From about this time until 1885 Mr. Henley acted in an informal way
as agent for R. L. S. in most of his dealings with publishers in
London. "Both" in the second paragraph means, I think, _Treasure
Island_ and _Silverado Squatters_.
[_Chalet am Stein, Davos, April 1882._]
MY DEAR HENLEY,--I hope and hope for a long letter--soon I hope to be
superseded by long talks--and it comes not. I remember I have never
formally thanked you for that hundred quid, nor in general for the
introduction to Chatto and Windus, and continue to bury you in copy as
if you were my private secretary. Well, I am not unconscious of it all;
but I think least said is often best, generally best; gratitude is a
tedious sentiment, it's not ductile, not dramatic.
If Chatto should take both, _cui dedicare_? I am running out of
dedikees; if I do, the whole fun of writing is stranded. _Treasure
Island_, if it comes out, and I mean it shall, of course goes to Lloyd.
Lemme see, I have now dedicated to
W. E. H. [William Ernest Henley].
S. C. [Sidney Colvin].
T. S. [Thomas Stevenson].
Simp. [Sir Walter Simpson].
There remain: C. B., the Williamses--you know they were the parties who
stuck up for us about our marriage, and Mrs. W. was my guardian angel,
and our Best Man and Bridesmaid rolled in one, and the only third of the
wedding party--my sister-in-law, who is booked for _Prince Otto_--Jenkin
I suppose some time--George Meredith, the only man of genius of my
acquaintance, and then I believe I'll have to take to the dead, the
immortal memory business.
Talking of Meredith, I have just re-read for the third and fourth time
_The Egoist_. When I shall have read it the sixth or seventh, I begin to
see I shall know about it. You will be astonished when you come to
re-read it; I had no idea of the matter--human, red matter he has
contrived to plug and pack into that strange and admirable book.
Willoughby is, of course, a pure discovery; a complete set of nerves,
not heretofore examined, and yet running all over the human body--a suit
of nerves. Clara is the best girl ever I saw anywhere. Vernon is almost
as good. The manner and the faults of the book greatly justify
themselves on further study. Only Dr. Middleton does not hang together;
and Ladies Busshe and Culmer _sont des monstruosites_. Vernon's conduct
makes a wonderful odd contrast with Daniel Deronda's. I see more and
more that Meredith is built for immortality.
Talking of which, Heywood, as a small immortal, an immortalet, claims
some attention. _The Woman killed with Kindness_ is one of the most
striking novels--not plays, though it's more of a play than anything
else of his--I ever read. He had such a sweet, sound soul, the old boy.
The death of the two pirates in _Fortune by Sea and Land_ is a document.
He had obviously been present, and heard Purser and Clinton take death
by the beard with similar braggadocios. Purser and Clinton, names of
pirates; Scarlet and Bobbington, names of highwaymen. He had the touch
of names, I think. No man I ever knew had such a sense, such a tact, for
English nomenclature: Rainsforth, Lacy, Audley, Forrest, Acton, Spencer,
Frankford--so his names run.
Byron not only wrote _Don Juan_; he called Joan of Arc "a fanatical
strumpet." These are his words. I think the double shame, first to a
great poet, second to an English noble, passes words.
Here is a strange gossip.--I am yours loquaciously,