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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/21434-h.zip b/21434-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..842f527 --- /dev/null +++ b/21434-h.zip diff --git a/21434-h/21434-h.htm b/21434-h/21434-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..90017e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/21434-h/21434-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9127 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble (1871-1883)</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble (1871-1883), by Edward FitzGerald</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble +(1871-1883), by Edward FitzGerald, Edited by William Aldis Wright + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble (1871-1883) + + +Author: Edward FitzGerald + +Editor: William Aldis Wright + +Release Date: May 14, 2007 [eBook #21434] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD TO +FANNY KEMBLE (1871-1883)*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1902 Macmillan and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>LETTERS<br /> +<span class="smcap">of</span><br /> +EDWARD FITZGERALD<br /> +<span class="smcap">to</span><br /> +FANNY KEMBLE<br /> +1871-1883</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">edited +by</span><br /> +WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT</p> +<p style="text-align: center">London<br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">new +york</span>: <span class="smcap">the macmillan company</span><br +/> +1902</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page i--><a +name="pagei"></a><span class="pagenum">p. i</span><i>First +Edition</i> 1895<br /> +<i>Second Edition</i> 1902</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/pi.jpg"> +<img alt="Edward FitzGerald. From a photograph by Mess. Cade +& Wight, Ipswich" src="images/pi.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><!-- page ii--><a name="pageii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ii</span>Of the letters which are contained in the present +volume, the first eighty-five were in the possession of the late +Mr. George Bentley, who took great interest in their publication +in <i>The Temple Bar Magazine</i>, and was in correspondence with +the Editor until within a short time of his death. The +remainder were placed in the Editor’s hands by Mrs. Kemble +in 1883, and of these some were printed in whole or in part in +FitzGerald’s Letters and Literary Remains, which first +appeared in 1889.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Trinity College</span>, <span +class="smcap">Cambridge</span>,<br /> +20<i>th</i> <i>June</i> 1895.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/piib.jpg"> +<img alt="Frances Anne Kemble. Engraved by J. G. Stodart from +the original painting by Sully in the possession of the Hon. Mrs. +Leigh" src="images/piis.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD TO FANNY KEMBLE<br /> +1871-1883</h2> +<p>‘Letters . . . such as are written from wise men, are, +of all the words of man, in my judgment the +best.’—<span class="smcap">Bacon</span>.</p> +<p>The following letters, addressed by Edward FitzGerald to his +life-long friend Fanny Kemble, form an almost continuous series, +from the middle of 1871 to within three weeks of his death in +1883. They are printed as nearly as possible as he wrote +them, preserving his peculiarities of punctuation and his use of +capital letters, although in this he is not always +consistent. In writing to me in 1873 he said, ‘I love +the old Capitals for Nouns.’ It has been a task of +some difficulty to arrange the letters in their proper order, in +consequence of many of them being either not dated at all or only +imperfectly dated; but I hope I have succeeded in giving them, +approximately at <!-- page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 2</span>least, in their true sequence. +The notes which are added are mainly for the purpose of +explaining allusions, and among them will be found extracts from +other letters in my possession which have not been +published. The references to the printed +‘Letters’ are to the separate edition in the Eversley +Series, 2 vols. (Macmillans, 1894).</p> +<p>In a letter to Mr. Arthur Malkin, October 15, 1854 +(‘Further Records,’ ii. 193), Mrs. Kemble enunciates +her laws of correspondence, to which frequent reference is made +in the present series as the laws of the Medes and Persians: +‘You bid me not answer your letter, but I have certain +<i>organic laws</i> of correspondence from which nothing short of +a miracle causes me to depart; as, for instance, I never write +till I am written to, I always write when I am written to, and I +make a point of always returning the same amount of paper I +receive, as you may convince yourself by observing that I send +you two sheets of note-paper and Mary Anne only half one, though +I have nothing more to say to you, and I have to her.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right">WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT.</p> +<p><i>January</i> 1895.</p> +<h2><!-- page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>I.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>July</i> 4, [1871.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I asked Donne to tell you, if he found opportunity, that some +two months ago I wrote you a letter, but found it so empty and +dull that I would not send it to extort the Reply which you feel +bound to give. I should have written to tell you so myself; +but I heard from Donne of the Wedding soon about to be, and I +would not intrude then. Now that is over <a +name="citation3a"></a><a href="#footnote3a" +class="citation">[3a]</a>—I hope to the satisfaction of you +all—and I will say my little say, and you will have to +Reply, according to your own Law of Mede and Persian.</p> +<p>It is a shame that one should only have oneself to talk about; +and yet that is all I have; so it shall be short. If you +will but tell me of yourself, who have read, and seen, and done, +so much more, you will find much more matter for your pen, and +also for my entertainment.</p> +<p>Well, I have sold my dear little Ship, <a +name="citation3b"></a><a href="#footnote3b" +class="citation">[3b]</a> because I could not employ my Eyes with +reading in her Cabin, where I had nothing else to do. I +think those Eyes <!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 4</span>began to get better directly I had +written to agree to the Man’s proposal. Anyhow, the +thing is done; and so now I betake myself to a Boat, whether on +this River here, or on the Sea at the Mouth of it.</p> +<p>Books you see I have nothing to say about. The Boy who +came to read to me made such blundering Work that I was forced to +confine him to a Newspaper, where his Blunders were often as +entertaining as the Text which he mistook. We had +‘hangarues’ in the French Assembly, and, on one +occasion, ‘ironclad Laughter from the Extreme +Left.’ Once again, at the conclusion of the London +news, ‘Consolations closed at 91, ex Div.’—And +so on. You know how illiterate People will jump at a Word +they don’t know, and twist it in[to] some word they are +familiar with. I was telling some of these Blunders to a +very quiet Clergyman here some while ago, and he assured me that +a poor Woman, reading the Bible to his Mother, read off glibly, +‘Stand at a Gate and swallow a Candle.’ I +believe this was no Joke of his: whether it were or not, here you +have it for what you may think it worth.</p> +<p>I should be glad to hear that you think Donne looking and +seeming well. Archdeacon Groome, who saw him lately, +thought he looked very jaded: which I could not wonder at. +Donne, however, writes as if in good Spirits—brave Man as +he is—and I hope you will be able to tell me that he is not +so much amiss. He said that he was to be at the +Wedding.</p> +<p><!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>You will tell me too how long you remain in England; I +fancy, till Winter: and then you will go to Rome again, with its +new Dynasty installed in it. I fancy I should not like that +so well as the old; but I suppose it’s better for the +Country.</p> +<p>I see my Namesake (Percy) Fitzgerald advertizes a Book about +the Kembles. That I shall manage to get sight of. He +made far too long work of Garrick. I should have thought +the Booksellers did not find that pay, judging by the price to +which Garrick soon came down. Half of it would have been +enough.</p> +<p>Now I am going for a Sail on the famous River Deben, to pass +by the same fields of green Wheat, Barley, Rye, and Beet-root, +and come back to the same Dinner. Positively the only new +thing we have in Woodbridge is a Waxen Bust (Lady, of course) at +the little Hairdresser’s opposite. She turns slowly +round, to our wonder and delight; and I caught the little Barber +the other day in the very Act of winding her up to run her daily +Stage of Duty. Well; she has not got to answer Letters, as +poor Mrs. Kemble must do to hers always sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>II.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <span +class="smcap">Nov</span><sup>r</sup>. 2/71.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Is it better not to write at all than only write to plead that +one has nothing to say? Yet I <!-- page 6--><a +name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>don’t +like to let the year get so close to an end without reminding you +of me, to whom you have been always so good in the matter of +replying to my letters, as in other ways.</p> +<p>If I can tell you nothing of myself: no Books read because of +no Eyes to read them: no travel from home because of my little +Ship being vanished: no friends seen, except Donne, who came here +with Valentia for two days—<i>you</i> can fill a sheet like +this, I know, with some account of yourself and your Doings: and +I shall be very glad to hear that all is well with you. +Donne said he believed you were in Ireland when he was here; and +he spoke of your being very well when he had last seen you; also +telling me he thought you were to stay in England this +winter. By the by, I also heard of Mrs. Wister being at +Cambridge; not Donne told me this, but Mr. Wright, the Bursar of +Trinity: and every one who speaks of her says she is a very +delightful Lady. Donne himself seemed very well, and in +very good Spirits, in spite of all his domestic troubles. +What Courage, and Good Temper, and Self-sacrifice! Valentia +(whom I had not seen these dozen years) seemed a very sensible, +unaffected Woman.</p> +<p>I would almost bet that you have not read my Namesake’s +Life of your Namesakes, which I must borrow another pair of Eyes +for one day. My Boy-reader gave me a little taste of it +from the Athenæum; as also of Mr. Harness’ Memoirs, +<a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a> which I must get at.</p> +<p><!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>This is a sorry sight <a name="citation7"></a><a +href="#footnote7" class="citation">[7]</a> of a Letter:—do +not trouble yourself to write a better—that you must, in +spite of yourself—but write to me a little about yourself; +which is a matter of great Interest to yours always</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>III.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Nov.</i> 1871.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I ought to be much obliged to you for answering my last letter +with an uneasy hand, as you did. So I do thank you: and +really wish that you would not reply to this under any such pain: +but how do I know but that very pain will make you more +determined to reply? I must only beg you not to do so: and +thus wash <i>my</i> hands of any responsibilities in the +matter.</p> +<p>And what will you say when I tell you that I can hardly pity +one who suffers from Gout; though I would undoubtedly prefer that +you should be free from that, or any other ailment. But I +have always heard that Gout exempts one from many other miseries +which Flesh is heir to: at any rate, it almost always leaves the +Head clear: and that is so much! My Mother, who suffered a +good deal, used often to say how she was kept awake of nights by +the Pain in her feet, or hands, but felt so clear aloft that she +<!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>made Night pass even agreeably away with her reflections +and recollections.</p> +<p>And you have your recollections and Reflections which you are +gathering into Shape, you say, in a Memoir of your own +Life. And you are good enough to say that you would read it +to me if I—were good enough to invite you to my House here +some Summer Day! I doubt that Donne has given you too +flattering an account of my house, and me: you know he is pleased +with every one and everything: I know it also, and therefore no +longer dissuade him from spending his time and money in a flying +Visit here in the course of his Visits to other East Anglian +friends and Kinsmen. But I feel a little all the while as +if I were taking all, and giving nothing in return: I mean, about +Books, People, etc., with which a dozen years discontinuance of +Society, and, latterly, incompetent Eyes, have left me in the +lurch. If you indeed will come and read your Memoir to me, +I shall be entitled to be a Listener only: and you shall have my +Château all to yourself for as long as you please: only do +not expect me to be quite what Donne may represent.</p> +<p>It is disgusting to talk so much about oneself: but I really +think it is better to say so much on this occasion. If you +consider my circumstances, you will perhaps see that I am not +talking unreasonably: I am sure, not with sham humility: and that +I am yours always and sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p><!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>P.S. I should not myself have written so soon +again, but to apprise you of a brace of Pheasants I have sent +you. Pray do not write expressly to acknowledge +them:—only tell me if they don’t come. I know +you thank me. <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9" +class="citation">[9]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>IV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[27 <i>Feb.</i>, 1872.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Had I anything pleasant to write to you, or better Eyes to +write it with, you would have heard from me before this. An +old Story, by way of Apology—to one who wants no such +Apology, too. Therefore, true though it be there is enough +of it.</p> +<p>I hear from Mowbray Donne that you were at his Father’s +Lectures, <a name="citation10a"></a><a href="#footnote10a" +class="citation">[10a]</a> and looking yourself. So that is +all right. Are your Daughters—or one of +them—still with you? I do not think you have been to +see the Thanksgiving Procession, <a name="citation10b"></a><a +href="#footnote10b" class="citation">[10b]</a> for which our +Bells are even now ringing—the old Peal which I have known +these—sixty years almost—though at that time it +reached my Eyes (<i>sic</i>) through a Nursery window about two +miles off. From that window I remember seeing my Father +with another Squire <a name="citation10c"></a><a +href="#footnote10c" class="citation">[10c]</a> passing over the +Lawn with their little pack of Harriers—an almost +obliterated Slide of the old <!-- page 11--><a +name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>Magic +Lantern. My Mother used to come up sometimes, and we +Children were not much comforted. She was a remarkable +woman, as you said in a former letter: and as I constantly +believe in outward Beauty as an Index of a Beautiful Soul within, +I used sometimes to wonder what feature in her fine face betrayed +what was not so good in her Character. I think (as usual) +the Lips: there was a twist of Mischief about them now and then, +like that in—the Tail of a Cat!—otherwise so smooth +and amiable. I think she admired your Mother as much as any +one she knew, or had known.</p> +<p>And (I see by the Athenæum) Mr. Chorley is dead, <a +name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11" +class="citation">[11]</a> whom I used to see at your +Father’s and Sister’s houses. Born in 1808 they +say: so, one year older than yours truly E. F.G.—who, +however, is going to live through another page of +Letter-paper. I think he was a capital Musical Critic, +though he condemned Piccolomini, who was the last Singer I heard +of Genius, Passion, and a Voice that told both. I am told +she was no Singer: but that went some way to make amends. +Chorley, too, though an irritable, nervous creature, as his +outside expressed, was kind and affectionate to Family and +Friend, I always heard. But I think the Angels must take +care to keep in tune when he gets among them.</p> +<p>This is a wretched piece of Letter to extort the Answer which +you feel bound to give. But I somehow wished to write: and +not to write about myself; <!-- page 12--><a +name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>and so have +only left room to say—to repeat—that I am yours ever +sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>V.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[1872.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I set off with a Letter to you, though I do not very well know +how I am to go on with it. But my Reader has been so +disturbed by a Mouse in the room that I have dismissed +him—9½ p.m.—and he has been reading (so far as +he could get on) Hawthorne’s Notes of Italian Travel: which +interest me very much indeed, as being the Notes of a Man of +Genius who will think for himself independently of Murray +&c. And then his Account of Rome has made me think of +you more than once. We have indeed left off to-night at +Radicofani: but, as my Boy is frightened away by the Mouse, I +fancy I will write to you before I take my one Pipe—which +were better left alone, considering that it gives but half an +hour’s rather pleasant musing at the expense of a troubled +night. Is it not more foolish then to persist in doing this +than being frightened at a Mouse? This is not a mere fancy +of the Boy—who is not a Fool, nor a ‘Betty,’ +and is seventeen years old: he inherits his terror from his +Mother, he says: positively he has been in a cold Sweat because +of this poor little thing in the room: and yet he is the son of a +Butcher <!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 13</span>here. So I sent him home, and +write to you instead of hearing him read Hawthorne. He is +to bring some poisoned Wheat for the Mouse to-morrow.</p> +<p>Another Book he read me also made me think of you: Harness: +whom I remember to have seen once or twice at your Father’s +years ago. The Memoir of him (which is a poor thing) still +makes one like—nay, love—him—as a kindly, +intelligent, man. I think his latter letters very pleasant +indeed.</p> +<p>I do not know if you are in London or in your +‘Villeggiatura’ <a name="citation13a"></a><a +href="#footnote13a" class="citation">[13a]</a> in Kent. +Donne must decide that for me. Even my Garden and Fields +and Shrubs are more flourishing than I have yet seen them at this +time of Year: and with you all is in fuller bloom, whether you be +in Kent or Middlesex. Are you going on with your +Memoir? Pray read Hawthorne. I dare say you do not +quite forget Shakespeare now and then: dear old Harness, reading +him to the last!</p> +<p>Pray do you read Annie Thackeray’s new Story <a +name="citation13b"></a><a href="#footnote13b" +class="citation">[13b]</a> in Cornhill? She wrote me that +she had taken great pains with it, and so thought it might not be +so good as what she took less pains with. I doated on her +Village on the Cliff, but did not care for what I had read of +hers since: and this new Story I have not seen! And pray do +you doat on George Eliot?</p> +<p>Here are a few questions suggested for you to answer—as +answer I know you will. It is almost a <!-- page 14--><a +name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>Shame to put +you to it by such a piece of inanity as this letter. But it +is written: it is 10 p.m. A Pipe—and then to +Bed—with what Appetite for Sleep one may.</p> +<p>And I am yours sincerely always</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>VI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>June</i> 6, [1872].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Some little while ago I saw in a London Book Catalogue +‘Smiles and Tears—a Comedy by Mrs. C. +Kemble’—I had a curiosity to see this: and so bought +it. Do you know it?—Would you like to have it? +It seems to be ingeniously contrived, and of easy and natural +Dialogue: of the half sentimental kind of Comedy, as Comedies +then were (1815) with a serious—very serious—element +in it—taken from your Mother’s Friend’s, Mrs. +Opie’s (what a sentence!) story of ‘Father and +Daughter’—the seduced Daughter, who finds her +distracted Father writing her name on a Coffin he has drawn on +the Wall of his Cell—All ends happily in the Play, however, +whatever may be the upshot of the Novel. But an odd thing +is, that this poor Girl’s name is ‘Fitz +Harding’—and the Character was played by Miss Foote: +whether before, or after, her seduction by Colonel Berkeley I +know not. The Father was played by Young.</p> +<p><!-- page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>Sir Frederick Pollock has been to see me here for two +days, <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15" +class="citation">[15]</a> and put me up to much that was going on +in the civilized World. He was very agreeable indeed: and I +believe his Visit did him good. What are you going to do +with your Summer? Surely never came Summer with more +Verdure: and I somehow think we shall have more rain to keep the +Verdure up, than for the last few years we have had.</p> +<p>I am quite sure of the merit of George Eliot, and (I should +have thought) of a kind that would suit me. But I have not +as yet found an Appetite for her. I have begun taking the +Cornhill that I may read Annie Thackeray—but I have not +found Appetite for her as yet. Is it that one recoils from +making so many new Acquaintances in Novels, and retreats upon +one’s Old Friends, in Shakespeare, Cervantes, and Sir +Walter? Oh, I read the last as you have lately been +reading—the Scotch Novels, I mean: I believe I should not +care for the Ivanhoes, Kenilworths, etc., any more. But +Jeanie Deans, the Antiquary, etc., I shall be theirs as long as I +am yours sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>VII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>August</i> 9, [1872].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I think I shall hear from you once again before you go +abroad. To Rome! My Brother Peter <!-- page 16--><a +name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>also is going +to winter there: but you would not have much in common with him, +I think, so I say nothing of an Acquaintance between you.</p> +<p>I have been having Frederick Tennyson with me down here. <a +name="citation16a"></a><a href="#footnote16a" +class="citation">[16a]</a> He has come to England (from +Jersey where his home now is) partly on Business, and partly to +bring over a deaf old Gentleman who has discovered the Original +Mystery of Free-masonry, by means of Spiritualism. The +Freemasons have for Ages been ignorant, it seems, of the very +Secret which all their Emblems and Signs refer to: and the +question is, if they care enough for their own Mystery to buy it +of this ancient Gentleman. If they do not, he will shame +them by Publishing it to all the world. Frederick Tennyson, +who has long been a Swedenborgian, a Spiritualist, and is now +even himself a Medium, is quite grand and sincere in this as in +all else: with the Faith of a Gigantic Child—pathetic and +yet humorous to consider and consort with.</p> +<p>I went to Sydenham for two days to visit the Brother I began +telling you of: and, at a hasty visit to the Royal Academy, +caught a glimpse of Annie Thackeray: <a name="citation16b"></a><a +href="#footnote16b" class="citation">[16b]</a> who had first +caught a glimpse of me, and ran away from her Party to seize the +hands of her Father’s old friend. I did not know her +at first: was half overset by her cordial welcome when she told +me who she was; and made a blundering business of it +altogether. So much so, that I could not but <!-- page +17--><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>write +afterwards to apologize to her: and she returned as kind an +Answer as she had given a Greeting: telling me that my chance +Apparition had been to her as ‘A message from +Papa.’ It was really something to have been of so +much importance.</p> +<p>I keep intending to go out somewhere—if for no other +reason than that my rooms here may be cleaned! which they will +have it should be done once a year. Perhaps I may have to +go to my old Field of Naseby, where Carlyle wants me to erect a +Stone over the spot where I dug up some remains of those who were +slain there over two hundred years ago, for the purpose of +satisfying him in his Cromwell History. This has been a +fixed purpose of his these twenty years: I thought it had dropped +from his head: but it cropped up again this Spring, and I do not +like to neglect such wishes. Ever yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>VIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>April</i> 22, [1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>One last word about what you call my +‘Half-invitation’ to Woodbridge. In one sense +it is so; but not in the sense you imagine.</p> +<p>I never do invite any of my oldest Friends to come and see me, +am almost distressed at their proposing to do so. If they +take me in their way to, or from, elsewhere (as Donne in his +Norfolk Circuit) it is another matter.</p> +<p><!-- page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>But I have built a pleasant house just outside the Town, +where I never live myself, but keep it mainly for some Nieces who +come there for two or three months in the Summer: and, when they +are not there, for any Friends who like to come, for the Benefit +of fresh Air and Verdure, <i>plus</i> the company of their +Host. An Artist and his Wife have stayed there for some +weeks for the last two years; and Donne and Valentia were to have +come, but that they went abroad instead.</p> +<p>And so, while I should even deprecate a Lady like you coming +thus far only for my sake, who ought rather to go and ask +Admission at your Door, I should be glad if you liked to come to +my house for the double purpose aforesaid.</p> +<p>My Nieces have hitherto come to me from July to September or +October. Since I wrote to you, they have proposed to come +on May 21; though it may be somewhat later, as suits the health +of the Invalid—who lives on small means with her elder +Sister, who is her Guardian Angel. I am sure that no friend +of mine—and least of all you—would dissent from my +making them my first consideration. I never ask them in +Winter, when I think they are better in a Town: which Town has, +since their Father’s Death, been Lowestoft, where I see +them from time to time. Their other six sisters (one only +married) live elsewhere: all loving one another, +notwithstanding.</p> +<p>Well: I have told you all I meant by my +‘Half-Invitation.’ These N.E. winds are less +inviting than <!-- page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 19</span>I to these parts; but I and my House +would be very glad to entertain you to our best up to the End of +May, if you really liked to see Woodbridge as well as yours +always truly</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>P.S.