Perspiring like a terra-cotta jug or a Gruyère cheese

In the summer of 1872 RLS enjoys a holiday travel to Germany, together with Sir Walter Grindlay Simpson (1843–1898), 2nd baronet of Strathavon and the City of Edinburgh, one of the little group of his close friends.

The Latin sentence Fiat experimentum in corpore vili  (‘let experiment be made on a worthless object’) was generally used by physicians.

The Riesengebirge is a mountain range between Poland and Czech Republic.

[As usual, dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sir Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 1, 102].

To his mother [Colvin 1911, pp. 42-44]

Brussels, Thursday, 25th July 1872.

My dear Mother,

I am here at last, sitting in my room, without coat or waistcoat, and with both window and door open, and yet perspiring like a terra-cotta jug or a Gruyère cheese.

We had a very good passage, which we certainly deserved, in compensation for having to sleep on cabin floor, and finding absolutely nothing fit for human food in the whole filthy embarkation. We made up for lost time by sleeping on deck a good part of the forenoon. When I woke, Simpson was still sleeping the sleep of the just, on a coil of ropes and (as appeared afterwards) his own hat; so I got a bottle of Bass and a pipe and laid hold of an old Frenchman of somewhat filthy aspect (fiat experimentum in corpore vili) to try my French upon. I made very heavy weather of it. The Frenchman had a very pretty young wife; but my French always deserted me entirely when I had to answer her, and so she soon drew away and left me to her lord, who talked of French politics, Africa, and domestic economy with great vivacity.

A bottle of Bass

E. Manet, ‘A Bar at the Folies-Bergère’ 1882: two bottle of Bass, low right
(suggested by Richard Dury)

P. Picasso, ‘Clarinet, bottle of bass, newspaper, ace of clubs’, 1913 []


From Ostend a smoking-hot journey to Brussels.

Summer in Oostend

Oostende railway station, the original building

At Brussels we went off after dinner to the Parc. If any person wants to be happy, I should advise the Parc. You sit drinking iced drinks and smoking penny cigars under great old trees. The band place, covered walks, etc., are all lit up. And you can’t fancy how beautiful was the contrast of the great masses of lamplit foliage and the dark sapphire night sky with just one blue star set overhead in the middle of the largest patch. In the dark walks, too, there are crowds of people whose faces you cannot see, and here and there a colossal white statue at the corner of an alley that gives the place a nice, artificial, eighteenth century sentiment. There was a good deal of summer lightning blinking overhead, and the black avenues and white statues leapt out every minute into short-lived distinctness. […]

W.H. Bartlett (engr. J. Woods), ‘Parc and Palace at Brussels’, 1837 []

Brussels, the Park

Brussels, the Park []

I get up to add one thing more. There is in the hotel a boy in whom I take the deepest interest. I cannot tell you his age, but the very first time I saw him (when I was at dinner yesterday) I was very much struck with his appearance. There is something very leonine in his face, with a dash of the negro especially, if I remember aright, in the mouth. He has a great quantity of dark hair, curling in great rolls, not in little corkscrews, and a pair of large, dark, and very steady, bold, bright eyes. His manners are those of a prince. I felt like an overgrown ploughboy beside him. He speaks English perfectly, but with, I think, sufficient foreign accent to stamp him as a Russian, especially when his manners are taken into account. I don’t think I ever saw any one who looked like a hero before. After breakfast this morning I was talking to him in the court, when he mentioned casually that he had caught a snake in the Riesengebirge. ‘I have it here,’ he said; ‘would you like to see it?’ I said yes; and putting his hand into his breast-pocket, he drew forth not a dried serpent skin, but the head and neck of the reptile writhing and shooting out its horrible tongue in my face. You may conceive what a fright I got. I send off this single sheet just now in order to let you know I am safe across; but you must not expect letters often.

R. L. Stevenson

P.S. – The snake was about a yard long, but harmless, and now, he says, quite tame.

C.D. Friedrich, ‘The Riesengebirge’, ca. 1830.

C.D. Friedrich, ‘The Riesengebirge’, ca. 1835

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