In the first week of January I went for some necessary work to Paris,
with the intention of returning towards the end of the month. The
following letter introduces the Russian sisters, Madame Zassetsky
and Madame Garschine, whose society and that of their children was to
do so much to cheer Stevenson during his remaining months on the
Riviera. The French painter Robinet (sometimes in his day known as
_le Raphael des cailloux_, from the minuteness of detail which he put
into his Provencal coast landscapes) was a chivalrous and
affectionate soul, in whom R. L. S. delighted in spite of his fervent
clerical and royalist opinions.
_[Menton], January 7, 1874._
MY DEAR MOTHER,--I received yesterday two most charming letters--the
nicest I have had since I left--December 26th and January 1st: this
morning I got January 3rd.
Into the bargain with Marie, the American girl, who is grace itself, and
comes leaping and dancing simply like a wave--like nothing else, and who
yesterday was Queen out of the Epiphany cake and chose Robinet (the
French painter) as her _favori_ with the most pretty confusion
possible--into the bargain with Marie, we have two little Russian girls,
with the youngest of whom, a little polyglot button of a three-year old,
I had the most laughable little scene at lunch to-day. I was watching
her being fed with great amusement, her face being as broad as it is
long, and her mouth capable of unlimited extension; when suddenly, her
eye catching mine, the fashion of her countenance was changed, and
regarding me with a really admirable appearance of offended dignity, she
said something in Italian which made everybody laugh much. It was
explained to me that she had said I was very _polisson_ to stare at her.
After this she was somewhat taken up with me, and after some examination
she announced emphatically to the whole table, in German, that I was a
_Maedchen_; which word she repeated with shrill emphasis, as though
fearing that her proposition would be called in question--_Maedchen,
Maedchen, Maedchen, Maedchen_. This hasty conclusion as to my sex she was
led afterwards to revise, I am informed; but her new opinion (which
seems to have been something nearer the truth) was announced in a third
language quite unknown to me, and probably Russian. To complete the
scroll of her accomplishments, she was brought round the table after the
meal was over, and said good-bye to me in very commendable English.
The weather I shall say nothing about, as I am incapable of explaining
my sentiments upon that subject before a lady. But my health is really
greatly improved: I begin to recognise myself occasionally now and
again, not without satisfaction.
Please remember me very kindly to Professor Swan; I wish I had a story
to send him; but story, Lord bless you, I have none to tell, sir, unless
it is the foregoing adventure with the little polyglot. The best of that
depends on the significance of _polisson_, which is beautifully out of
place.
_Saturday, 10th January._--The little Russian kid is only two and a
half: she speaks six languages. She and her sister (aet. 8) and May
Johnstone (aet. 8) are the delight of my life. Last night I saw them all
dancing--O it was jolly; kids are what is the matter with me. After the
dancing, we all--that is the two Russian ladies, Robinet the French
painter, Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone, two governesses, and fitful kids
joining us at intervals--played a game of the stool of repentance in the
Gallic idiom.
O--I have not told you that Colvin is gone; however, he is coming back
again; has left clothes in pawn to me.--Ever your affectionate son,