Tag Archives: train

“Like an Italian cinque-cento medallion”

Posted on February 24, 2018 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 6, 1885.] To Sidney Colvin [Colvin 1911, 3, pp. 8-9] [Hotel St. Stephen, New York, 24 September … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Adirondacks, Americans, appetite, articles, authors, £, banks, beauty, Blair, cold, Colvin, convalescence, Fairchild, fairy-land, Fanny, fog, health, Hotel St. Stephen, interviews, Italian cinque-cento, journey, landscape, Lloyd, medallion, New York, Newport, Robert Louis Stevenson, Saint-Gaudens, salary, Scribner's Magazine, success, train, Treasure Island, Underwoods, Valentine, visitors, winter | Leave a comment

“I write this from bed, snow pouring without, and no circumstance of pleasure except your letter”

Posted on April 2, 2017 by mafalda

[Dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 5, 1569.] To Will H. Low [Colvin 1911, 2, pp. 326-328] [Skerryvore, Bournemouth, 5 March 1886] My dear Low, … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged angels, anxiety, bed, Century Magazine, conscience, doggerel, fatigue, health, hemorrhage, horror, Low, lungs, Malade Imaginaire, money, Rhone, Robert Louis Stevenson, Skerryvore, snow, symptom, train, travel-book, trip, weather | Leave a comment

We have had many other wild misadventures

Posted on September 7, 2015 by mafalda

RLS’s wife extremely vivid and charteristic account of the weird misadventures that befell the pair during their retreat from St. Marcel, Marseille, in search of a healthier home. [Dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sidney Colvin. For full, … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged affairs, agony, alone, anger, bare, buried, Campagne Defli, change, chanting, Christian sense, coals of fire, coffin-lids, Colvin, comfort, compensation, contagion, corpse, curious, darkness, dead, death-bells, doctor, domestic economy, dreadful, dying, embalmed, Fanny Stevenson, fat, fever, fiends, forcible, French, friends, garden, granddaughter, Hammond, Hôtel du Petit Louvre, hemorrhages, holidays, house, husband, ill, insensible, Lake of Geneva, letter, Lloyd, maiden name, Marseilles, misadventures, misapprehension, money, Nice, old man, packing, passenger, patois, peasant-man, police, questions, quiet, refreshing, reviving, Robert Louis Stevenson, secretary, shy, speechless, St. Marcel, stations, streets, sun, suspense, Swiss, swollen stomach, Symonds, sympathetic, telegram, thanks, Toulon, train, typhus, village, weak, weather, wife, wild, wretched | Leave a comment

It is a strange affair to be an emigrant, as I hope you shall see in a future work

Posted on October 28, 2014 by mafalda

RLS reached the Pacific Transfer Station near Counsil Bluffs on the eastern bank of the Missouri on Thursday night, 21 August 1879. Here he joined a Union Pacific ‘emigrant train’: left on Friday evening, 22 August, and crossed the Missouri … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged alkali, bird, Bitter Creek, blackest, body, bottle, breakfast, butterfly, button, calm, cars, cattle, cents, Chinese, cicadae, coat, deserts, desolate, dinner, dirty, distresses, emigrants, emigration, enjoy, fellow-travellers, freight, ghostly, health, Henley, herd, History, horizon, ill, illness, imagination, Indians, infamous, insecure, jests, journey, kine, laudanum, legible, meal, men, mess, mill party, mirth, Missouri, Nebraska, Ogden, pause, peace of mind, pedestrian, Pennsylvania, plain, post, prairi, pump, Robert Louis Stevenson, rocks, sagebrush, Savile Club, serenity, shirt, sickly, singing, sleep, smile, St. Pancras, States Navy, sunflowers, tea, tedium, track, train, trappers, travel, trousers, Utah, vicissitude, waggon roof, wash-bowl, waste, water. stop, west, whistles, windmill, wooden church, wooden house, work, world, writing, yellow, youth | Leave a comment

The moving lanterns were shaken to and fro, as if in a wind

Posted on June 21, 2014 by mafalda

[Dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 2, 339]. To Fanny Sitwell [Colvin 1912, pp. 96-97] [Edinburgh, 13 December, 1874,] Sunday. I was never more sorry … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Berwick, black, cold, conductor, dark, dream, Edinburgh, Fanny Sitwell, father, fellow-traveller, god, guard, half-lit, hills, journey, Kelso, lanterns, late, laughter, official, Robert Louis Stevenson, slumber, snow, standstill, station, train, whistle | Leave a comment

