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

The Soft, Rich Folds And Infinitely Varied

Lights And Shadows Which That Texture Afforded Above All Others. He Has

Dressed A Great Many Of His Female Portraits In White Satin. He Also

Once Said That He Had Been Haunted At One Time With The Desire To Paint

A Blush, That Most Enchanting "Incident" In The Expression Of A Woman's

Face, But, After Being Driven Nearly Wild With The Ineffectual Endeavor,

Volume 1 Chapter 12 Pg 26

Had Had To Renounce It, Never, Of Course, He Said, Achieving Anything

But A _Red Face_. I Remember The Dreadful Impression Made Upon Me By A

Story He Told My Mother Of Lady J---- (George The Fourth's Lady J----),

Who, Standing Before Her Drawing-Room Looking-Glass, And Unaware That He

Was In The Rooms, Apostrophized Her Own Reflection With This Reflection:

"I Swear It Would Be Better To Go To Hell At Once Than Live To Grow Old

And Ugly."

 

Lawrence Once Said That We Never Dreamed Of Ourselves As Younger Than We

Were; That Even If Our Dreams Reproduce Scenes And People And

Circumstances Of Our Youth And Childhood We Were Always Represented, By

Our Sleeping Imagination, At Our Present Age. I Presume He Spoke Of His

Own Experience, And I Cannot Say That I Recollect Any Instance In Mine

That Contradicts This Theory. It Seems Curious, If It Is True, That In

The Manifold Freaks Of Our Sleeping Fancy Self-Consciousness Should

Still Exist To A Sufficient Degree To Preserve Unaltered One's Own

Conditions Of Age And Physical Appearance. I Wonder Whether This Is

Really The Common Experience Of People's Dreams? Frederick Maurice Told

Me A Circumstance In Curious Opposition To This Theory Of Lawrence's. A

Young Woman Whom He Knew, Of More Than Usual Mental And Moral

Endowments, Married A Man Very Much Her Inferior In Mind And Character,

And Appeared To Him To Deteriorate Gradually But Very Perceptibly Under

His Influence. "As The Husband Is, The Wife Is," Etc. Toward The Middle

Of Her Life She Told Him That At One Time She Had Carried On A Double

Existence In Her Sleeping And Waking Hours, Her Dreams Invariably Taking

Her Back To The Home And Period Of Her Girlhood, And That She Resumed

This Dream-Life Precisely Where She Left It Off, Night After Night, For

A Considerable Period Of Time,--Poor Thing!--Perhaps As Long As The

Roots Of The Young Nobler Self Survived Below The Soil Of A Baser

Present Existence. This Story Seemed To Me Always Very Pathetic. It Must

Have Been Dismal To Lose That Dream Life By Degrees, As The Real One Ate

More And More Into Her Nature.

 

Of Lawrence's Merit As A Painter An Unduly Favorable Estimate Was Taken

During His Life, And Since His Death His Reputation Has Suffered An

Undue Depreciation. Much That He Did Partook Of The False And Bad Style

Which, From The Deeper Source Of Degraded Morality, Spread A Taint Over

All Matters Of Art And Taste, Under The Vicious Influence Of The "First

Gentleman Of Europe," Whose Own Artistic Preferences Bore Witness, Quite

As Much As The More Serious Events Of His Life, How Little He Deserved

The Name. Hideous Chinese Pagoda Pavilions, With Grotesque And Monstrous

Decorations, Barbarous Alike In Form And In Color; Mean And Ugly

Low-Roomed Royal Palaces, Without Either Magnificence Or Simplicity;

Military Costumes, In Which Gold And Silver Lace Were Plastered Together

On The Same Uniform, Testified To The Perverted Perception Of Beauty And

Fitness Which Presided In The Court Of George The Fourth. Lawrence's Own

Portrait Of Him, With His Corpulent Body Girthed In His Stays And

Creaseless Coat, And His Heavy Falling Cheek Supported By His Stiff

Stock, With His Dancing-Master's Leg And His Frizzled Barber's-Block

Head, Comes As Near A Caricature As A Flattered Likeness Of The Original

(Which Was A Caricature) Dares To Do. To Have Had To Paint That Was

Enough To Have Vulgarized Any Pencil. The Defect Of Many Of Lawrence's

Female Portraits Was A Sort Of Artificial, Sentimental _Elegantism_.

