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Robert Louis Stevenson (13 November 1850-3 December 1894) was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, musician and travel writer.
He
was a literary celebrity during his lifetime, and now ranks as the 26th
most translated author in the world. His works have been admired by
many other writers, including Jorge Luis Borges, Bertolt Brecht, Marcel
Proust, Arthur Conan Doyle, Henry James, Cesare Pavese, Emilio Salgari,
Ernest Hemingway, Rudyard Kipling, Jack London, Vladimir Nabokov, J. M.
Barrie, and G. K. Chesterton, who said that Stevenson seemed to pick the right word up on the point of his pen, like a man playing spillikins.
Stevenson was born at 8 Howard Place, Edinburgh, Scotland on 13 November 1850 to Thomas Stevenson, a leading lighthouse engineer, and his wife Margaret Isabella. He was christened Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson. At about age 18, he changed the spelling of Lewis to Louis, and he dropped Balfour in 1873.
Stevenson was born at 8 Howard Place, Edinburgh, Scotland on 13 November 1850 to Thomas Stevenson, a leading lighthouse engineer, and his wife Margaret Isabella. He was christened Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson. At about age 18, he changed the spelling of Lewis to Louis, and he dropped Balfour in 1873.
In September 1857, Stevenson went to Mr Henderson's School in India Street, Edinburgh,
but because of poor health stayed only a few weeks and did not return
until October 1859. During his many absences he was taught by private
tutors.
In
October 1861, he went to Edinburgh Academy, an independent school for
boys, and stayed there sporadically for about fifteen months. In the
autumn of 1863, he spent one term at an English boarding school at
Spring Grove in Isleworth in Middlesex, now an urban area of West London.
In October 1864, following an improvement to his health, he was sent to Robert Thomson's private school in Frederick Street, Edinburgh, where he remained until he went to university.
In November 1867, Stevenson entered the University of Edinburgh to study engineering. He showed from the start no enthusiasm for his studies and devoted much energy to avoiding lectures.
More information: Robert Louis Stevenson
Stevenson was soon active in London literary life, becoming acquainted with many of the writers of the time, including Andrew Lang, Edmund Gosse, and Leslie Stephen, the editor of the Cornhill Magazine who took an interest in Stevenson's work. Stephen took Stevenson to visit a patient at the Edinburgh Infirmary named William Ernest Henley, an energetic and talkative man with a wooden leg. Henley became a close friend and occasional literary collaborator, until a quarrel broke up the friendship in 1888, and he is often considered to be the model for Long John Silver in Treasure Island.
Stevenson searched in vain between 1880 and 1887 for a residence suitable to his health. He spent his summers at various places in Scotland and England, including Westbourne, Dorset, a residential area in Bournemouth. It was during his time in Bournemouth that he wrote the story Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, naming the character Mr. Poole after the town of Poole which is situated next to Bournemouth.
In
Westbourne, he named his house Skerryvore after the tallest lighthouse
in Scotland, which his uncle Alan had built (1838–44). In the
wintertime, Stevenson travelled to France and lived at Davos Platz and the Chalet de Solitude at Hyères, where he was very happy for a time.
In spite of his ill health, he produced the bulk of his best-known work during these years. Treasure Island was published under the pseudonym Captain George North and became his first widely popular book; he wrote it during this time, along with Kidnapped, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, which established his wider reputation, The Black Arrow: A Tale of the Two Roses, A Child's Garden of Verses, and Underwoods. He gave a copy of Kidnapped to his friend and frequent Skerryvore visitor Henry James.
Stevenson believed in Conservatism for most of his life. His cousin and biographer Sir Graham Balfour said that he probably throughout life would, if compelled to vote, have always supported the Conservative candidate. During his college years, he briefly identified himself as a red-hot socialist. He wrote at age 26: I look back to the time when I was a Socialist with something like regret… Now I know that in thus turning Conservative with years, I am going through the normal cycle of change and travelling in the common orbit of men's opinions.
In 1890, Stevenson purchased a tract of about 1.6 km² in Upolu, an island in Samoa where he established himself on his estate in the village of Vailima after two aborted attempts to visit Scotland. He took the native name Tusitala, Samoan for Teller of Tales.
His
influence spread among the Samoans, who consulted him for advice, and
he soon became involved in local politics. He was convinced that the
European officials who had been appointed to rule the Samoans were
incompetent, and he published A Footnote to History after
many futile attempts to resolve the matter. This was such a stinging
protest against existing conditions that it resulted in the recall of
two officials, and Stevenson feared for a time that it would result in his own deportation. He wrote to Colvin, I used to think meanly of the plumber; but how he shines beside the politician!
He also found time to work at his writing, although he felt that there was never any man had so many irons in the fire. He wrote The Beach of Falesa, Catriona, titled David Balfour in the US, The Ebb-Tide, and the Vailima Letters during this period.
On 3 December 1894, Stevenson was talking to his wife and straining to open a bottle of wine when he suddenly exclaimed, What's that?, asked his wife does my face look strange?, and collapsed. He died within a few hours, probably of a cerebral haemorrhage. He was 44 years old.
The Samoans insisted on surrounding his body with a watch-guard during the night and on bearing him on their shoulders to nearby Mount Vaea, where they buried him on a spot overlooking the sea on land donated by British Acting Vice Consul Thomas Trood.
The difficulty of literature is not to write,
but to write what you mean;
not to affect your reader,
but to affect him precisely as you wish.
Robert Louis Stevenson
