I got--four first Chapters--makes me long for Night to hear more. That
return of Richie to his Master, and dear George Heriot's visit just
after! Oh, Sir Walter is not done for yet by Austens and Eliots. If one
of his Merits were not his _clear Daylight_, one thinks, there ought to
be Societies to keep his Lamp trimmed as well as--Mr. Browning. He is
The Newest Shakespeare Society of Mr. Furnivall.
The Air is so mild, though windy, that I can even sit abroad in the
Sunshine. I scarce dare ask about Donne; neither you, nor Mowbray--I
dare say I shall hear from the latter before Christmas. What you wrote
convinced me there was no use in going up only to see him--or little
else--so painful to oneself and so little cheering to him! I do think
that he is best among his own.
But I do not forget him--'No!'--as the Spaniards say. Nor you, dear Mrs.
Kemble, being your ancient Friend (with a new name) LITTLEGRANGE!
What would you say of the OEdipus, not of Sophocles, but of Dryden and
Nat Lee, in which your uncle acted!
P.S. You did not mention anything about your Family, so I conclude that
all is well with them, both in England and America.
I wish you would just remember me to Mr. H. Aide, who was very courteous
to me when I met him in your room.
This extra Paper is, you see, to serve instead of crossing my Letter.
XCVIII. {230}
[_Feb._ 1882.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:
This week I was to have been in London--for the purpose of seeing--or
offering to see--our dear Donne. For, when they told him of my offer, he
said he should indeed like it much--'if he were well enough.' Anyhow, I
can but try, only making him previously understand that he is not to make
any effort in the case. He is, they tell me, pleased with any such mark
of remembrance and regard from his old Friends. And I should have
offered to go before now, had I not judged from your last account of him
that he was better left with his Family, for his own sake, as well [as]
for that of his Friends. However, as I said, I should have gone up on
Trial even now, but that I have myself been, and am yet, suffering with
some sort of Cold (I think, from some indications, Bronchial) which would
ill enable me to be of any use if I got to London. I can't get warm, in
spite of Fires, and closed doors, so must wait, at any rate, to see what
another week will do for me.
I shall, of course, make my way to Queen Anne's, where I should expect to
find you still busy with your Proof-sheets, which I am very glad to hear
of as going on. What could have put it into my head even to think
otherwise? Well, more unlikely things might have happened--even with
Medes and Persians. I do not think you will be offended at my vain
surmises.
I see my poor little Aconites--'New Year's Gifts'--still surviving in the
Garden-plot before my window; 'still surviving,' I say, because of their
having been out for near a month agone. I believe that Messrs. Daffodil,
Crocus and Snowdrop are putting in appearance above ground: but (old
Coward) I have not put my own old Nose out of doors to look for them.
I read (Eyes permitting) the Correspondence between Goethe and Schiller
(translated) from 1798 to 1806 {231}--extremely interesting to me, though
I do not understand--and generally skip--the more purely AEsthetic Part:
which is the Part of Hamlet, I suppose. But, in other respects, two such
men so freely discussing together their own, and each other's, works
interest me greatly. At Night, we have The Fortunes of Nigel; a little
of it--and not every night: for the reason that I do not wish to eat my
Cake too soon. The last night but one I sent my Reader to see Macbeth
played by a little 'Shakespearian' company at a Lecture Hall here. He
brought me one new Reading--suggested, I doubt not, by himself, from a
remembrance of Macbeth's tyrannical ways: 'Hang out our _Gallows_ on the
outward walls.' Nevertheless, the Boy took great Interest in the Play;
and I like to encourage him in Shakespeare, rather than in the Negro
Melodists.
Such a long Letter as I have written (and, I doubt, ill written) really
calls for Apology from me, busy as you may be with those Proofs. But
still believe me sincerely yours
Though Laird of LITTLEGRANGE.
XCIX.
[_Feb._ 1882.]
MY DEAR LADY:--
The same Post which brought me your very kind Letter, brought me also the
enclosed.
The writer of it--Mr. Schutz Wilson--a _Litterateur general_--I
believe--wrote up Omar Khayyam some years ago, and, I dare say, somewhat
hastened another (and so far as I am concerned) final Edition. Of his
Mr. Terriss I did not know even by name, till Mr. Wilson told me. So now
you can judge and act as you see fit in the matter.
If Terriss and Schutz W. fail in knowing your London 'habitat,' you see
that the former makes amends in proposing to go so far as Cheltenham to
ask advice of you. Our poor dear Donne would have been so glad, and so
busy, in telling what he could in the matter--if only in hope of keeping
up your Father's Tradition.