Pictures Of The Fine Ladies Of That Day They Undoubtedly Were; Pictures

Volume 1 Chapter 12 Pg 27

Of _Great_ Ladies, Never; And, In Looking At Them, One Sighed For The

Exquisite Simple Grace And Unaffected Dignity Of Reynolds's And

Gainsborough's Noble And Gentle Women.

 

The Lovely Head Of Lady Nugent, The Fine Portrait I Have Mentioned Of

Mrs. W----, The Splendid One Of Lady Hatherton, And The Noble Picture Of

My Grandmother, Are Among The Best Productions Of Lawrence's Pencil; And

Several Of His Men's Portraits Are In A Robust And Simple Style Of Art

Worthy Of The Highest Admiration. His Likeness Of Canning (Which, By The

Bye, Might Have Passed For His Own, So Great Was His Resemblance To The

Brilliant Statesman) And The Fine Portrait He Painted For Lord Aberdeen,

Of My Uncle John, Are Excellent Specimens Of His Best Work. He Had A

Remarkable Gift Of Producing Likenesses At Once Striking And Favorable,

And Of Always Seizing The Finest Expression Of Which A Face Was Capable;

And None Could Ever Complain That Lawrence Had Not Done Justice To The

Very Best Look They Ever Wore. Lawrence's Want Of Conscience With Regard

To The Pictures Which He Undertook And Never Finished, Is Difficult To

Account For By Any Plausible Explanation. The Fact Is Notorious, That In

Various Instances, After Receiving The Price Of A Portrait, And

Beginning It, He Procrastinated, And Delayed, And Postponed The

Completion, Until, In More Than One Case, The Blooming Beauty Sketched

Upon His Canvas Had Grown Faded And Wrinkled Before The Image Of Her

Youthful Loveliness Had Been Completed.

 

The Renewal Of Intercourse Between Lawrence And My Parents, So Soon To

Be Terminated By His Death, Was The Cause To Me Of A Loss Which I Shall

Never Cease To Regret. My Father Had Had In His Library For Years

(Indeed, As Long As I Remember) A Large Volume Of Fine Engravings Of The

Masterpieces Of The Great Italian Painters, And This Precious Book Of

Art We Were Occasionally Allowed To Look At For An Hour Of Rare Delight;

But It Belonged To Sir Thomas Lawrence, And Had Accidentally Been Kept

For This Long Space Of Time In My Father's Possession. One Of My

Mother's First Acts, On Again Entering Into Friendly Relations With

Lawrence, Was To Restore This Piece Of Property To Him; A Precipitate

Act Of Honesty Which I Could Not Help Deploring, Especially When, So

Soon After This Deed Of Rash Restitution, His Death Brought Those

Beautiful Engravings, With All The Rest Of His Property, To The Hammer.

 

