Tag Archives: ease

Miss Havisham is, probably, the worst thing in human fiction

Posted on October 1, 2015 by mafalda

‘Cassandra’ was a nickname of RLS’s father for his daughter-in-law, Fanny.The scheme of a play to be founded on Dickens’s Great Expectations was one of a hundred formed in these days and afterwards given up. [Dots between square brackets indicate … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged America, amiable, £, beard, boy, business, capture, Cassandra, casts, Chalet la Solitude, convicts, demands, development, Dickens, disclosure, ease, Eastbourne, escape, excellent, eyes, fantastic, father, float, forpet, Great Expectations, grown-up, habit, Hamlet, haunted, Hôtel des Îles d'Or, human fiction, Hyères, impossible, improbabilities, improved, ineffective, killed, lamb, lawyer, milk, Miss Havisham, money, originals, outline, parrot, play, prologue, re-read, rice, rich, riverside, Robert Louis Stevenson, rolled away, scenes, shop, son, splendid, story, streaming, strong, Thomas Stevenson, Trabb, trifles, unhuman, Var, weather, Wemmick, wild, Wogg, Wopsle, work, worst | Leave a comment

I do not think many wives are better loved than mine will be

Posted on December 20, 2014 by mafalda

[As usual, dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 3, 682.] To Edmund Gosse [Colvin 1912, pp. 132-135] 608 Bush Street, San Francisco, California, Jan. 23, … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged 608 Bush Street, affection, amusement, anticipation, apprehension, Arabs, bear, bed, blame, blessed, blood and thunder story, boast, books, busy, California, cast off, cause, cheap living, citizen, city, colds, commodity, conduct, constancy, consumption, corner, delay, desponding, devil, doubt, e.g., early, ease, economical, end, engaged, England, essays, exaggerations, father, feelings, French, friends, future, genius, Gosse, grateful, grieve, hate, health, Henry David Thoreau: his character and opinions, hero, hints, hope, innocent, invalid, Japanese, Leslie Stephen, literature, Longfellow, Lord, love, loved, malaria, March, marriage, masthead, military stores, Monterey, Mrs. Gosse, my people, New Jerusalem, overblown, past, Pavilion on the Links, philosophy, pleuritic flea-bites, postulant, quiet, return, reward, Robert Louis Stevenson, sad, San Francisco, shame, son, strangers, style, summon, talent, temper, tenderness, thunderclouds, tit-bits, tremble, trials, Weg, well, wives, woman, Yoshida Torajiro | Leave a comment

Grrrrr! I’ll never be a poet any more

Posted on October 8, 2014 by mafalda

This is in reply to some technical criticisms of his friend W.E. Henley on the poem Our Lady of the Snows, referring to the Trappist monastery in the Cévennes so called, and afterwards published in Underwoods (1887). James Walter Ferrier … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged ambiguous, Banville, Begad, brass, brother, captious, cavil, clarify, condemn, correspondence, couplet, Courage, daring’ be better, dénouement, degrees, devil, devotees, dd, ear, ease, Edinburgh, eloquent, energetic, favourite, Ferrier, flesh, French, friend, grrrrr, hear, heart, Henley, Horace, Impromptu, improve, Lang, Latin, Marvell, meaning, Monastery, Muses, passages, pillow, please, poem, poet, portrait, pregnant, proser, prostrate, re-write, request, revel, rhyme, Robert Louis Stevenson, scald, seas, sense, Shandon Hydropathic, skin, speech, spirit, star, strain, suggestions, swivel, teeth, Tourgenieff, ungrateful, verse bevel, weep, well of Castaly, What was on the Slate, years | Leave a comment

The future is thick with inky fingers

Posted on August 19, 2014 by mafalda

The Burns herein mentioned is the article undertaken for the Encyclopædia Britannica. In the end RLS’s work was thought to convey a view of the poet too frankly critical, and too little in accordance with the accepted Scotch tradition: the … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Advocate, afternoon, bankrupt, Béranger, bereaved, bills, black, book, Bosselin, Boswell, budget, Burns, cage, Charles of Orleans, child, Christmas, coffin, coin, columns, Commines, comparison, conscience, copy, Cornhill, critical essay, criticism, cut-and-dry, dress suit, ease, Edinburgh, Essay, Fergusson, Fontainebleau, forenoons, French, future, gay, gentleman, gummy, healthy, History of France, home, idle, illustration, immortalize, imperishable, inky fingers, Juvénal des Ursins, Life of Johnson, little book, lives, manuscribing, Martin, money, mud, paddle, pages, paper, Parliament House, pen, pipings, profession, R.L.S., Ramsay, relatives, rig, rink, Robert Louis Stevenson, rubbish, seaman’s parrot, shame, shillings. Penny, shirts, shrine, Sidney Colvin, skating, Spring, swell, tale, Villon, walk, water, whistle, wig and gown, wild goose, words means, work, write, young | Leave a comment

Pitting my own humour to this old verse … we’ll walk the woods no more

Posted on August 7, 2014 by mafalda

At this time Stevenson was much occupied, as were several young writers his contemporaries, with imitating the artificial forms of early French verse. Some of his attempts have been preserved, like the two contained in this letter. The second is … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Banville, bath, body, bright, brown, canal, Château Renard, death, desire, dire, door, ease, eyes, face, Fanny Sitwell, fire, French, glaring, grass, horrid, hot, intricate, knees, laughter, lead, Loiret, love, lyre, meadows, measure, mire, nose, old, pale, patches, please, poems, poplar, red, renown, Roads, Robert Louis Stevenson, rondeaux, sack, sad, sea, sea-winds, seaboard, Simpson, sorrow, soul, sunset, town, verse, walking, weather, weep, woods, yore | 1 Comment

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Tag Archives: ease

Miss Havisham is, probably, the worst thing in human fiction

Rate this:

I do not think many wives are better loved than mine will be

Rate this:

Grrrrr! I’ll never be a poet any more

Rate this:

The future is thick with inky fingers

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Pitting my own humour to this old verse … we’ll walk the woods no more

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