itself to my Memory. Mrs. Frere of Cambridge used to sing it as she
could sing the Classical Ballad--to a fairly expressive tune: but there
is a movement (Trio, I think) in one of dear old Haydn's Symphonies
almost made for it. Who else but Haydn for the Pastoral! Do you
remember his blessed Chorus of 'Come, gentle Spring,' that open the
Seasons? Oh, it is something to remember the old Ladies who sang that
Chorus at the old Ancient Concerts rising with Music in hand to sing that
lovely piece under old Greatorex's Direction. I have never heard Haydn
and Handel so well as in those old Rooms with those old Performers, who
still retained the Tradition of those old Masters. Now it is getting
Midnight; but so mild--this October 4--that I am going to smoke one Pipe
outdoors--with a little Brandy and water to keep the Dews off. I told
you I had not been well all the Summer; I say I begin to 'smell the
Ground,' {83} which you will think all Fancy. But I remain while above
Ground
Yours sincerely
E. F.G.
XXXIII.
[_October_, 1875.]
DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
My last Letter asked you how and where I could get at your Papers; this
is to say, I have got them, thanks to the perseverance of our Woodbridge
Bookseller, who would not be put off by his London Agent, and has finally
procured me the three Numbers {84} which contain your 'Gossip.' Now
believe me; I am delighted with it; and only wish it might run on as long
as I live: which perhaps it may. Of course somewhat of my Interest
results from the Times, Persons, and Places you write of; almost all more
or less familiar to me; but I am quite sure that very few could have
brought all before me as you have done--with what the Painters call, so
free, full, and flowing a touch. I suppose this 'Gossip' is the Memoir
you told me you were about; three or four years ago, I think: or perhaps
Selections from it; though I hardly see how your Recollections could be
fuller. No doubt your Papers will all be collected into a Book; perhaps
it would have been financially better for you to have so published it
now. But, on the other hand, you will have the advantage of writing with
more freedom and ease in the Magazine, knowing that you can alter,
contract, or amplify, in any future Re-publication. It gives me such
pleasure to like, and honestly say I like, this work--and--I know I'm
right in such matters, though I can't always give the reason why I like,
or don't like, Dr. Fell: as much wiser People can--who reason themselves
quite wrong.
I suppose you were at School in the Rue d'Angouleme near about the time
(you don't give dates enough, I think--there's one fault for you!)--about
the time when we lived there: I suppose you were somewhat later, however:
for assuredly my Mother and yours would have been together often--Oh, but
your Mother was not there, only you--at School. We were there in 1817-
18--signalised by The Great Murder--that of Fualdes--one of the most
interesting events in all History to me, I am sorry to say. For in that
point I do not say I am right. But that Rue d'Angouleme--do you not
remember the house cornering on the Champs Elysees with some ornaments in
stone of Flowers and Garlands--belonging to a Lord Courtenay, I believe?
And do you remember a Pepiniere over the way; and, over that, seeing that
Temple in the Beaujon Gardens with the Parisians descending and ascending
in Cars? And (I think) at the end of the street, the Church of St.
Philippe du Roule? Perhaps I shall see in your next Number that you do
remember all these things.
Well: I was pleased with some other Papers in your Magazine: as those on
V. Hugo, {85a} and Tennyson's Queen Mary: {85b} I doubt not that
Criticism on English Writers is likely to be more impartial over the
Atlantic, and not biassed by Clubs, Coteries, etc. I always say that we
in the Country are safer Judges than those of even better Wits in London:
not being prejudiced so much, whether by personal acquaintance, or party,
or Fashion. I see that Professor Wilson said much the same thing to
Willis forty years ago.
I have written to Donne to tell him of your Papers, and that I will send
him my Copies if he cannot get them. Mowbray wrote me word that his
Father, who has bought the house in Weymouth Street, was now about
returning to it, after some Alterations made. Mowbray talks of paying me
a little Visit here--he and his Wife--at the End of this month:--when
what Good Looks we have will all be gone.
Farewell for the present; I count on your Gossip: and believe me (what it
serves to make me feel more vividly)
Your sincere old Friend
E. F.G.
XXXIV.
[Nov. 1875.]
DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
The Mowbray Donnes have been staying some days {86} with me--very
pleasantly. Of course I got them to tell me of the fine things in
London: among the rest, the Artists whose Photos they sent me, and I here
enclose. The Lady, they tell me--(Spedding's present Idol)--is better
than her Portrait--which would not have so enamoured Bassanio. Irving's,
they say, is flattered. But 'tis a handsome face, surely; and one that
should do for Hamlet--if it were not for that large Ear--do you notice? I
was tempted to send it to you, because it reminds me of some of your
Family: your Father, most of all, as Harlowe has painted him in that
famous Picture of the Trial Scene. {87a} It is odd to me that the fine
Engraving from that Picture--once so frequent--is scarce seen now: it has
seemed strange to me to meet People who never even heard of it.
I don't know why you have a little Grudge against Mrs. Siddons--perhaps
you will say you have not--all my fancy. I think it was noticed at
Cambridge that your Brother John scarce went to visit her when she was
staying with that Mrs. Frere, whom you don't remember with pleasure. She
did talk much and loud: but she had a fine Woman's heart underneath, and
she could sing a classical Song: as also some of Handel, whom she had
studied with Bartleman. But she never could have sung the Ballad with
the fulness which you describe in Mrs. Arkwright. {87b}
Which, together with your mention of your American isolation, reminds me
of some Verses of Hood, with which I will break your Heart a little. They
are not so very good, neither: but I, in England as I am, and like to be,
cannot forget them.
'The Swallow with Summer
Shall wing o'er the Seas;
The Wind that I sigh to
Shall sing in your Trees;
The Ship that it hastens
Your Ports will contain--
But for me--I shall never
See England again.' {88a}
It always runs in my head to a little German Air, common enough in our
younger days--which I will make a note of, and you will, I dare say,
remember at once.
I doubt that what I have written is almost as illegible as that famous
one of yours: in which however only [paper] was in fault: {88b} and now I
shall scarce mend the matter by taking a steel pen instead of that old
quill, which certainly did fight upon its Stumps.
Well now--Professor Masson of Edinburgh has asked me to join him and
seventy-nine others in celebrating Carlyle's eightieth Birthday on
December 4--with the Presentation of a Gold Medal with Carlyle's own
Effigy upon it, and a congratulatory Address. I should have thought such
a Measure would be ridiculous to Carlyle; but I suppose Masson must have
ascertained his Pleasure from some intimate Friend of C.'s: otherwise he
would not have known of my Existence for one. However Spedding and
Pollock tell me that, after some hesitation like my own, they judged best
to consent. Our Names are even to be attached somehow to a--White Silk,
or Satin, Scroll! Surely Carlyle cannot be aware of that? I hope
devoutly that my Name come too late for its Satin Apotheosis; but, if it
do not, I shall apologise to Carlyle for joining such Mummery. I only
followed the Example of my Betters.
Now I must shut up, for Photos and a Line of Music is to come in. I was
so comforted to find that your Mother had some hand in Dr. Kitchener's
Cookery Book, {89} which has always been Guide, Philosopher, and Friend
in such matters. I can't help liking a Cookery Book.
Ever yours
E. F.G.
No: I never turned my tragic hand on Fualdes; but I remember well being
taken in 1818 to the Ambigu Comique to see the 'Chateau de Paluzzi,'
which was said to be founded on that great Murder. I still distinctly
remember a Closet, from which came some guilty Personage. It is not only
the Murder itself that impressed me, but the Scene it was enacted in; the
ancient half-Spanish City of Rodez, with its River Aveyron, its lonely
Boulevards, its great Cathedral, under which the Deed was done in the
'Rue des Hebdomadiers.' I suppose you don't see, or read, our present
Whitechapel Murder--a nasty thing, not at all to my liking. The Name of
the Murderer--as no one doubts he is, whatever the Lawyers may
disprove--is the same as that famous Man of Taste who wrote on the Fine
Arts in the London Magazine under the name of Janus Weathercock, {90a}
and poisoned Wife, Wife's Mother and Sister after insuring their Lives.
De Quincey (who was one of the Magazine) has one of his Essays about this
wretch.
Here is another half-sheet filled, after all: I am afraid rather
troublesome to read. In three or four days we shall have another
Atlantic, and I am ever yours
E. F.G.
XXXV.
WOODBRIDGE: _Decr._ 29/75.
DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
You will say I am a very good Creature indeed, for beginning to answer
your Letter the very day it reaches me. But so it happens that this same
day also comes a Letter from Laurence the Painter, who tells me something
of poor Minnie's Death, {90b} which answers to the Query in your Letter.
