Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2) by Frances Ann Kemble (most popular novels of all time TXT) 📖

Few Weeks, Taking My Sister To

Ireland With Her On A Visit To Ardgillan.

 

                                  GREAT RUSSELL STREET, December 21st.

     MY DEAREST H----,

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     My Aunt Dall Brought Me Home Word That You Wished Me To Send A

     Letter Which Should Meet You On Your Arrival At Ardgillan; And I

     Would Have Done So, But That I Had Previously Promised Myself That

     I Would Do Nothing This Day Till I Had Copied Out The Fourth Act Of

     "The Star Of Seville," And You Know Unless I Am Steady At My Work

     This Week, I Shall Break My Word A Second Time, Which Is

     _Impossible_, As It Ought To Have Been At First.

 

[A Tragedy In Five Acts, Called "The Star Of Seville," At Which I Was

Working, Is Here Referred To. My Father Had Directed My Attention To The

Subject By Putting In My Hands A Sketch Of The Life And Works Of Lope De

Vega, By Lord Holland. The Story Of La Estrella De Seviglia Appeared To

My Father Eminently Dramatic, And He Excited Me To Choose It For The

Subject Of A Drama. I Did So, And Messrs. Saunders And Ottley Were Good

Enough To Publish It; It Had No Merit Whatever, Either Dramatic Or

Poetical (Although I Think The Subject Gave Ample Scope For Both), And I

Do Not Remember A Line Of It.]

 

     However, It Is Nine O'clock; I Have Not Ceased Writing Except To

     Dine, And My Act Is Copied; And Now I Can Give You An Hour Before

     Bedtime. How Are You? And How Is Dear A----? Give Her Several Good

     Kisses For Me; She Is By This Time Admirable Friends With All Your

     Circle, I Doubt Not, And Slightly, Superficially Acquainted With

     The Sea. Tell Her She Is A Careless Little Puss, Though, For She

     Forgot The Plate With My Effigy On It For Hercules [Miss S----'S

     Nephew] Which She Was To Have Given My Aunt To Pack Up. I Am Quite

     Sorry About It; Tell Him, However, He Shall Not Lose By It, For I

     Will Send Him Both A Plate With The Belvidera And A Mug With My Own

     Natural Head On It, The Next Time You Return Home.

 

     I Stood In The Dining-Room Listening To Your Carriage Wheels Until

     I Believe They Were Only Rolling In My Imagination; You Cannot

     Fancy How Doleful Our Breakfast Was. Henry Was Perfectly Enraged At

     Finding That A---- Was Gone In Earnest, And My Father Began To

     Wonder How It Had Ever Come To Pass That He Had Consented To Let

     Her Go. After Breakfast, Dall And I Walked To Mr. Cartwright's (The

     Dentist), Who Fortunately Did Not Torture Me Much; For If He Had,

     My Spirits Were So Exceedingly Low That I Am Sure I Should Have

     Disgraced Myself And Cried Like A Coward. As Soon As We Came Home I

     Set To Work, And Have Never Stopped Copying Till I Began This

     Letter, When, Having Done My Day's Work, I Thought I Might Tell You

     How Much I Miss You And Dear A----.

 

     My Father Is Gone To The Theater Upon Business To-Night; My Mother

     Is Very Unwell, And Dall And Henry, As Well As Myself, Are Stupid

     And Dreary.

 

     My Dear H----, Tell Me How You Bore The Journey And The Cold, And

     How Dear A---- Fared On The Road; How You Found All Your People,

     And How The Dell And The Sea Are Looking. Write To Me Very _Soon_

     And _Very_ Long. You Have Let Several Stitches Fall In One Of The

     Muffetees You Knit For Me, And It Is All Running To Ruin; I Must

     See And Pick Them Up At The Theater On Thursday Night. You Have

     Left All Manner Of Things Behind You; Among Others, Channing's Two

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     Essays; I Will Keep All Your Property Honestly For You, And Shall

     Soon Have Time To Read Those Essays, Which I Very Much Wish To Do.

 

     A Large Supply Of Christmas Fare Arrived From Stafford To-Day From

     My Godmother, And Among Other Things, A Huge Nosegay For Me. I Was

     Very Grateful For The Flowers; They Are Always A Pleasure, And

     To-Day I Thought They Tried To Be A Consolation To Me.

 

     Now I Must Break Off. Do You Remember Madame De Sévigné's "Adieu;

     Ce N'est Pas Jusqu'à Demain--Jusqu'à Samedi--Jusqu' Aujourd'hui En

     Huit; C'est Adieu Pour Un An"? And Yet I Certainly Have No Right To

     Grumble, For Our Meeting As We Have Done Latterly Is A Pleasure As

     Little To Have Been Anticipated As The Events Which Have Enabled Us

     To Do So, And For Which I Have So Many Reasons To Be Thankful. God

     Bless You, Dear H----; Kiss Dear Little A---- For Me, And Remember

     Me Affectionately To All Your People.

 

                        I Am Yours Ever Truly,

                                                                FANNY.

 

     Dall Sends Her Best Love To Both, And All; And Henry Bids Me Tell

     A---- That The Name Of The Drury Lane Pantomime Is "Harlequin And

     Davy Jones, Or Mother Carey's Chickens." Ours Is Yet A Secret; He

     Will Write Her All About It.