—You tell me that, once returned to America, you +think you will not return ever again to England. But you +will—if only to revisit those at Kenilworth—yes, and +the blind Lady you are soon going to see in Ireland <a +name="citation19a"></a><a href="#footnote19a" +class="citation">[19a]</a>—and two or three more in England +beside—yes, and old England itself, ‘with all her +faults.’</p> +<p>By the by:—Some while ago <a name="citation19b"></a><a +href="#footnote19b" class="citation">[19b]</a> Carlyle sent me a +Letter from an American gentleman named Norton (once of the N. +American Review, C. says, and a most amiable, intelligent +Gentleman)—whose Letter enclosed one from Ruskin, which had +been entrusted to another American Gentleman named Burne +Jones—who kept it in a Desk ten years, and at last +forwarded it as aforesaid—to me! The Note (of +Ruskin’s) is about one of the Persian Translations: almost +childish, as that Man of Genius is apt to be in his Likes as well +as Dislikes. I dare say he has forgotten all about +Translator and Original long before this. I wrote to thank +Mr. Norton for</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Letter unfinished</i>.)</p> +<h2><!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>IX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>It is scarce fair to assail you on your return to England with +another Letter so close on that to which you have only just +answered—you who <i>will</i> answer! I wish you would +consider this Letter of mine an Answer (as it really is) to that +last of yours; and before long I will write again and call on you +then for a Reply.</p> +<p>What inspires me now is, that, about the time you were writing +to me about Burns and Béranger, I was thinking of them +‘which was the Greater Genius?’—I can’t +say; but, with all my Admiration for about a Score of the +Frenchman’s almost perfect Songs, I would give all of them +up for a Score of Burns’ Couplets, Stanzas, or single Lines +scattered among those quite <i>im</i>perfect Lyrics of his. +Béranger, no doubt, was The <i>Artist</i>; which still is +not the highest Genius—witness Shakespeare, Dante, +Æschylus, Calderon, to the contrary. Burns assuredly +had more <i>Passion</i> than the Frenchman; which is not Genius +either, but a great Part of the Lyric Poet still. What +Béranger might have been, if born and bred among Banks, +Braes, and Mountains, I cannot tell: Burns had that advantage +over him. And then the Highland Mary to love, amid the +heather, as compared to Lise the Grisette in a Parisian +Suburb! Some of the <!-- page 21--><a +name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>old French +Virelays and <i>Vaux-de-vire</i> come much nearer the Wild Notes +of Burns, and go to one’s heart like his; Béranger +never gets so far as that, I think. One knows he will come +round to his pretty <i>refrain</i> with perfect grace; if he were +more Inspired he couldn’t.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘My Love is like the red, red, Rose<br /> + That’s newly sprung in June,<br /> +My Love is like the Melody<br /> + That’s sweetly play’d in +tune.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and he will love his Love,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Till a’ the Seas gang Dry’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Yes—Till a’ the Seas gang dry, my Dear. And +then comes some weaker stuff about Rocks melting in the +Sun. All Imperfect; but that red, red Rose has burned +itself into one’s silly Soul in spite of all. Do you +know that one of Burns’ few almost perfect stanzas was +perfect till he added two Syllables to each alternate Line to fit +it to the lovely Music which almost excuses such a dilution of +the Verse?</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Ye Banks and Braes o’ bonnie Doon,<br +/> + How can ye bloom (so fresh) so fair?<br /> +Ye little Birds how can ye sing,<br /> + And I so (weary) full of care!<br /> +Thou’lt break my heart, thou little Bird,<br /> + That sings (singest so) upon the Thorn:<br /> +Thou minds me of departed days<br /> + That never shall return<br /> + (Departed never to) return.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>Now I shall tell you two things which my last Quotation +has recalled to me.</p> +<p>Some thirty years ago A. Tennyson went over Burns’ +Ground in Dumfries. When he was one day by +Doon-side—‘I can’t tell how it was, Fitz, but I +fell into a Passion of Tears’—And A. T. not given to +the melting mood at all.</p> +<p>No. 2. My friend old Childs of the romantic town of +Bungay (if you can believe in it!) told me that one day he +started outside the Coach in company with a poor Woman who had +just lost Husband or Child. She talked of her Loss and +Sorrow with some Resignation; till the Coach happened to pull up +by a roadside Inn. A ‘little Bird’ was singing +somewhere; the poor Woman then broke into Tears, and +said—‘I could bear anything but that.’ I +dare say she had never even heard of Burns: but he had heard the +little Bird that he knew would go to all Hearts in Sorrow.</p> +<p>Béranger’s Morals are Virtue as compared to what +have followed him in France. Yet I am afraid he partly led +the way. Burns’ very <i>Passion</i> half excused him; +so far from its being Refinement which Burke thought deprived +Vice of half its Mischief!</p> +<p>Here is a Sermon for you, you see, which you did not compound +for: nor I neither when I began my Letter. But I think I +have told you the two Stories aforesaid which will almost deprive +my sermon of half its Dulness. And I am now going to +transcribe <!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 23</span>you a <i>Vau-de-vire</i> of old +Olivier de Basselin, <a name="citation23a"></a><a +href="#footnote23a" class="citation">[23a]</a> which will show +you something of that which I miss in Béranger. But +I think I had better write it on a separate Paper. Till +which, what think you of these lines of Clément Marot on +the Death of some French Princess who desired to be buried among +the Poor? <a name="citation23b"></a><a href="#footnote23b" +class="citation">[23b]</a></p> +<p>[P.S.—These also must go on the Fly-leaf: being too +long, Alexandrine, for these Pages.]</p> +<p>What a Letter! But if you are still at your Vicarage, +you can read it in the Intervals of Church. I was surprised +at your coming so early from Italy: the famous Holy Week there is +now, I suppose, somewhat shorn of its Glory.—If you were +not so sincere I should think you were persiflaging me about the +Photo, as applied to myself, and yourself. Some years ago I +said—and now say—I wanted one of you; <!-- page +24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>and +if this letter were not so long, would tell you a little how to +sit. Which you would not attend to; but I should be all the +same, your long-winded</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Friend<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>X.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>May</i> 1, [1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I am very glad that you will be Photographed: though not by +the Ipswich Man who did me, there are no doubt many much better +in London.</p> +<p>Of course the whole Figure is best, if it can be artistically +arranged. But certainly the safe plan is to venture as +little as possible when an Artist’s hand cannot harmonize +the Lines and the Lights, as in a Picture. And as the Face +is the Chief Object, I say the safest thing is to sit for the +Face, neck, and Shoulders only. By this, one not only +avoids any conflict about Arms and Hands (which generally disturb +the Photo), but also the Lines and Lights of Chair, Table, +etc.</p> +<p>For the same reason, I vote for nothing but a plain +Background, like a Curtain, or sober-coloured Wall.</p> +<p>I think also that there should be no White in the Dress, which +is apt to be too positive for the Face. Nothing nearer +White than such material as (I think) Brussels Lace (?) of a +yellowish or even dirty hue; of which there may be a Fringe +between Dress and <!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 25</span>Skin. I have advised Men +Friends to sit in a—dirty Shirt!</p> +<p>I think a three-quarter face is better that a Full; for one +reason, that I think the Sitter feels more at ease looking +somewhat away, rather than direct at the luminous Machine. +This will suit you, who have a finely turned Head, which is +finely placed on Neck and Shoulders. But, as your Eyes are +fine also, don’t let them be turned too much aside, nor at +all downcast: but simply looking as to a Door or Window a little +on one side.</p> +<p>Lastly (!) I advise sitting in a lightly clouded Day; not in a +bright Sunlight at all.</p> +<p>You will think that I am preaching my own Photo to you. +And it is true that, though I did not sit with any one of these +rules in my head; but just as I got out of a Cab, etc., yet the +success of the Thing made me consider afterward why it succeeded; +and I have now read you my Lecture on the Subject. Pray do +not forgo your Intention—nay, your Promise, as I regard +it—to sit, and send me the result. <a +name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25" +class="citation">[25]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>Here has been a bevy of Letters, and long ones, from me, +you see. I don’t know if it is reasonable that one +should feel it so much easier to write to a Friend in England +than to the same Friend abroad; but so it is, with me at +least. I suppose that a Letter directed to Stoneleigh will +find you before you leave—for America!—and even after +that. But I shall not feel the same confidence and ease in +transcribing for you pretty Norman Songs, or gossiping about them +as I have done when my Letters were only to travel to Kenilworth: +which very place—which very name of a Place—makes the +English world akin. I suppose you have been at Stratford +before this—an event in one’s Life. It was not +the Town itself—or even the <!-- page 27--><a +name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>Church—that touched me most: but the old Footpaths +over the Fields which He must have crossed three Centuries +ago.</p> +<p>Spedding tells me he is nearing Land with his Bacon. And +one begins to think Macready a Great Man amid the Dwarfs that now +occupy his Place.</p> +<p>Ever yours sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>September</i> 18/73.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I have not forgotten you at all, all these months—What a +Consolation to you! But I felt I had nothing to send among +the Alps after you: I have been nowhere but for two Days to the +Field of Naseby in Northamptonshire, where I went to identify the +spot where I dug up the Dead for Carlyle thirty years ago. +I went; saw; made sure; and now—the Trustees of the Estate +won’t let us put up the Memorial stone we proposed to put +up; they approve (we hear) neither of the Stone, nor the +Inscription; both as plain and innocent as a Milestone, says +Carlyle, and indeed much of the same Nature. This Decision +of the foolish Trustees I only had some ten days ago: posted it +to Carlyle who answered from Dumfries; and his Answer shows that +he is in full vigour, though (as ever since I have known him) he +<!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>protests that Travelling has utterly discomfited him, +and he will move no more. But it is very silly of these +Trustees. <a name="citation28a"></a><a href="#footnote28a" +class="citation">[28a]</a></p> +<p>And, as I have been nowhere, I have seen no one; nor read +anything but the Tichborne Trial, and some of my old +Books—among them Walpole, Wesley, and Johnson (Boswell, I +mean), three very different men whose Lives extend over the same +times, and whose diverse ways of looking at the world they lived +in make a curious study. I wish some one would write a good +Paper on this subject; I don’t mean to hint that I am the +man; on the contrary, I couldn’t at all; but I could supply +some [one] else with some material that he would not care to hunt +up in the Books perhaps.</p> +<p>Well: all this being all, I had no heart to write—to the +Alps! And now I remember well you told me you [were] coming +back to England—for a little while—a little +while—and then to the New World for ever—which I +don’t believe! <a name="citation28b"></a><a +href="#footnote28b" class="citation">[28b]</a> Oh no! you +will come back in spite of yourself, depend upon it—and yet +I doubt that my saying so will be one little reason why you will +not! But do let me hear of you first: and believe me ever +yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>XII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, 1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>You must attribute this third Letter to an +‘<i>Idée</i>’ that has come into my head +relating to those Memoirs of yourself which you say you are at +some loss to dispose of. I can easily understand that your +Children, born and bred (I think) in another World, would not +take so much interest in them as some of your old Friends who +make part of your Recollections: as you yourself occupy much of +theirs. But then they are <i>old</i> Friends; and are not +their Children, Executors and Assigns, as little to be depended +on as your own Kith and Kin? Well; I bethink me of one of +your old Friends’ Children whom I could reckon upon for +you, as I would for myself: Mowbray Donne: the Son of one who you +know loves you of old, and inheriting all his Father’s +Loyalty to his Father’s Friends. I am quite convinced +that he is to be perfectly depended upon in all respects for this +purpose; for his Love, his Honour, and his Intelligence. I +should then make him one day read the Memoirs to me—for I +can’t be assured of my own Eyes interpreting your MS. +without so much difficulty as would disturb one’s +Enjoyment, or Appreciation, of such a Memoir. Unless indeed +you should one day come down yourself to my Château in dull +Woodbridge, and there read it over, and talk it over.</p> +<p><!-- page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>Well; this is what I seriously advise, always supposing +that you have decided not to print and publish the Memoir during +your Life. No doubt you could make money of it, beside +‘bolting up’ <a name="citation30"></a><a +href="#footnote30" class="citation">[30]</a> such Accident as the +Future comprehends. The latter would, I know, be the only +recommendation to you.</p> +<p>I don’t think you will do at all as I advise you. +But I nevertheless advise you as I should myself in case I had +such a Record as you have to leave behind me.—</p> +<p>Now once more for French Songs. When I was in Paris in +1830, just before that Revolution, I stopped one Evening on the +Boulevards by the Madeleine to listen to a Man who was singing to +his Barrel-organ. Several passing ‘Blouses’ had +stopped also: not only to listen, but to join in the Songs, +having bought little ‘<i>Libretti</i>’ of the words +from the Musician. I bought one too; for, I suppose, the +smallest French Coin; and assisted in the Song which the Man +called out beforehand (as they do Hymns at Church), and of which +I enclose you the poor little Copy. ‘<i>Le Bon +Pasteur</i>, s’il vous plait’—I suppose the +Circumstances: the ‘beau temps,’ the pleasant +Boulevards, the then so amiable People, all contributed to the +effect this Song had upon me; anyhow, it has constantly revisited +my memory for these forty-three years; and I was thinking, the +other day, touched me more than any of Béranger’s +most beautiful Things. This, however, <!-- page 31--><a +name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>may be only +one of ‘Old Fitz’s’ Crotchets, as Tennyson and +others would call them. <a name="citation31"></a><a +href="#footnote31" class="citation">[31]</a></p> +<p>I have been trying again at another Great +<i>Artist’s</i> work which I never could care for at all, +Goethe’s <i>Faust</i>, in Hayward’s Prose +Translation; Eighth Edition. Hayward quotes from Goethe +himself, that, though of course much of a Poem must evaporate in +a Prose Translation, yet the Essence must remain. Well; I +distinguish as little of that Essential Poetry in the Faust now +as when I first read it—longer ago than ‘<i>Le Bon +Pasteur</i>,’ and in other subsequent Attempts. I was +tempted to think this was some Defect—great Defect—in +myself: but a Note at the end of the Volume informs me that a +much greater Wit than I was in the same plight—even +Coleridge; who admires the perfect German Diction, the Songs, +Choruses, etc. (which are such parts as cannot be translated into +Prose); he also praises Margaret and Mephistopheles; but thinks +Faust himself dull, and great part of the Drama flat and +tiresome; and the whole Thing not a self-evolving Whole, but an +unconnected Series of Scenes: all which are parts that can be +<!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>judged of from Translation, by Goethe’s own +Authority. I find a great want of Invention and Imagination +both in the Events and Characters.</p> +<p>Gervinus’ Theory of Hamlet is very staking. +Perhaps Shakespeare himself would have admitted, without ever +having expressly designed, it. I always said with regard to +the Explanation of Hamlet’s Madness or Sanity, that +Shakespeare himself might not have known the Truth any more than +we understand the seeming Discords we see in People we know +best. Shakespeare intuitively imagined, and portrayed, the +Man without being able to give a +reason—<i>perhaps</i>—I believe in Genius doing this: +and remain your Inexhaustible Correspondent</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>Excuse this very bad writing, which I have gone over +‘with the pen of Correction,’ and would have wholly +re-written if my Eyes were not be-glared with the Sun on the +River. You need only read the first part about Donne.</p> +<h2>XIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Had you but written your Dublin Address in full, I should have +caught you before you left. As you did not, I follow your +Directions, and enclose to Coutts.</p> +<p><!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>You see which of the three Photos I prefer—and +very much prefer—by the two which I return: I am very much +obliged to you indeed for taking all the Trouble; and the Photo I +have retained is very satisfactory to me in every respect: as I +believe you will find it to be to such other Friends as you would +give a Copy to. I can fancy that this Photo is a fair one; +I mean, a fair Likeness: one of the full Faces was nearly as good +to me, but for the darkness of the Lips—that common default +in these things—but the other dark Fullface is very unfair +indeed. You must give Copies to dear old Donne, and to one +or two others, and I should like to hear from you [before you] +leave England which they prefer.</p> +<p>It was indeed so unlike your obstinate habit of +Reply—this last exception—that I thought you must be +ill; and I was really thinking of writing to Mr. Leigh to ask +about you—I have been ailing myself with some form of +Rheumatism—whether Lumbago, Sciatica, or what +not—which has made my rising up and sitting down especially +uncomfortable; Country Doctor quite incompetent, etc. But +the Heavenly Doctor, Phœbus, seems more +efficient—especially now he has brought the Wind out of +N.E.</p> +<p>I had meant to send you the Air of the Bon Pasteur when I sent +the words: I never heard it but that once, but I find that the +version you send me is almost identical with my Recollection of +it. There is little merit in the Tune, except the pleasant +resort <!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 34</span>to the Major at the two last +Verses. I can now hear the Organist’s <i>burr</i> at +the closing ‘Benira.’</p> +<p>I happened the other day on some poor little Verses <a +name="citation34a"></a><a href="#footnote34a" +class="citation">[34a]</a> which poor Haydon found of his poor +Wife’s writing in the midst of the Distress from which he +extricated himself so suddenly. And I felt how these poor +Verses touched me far more than any of +Béranger’s—though scarcely more than many of +Burns’. I know that the Story which they involve +appeals more to one’s heart than the Frenchman does; but I +am also sure that his perfect <i>Art</i> injures, and not +assists, the utterance of Nature. I transcribe these poor +Verses for you, as you may not have the Book at hand, and yet I +think you will thank me for recalling them to you. I find +them in a MS. Book I have which I call ‘Half Hours with the +Worst Authors,’ <a name="citation34b"></a><a +href="#footnote34b" class="citation">[34b]</a> and if People +would believe that I know what is good for them in these matters, +the Book would make a very good one for the Public. But if +People don’t see as I do by themselves, they wouldn’t +any the more for my telling them, not having any Name to bid +their Attention. So my Bad Authors must be left to my Heirs +and Assigns; as your Good Memoirs!</p> +<p><!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>On second Thoughts, I shall (in spite of your +Directions) keep two of the Photos: returning you only the +hateful dark one. That is, I shall keep the twain, unless +you desire me to return you one of them. Anyhow, do write +to me before you go quite away, and believe me always yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: +<i>Nov</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 18/73.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I should have written to you before, but that I was waiting +for some account, for better or worse, of our friend Donne; who +has been seriously ill this Fortnight and more. I +don’t know what his original Ailment was, unless a Cold; +but the Effect has been to leave him so weak, that even now the +Doctor fears for any Relapse which he might not be strong enough +to bear. He had been for a Visit to friends in the West of +England: and became ill directly he returned to London. You +may think it odd I don’t know what was his Illness; but +Mowbray, who has told me all I know, did not tell me that: and so +I did not ask, as I could do no good by knowing. Perhaps it +is simply a Decay, or Collapse, of Body, or Nerves—or even +Mind:—a Catastrophe which I never thought unlikely with +Donne, who has toiled and suffered so much, for others rather +than for himself; and keeping all his Suffering to himself. +He wrote <!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 36</span>me a letter about himself a week ago; +cheerful, and telling me of Books he read: so as no one would +guess he was so ill; but a Letter from Mowbray by the same Post +told me he was still in a precarious Condition. I had +wished to tell you that he was better, if not well: but I may +wait some time for that: and so I will write now:—with the +Promise that I will write again directly there is anything else +to tell.</p> +<p>Here my Reader comes to give me an Instalment of Tichborne: so +I shall shut up, perhaps till To-morrow.</p> +<p>The Lord Chief Justice and Co. have just decided to adjourn +the Trial for ten Days, till Witnesses arrive from your side of +the Atlantic. My Reader has just adjourned to some Cake and +Porter—I tell him not to hurry—while I go on with +this Letter. To tell you that, I might almost have well +adjourned writing ‘sine die’ (can you construe?), for +I don’t think I have more to tell you now. Only that +I am reading—Crabbe! And I want you to tell me if he +is read on that side of the Atlantic from which we are expecting +Tichborne Witnesses.</p> +<p>(Reader finishes Cake and Porter: and we now adjourn to +‘All the Year Round.’)</p> +<p>10 p.m. ‘All the Year Round’ read—part +of it—and Reader departed.</p> +<p>Pray do tell me if any one reads Crabbe in America; nobody +does here, you know, but myself; who bore about it. Does +Mrs. Wister, who reads many things? Does Mrs. Kemble, now +she has the Atlantic between her and the old Country?</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 37</span>‘Over the Forth I look to the +North,<br /> + But what is the North and its Hielands to me?<br /> +The North and the East gie small ease to my breast,<br /> + The far foreign land and the wide rolling +Sea.’ <a name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37" +class="citation">[37]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>I think that last line will bring the Tears into Mrs. +Kemble’s Eyes—which I can’t find in the +Photograph she sent me. Yet they are not extinguisht, +surely?</p> +<p>I read in some Athenæum that A. Tennyson was changing +his Publisher again: and some one told me that it was in +consequence of the resigning Publisher having lost money by his +contract with the Poet; which was, to pay him £1000 per +Quarter for the exclusive sale of his Poems. It was a +Woodbridge <i>Literati</i> who told me this, having read it in a +Paper called ‘The Publisher.’ More I know +not.</p> +<p>A little more such stuff I might write: but I think here is +enough of it. For this Night, anyhow: so I shall lick the +Ink from my Pen; and smoke one Pipe, not forgetting you while I +do so; and if nothing turns up To-morrow, here is my Letter done, +and I remaining yours always sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Nov.</i> 24, [1873].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>A note from Mowbray to-day says ‘I think I can report +the Father really on the road to recovery.’</p> +<p><!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>So, as I think you will be as glad to know this as I am, +I write again over the Atlantic. And, after all, you +mayn’t be over the Atlantic, but in London itself! +Donne would have told me: but I don’t like to trouble him +with Questions, or writing of any sort. If you be in +London, you will hear somehow of all this matter: if in America, +my Letter won’t go in vain.</p> +<p>Mowbray wrote me some while ago of the Death of your +Sister’s Son in the Hunting-field. <a +name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38" +class="citation">[38]</a> Mowbray said, aged thirty, I +think: I had no idea, so old: born when I was with Thackeray in +Coram Street—(<i>Jorum</i> Street, he called it) where I +remember Mrs. Sartoris coming in her Brougham to bid him to +Dinner, 1843.</p> +<p>I wrote to Annie Thackeray yesterday: politely telling her I +couldn’t relish her Old Kensington a quarter as much as her +Village on the Cliff: which, however, I doat on. I still +purpose to read Miss Evans: but my Instincts are against +her—I mean, her Books.</p> +<p>What have you done with your Memoirs? Pollock is about +to edit Macready’s. And Chorley—have you read +him? I shall devour him in time—that is, when Mudie +will let me.</p> +<p>I wonder if there are Water-cresses in America, as there are +on my tea-table while I write?</p> +<p>What do you think of these two lines which Crabbe didn’t +print?</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 39</span>‘The shapeless purpose of a +Soul that feels,<br /> +And half suppresses Wrath, <a name="citation39"></a><a +href="#footnote39" class="citation">[39]</a> and half +reveals.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>My little bit of Good News about our Friend is the only reason +and Apology for this Letter from</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours ever and always<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>Febr.</i> 10/74.