Egertons'. I forget whether you knew that Horace Wilson [my kind friend
and connection, the learned Oxford Professor of Sanscrit, who to his
many important acquirements and charming qualities added the
accomplishments of a capital musician and first-rate amateur actor] has
been seriously indisposed, and so out of health and spirits as to have
declined the part of Master Walter, which he was to have taken in it.
This has been a great disappointment to me, for he would have done it
admirably, and as he is a person of whom I am very fond, it would have
been agreeable to me to have had him among us, and I should have
particularly liked him for so important a coadjutor. He failing us,
however, Knowles himself has undertaken to play the part, and I shall be
glad enough to do it with him again. I have a great deal of
compassionate admiration for poor Knowles, who, with his undeniable
dramatic genius, his bright fancy, and poetical imagination, will, I
fear, end his days either in a madhouse or a poorhouse. The characters
beside Sir Thomas Clifford and Modus (which you know are taken by Henry
Greville and ----) are filled by a pack of young Guardsmen, with whom I
dined, in order to make acquaintance, at Lady Francis's t'other day. Two
of them, Captain Seymour and a son of Sir Francis Coles, are
acquaintances of yours and your people.
You ask how I am amusing myself. Why, just as usual, which is well
enough. I am of too troubled a nature ever to lack excitement, and have
an advantage over most people in the diversion I am able to draw from
very small sources.
I went last night to the French play, to see a French actress called
Dejazet make her first appearance in London. The house was filled with
our highest aristocracy, the stalls with women of rank and character,
and the performance was, I think, one of the most impudent that I ever
witnessed. Dr. Whewell [the celebrated Master of Trinity] and Mrs.
Whewell were sitting near us, and left the theatre in the middle of
Dejazet's first piece--I suppose from sheer disgust. She is a marvellous
actress, and without exception the most brazen-faced woman I ever
beheld, and that is saying a great deal. Good-bye.
Ever your affectionate
FANNY.
HARLEY STREET, Saturday, May 14th, 1842.
MY DEAREST HAL,
On my return from Oatlands yesterday, I found no fewer than four letters
of yours, and this morning I have received a fifth.... I am most
thankful for all your details about Adelaide, who, of course, will not
have time to write to any of us herself.... Miss Rainsforth, her mother,
and their travelling manager, Mr. Callcott, are her whole party.... Miss
Rainsforth is a quiet, gentle, well-conducted, well-bred, amiable
person; Mr. Callcott is a son of the composer, and a nephew of our
friend Sir Augustus, and has the refinement of mind and manners which
one would look for in any member of that family.... I am very sorry that
Adelaide cannot see more of you, and you of her....
You ask whether it is a blessing or a curse not to provide one's own
means of subsistence. I think it is a great blessing to be able and
allowed to do so. But I dare say I am not a fair judge of the question,
for the feeling of independence and power consequent upon earning large
sums of money has very much destroyed my admiration for any other mode
of support; and yet certainly my _pecuniary_ position now would seem to
most people very far preferable to my former one; but having _earned_
money, and therefore most legitimately _owned_ it, I never can conceive
that I have any right to the money of another person.... I cannot help
sometimes regretting that I did not reserve out of my former earnings at
least such a yearly sum as would have covered my personal expenses; and
having these notions, which impair the comfort of _being maintained_, I
am sometimes sorry that I no longer possess my former convenient power
of coining. I do not think I should feel so uncomfortable about
inheriting money, though I had not worked for it; for, like any other
free gift, I think I should consider that legitimately my own, just like
any other present that was made me....
"The Hunchback" is to be acted at the Francis Egertons', in London,
though I do not very well see how; for Bridgewater House is in process
of rebuilding, and their present residence in Belgrave Square, though
large enough for all social purposes, is far from being well adapted to
theatrical ones; insomuch--or, rather, so little--that it is my opinion
we shall be in each other's arms, laps, and pockets throughout the
whole performance, which will be inconvenient, and in some of the
situations slightly indecorous.
