are we; there is no last or first."
It shows what he might have
accomplished, had longer life been but
allowed him.
CHAPTER XVI - STEVENSON'S GLOOM
THE problem of Stevenson's gloom cannot be solved by any
commonplace cut-and-dried process. It will remain a problem only
unless (1) his original
dreamytendency crossed, if not warped, by
the fatalistic Calvinism which was drummed into him by father,
mother, and nurse in his tender years, is taken fully into account;
then (2) the
peculiar action on such a nature of the unsatisfying
and, on the whole, distracting effect of the bohemian and hail-
fellow-well-met sort of ideal to which he yielded, and which has to
be charged with much; and (3) the
conflict in him of a keenly
social animus with a very strong egotistical effusiveness, fed by
fancy, and nourished by the enforced solitariness
inevitable in the
case of one who, from early years up, suffered from
painful, and
even crushing, disease.
His text and his
sermon - which may be
shortly summed in the
following
sentence - be kind, for in kindness to others lies the
only true pleasure to be gained in life; be
cheerful, even to the
point of egotistic self-satisfaction, for through
cheerfulness only
is the flow of this
incessant kindliness of thought and service
possible. He was not in
harmony with the
actual effect of much of
his
creative work, though he illustrated this in his life, as few
men have done. He regarded it as the highest duty of life to give
pleasure to others; his art in his own idea thus became in an
unostentatious way consecrated, and while he would not have claimed
to be a seer, any more than he would have claimed to be a saint, as
he would have held in
contempt a mere sybarite, most certainly a
vein of unblamable hedonism pervaded his whole
philosophy of life.
Suffering
constantly, he still was always kindly. He encouraged,
as Mr Gosse has said, this
philosophy by every
resource open to
him. In practical life, all who knew him declared that he was
brightness, naive fancy, and
sunshine personified, and yet he could
not help always, somehow, infusing into his
fiction a pronounced,
and sometimes almost fatal, element of gloom. Even in his own case
they were not pleasure-giving and failed thus in
essence. Some
wise
critic has said that no man can ever write well
creatively of
that in which in his early youth he had no knowledge. Always
behind Stevenson's latest exercises lies the shadow of this as an