Ordered south

Great is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven without repose;

And in the blue and glowing days

More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull

To keep the shady parlour cool,

Yet he will find a chink or two

To slip his golden fingers through.

(Summer Sun)

The journey from Edinburgh to London to Dover to France, and all through France down to Mentone, was tiring, es­pecially for anyone as worn out as Robert Louis Stevenson. He thought he would collapse before he finally reached his room at the Hotel du Pavilion.

He looked out of his window at the Mediterranean Sea. The water was still glistening in the warm sun. He began to relax. This winter there would be no snow and cold, no worries, no law.

“I’ll rest a while,” he thought, “then I will write.”

After just a few weeks at Mentone he received the most important news of his life. He had made his first real sale to a commercial magazine! He had written an essay just the summer before called “On Roads”³⁶, and Portfolio magazine bought it. He knew who had helped Him—a new friend, someone he had met shortly before coming to Mentone—Sidney Colvin. Colvin was the same age as Stevenson, and he was interested in the same things—art and literature. He himself wrote articles for magazines, and he had shown Stevenson’s essay to an editor friend.

When Stevenson saw the December issue of Portfolio with his article in it, he shouted for joy.

“I’m started on my career at last!”

He began to write another essay immediately. The new one was to be called "Ordered South”³⁷. Stevenson worked. He gained strength He felt happier. To make life even better, Sidney Colvin came to Mentone in December. The two young men spent three months together talking and ranging about. Stevenson now could speak excellent French, and that made it easier for both of them.

One happiness piled upon another. Colvin read “Ordered South,” and he said, “I am going to send this to Macmillan’s Magazine for you.”

And the magazine bought it.

With so much good fortune, Stevenson could have stayed in a lucky place like Mentone forever. But holidays never last forever. In April he had to start home.

When RLS finally walked into the house on Heriot Row in Edinburgh, his mother and Cummy and even his father burst into smiles. He looked so much better with his suntan!

““Why, Smout!” declared Cummy. “I think you’ve gained a wee bit of weight.”

“Aye!” said his father brusquely.

Although Smout still had to finish his law studies, his father was pleased to hear of the two articles he had sold.

“Instead of a pound a month pocket money,” said his father, "I’ve decided to give you a yearly allowance of eighty-four pounds.”

That amounted to seven pounds a month, much better than his schoolboy’s allowance. But Stevenson usually spent money as soon as he had it, or gave it to someone who needed it. His father soon shook his head. His son didn’t seem to be any better off than when he had had a pound a month.

What of it? That was Louis’ thought. He had his writing. He worked in his top-floor room in the spring, and in the Swanston Cottage in the summer. He finished an article on Victor Hugo, the French author. Cornhill magazine bought it.

Stevenson was only twenty-three, and he was already on his way to a literary career. Colvin proposed him for membership in the Savile Club in London. There Stevenson could meet other authors.

Chapter VIII