I have received this morning, my dear, your notice of the "Sonnambula,"
for which we are all very grateful to you. Give my love to my sister. I
expected her success as a matter of course, and did not anticipate much
annoyance to her from her present mode of life, ... because I have known
her derive extreme amusement and diversion from circumstances and
associates that would have been utterly distasteful to me. Her love and
perception of the ridiculous is not only positive enjoyment, but a
protection from annoyance and a mitigation of disgust. My father desires
his love to you, and bids me thank you for your kindness in sending him
the newspapers. With regard to that last song in the "Amina," of which
you speak as of a _tour de force_, it is hardly so much so, in point of
fact, as her execution of the whole part, which is too high for her; and
though she sings it admirably in spite of that, she cannot give it the
power and expression that she would if it lay more easily in her voice.
This, however, is the case with other music that she sings, and the
consequence is that, though she has great execution, and power, and
sweetness, and finish in the use of her artificial voice, it wants the
spontaneous force in high music of a naturally high organ.
Pray, did you ever pity me as much as you do Adelaide in the exercise of
her profession? You certainly never expressed the same amount of
compassion for my strolling destinies, nor did I ever hear you lament in
this kind over the fate of John Kemble and Mrs. Siddons, both of whom
had impertinences addressed to them by your Dublin gallery humorists.
Pray, what is the meaning of this want of feeling on your part for _us
others_, or your excess of it for Adelaide? Is it only singing histrions
who appear to you objects of compassion? Good-bye, dearest Harriet. I
have to write to Emily, and to answer an American clergyman, a friend of
mine, who has written to me from Paris; and moreover, being rather in
want of money, I am about to endeavor to make practicable for the
English stage a French piece called "Mademoiselle de Belle Isle," which,
with certain vicious elements, has some very striking and effective
situations, and is, dramatically speaking, one of the most cleverly
constructed plays I have seen for a long while. Therefore, farewell. If
I could _earn_ L200 now, I should be glad.
HARLEY STREET, Thursday, May 19th, 1842.
Thank you, my dearest Harriet, for your long account of Adelaide. She
has written to my father, which I was very glad of.... Of course, I have
not expected to hear from her, but have been delighted to get all your
details. In her letter to my father, she says she gets on extremely well
with her companions, that they are gay and merry, and that her life with
them is pleasant and amuses her very much.
You do not ask me a single question about a single thing, and therefore
I will just tell you how matters in general go on with me. In the first
place, I heard yesterday that we are definitely to return to America in
August. Some attempt was made to renew our lease of this house for a few
months; but difficulties have arisen about it, and we shall probably
return to the United States as soon as possible after our lease expires.
I do not yet feel at all sure of the fulfilment of this intention,
however; but at any rate it is one point of apparent decision
indicated....
My feelings and thoughts about the return are far too numerous and
various to be contained in a letter. One thing I think--I feel sure
of--_that it is right_, and therefore I am glad we are to do it. My
father, to whom this intention has not yet been mentioned, is looking
wonderfully well, and appears to be enjoying his mode of life extremely.
He spends his days at Covent Garden, and finds even now, when the German
company are carrying on their _opera_tions there, enough to do to keep
him interested and incessantly busy within those charmed and charming
precincts. I am pretty well, though not in very good spirits; my life is
much more quiet and regular than when you were here, and I enjoy a
considerable portion of retiracy.
I have taken possession of Adelaide's little sitting-room, and inhabit
it all day, and very often till tea-time in the evening. Owing to our
day no longer being cut to pieces by our three-o'clock dinner (on
account of Adelaide), I do not run into arrears with my visits, and
generally, after discharging one or two recent debts of that sort, am
able to get an hour's walk in Kensington Gardens, and come home between
four and five o'clock.
We have not been out a great deal lately; we have taken, I am happy to
say, to discriminating a little among our invitations, and no longer
accept everything that offers.
I spent three delightful days at Oatlands, which is charming to me from
its own beauty and the association of the pleasure which I enjoyed there
in past years. The hawthorn was just coming into blossom, the wild
heaths and moors and commons were one sheet of deep golden gorse and
pale golden broom, and nothing could be lovelier than the whole aspect
of the country.
