The play of Deacon Brodie, the joint work of R. L. S. and W. E. H., was to be performed in London early in July.
[Hotel Chabassière, Royat, July 1884.]
DEAR S. C.,—Books received with great thanks. Very nice books, though I see you underrate my cecity: I could no more read their beautiful Bible than I could sail in heaven. However I have sent for another and can read the rest for patience.
I quite understand your feelings about the Deacon, which is a far way behind; but I get miserable when I think of Henley cutting this splash and standing, I fear, to lose a great deal of money. It is about Henley, not Brodie, that I care. I fear my affections are not strong to my past works; they are blotted out by others; and anyhow the Deacon is damn bad.
I am half asleep and can no more discourse. Say to your friends, “Look here, some friends of mine are bringing out a play; it has some stuff; suppose you go and see it.” But I know I am a cold, unbelieving fellow, incapable of those hot claps that honour you and Henley and therefore—I am asleep. Child’s Garden (first instalment) come. Fanny ill; self asleep.
R. L. S.
To Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Stevenson
Hotel Chabassière, Royat [July 1884].
MY DEAR PEOPLE,—The weather has been demoniac; I have had a skiff of cold, and was finally obliged to take to bed entirely; to-day, however, it has cleared, the sun shines, and I begin to