I am ashamed to advert to my own little ailments, while you, I doubt not,
are enduring worse. I should have gone to London last week had I
believed that a week earlier or later mattered; as things are, I will not
reckon on going before next week. I want to be well enough to 'cut
about' and see the three friends whom I want to see--yourself among the
number.
Blakesley (Lincoln's Dean) goes to stay in London next week, and hopes to
play Whist in Weymouth Street.
Kegan Paul, etc., publish dear Spedding's 'Evenings,' {233} etc., and
never was Book more worth reading--and buying. I think I understand your
weariness in bringing out your Book: but many will be the Gainers:--among
them yours always
LITTLEG.
C.
[_Feb._ 1882.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:
I have quoted, and sent to Mr. Schutz Wilson, just thus much of your
Letter, leaving his Friend to judge whether it is sufficiently
encouraging to invite him to call on you. I suppose it is: but I thought
safest to give your _ipsissima verba_.
'It is so perfectly easy for any one in London to obtain my Address, that
I think I may leave the future Mercutio to do so at his leisure or
pleasure.'
I dare say you are pretty much indifferent whether he ventures or not; if
he does, I can only hope that he is a Gentleman, and if he be so, I do
not think you will be sorry to help him in trying to keep up your
Father's traditionary excellence in the part, and to save Mr. Terriss--to
save Mercutio--from the contagion of Mr. Irving's treatment of
Shakespeare--so far as I have seen of it--which is simply two acts of
Hamlet.
As I told you, I know nothing--even hitherto heard nothing of Mr.
Terriss. His friend, S. Wilson, I have never seen neither. And I hope
you will think I have done fairly well in my share of the Business.
Fanny Kerrich, my Niece, and a capital Woman, comes to me to-day, not
more for the purpose of seeing myself, than my Brother's Widow who lives
alone in a dismal place three miles off. {234a} I am still wheezy, and
want to get in order so as to visit my few friends in London next week.
{234b}
You see there is no occasion for you to answer this: for, even if I have
done amiss, it is past recall; and I am none the less ancient Friend
LITTLEG.!
CI.
[_March_, 1882.]
MY DEAR LADY,
It is very kind of you to break through your rule of Correspondence, that
you may tell me how it was with you that last Evening. I was aware of no
'stupidity' on your side: I only saw that you were what you called 'a
little tired, and unwell.' Had I known how much, I should of course have
left you with a farewell shake of hands at once. And in so far I must
blame you. But I blame myself for rattling on, not only then, but
always, I fear, in a manner that you tell me (and I thank you for telling
me) runs into occasional impertinence--which no length of acquaintance
can excuse, especially to a Lady. You will think that here is more than
enough of this. But pray do you also say no more about it. I know that
you regard me very kindly, as I am sure that I do you, all the while.
And now I have something to say upon something of a like account; about
that Mr. Schutz Wilson, who solicited an Introduction to you for his
Mercutio, and then proposed to you to avail _himself_ of it. That I
thought he had better have waited for, rather than himself proposed; and
I warned you that I had been told of his being somewhat of a 'prosateur'
at his Club. You, however, would not decline his visit, and would
encourage him, or not, as you saw fit.
And now the man has heaped coals of fire on my head. Not content with
having formerly appraised that Omar in a way that, I dare say, advanced
him to another Edition: he (S.W.) now writes me that he feels moved to
write in favour of another Persian who now accompanies Omar in his last
Avatar! I have told him plainly that he had better not employ time and
talent on what I do not think he will ever persuade the Public to care
about--but he thinks he will. {236} He may very likely cool upon it:
but, in the meanwhile, such are his good Intentions, not only to the
little Poem, but, I believe, to myself also--personally unknown as we are
to one another. Therefore, my dear Lady, though I cannot retract what I
told you on such authority as I had,--nevertheless, as you were so far
prejudiced in his favour because of such service as he formerly was to
me, I feel bound to tell you of this fresh offer on his part: so that, as
you were not unwilling to receive him on trial before, you may not be
less favourably disposed toward him now; in case he should call--which I
doubt not he will do; though be pleased to understand that I have no more
encouraged him to do so now than at first I did.
What a long Story!--I still chirp a little in my throat; but go my ways
abroad by Night as well as by Day: even sitting out, as only last night I
did. The S.W. wind that is so mild, yet sweeps down my garden in a way
that makes havoc of Crocus and Snowdrop; Messrs. Daffodil and Hyacinth
stand up better against it.