Laurence sends me Mrs. Brookfield's Note to him: from which I quote to
you--no!--I will make bold to send you her Letter itself! Laurence says
he is generally averse to showing others a Letter meant for himself (the
little Gentleman that he is!), but he ventures in this case, knowing me
to be an old friend of the Family. And so I venture to post it over the
Atlantic to you who take a sincere Interest in them also. I wonder if I
am doing wrong?
In the midst of all this mourning comes out a new Volume of Thackeray's
Drawings--or Sketches--as I foresaw it would be, too much Caricature, not
so good as much [of] his old Punch; and with none of the better things I
wanted them to put in--for his sake, as well as the Community's. I do
not wonder at the Publisher's obstinacy, but I wonder that Annie T. did
not direct otherwise. I am convinced I can hear Thackeray saying, when
such a Book as this was proposed to him--'Oh, come--there has been enough
of all this'--and crumpling up the Proof in that little hand of his. For
a curiously little hand he had, uncharacteristic of the grasp of his
mind: I used to consider it half inherited from the Hindoo people among
whom he was born. {91}
I dare say I told you of the Proposal to congratulate Carlyle on his
eightieth Birthday; and probably some Newspaper has told you of the
Address, and the Medal, and the White Satin Roll to which our eighty
names were to be attached. I thought the whole Concern, Medal, Address,
and Satin Roll, a very Cockney thing; and devoutly hoped my own
illustrious name would arrive too late. I could not believe that Carlyle
would like the Thing: but it appears by his published Answer that he did.
He would not, ten years ago, I think. Now--talking of illustrious names,
etc., oh, my dear Mrs. Kemble, your sincere old Regard for my Family and
myself has made you say more--of one of us, at least--than the World will
care to be told: even if your old Regard had not magnified our lawful
Deserts. But indeed it has done so: in Quality, as well as in Quantity.
I know I am not either squeamishly, or hypocritically, saying all this: I
am sure I know myself better than you do, and take a juster view of my
pretensions. I think you Kembles are almost Donnes in your determined
regard, and (one may say) Devotion to old Friends, etc. A rare--a
noble--Failing! Oh, dear!--Well, I shall not say any more: you will know
that I do not the less thank you for publickly speaking of [me] as I
never was spoken of before--only _too_ well. Indeed, this is so; and
when you come to make a Book of your Papers, I shall make you cut out
something. Don't be angry with me now--no, I know you will not. {92}
The Day after To-morrow I shall have your new Number; which is a
Consolation (if needed) for the Month's going. And I am ever yours
E. F.G.
Oh, I must add--The Printing is no doubt the more legible; but I get on
very well with your MS. when not crossed. {94}
Donne, I hear, is fairly well. Mowbray has had a Lift in his Inland
Revenue Office, and now is secure, I believe, of Competence for Life.
Charles wrote me a kindly Letter at Christmas: he sent me his own Photo;
and then (at my Desire) one of his wife:--Both of which I would enclose,
but that my Packet is already bulky enough. It won't go off to-night
when it is written--for here (absolutely!) comes my Reader (8 p.m.) to
read me a Story (very clever) in All the Year Round, and no one to go to
Post just now.
Were they not pretty Verses by Hood? I thought to make you a little
miserable by them:--but you take no more notice than--what you will.
Good Night! Good Bye!--Now for Mrs. Trollope's Story, entitled 'A
Charming Fellow'--(very clever).
XXXVI.
WOODBRIDGE: _Febr_: 2/76.
Now, my dear Mrs. Kemble, I have done you a little good turn. Some days
ago I was talking to my Brother John (I dared not show him!) of what you
had said of my Family in your Gossip. He was extremely interested: and
wished much that I [would] convey you his old hereditary remembrances.