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>A Letter to be written to you from the room I have written to +you before in: but my Letter must wait till I return to +Woodbridge, where your Address is on record. I have thought +several times of writing to you since this Year began; but I have +been in a muddle—leaving my old Markethill Lodgings, and +vacillating between my own rather lonely Château, and this +Place, where some Nieces are. I had wished to tell you what +I know of our dear Donne: who Mowbray says gets on still. I +suppose he will never be so strong again. Laurence wrote me +that he had met him in the Streets, looking thinner (!) with (as +it were) keener Eyes. That is a Portrait Painter’s +observation: probably a just one. Laurence has been +painting for me a Copy of Pickersgill’s Portrait of +Crabbe—but I am afraid has made some muddle of it, +according to his wont. I asked for a Sketch: he <!-- page +40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span><i>will</i> elaborate—and spoil. Instead of +copying the Colours he sees and could simply match on his +Palette, he <i>will</i> puzzle himself as to whether the Eyebrows +were once sandy, though now gray; and wants to compare +Pickersgill’s Portrait with Phillips’—which I +particularly wished to be left out of account. Laurence is +a dear little fellow—a Gentleman—Spedding said, +‘made of Nature’s very finest Clay.’ <a +name="citation40"></a><a href="#footnote40" +class="citation">[40]</a> So he is: but the most obstinate +little man—‘incorrigible,’ Richmond called him; +and so he wearies out those who wish most to serve and employ +him; and so has spoiled his own Fortune.</p> +<p>Do you read in America of Holman Hunt’s famous new +Picture of ‘The Shadow of Death,’ which he has been +some seven Years painting—in Jerusalem, and now exhibits +under theatrical Lights and accompaniments? This does not +induce me to believe in H. Hunt more than heretofore: which +is—not at all. Raffaelle, Mozart, Shakespeare, did +not take all that time about a work, nor brought it forth to the +world with so much Pomp and Circumstance.</p> +<p>Do you know Sainte Beuve’s Causeries? I think one +of the most delightful Books—a Volume of which I brought +here, and makes me now write of it to you. It is a Book +worth having—worth buying—for you can read it more +than once, and twice. And I have <!-- page 41--><a +name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>taken up Don +Quixote again: more Evergreen still; in Spanish, as it must be +read, I doubt.</p> +<p>Here is a Sheet of Paper already filled, with matters very +little worthy of sending over the Atlantic. But you will be +glad of the Donne news, at any rate. Do tell me ever so +little of yourself in return.</p> +<p>Now my Eyes have had enough of this vile steel pen; and so +have yours, I should think: and I will mix a Glass of poor Sherry +and Water, and fill a Pipe, and think of you while I smoke +it. Think of me sometimes as</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours always sincerely,<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>P.S. I shall venture this Letter with no further Address +than I remember now.</p> +<h2>XVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>May</i> +2/74.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>My Castle Clock has gone 9 p.m., and I myself am but half an +hour home from a Day to Lowestoft. Why I should begin a +Letter to you under these circumstances I scarce know. +However, I have long been intending to write: nay, actually did +write half a Letter which I mislaid. What I wanted to tell +you was—and is—that Donne is going <!-- page 42--><a +name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>on very well: +Mowbray thinks he may be pronounced +‘recovered.’ You may have heard about him from +some other hand before this: I know you will be glad to hear it +at any time, from any quarter.</p> +<p>This my Castle had been named by me ‘Grange Farm,’ +being formerly a dependency of a more considerable Château +on the hill above. But a fine tall Woman, who has been +staying two days, ordered me to call it ‘Little +Grange.’ So it must be. She came to meet a +little Niece of mine: both Annies: one tall as the other is +short: both capital in Head and Heart: I knew they would +<i>fadge</i> well: so they did: so we all did, waiting on +ourselves and on one another. Odd that I have another +tip-top Annie on my small list of Acquaintances—Annie +Thackeray.</p> +<p>I wonder what Spring is like in America. We have had an +April of really ‘magnifique’ Weather: but here is +that vixen May with its N.E. airs. A Nightingale however +sings so close to my Bedroom that (the window being open) the +Song is almost too loud.</p> +<p>I thought you would come back to Nightingale-land!</p> +<p>Donne is better: and Spedding has at last (I hear) got his +load of Bacon off his Shoulders, after carrying it for near Forty +years! Forty years long! A fortnight ago there was +such a delicious bit of his in Notes and Queries, <a +name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42" +class="citation">[42]</a> a Comment on some American Comment <!-- +page 43--><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>on a passage in Antony and Cleopatra, that I recalled my +old Sorrow that he had not edited Shakespeare long ago instead of +wasting Life in washing his Blackamoor. Perhaps there is +time for this yet: but is there the Will?</p> +<p>Pray, Madam, how do you emphasize the line—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘After Life’s fitful Fever he sleeps +well,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>which, by the by, one wonders never to have seen in some +Churchyard? What do you think of this for an +Epitaph—from Crabbe?—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Friend of the Poor—the +Wretched—the Betray’d,<br /> +They cannot pay thee—but thou shalt be paid.’ <a +name="citation43"></a><a href="#footnote43" +class="citation">[43]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is a poor Letter indeed to make you answer—<!-- +page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>as answer you will—I really only intended to tell +you of Donne; and remain ever yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>Pollock is busy editing Macready’s Papers.</p> +<h2>XVIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>June</i> 2/74.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Many a time have I written to you from this place: which may +be the reason why I write again now—the very day your +Letter reaches me—for I don’t know that I have much +to say, nor anything worth forcing from you the Answer that you +will write. Let me look at your Letter again. Yes: so +I thought of ‘<i>he</i> sleeps well,’ and yet I do +not remember to have heard it so read. (I never heard you +read the Play) I don’t think Macready read it so. I +liked his Macbeth, I must say: only he would say ‘Amen +st-u-u-u-ck in his throat,’ which was not only a blunder, +but a vulgar blunder, I think.</p> +<p>Spedding—I should think indeed it was too late for him +to edit Shakespeare, if he had not gone on doing so, as it were, +all his Life. Perhaps it is too late for him to remember +half, or a quarter, of his own Observations. Well then: I +wish he would record what he does remember: if not an Edition of +<!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>Shakespeare yet so many Notes toward an Edition. I +am persuaded that no one is more competent. <a +name="citation45a"></a><a href="#footnote45a" +class="citation">[45a]</a></p> +<p>You see your Americans will go too far. It was some +American Professor’s Note <a name="citation45b"></a><a +href="#footnote45b" class="citation">[45b]</a> on ‘the +Autumn of his Bounty’ which occasioned Spedding’s +delightful Comment some while ago, and made me remember my old +wish that he should do the thing. But he will not: +especially if one asks him.</p> +<p>Donne—Archdeacon Groome told me a Fortnight ago that he +had been at Weymouth Street. Donne better, but still not +his former Self.</p> +<p>By the by, I have got a Skeleton of my own at last: +Bronchitis—which came on me a month ago—which I let +go on for near three weeks—then was forced to call in a +Doctor to subdue, who kept me a week indoors. And now I am +told that, every Cold I catch, my Skeleton is to come out, +etc. Every N.E. wind that blows, etc. I had not been +shut up indoors for some fifty-five years—since Measles at +school—but I had green before my Windows, and Don Quixote +for Company within. <i>Que voulez-vous</i>?</p> +<p><!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>Shakespeare again. A Doctor Whalley, who wrote a +Tragedy for Mrs. Siddons (which she declined), proposed to her +that she should read—‘But screw your Courage to the +<i>sticking place</i>,’ with the appropriate action of +using the Dagger. I think Mrs. Siddons good-naturedly +admits there may be something in the suggestion. One reads +this in the last memoir of Madame Piozzi, edited by Mr. +Hayward.</p> +<p><i>Blackbird</i> v. <i>Nightingale</i>. I have always +loved the first best: as being so jolly, and the Note so proper +from that golden Bill of his. But one does not like to go +against received opinion. Your <i>Oriole</i> has been seen +in these parts by old—very old—people: at least, a +gay bird so named. But no one ever pretends to see him +now.</p> +<p>Now have you perversely crossed the Address which you desire +me to abide by: and I can’t be sure of your +‘Branchtown’? But I suppose that enough is +clear to make my Letter reach you if it once gets across the +Atlantic. And now this uncertainty about your writing +recalls to me—very absurdly—an absurd Story told me +by a pious, but humorous, man, which will please you if you +don’t know it already.</p> +<p><i>Scene</i>.—Country Church on Winter’s +Evening. Congregation, with the Old Hundredth ready for the +Parson to give out some Dismissal Words.</p> +<p><i>Good old Parson</i>, not at all meaning rhyme, ‘The +Light has grown so very dim, I scarce can see to read the +Hymn.’</p> +<p><!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span><i>Congregation</i>, taking it up: to the first half of +the Old Hundredth—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The Light has grown so very dim,<br /> +I scarce can see to read the Hymn.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>(Pause, as usual: <i>Parson</i>, mildly impatient) ‘I +did not mean to read a Hymn; I only meant my Eyes were +dim.’</p> +<p><i>Congregation</i>, to second part of Old +Hundredth:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I did not mean to read a Hymn;<br /> +I only meant my Eyes were dim.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Parson</i>, out of Patience, etc.:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I didn’t mean a Hymn at +all,—<br /> +I think the Devil’s in you all.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I say, if you don’t know this, it is worth your knowing, +and making known over the whole Continent of America, North and +South. And I am your trusty and affectionate old Beadsman +(left rather deaf with that blessed Bronchitis)</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>July</i> +21, [1874.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I must write to you—for I have seen Donne, and can tell +you that he looks and seems much better than I had expected, +though I had been told to <!-- page 48--><a +name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>expect well: +he was upright, well coloured, animated; I should say (<i>sotto +voce</i>) better than he seemed to me two years ago. And +this in spite of the new Lord Chamberlain <a +name="citation48a"></a><a href="#footnote48a" +class="citation">[48a]</a> having ousted him from his Theatrical +post, wanting a younger and more active man to go and see the +Plays, as well as read them. I do not think this unjust; I +was told by Pollock that the dismissal was rather abrupt: but +Donne did not complain of it. When does he complain? +He will now, however, leave Weymouth Street, and inhabit some +less costly house—not wanting indeed so large [a] one for +his present household. He is shortly going with his +Daughters to join the Blakesleys at Whitby. Mowbray was +going off for his Holiday to Cornwall: I just heard him speaking +of Freddy’s present Address to his father: Blanche was much +stronger, from the treatment of a Dr. Beard <a +name="citation48b"></a><a href="#footnote48b" +class="citation">[48b]</a> (I think). I was quite moved by +her warm salutation when I met her, after some fifteen +years’ absence. All this I report from a Visit I made +to Donne’s own house in London. A thing I scarce ever +thought to do again, you may know: but I could not bear to be +close to him in London for two days without assuring myself with +my own Eyes how he looked. I think I observed a slight +hesitation of memory: but certainly not so much as I find in +myself, nor, I suppose, unusual in one’s +Contemporaries. My visit to London <!-- page 49--><a +name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>followed a +visit to Edinburgh: which I have intended these thirty years, +only for the purpose of seeing my dear Sir Walter’s House +and Home: and which I am glad to have seen, as that of +Shakespeare. I had expected to find a rather Cockney +Castle: but no such thing: all substantially and proportionably +built, according to the Style of the Country: the Grounds well +and simply laid out: the woods he planted well-grown, and that +dear Tweed running and murmuring still—as on the day of his +Death. <a name="citation49a"></a><a href="#footnote49a" +class="citation">[49a]</a> I did not so much care for +Melrose, and Jedburgh, <a name="citation49b"></a><a +href="#footnote49b" class="citation">[49b]</a> though his Tomb is +there—in one of the half-ruined corners. Another day +I went to Trossachs, Katrine, Lomond, etc., which (as I expected) +seemed much better to me in Pictures and Drop-scenes. I was +but three days in Scotland, and was glad to get back to my own +dull flat country, though I did worship the Pentland, Cheviot, +and Eildon, Hills, more for their Associations than +themselves. They are not big enough for that.</p> +<p>I saw little in London: the Academy Pictures even below the +average, I thought: only a Picture by Millais of an old Sea +Captain <a name="citation49c"></a><a href="#footnote49c" +class="citation">[49c]</a> being read to by <!-- page 50--><a +name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>his Daughter +which moistened my Eyes. I thought she was reading him the +Bible, which he seemed half listening to, half rambling over his +past Life: but I am told (I had no Catalogue) that she was +reading about the North West Passage. There were three deep +of Bonnets before Miss Thompson’s famous Roll Call of the +Guards in the Crimea; so I did not wait till they fell away. <a +name="citation50a"></a><a href="#footnote50a" +class="citation">[50a]</a></p> +<p>Yours always</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>Aug.</i> 24, [1874.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Your letter reached me this morning: and you see I lose no +time in telling you that, as I hear from Pollock, Donne is +allowed £350 a year retiring Pension. So I think +neither he nor his friends have any reason to complain. His +successor in the office is named (I think) ‘Piggott’ +<a name="citation50b"></a><a href="#footnote50b" +class="citation">[50b]</a>—Pollock thinks a good +choice. Lord Hertford brought the old and the new Examiners +together to Dinner: and all went off well. Perhaps Donne +himself may have told you all this before now. He was to +be, about this time, with the Blakesleys at Whitby or +Filey. I have not heard any of these particulars from +himself: nothing indeed since I saw him in London.</p> +<p>Pollock was puzzled by an entry in Macready’s <!-- page +51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>Journal—1831 or 1832—‘Received +Thackeray’s Tragedy’ with some such name as +‘Retribution.’ I told Pollock I was sure it was +not W. M. T., who (especially at that time) had more turn to +burlesque than real Tragedy: and sure that he would have told me +of it then, whether accepted or rejected—as rejected it +was. Pollock thought for some while that, in spite of the +comic Appearance we keep up, we should each of us rise up from +the Grave with a MS. Tragedy in our hands, etc. However, he +has become assured it was some other Thackeray: I suppose one +mentioned by Planché as a Dramatic +<i>Dilettante</i>—of the same Family, I think, as W. M. +T.</p> +<p>Spedding has sent me the concluding Volume of his Bacon: the +final summing up simple, noble, deeply pathetic—rather on +Spedding’s own Account than his Hero’s, for whose +Vindication so little has been done by the sacrifice of forty +years of such a Life as Spedding’s. Positively, +nearly all the new matter which S. has produced makes against, +rather than for, Bacon: and I do think the case would have stood +better if Spedding had only argued from the old materials, and +summed up his Vindication in one small Volume some thirty-five +years ago.</p> +<p>I have been sunning myself in Dickens—even in his later +and very inferior ‘Mutual Friend,’ and ‘Great +Expectations’—Very inferior to his best: but with +things better than any one else’s best, caricature as they +may be. I really must go and worship at Gadshill, as I have +worshipped at Abbotsford, though <!-- page 52--><a +name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>with less +Reverence, to be sure. But I must look on Dickens as a +mighty Benefactor to Mankind. <a name="citation52"></a><a +href="#footnote52" class="citation">[52]</a></p> +<p>This is shamefully bad writing of mine—very bad manners, +to put any one—especially a Lady—to the trouble and +pain of deciphering. I hope all about Donne is legible, for +you will be glad of it. It is Lodging-house Pens and Ink +that is partly to blame for this scrawl. Now, don’t +answer till I write you something better: but believe me ever and +always yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XXI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>October</i> 4/74.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Do, pray, write your Macready (Thackeray used to say +‘Megreedy’) Story to Pollock: Sir F. 59 Montagu +Square. I rather think he was to be going to Press with his +Megreedy about this time: but you may be sure he will deal with +whatever you may confide to him discreetly and reverently. +It is ‘Miladi’ P. who worshipped Macready: and I +think I never recovered what Esteem I had with her when I told +her I could not look on him as a ‘Great’ Actor at +all. I see in Planché’s Memoirs that when your +Father prophesied great things of him to your Uncle J. P. K., the +latter said, ‘<i>Con quello viso</i>?’ which +‘<i>viso</i>’ did very well however in parts not +positively heroic. But one can’t think of <!-- page +53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>him +along with Kean, who was heroic in spite of undersize. How +he swelled up in Othello! I remember thinking he looked +almost as tall as your Father when he came to Silence that +dreadful Bell.</p> +<p>I think you agree with me about Kean: remembering your really +capital Paper—in <i>Macmillan</i> <a +name="citation53a"></a><a href="#footnote53a" +class="citation">[53a]</a>—about Dramatic and +Theatric. I often look to that Paper, which is bound up +with some Essays by other Friends—Spedding among +them—no bad Company. I was thinking of your Pasta +story of ‘feeling’ the Antique, etc., <a +name="citation53b"></a><a href="#footnote53b" +class="citation">[53b]</a> when reading in my dear Ste. Beuve <a +name="citation53c"></a><a href="#footnote53c" +class="citation">[53c]</a> of my dear Madame du Deffand asking +Madame de Choiseul: ‘You <i>know</i> you love me, but do +you <i>feel</i> you love me?’ ‘<i>Quoi</i>? +<i>vous m’aimez donc</i>?’ she said to her secretary +Wiart, when she heard him sobbing as she dictated her last letter +to Walpole. <a name="citation53d"></a><a href="#footnote53d" +class="citation">[53d]</a></p> +<p>All which reminds me of one of your friends +departed—Chorley—whose Memoirs one now buys from +Mudie for 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> or so. And +well—<i>well</i>—worth to those who recollect +him. I only knew him by Face—and Voice—at your +Father’s, and your <!-- page 54--><a +name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>Sister’s: and used to think what a little waspish +<i>Dilettante</i> it was: and now I see he was something very +much better indeed: and I only hope I may have Courage to face my +Death as he had. Dickens loved him, who did not love +Humbugs: and Chorley would have two strips of Gadshill Yew <a +name="citation54"></a><a href="#footnote54" +class="citation">[54]</a> put with him in his Coffin. Which +again reminds me that—<i>à propos</i> of your +comments on Dickens’ crimson waistcoat, etc., Thackeray +told me thirty years ago, that Dickens did it, not from any idea +of Cockney fashion: but from a veritable passion for +Colours—which I can well sympathize with, though I should +not exhibit them on my own Person—for very good +reasons. Which again reminds me of what you write about my +abiding the sight of you in case you return to England next +year. Oh, my dear Mrs. Kemble, you must know how wrong all +that is—<i>tout au contraire</i>, in fact. Tell me a +word about Chorley when next you write: you said once that +Mendelssohn laughed at him: then, he ought not. How well I +remember his strumming away at some Waltz in Harley or +Wimpole’s endless Street, while your Sister and a few other +Guests went round. I thought then he looked at one as if +thinking ‘Do you think me then—a poor, red-headed +Amateur, as Rogers does?’ That old Beast! I +don’t scruple to say so.</p> +<p>I am positively looking over my everlasting Crabbe again: he +naturally comes in about the Fall of the <!-- page 55--><a +name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>Year. +Do you remember his wonderful ‘October Day’? <a +name="citation55"></a><a href="#footnote55" +class="citation">[55]</a></p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Before +the Autumn closed,<br /> +When Nature, ere her Winter Wars, reposed<br /> +When from our Garden, as we looked above,<br /> +No Cloud was seen; and nothing seem’d to move;<br /> +When the wide River was a Silver Sheet,<br /> +And upon Ocean slept the unanchor’d fleet:<br /> +When the wing’d Insect settled in our Sight,<br /> +And waited Wind to recommence her flight.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And then, the Lady who believes her young Lover dead, and has +vowed eternal Celibacy, sees him advancing, a portly, well to do, +middle aged man: and swears she won’t have him: and does +have him, etc.</p> +<p>Which reminds me that I want you to tell me if people in +America read Crabbe.</p> +<p>Farewell, dear Mrs. Kemble, for the present: always yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>Have you the Robin in America? One is singing in the +little bit Garden before me now.</p> +<h2>XXII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">59 <span class="smcap">Montagu +square</span>, <span class="smcap">London</span>, W.<br /> +5 <i>Oct.</i>/74.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Fitz</span>,</p> +<p>It is very good of Mrs. Kemble to wish to <!-- page 56--><a +name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>tell me a +story about Macready, and I shall be glad to know it.</p> +<p>Only—she should know that I am not writing his +life—but editing his autobiographical reminiscences and +diaries—and unless the anecdote could be introduced to +explain or illustrate these, it would not be serviceable for my +present purpose.</p> +<p>But for its own sake and for Macready’s I should like to +be made acquainted with it.</p> +<p>I am making rapid way with the printing—in fact have got +to the end of what will be Vol. I. in slip—so that I hope +the work may be out by or soon after Christmas, if the engravings +are also ready by that time.</p> +<p>It will be, I am sure, most interesting—and will +surprise a great many people who did not at all know what +Macready really was.</p> +<p>You last heard of me at Clovelly—where we spent a +delightful month—more rain than was pleasant—but on +the whole charming. I think I told you that Annie Thackeray +was there for a night—and that we bound her over not to +make the reading public too well acquainted with the place, which +would not be good for it.</p> +<p>Since then—a fortnight at St. Julians—and the same +time at Tunbridge Wells—I coming up to town three times a +week—</p> +<blockquote><p>Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis, <a +name="citation56"></a><a href="#footnote56" +class="citation">[56]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>and as there are other points of resemblance—so it +is natural that the Gates of Justice should be open even during +the Vacation—just a little ajar—with somebody to look +after it, which somebody it has been my lot to be this year.</p> +<p>T. Wells was very pleasant—I like the old-fashioned +place—and can always people the Pantiles (they call it the +Parade now) with Dr. Johnson and the Duchess of Kingston, and the +Bishop of Salisbury and the foreign baron, and the rest. <a +name="citation57a"></a><a href="#footnote57a" +class="citation">[57a]</a></p> +<p>Miladi and Walter are at Paris for a few days. I am +keeping house with Maurice—Yours, W. F. P<sup>k</sup>.</p> +<p>We have J. S.’s <a name="citation57b"></a><a +href="#footnote57b" class="citation">[57b]</a> seventh +volume—and I am going to read it—but do not know +where he is himself. I have not seen the ‘white, +round object—which is the head of him’ for some time +past—not since—July.—</p> +<h2>XXIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: +<i>Nov</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 17/74.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Your Letter about Megreedy, as Thackeray used to call him, is +very interesting: I mean as connected with your Father +also. Megreedy, with all his flat face, managed to look +well as Virginius, didn’t he? And, as I thought, well +enough in Macbeth, except where he <i>would</i> stand with his +mouth open (after the <!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 58</span>Witches had hailed him), till I +longed to pitch something into it out of the Pit, the dear old +Pit. How came <i>he</i> to play Henry IV. instead of your +Father, in some Play I remember at C. G., though I did not see +it? How well I remember your Father in Falconbridge (Young, +K. John) as he looked sideway and upward before the Curtain fell +on his Speech.</p> +<p>Then his Petruchio: I remember his looking up, as the curtain +fell at the end, to where he knew that Henry had taken +me—some very upper Box. And I remember too his +standing with his Hunting spear, looking with pleasure at pretty +Miss Foote as Rosalind. He played well what was natural to +him: the gallant easy Gentleman—I thought his Charles +Surface rather cumbrous: but he was no longer young.</p> +<p>Mrs. Wister quite mistook the aim of my Query about Crabbe: I +asked if he were read in America for the very reason that he is +not read in England. And in the October <i>Cornhill</i> is +an Article upon him (I hope not by Leslie Stephen), so ignorant +and self-sufficient that I am more wroth than ever. The old +Story of ‘Pope in worsted stockings’—why I +could cite whole Paragraphs of as fine texture as +Molière—incapable of Epigram, the Jackanapes says of +‘our excellent Crabbe’—why I could find fifty +of the very best Epigrams in five minutes. But now do you +care for him? ‘Honour bright?’ as Sheridan used +to say. I don’t think I ever knew a Woman who did +like C., except my Mother. What makes People (this stupid +Reviewer among them) talk of worsted Stockings is <!