I hear that Lord Houghton has been partly paralysed; but is up again.
Thompson, Master of Trinity, had a very slight attack of it some months
ago; I was told Venables had been ill, but I know not of what, nor how
much; and all these my contemporaries; and I, at any rate, still yours as
ever
E. F.G.
CII.
LITTLEGRANGE: WOODBRIDGE,
_March_ 31, [1882.]
DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:--
It is not yet full Moon: {237a}--but it is my 74th Birthday: and you are
the only one whom I write to on that great occasion. A good Lady near
here told me she meant to pay me a visit of congratulation: and I begged
her to stay at home, and neither say, nor write, anything about it. I do
not know that [I] have much to say to you now that I am inspired; but it
occurred to me that you might be going away somewhere for Easter, and so
I would try to get a word from you concerning yourself before you left
London.
_The Book_? 'Ready immediately' advertised Bentley near a fortnight ago:
to-morrow's Academy or Athenaeum will perhaps be talking of it to-morrow:
of all which you will not read a word, I 'guess.' I think you will get
out of London for Easter, if but to get out of the way. Or are you too
indifferent even for that?
Satiated as you may have been with notices and records of Carlyle, do,
nevertheless, look at Wylie's Book {237b} about him: if only for a Scotch
Schoolboy's account of a Visit to him not long before he died, and also
the words of his Bequest of Craigenputtock to some Collegiate Foundation.
Wylie (of whom I did not read all, or half) is a Worshipper, but not a
blind one. He says that Scotland is to be known as the 'Land of Carlyle'
from henceforward. One used to hear of the 'Land of Burns'--then, I
think, 'of Scott.'
There is already a flush of Green, not only on the hedges, but on some of
the trees; all things forwarder, I think, by six weeks than last year.
Here is a Day for entering on seventy-four! But I do think,
notwithstanding, that I am not much the better for it. The Cold I had
before Christmas, returns, or lurks about me: and I cannot resolve on my
usual out-of-door liberty. Enough of that. I suppose that I shall have
some Company at Easter; my poor London Clerk, if he can find no more
amusing place to go to for his short Holyday; probably Aldis Wright, who
always comes into these parts at these Seasons--his 'Nazione' being
Beccles. Perhaps also a learned Nephew of mine--John De Soyres--now
Professor of some History at Queen's College, London, may look in.
Did my Patron, Mr. Schutz Wilson, ever call on you, up to this time? I
dare say, not; for he may suppose you still out of London. And, though I
have had a little correspondence with him since, I have not said a word
about your return--nor about yourself. I saw in my Athenaeum or Academy
that Mercutio did as usual. Have you seen the Play?
I conclude (from not hearing otherwise from Mowbray) that his Father is
much as when I saw him. I do not know if the Papers have reported
anything more of Lord Houghton, and I have not heard of him from my few
correspondents.
But pray do you tell me a word about Mrs. Kemble; and beg her to believe
me ever the same
E. F.G.
CIII.
[_Spring_, 1882.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
I scarce think, judging by my old Recorder the Moon, that it is a month
since I last wrote to you. But not far off, neither. Be that as it may,
just now I feel inclined to tell you that I lately heard from Hallam
Tennyson by way of acknowledgment of the Programme of a Recital of his
Father's verse at Ipswich, by a quondam Tailor there. This, as you may
imagine, I did for fun, such as it was. But Hallam replies, without much
reference to the Reading: but to tell me how his Father had a fit of Gout
in his hand while he was in London: and therefore it was that he had not
called on you as he had intended. Think of my dear old Fellow with the
Gout! In consequence of which he was forbidden his daily allowance of
Port (if I read Hallam's scrawl aright), which, therefore, the Old Boy
had stuck to like a fine Fellow with a constancy which few modern Britons
can boast of. This reminded me that when I was on my last visit to him,
Isle of Wight, 1854, he stuck to his Port (I do not mean too much) and
asked me, who might be drinking Sherry, if I did not see that his was
'the best Beast of the two.' So he has remained true to his old Will
Waterproof Colours--and so he was prevented from calling on you--his
hand, Hallam says, swelled up like 'a great Sponge.' Ah, if he did not
live on a somewhat large scale, with perpetual Visitors, I might go once
more to see him.
