(Stevenson to J. M. Barrie, 2 or 3 April, 1893)
Vailima
My dear Barrie.
Thank you for your most amusing self-portrait. Tit for tat. Now for your correspondent, holed up here in Samoa:
R.L.S.
The Tame Celebrity
Native name, Tusi Tala (“Tale-Teller”)
Exceedingly lean, dark, rather ruddy—black eyes crow’s-footed, beginning to be grizzled, general appearance of a blasted boy—or blighted youth—or to borrow Carlyle on De Quincey “Child that has been in hell.” Past eccentric—obscure and O no we never mention it—presently industrious, respectable and fatuously contented. Used to be very fond of talking about Art, don’t talk about it any more. Name in family, The Tame Celebrity. Cigarettes without intermission except when coughing or kissing. Hopelessly entangled in apron strings. Drinks plenty. Curses some. Temper unstable. Manners purple on an emergency, but liable to trances. Eternally the common old copybook gentleman of commerce: if accused of cheating at cards, would feel bound to blow out accuser’s brains, little as he would like the job. Has been an invalid for ten years, but can boldly claim that you can’t tell it on him. Given to explaining the universe. Scotch, sir, Scotch.
And now my dear fellow I want to thank you, encore un fois, for your last. I am quite sure that I know you and quite sure that you know me. People mayn’t be like their books. They are their books.