The day before yesterday I dined _tete-a-tete_ with Mademoiselle d'Este,
for whom I have taken rather a fancy, and who appears to have done the
same by me. Her position is a peculiar and trying one, combined with her
character, which has some striking and interesting elements. She is no
longer young, but has still much personal beauty, and that of an order
not common in England: very dark eyes, hair, and complexion, with a
freedom and liveliness of manner and play of countenance quite unusual
in Englishwomen.... She lives a great deal alone, and reads a great
deal, and thinks a little, and I feel interested in her. She has
sacrificed the whole comfort and, it appears to me, much of the possible
happiness of her life to her notion of being a princess, which, poor
thing! she is not; and as she will not be satisfied with, or even
accept, the position of a private gentlewoman, she is perpetually
obliged to devise means of avoiding situations, which are perpetually
recurring, in which her real rank, or rather _no_ rank, is painfully
brought home to her. This unfortunate pretension to princess-ship has
probably interfered vitally with her happiness, in preventing her
marrying, as she considers, below her birth [_i.e._ royally]; and as she
is a very attractive woman, and, I should judge, a person of strong
feelings and a warm, passionate nature, this must have been a
considerable sacrifice; though in marrying, to be sure, she might only
have realized another form of disappointment.
Yesterday we went to a fine dinner at Lord F----'s. He and his sisters
are good-natured young people of large fortune, whose acquaintance we
made at Cranford, and who are very civil and amiable in their
demonstrations of good-will towards us. A son of the Duke of Leinster
was at this dinner, and invited ---- to go with him this morning and
see Prince Albert review the Guards; which he has accordingly done.
To-night we go to Sydney Smith's, which I always enjoy exceedingly; and
for next week, I am happy to say, we have at present no engagements but
a dinner at the Francis Egertons', and another evening at Sydney
Smith's....
I believe I have now told you pretty much all I have to tell. I am
working at a translation of a French piece called "Mademoiselle de Belle
Isle," by which I hope to make a little money, with which I should be
very glad to pay Mademoiselle Devy's bill for my spring finery.
I went to Covent Garden the other day, to see if I could find anything
in the theatre wardrobe that I could make use of for "The Hunchback,"
and did find something; and, moreover, I think Adelaide will be able to
get her dress for Helen from there, though it seemed rather a doleful
daylight collection of frippery. My first dress I can make one of my own
white muslin ones serve for, my last I shall get beautifully out of my
Court costume; so that the three will only cost me the price of altering
them for the private theatrical occasion.
We met at Oatlands Mrs. G----, the mother of the Member for Dublin, who
has been preparing herself, by a twelve years' residence on the
Continent, for a plunge into savagedom, by a return to her home in
Connemara; and it was both comical and sad to hear her first launch out
upon the merits of the dear "wild Irish," and her desire to be among and
serviceable to "her people," and then, all in the same breath, declare
that the mere atmosphere of England and English society was enough to
kill any one with "the blue devils" who had ever been abroad; and this,
mind you, is the impression British existence makes upon her in the full
height of the gay London season. Fancy what she will find Connemara! She
knows you and your people, and gave me a most ardent invitation to the
savage Ireland where she lives. Poor woman! I pity her; her case is not
absolutely unknown to me, or quite without parallel in my own
experience.
Good-bye. God bless you.
Your affectionate
F. A. B.
HARLEY STREET.
This letter has been begun a week; it is now Saturday, May 28th, 1842.
MY DEAREST HARRIET,
Pray give my love to Mrs. Kemble, and tell her that the Queen Dowager
sent for me to go and pay her a visit yesterday. For goodness' sake,
Harriet, don't misunderstand me, I am only in joke! I live among such
very matter-of-fact persons that I really tremble for an hour after
every piece of nonsense I utter. You must observe by this that I am in a
painfully frequent state of trepidation; but what I meant by this
message to Mrs. Kemble is that I have been extremely amused at her
taking the trouble to write to Mrs. George Siddons to find out "all
about" my going to the Drawing-room, and the rumor which had reached her
of the Queen having desired to see me. George Siddons told me this
himself, and it struck me as such a funny interest in my concerns on the
part of Mrs. Kemble, who takes none whatever in _me_, that I thought I
would send her word of the piece of preferment which has occurred to me
since, viz. being sent for by the Queen Dowager, who desired my friend
Mademoiselle d'Este to bring me to call upon her. But what wonderful
gossip it does seem to be writing gravely round and round from
Leamington to London, and from London to Leamington, about!
