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

Volume 1 Chapter 18 Pg 116

     They Were Plentifully Supplied With Funds, With Which They

     Purchased And Manned A Vessel Destined To Carry Arms And Ammunition

     To Spain For The Purposes Of The Revolutionists. This Ship They Put

     Under Command Of An Experienced _Smuggler_, And It Was Actually

     Leaving The Mouth Of The Thames With Sterling And Mr. Trench On

     Board It, Bound For Spain, When By Order Of Lord Aberdeen It Was

     Stopped. Our Two Young Gentlemen Jumped Into A Boat And Made Their

     Escape, But Mr. Sterling, Hearing That Government Threatened To

     Proceed Against The Captain Of The Captured Vessel, Came Forward

     And Owned It As His Property, And Exonerated The Man, As Far As He

     Could, From Any Share Of The Blame Attaching To An Undertaking In

     Which He Was An Irresponsible Instrument. Matters Were In This

     State, With A Prosecution Pending Over John Sterling, When The

     Ministry Was Changed, And Nothing Further Has Been Done Or Said By

     Government On The Subject Since.

 

     My Brother Had Gone Off To Gibraltar Previously To All This, To

     Take Measures For Facilitating Their Landing; He Is Now Quietly And

     I Hope Comfortably Wintering There. Torrijos, It Seems, Is Not At

     All Disheartened, But Is Waiting For The Propitious Moment, Which,

     However, From The Appearance Of Things, I Should Not Consider

     Likely To Be At Hand Just Yet. Mr. Sterling Has, I Understand, Been

     So Seriously Ill Since His Marriage That At One Time His Life Was

     Despaired Of, And Even Now That He Is A Little Recovered He Is

     Ordered To Madeira As Soon As He Can Be Moved. This Is Very Sad For

     His Poor Bride.

 

     Of Our Home Circle I Have Nothing To Tell You. My Father, Dall, And

     I Had A Very Delightful Day On Saturday At Brighton. After A Lovely

     Day's Journey, We Arrived There On Friday. Our Companion In The

     Coach Luckily Happened To Be A Son Of Dr. Burney's, Who Was An Old

     And Intimate Friend Of My Father's, And They Discoursed Together

     The Whole Way Along, Of All Sorts Of Events And People: Of My Uncle

     John And My Aunt Siddons, In Their Prime; Of Mrs. Jordan And The

     Late King; Of The Present One, Harlow, Lawrence, And Innumerable

     Other Folk Of Note And Notoriety. Among Other Things They Had A

     Long Discussion On The Subject Of Hamlet's Feigned Or--As My Father

     Maintains And I Believe--Real Madness; All This Formed A Very

     Amusing Accompaniment To The History Of Sir Launcelot Du Lac, Which

     I Was Reading With Much Delight When I Was Not Listening To Their

     Conversation.

 

     I Like All That Concerns The Love Adventures Of These Valorous

     Knights Of Yore; But Their Deadly Blows And Desperate Thrusts,

     Their Slashing, Gashing, Mashing, Mangling, And Hewing Bore Me To

     Death. The Fate Of Guinevere Interested Me Deeply, But Sir

     Launcelot's Warlike Exploits I Got Dreadfully Weary Of; I Prefer

     Him Greatly In Hall And Bower Rather Than In Tournament And

     Battle-Field.

 

     We Got Into Brighton At Half-Past Four, And Had Just Time To Dine,

     Dress, And Go To The Theater, Where We Were To Act "The Stranger."

     The House Was Very Full Indeed, But My Reception Was Not Quite What

     I Had Expected; For Whether They Were Disappointed In My Dress

Volume 1 Chapter 18 Pg 117

(Mrs. Haller Being Traditionally Clothed In Droopacious White

     Muslin, And I Dressing Her In Gray Silk, Which Is Both Stiff And

     Dull Looking, As I Think It Should Be), Or Whether, Which I Think

     Still More Likely, They Were Disappointed In My "Personal

     Appearance," Which, As You Know, Is Neither Tragical Nor Heroic, I

     Know Not, But I Thought Their Welcome Rather, Cold; But The Truth

     Is, I Believe My London Audience Spoils Me For Every Other.

     However, The Play Went Off Admirably, And I Believe Everybody Was

     Satisfied, Not Excepting The Manager, Who Assured Me So Full And

     _Enthusiastic_ A House Had Not Been Seen In Brighton For Many

     Years.

 

     Our Rooms At The Inn [The Old Ship Was Then _The_ Famous Brighton

     Hotel] Looked Out Upon The Sea, But It Was So Foggy When We Entered

     Brighton That Although I Perceived The _Motion_ Of The Waves

     Through The Mist That Hung Over Them, Their Color And Every Object

     Along The Shore Was Quite Indistinct. The Next Morning Was

     Beautiful. Dall And I Ran Down To The Beach Before Breakfast; There

     Are No Sands, Unluckily, But We Stood Ankle-Deep In The Shingles,

     Watching The Ebbing Tide And Sniffing The Sweet Salt Air For A Long

     Time With Great Satisfaction. After Breakfast We Rehearsed "The

     Provoked Husband," And From The Theater Proceeded To Take A Walk.