But, beside that, he wished you to have a Miniature of your Mother which
my Mother had till she died. It is a full length; in a white Dress, with
blue Scarf, looking and tending with extended Arms upward in a Blaze of
Light. My Brother had heard my Mother's History of the Picture, but
could not recall it. I fancy it was before your Mother's Marriage. The
Figure is very beautiful, and the Face also: like your Sister Adelaide,
and your Brother Henry both. I think you will be pleased with this: and
my Brother is very pleased that you should have it. Now, how to get it
over to you is the Question; I believe I must get my little Quaritch, the
Bookseller, who has a great American connection, to get it safely over to
you. But if you know of any surer means, let me know. It is framed: and
would look much better if some black edging were streaked into the Gold
Frame; a thing I sometimes do only with a strip of Black Paper. The old
Plan of Black and Gold Frames is much wanted where Yellow predominates in
the Picture. Do you know I have a sort of Genius for Picture-framing,
which is an Art People may despise, as they do the Milliner's: but you
know how the prettiest Face may be hurt, and the plainest improved, by
the Bonnet; and I find that (like the Bonnet, I suppose) you can only
judge of the Frame, by trying it on. I used to tell some Picture Dealers
they had better hire me for such Millinery: but I have not had much Scope
for my Art down here. So now you have a little Lecture along with the
Picture.
Now, as you are to thank me for this good turn done to you, so have I to
thank you for Ditto to me. The mention of my little Quaritch reminds me.
He asked me for copies of Agamemnon, to give to some of his American
Customers who asked for them; and I know from whom they must have somehow
heard of it. And now, what Copies I had being gone, he is going, at his
own risk, to publish a little Edition. The worst is, he _will_ print it
pretentiously, I fear, as if one thought it very precious: but the Truth
is, I suppose he calculates on a few Buyers who will give what will repay
him. One of my Patrons, Professor Norton, of Cambridge Mass., has sent
me a second Series of Lowell's 'Among my Books,' which I shall be able to
acknowledge with sincere praise. I had myself bought the first Series.
Lowell may do for English Writers something as Ste. Beuve has done for
French: and one cannot give higher Praise. {97a}
There has been an absurd Bout in the Athenaeum {97b} between Miss Glyn
and some Drury Lane Authorities. She wrote a Letter to say that she
would not have played Cleopatra in a revival of Antony and Cleopatra for
1000 pounds a line, I believe, so curtailed and mangled was it. Then
comes a Miss Wallis, who played the Part, to declare that 'the Veteran'
(Miss G.) had wished to play the Part as it was acted: and furthermore
comes Mr. Halliday, who somehow manages and adapts at D. L., to assert
that the Veteran not only wished to enact the Desecration, but did enact
it for many nights when Miss Wallis was indisposed. Then comes Isabel
forward again--but I really forget what she said. I never saw her but
once--in the Duchess of Malfi--very well: better, I dare say, than
anybody now; but one could not remember a Word, a Look, or an Action. She
speaks in her Letter of being brought up in the grand School and
Tradition of the Kembles.
I am glad, somehow, that you liked Macready's Reminiscences: so honest,
so gentlemanly in the main, so pathetic even in his struggles to be a
better Man and Actor. You, I think, feel with him in your Distaste for
the Profession.
I write you tremendous long Letters, which you can please yourself about
reading through. I shall write Laurence your message of Remembrance to
him. I had a longish Letter from Donne, who spoke of himself as well
enough, only living by strict Rule in Diet, Exercise, etc.
We have had some remarkable Alternations of Cold and Hot here too: but
nothing like the extremes you tell me of on the other side of the Page.
Lionel Tennyson (second Son), who answered my half-yearly Letter to his
father, tells me they had heard that Annie Thackeray was well in health,
but--as you may imagine in Spirits.
And I remain yours always
E. F.G.
How is it my Atlantic Monthly is not yet come?
XXXVII.
WOODBRIDGE: _Febr_: 17/76.
DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
I ought to have written before to apprise you of your Mother's Miniature
being sent off--by Post. On consideration, we judged that to be the
safest and speediest way: the Post Office here telling us that it was not
too large or heavy so to travel: without the Frame. As, however, our
Woodbridge Post Office is not very well-informed, I shall be very glad to
hear it has reached you, in its double case: wood within, and tin without
(quite unordered and unnecessary), which must make you think you receive
a present of Sardines. You lose, you see, the Benefit of my exalted
Taste in respect of Framing, which I had settled to perfection. Pray get
a small Frame, concaving inwardly (Ogee pattern, I believe), which leads
the Eyes into the Picture: whereas a Frame convexing outwardly leads the
Eye away from the Picture; a very good thing in many cases, but not
needed in this. I dare say the Picture (faded as it is) will look poor
to you till enclosed and set off by a proper Frame. And the way is, as
with a Bonnet (on which you know much depends even with the fairest
face), to try one on before ordering it home. That is, if you choose to
indulge in some more ornamental Frame than the quite simple one I have
before named. Indeed, I am not sure if the Picture would not look best
in a plain gold Flat (as it is called) without Ogee, or any ornament
whatsoever. But try it on first: and then you can at least please
yourself, if not the Terrible Modiste who now writes to you. My Brother
is very anxious you should have the Picture, and wrote to me again to
send you his hereditary kind Regards. I ought to be sending you his
Note--which I have lost. Instead of that, I enclose one from poor
Laurence to whom I wrote your kind message; and am as ever
Yours
E. F.G.
You will let me know if the Picture has not arrived before this Note
reaches you?
