Little Journeys to the Homes of the Great | Page 3

hat were worn for
no better reason. His long cloak gave him a look of haunting mystery,
and made one think of a stage hero or a robber you read of in books.
Motives are mixed, and foolish folks who ask questions about why
certain men do certain things, do not know that certain men do certain
things because they wish to, and leave to others the explanation of the
whyness of the wherefore.
People who always dress, talk and act alike do so for certain reasons
well understood, but the man who does differently from the mass is not
so easy to analyze and formulate.

The feminine quality in Robert Louis' nature shows itself in that he fled
the company of women, and with them held no converse if he could
help it. He never wrote a love-story, and once told Crockett that if he
ever dared write one it would be just like "The Lilac Sunbonnet."
Yet it will not do to call Stevenson effeminate, even if he was feminine.
He had a courage that outmatched his physique. Once in a cafe in
France, a Frenchman made the remark that the English were a nation of
cowards.
The words had scarcely passed his lips before Robert Louis flung the
back of his hand in the Frenchman's face. Friends interposed and cards
were passed, but the fire-eating Frenchman did not call for his revenge
or apology--much to the relief of Robert Louis.
Plays were begun, stories blocked out, and great plans made by Robert
Louis and his cousin for passing a hawser to literature and taking it in
tow.
When Robert Louis was in his twenty-fourth year he found a copy of
"Leaves of Grass," and he and his cousin Bob reveled in what they
called "a genuine book." They heard that Michael Rossetti was to give
a lecture on Whitman in a certain drawing-room.
The young men attended, without invitation, and walked in coatless,
just as they had heard that Walt Whitman appeared at the Astor House
in New York, when he went by appointment to meet Emerson. After
hearing Rossetti discuss Whitman they got the virus fixed in their
systems.
They walked up and down Princess Street in their shirt-sleeves, and
saw fair ladies blush and look the other way. Next they tried sleeveless
jerseys for street wear, and speculated as to just how much clothing
they would have to abjure before women would entirely cease to look
at them.
* * * * *

The hectic flush was upon the cheek of Robert Louis, and people said
he was distinguished. "Death admires me, even if the publishers do
not," he declared. The doctors gave orders that he should go South and
he seized upon the suggestion and wrote "Ordered South"--and started.
Bob went with him, and after a trip through Italy, they arrived at
Barbizon to see the scene of "The Angelus," and look upon the land of
Millet--Millet, whom Michael Rossetti called "The Whitman of Art."
Bob was an artist: he could paint, write, and play the flageolet. Robert
Louis declared that his own particular velvet jacket and big coat would
save him at Barbizon, even if he could not draw any to speak of. "In art
the main thing is to look the part--or else paint superbly well," said
Robert Louis.
The young men got accommodations at "Siron's." This was an inn for
artists, artists of slender means--and the patrons at Siron's held that all
genuine artists had slender means. The rate was five francs a day for
everything, with a modest pro-rata charge for breakage. The rules were
not strict, which prompted Robert Louis to write the great line, "When
formal manners are laid aside, true courtesy is the more rigidly
exacted." Siron's was an inn, but it was really much more like an
exclusive club, for if the boarders objected to any particular arrival, two
days was the outside limit of his stay. Buttinsky the bounder was
interviewed and the early coach took the objectionable one away
forever.
And yet no artist was ever sent away from Siron's--no matter how bad
his work or how threadbare his clothes--if he was a worker; if he really
tried to express beauty, all of his eccentricities were pardoned and his
pot-boiling granted absolution. But the would-be Bohemian, or the man
in search of a thrill, or if in any manner the party on probation
suggested that Madame Siron was not a perfect cook and Monsieur
Siron was not a genuine grand duke in disguise, he was interviewed by
Bailley Bodmer, the local headsman of the clan, and plainly told that
escape lay in flight.
At Siron's there were several Americans, among them being Whistler;
nevertheless Americans as a class were voted objectionable, unless they

were artists, or perchance