Now, you will, I know, answer me (unless your hand be like his!) and then
you will tell me how you are, and how your Party whom you were expecting
at Leamington when last you wrote. I take for granted they arrived safe,
in spite of the Wind that a little alarmed you at the time of your
writing. And now, in another month, you will be starting to meet your
American Family in Switzerland, if the Scheme you told me of still
hold--with them, I mean. So, by the Moon's law, I shall write to you
once again before you leave, and you--will once more answer!
I shall say thus much of myself, that I do not shake off the Cold and
Cough that I have had, off and on, these four months: I certainly feel as
if some of the internal timbers were shaken; which is not to be wondered
at, nor complained of. {241a} Tell me how you fare; and believe me
Your sincere as ancient
LITTLEGRANGE.
I now fancy that it must be Bentley who delays your Book, till Ballantine
& Co. have blown over. {241b}
CIV.
_Whitmonday_, [_May_ 29_th_, 1882.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
Not full moon yet, but Whitsun the 29th of May, {241c} and you told me of
your expecting to be in Switzerland. And when once you get there, it is
all over with full moons as far as my correspondence with you is
concerned.
I heard from Mowbray that his Father had been all but lost to him: but
had partially recovered. Not for long, I suppose: nor need I hope: and
this is all I will say to you on this subject.
I have now Charles Keene staying Whitsuntide with me, and was to have had
Archdeacon Groome to meet him; but he is worn out with Archidiaconal
Charges, and so cannot come. But C. K. and I have been out in Carriage
to the Sea, and no visitor, nor host, could wish for finer weather.
But this of our dear Donne over-clouds me a little, as I doubt not it
does you. Mowbray was to have come down for three days just now to a
Friend five miles off: but of course--you know.
Somehow I am at a loss to write to you on such airy topics as usual.
Therefore, I shall simply ask you to let me know, in as few lines as you
care to write, when you leave England: and to believe me, wherever you
go,
Your sincere Ancient
E. F.G.
CV.
WOODBRIDGE, _June_ 24, [1882.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
You wrote me that you had bidden Blanche to let you know about her
Father: and this I conclude that she, or some of her family have done.
Nevertheless, I will make assurance doubly sure by enclosing you the
letters I received from Mowbray, according to their dates: and will send
them--for once--through Coutts, in hopes that he may find you, as you
will not allow me to do without his help. Of that Death {243a} I say
nothing: as you may expect of me, and as I should expect of you also; if
I may say so.
I have been to pay my annual Visit to George Crabbe and his Sisters in
Norfolk. And here is warm weather come to us at last (as not unusual
after the Longest Day), and I have almost parted with my Bronchial
Cold--though, as in the old Loving Device of the open Scissors, 'To meet
again.' I can only wonder it is no worse with me, considering how my
contemporaries have been afflicted.
I am now reading Froude's Carlyle, which seems to me well done. Insomuch,
that I sent him all the Letters I had kept of Carlyle's, to use or not as
he pleased, etc. I do not think they will be needed among the thousand
others he has: especially as he tells me that his sole commission is, to
edit Mrs. Carlyle's Letters, for which what he has already done is
preparatory: and when this is completed, he will add a Volume of personal
Recollections of C. himself. Froude's Letter to me is a curious one: a
sort of vindication (it seems to me) of himself--quite uncalled for by
me, who did not say one word on the subject. {243b} The job, he says,
was forced upon him: 'a hard problem'--No doubt--But he might have left
the Reminiscences unpublisht, except what related to Mrs. C.--in spite of
Carlyle's oral injunction which reversed his written. Enough of all
this!
Why will you not 'initiate' a letter when you are settled for a while
among your Mountains? Oh, ye Medes and Persians! This may be
impertinent of me: but I am ever yours sincerely
E. F.G.
I see your Book advertised as 'ready.'
CVI. {245a}
[_August_, 1882.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
I have let the Full Moon {245b} go by, and very well she looked, too--over
the Sea by which I am now staying. Not at Lowestoft: but at the old
extinguished Borough of Aldeburgh, to which--as to other 'premiers
Amours,' I revert--where more than sixty years ago I first saw, and first
felt, the Sea--where I have lodged in half the houses since; and where I
have a sort of traditional acquaintance with half the population. 'Clare
Cottage' is where I write from; two little rooms--enough for me--a poor
civil Woman pleased to have me in them--oh, yes,--and a little spare
Bedroom in which I stow a poor Clerk, with his Legs out of the window
from his bed--like a Heron's from his nest--but rather more horizontally.