You ask me how it fares with me. Why, busily and wearily enough. We have
had a perfect deluge of invitations lately, two or three thick of a
night....
We are going to-night to the Duchess of Sutherland's fancy ball at
Stafford House, which is to be a less formal, but not less magnificent,
show than the Queen's masque.
I have not begun to rehearse "The Hunchback" yet, for _I_ shall not
require many rehearsals; but one of our party attended the first this
morning, and said all the young amateurs promised very fairly, and that
Henry Greville did his part extremely well, which I am very glad to
hear. I have had but one visit from him since his return to town, when,
of course, he discussed Adelaide's plans with great zeal. He certainly
wishes very much that she should sing at the Opera, but his view of the
whole matter is so different from mine ... that we are not likely to
agree very well, even upon so general a point of discussion as her best
professional interests.
I am much concerned at your observations about her exhaustion and
hoarseness. I am so anxious that her present life should not be
prolonged, so anxious that she should realize her very moderate wishes
and leave it, that I cannot bear to think of any possible failure of her
precious gift from over-exertion.... I think, begging your pardon, you
talk some nonsense when you compare your existence, as an object of
rational pity, with my sister's. All other considerations set apart,
there are certain conditions of life, which are the result of peculiar
states and stages of society, that are indisputably less favorable for
the production of happiness, and the exercise of goodness also, than
others. Among these results of over-civilization are the careers of
public exhibitors of every description. In judging of their conduct or
character, we may make every allowance for the peculiar dangers of their
position, and the temptations of their peculiar gifts; but I confess I
am amazed at any woman who, sheltered by the sacred privacy of a home,
can envy the one or desire the other.
Dearest Harriet, this letter has lain so long unfinished, and I am now
so engulfed in all sorts of worry, flurry, hurry, row, fuss, bustle,
bother, dissipation and distraction, that it is vain hoping to add
anything intelligible to it. Good-bye, dearest.
Ever yours,
FANNY.
HARLEY STREET, May 29th, 1842.
DEAREST HARRIET,
This is Sunday, and, owing to my custom of neither paying visits nor
going to dinner or evening parties on "the first day of the week," I
look forward to a little leisure; though the repeated raps at the door
already this morning remind me that it will probably be interrupted
often enough to render it of little avail for any purpose of consecutive
occupation....
You ask me if I think of "taking to translating." My dear Harriet, if
you mean when I return to America, I shall take to nothing there but the
stagnant life I led there before, which, in the total absence of any
impulse from the external circumstances in which I live and the utter
absence of any interest in any intellectual pursuit in those with whom I
live, becomes absolutely inevitable; and so I think that, once again in
my Transatlantic home, I shall neither originate nor translate anything.
I have "taken to translating" "Mademoiselle de Belle Isle" because my
bill at Mademoiselle Devy's is L97, and I am determined _my brains_
shall pay it; therefore, also, I have given my father a ballet on the
subject of Pocahontas, and am preparing and altering "Mademoiselle de
Belle Isle" for Covent Garden, for both which pieces of work I hope to
get something towards my L97. Besides this, I have offered my "Review of
Victor Hugo" to John for the _British Quarterly Review_, of which he is,
you know, the editor--of course, telling him that it was written for an
American magazine--and he has promised me sixteen guineas for it if it
suits him. Besides this, I have offered Bentley the beginning of my
Southern journal, merely an account of our journey down to the
plantation.... Besides this, I have drawn up and sketched out, act by
act, scene by scene, and almost speech by speech, a play in five acts, a
sequel to the story of Kotzebue's "Stranger," which I hope to make a
good work of. Thus, you see, my brains are not altogether idle; and,
with all this, I am rehearsing "The Hunchback" with our amateurs, for
three and four hours at a time, attending to my own dresses and
Adelaide's (who will attend to nothing), returning, as usual, all the
visits, and going out to dinners and parties innumerable. This, you will
allow, is rather a double-quick-time sort of existence; but the
after-lull of the future will be more than sufficient for rest.
