[_Chalet am Stein, Davos-Platz, April 1882._]
MY DEAR BOB,--Yours received. I have received a communication by same
mail from my mother, clamouring for news, which I must answer as soon as
I've done this. Of course, I shall paint your game in lively colours.
I hope to get away from here--let me not speak of it ungratefully--from
here--by Thursday at latest. I am indeed much better; but a slip of the
foot may still cast me back. I must walk circumspectly yet awhile. But O
to be able to go out and get wet, and not spit blood next day!
Yes, I remember the _enfantement_ of the Arabian Nights; the first idea
of all was the handsome cabs, which I communicated to you in St.
Leonard's Terrace drawing-room. That same afternoon the Prince de Galles
and the Suicide Club were invented; and several more now forgotten. I
must try to start 'em again.
Lloyd I believe is to be a printer--in the meantime he confines himself
to being an expense. He is a first-rate lad for all that. He is now
interrupting me about twice to the line, which does not condooce to
clarity, I'm afraid.
Fanny is still far from well, quite far from well. My faith is in the
Pirate.
I enclose all my artistic works; they are woodcuts--I cut them with a
knife out of blocks of wood: I am a wood-engraver; I aaaam a wooooood
engraaaaver. Lloyd then prints 'em: are they not fun? I doat on them; in
my next venture, I am going to have colour printing; it will be very
laborious, six blocks to cut for each picter, but the result would be
pyramidal.
If I get through the summer, I settle in Autumn in le pays de France; I
believe in the Brittany and become a _Snoozer_. You will come and snooze
awhile won't you, and try and get Louisa to join.
Pepys was a decent fellow; singularly like Charles Baxter, by the way,
in every character of mind and taste, and not unlike him in face. I did
not mean I had been too just to him but not just enough to bigger
swells. I would rather have _known_ Pepys than the whole jing-bang; I
doat on him as a card to know.
We shall be pretty poor at the start, of course, but I guess we can haul
through. Only intending visitors to the Brittannic Castle must not look
for nightingales' tongues. When next you see the form of the jeune et
beau pray give him my love, when I come to Weybridge, I'll hope to see
him.--Ever yours affectionately,
R. L. STEVENSON, 1er Roi de Beotie.
Pour copie conforme, Le secretaire Royale, W. P. BANNATYNE.