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Nellie van de Grift Sanchez. The Life of Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson
The Life of Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson
Table of Contents
PREFACE
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE LIFE OF MRS. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
CHAPTER I
ANCESTORS
CHAPTER II
EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA
CHAPTER III
ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE
CHAPTER IV
FRANCE, AND THE MEETING AT GREZ
CHAPTER V
IN CALIFORNIA WITH ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
CHAPTER VI
EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES
CHAPTER VII
AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS
CHAPTER VIII
THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA
CHAPTER IX
THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD
CHAPTER X
BACK TO CALIFORNIA
CHAPTER XI
TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE
CHAPTER XII
THE LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA
Отрывок из книги
Nellie Van de Grift Sanchez
Published by Good Press, 2019
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As I have said before, there was no discipline in the Van de Grift household, and though the neighbours predicted dire results from such a method of bringing up a family, one result, at least, was that every one of Jacob Van de Grift's children adored him, and none more whole-heartedly than his eldest born. She writes of him:
"My father was a splendid horseman and excelled in all athletic things. He had such immense shoulders and such a deep chest, though his hands and feet were remarkably small. I can remember when he and I would go out to a vacant lot that he owned near Indianapolis and I would sit on the fence and watch him ride and perform circus tricks on horseback, riding around in a circle. Though his hands were so small and fair, with rosy palms and delicately pointed fingers, they were strong hands and capable, for they fashioned the cradle my mother rocked me in, and the chest of drawers made of maple-wood stained to imitate mahogany, where she stored my baby linen with those old-fashioned herbs, ambrosia and sweet basil. Years ago the cradle was passed on to a neighbor who needed it more than we, but the chest of drawers is still in use, a sound and very serviceable piece of furniture, good for several generations more. It was an eventful day in my childhood when, perched on a high chair, I was allowed to explore the mysteries of the top drawer and hold in my own hands the trinkets, ear-rings, brooches, and fine laces worn by my mother in her youth, but now laid aside as useless in this new, strange, and busy life of the backwoods. There, too, were pieces of my maternal grandmother's (Kitty Weaver's) gowns, satin that shimmered and changed from purple to gold, 'stiff enough,' as my mother said, 'to stand alone,' and my great-grandfather Miller's tortoise-shell snuff-box containing a tonquin bean that had not yet lost its peculiar fragrance.
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