-- page +59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>because of having read only his earlier works: when he +himself talked of his Muse as</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Muse of the Mad, the Foolish, and the +Poor,’ <a name="citation59a"></a><a href="#footnote59a" +class="citation">[59a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>the Borough: Parish Register, etc. But it is his Tales +of the Hall which discover him in silk Stockings; the subjects, +the Scenery, the Actors, of a more Comedy kind: with, I say, +Paragraphs, and Pages, of fine Molière style—only +too often defaced by carelessness, disproportion, and +‘longueurs’ intolerable. I shall leave my +Edition of Tales of the Hall, made legible by the help of +Scissors and Gum, with a word or two of Prose to bridge over +pages of stupid Verse. I don’t wish to try and +supersede the Original, but, by the Abstract, to get People to +read the whole, and so learn (as in Clarissa) how to get it all +under command. I even wish that some one in America would +undertake to publish—in whole, or part by part—my +‘Readings in Crabbe,’ viz., Tales of the Hall: but no +one would let me do the one thing I can do.</p> +<p>I think you must repent having encouraged such a terrible +Correspondent as myself: you have the remedy in your own hands, +you know. I find that the Bronchitis I had in Spring +returns upon me now: so I have to give up my Night walks, and +stalk up and down my own half-lighted Hall (like +Chateaubriand’s Father) <a name="citation59b"></a><a +href="#footnote59b" class="citation">[59b]</a> till my Reader +comes. Ever yours truly</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 60--><a +name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span><i>Nov</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 21.</p> +<p>I detained this letter till I heard from Donne, who has been +at Worthing, and writes cheerfully.</p> +<h2>XXIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, +<i>Feb</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 11/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Will you please to thank Mr. Furness for the trouble he has +taken about Crabbe. The American Publisher is like the +English, it appears, and both may be quite right. They +certainly are right in not accepting anything except on very good +recommendation; and a Man’s Fame is the best they can have +for that purpose. I should not in the least be vext or even +disappointed at any rejection of my Crabbe, but it is not worth +further trouble to any party to send across the Atlantic what +may, most probably, <!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 61</span>be returned with thanks and +Compliments. And then Mr. Furness would feel bound to ask +some other Publisher, and you to write to me about it. No, +no! Thank him, if you please: you know I thank you: and +then I will let the matter drop.</p> +<p>The Athenæum told me there was a Paper by Carlyle in the +January Fraser—on the old Norway Kings. Then People +said it was not his: but his it is, surely enough (though I have +no Authority but my own Judgment for saying so), and quite +delightful. If missing something of his Prime, missing also +all his former ‘Sound and Fury,’ etc., and as alive +as ever. I had thoughts of writing to him on the subject, +but have not yet done so. But pray do you read the Papers: +there is a continuation in the February Fraser: and ‘to be +continued’ till ended, I suppose.</p> +<p>Your Photograph—Yes—I saw your Mother in it, as I +saw her in you when you came to us in Woodbridge in 1852. +That is, I saw her such as I had seen her in a little sixpenny +Engraving in a ‘Cottage Bonnet,’ something such as +you wore when you stept out of your Chaise at the Crown Inn.</p> +<p>My Mother always said that your Mother was by far the most +witty, sensible, and agreeable Woman she knew. I remember +one of the very few delightful Dinner parties I ever was +at—in St. James’ Place—(was it?) a Party of +seven or eight, at a round Table, your Mother at the head of the +Table, and Mrs. F. Kemble my next Neighbour. And really the +(almost) <!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 62</span>only other pleasant Dinner was one +you gave me and the Donnes in Savile Row, before going to see +Wigan in ‘Still Waters,’ which you said was +<i>your</i> Play, in so far as you had suggested the Story from +some French Novel.</p> +<p>I used to think what a deep current of melancholy was under +your Mother’s Humour. Not ‘under,’ +neither: for it came up as naturally to the surface as her +Humour. My mother always said that one great charm in her +was, her Naturalness.</p> +<p>If you read to your Company, pray do you ever read <i>the</i> +Scene in the ‘Spanish Tragedy’ quoted in C. +Lamb’s Specimens—such a Scene as (not being in Verse, +and quite familiar talk) I cannot help reading to my +Guests—very few and far between—I mean by +‘I,’ one who has no gift at all for reading except +the feeling of a few things: and I can’t help stumbling +upon Tears in this. Nobody knows who wrote this one scene: +it was thought Ben Jonson, who could no more have written it than +I who read it: for what else of his is it like? Whereas, +Webster one fancies might have done it. It is not likely +that you do not know this wonderful bit: but, if you have it not +by heart almost, look for it again at once, and make others do so +by reading to them.</p> +<p>The enclosed Note from Mowbray D[onne] was the occasion of my +writing thus directly to you. And yet I have spoken +‘de omnibus other rebus’ first. But I venture +to think that your feeling on the subject will be pretty much +like my own, and so, no use in talking.</p> +<p><!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>Now, if I could send you part of what I am now packing +up for some Woodbridge People—some—some—Saffron +Buns!—for which this Place is notable from the first day of +Lent till Easter—A little Hamper of these!</p> +<p>Now, my dear Mrs. Kemble, do consider this letter of mine as +an Answer to yours—your two—else I shall be really +frightened at making you write so often to yours always and +sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XXV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <i>March</i> 11/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I am really ashamed that you should apologize for asking me a +Copy of Calderon, etc. <a name="citation64a"></a><a +href="#footnote64a" class="citation">[64a]</a> I had about +a hundred Copies of all those things printed <i>when</i> printed: +and have not had a hundred friends to give them to—poor +Souls!—and am very well pleased to give to any one who +likes—especially any Friend of yours. I think however +that your reading of them has gone most way to make your Lady +ask. But, be that as it may, I will send you a Copy +directly I return to my own Château, which I mean to do +when the Daffodils have taken the winds of March. <a +name="citation64b"></a><a href="#footnote64b" +class="citation">[64b]</a></p> +<p>We have had severe weather here: it has killed my <!-- page +64--><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>Brother Peter (not John, my eldest) who tried to winter +at Bournemouth, after having wintered for the last ten years at +Cannes. Bronchitis:—which (<i>sotto voce</i>) I have +as yet kept Cold from coming to. But one knows one is not +‘out of the Wood’ yet; May, if not March, being, you +know, one of our worst Seasons.</p> +<p>I heard from our dear Donne a week ago; speaking with all his +own blind and beautiful Love for his lately lost son; and telling +me that he himself keeps his heart going by Brandy. But he +speaks of this with no Fear at all. He is going to leave +Weymouth Street, but when, or for where, he does not say. +He spoke of a Letter he had received from you some while ago.</p> +<p>Now about Crabbe, which also I am vext you should have trouble +about. I wrote to you the day after I had your two Letters, +with Mr. Furness’ enclosed, and said that, seeing the +uncertainty of any success in the matter, I really would not +bother you or him any more. You know it is but a little +thing; which, even if a Publisher tried piece-meal, would very +likely be scouted: I only meant ‘piece-meal,’ by +instalments: so as they could be discontinued if not liked. +But I suppose I must keep my Work—of paste, and +scissors—for the benefit of the poor Friends who have had +the benefit of my other Works.</p> +<p>Well: as I say, I wrote and posted my Letter at once, asking +you to thank Mr. Furness for me. I think this must be a +month ago—perhaps you had <!-- page 65--><a +name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>my Letter the +day after you posted this last of yours, dated February 21. +Do not trouble any more about it, pray: read Carlyle’s +‘Kings of Norway’ in Fraser and believe me ever +yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>I will send a little bound Copy of the Plays for yourself, +dear Mrs. Kemble, if you will take them; so you can give the Lady +those you have:—but, whichever way you like.</p> +<h2>XXVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <i>March</i> 17/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>This bit of Letter is written to apprise you that, having to +go to Woodbridge three days ago, I sent you by Post a little +Volume of the Plays, and (what I had forgotten) a certain little +Prose Dialogue <a name="citation65"></a><a href="#footnote65" +class="citation">[65]</a> done up with them. This is more +than you wanted, but so it is. The Dialogue is a pretty +thing in some respects: but disfigured by some confounded +<i>smart</i> writing in parts: And this is all that needs saying +about the whole concern. You must not think necessary to +say anything more about it yourself, only that you receive the +Book. If you do not, in a month’s time, I shall +suppose it has somehow lost its way over the Atlantic: <!-- page +66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>and +then I will send you the Plays you asked for, stitched +together—and those only.</p> +<p>I hope you got my Letter (which you had not got when your last +was written) about Crabbe: for I explained in it why I did not +wish to trouble you or Mr. Furness any more with such an +uncertain business. Anyhow, I must ask you to thank him for +the trouble he had already taken, as I hope you know that I thank +you also for your share in it.</p> +<p>I scarce found a Crocus out in my Garden at home, and so have +come back here till some green leaf shows itself. We are +still under the dominion of North East winds, which keep people +coughing as well as the Crocus under ground. Well, we hope +to earn all the better Spring by all this Cold at its outset.</p> +<p>I have so often spoken of my fear of troubling you by all my +Letters, that I won’t say more on that score. I have +heard no news of Donne since I wrote. I have been trying to +read Gil Blas and La Fontaine again; but, as before, do not +relish either. <a name="citation67"></a><a href="#footnote67" +class="citation">[67]</a> I must get back to my Don Quixote +by and by.</p> +<p>Yours as ever</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>I wonder if this letter will smell of Tobacco: for it is +written just after a Pipe, and just before going to bed.</p> +<h2><!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>XXVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>April</i> 9/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I wrote you a letter more than a fortnight ago—mislaid +it—and now am rather ashamed to receive one from you +thanking me beforehand for the mighty Book which I posted you a +month ago. I only hope you will not feel bound to +acknowledge [it] when it does reach you, I think I said so in the +Letter I wrote to go along with it. And I must say no more +in the way of deprecating your Letters, after what you write +me. Be assured that all my deprecations were for your sake, +not mine; but there’s an end of them now.</p> +<p>I had a longish letter from Donne himself some while ago; +indicating, I thought, <i>some</i> debility of Mind and +Body. He said, however, he was going on very well. +And a Letter from Mowbray (three or four days old) speaks of his +Father as ‘remarkably well.’ But these Donnes +won’t acknowledge Bodily any more than Mental fault in +those they love. Blanche had been ill, of neuralgic Cold: +Valentia not well: but both on the mending hand now.</p> +<p>It has been indeed the Devil of a Winter: and even +now—To-day as I write—no better than it was three +months ago. The Daffodils scarce dare take April, let alone +March; and I wait here till a Green Leaf shows itself about +Woodbridge.</p> +<p><!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>I have been looking over four of Shakespeare’s +Plays, edited by Clark and Wright: editors of the +‘Cambridge Shakespeare.’ These ‘Select +Plays’ are very well done, I think: Text, and Notes; +although with somewhat too much of the latter. Hamlet, +Macbeth, Tempest, and Shylock—I heard them talking in my +room—all alive about me.</p> +<p>By the by—How did <i>you</i> read ‘To-morrow and +To-morrow, etc.’ All the Macbeths I have heard took +the opportunity to become melancholy when they came to this: and, +no doubt, some such change from Fury and Desperation was a relief +to the Actor, and perhaps to the Spectator. But I think it +<i>should</i> all go in the same Whirlwind of Passion as the +rest: Folly!—Stage Play!—Farthing Candle; Idiot, +etc. Macready used to drop his Truncheon when he heard of +the Queen’s Death, and stand with his Mouth open for some +while—which didn’t become him.</p> +<p>I have not seen his Memoir: only an extract or two in the +Papers. He always seemed to me an Actor by Art and Study, +with some native Passion to inspire him. But as to +Genius—we who have seen Kean!</p> +<p>I don’t know if you were acquainted with Sir A. Helps, +<a name="citation68"></a><a href="#footnote68" +class="citation">[68]</a> whose Death (one of this Year’s +Doing) is much regretted by many. I scarcely knew him +except at Cambridge forty years ago: and could never relish his +Writings, amiable and sensible as they are. I suppose they +will help to swell that substratum of <!-- page 69--><a +name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>Intellectual +<i>Peat</i> (Carlyle somewhere calls it) <a +name="citation69"></a><a href="#footnote69" +class="citation">[69]</a> from [which] one or two living Trees +stand out in a Century. So Shakespeare above all that Old +Drama which he grew amidst, and which (all represented by him +alone) might henceforth be left unexplored, with the exception of +a few twigs of Leaves gathered here and there—as in +Lamb’s Specimens. Is Carlyle himself—with all +his Genius—to subside into the Level? Dickens, with +all his Genius, but whose Men and Women act and talk already +after a more obsolete fashion than Shakespeare’s? I +think some of Tennyson will survive, and drag the deader part +along with it, I suppose. And (I doubt) Thackeray’s +terrible Humanity.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I remain yours ever +sincerely,<br /> +A very small Peat-contributor,<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>I am glad to say that Clark and Wright Bowdlerize <!-- page +70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>Shakespeare, though much less extensively than +Bowdler. But in one case, I think, they have gone +further—altering, instead of omitting: which is quite +wrong!</p> +<h2>XXVIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>April</i> 19/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Yesterday I wrote you a letter: enveloped it: then thought +there was something in it you might +misunderstand—Yes!—the written word across the +Atlantic looking perhaps so different from what intended; so kept +my Letter in my pocket, and went my ways. This morning your +Letter of April 3 is forwarded to me; and I shall re-write the +one thing that I yesterday wrote about—as I had intended to +do before your Letter came. Only, let me say that I am +really ashamed that you should have taken the trouble to write +again about my little, little, Book.</p> +<p>Well—what I wrote about yesterday, and am to-day about +to re-write, is—Macready’s Memoirs. You asked +me in your previous Letter whether I had read them. +No—I had not: and had meant to wait till they came down to +Half-price on the Railway Stall before I bought them. But I +wanted to order something of my civil Woodbridge Bookseller: so +took the course of ordering this Book, which I am now reading at +Leisure: for it does not interest me enough <!-- page 71--><a +name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>to devour at +once. It is however a very unaffected record of a very +conscientious Man, and Artist; conscious (I think) that he was +not a great Genius in his Profession, and conscious of his defect +of Self-control in his Morals. The Book is almost entirely +about <i>himself</i>, <i>his</i> Studies, <i>his</i> Troubles, +<i>his</i> Consolations, etc.; not from Egotism, I do think, but +as the one thing he had to consider in writing a Memoir and +Diary. Of course one expects, and wishes, that the +Man’s self should be the main subject; but one also wants +something of the remarkable people he lived with, and of whom one +finds little here but that ‘So-and-so came and +went’—scarce anything of what they said or did, +except on mere business; Macready seeming to have no Humour; no +intuition into Character, no Observation of those about him (how +could he be a great Actor then?)—Almost the only exception +I have yet reached is his Account of Mrs. Siddons, whom he +worshipped: whom he acted with in her later years at Country +Theatres: and who was as kind to him as she was even then +heart-rending on the Stage. He was her Mr. Beverley: <a +name="citation71"></a><a href="#footnote71" +class="citation">[71]</a> ‘a very young husband,’ she +told him: but ‘in the right way if he would study, study, +study—and not marry till thirty.’ At another +time, when he was on the stage, she stood at the side scene, +called out ‘Bravo, Sir, Bravo!’ and clapped her +hands—all in sight of the Audience, who joined in her +Applause. Macready also tells of her falling into such a +Convulsion, as it <!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 72</span>were, in Aspasia <a +name="citation72a"></a><a href="#footnote72a" +class="citation">[72a]</a> (what a subject for such a sacrifice!) +that the Curtain had to be dropped, and Macready’s Father, +and Holman, who were among the Audience, looked at each other to +see which was whitest! This was the Woman whom people +somehow came to look on as only majestic and terrible—I +suppose, after Miss O’Neill rose upon her Setting.</p> +<p>Well, but what I wrote about yesterday—a passage about +you yourself. I fancy that he and you were very +unsympathetic: nay, you have told me of some of his Egotisms +toward you, ‘who had scarce learned the rudiments of your +Profession’ (as also he admits that he scarce had). +But, however that may have been, his Diary records, +‘Dec<sup>r</sup>. 20 (1838) Went to Covent Garden Theatre: +on my way continued the perusal of Mrs. Butler’s Play, +which is a work of uncommon power. Finished the reading of +Mrs. Butler’s Play, which is one of the most powerful of +the modern Plays I have seen—most painful—almost +shocking—but full of Power, Poetry and Pathos. She is +one of the most remarkable women of the present Day.’</p> +<p>So you see that if he thought you deficient in the Art which +you (like himself) had unwillingly to resort to, you were +efficient in the far greater Art of supplying that material on +which the Histrionic must depend. (N.B.—Which play of +yours? Not surely the ‘English Tragedy’ unless +shown to him in MS.? <a name="citation72b"></a><a +href="#footnote72b" class="citation">[72b]</a> <!-- page 73--><a +name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>Come: I have +sent you my Translations: you should give me your Original +Plays. When I get home, I will send you an old Scratch by +Thackeray of yourself in Louisa of Savoy—shall I?)</p> +<p>On the whole, I find Macready (so far as I have gone) a just, +generous, religious, and affectionate Man; on the whole, humble +too! One is well content to assure oneself of this; but it +is not worth spending 28<i>s.</i> upon.</p> +<p>Macready would have made a better Scholar—or +Divine—than Actor, I think: a Gentleman he would have been +in any calling, I believe, in spite of his Temper—which he +acknowledges, laments, and apologizes for, on reflection.</p> +<p>Now, here is enough of my small writing for your +reading. I have been able to read, and admire, some +Corneille lately: as to Racine—‘<i>Ce n’est pas +mon homme</i>,’ as Catharine of Russia said of him. +Now I am at Madame de Sévigné’s delightful +Letters; I should like to send you a Bouquet of Extracts: but +must have done now, being always yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XXIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>May</i> 16/75</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I have been wishing to send you Carlyle’s Norway Kings, +and oh! such a delightful Paper of <!-- page 74--><a +name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>Spedding’s on the Text of Richard III. <a +name="citation74"></a><a href="#footnote74" +class="citation">[74]</a> But I have waited till I should +hear from you, knowing that you <i>will</i> reply! And not +feeling sure, till I hear, whether you are not on your way to +England Eastward ho!—even as I am now writing!—Or, I +fancy—should you not be well? Anyhow, I shall wait +till some authentic news of yourself comes to me. I should +not mind sending you Carlyle—why, yes! I <i>will</i> +send him! But old Spedding—which is only a +Proof—I won’t send till I know that you are still +where you were to receive it—Oh! such a piece of musical +criticism! without the least pretence to being Musick: as dry as +he can make it, in fact. But he does, with utmost +politeness, smash the Cambridge Editors’ Theory about the +Quarto and Folio Text of R. III.—in a way that perhaps Mr. +Furness might like to see.</p> +<p>Spedding says that Irving’s Hamlet is +simply—<i>hideous</i>—a strong expression for +Spedding to use. But—(lest I should think his +condemnation was only the Old Man’s fault of depreciating +all that is new), he extols Miss Ellen Terry’s Portia as +simply <i>a perfect Performance</i>: remembering (he says) all +the while how fine was Fanny Kemble’s. Now, all this +you shall read for yourself, when I have token of your +Whereabout, and Howabout: for I will send you Spedding’s +Letter, as well as his Paper.</p> +<p>Spedding won’t go and see Salvini’s Othello, +because <!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 75</span>he does not know Italian, and also +because he hears that Salvini’s is a different Conception +of Othello from Shakespeare’s. I can’t +understand either reason; but Spedding is (as Carlyle <a +name="citation75a"></a><a href="#footnote75a" +class="citation">[75a]</a> wrote me of his Bacon) the +‘invincible, and victorious.’ At any rate, I +can’t beat him. Irving I never could believe in as +Hamlet, after seeing part of his famous Performance of a +Melodrama called ‘The Bells’ three or four years +ago. But the Pollocks, and a large World beside, think him +a Prodigy—whom Spedding thinks—a Monster! To +this Complexion is the English Drama come.</p> +<p>I wonder if your American Winter has transformed itself to +such a sudden Summer as here in Old England. I returned to +my Woodbridge three weeks ago: not a leaf on the Trees: in ten +days they were all green, and people—perspiring, I suppose +one must say. Now again, while the Sun is quite as Hot, the +Wind has swerved round to the East—so as one broils on one +side and freezes on t’other—and I—the Great +Twalmley <a name="citation75b"></a><a href="#footnote75b" +class="citation">[75b]</a>—am keeping indoors from an +Intimation of Bronchitis. I think it is time for one to +leave the Stage oneself.</p> +<p>I heard from Mowbray Donne some little while ago; as he said +nothing (I think) of his Father, I conclude that there is nothing +worse of him to be said. He (the Father) has a Review of +Macready—laudatory, I suppose—in the Edinburgh, and +<i>Mr.</i> <!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 76</span>Helen Faucit (Martin) as injurious a +one in the Quarterly: the reason of the latter being (it is +supposed) because <i>Mrs.</i> H. F. is not noticed except just by +name. To this Complexion also!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours,<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>Since writing as above, your Letter comes; as you do not speak +of moving, I shall send Spedding and Carlyle by Post to you, in +spite of the Loss of Income you tell me of which would (I doubt) +close up <i>my</i> thoughts some while from such +speculations. I do not think <i>you</i> will take trouble +so to heart. Keep Spedding for me: Carlyle I don’t +want again. Tired as you—and I—are of +Shakespeare Commentaries, you will like this.</p> +<h2>XXX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>July</i> 22/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I have abstained from writing since you wrote me how busily +your Pen was employed for the Press: I wished more than ever to +spare you the trouble of answering me—which I knew you +would not forgo. And now you will feel called upon, I +suppose, though I would fain spare you.</p> +<p>Though I date from this place still, I have been away from it +at my own Woodbridge house for two months and more; only +returning here indeed to <!-- page 77--><a +name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>help make a +better Holiday for a poor Lad who is shut up in a London Office +while his Heart is all for Out-of-Door, Country, Sea, etc. +We have been having wretched Holyday weather, to be sure: rain, +mist, and wind; St. Swithin at his worst: but all better than the +hateful London Office—to which he must return the day after +To-morrow, poor Fellow!</p> +<p>I suppose you will see—if you have not yet +seen—Tennyson’s Q. Mary. I don’t know +what to say about it; but the Times says it is the finest Play +since Shakespeare; and the Spectator that it is superior to Henry +VIII. Pray do you say something of it, when you +write:—for I think you must have read it before that time +comes.</p> +<p>Then Spedding has written a delicious Paper in Fraser about +the late Representation of The Merchant of Venice, and his E. +Terry’s perfect personation of his perfect Portia. I +cannot agree with him in all he says—for one thing, I must +think that Portia made ‘a hole in her manners’ when +she left Antonio trembling for his Life while she all the while +[knew] how to defeat the Jew by that knowledge of the Venetian +Law which (oddly enough) the Doge knew nothing about. Then +Spedding thinks that Shylock has been so pushed forward ever +since Macklin’s time as to preponderate over all the rest +in a way that Shakespeare never intended. <a +name="citation77"></a><a href="#footnote77" +class="citation">[77]</a> But, if Shakespeare did not <!-- +page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>intend this, he certainly erred in devoting so much of +his most careful and most powerful writing to a Character which +he meant to be subsidiary, and not principal. But Spedding +is more likely to be right than I: right or wrong he pleads his +cause as no one else can. His Paper is in this July number +of Fraser: I would send it you if you had more time for reading +than your last Letter speaks of; I <i>will</i> send if you +wish.</p> +<p>I have not heard of Donne lately: he had been staying at +Lincoln with Blakesley, the Dean: and is now, I suppose, at +Chislehurst, where he took a house for a month.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I am yours ever and sincerely<br +/> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XXXI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Aug.</i> 24, [1875.]