How badly yours sincerely writes. O! Madame Zassetsky has a theory that “Dumbarton Drums” is an epitome of my character and talents. She plays it, and goes into ecstasies over it, taking everybody to witness that each note, as she plays it, is the moral of Berecchino. Berecchino is my stereotype name in the world now. I am announced as M. Berecchino; a German hand-maiden came to the hotel, the other night, asking for M. Berecchino; said hand-maiden supposing in good faith that sich was my name.
Your letter come. O, I am all right now about the parting, because it will not be death, as we are to write. Of course the correspondence will drop off: but that’s no odds, it breaks the back of the trouble.—Ever your affectionate son,
Robert Louis Stevenson.
To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson
[Menton], Monday, March 9th, 1874.
We have all been getting photographed, and the proofs are to be seen to-day. How they will look I know not. Madame Zassetsky arranged me for mine, and then said to the photographer: “C’est mon fils. Il vient d’avoir dix-neuf ans. Il est tout fier de sa jeune moustache. Tâchez de la faire paraître,” and then bolted leaving me solemnly alone with the artist. The artist was quite serious, and explained that he would try to “faire ressortir ce que veut Madame la Princesse” to the best of his ability; he bowed very much to me, after this, in quality of Prince you see. I bowed in return and handled the flap of my cloak after the most princely fashion I could command.—Ever your affectionate son,
R. L. S.
To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson
[Menton], March 20, 1874.