There Is No Early Impression Stronger In My Mind Than That Of Some Of

Those Masterpieces, Which, Together With Winckelmann's Fine Work On

Classical Art (Our Familiarity With Which I Have Elsewhere Alluded To),

Were Among The First Influences Of The Sort Which I Experienced. Nor Can

I Ever Be Too Grateful That, Restricted As Were My Parents' Means Of

Developing In Us The Highest Culture, They Were Still Such As, Combined

With Their Own Excellent Taste And Judgment, Preserved Us From That

Which Is Far Worse Than Ignorance, A Liking For Anything Vulgar Or

Trivial. That Which Was Merely Pretty, In Music, Painting, Or Poetry,

Was Never Placed On The Same Level In Our Admiration With That Which Was

Fine; And Though, From Nature As Well As Training, We Enjoyed With Great

Zest Every Thing That Could In Any Sense Be Called Good, Our Enthusiasm

Was Always Reserved For That Which Was Best, An Incalculable Advantage

In The Formation Of A Fine Taste And Critical Judgment. A Noble Ideal

Beauty Was What We Were Taught To Consider The Proper Object And Result

Of All Art. In Their Especial Vocation This Tendency Caused My Family To

Be Accused Of Formalism And Artificial Pedantry; And The So-Called

"Classical" School Of Acting, To Which They Belonged, Has Frequently

Since Their Time Been Unfavorably Compared With What, By Way Of

Contrast, Has Been Termed The Realistic Or Natural Style Of Art. I Do

Not Care To Discuss The Question, But Am Thankful That My Education

Preserved Me From Accepting Mere Imitation Of Nature As Art, On The

Stage Or In The Picture Gallery; And That, Without Destroying My Delight

In Any Kind Of Beauty, It Taught Me A Decided Preference For That Which

Was Highest And Noblest.

 

All Being In Due Preparation For My Coming Out, My Rehearsals Were The

Only Interruption To My Usual Habits Of Occupation, Which I Pursued Very

Steadily In Spite Of My Impending Trial. On The Day Of My First

Appearance I Had No Rehearsal, For Fear Of Over-Fatigue, And Spent My

Morning As Usual, In Practicing The Piano, Walking In The Inclosure Of

St. James's Park Opposite Our House, And Reading In "Blunt's Scripture

Characters" (A Book In Which I Was Then Deeply Interested) The Chapters

Relating To St. Peter And Jacob. I Do Not Know Whether The Nervous

Tension Which I Must Have Been Enduring Strengthened The Impression Made

Upon Me By What I Read, But I Remember Being Quite Absorbed By It, Which

I Think Was Curious, Because Certainly Such Subjects Of Meditation Were

Hardly Allied To The Painful Undertaking So Immediately Pressing Upon

Me. But I Believe I Felt Imperatively The Necessity Of Moderating My Own

Strong Nervous Emotion And Excitement By The Fulfillment Of My

Accustomed Duties And Pursuits, And Above All By Withdrawing My Mind

Into Higher And Serener Regions Of Thought, As A Respite And Relief From

The Pressure Of My Alternate Apprehensions Of Failure And Hopes Of

Success. I Do Not Mean That It Was At All A Matter Of Deliberate

Calculation Or Reflection, But Rather An Instinct Of Self-Preservation,

Which Actuated Me: A Powerful Instinct Which Has Struggled And Partially

Prevailed Throughout My Whole Life Against The Irregular And Passionate

Vehemence Of My Temperament, And Which, In Spite Of A Constant Tendency

To Violent Excitement Of Mind And Feeling, Has Made Me A Person Of

Unusually Systematic Pursuits And Monotonous Habits, And Been A Frequent

Subject Of Astonishment, Not Unmixed With Ridicule, To My Friends, Who

Have Not Known As Well As Myself What Wholesomeness There Was In The

Method Of My Madness. And I Am Persuaded That Religion And Reason Alike

Justify Such A Strong Instinctive Action In Natures Which Derive A

Constant Moral Support, Like That Of The Unobserved But All-Sustaining

Pressure Of The Atmosphere, From The Soothing And Restraining Influence

Of Systematic Habits Of Monotonous Regularity. Amid Infinite Anguish And

Errors, Existence May Preserve A Species Of Outward Symmetry And Harmony

From This Strong Band Of Minute Observance Keeping Down And Assisting

The Mind To Master Elements Of Moral And Mental Discord And Disorder,

For The Due Control Of Which The Daily And Hourly Subjection To

Recurring Rules Is An Invaluable Auxiliary To Higher Influences. The

External Practice Does Not Supply But Powerfully Supplements The

Internal Principle Of Self-Control.

 

My Mother, Who Had Left The Stage For Upward Of Twenty Years, Determined

To Return To It On The Night Of My First Appearance, That I Might Have

The Comfort And Support Of Her Being With Me In My Trial. We Drove To

The Theater Very Early, Indeed While The Late Autumn Sunlight Yet

Lingered In The Sky; It Shone Into The Carriage, Upon Me, And As I