</p> +<p>Now, my dear Mrs. Kemble, you will have to call me ‘a +Good Creature,’ as I have found out a Copy of your capital +Paper, <a name="citation78"></a><a href="#footnote78" +class="citation">[78]</a> and herewith post it to you. Had +I not found this Copy (which Smith & Elder <!-- page 79--><a +name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>politely +found for me) I should have sent you one of my own, cut out from +a Volume of Essays by other friends, Spedding, etc., on condition +that you should send me a Copy of such Reprint as you may make of +it in America. It is extremely interesting; and I always +think that your Theory of the Intuitive <i>versus</i> the +Analytical and Philosophical applies to the other Arts as well as +that of the Drama. Mozart couldn’t tell how he made a +Tune; even a whole Symphony, he said, unrolled itself out of a +leading idea by no logical process. Keats said that no +Poetry was worth [anything] unless it came spontaneously as +Leaves to a Tree, etc. <a name="citation79"></a><a +href="#footnote79" class="citation">[79]</a> I have no +faith in your Works of Art done on Theory and Principle, like +Wordsworth, Wagner, Holman Hunt, etc.</p> +<p>But, one thing you can do on Theory, and carry it well into +Practice: which is—to write your Letter on Paper which does +not let the Ink through, so that (according to your mode of +paging) your last Letter was crossed: I really thought it so at +first, and really had very hard work to make it out—some +parts indeed still defying my Eyes. What I read of your +remarks on Portia, etc., is so good that I wish to keep it: but +still I think I shall enclose you a scrap to justify my +complaint. It was almost by Intuition, not on Theory, that +I deciphered what I did. Pray you amend this. My MS. +is bad enough, and on that very account I would avoid diaphanous +Paper. Are you not ashamed?</p> +<p><!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>I shall send you Spedding’s beautiful Paper on the +Merchant of Venice <a name="citation80"></a><a href="#footnote80" +class="citation">[80]</a> if I can lay hands on it: but at +present my own room is given up to a fourth Niece (Angel that I +am!) You would see that S[pedding] agrees with you about +Portia, and in a way that I am sure must please you. But +(so far as I can decipher that fatal Letter) you say nothing at +all to me of the other Spedding Paper I sent to you (about the +Cambridge Editors, etc.), which I must have back again indeed, +unless you wish to keep it, and leave me to beg another +Copy. Which to be sure I can do, and will, if your heart is +set upon it—which I suppose it is not at all.</p> +<p>I have not heard of Donne for so long a time, that I am +uneasy, and have written to Mowbray to hear. M[owbray] +perhaps is out on his Holyday, else I think he would have replied +at once. And ‘no news may be the Good +News.’</p> +<p>I have no news to tell of myself; I am much as I have been for +the last four months: which is, a little ricketty. But I +get out in my Boat on the River three or four hours a Day when +possible, and am now as ever yours sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>XXXII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Oct.</i> 4, 1875]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I duly received your last legible Letter, and Spedding’s +Paper: for both of which all Thanks. But you must do +something more for me. I see by Notes and Queries that you +are contributing Recollections to some American Magazine; I want +you to tell me where I can get this, with all the back Numbers in +which you have written.</p> +<p>I return the expected favour (Hibernicé) with the +enclosed Prints, one of which is rather a Curiosity: that of Mrs. +Siddons by Lawrence when he was <i>ætat.</i> 13. The +other, done from a Cast of herself by herself, is only remarkable +as being almost a Copy of this early Lawrence—at least, in +Attitude, if not in Expression. I dare say you have seen +the Cast itself. And now for a Story better than either +Print: a story to which Mrs. Siddons’ glorious name leads +me, burlesque as it is.</p> +<p>You may know there is a French Opera of Macbeth—by +Chélard. This was being played at the Dublin +Theatre—Viardot, I think, the Heroine. However that +may be, the Curtain drew up for the Sleep-walking Scene; Doctor +and Nurse were there, while a long mysterious Symphony went +on—till a Voice from the Gallery called out to the Leader +of the Band, Levey—‘Whisht! Lavy, my +dear—tell us now—<!-- page 82--><a +name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>is it a Boy +or a Girl?’ This Story is in a Book which I gave +2<i>s.</i> for at a Railway Stall; called Recollections of an +Impresario, or some such name; <a name="citation82a"></a><a +href="#footnote82a" class="citation">[82a]</a> a Book you would +not have deigned to read, and so would have missed what I have +read and remembered and written out for you.</p> +<p>It will form the main part of my Letter: and surely you will +not expect anything better from me.</p> +<p>Your hot Colorado Summer is over; and you are now coming to +the season which you—and others beside you—think so +peculiarly beautiful in America. We have no such Colours to +show here, you know: none of that Violet which I think you have +told me of as mixing with the Gold in the Foliage. Now it +is that I hear that Spirit that Tennyson once told of talking to +himself among the faded flowers in the Garden-plots. I +think he has dropt that little Poem <a name="citation82b"></a><a +href="#footnote82b" class="citation">[82b]</a> out of his +acknowledged works; there was indeed nothing in it, I think, but +that one Image: and that sticks by me as <i>Queen Mary</i> does +not.</p> +<p>I have just been telling some Man enquiring in Notes and +Queries where he may find the beautiful foolish old Pastoral +beginning—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘My Sheep I neglected, I broke my +Sheep-hook, &c.’ <a name="citation82c"></a><a +href="#footnote82c" class="citation">[82c]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>which, if you don’t know it, I will write out for +you, ready as it offers 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,’ <a +name="citation83"></a><a href="#footnote83" +class="citation">[83]</a> which you will think all Fancy. +But I remain while above Ground</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours sincerely<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XXXIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>October</i>, 1875.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>My last Letter asked you how and where I could get at your +Papers; this is to say, I have got <!-- page 84--><a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>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 <a name="citation84"></a><a href="#footnote84" +class="citation">[84]</a> 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.</p> +<p>I suppose you were at School in the Rue +d’Angoulême <!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 85</span>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 +Fualdès—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’Angoulême—do you not remember the house +cornering on the Champs Elysées with some ornaments in +stone of Flowers and Garlands—belonging to a Lord +Courtenay, I believe? And do you remember a +Pépinière 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.</p> +<p>Well: I was pleased with some other Papers in your Magazine: +as those on V. Hugo, <a name="citation85a"></a><a +href="#footnote85a" class="citation">[85a]</a> and +Tennyson’s Queen Mary: <a name="citation85b"></a><a +href="#footnote85b" class="citation">[85b]</a> 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, <!-- page 86--><a +name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>or party, or +Fashion. I see that Professor Wilson said much the same +thing to Willis forty years ago.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Farewell for the present; I count on your Gossip: and believe +me (what it serves to make me feel more vividly)</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Your sincere old Friend<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XXXIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[Nov. 1875.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>The Mowbray Donnes have been staying some days <a +name="citation86"></a><a href="#footnote86" +class="citation">[86]</a> 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 <!-- page 87--><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>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. <a name="citation87a"></a><a +href="#footnote87a" class="citation">[87a]</a> 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.</p> +<p>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. <a +name="citation87b"></a><a href="#footnote87b" +class="citation">[87b]</a></p> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The Swallow with Summer<br /> + Shall wing o’er the Seas;<br /> +The Wind that I sigh to<br /> + Shall sing in your Trees;</p> +<p><!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>The Ship that it hastens<br /> + Your Ports will contain—<br /> +But for me—I shall never<br /> + See England again.’ <a +name="citation88a"></a><a href="#footnote88a" +class="citation">[88a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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: <a name="citation88b"></a><a href="#footnote88b" +class="citation">[88b]</a> 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.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page +89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>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.</p> +<p>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, <a +name="citation89"></a><a href="#footnote89" +class="citation">[89]</a> which has always been Guide, +Philosopher, and Friend in such matters. I can’t help +liking a Cookery Book.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>No: I never turned my tragic hand on Fualdès; but I +remember well being taken in 1818 to the Ambigu Comique to see +the ‘Château 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, <a +name="citation90a"></a><a href="#footnote90a" +class="citation">[90a]</a> <!-- page 90--><a +name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>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.</p> +<p>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XXXV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: +<i>Dec</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 29/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>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, <a +name="citation90b"></a><a href="#footnote90b" +class="citation">[90b]</a> 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 <!-- page 91--><a +name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>to you who +take a sincere Interest in them also. I wonder if I am +doing wrong?</p> +<p>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. <a name="citation91"></a><a +href="#footnote91" class="citation">[91]</a></p> +<p>I dare say I told you of the Proposal to congratulate Carlyle +on his eightieth Birthday; and probably some <!-- page 92--><a +name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>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 <i>too</i> 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. <a name="citation92"></a><a href="#footnote92" +class="citation">[92]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p><!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>Oh, I must add—The Printing is no doubt the more +legible; but I get on very well with your MS. when not crossed. +<a name="citation94"></a><a href="#footnote94" +class="citation">[94]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 95--><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Good Night! Good Bye!—Now for Mrs. +Trollope’s Story, entitled ‘A Charming +Fellow’—(very clever).</p> +<h2>XXXVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Febr</i>: 2/76.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 96</span>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 <!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 97</span>Millinery: but I have not had much +Scope for my Art down here. So now you have a little +Lecture along with the Picture.</p> +<p>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 +<i>will</i> 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. <a name="citation97a"></a><a +href="#footnote97a" class="citation">[97a]</a></p> +<p>There has been an absurd Bout in the Athenæum <a +name="citation97b"></a><a href="#footnote97b" +class="citation">[97b]</a> 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 a line, I believe, so curtailed and mangled was +it. Then comes a Miss Wallis, who played the <!-- page +98--><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Lionel Tennyson (second Son), who answered my half-yearly +Letter to his father, tells me they had <!-- page 99--><a +name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>heard that +Annie Thackeray was well in health, but—as you may imagine +in Spirits.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I remain yours always<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>How is it my Atlantic Monthly is not yet come?</p> +<h2>XXXVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Febr</i>: 17/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>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. <!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 100</span>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>You will let me know if the Picture has not arrived before +this Note reaches you?</p> +<h2>XXXVIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>March</i> 16/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Directly that you mentioned ‘Urania,’ I began to +fancy I remembered her too. <a name="citation100"></a><a +href="#footnote100" class="citation">[100]</a> And we are +both <!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 101</span>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.</p> +<p>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)—</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 Société’ Man +of the Day; and perhaps the owner of the original: whether now +yours, or not. All <!-- page 102--><a +name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 103</span>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.</p> +<p>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 Sévigné (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—</p> +<p>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, <!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>to whom I wrote a +‘Permit,’ so long as I had nothing to do with it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XXXIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <i>April</i>, 1876.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>From Lowestoft still I date: as just ten years ago when I was +about building a Lugger, and reading Montaigne. The latter +holds his own with me after three hundred years: and the Lugger +does not seem much the worse for her ten years’ wear, so +well did she come bouncing between the Piers here yesterday, +under a strong Sou’-Wester. My Great Captain has her +no more; he has what they call a ‘Scotch Keel’ which +is come into fashion: her too I see: and him too steering her, +broader and taller than all the rest: fit to be a Leader of Men, +Body and Soul; looking now Ulysses-like. Two or three years +ago he had a run of constant bad luck; and, being always of a +grand convivial turn, treating Everybody, he got deep in Drink, +against all his Promises to me, and altogether so lawless, that I +brought things to a pass between us. ‘He should go on +with me if he would take the Tee-total Pledge for one +year’—‘No—he had broken his word,’ +he said, ‘and he would not pledge it again,’ much as +he wished to go on with me. That, you see, was very fine in +him; he is altogether fine—A <!-- page 105--><a +name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>Great Man, +I maintain it: like one of Carlyle’s old Norway Kings, with +a wider morality than we use; which is very good and fine (as +this Captain said to me) ‘for you who are born with a +silver spoon in your mouths.’ I did not forget what +Carlyle too says about Great Faults in Great Men: even in David, +the Lord’s Anointed. But I thought best to share the +Property with him and let him go his way. He had always +resented being under any Control, and was very glad to be his own +sole Master again: and yet clung to me in a wild and pathetic +way. He has not been doing better since: and I fear is +sinking into disorder.</p> +<p>This is a long story about one you know nothing about except +what little I have told you. But the Man is a very +remarkable Man indeed, and you may be interested—you must +be—in him.</p> +<p>‘Ho! parlons d’autres choses, ma Fille,’ as +my dear Sévigné says. She now occupies +Montaigne’s place in my room: well—worthily: she +herself a Lover of Montaigne, and with a spice of his free +thought and speech in her. I am sometimes vext I never made +her acquaintance till last year: but perhaps it was as well to +have such an acquaintance reserved for one’s latter +years. The fine Creature! much more alive to me than most +Friends—I <i>should</i> like to see her +‘Rochers’ in Brittany. <a name="citation105"></a><a +href="#footnote105" class="citation">[105]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>‘Parlons d’autres choses’—your +Mother’s Miniature. You seemed at first to think it +was taken from the Engraving: but the reverse was always clear to +me. The whole figure, down to the Feet, is wanted to +account for the position of the Legs; and the superior delicacy +of Feature would not be gained <i>from</i> the Engraving, but the +contrary. The Stars were stuck in to make an +‘Urania’ of it perhaps. I do not assert that +your Miniature is the original: but that such a Miniature +is. I did not expect that Black next the Picture would do: +had you ‘tried on the Bonnet’ first, as I +advised? I now wish I had sent the Picture over in its +original Frame, which I had doctored quite well with a strip of +Black Paper pasted over the Gold. It might really have gone +through Quaritch’s Agency: but I got into my head that the +Post was safer. (How badly I am writing!) I had a +little common Engraving of the Cottage bonnet Portrait: so like +Henry. If I did not send it to you, I know not what is +become of it.</p> +<p>Along with your Letter came one from Donne telling me of your +Niece’s Death. <a name="citation106"></a><a +href="#footnote106" class="citation">[106]</a> He said he +had written to tell you. In reply, I gave him your message; +that he must ‘hold on’ till next year when +peradventure you may see England again, and hope to see him +too.</p> +<p><!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>Sooner or later you will see an Account of ‘Mary +Tudor’ at the Lyceum. <a name="citation107"></a><a +href="#footnote107" class="citation">[107]</a> It is just +what I expected: a ‘succès d’estime,’ +and not a very enthusiastic one. Surely, no one could have +expected more. And now comes out a new Italian +Hamlet—Rossi—whose first appearance is recorded in +the enclosed scrap of <i>Standard</i>. And (to finish +Theatrical or Dramatic Business) Quaritch has begun to print +Agamemnon—so leisurely that I fancy he wishes to wait till +the old Persian is exhausted, and so join the two. I +certainly am in no hurry; for I fully believe we shall only get +abused for the Greek in proportion as we were praised for the +Persian—in England. I mean: for you have made America +more favourable.</p> +<p>‘Parlons d’autres choses.’ ‘Eh? +mais de quoi parler,’ etc. Well: a Blackbird is +singing in the little Garden outside my Lodging Window, which is +frankly opened to what Sun there is. It has been a singular +half year; only yesterday Thunder in rather cold weather; and +last week the Road and Rail in Cambridge and Huntingdon was +blocked up with Snow; and Thunder then also. I suppose I +shall get home in ten days: before this Letter will reach you, I +suppose: so your next may be addressed to Woodbridge. I +really don’t know if these long Letters are more of Trouble +or Pleasure to you: however, there is an end to all: and that End +is that I am yours as truly as ever I was</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 108</span>XL.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>July</i> 4, [1876.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Here I am back into the Country, as I may call my suburb here +as compared to Lowestoft; all my house, except the one +room—which ‘serves me for Parlour and Bedroom and +all’ <a name="citation108a"></a><a href="#footnote108a" +class="citation">[108a]</a>—occupied by Nieces. Our +weather is temperate, our Trees green, Roses about to bloom, +Birds about to leave off singing—all sufficiently +pleasant. I must not forget a Box from Mudie with some +Memoirs in it—of Godwin, Haydon, etc., which help to amuse +one. And I am just beginning Don Quixote once more for my +‘pièce de Résistance,’ not being so +familiar with the First Part as the Second. Lamb and +Coleridge (I think) thought that Second Part should not have been +written; why then did I—not for contradiction’s sake, +I am sure—so much prefer it? Old Hallam, in his +History of Literature, resolved me, I believe, by saying that +Cervantes, who began by making his Hero ludicrously crazy, fell +in love with him, and in the second part tamed and tempered him +down to the grand Gentleman he is: scarce ever originating a +Delusion, though acting his part in it as a true Knight when led +into it by others. <a name="citation108b"></a><a +href="#footnote108b" class="citation">[108b]</a> A good +deal however might well be left out. If you have +Jarvis’ Translation by, or near, <!-- page 109--><a +name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>you, pray +read—oh, read all of the second part, except the stupid +stuff of the old Duenna in the Duke’s Palace.</p> +<p>I fear I get more and more interested in your +‘Gossip,’ as you approach the Theatre. I +suppose indeed that it is better to look on than to be engaged +in. I love it, and reading of it, now as much as ever I +cared to see it: and that was, very much indeed. I never +heard till from your last Paper <a name="citation109a"></a><a +href="#footnote109a" class="citation">[109a]</a> that Henry was +ever thought of for Romeo: I wonder he did not tell me this when +he and I were in Paris in 1830, and used to go and see +‘Lā Muette!’ (I can hear them calling it now:) +at the Grand Opera. I see that ‘Queen Mary’ has +some while since been deposed from the Lyceum; and poor Mr. +Irving descended from Shakespeare to his old Melodrama +again. All this is still interesting to me down here: much +more than to you—over there!—</p> +<p>‘Over there’ you are in the thick of your +Philadelphian Exhibition, <a name="citation109b"></a><a +href="#footnote109b" class="citation">[109b]</a> I suppose: but I +dare say you do not meddle with it very much, and will probably +be glad when it is all over. I wish now I had sent you the +Miniature in its Frame, which I had instructed to become +it. What you tell us your Mother said concerning Dress, I +certainly always felt: only secure the Beautiful, and the Grand, +in all the Arts, whatever Chronology may say. Rousseau +somewhere says that what you want of Decoration in the Theatre +is, what <!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 110</span>will bewilder the +Imagination—‘ébranler +l’Imagination,’ I think: <a name="citation110"></a><a +href="#footnote110" class="citation">[110]</a> only let it be +Beautiful!</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June</i> 5.</p> +<p>I kept this letter open in case I should see Arthur Malkin, +who was coming to stay at a Neighbour’s house. He +very kindly did call on me: he and his second wife (who, my +Neighbour says, is a very proper Wife), but I was +abroad—though no further off than my own little Estate; and +he knows I do not visit elsewhere. But I do not the less +thank him, and am always yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>Pollock writes me he had just visited Carlyle—quite well +for his Age: and vehement against Darwin, and the Turk.</p> +<h2>XLI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>July</i> 31/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>A better pen than usual tempts me to write the little I have +to tell you; so that [at] any rate your Eyes shall not be +afflicted as sometimes I doubt they are by my MS.</p> +<p><!-- page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>Which MS. puts me at once in mind of Print: and to tell +you that I shall send you Quaritch’s Reprint of Agamemnon: +which is just done after many blunders. The revises were +not sent me, as I desired: so several things are left as I meant +not: but ‘enfin’ here it is at last so fine that I am +ashamed of it. For, whatever the merit of it may be, it +can’t come near all this fine Paper, Margin, etc., which +Quaritch <i>will</i> have as counting on only a few buyers, who +will buy—in America almost wholly, I think. And, as +this is wholly due to you, I send you the Reprint, however little +different to what you had before.</p> +<p>‘Tragedy wonders at being so fine,’ which leads me +to that which ought more properly to have led to <i>it</i>: your +last two Papers of ‘Gossip,’ which are capital, both +for the Story told, and the remarks that arise from it. +To-morrow, or next day, I shall have a new Number; and I really +do count rather childishly on their arrival. Spedding also +is going over some of his old Bacon ground in the Contemporary, +<a name="citation111"></a><a href="#footnote111" +class="citation">[111]</a> and his writing is always delightful +to me though I cannot agree with him at last. I am told he +is in full Vigour: as indeed I might guess from his +writing. I heard from Donne some three weeks ago: proposing +a Summer Holyday at Whitby, in Yorkshire: Valentia, I think, not +very well again: Blanche then with her Brother Charles. +They all speak very highly of Mrs. Santley’s kindness and +care. Mowbray talks <!-- page 112--><a +name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>of coming +down this way toward the end of August: but had not, when he last +wrote, fixed on his Holyday place.</p> +<p>Beside my two yearly elder Nieces, I have now a younger who +has spent the last five Winters in Florence with your once rather +intimate (I think) Jane FitzGerald my Sister. She married, +(you may know) a Clergyman considerably older than herself. +I wrote to Annie Thackeray lately, and had an answer (from the +Lakes) to say she was pretty well—as also Mr. Stephen.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I am ever yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>P.S. On second thoughts I venture to send you A. +T.’s letter, which may interest you and cannot shame +her. I do not want it again.</p> +<h2>XLII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: +<i>Sept</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 21/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Have your American Woods begun to hang out their Purple and +Gold yet? on this Day of Equinox. Some of ours begin to +look rusty, after the Summer Drought; but have not turned Yellow +yet. I was talking of this to a Heroine of mine who lives +near here, but visits the Highlands of Scotland, which she loves +better than Suffolk—and she said of those <!-- page +113--><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>Highland Trees—‘O, they give themselves no +dying Airs, but turn Orange in a Day, and are swept off in a +Whirlwind, and Winter is come.’