 

     All This Was Very Fine, But Still It Was Streets And Houses; And

     There Were Crowds Of Gay People Parading Up And Down, Looking As

     Busy About Nothing And As Full Of Themselves As If The Great Awful

     Sea Had Not Been Close Beside Them. In Fact, I Was Displeased With

     The Levity Of Their Deportment, And The Contrast Of All That

     Fashionable Frivolity With The Grandest Of All Natural Objects

     Seemed To Me Incongruous And Discordant; And I Was So Annoyed At

     Finding Myself By The Sea-Side And _Yet_ Still Surrounded With All

     The Glare And Gayety Of London, That I Think I Wished Myself At The

     Bottom Of The Cliff And Brighton At The Bottom Of The Sea. However,

     We Walked On And On, Beyond The Parade, Beyond The Town, Till We

     Had Nothing But The Broad Open Downs To Contrast With The Broad

     Open Sea, And Then I Was Completely Happy. I Gave My Muff To My

     Father And My Fur Tippet To Dall, For The Sun Shone Powerfully On

     The Heights, And I Walked And Ran Along The Edge Of The Cliffs,

     Gazing And Pondering, And Enjoying The Solemn Sound And The

     Brilliant Sight, And The Nervous Excitement Of A Slight Sense Of

     Fear As I Peeped Over At The Depth Below Me. From This Diversion,

     However, My Father Called Me Away, And, To Console Me For Not

     Allowing Me To Run The Risk Of Being Dashed To Pieces, Offered To

     Run A Race Up A Small Hill With Me, And Beat Me Hollow.

 

     We Had Walked About Four Miles When We Halted At One Of The

     Preventive Service Stations To Look About Us. The Tide Had Not Yet

     Come In, But Its Usual Height When Up Was Indicated, First By A

     Delicate, Waving Fringe Of Sea-Weed, Like Very Bright Green Moss,

     And Then, Nearer In Shore, By An Incrustation Of Chalk Washed From

     The Cliffs, Which Formed A Deep Embossed Silver Embroidery Along

     The Coast As Far As Eye Could See. The Sunshine Was Dazzling, And

     Its Light On The Detached Masses Of Milky Chalk Which Lay Far

     Beneath Us Made Them Appear Semi-Transparent, Like Fragments Of

Volume 1 Chapter 18 Pg 118

     Alabaster Or Carnelian. I Was Wishing That I _Could But_ Get Down

     The Cliff, When A Worthy Sailor Appeared Toiling Up It, And I

     Discovered His Winding Stair Case Cut In The Great Chalk Wall, Down

     Which I Proceeded Without Further Ado. I Was A Little Frightened,

     For The Steps Were None Of The Most Regular Or Convenient, And I

     Felt As If I Were Hanging (And At An Uncomfortable Distance From

     Either) Between Heaven And Earth. I Got Down Safe, However, And Ran

     To The Water's Edge, Danced A Galop On One Smooth Little Sand

     Island, Waited Till The Tide, Which Was Coming Up, Just Touched My

     Toes, Gave It A Kick Of Cowardly Defiance, And Then Showed It A

     Fair Pair Of Heels And Scrambled Up The Cliff Again, Very Much

     Enchanted With My Expedition.

 

     I Think A Fight With Smugglers Up That Steep Staircase At Night,

     With A Heavy Sea Rolling And Roaring Close Under It, Would Be

     Glorious! When I Reached The Top My Father Said It Was Time To Go

     Home, So We Returned. The Parade Was Crowded Like Hyde Park In The

     Height Of The Season [Thackeray Called Brighton London-Super-Mare],

     And When Once I Was Out Of The Crowd And Could Look Down Upon It

     From Our Windows As It Promenaded Up And Down, I Never Saw Anything

     Gayer: Carriages Of Every Description--Most Of Them

     Open--Cavalcades Of Ladies And Gentlemen Riding To And Fro, Throngs

     Of Smart Bonnets And Fine Dresses; And Beyond All This The High

     Tide, With One Broad Crimson Path Across It, Thrown By The Sun,

     Looking As If It Led Into Some Enchanted World Beyond The Waters.

 

     I Thought Of Dear A----; For Though She Is Seeing The Sea--And I

     Think The Sea At Ardgillan, With Its Lovely Mountains On One Side

     And Skerries On The Other, Far More Beautiful Than This--I Am Sure

     She Would Have Been Enchanted With The Life, The Bustle, And

     Brilliancy Of The Parade Combined With Its Fine Sea View, For I,

     Who Am Apt Rather Selfishly To Wish Myself Alone In The Enjoyment

     Of Nature, Looked At The Bright, Moving Throng With Pleasure When

     Once I Was Out Of It.

 

     Our House At The Theater At Night Was Very Fine; And Now, As You

     Are Perhaps Tired Of Brighton, You Will Not Be Sorry To Get Home

     With Me; But Pray Communicate The End Of Our "Land Sorrow" To

     A----. We Were To Start For London Sunday Morning At Ten [A Journey

     Of Six Hours By Coach, Now Of Less Than Two By Rail], And My Father

     Had Taken Three Inside Places In A Coach, Which Was To Call For Us

     At Our Inn. I Ran Down To The Beach And Had A Few Moments Alone

     There. It Was A Beautiful Morning, And The Fishing Boats Were One

     By One Putting Out Into The Calmest Sleepy Sea. I Longed To Ask To

     Be Taken On Board One Of Them; But I Was Summoned Away