XXXVIII.
LOWESTOFT: _March_ 16/76.
DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
Directly that you mentioned 'Urania,' I began to fancy I remembered her
too. {100} And we are both right; I wrote to a London friend to look out
for the Engraving: and I post it to you along with this Letter. If it do
not reach you in some three weeks, let me know, and I will send another.
The Engraving stops short before the Feet: the Features are coarser than
the Painting: which makes me suppose that it (Engraving) is from the
Painting: or from some Painting of which yours is a Copy--(I am called
off here to see the Procession of Batty's Circus parade up the street)--
The Procession is past: the Clowns, the Fine Ladies (who should wear a
little Rouge even by Daylight), the 'performing' Elephants, the helmeted
Cavaliers, and last, the Owner (I suppose) as 'the modern Gentleman'
driving four-in-hand.
This intoxication over, I return to my Duties--to say that the Engraving
is from a Painting by 'P. Jean,' engraved by Vendramini: published by
John Thompson in 1802, and dedicated to the 'Hon. W. R. Spencer'--(who, I
suppose, was the 'Vers-de Societe' Man of the Day; and perhaps the owner
of the original: whether now yours, or not. All this I tell you in case
the Print should not arrive in fair time: and you have but to let me
know, and another shall post after it.
I have duly written my Brother your thanks for his Present, and your
sincere Gratification in possessing it. He is very glad it has so much
pleased you. But he can only surmise thus much more of its history--that
it belonged to my Grandfather before my Mother: he being a great lover of
the Theatre, and going every night I believe to old Covent Garden or old
Drury Lane--names really musical to me--old Melodies.
I think I wrote to you about the Framing. I always say of that, as of
other Millinery (on which so much depends), the best way is--to try on
the Bonnet before ordering it; which you can do by the materials which
all Carvers and Gilders in this Country keep by them. I have found even
my Judgment--the Great Twalmley's Judgment--sometimes thrown out by not
condescending to this; in this, as in so many other things, so very
little making all the Difference. I should not think that Black next the
Picture would do so well: but try, try: try on the Bonnet: and if you
please yourself--inferior Modiste as you are--why, so far so good.
Donne, who reports himself as very well (always living by Discipline and
Rule), tells me that he has begged you to return to England if you would
make sure of seeing him again. I told Pollock of your great Interest in
Macready: I too find that I am content to have bought the Book, and feel
more interest in the Man than in the Actor. My Mother used to know him
once: but I never saw him in private till once at Pollock's after his
retirement: when he sat quite quiet, and (as you say) I was sorry not to
have made a little Advance to him, as I heard he had a little wished to
see me because of that old Acquaintance with my Mother. I should like to
have told him how much I liked much of his Performance; asked him why he
would say 'Amen stu-u-u-u-ck in my Throat' (which was a bit of wrong, as
well as vulgar, Judgment, I think). But I looked on him as the great Man
of the Evening, unpresuming as he was: and so kept aloof, as I have ever
done from all Celebrities--yourself among them--who I thought must be
wearied enough of Followers and Devotees--unless those of Note.
I am now writing in the place--in the room--from which I wrote ten years
ago--it all recurs to me--with Montaigne for my Company, and my Lugger
about to be built. Now I have brought Madame de Sevigne (who loved
Montaigne too--the capital Woman!) and the Lugger--Ah, there is a long
sad Story about that!--which I won't go into--
Little Quaritch seems to have dropt Agamemnon, Lord of Hosts, for the
present: and I certainly am not sorry, for I think it would only have
been abused by English Critics: with some, but not all, Justice. You are
very good in naming your American Publisher, but I suppose it must be
left at present with Quaritch, to whom I wrote a 'Permit,' so long as I
had nothing to do with it.
Ever yours
E. F.G.
XXXIX.
[LOWESTOFT, _April_, 1876.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,