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Familiar Studies of Men & Books-Part12_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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in Greek. The contemporaries of Burns were surprised that he

should visit so many celebrated mountains and waterfalls, and



not seize the opportunity to make a poem. Indeed, it is not

for those who have a true command of the art of words, but



for peddling, professional amateurs, that these pointed

occasions are most useful and inspiring. As those who speak



French imperfectly are glad to dwell on any topic they may

have talked upon or heard others talk upon before, because



they know appropriate words for it in French, so the dabbler

in verse rejoices to behold a waterfall, because he has



learned the sentiment and knows appropriate words for it in

poetry. But the dialect of Burns was fitted to deal with any



subject; and whether it was a stormy night, a shepherd's

collie, a sheep struggling in the snow, the conduct of



cowardly soldiers in the field, the gait and cogitations of a

drunken man, or only a village cockcrow in the morning, he



could find language to give it freshness, body, and relief.

He was always ready to borrow the hint of a design, as though



he had a difficulty in commencing - a difficulty, let us say,

in choosing a subject out of a world which seemed all equally



living and significant to him; but once he had the subject

chosen, he could cope with nature single-handed, and make



every stroke a triumph. Again, his absolutemastery in his

art enabled him to express each and all of his different



humours, and to pass smoothly and congruously from one to

another. Many men invent a dialect for only one side of



their nature - perhaps their pathos or their humour, or the

delicacy of their senses - and, for lack of a medium, leave



all the others unexpressed. You meet such an one, and find

him in conversation full of thought, feeling, and experience,



which he has lacked the art to employ in his writings. But

Burns was not thus hampered in the practice of the literary



art; he could throw the whole weight of his nature into his

work, and impregnate it from end to end. If Doctor Johnson,



that stilted and accomplished stylist, had lacked the sacred

Boswell, what should we have known of him? and how should we



have delighted in his acquaintance as we do? Those who spoke

with Burns tell us how much we have lost who did not. But I



think they exaggerate their privilege: I think we have the

whole Burns in our possession set forth in his consummate



verses.

It was by his style, and not by his matter, that he affected



Wordsworth and the world. There is, indeed, only one merit

worth considering in a man of letters - that he should write



well; and only one damning fault - that he should write ill.

We are little the better for the reflections of the sailor's



parrot in the story. And so, if Burns helped to change the

course of literary history, it was by his frank, direct, and



masterly utterance, and not by his homely choice of subjects.

That was imposed upon him, not chosen upon a principle. He



wrote from his own experience, because it was his nature so

to do, and the tradition of the school from which he



proceeded was fortunately not oppose to homely subjects. But

to these homely subjects he communicated the rich commentary



of his nature; they were all steeped in Burns; and they

interest us not in themselves, but because they have been



passed through the spirit of so genuine and vigorous a man.

Such is the stamp of living literature; and there was never



any more alive than that of Burns.

What a gust of sympathy there is in him sometimes flowing out



in byways hithertounused, upon mice, and flowers, and the




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