We dash about in Boats whether Sail or Oar--to which latter I leave him
for his own good Exercise. Poor fellow, he would have liked to tug at
that, or rough-ride a horse, from Boyhood: but must be made Clerk in a
London Lawyer's Office: and so I am glad to get him down for a Holyday
when he can get one, poor Fellow!
The Carlyle 'Reminiscences' had long indisposed me from taking up the
Biography. But when I began, and as I went on with that, I found it one
of the most interesting of Books: and the result is that I not only
admire and respect Carlyle more than ever I did: but even love him, which
I never thought of before. For he loved his Family, as well as for so
long helped to maintain them out of very slender earnings of his own;
and, so far as these two Volumes show me, he loved his Wife also, while
he put her to the work which he had been used to see his own Mother and
Sisters fulfil, and which was suitable to the way of Life which he had
been used to. His indifference to her sufferings seems to me rather
because of Blindness than Neglect; and I think his Biographer has been
even a little too hard upon him on the score of Selfish disregard of her.
Indeed Mr. Norton wrote to me that he looked on Froude as something of an
Iago toward his Hero in respect of all he has done for him. The
publication of the Reminiscences is indeed a mystery to me: for I should
[have] thought that, even in a mercantile point of view, it would
indispose others, as me it did, to the Biography. But Iago must have
bungled in his work so far as I, for one, am concerned, if the result is
such as I find it--or unless I am very obtuse indeed. So I tell Mr.
Norton; who is about to edit Carlyle's Letters to Emerson, and whom I
should not like to see going to his work with such an 'Animus' toward his
Fellow-Editor.
Yours always,
E. F.G.
Faites, s'il vous plait, mes petits Compliments a Madame Wister.
CVII. {247}
ALDEBURGH: _Sept._ 1, [1882.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,
Still by the Sea--from which I saw _The Harvest Moon_ rise for her three
nights' Fullness. And to-day is so wet that I shall try and pay you my
plenilunal due--not much to your satisfaction; for the Wet really gets
into one's Brain and Spirits, and I have as little to write of as ever
any Full Moon ever brought me. And yet, if I accomplish my letter, and
'take it to the Barber's,' where I sadly want to go, and, after being
wrought on by him, post my letter--why, you will, by your Laws, be
obliged to answer it. Perhaps you may have a little to tell me of
yourself in requital for the very little you have to hear of me.
I have made a new Acquaintance here. Professor Fawcett (Postmaster
General, I am told) married a Daughter of one Newson Garrett of this
Place, who is also Father of your Doctor Anderson. Well, the Professor
(who was utterly blinded by the Discharge of his Father's Gun some twenty
or twenty-five years ago) came to this Lodging to call on Aldis Wright;
and, when Wright was gone, called on me, and also came and smoked a Pipe
one night here. A thoroughly unaffected, unpretending, man; so modest
indeed that I was ashamed afterwards to think how I had harangued him all
the Evening, instead of getting him to instruct me. But I would not ask
him about his Parliamentary Shop: and I should not have understood his
Political Economy: and I believe he was very glad to be talked to
instead, about some of those he knew, and some whom I had known. And, as
we were both in Crabbe's Borough, we talked of him: the Professor, who
had never read a word, I believe, about him, or of him, was pleased to
hear a little; and I advised him to buy the Life written by Crabbe's Son;
and I would give him my Abstract of the Tales of the Hall, by way of
giving him a taste of the Poet's self.
Yes; you must read Froude's Carlyle above all things, and tell me if you
do not feel as I do about it. Professor Norton persists {248} in it that
I am proof against Froude's invidious insinuations simply because of my
having previously known Carlyle. But how is it that I did not know that
Carlyle was so good, grand, and even loveable, till I read the Letters,
which Froude now edits? I regret that I did not know what the Book tells
us while Carlyle was alive; that I might have loved him as well as
admired him. But Carlyle never spoke of himself in that way: I never
heard him advert to his Works and his Fame, except one day he happened to
mention 'About the time when Men began to talk of me.'
I do not know if I told you in my last that (as you foretold me would be
the case) I did not find your later Records so interesting as the
earlier. Not from any falling off of the recorder, but of the material.
The two dates of this Letter arise from my having written this second
half-sheet so badly that I resolved to write it over again--I scarce know
whether for better or worse. I go home this week, expecting Charles
Keene at Woodbridge for a week. Please to believe me (with Compliments
to Mrs. Wister)
Yours sincerely always
E. F.G.
CVIII. {249}
WOODBRIDGE: _Oct._ 17, [1882.]
MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,