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Photograph in background is of the reverend's pavilion erected in Jewell Park during the seasonal Methodist retreats that began in 1875. Stevenson walked through the area in 1879, the same year that the Chautauqua came to Pacific Grove.
One day - I shall never forget it -- I had taken a trail that was new to me. After a while the woods began to open, the sea to sound nearer hand. I came upon a road, and, to my surprise, a stile. A step or two farther, and, without leaving the woods, I found myself among trim houses. I walked through street after street, parallel and at right angles, paved with sward and dotted with trees, but still undeniable streets, and each with its name posted at the corner, as in a real town. Facing down the main thoroughfare -- "Central Avenue," as it was ticketed -- I saw an open-air temple, with benches and sounding-board, as though for an orchestra. The houses were all tightly shuttered; there was no smoke, no sound but of the waves, no moving thing. I have never been in any place that seemed so dreamlike. Pompeii is all in a bustle with visitors, and its antiquity and strangeness deceive the imagination; but this town had plainly not been built above a year or two, and perhaps had been deserted overnight. Indeed, it was not so much like a deserted town as like a scene upon the stage by daylight, and with no one on the boards. The barking of a dog led me at last to the only house still occupied, where a Scotch pastor and his wife pass the winter alone in this empty theatre. The place was "The Pacific Camp Grounds, the Christian Seaside Resort." Thither, in the warm season, crowds come to enjoy a life of teetotalism, religion, and flirtation, which I am willing to think blameless and agreeable. The neighbourhood at least is well selected. The Pacific booms in front. Westward is Point Pinos, with the lighthouse in a wilderness of sand, where you will find the lightkeeper playing the piano, making models and bows and arrows, studying dawn and sunrise in amateur oil-painting, and with a dozen other elegant pursuits and interests to surprise his brave, old-country rivals. To the east, and still nearer, you will come upon a space of open down, a hamlet, a haven among rocks, a world of surge and screaming sea-gulls. Such scenes are very similar in different climates; they appear homely to the eyes of all; to me this was like a dozen spots in Scotland. And yet the boats that ride in the haven are of strange outlandish design; and, if you walk into the hamlet, you will behold costumes and faces and hear a tongue that are unfamiliar to the memory. The joss-stick burns, the opium pipe is smoked, the floors are strewn with slips of coloured paper -- prayers, you would say, that had somehow missed their destination -- and a man guiding his upright pencil from right to left across the sheet, writes home the news of Monterey to the Celestial Empire.

Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Scotland in 1850, and came to Monterey from August through December 1879. He came half-way around the world following his love, Fanny Osbourne, while she awaited a divorce from her first husband. During his brief stay, Stevenson lived in the adobe home at 530 Houston Street, built in the 1830s by Don Rafael Gonzales, first customs administrator for Alta California. The house is also known as Giradin's French Hotel, and the Stevenson House. It was recently refurbished, and is open to the public.

Though in ill health, the gaunt young Stevenson walked all over the Peninsula, exploring the area and finding literary inspiration along his route. His walks took him through Pacific Grove, and are remembered in his The Old Pacific Capital. He mentions seeing the minister's pavilion in Jewell Park, the gate around the Retreat, and the emptiness of the deserted meeting grounds. He encountered Rev. Ross on Pacific Street, and lighthouse keeper Luce at the Point Pinos Lighthouse.

The places he encountered were used as settings in many of his works. Some scholars believe that RLS drew on his memories of Pebble Beach when penning "The Pavilion on the Links," and his recollections of Point Lobos while creating the map and setting for Treasure Island.

After the Stevensons left Monterey, they continued their adventurous lives. Stevenson lived his last years in Samoa, and was known as Tusitala, or "teller of tales." He died on the Pacific island, and is buried there.
Page created August 24, 2005. Last updated September 7, 2005.
Page copyright 2005 by the Pacific Grove Museum of Natural History.