</p> +<p>Now too one’s Garden begins to be haunted by that Spirit +which Tennyson says is heard talking to himself among the +flower-borders. Do you remember him? <a +name="citation113a"></a><a href="#footnote113a" +class="citation">[113a]</a></p> +<p>And now—Who should send in his card to me last +week—but the old Poet himself—he and his elder Son +Hallam passing through Woodbridge from a Tour in Norfolk. <a +name="citation113b"></a><a href="#footnote113b" +class="citation">[113b]</a> ‘Dear old Fitz,’ +ran the Card in pencil, ‘We are passing thro’.’ +<a name="citation113c"></a><a href="#footnote113c" +class="citation">[113c]</a> I had not seen him for twenty +years—he looked much the same, except for his fallen Locks; +and what really surprised me was, that we fell at once into the +old Humour, as if we had only been parted twenty Days instead of +so many Years. I suppose this is a Sign of Age—not +altogether desirable. But so it was. He stayed two +Days, and we went over the same old grounds of Debate, told some +of the old Stories, and all was well. I suppose I may never +see him again: and so I suppose we both thought as the Rail +carried him off: and each returned to his ways as if scarcely +<!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>diverted from them. Age again!—I liked +Hallam much; unaffected, unpretending—no Slang—none +of Young England’s nonchalance—speaking of his Father +as ‘Papa’ and tending him with great Care, Love, and +Discretion. Mrs. A. T. is much out of health, and scarce +leaves Home, I think. <a name="citation114a"></a><a +href="#footnote114a" class="citation">[114a]</a></p> +<p>I have lately finished Don Quixote again, and I think have +inflamed A. T. to read him too—I mean in his native +Language. For this <i>must</i> be, good as Jarvis’ +Translation is, and the matter of the Book so good that one would +think it would lose less than any Book by Translation. But +somehow that is not so. I was astonished lately to see how +Shakespeare’s Henry IV. came out in young V. Hugo’s +Prose Translation <a name="citation114b"></a><a +href="#footnote114b" class="citation">[114b]</a>: Hotspur, +Falstaff and all. It really seemed to show me more than I +had yet seen in the original.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours,<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 115</span>XLIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>October</i> 24/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Little—Nothing—as I have to write, I am +nevertheless beginning to write to you, from this old Lodging of +mine, from which I think our Correspondence chiefly +began—ten years ago. I am in the same Room: the same +dull Sea moaning before me: the same Wind screaming through the +Windows: so I take up the same old Story. My Lugger was +then about building: <a name="citation115"></a><a +href="#footnote115" class="citation">[115]</a> she has passed +into other hands now: I see her from time to time bouncing into +Harbour, with her ‘244’ on her Bows. Her +Captain and I have parted: I thought he did very +wrongly—Drink, among other things: but he did not think he +did wrong: a different Morality from ours—that, indeed, of +Carlyle’s ancient Sea Kings. I saw him a few days ago +in his house, with Wife and Children; looking, as always, too big +for his house: but always grand, polite, and unlike anybody +else. I was noticing the many Flies in the +room—‘Poor things,’ he said, ‘it is the +warmth of our Stove makes them alive.’ When Tennyson +was with me, whose Portrait hangs <!-- page 116--><a +name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>in my house +in company with those of Thackeray and this Man (the three +greatest men I have known), I thought that both Tennyson and +Thackeray were inferior to him in respect of Thinking of +Themselves. When Tennyson was telling me of how The +Quarterly abused him (humorously too), and desirous of knowing +why one did not care for his later works, etc., I thought that if +he had lived an active Life, as Scott and Shakespeare; or even +ridden, shot, drunk, and played the Devil, as Byron, he would +have done much more, and talked about it much less. +‘You know,’ said Scott to Lockhart, ‘that I +don’t care a Curse about what I write,’ <a +name="citation116"></a><a href="#footnote116" +class="citation">[116]</a> and one sees he did not. I +don’t believe it was far otherwise with Shakespeare. +Even old Wordsworth, wrapt up in his Mountain mists, and proud as +he was, was above all this vain Disquietude: proud, not vain, was +he: and that a Great Man (as Dante) has some right to +be—but not to care what the Coteries say. What a +Rigmarole!</p> +<p>Donne scarce ever writes to me (Twalmley the Great), and if he +do not write to you, depend upon it he thinks he has nothing +worth sending over the Atlantic. I heard from Mowbray quite +lately that his Father was very well.</p> +<p>Yes: you told me in a previous Letter that you were coming to +England after Christmas. I shall not be up to going to +London to see you, with all your Company about you; perhaps +(don’t think me <!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 117</span>very impudent!) you may come down, +if we live till Summer, to my Woodbridge Château, and there +talk over some old things.</p> +<p>I make a kind of Summer in my Room here with Boccaccio. +What a Mercy that one can return with a Relish to these +Books! As Don Quixote can only be read in his Spanish, so I +do fancy Boccaccio only in his Italian: and yet one is used to +fancy that Poetry is the mainly untranslateable thing. How +prettily innocent are the Ladies, who, after telling very loose +Stories, finish with ‘E così Iddio faccia [noi] +godere del nostro Amore, etc.,’ sometimes, +<i>Domeneddio</i>, more affectionately. <a +name="citation117a"></a><a href="#footnote117a" +class="citation">[117a]</a></p> +<p>Anyhow, these Ladies are better than the accursed Eastern +Question; <a name="citation117b"></a><a href="#footnote117b" +class="citation">[117b]</a> of which I have determined to read, +and, if possible, hear, no more till the one question be settled +of Peace or War. If war, I am told I may lose some +£5000 in Russian Bankruptcy: but I can truly say I would +give that, and more, to ensure Peace and Good Will among Men at +this time. Oh, the Apes we are! I must retire to my +Montaigne—whom, by the way, I remember reading here, when +the Lugger was building! Oh, the Apes, etc. But <!-- +page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>there was A Man in all that Business still, who is so +now, somewhat tarnished.—And I am yours as then +sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XLIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>December</i> 12/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>If you hold to your Intention of coming to Europe in January, +this will be my last Letter over the Atlantic—till further +Notice! I dare say you will send me a last Rejoinder under +the same conditions.</p> +<p>I write, you see, from the Date of my last letter: but have +been at home in the meanwhile. And am going home +to-morrow—to arrange about Christmas Turkeys (God send we +haven’t all our fill of that, this Year!) and other such +little matters pertaining to the Season—which, to myself, +is always a very dull one. Why it happens that I so often +write to you from here, I scarce know; only that one comes with +few Books, perhaps, and the Sea somehow talks to one of old +Things. I have ever my Edition of Crabbe’s Tales of +the Hall with me. How pretty is this—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘In a small Cottage on the rising Ground<br +/> +West of the Waves, and just beyond their Sound.’ <a +name="citation118"></a><a href="#footnote118" +class="citation">[118]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Which reminds me also that one of the Books I have here is +Leslie Stephen’s ‘Hours in a Library,’ really +<!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>delightful reading, and, I think, really settling some +Questions of Criticism, as one wants to be finally done in all +Cases, so as to have no more about and about it. I think I +could have suggested a little Alteration in the matter of this +Crabbe, whom I probably am better up in than L. S., though I +certainly could not write about it as he does. Also, one +word about <i>Clarissa</i>. Almost all the rest of the two +Volumes I accept as a Disciple. <a name="citation119a"></a><a +href="#footnote119a" class="citation">[119a]</a></p> +<p>Another Book of the kind—Lowell’s ‘Among my +Books,’ is excellent also: perhaps with more <i>Genius</i> +than Stephen: but on the other hand not so temperate, judicious, +or scholarly in <i>taste</i>. It was Professor Norton who +sent me Lowell’s Second Series; and, if you +should—(as you inevitably will, though in danger of losing +the Ship) answer this Letter, pray tell me if you know how +Professor Norton is—in health, I mean. You told me he +was very delicate: and I am tempted to think he may be less well +than usual, as he has not acknowledged the receipt of a Volume <a +name="citation119b"></a><a href="#footnote119b" +class="citation">[119b]</a> I sent him with some of +Wordsworth’s Letters in it, which he had wished to +see. The Volume did not need Acknowledgment absolutely: but +probably would not have been received without by so amiable and +polite a Man, if he [were] not out of sorts. I should +really be glad to hear that he has only forgotten, or neglected, +to write.</p> +<p><!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>Mr. Lowell’s Ode <a name="citation120a"></a><a +href="#footnote120a" class="citation">[120a]</a> in your last +Magazine seemed to me full of fine Thought; but it wanted +Wings. I mean it kept too much to one Level, though a high +Level, for Lyric Poetry, as Ode is supposed to be: both in +respect to Thought, and Metre. Even Wordsworth (least +musical of men) changed his Flight to better purpose in his Ode +to Immortality. Perhaps, however, Mr. Lowell’s +subject did not require, or admit, such Alternations.</p> +<p>Your last Gossip brought me back to London—but what +Street I cannot make sure of—but one Room in whatever +Street it were, where I remember your Mr. Wade, who took his +Defeat at the Theatre so bravely. <a name="citation120b"></a><a +href="#footnote120b" class="citation">[120b]</a> And your +John, in Spain with the Archbishop of Dublin: and coming home +full of Torrijos: and singing to me and Thackeray one day in +Russell Street: <a name="citation120c"></a><a +href="#footnote120c" class="citation">[120c]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p120.jpg"> +<img alt="Music score for Si un Elio conspiro alevo. . ." +src="images/p120.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><!-- page 121--><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>All which comes to me west of the waves and just within +the sound: and is to travel so much farther Westward over an +Expanse of Rollers such as we see not in this Herring-pond. +Still, it is—The Sea.</p> +<p>Now then Farewell, dear Mrs. Kemble. You will let me +know when you get to Dublin? I will add that, after very +many weeks, I did hear from Donne, who told me of you, and that +he himself had been out to dine: and was none the worse.</p> +<p>And I still remain, you see, your long-winded +Correspondent</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XLV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">12 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>,<br /> +<i>February</i> 19/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Donne has sent me the Address on the cover of this +Letter. I know you will write directly you hear from me; +that is ‘de rigueur’ with you; and, at any rate, you +have your Voyage home to England to tell me of: and how you find +yourself and all in the Old Country. I suppose you include +my Old Ireland in it. Donne wrote that you were to be there +till this Month’s end; that is drawing near; and, if that +you do not protract your Visit, you will [be] very soon within +sight of dear Donne himself, who, I hear from Mowbray, is very +well.</p> +<p><!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>Your last Gossip was very interesting to me. I +see in it (but not in the most interesting part) <a +name="citation122a"></a><a href="#footnote122a" +class="citation">[122a]</a> that you write of a ‘J. +F.,’ who tells you of a Sister of hers having a fourth +Child, etc. I fancy this must be a Jane FitzGerald telling +you of her Sister Kerrich, who would have numbered about so many +Children about that time—1831. Was it that +Jane? I think you and she were rather together just +then. After which she married herself to a Mr. +Wilkinson—made him very Evangelical—and +tiresome—and so they fed their Flock in a Suffolk village. +<a name="citation122b"></a><a href="#footnote122b" +class="citation">[122b]</a> And about fourteen or fifteen +years ago he died: and she went off to live in +Florence—rather a change from the Suffolk Village—and +there, I suppose, she will die when her Time comes.</p> +<p>Now you have read Harold, I suppose; and you shall tell me +what you think of it. Pollock and Miladi think it has +plenty of Action and Life: one of which Qualities I rather missed +in it.</p> +<p>Mr. Lowell sent me his Three Odes about Liberty, <!-- page +123--><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>Washington, etc. They seemed to me full of fine +Thought, and in a lofty Strain: but wanting Variety both of Mood +and Diction for Odes—which are supposed to mean things to +be chanted. So I ventured to hint to him—Is he an +angry man? But he wouldn’t care, knowing of me only +through amiable Mr. Norton, who knows me through you. I +think <i>he</i> must be a very amiable, modest, man. And I +am still yours always</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XLVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">12 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>,<br /> +<i>March</i> 15, [1877.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>By this time you are, I suppose, at the Address you gave me, +and which will now cover this Letter. You have seen Donne, +and many Friends, perhaps—and perhaps you have not yet got +to London at all. But you will in time. When you do, +you will, I think, have your time more taken up than in +America—with so many old Friends about you: so that I wish +more and more you would not feel bound to answer my Letters, one +by one; but I suppose you will.</p> +<p>What I liked so much in your February Atlantic <a +name="citation123"></a><a href="#footnote123" +class="citation">[123]</a> was all about Goethe and Portia: I +think, <i>fine</i> writing, <!-- page 124--><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>in the +plain sense of the word, and partly so because not +‘fine’ in the other Sense. You can indeed spin +out a long Sentence of complicated Thought very easily, and very +clearly; a rare thing. As to Goethe, I made another Trial +at Hayward’s Prose Translation this winter, but failed, as +before, to get on with it. I suppose there is a Screw loose +in me on that point, seeing what all thinking People think of +it. I am sure I have honestly tried. As to Portia, I +still think she ought not to have proved her +‘Superiority’ by withholding that simple Secret on +which her Husband’s Peace and his Friend’s Life +depended. Your final phrase about her ‘sinking into +perfection’ is capital. Epigram—without +Effort.</p> +<p>You wrote me that Portia was your <i>beau-ideal</i> of +Womanhood <a name="citation124a"></a><a href="#footnote124a" +class="citation">[124a]</a>—Query, of +<i>Lady-hood</i>. For she had more than £500 a year, +which Becky Sharp thinks enough to be very virtuous on, and had +not been tried. Would she have done Jeanie Deans’ +work? She might, I believe: but was not tried.</p> +<p>I doubt all this will be rather a Bore to you: coming back to +England to find all the old topics of Shakespeare, etc., much as +you left them. You will hear wonderful things about +Browning and Co.—Wagner—and H. Irving. In a +late <span class="smcap">Temple Bar</span> magazine <a +name="citation124b"></a><a href="#footnote124b" +class="citation">[124b]</a> Lady Pollock says that her Idol +Irving’s Reading of Hood’s Eugene Aram is such that +any <!-- page 125--><a name="page125"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 125</span>one among his Audience who had a +guilty secret in his Bosom ‘must either tell it, or +die.’ These are her words.</p> +<p>You see I still linger in this ugly place: having a very dear +little Niece a little way off: a complete little +‘Pocket-Muse’ I call her. One of the first +Things she remembers is—<i>you</i>, in white Satin, and +very handsome, she says, reading Twelfth Night at this very +place. And I am</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours ever<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>(I am now going to make out a Dictionary-list of the People in +my dear Sévigné, for my own use.) <a +name="citation125a"></a><a href="#footnote125a" +class="citation">[125a]</a></p> +<h2>XLVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>May</i> 5/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I am disappointed at not finding any Gossip in the last +Atlantic; <a name="citation125b"></a><a href="#footnote125b" +class="citation">[125b]</a> the Editor told us at the end of last +Year that it was to be carried on through this: <!-- page +126--><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>perhaps you are not bound down to every month: but I +hope the links are not to discontinue for long.</p> +<p>I did not mean in my last letter to allude again to myself and +Co. in recommending some omissions when you republish. <a +name="citation126"></a><a href="#footnote126" +class="citation">[126]</a> That—<i>viz.</i>, about +myself—I was satisfied you would cut out, as we had agreed +before. (N.B. No occasion to omit your kindly Notices +about my Family—nor my own Name among them, if you like: +only not all about myself.) What I meant in my last Letter +was, some of your earlier Letters—or parts of +Letters—to H.—as some from Canterbury, I +think—I fancy some part of your early Life might be +condensed. But I will tell you, if you will allow me, when +the time comes: and then you can but keep to your own plan, which +you have good reason to think better than mine—though I am +very strong in Scissors and Paste: my ‘Harp and +Lute.’ Crabbe is under them now—as usual, once +a Year. If one lived in London, or in any busy place, all +this would not be perhaps: but it hurts nobody—unless you, +who do hear too much about it.</p> +<p>Last night I made my Reader begin Dickens’ wonderful +‘Great Expectations’: not considered one of his best, +you know, but full of wonderful things, and even with a Plot +which, I think, only needed less intricacy to be admirable. +I had only just read the Book myself: but I wanted to see what my +Reader <!-- page 127--><a name="page127"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 127</span>would make of it: and he was so +interested that he re-interested me too. Here is another +piece of Woodbridge Life.</p> +<p>Now, if when London is hot you should like to run down to this +Woodbridge, here will be my house at your Service after +July. It may be so all this month: but a Nephew, Wife, and +Babe did talk of a Fortnight’s Visit: but have not talked +of it since I returned a fortnight ago. June and July my +Invalid Niece and her Sister occupy the House—not +longer. Donne, and all who know me, know that I do not like +anyone to come out of their way to visit me: but, if they be +coming this way, I am very glad to do my best for them. And +if any of them likes to occupy my house at any time, here it is +at their Service—at yours, for as long as you will, except +the times I have mentioned. I give up the house entirely +except my one room, which serves for Parlour and Bed: and which I +really prefer, as it reminds me of the Cabin of my dear little +Ship—mine no more.</p> +<p>Here is a long Story about very little. Woodbridge +again.</p> +<p>A Letter from Mowbray Donne told me that you had removed to +some house in—Connaught Place? <a +name="citation127a"></a><a href="#footnote127a" +class="citation">[127a]</a>—but he did not name the +number.</p> +<p>Valentia’s wedding comes on: perhaps you will be of the +Party. <a name="citation127b"></a><a href="#footnote127b" +class="citation">[127b]</a> I think it would be one more of +<!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>Sorrow than of Gladness to me: but perhaps that may be +the case with most Bridals.</p> +<p>It is very cold here: ice of nights: but my Tulips and +Anemones hold up still: and Nightingales sing. Somehow, I +don’t care for those latter at Night. They ought to +be in Bed like the rest of us. This seems talking for the +sake of being singular: but I have always felt it, singular or +not.</p> +<p>And I am yours always</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XLVIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>June</i>, 1877.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I only write now on the express condition (which I understand +you to accept) that you will not reply till you are in +Switzerland. I mean, of course, within any reasonable +time. Your last Letter is not a happy one *: but the record +of your first Memoir cannot fail to interest and touch me.</p> +<p>I surmise—for you do not say so—that you are alone +in London now: then, you must get away as soon as you can; and I +shall be very glad to hear from yourself that you are in some +green Swiss Valley, with a blue Lake before you, and snowy +mountain above.</p> +<p>I must tell you that, my Nieces being here—good, pious, +and tender, they are too—(but one of them an <!-- page +129--><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +129</span>Invalid, and the other devoted to attend her) they make +but little change in my own way of Life. They live by +themselves, and I only see them now and then in the +Garden—sometimes not five minutes in the Day. But +then I am so long used to Solitude. And there is an end of +that Chapter.</p> +<p>I have your Gossip bound up: the binder backed it with Black, +which I don’t like (it was his doing, not mine), but you +say that your own only Suit is Sables now. I am going to +lend it to a very admirable Lady who is going to our ugly +Sea-side, with a sick Brother: only I have pasted over one +column—<i>which</i>, I leave you to guess at.</p> +<p>I think I never told you—what is the fact, +however—that I had wished to dedicate Agamemnon to you, but +thought I could not do so without my own name appended. +Whereas, I could, very simply, as I saw afterwards when too +late. If ever he is reprinted I shall (unless you forbid) +do as I desired to do: for, if for no other reason, he would +probably never have been published but for you. Perhaps he +had better [have] remained in private Life so far as England is +concerned. And so much for that grand Chapter.</p> +<p>I think it is an ill-omened Year: beside War (which I +<i>won’t</i> read about) so much Illness and +Death—hereabout, at any rate. A Nephew of +mine—a capital fellow—was pitched upon his head from +a Gig a week ago, and we know not yet how far that head of his +may recover itself. But, beside one’s own <!-- page +130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>immediate Friends, I hear of Sickness and Death from +further Quarters; and our Church Bell has been everlastingly +importunate with its “Toll-toll.” But Farewell for +the present: pray do as I ask you about writing: and believe me +ever yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>* You were thinking of something else when you +misdirected your letter, which sent it a round before reaching +Woodbridge.</p> +<h2>XLIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>June</i> 23/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I knew the best thing I could do concerning the Book you +wanted was to send your Enquiry to the Oracle itself:—whose +Reply I herewith enclose.</p> +<p>Last Evening I heard read Jeanie Deans’ Audience with +Argyle, and then with the Queen. There I stop with the +Book. Oh, how refreshing is the leisurely, easy, movement +of the Story, with its true, and well-harmonized Variety of Scene +and Character! There is of course a +Bore—Saddletree—as in Shakespeare. I presume to +think—as in Cervantes—as in Life itself: somewhat too +much of him in Scott, perhaps. But when the fuliginous and +Spasmodic Carlyle <!-- page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>and Co. talk of Scott’s +delineating his Characters from without to within <a +name="citation131a"></a><a href="#footnote131a" +class="citation">[131a]</a>—why, he seems to have had a +pretty good Staple of the inner Man of David, and Jeanie Deans, +on beginning his Story; as of the Antiquary, Dalgetty, the +Ashtons, and a lot more. I leave all but the Scotch +Novels. Madge has a little—a wee bit—theatrical +about her: but I think her to be paired off with Ophelia, and +worth all Miss Austen’s Drawing-room Respectabilities put +together. It is pretty what Barry Cornwall says on meeting +Scott among other Authors at Rogers’: ‘I do not think +any one envied him any more than one envies Kings.’ <a +name="citation131b"></a><a href="#footnote131b" +class="citation">[131b]</a> You have done him honour in +your Gossip: as one ought to do in these latter Days.</p> +<p>So this will be my last letter to you till you write me from +Switzerland: where I wish you to be as soon as possible. +And am yours always and sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>A Letter from Donne speaks cheerfully. And Charles to be +married again! It may be best for him.</p> +<h2><!-- page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 132</span>L.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">31, <span class="smcap">Great George +Street</span>, S.W.<br /> +<i>Feb.</i> 20, 1878.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Edward FitzGerald</span>,</p> +<p>I have sent your book (‘Mrs. Kemble’s +Autobiography’) as far as Bealings by a safe convoy, and my +cousin, Elizabeth Phillips, who is staying there, will ultimately +convey it to its destination at your house.</p> +<p>It afforded Charlotte [wife] and myself several evenings of +very agreeable reading, and we certainly were impressed most +favourably with new views as to the qualities of heart and head +of the writer. Some observations were far beyond what her +years would have led one to expect. I think some letters to +her friend ‘S.’ on the strange fancy which hurried +off her brother from taking orders, to fighting Spanish quarrels, +are very remarkable for their good sense, as well as warm +feeling. Her energy too in accepting her profession at the +age of twenty as a means of assisting her father to overcome his +difficulties is indicative of the best form of +genius—steady determination to an end.</p> +<p>Curiously enough, whilst reading the book, we met Mrs. Gordon +(a daughter of Mrs. Sartoris) and her husband at Malkin’s +at dinner, and I had the pleasure of sitting next to her. +The durability of type in the <!-- page 133--><a +name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>Kemble face +might be a matter for observation with physiologists, and from +the little I saw of her I should think the lady worthy of the +family.</p> +<p>If the book be issued in a reprint a few omissions might be +well. I fear we lost however by some lacunæ which you +had caused by covering up a page or two.</p> +<p>Charlotte unites with me in kindest regards to yourself</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours very sincerely,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hatherley</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">E. FitzGerald</span>, <span +class="smcap">Esq.