The darkness made me a little fanciful

Posted on May 31, 2014 by mafalda

On a railway journey thorough Wales with his parents. Richmond Seeley is the proprietor and publisher of the Portfolio. RLS’s essay on John Knox will be published in Macmillan’s Magazine, Sept. 1875. ‘The horrid story’ is the ‘horrible story of … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged blackness, burgomaster, children, Christmas Books, church, clock, clouds, coast, comfort, cool, crime, cruel, darkness, destruction, Dickens Charles, distance, double perambulator, drawing-room, fancy, Fanny Sitwell, farewell, father, fun, girls, hat, hills, horrible, horrid story, houses, humanity, John Knox, journey, lights, Llandudno, money, mother, night, old people, rain, Richmond Seeley, road, Robert Louis Stevenson, rocket, sea, singing, sky, sound, stars, streets, stucco, time, train, umbrella, villas, walk, whiteness, wind, windows, world | Leave a comment

Her laugh does more good to one’s health than a month at the seaside

Posted on April 19, 2014 by mafalda

The following is in answer to a set of numbered questions from his mother. [Dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sir Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 1, 216]. To his … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged afternoon, angel, beach, Berechino, blue, boy, brain, bright, clumsiness, colour, Corsica, English, Englishman, fat, French, Gaelic, German, girl, good, gravity, green, Hôtel Mirabeau, health, ill, Italian, Johnson, kid, landscape, laugh, Madame Garschine, Madame Zassetsky, Marot Clément, Menton, mother, Nelitchka Zassetsky, partial, peaks, play, prose, questions, reading, Robert Louis Stevenson, Robinet, Russian, Russians, sailing, sea, seaside, seriousness, sky, sun, tongue, train, twirl, verse, warm, weather, white | Leave a comment

I was an Archangel once

Posted on March 27, 2014 by mafalda

The expression ‘coign of vantage’ is from Macbeth I, VI, 7. The ‘ineffable aurore’ is from V. Hugo’s L’Année Terrible, 1872. [As usual, dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sir Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Archangel, autumn, beauty, bench, Bennett, birds, blindness, blushes, brambles, branches, brooklet, Clark, clay, cloudy, coast, coign of vantage, colour, conscious, country, deliberation, disease, estate, eye, Fanny Sitwell, France, French, garden, grass, grey, hébétude, heaven, hills, hips, Horace, ill, ineffableaurore, inert, insect, intellectual, language, liberty, man, Medea, Menton, Muse, newspapers, Nice, old, olive, olive-yard, path, peasant, Ph.R. Morris, placid, pleasure, Robert Louis Stevenson, Scotland, sea, seventy, shadows, Shorter Catechism, silverings, songs, soul, sound, South, spirit, station, stones, sunchine, train, valley, water, weakness, weariness, wind, women | Leave a comment

Does it not seem as if things were fluid?

Posted on March 24, 2014 by mafalda

[Dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sir Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 1, 168]. To his mother [Colvin 1911, pp. 96-98] Hôtel du Pavillon, Menton, November 13, 1873. My dear … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged birthday, bone caves, Cap Martin, chapel, Chateau des Morts, cold, feet, fluid, fort, Francis Bacon, Freeman, gardens, Gorbio, Grimaldi, head, hearts, hills, Hotel de Londres, Hotel du Pavillon, invalids, jetty, kiosque, lemons, Lord Chancellor, memory, Menton, mother, newspapers, Nice, omnibus, oranges, Pascal Amarante, Pharmacie Gros, Post Office, Poste Restante, Prince's Palace, Prince's Villa, promenade, Robert Louis Stevenson, sanatorium, sea, torrents, train, trees, Turin Road, viaduct, villas | Leave a comment

And yet it burns cheerily

Posted on March 9, 2014 by mafalda

Written after an outpouring about difficulties at home. Portobello is the beach resort 3 miles east of Edinburgh. The ‘Spec’ is the Speculative Society, the literary and debating society founded in 1764 at Edinburgh University. The German quotes are taken … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Adelaide, artisan, bailies, Beethoven, Burns, church, churchyard, Cleishbotham, Covenanters, Dame Quickly, Dumfries, Edinburgh, Falstaff, Fanny Sitwell, German, Glasgow. Margaret Isabella Stevenson, grave, gulls, gusts, halberts, Heart of Midlothian, Holywood kirk, Irongray, kirk, kirkyard, landscape, lantern, Lincluden, Madonna, Nith, oakwood, one-eyed, poors, Portobello, provost, rain, river, Robert Louis Stevenson, ruins, Schubert, Scott, Speculative Society, Sudbury, third class, Thomas Stevenson, tomb, train, trees, weather, weight, wind | Leave a comment

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Tag Archives: train

“Like an Italian cinque-cento medallion”

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“I write this from bed, snow pouring without, and no circumstance of pleasure except your letter”

Rate this:

We have had many other wild misadventures

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It is a strange affair to be an emigrant, as I hope you shall see in a future work

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The moving lanterns were shaken to and fro, as if in a wind

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The darkness made me a little fanciful

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Her laugh does more good to one’s health than a month at the seaside

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I was an Archangel once

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Does it not seem as if things were fluid?

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And yet it burns cheerily

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