Alexandre Dumas is the author of "Mademoiselle de Belle Isle," and I was
led to select that piece to work upon, not so much from the interest of
the story, which is, however, considerable, as from the dramatic skill
with which it is managed, and the circumstances made to succeed each
other. There is, unfortunately, an insuperably objectionable incident in
it, which I have done my best to modify; but it is one of the most
ingeniously constructed pieces I have seen for a long time, and gives
admirable opportunities for good acting to almost every member of the
_dramatis personae_.
Mademoiselle d'Este has no right to the painful feeling of illegitimacy,
for her mother was her father's wife, and therefore she has not, what
indeed I can conceive to be, a bitter source of wounded pride and
incessant rational mortification. The Duke of Sussex married Lady
Augusta Murray, and that, I should think, might satisfy his daughter, in
spite of all the Acts of Parliament afterwards devised to restrict and
regulate royal marriages. Mademoiselle d'Este's is merely a perpetual
protest against an irreversible social decree, and an incessant,
unavailing struggle for the observance and respect conventionally due to
a rank which is _not_ hers; and though it appears to me as senseless a
cause of trouble as ever human being chose to accept, yet as incessant
bitterness and mortification and annoyance are its results for her, poor
soul! of course to her it is real enough, if not in itself, in the
results she gathers from it.
My dinner has intervened, my dear, since this last sentence, and,
moreover, a permission from my sister to inform you that _she is engaged
to be married_!...
You ask how Adelaide looks after her Dublin campaign. She looks better
now, in spite of all her fatigue, than she has done since her return
from Italy; her face looks almost fat, to which appearance, however, it
is in some degree helped by her hair being already in rehearsal for "The
Hunchback," falling in ringlets on each side of her head, which becomes
her very much....
I have heard from Elizabeth Sedgwick, and she concurs in the propriety
of my _not_ giving Mrs. Child my Southern journal. I shall say no more
upon that subject....
Good-bye, dearest Harriet. I look forward with anticipated refreshment
to a ride which I have some chance of getting to-morrow, and for which I
am really gasping. I got one ride this week, and the escort that came to
the door for me touched and flattered me not a little: old Lord Grey and
Lady G----, and his two grandsons, and Lord Dacre, and B---- S----, all
came up from their part of the town _to fetch me a ride_, which was a
great kindness on their part, and an honor, pleasure, and profit to me.
God bless you, dear. I feel, as Margery says, "in a kind of bewilder,"
but ever yours,
FANNY.
[My first meeting with Mademoiselle d'Este took place at Belvoir
Castle, where we were both on a visit to the Duke of Rutland, and
where my attention was drawn to the peculiarity of her conduct by my
neighbor at the dinner-table, who said to me, just after we had
taken our places, "Do you see Mademoiselle d'Este? She will do that
now every day while she remains here." Mademoiselle d'Este at this
moment entered the dining-room alone, and passed down the side of
the table with an inclination to the duke, and a half-muttered
apology about being late. This, it seems, was simply a pretence to
cover her determination not to give precedence to any of the women
in the house by being taken into dinner after them. The Duchesses of
Bedford and Richmond, the Countess of Winchelsea, and other women of
rank being then at the castle, Mademoiselle d'Este's pretensions
stood not the slightest chance of acknowledgment, and she took this
quite ineffectual way of protesting against her social position.
Everybody at Belvoir was sufficiently familiar with her to accept
these sort of proceedings on her part. To me they seemed more
undignified and wanting in real pride and self-respect than a quiet
acquiescence in the inevitable would have been. The conventional
distinction she demanded had been legally refused her, and it was
not in the power of the society to which she belonged to give it to
her, however much they might have felt inclined to pity her position
and excuse her resentment of it. But it was inconceivable to me that
she should not either withdraw absolutely from all society (which is
what I should have done in her place), or submit silently to an
injury against which all protest was vain, which renewed itself, in
some shape or other, daily, and which really involved no personal
affront to her or injustice to the character of her mother. I
thought she made a great mistake, which did not prevent my being
attracted by her; and while we were at Belvoir, and immediately
afterwards at Lord Willoughby's together, and subsequently on our
return to London, we had a good deal of familiar and friendly
intercourse with each other, in the course of which I had many
opportunities of observing the perpetual struggle she maintained
against what she considered the intolerable hardship of her
position.