Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson Volume 1 Part 11

[EDINBURGH, OCTOBER 1875.]

NOO lyart leaves blaw ower the green, Red are the bonny woods o' Dean, An' here we're back in Embro, freen', To pa.s.s the winter.

Whilk noo, wi' frosts afore, draws in, An' snaws ahint her.

I've seen's hae days to fricht us a', The Pentlands poothered weel wi' snaw, The ways half-smoored wi' liquid thaw, An' half-congealin', The snell an' scowtherin' norther blaw Frae blae Brunteelan'.

I've seen's been unco sweir to sally, And at the door-cheeks daff an' dally, Seen's daidle thus an' s.h.i.+lly-shally For near a minute - Sae cauld the wind blew up the valley, The deil was in it! -

Syne spread the silk an' tak the gate, In blast an' blaudin' rain, deil hae't!

The hale toon glintin', stane an' slate, Wi' cauld an' weet, An' to the Court, gin we'se be late, Bicker oor feet.

And at the Court, tae, aft I saw Whaur Advocates by twa an' twa Gang gesterin' end to end the ha'

In weeg an' goon, To crack o' what ye wull but Law The hale forenoon.

That muckle ha,' maist like a kirk, I've kent at braid mid-day sae mirk Ye'd seen white weegs an' faces lurk Like ghaists frae h.e.l.l, But whether Christian ghaist or Turk Deil ane could tell.

The three fires lunted in the gloom, The wind blew like the blast o' doom, The rain upo' the roof abune Played Peter d.i.c.k - Ye wad nae'd licht enough i' the room Your teeth to pick!

But, freend, ye ken how me an' you, The ling-lang lanely winter through, Keep'd a guid speerit up, an' true To lore Horatian, We aye the ither bottle drew To inclination.

Sae let us in the comin' days Stand sicker on our auncient ways - The strauchtest road in a' the maze Since Eve ate apples; An' let the winter weet our cla'es - We'll weet oor thrapples.

Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN

[EDINBURGH, AUTUMN 1875.]

MY DEAR COLVIN, - FOUS NE ME GOMBRENNEZ PAS. Angry with you? No.

Is the thing lost? Well, so be it. There is one masterpiece fewer in the world. The world can ill spare it, but I, sir, I (and here I strike my hollow boson, so that it resounds) I am full of this sort of bauble; I am made of it; it comes to me, sir, as the desire to sneeze comes upon poor ordinary devils on cold days, when they should be getting out of bed and into their horrid cold tubs by the light of a seven o'clock candle, with the dismal seven o'clock frost-flowers all over the window.

Show Stephen what you please; if you could show him how to give me money, you would oblige, sincerely yours,

R. L. S.

I have a scroll of SPRINGTIME somewhere, but I know that it is not in very good order, and do not feel myself up to very much grind over it. I am damped about SPRINGTIME, that's the truth of it. It might have been four or five quid!

Sir, I shall shave my head, if this goes on. All men take a pleasure to gird at me. The laws of nature are in open war with me. The wheel of a dog-cart took the toes off my new boots. Gout has set in with extreme rigour, and cut me out of the cheap refreshment of beer. I leant my back against an oak, I thought it was a trusty tree, but first it bent, and syne - it lost the Spirit of Springtime, and so did Professor Sidney Colvin, Trinity College, to me. - Ever yours,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

Along with this, I send you some P.P.P's; if you lose them, you need not seek to look upon my face again. Do, for G.o.d's sake, answer me about them also; it is a horrid thing for a fond architect to find his monuments received in silence. - Yours,

R. L. S.

Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL

[EDINBURGH, NOVEMBER 12, 1875.]

MY DEAR FRIEND, - Since I got your letter I have been able to do a little more work, and I have been much better contented with myself; but I can't get away, that is absolutely prevented by the state of my purse and my debts, which, I may say, are red like crimson. I don't know how I am to clear my hands of them, nor when, not before Christmas anyway. Yesterday I was twenty-five; so please wish me many happy returns - directly. This one was not UNhappy anyway. I have got back a good deal into my old random, little-thought way of life, and do not care whether I read, write, speak, or walk, so long as I do something. I have a great delight in this wheel-skating; I have made great advance in it of late, can do a good many amusing things (I mean amusing in MY sense - amusing to do). You know, I lose all my forenoons at Court! So it is, but the time pa.s.ses; it is a great pleasure to sit and hear cases argued or advised. This is quite autobiographical, but I feel as if it was some time since we met, and I can tell you, I am glad to meet you again. In every way, you see, but that of work the world goes well with me. My health is better than ever it was before; I get on without any jar, nay, as if there never had been a jar, with my parents. If it weren't about that work, I'd be happy. But the fact is, I don't think - the fact is, I'm going to trust in Providence about work. If I could get one or two pieces I hate out of my way all would be well, I think; but these obstacles disgust me, and as I know I ought to do them first, I don't do anything. I must finish this off, or I'll just lose another day. I'll try to write again soon. - Ever your faithful friend,

R. L. S.

Letter: TO MRS. DE MATTOS

EDINBURGH, JANUARY 1876.

MY DEAR KATHARINE, - The prisoner reserved his defence. He has been seedy, however; princ.i.p.ally sick of the family evil, despondency; the sun is gone out utterly; and the breath of the people of this city lies about as a sort of damp, unwholesome fog, in which we go walking with bowed hearts. If I understand what is a contrite spirit, I have one; it is to feel that you are a small jar, or rather, as I feel myself, a very large jar, of pottery work rather MAL REUSSI, and to make every allowance for the potter (I beg pardon; Potter with a capital P.) on his ill-success, and rather wish he would reduce you as soon as possible to potsherds.

However, there are many things to do yet before we go

GROSSIR LA PATE UNIVERSELLE FAITE DES FORMES QUE DIEU FOND.

For instance, I have never been in a revolution yet. I pray G.o.d I may be in one at the end, if I am to make a mucker. The best way to make a mucker is to have your back set against a wall and a few lead pellets whiffed into you in a moment, while yet you are all in a heat and a fury of combat, with drums sounding on all sides, and people crying, and a general smash like the infernal orchestration at the end of the HUGUENOTS. . . .

Please pardon me for having been so long of writing, and show your pardon by writing soon to me; it will be a kindness, for I am sometimes very dull. Edinburgh is much changed for the worse by the absence of Bob; and this d.a.m.ned weather weighs on me like a curse. Yesterday, or the day before, there came so black a rain squall that I was frightened - what a child would call frightened, you know, for want of a better word - although in reality it has nothing to do with fright. I lit the gas and sat cowering in my chair until it went away again. - Ever yours,

R. L. S.

O I am trying my hand at a novel just now; it may interest you to know, I am bound to say I do not think it will be a success.

However, it's an amus.e.m.e.nt for the moment, and work, work is your only ally against the 'bearded people' that squat upon their hams in the dark places of life and embrace people horribly as they go by. G.o.d save us from the bearded people! to think that the sun is still s.h.i.+ning in some happy places!

R. L S.

Letter: TO MRS SITWELL

[EDINBURGH, JANUARY 1876.]

. . . OUR weather continues as it was, bitterly cold, and raining often. There is not much pleasure in life certainly as it stands at present. NOUS N'IRONS PLUS AU BOSS, HELAS!

I meant to write some more last night, but my father was ill and it put it out of my way. He is better this morning.