 

Mr. Cartwright, The Eminent Dentist, Was A Great Friend Of My Father's;

He Was A Cultivated Gentleman Of Refined Taste, And An Enlightened Judge

And Liberal Patron Of The Arts. If Anything Could Have Alleviated The

Half-Hour's Suspense Before One Obtained Admission To His Beautiful

Library, Which Was On Some Occasions (Of, I Suppose, Slight Importance)

His "Operating-Room," It Would Have Been The Choice Specimens Of Lovely

Landscape Painting, By The First English Masters, Which Adorned His

Dining-Room. I Have Sat By Sir Thomas Lawrence At The Hospitable

Dinner-Table, Where Mr. Cartwright Gave His Friends The Most Agreeable

Opportunity Of Using The Teeth Which He, Preserved For Them, And Heard

In His House The Best Classical English Vocal Music, Capitally Executed

By The First Professors Of That School, And Brilliant Amicable Rivalry

Of First-Rate Piano-Forte Performances By Cramer, Neukomm, Hummel, And

Moscheles, Who Were All Personal Friends Of Their Host.

 

                                GREAT RUSSELL STREET, January 3, 1831.

     MY DEAR H----,

 

     I Promised You, In The Interesting P.S. I Annexed To My Aunt Dall's

     Letter, To Write To You To-Day, And I Sit Down This Evening To

     Fulfill My Promise. My Father Is Gone Out To Dinner, My Mother Is

     Asleep On The Sofa, Dall Reclines Dozing In That Blissful Armchair

     You Wot Of, And Henry, Happier Than Either, Is Extended Snoring

     Before The Fire On The Softest, Thickest, Splendidest Colored Rug

     (A Piece Of My Mother's Workmanship) That The Most Poetical Canine

     Imagination Could Conceive; I Should Think An Earthly Type Of Those

     Heavenly Rugs Which Virtuous Dogs, According To Your Creed, Are

     Destined To Enjoy.

 

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[My Friend Miss S---- Held (Without Having So Eloquently Advocated) The

Theory Of Her And My Friend Miss Cobbe, Of The Possible Future Existence

Of Animals; Such Animals At Any Rate As Had Formed Literally A Precious

Part Of The Earthly Existence Of Their Owners, And In Whom A Certain

Sense, So Nearly Resembling Conscience, Is Developed, By Their Obedience

And Attachment To The Superior Race, That It Is Difficult To Consider

Them Unmoral Creatures. Perhaps, However, If The Choice Were Given Our

Four-Footed Friends To Share Our Future Prospects And Present

Responsibility, They Might Decline The Offer, "Thankfu' They Werena'

Men, But Dogs."]

 

     Dear H----, The Pleasant Excitement Of Your Society Assisted The

     Natural Contentedness Or Indifference Of My Disposition To Throw

     Aside Many Reflections Upon Myself And Others, The Life I Lead And

     Its Various Annoyances, Which Have Been Unpleasantly Forced Upon Me

     Since Your Departure; And When I Say That I Do Not Feel Happy, You

     Will Not Count It Merely The Blue-Devilish Fancy Of A German Brain

     Or An English (That Is Bilious) Stomach.

 

     I Have A Feeling, Not Of Dissatisfaction Or Discontent So Much As

     Of Sadness And Weariness, Though I Struggle Always And Sometimes

     Pretty Successfully To Rouse Myself From It.

 

     You Say You Wish To Know What We Did On Christmas Day. I'll Tell

     You. In The Morning I Went To Church, After Which I Came Home And

     Copied "The Star Of Seville" Till Dinner-Time. After Dinner My

     Mother, Who Had Proposed Spending The Evening At Our Worthy

     Pastor's, Mr. Sterky's, Finding My Father Disinclined For That

     Exertion, Remained At Home And Went To Sleep; My Father Likewise,

     Dall Likewise, Henry Likewise; And I Copied On At My Play Till

     Bedtime: _Voilà_. On Monday, Contrary To My Expectation, I Had To

     Play Euphrasia Before The Pantomime. You Know We Were To Spend

     Christmas Eve At My Aunt Siddons's; We Had A Delightful Evening And

     I Was Very Happy. My Aunt Came Down From The Drawing-Room (For We

     Danced In The Dining-Room On The Ground Floor) And Sat Among Us,

     And You Cannot Think How Nice And Pretty It Was To See Her

     Surrounded By Her Clan, More Than Three Dozen Strong; Some Of Them

     So Handsome, And Many With A Striking Likeness To Herself, Either

     In Feature Or Expression. Mrs. Harry And Cecy Danced With Us, And

     We Enjoyed Ourselves Very Much; I Wished For Dear A----

     Exceedingly. Wednesday We Dined At Mrs. Mayow's.

 

[My Mother's Dear Friend, Mrs. Mayow, Was The Wife Of A Gentleman In A

High Position In One Of Our Government Offices. She Was A West Indian

Creole, And A Singularly Beautiful Person. Her Complexion Was Of The

Clear Olive-Brown Of A Perfectly Moorish Skin, With The Color Of A

Damask Rose In Her Cheeks, And Lips As Red As Coral. Her Features Were

Classically Symmetrical, As Was The Soft, Oval Contour Of Her Face; Her

Eyes And Hair Were As Black As Night, And The Former Had A Halo Of Fine

Lashes Of The Most Magnificent Length. She Never Wore Any Head-Dress But

A White Muslin Turban, The Effect Of Which On Her Superb Dark Face Was

Strikingly Handsome, And Not Only Its Singularity But Its Noble And

Becoming Simplicity Distinguished Her In Every