</span></p> +<p>I send this to you, dear Mrs. Kemble, not because the writer +is a Lord—Ex-Chancellor—but a very good, amiable, and +judicious man. I should have sent you any other such +testimony, had not all but this been oral, only this one took +away the Book, and thus returns it. I had forgot to ask +about the Book; oh, make Bentley do it; if any other English +Publisher should meditate doing so, he surely will apprise you; +and you can have some Voice in it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>No need to return, or acknowledge, the Letter.</p> +<h2><!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 134</span>LI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>February</i> 22, [1878.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I am calling on you earlier than usual, I think. In my +‘Academy’ <a name="citation134a"></a><a +href="#footnote134a" class="citation">[134a]</a> I saw mention of +some Notes on Mrs. Siddons in some article of this month’s +‘Fortnightly’ <a name="citation134b"></a><a +href="#footnote134b" class="citation">[134b]</a>—as I +thought. So I bought the Number, but can find no Siddons +there. You probably know about it; and will tell me?</p> +<p>If you have not already read—<i>buy</i> Keats’ +Love-Letters to Fanny Brawne. One wishes she had another +name; and had left some other Likeness of herself than the +Silhouette (cut out by Scissors, I fancy) which dashes +one’s notion of such a Poet’s worship. But one +knows what misrepresentations such Scissors make. I +had—perhaps have—one of Alfred Tennyson, done by an +Artist on a Steamboat—some thirty years ago; which, though +not inaccurate of outline, gave one the idea of a respectable +Apprentice. <a name="citation134c"></a><a href="#footnote134c" +class="citation">[134c]</a> But Keats’ +Letters—It happened that, <!-- page 135--><a +name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>just before +they reached me, I had been hammering out some admirable Notes on +Catullus <a name="citation135a"></a><a href="#footnote135a" +class="citation">[135a]</a>—another such fiery Soul who +perished about thirty years of age two thousand years ago; and I +scarce felt a change from one to other. <a +name="citation135b"></a><a href="#footnote135b" +class="citation">[135b]</a> From Catullus’ better +parts, I mean; for there is too much of filthy and +odious—both of Love and Hate. Oh, my dear Virgil +never fell into that: he was fit to be Dante’s companion +beyond even Purgatory.</p> +<p>I have just had a nice letter from Mr. Norton in America: an +amiable, modest man surely he must be. His aged Mother has +been ill: fallen indeed into some half-paralysis: affecting her +Speech principally. He says nothing of Mr. Lowell; to whom +I would write if I did not suppose he was very busy with his +Diplomacy, and his Books, in Spain. I hope he will give us +a Cervantes, in addition to the Studies in his ‘Among my +Books,’ which seem to me, on the whole, the most conclusive +Criticisms we have on their several subjects.</p> +<p>Do you ever see Mrs. Ritchie? Fred. Tennyson wrote me +that Alfred’s son (Lionel, the younger, I suppose) was to +be married in Westminster Abbey: which Fred, thinks an ambitious +flight of Mrs. A. T.</p> +<p>I may as well stop in such Gossip. Snowdrops and +Crocuses out: I have not many, for what I had have been buried +under an overcoat of Clay, poor <!-- page 136--><a +name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>little +Souls. Thrushes tuning up; and I hope my old Blackbirds +have not forsaken me, or fallen a prey to Cats.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I am ever yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">The Old +(Curiosity) Shop</span>. <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>April</i> 16, [1878.]</p> +<p>[Where, by the by, I heard the Nightingale for the first time +yesterday Morning. That is, I believe, almost its exact +date of return, wind and weather permitting. Which being +premised—]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I think it is about the time for you to have a letter from me; +for I think I am nearly as punctual as the Nightingale, though at +quicker Intervals; and perhaps there may be other points of +Unlikeness. After hearing that first Nightingale in my +Garden, I found a long, kind, and pleasant, Letter from Mr. +Lowell in Madrid: the first of him too that I have heard since he +flew thither. Just before he wrote, he says, he had been +assigning Damages to some American who complained of having been +fed too long on Turtle’s Eggs <a name="citation136"></a><a +href="#footnote136" class="citation">[136]</a>:—and all +that sort of Business, says the Minister, does not inspire a man +to Letter-writing. He is acclimatizing himself to +Cervantes, about <!-- page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 137</span>whom he must write one of his fine, +and (as I think) final Essays: I mean such as (in the case of +others he has done) ought to leave no room for a reversal of +Judgment. Amid the multitude of Essays, Reviews, etc., one +still wants <i>that</i>: and I think Lowell does it more than any +other Englishman. He says he meets Velasquez at every turn +of the street; and Murillo’s Santa Anna opens his door for +him. Things are different here: but when my Oracle last +night was reading to me of Dandie Dinmont’s blessed visit +to Bertram in Portanferry Gaol, I said—‘I know +it’s Dandie, and I shouldn’t be at all surprized to +see him come into this room.’ No—no more +than—Madame de Sévigné! I suppose it is +scarce right to live so among Shadows; but—after near +seventy years so passed—‘Que voulez-vous?’</p> +<p>Still, if any Reality would—of its own +Volition—draw near to my still quite substantial Self; I +say that my House (if the Spring do not prove unkindly) will be +ready to receive—and the owner also—any time before +June, and after July; that is, before Mrs. Kemble goes to the +Mountains, and after she returns from them. I dare say no +more, after so much so often said, and all about oneself.</p> +<p>Yesterday the Nightingale; and To-day a small, still, Rain +which we had hoped for, to make ‘poindre’ the +Flower-seeds we put in Earth last Saturday. All Sunday my +white Pigeons were employed in confiscating the Sweet Peas we had +laid there; so that To-day we have to sow the same anew.</p> +<p><!-- page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>I think a Memoir of Alfred de Musset, by his Brother, +well worth reading. <a name="citation138a"></a><a +href="#footnote138a" class="citation">[138a]</a> I +don’t say the best, but only to myself the most acceptable +of modern French Poets; and, as I judge, a fine fellow—of +the moral French type (I suppose some of the Shadow is left out +of the Sketch), but of a Soul quite abhorrent from modern French +Literature—from V. Hugo (I think) to E. Sue (I am +sure). He loves to read—Clarissa! which reminded me +of Tennyson, some forty years ago, saying to me <i>à +propos</i> of that very book, ‘I love those large, +<i>still</i>, Books.’ During a long Illness of A. de +M. a Sister of the Bon Secours attended him: and, when she left, +gave him a Pen worked in coloured Silks, ‘Pensez à +vos promesses,’ as also a little ‘amphore’ she +had knitted. Seventeen years (I think) after, when his last +Illness came on him, he desired these two things to be enclosed +in his Coffin. <a name="citation138b"></a><a href="#footnote138b" +class="citation">[138b]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I am ever yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Dunwich</span>: +<i>August</i> 24, [1878.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I forget if I wrote to you from this solitary Seaside, last +year: telling you of its old Priory walls, etc. I think you +must have been in Switzerland when I <!-- page 139--><a +name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>was here; +however, I’ll not tell you the little there is to tell +about it now; for, beside that I may have told it all before, +this little lodging furnishes only a steel pen, and very diluted +ink (as you see), and so, for your own sake, I will be +brief. Indeed, my chief object in writing at all, is, to +ask when you go abroad, and how you have done at Malvern since +last I heard from you—now a month ago, I think.</p> +<p>About the beginning of next week I shall be leaving this +place—for good, I suppose—for the two +friends—Man and Wife—who form my Company here, living +a long musket shot off, go away—he in broken +health—and would leave the place too solitary without +them. So I suppose I shall decamp along with them; and, +after some time spent at Lowestoft, find my way back to +Woodbridge—in time to see the End of the Flowers, and to +prepare what is to be done in that way for another Year.</p> +<p>And to Woodbridge your Answer may be directed, if this poor +Letter of mine reaches you, and you should care to answer +it—as you will—oh yes, you will—were it much +less significant.</p> +<p>I have been rather at a loss for Books while here, Mudie +having sent me a lot I did not care for—not even for Lady +Chatterton. Aldis Wright gave me his Edition of Coriolanus +to read; and I did not think ‘<i>pow wow</i>’ of it, +as Volumnia says. All the people were talking about me.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I am ever yours truly<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 140</span>LIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>April</i> 3/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:—</p> +<p>I know well how exact you are in answering Letters; and I was +afraid that you must be in some trouble, for yourself, or others, +when I got no reply to a second Letter I wrote you addressed to +Baltimore Hotel, Leamington—oh, two months ago. When +you last wrote to me, you were there, with a Cough, which you +were just going to take with you to Guy’s Cliff. That +I thought not very prudent, in the weather we then had. +Then I was told by some one, in a letter (not from any Donne, I +think—no, Annie Ritchie, I believe) that Mrs. Sartoris was +very ill; and so between two probable troubles, I would not +trouble you as yet again. I had to go to London for a day +three weeks ago (to see a poor fellow dying, sooner or later, of +Brain disease), and I ferreted out Mowbray Donne from Somerset +House and he told me you were in London, still ill of a Cough; +but not your Address. So I wrote to his Wife a few days ago +to learn it; and I shall address this Letter accordingly. +Mrs. Mowbray writes that you are better, but obliged to take care +of yourself. I can only say ‘do not trouble yourself +to write’—but I suppose you will—perhaps the +more if it be a trouble. See what an Opinion I have of +you!—If you write, <!-- page 141--><a +name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>pray tell +me of Mrs. Sartoris—and do not forget yourself.</p> +<p>It has been such a mortal Winter among those I know, or know +of, as I never remember. I have not suffered myself, +further than, I think, feeling a few stronger hints of a +constitutional sort, which are, I suppose, to assert themselves +ever more till they do for me. And that, I suppose, cannot +be long adoing. I entered on my 71st year last Monday, +March 31.</p> +<p>My elder—and now only—Brother, John, has been shut +up with Doctor and Nurse these two months—Æt. 76; his +Wife Æt. 80 all but dead awhile ago, now sufficiently +recovered to keep her room in tolerable ease: I do not know if my +Brother will ever leave his house.</p> +<p>Oh dear! Here is enough of Mortality.</p> +<p>I see your capital Book is in its third Edition, as well it +deserves to be. I <i>see</i> no one with whom to talk about +it, except one brave Woman who comes over here at rare +intervals—she had read my Atlantic Copy, but must get +Bentley’s directly it appeared, and she (a woman of +remarkably strong and independent Judgment) loves it +all—not (as some you know) wishing some of it away. +No; she says she wants all to complete her notion of the +writer. Nor have I <i>heard</i> of any one who thinks +otherwise: so ‘some people’ may be wrong. I +know you do not care about all this.</p> +<p>I am getting my ‘Tales of the Hall’ printed, and +shall one day ask you, and three or four beside, <!-- page +142--><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>whether it had better be published. I think you, +and those three or four others, will like it; but they may also +judge that indifferent readers might not. And that you will +all of you have to tell me when the thing is done. I shall +not be in the least disappointed if you tell me to keep it among +‘ourselves,’ so long as ‘ourselves’ are +pleased; for I know well that Publication would not carry it much +further abroad; and I am very well content to pay my money for +the little work which I have long meditated doing. I shall +have done ‘my little owl.’ Do you know what +that means?—No. Well then; my Grandfather had several +Parrots of different sorts and Talents: one of them +(‘Billy,’ I think) could only huff up his feathers in +what my Grandfather called an owl fashion; so when Company were +praising the more gifted Parrots, he would say—‘You +will hurt poor Billy’s feelings—Come! Do your +little owl, my dear!’—You are to imagine a handsome, +hair-powdered, Gentleman doing this—and his +Daughter—my Mother—telling of it.</p> +<p>And so it is I do my little owl.</p> +<p>This little folly takes a long bit of my Letter +paper—and I do not know that you will see any fun in +it. Like my Book, it would not tell in Public.</p> +<p>Spedding reads my proofs—for, though I have confidence +in my Selection of the Verse (owl), I have but little in my +interpolated Prose, which I make obscure in trying to make +short. Spedding <!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 143</span>occasionally marks a blunder; but +(confound him!) generally leaves me to correct it.</p> +<p>Come—here is more than enough of my little owl. At +night we read Sir Walter for an Hour (Montrose just now) by way +of ‘Play’—then ‘ten minutes’ +refreshment allowed’—and the Curtain rises on Dickens +(Copperfield now) which sends me gaily to bed—after one +Pipe of solitary Meditation—in which +the—‘little owl,’ etc.</p> +<p>By the way, in talking of Plays—after sitting with my +poor friend and his brave little Wife till it was time for him to +turn bedward—I looked in at the famous Lyceum Hamlet; and +soon had looked, and heard enough. It was incomparably the +worst I had ever witnessed, from Covent Garden down to a Country +Barn. I should scarce say this to you if I thought you had +seen it; for you told me you thought Irving might have been even +a great Actor, from what you saw of his Louis XI. I think. +When he got to ‘Something too much of this,’ I called +out from the Pit door where I stood, ‘A good deal too +much,’ and not long after returned to my solitary +inn. Here is a very long—and, I believe (as owls go) +a rather pleasant Letter. You know you are not bound to +repay it in length, even if you answer it at all; which I again +vainly ask you not to do if a bore.</p> +<p>I hear from Mrs. Mowbray that our dear Donne is but +‘pretty well’; and I am still yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 144</span>LV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>April</i> 25, [1879.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I think I have let sufficient time elapse before asking you +for another Letter. I want to know how you are: and, if you +can tell me that you are as well as you and I now expect to +be—anyhow, well rid of that Whooping Cough—that will +be news enough for one Letter. What else, you shall add of +your own free will:—not feeling bound.</p> +<p>When you last wrote me from Leamington, you crossed over your +Address: and I (thinking perhaps of America) deciphered it +‘Baltimore.’ I wonder the P. O. did not return +me my Letter: but there was no Treason in it, I dare say.</p> +<p>My Brother keeps waiting—and +hoping—for—Death: which will not come: perhaps +Providence would have let it come sooner, were he not rich enough +to keep a Doctor in the house, to keep him in Misery. I +don’t know if I told you in my last that he was ill; seized +on by a Disease not uncommon to old Men—an ‘internal +Disorder’ it is polite to say; but I shall say to you, +disease of the Bladder. I had always supposed he would be +found dead one good morning, as my Mother was—as I hoped to +be—quietly dead of the Heart which he had felt for several +Years. But no; it is seen good that he shall be laid on the +Rack—which he may <!-- page 145--><a +name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>feel the +more keenly as he never suffered Pain before, and is not of a +strong Nerve. I will say no more of this. The funeral +Bell, which has been at work, as I never remember before, all +this winter, is even now, as I write, tolling from St. +Mary’s Steeple.</p> +<p>‘Parlons d’autres choses,’ as my dear +Sévigné says.</p> +<p>I—We—have finished all Sir Walter’s Scotch +Novels; and I thought I would try an English one: +Kenilworth—a wonderful Drama, which Theatre, Opera, and +Ballet (as I once saw it represented) may well reproduce. +The Scene at Greenwich, where Elizabeth ‘interviews’ +Sussex and Leicester, seemed to me as fine as what is called (I +am told, wrongly) Shakespeare’s Henry VIII. <a +name="citation145"></a><a href="#footnote145" +class="citation">[145]</a> Of course, plenty of melodrama +in most other parts:—but the Plot wonderful.</p> +<p>Then—after Sir Walter—Dickens’ Copperfield, +which came to an end last night because I would not let my Reader +read the last Chapter. What a touch when Peggotty—the +man—at last finds the lost Girl, and—throws a +handkerchief over her face when he takes her to his +arms—never to leave her! I maintain it—a little +Shakespeare—a Cockney Shakespeare, if you will: but as +distinct, if not so great, a piece of pure Genius as was born in +Stratford. Oh, I am quite sure of that, had I to choose but +one of them, I would choose Dickens’ hundred delightful +Caricatures rather than Thackeray’s half-dozen terrible +Photographs.</p> +<p><!-- page 146--><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>In Michael Kelly’s Reminiscences <a +name="citation146"></a><a href="#footnote146" +class="citation">[146]</a> (quite worth reading about Sheridan) I +found that, on January 22, 1802, was produced at Drury Lane an +Afterpiece called <i>Urania</i>, by the Honourable W. Spencer, in +which ‘the scene of Urania’s descent was entirely new +to the stage, and produced an extraordinary effect.’ +Hence then the Picture which my poor Brother sent you to +America.</p> +<p>‘D’autres choses encore.’ You may +judge, I suppose, by the N.E. wind in London what it has been +hereabout. Scarce a tinge of Green on the hedgerows; scarce +a Bird singing (only once the Nightingale, with broken Voice), +and no flowers in the Garden but the brave old Daffydowndilly, +and Hyacinth—which I scarce knew was so hardy. I am +quite pleased to find how comfortably they do in my Garden, and +look so Chinese gay. Two of my dear Blackbirds have I found +dead—of Cold and Hunger, I suppose; but one is even now +singing—across that Funeral Bell. This is so, as I +write, and tell you—Well: we have Sunshine at +last—for a day—‘thankful for small +Blessings,’ etc.</p> +<p>I think I have felt a little sadder since March 31 that shut +my seventieth Year behind me, while my Brother was—in some +such way as I shall be if I live two or three years +longer—‘Parlons d’autres’—that I am +still able to be sincerely yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 147</span>LVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>May</i> 18, [1879.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>By this Post you ought to receive my Crabbe Book, about which +I want your Opinion—not as to your own liking, which I +doubt not will be more than it deserves: but about whether it is +best confined to Friends, who will like it, as you do, more or +less out of private prejudice—Two points in particular I +want you to tell me;</p> +<p>(1) Whether the Stories generally seem to you to be curtailed +so much that they do not leave any such impression as in the +Original. That is too long and tiresome; but (as in +Richardson) its very length serves to impress it on the +mind:—My Abstract is, I doubt not, more readable: but, on +that account partly, leaving but a wrack behind. What I +have done indeed is little else than one of the old Review +Articles, which gave a sketch of the work, and let the author +fill in with his better work.</p> +<p>Well then I want to know—(2) if you find the present +tense of my Prose Narrative discordant with the past tense of the +text. I adopted it partly by way of further discriminating +the two: but I may have misjudged: Tell me: as well as any other +points that strike you. You can tell me if you <!-- page +148--><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>will—and I wish you would—whether I had +better keep the little <i>Opus</i> to ourselves or let it take +its chance of getting a few readers in public. You may tell +me this very plainly, I am sure; and I shall be quite as well +pleased to keep it unpublished. It is only a very, very, +little Job, you see: requiring only a little Taste, and Tact: and +if they have failed me—<i>Voilà</i>! I had +some pleasure in doing my little work very dexterously, I +thought; and I did wish to draw a few readers to one of my +favourite Books which nobody reads. And, now that I look +over it, I fancy that I may have missed my aim—only that my +Friends will like, etc. Then, I should have to put some +Preface to the Public: and explain how many omissions, and some +transpositions, have occasioned the change here and there of some +initial particle where two originally separated paragraphs are +united; some use made of Crabbe’s original MS. (quoted in +the Son’s Edition;) and all such confession to no good, +either for my Author or me. I wish you could have just +picked up the Book at a Railway Stall, knowing nothing of your +old Friend’s hand in it. But that cannot be; tell me +then, divesting yourself of all personal Regard: and you may +depend upon it you will—save me some further bother, if you +bid me let publishing alone. I don’t even know of a +Publisher: and won’t have a favour done me by ‘ere a +one of them,’ as Paddies say. This is a terrible Much +Ado about next to Nothing. ‘Parlons,’ etc.</p> +<p><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>Blanche Donne wrote me you had been calling in Weymouth +Street: that you had been into Hampshire, and found Mrs. Sartoris +better—Dear Donne seems to have been pleased and mended by +his Children coming about him. I say but little of my +Brother’s Death. <a name="citation149"></a><a +href="#footnote149" class="citation">[149]</a> We were very +good friends, of very different ways of thinking; I had not been +within side his lawn gates (three miles off) these dozen years +(no fault of his), and I did not enter them at his +Funeral—which you will very likely—and +properly—think wrong. He had suffered considerably +for some weeks: but, as he became weaker, and (I suppose) some +narcotic Medicine—O blessed Narcotic!—soothed his +pains, he became dozily happy. The Day before he died, he +opened his Bed-Clothes, as if it might be his Carriage Door, and +said to his Servant ‘Come—Come inside—I am +going to meet them.’</p> +<p>Voilà une petite Histoire. Et voilà bien +assez de mes Egoïsmes. Adieu, Madame; dites-moi tout +franchement votre opinion sur ce petit Livre; ah! vous n’en +pouvez parler autrement qu’avec toute franchise—et +croyez moi, tout aussi franchement aussi,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Votre ami dévoué<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 150--><a name="page150"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 150</span>LVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>May</i> 22, [1879.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I must thank you for your letter; I was, beforehand, much of +your Opinion; and, unless I hear very different advice from the +two others whom I have consulted—Spedding, the +All-wise—(I mean that), and Aldis Wright, experienced in +the Booksellers’ world, I shall very gladly abide by your +counsel—and my own. You (I do believe) and a few +friends who already know Crabbe, will not be the worse for this +‘Handybook’ of one of his most diffuse, but (to me) +most agreeable, Books. That name (Handybook), indeed, I had +rather thought of calling the Book, rather than +‘Readings’—which suggests readings aloud, +whether private or public—neither of which I +intended—simply, Readings to oneself. I, who am a +poor reader in any way, have found it all but impossible to read +Crabbe to anybody. So much for that—except that, the +Portrait I had prepared by way of frontispiece turns out to be an +utter failure, and that is another satisfactory reason for not +publishing. For I particularly wanted this Portrait, copied +from a Picture by Pickersgill which was painted in 1817, when +these Tales were a-writing, to correct the Phillips Portrait done +in the same year, and showing Crabbe with his company +Look—not <!-- page 151--><a name="page151"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 151</span>insincere at all—but not at +all representing the <i>writer</i>. When Tennyson saw +Laurence’s Copy of this Pickersgill—here, at my house +here—he said—‘There I recognise the +Man.’</p> +<p>If you were not the truly sincere woman you are, I should have +thought that you threw in those good words about my other little +Works by way of salve for your <i>dictum</i> on this +Crabbe. But I know it is not so. I cannot think what +‘rebuke’ I gave you to ‘smart under’ as +you say. <a name="citation151a"></a><a href="#footnote151a" +class="citation">[151a]</a></p> +<p>If you have never read Charles Tennyson (Turner’s) +Sonnets, I should like to send them to you to read. They +are not to be got now: and I have entreated Spedding to republish +them with Macmillan, with such a preface of his +own—congenial Critic and Poet—as would discover these +Violets now modestly hidden under the rank Vegetation of +Browning, Swinburne, and Co. Some of these Sonnets have a +Shakespeare fancy in them:—some rather puerile—but +the greater part of them, pure, delicate, beautiful, and quite +original. <a name="citation151b"></a><a href="#footnote151b" +class="citation">[151b]</a> I told Mr. Norton (America) to +get them published over the water if no one will do so here.</p> +<p>Little did I think that I should ever come to relish—old +Sam Rogers! But on taking him up the other day (with +Stothard’s Designs, to be sure!) I found <!-- page 152--><a +name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>a sort of +Repose from the hatchet-work School, of which I read in the +Athenæum.</p> +<p>I like, you know, a good Murder; but in its place—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The charge is prepared; the Lawyers are +met—<br /> +The Judges all ranged, a terrible Show’ <a +name="citation152"></a><a href="#footnote152" +class="citation">[152]</a>—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>only the other night I could not help reverting to that +sublime—yes!—of Thurtell, sending for his accomplice +Hunt, who had saved himself by denouncing Thurtell—sending +for him to pass the night before Execution with perfect +Forgiveness—Handshaking—and ‘God bless +you—God bless you—you couldn’t help it—I +hope you’ll live to be a good man.’</p> +<p>You accept—and answer—my Letters very kindly: but +this—pray do think—is an answer—verily by +return of Post—to yours.