The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 02Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 02
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
The difference between England and America to a working man was thus
most humanly put to me by a fellow-passenger: "In America," said he,
"you get pies and puddings." I do not hear enough, in economy books, of
pies and pudding. A man lives in and for the delicacies, adornments, and
accidental attributes of life, such as pudding to eat, and pleasant
books and theatres to occupy his leisure. The bare terms of existence
would be rejected with contempt by all. If a man feeds on bread and
butter, soup and porridge, his appetite grows wolfish after dainties.
And the workman dwells in a borderland, and is always within sight of
those cheerless regions where life is more difficult to sustain than
worth sustaining. Every detail of our existence, where it is worth while
to cross the ocean after pie and pudding, is made alive and enthralling
by the presence of genuine desire; but it is all one to me whether
Croesus has a hundred or a thousand thousands in the bank. There is more
adventure in the life of the working man who descends as a common
soldier into the battle of life, than in that of the millionaire who
sits apart in an office, like Von Moltke, and only directs the
manoeuvres by telegraph. Give me to hear about the career of him who is
in the thick of the business; to whom one change of market means an
empty belly, and another a copious and savoury meal. This is not the
philosophical, but the human side of economics; it interests like a
story; and the life of all who are thus situated partakes in a small way
of the charm of "Robinson Crusoe"; for every step is critical, and human
life is presented to you naked and verging to its lowest terms.
NEW YORK
As we drew near to New York I was at first amused and then somewhat
staggered, by the cautions and the grisly tales that went the round. You
would have thought we were to land upon a cannibal island. You must
speak to no one in the streets, as they would not leave you till you
were rooked and beaten. You must enter a hotel with military
precautions; for the least you had to apprehend was to awake next
morning without money or baggage, or necessary raiment, a lone forked
radish in a bed; and if the worst befell, you would instantly and
mysteriously disappear from the ranks of mankind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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