</p> +<p>Here is Summer! The leaves suddenly shaken out like +flags. I am preparing for Nieces, and perhaps for my Sister +Andalusia—who used to visit my Brother yearly.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Your sincere Ancient<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LVIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>August</i> 4, [1879].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>Two or three days, I think, after receiving your last letter, +I posted an answer addrest to the Poste <!-- page 153--><a +name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>Restante +of—Lucerne, was it?—anyhow, the town whose name you +gave me, and no more. Now, I will venture through Coutts, +unwilling as I am to trouble their Highnesses—with whom my +Family have banked for three—if not +four—Generations. Otherwise, I do not think they +would be troubled with my Accounts, which they attend to as +punctually as if I were ‘my Lord;’ and I am now their +last Customer of my family, I believe, though I doubt not they +have several Dozens of my Name in their Books—for Better or +Worse.</p> +<p>What now spurs me to write is—an Article <a +name="citation153"></a><a href="#footnote153" +class="citation">[153]</a> I have seen in a Number of Macmillan +for February, with very honourable mention of your Brother John +in an Introductory Lecture on Anglo Saxon, by Professor +Skeat. If you have not seen this ‘Hurticle’ (as +Thackeray used to say) I should like to send it to you; and will +so do, if you will but let me know where it may find you.</p> +<p>I have not been away from this place save for a Day or two +since last you heard from me. In a fortnight I may be going +to Lowestoft along with my friends the Cowells.</p> +<p>I take great Pleasure in Hawthorne’s +Journals—English, French, and Italian—though I cannot +read his Novels. They are too thickly detailed for me: and +of unpleasant matter too. We of the Old World beat the New, +I think, in a more easy manner; <!-- page 154--><a +name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>though +Browning & Co. do not bear me out there. And I am +sincerely yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, +<i>Sept</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> l8, [1879.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Your last letter told me that you were to be back in England +by the middle of this month. So I write some lines to ask +if you <i>are</i> back, and where to be found. To be sure, +I can learn that much from some Donne: to the Father of whom I +must commit this letter for any further Direction. But I +will also say a little—very little having to +say—beyond asking you how you are, and in what Spirits +after the great Loss you have endured. <a +name="citation154"></a><a href="#footnote154" +class="citation">[154]</a></p> +<p>Of that Loss I heard from Blanche Donne—some while, it +appears, before you heard of it yourself. I cannot say that +it was surprising, however sad, considering the terrible Illness +she had some fifteen years ago. I will say no more of it, +nor of her, of whom I could say so much; but nothing that would +not be more than superfluous to you.</p> +<p>It did so happen, that, the day before I heard of her Death, I +had thought to myself that I would send her my Crabbe, as to my +other friends, and wondered <!-- page 155--><a +name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>that I had +not done so before. I should have sent off the Volume for +Donne to transmit when—Blanche’s Note came.</p> +<p>After writing of this, I do not think I should add much more, +had I much else to write about. I will just say that I came +to this place five weeks ago to keep company with my friend +Edward Cowell, the Professor; we read Don Quixote together in a +morning and chatted for two or three hours of an evening; and now +he is gone away to Cambridge and [has] left me to my Nephews and +Nieces here. By the month’s end I shall be home at +Woodbridge, whither any Letter you may please to write me may be +addressed.</p> +<p>I try what I am told are the best Novels of some years back, +but find I cannot read any but Trollope’s. So now +have recourse to Forster’s Life of Dickens—a very +good Book, I still think. Also, Eckermann’s +Goethe—almost as repeatedly to be read as Boswell’s +Johnson—a German Johnson—and (as with Boswell) more +interesting to me in Eckermann’s Diary than in all his own +famous works.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Adieu: Ever yours sincerely<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>I am daily—hourly—expecting to hear of the Death +of another Friend <a name="citation155"></a><a +href="#footnote155" class="citation">[155]</a>—not so old a +Friend, but yet a great loss to me.</p> +<h2><!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 156</span>LX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">11 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>,<br /> +<i>Sept</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 24, [1879 ]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I was to have been at Woodbridge before this: and your Letter +only reached me here yesterday. I have thought upon your +desire to see me as an old Friend of yourself and yours; and you +shall not have the trouble of saying so in vain. I should +indeed be perplext at the idea of your coming all this way for +such a purpose, to be shut up at an Hotel with no one to look in +on you but myself (for you would not care for my Kindred +here)—and my own Woodbridge House would require a little +time to set in order, as I have for the present lost the services +of one of my ‘helps’ there. What do you say to +my going to London to see you instead of your coming down to see +me? I should anyhow have to go to London soon; and I could +make my going sooner, or as soon as you please. Not but, if +you want to get out of London, as well as to see me, I can surely +get my house right in a little time, and will gladly do so, +should you prefer it. I hope, indeed, that you will not +stay in London at this time of year, when so many friends are out +of it; and it has been my thought—and hope, I may +say—that you have already betaken yourself to some pleasant +place, <!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 157</span>with a pleasant Friend or two, which +now keeps me from going at once to look for you in London, after +a few Adieus here. Pray let me know your wishes by return +of Post: and I will do my best to meet them immediately: +being</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever sincerely yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LXI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Sept.</i> 28, [1879.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:—</p> +<p>I cannot be sure of your Address: but I venture a +note—to say that—If you return to London on +Wednesday, I shall certainly run up (the same day, if I can) to +see you before you again depart on Saturday, as your letter +proposes. <a name="citation157"></a><a href="#footnote157" +class="citation">[157]</a></p> +<p>But I also write to beg you not to leave your Daughter for +ever so short a while, simply because you had so arranged, and +told me of your Arrangement.</p> +<p><!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span>If this Note of mine reach you somehow to morrow, there +will be plenty of time for you to let me know whether you go or +not: and, even if there be not time before Wednesday, why, I +shall take no harm in so far as I really have a very little to +do, and moreover shall see a poor Lady who has just lost her +husband, after nearly three years anxious and uncertain watching, +and now finds herself (brave and strong little Woman) somewhat +floored now the long conflict is over. These are the people +I may have told you of whom I have for some years met here and +there in Suffolk—chiefly by the Sea; and we somehow suited +one another. <a name="citation158"></a><a href="#footnote158" +class="citation">[158]</a> He was a brave, generous, Boy +(of sixty) with a fine Understanding, and great Knowledge and +Relish of Books: but he had applied too late in Life to Painting +which he could not master, though he made it his +Profession. A remarkable mistake, I always thought, in so +sensible a man.</p> +<p>Whether I find you next week, or afterward (for I promise to +find you any time you appoint) I hope to find you alone—for +twenty years’ Solitude make me very shy: but always your +sincere</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 159</span>LXII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. +<i>October</i> 7, [1879]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>When I got home yesterday, and emptied my Pockets, I found the +precious Enclosure which I had meant to show, and (if you +pleased) to give you. A wretched Sketch (whether by me or +another, I know not) of your Brother John in some Cambridge Room, +about the year 1832-3, when he and I were staying there, long +after Degree time—he, studying Anglo-Saxon, I +suppose—reading something, you see, with a glass of Ale on +the table—or old Piano-forte was it?—to which he +would sing very well his German Songs. Among them,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p159.jpg"> +<img alt="Music Score" src="images/p159.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Do you remember? I afterwards associated it with some +stray verses applicable to one I loved.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Heav’n would answer all your +wishes,<br /> + Were it much as Earth is here;<br /> +Flowing Rivers full of Fishes,<br /> + And good Hunting half the Year.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Well:—here is the cause of this Letter, so soon after +our conversing together, face to face, in Queen Anne’s <!-- +page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>Mansions. A strange little After-piece to twenty +years’ Separation.</p> +<p>And now, here are the Sweet Peas, and Marigolds, sown in the +Spring, still in a faded Blossom, and the Spirit that Tennyson +told us of fifty years ago haunting the Flower-beds, <a +name="citation160"></a><a href="#footnote160" +class="citation">[160]</a> and a Robin singing—nobody +else.</p> +<p>And I am to lose my capital Reader, he tells me, in a +Fortnight, no Book-binding surviving under the pressure of Bad +Times in little Woodbridge. ‘My dear Fitz, there is +no Future for little Country towns,’ said Pollock to me +when he came here some years ago.</p> +<p>But my Banker here found the Bond which he had considered +unnecessary, safe in his Strong Box:—and I am your sincere +Ancient</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>Burn the poor Caricature if offensive to you. The +‘Alexander’ profile was become somewhat tarnished +then.</p> +<h2>LXIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Oct.</i> 27, [1879.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I am glad to think that my Regard for you and yours, which I +know to be sincere, is of some pleasure to you. Till I met +you last in London, I <!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 161</span>thought you had troops of Friends at +call; I had not reflected that by far the greater number of them +could not be Old Friends; and those you cling to, I feel, with +constancy.</p> +<p>I and my company (viz. Crabbe, etc.) could divert you but +little until your mind is at rest about Mrs. Leigh. I shall +not even now write more than to say that a Letter from Mowbray, +which tells of the kind way you received him and his Brother, +says also that his Father is well, and expects Valentia and +Spouse in November.</p> +<p>This is all I will write. You will let me know by a +line, I think, when that which you wait for has come to +pass. A Post Card with a few words on it will suffice.</p> +<p>You cross over your Address (as usual) but I do my best to +find you.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LXIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: +<i>Oct</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> [? <i>Nov.</i>] 4/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>:—</p> +<p>I need not tell you that I am very glad of the news your note +of Sunday tells me: and I take it as a pledge of old Regard that +you told it me so soon: even but an hour after that other Kemble +was born. <a name="citation161"></a><a href="#footnote161" +class="citation">[161]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 162--><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>I know not if the short letter which I addressed to 4 +Everton Place, Leamington (as I read it in your former Letter), +reached you. Whatever the place be called, I expect you are +still there; and there will be for some time longer. As +there may be some anxiety for some little time, I shall not +enlarge as usual on other matters; if I do not hear from you, I +shall conclude that all is going on well, and shall write +again. Meanwhile, I address this Letter to London, you see, +to make sure of you this time: and am ever yours sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>By the by, I think the time is come when, if you like me well +enough, you may drop my long Surname, except for the external +Address of your letter. It may seem, but is not, +affectation to say that it is a name I dislike; <a +name="citation162"></a><a href="#footnote162" +class="citation">[162]</a> for one reason, it has really caused +me some confusion and trouble with other more or less Irish +bodies, being as common in Ireland as ‘Smith,’ etc., +here—and particularly with ‘Edward’—I +suppose because of the patriot Lord who bore [it]. I should +not, even if I made bold to wish so to do, propose to treat you +in the same fashion; inasmuch as I like your Kemble name, which +has become as it were classical in England.</p> +<h2><!-- page 163--><a name="page163"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 163</span>LXV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Nov.</i> 13/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>Now that your anxieties are, as I hope, over, and that you are +returned, as I suppose, to London, I send you a budget. +First: the famous <i>Belvidere Hat</i>; which I think you ought +to stick into your Records. <a name="citation163a"></a><a +href="#footnote163a" class="citation">[163a]</a> Were I a +dozen years younger, I should illustrate all the Book in such a +way; but, as my French song says, ‘Le Temps est trop court +pour de si longs projets.’</p> +<p>Next, you behold a Photo of Carlyle’s Niece, which he +bid her send me two or three years ago in one of her half-yearly +replies to my Enquiries. What a shrewd, tidy, little Scotch +Body! Then you have her last letter, telling of her Uncle, +and her married Self, and thanking me for a little Wedding gift +which I told her was bought from an Ipswich Pawnbroker <a +name="citation163b"></a><a href="#footnote163b" +class="citation">[163b]</a>—a very good, clever fellow, who +reads Carlyle, and comes over here now and then for a talk with +me. Mind, when you return me the Photo, that you secure +<!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>it around with your Letter paper, that the Postman may +not stamp into it. Perhaps this trouble is scarce worth +giving you.</p> +<p>‘Clerke Sanders’ has been familiar to me these +fifty years almost; since Tennyson used to repeat it, and +‘Helen of Kirkconnel,’ at some Cambridge +gathering. At that time he looked something like the +Hyperion shorn of his Beams in Keats’ Poem: with a Pipe in +his mouth. Afterwards he got a touch, I used to say, of +Haydon’s Lazarus. Talking of Keats, do not forget to +read Lord Houghton’s Life and Letters of him: in which you +will find what you may not have guessed from his Poetry (though +almost unfathomably deep in that also) the strong, masculine, +Sense and Humour, etc., of the man more akin to Shakespeare, I am +tempted to think, in a perfect circle of Poetic Faculties, than +any Poet since.</p> +<p>Well: the Leaves which hung on more bravely than ever I +remember are at last whirling away in a Cromwell +Hurricane—(not quite that, neither)—and my old Man +says he thinks Winter has set in at last. We cannot +complain hitherto. Many summer flowers held out in my +Garden till a week ago, when we dug up the Beds in order for next +year. So now little but the orange Marigold, which I love +for its colour (Irish and Spanish) and Courage, in living all +Winter through. Within doors, I am again at my everlasting +Crabbe! doctoring his Posthumous Tales <i>à la mode</i> of +those of ‘The Hall,’ to finish a Volume of simple +<!-- page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>‘Selections’ from his other works: all +which I will leave to be used, or not, whenever old Crabbe rises +up again: which will not be in the Lifetime of yours ever</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>I dared not decypher all that Mrs. Wister wrote in my +behalf—because I knew it must be sincere! Would she +care for my Eternal Crabbe?</p> +<h2>LXVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Nov.</i> 1879.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I must say a word upon a word in your last which really pains +me—about yours and Mrs. Wister’s sincerity, +etc. Why, I do most thoroughly believe in both; all I meant +was that, partly from your own old personal regard for me, and +hers, perhaps inherited from you, you may both very sincerely +over-rate my little dealings with other great men’s +thoughts. For you know full well that the best Head may be +warped by as good a Heart beating under it; and one loves the +Head and Heart all the more for it. Now all this is all so +known to you that I am vexed you will not at once apply it to +what I may have said. I do think that I have had to say +something of the same sort before now; and I do declare I will +not say it <!-- page 166--><a name="page166"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 166</span>again, for it is simply odious, all +this talking of oneself.</p> +<p>Yet one thing more. I did go to London on this last +occasion purposely to see you at that particular time: for I had +not expected Mrs. Edwards to be in London till a Fortnight +afterward, until two or three days after I had arranged to go and +meet you the very day you arrived, inasmuch as you had told me +you were to be but a few days in Town.</p> +<p>There—there! Only believe me; my sincerity, Madam; +and—<i>Voilà ce qui est fait</i>. +<i>Parlons</i>, etc.</p> +<p>Well: Mrs. Edwards has opened an Exhibition of her +husband’s works in Bond Street—contrary to my +advice—and, it appears, rightly contrary: for over +£300 of them were sold on the first private View day, <a +name="citation166"></a><a href="#footnote166" +class="citation">[166]</a> and Tom Taylor, the great Art Critic +(who neither by Nature nor Education can be such, +‘cleverest man in London,’ as Tennyson once said he +was), has promised a laudatory notice in the omnipotent Times, +and then People will flock in like Sheep. And I am very +glad to be proved a Fool in the matter, though I hold my own +opinion still of the merit of the Picture part of the Show. +Enough! as we Tragic Writers say: it is such a morning as I would +not have sacrificed indoors or in letter-writing to any one but +yourself, and on the subject named.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">BELIEVE ME YOURS SINCERELY.</p> +<h2><!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 167</span>LXVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: +<i>Dec</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 10, [1879.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>Pray let me know how you have fared thus far through +Winter—which began so early, and promises to continue so +long. Even in Jersey Fred. Tennyson writes me it is all +Snow and N.E. wind: and he says the North of Italy is blocked up +with Snow. You may imagine that we are no better off in the +East of England. How is it in London, and with yourself in +Queen Anne’s Mansions? I fancy that you walk up and +down that ante-room of yours for a regular time, as I force +myself to do on a Landing-place in this house when I cannot get +out upon what I call my Quarter-deck: a walk along a hedge by the +upper part of a field which ‘dominates’ (as the +phrase now goes) over my House and Garden. But I have for +the last Fortnight had Lumbago, which makes it much easier to sit +down than to get up again. However, the time goes, and I am +surprised to find Sunday come round again. (Here is my +funny little Reader come—to give me ‘All the Year +Round’ and Sam Slick.)</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>.</p> +<p>I suppose I should have finished this Letter in the way it +begins, but by this noon’s post comes a note from my +Brother-in-law, De Soyres, telling me that <!-- page 168--><a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>his wife +Andalusia died yesterday. <a name="citation168"></a><a +href="#footnote168" class="citation">[168]</a> She had +somewhile suffered with a weak Heart, and this sudden and extreme +cold paralysed what vitality it had. But yesterday I had +posted her a Letter re-enclosing two Photographs of her Grand +Children whom she was very fond and proud of; and that Letter is +too late, you see. Now, none but Jane Wilkinson and E. F.G. +remain of the many more that you remember, and always looked on +with kindly regard. This news cuts my Letter shorter than +it would have been; nevertheless pray let me know how you +yourself are: and believe me yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever and truly,<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>I have had no thought of going to London yet: but I shall +never go in future without paying a Visit to you, if you like +it. I know not how Mrs. Edwards’ Exhibition of her +Husband’s Pictures succeeds: I begged her to leave such a +scheme alone; I cannot admire his Pictures now he is gone more +than I did when he was here; but I hope that others will prove me +to be a bad adviser.</p> +<h2>LXVIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Jan.</i> 8/80.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I think sufficient time has elapsed since my last letter to +justify my writing you another, which, you <!-- page 169--><a +name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>know, means +calling on you to reply. When last you wrote, you were all +in Flannel; pray let me hear you now are. Certainly, we are +better off in weather than a month ago: but I fancy these Fogs +must have been dismal enough in London. A Letter which I +have this morning from a Niece in Florence tells me they have had +‘London Fog’ (she says) for a Fortnight there. +She says, that my sister Jane (your old Friend) is fairly well in +health, but very low in Spirits after that other Sister’s +Death. I will [not] say of myself that I have weathered +away what Rheumatism and Lumbago I had; nearly so, however; and +tramp about my Garden and Hedgerow as usual. And so I clear +off Family scores on my side. Pray let me know, when you +tell of yourself, how Mrs. Leigh and those on the other side of +the Atlantic fare.</p> +<p>Poor Mrs. Edwards, I doubt, is disappointed with her +Husband’s Gallery: not because of its only just repaying +its expenses, except in so far as that implies that but few have +been to see it. She says she feels as if she had nothing to +live for, now that ‘her poor Old Dear’ is gone. +One fine day she went down to Woking where he lies, and—she +did not wish to come back. It was all solitary, and the +grass beginning to spring, and a Blackbird or two singing. +She ought, I think, to have left London, as her Doctor told her, +for a total change of Scene; but she may know best, being a very +clever, as well as devoted little Woman.</p> +<p>Well—you saw ‘The Falcon’? <a +name="citation169"></a><a href="#footnote169" +class="citation">[169]</a> Athenæum and <!-- page +170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>Academy reported of it much as I expected. One of +them said the Story had been dramatised before: I wonder +why. What reads lightly and gracefully in Boccaccio’s +Prose, would surely not do well when drawn out into dramatic +Detail: two People reconciled to Love over a roasted Hawk; about +as unsavoury a Bird to eat as an Owl, I believe. No doubt +there was a Chicken substitute at St. James’, but one had +to believe it to be Hawk; and, anyhow, I have always heard that +it is very difficult to eat, and talk, on the Stage—though +people seem to manage it easily enough in real Life.</p> +<p>By way of a Christmas Card I sent Carlyle’s Niece a +Postage one, directed to myself, on the back of which she might +[write] a few words as to how he and herself had weathered the +late Cold. She replied that he was well: had not +relinquished his daily Drives: and was (when she wrote) reading +Shakespeare and Boswell’s Hebrides. The mention of +him reminds me of your saying—or writing—that you +felt shy of ‘intruding’ yourself upon him by a +Visit. My dear Mrs. Kemble, this is certainly a mistake +(wilful?) of yours; he may have too many ordinary Visitors; but I +am quite sure that he would be gratified at your taking the +trouble to go and see him. Pray try, weather and flannel +permitting.</p> +<p>I find some good Stuff in Bagehot’s Essays, in spite of +his name, which is simply ‘Bagot,’ as men call +it. Also, I find Hayward’s Select Essays so agreeable +that I suppose they are very superficial.</p> +<p><!-- page 171--><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>At night comes my quaint little Reader with +Chambers’ Journal, and All [the] Year Round—the +latter with one of Trollope’s Stories <a +name="citation171"></a><a href="#footnote171" +class="citation">[171]</a>—always delightful to me, and (I +am told) very superficial indeed, as compared to George Eliot, +whom I cannot relish at all.</p> +<p>Thus much has come easily to my pen this day, and run on, you +see, to the end of a second Sheet. So I will ‘shut +up,’ as young Ladies now say; but am always and sincerely +yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LXIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Febr</i>: 3/80.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I do not think it is a full month since I last taxed you for +some account of yourself: but we have had hard weather, you know, +ever since: your days have been very dark in London, I am told, +and as we have all been wheezing under them, down here, I want to +know how you stand it all. I only hope my MS. is not very +bad; for I am writing by Candle, before my Reader comes. He +eat such a Quantity of Cheese and Cake between the Acts that he +could scarce even see to read at all after; so I had to <!-- page +172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>remind him that, though he was not quite sixteen, he +had much exceeded the years of a Pig. Since which we get on +better. I did not at all like to have my Dombey spoiled; +especially Captain Cuttle, God bless him, and his Creator, now +lying in Westminster Abbey. The intended Pathos is, as +usual, missed: but just turn to little Dombey’s Funeral, +where the Acrobat in the Street suspends his performance till the +Funeral has passed, and his Wife wonders if the little Acrobat in +her Arms will so far outlive the little Boy in the Hearse as to +wear a Ribbon through his hair, following his Father’s +Calling. It is in such Side-touches, you know, that Dickens +is inspired to Create like a little God Almighty. I have +read half his lately published letters, which, I think, add +little to Forster’s Account, unless in the way of showing +what a good Fellow Dickens was. Surely it does not seem +that his Family were not fond of him, as you supposed?</p> +<p>I have been to Lowestoft for a week to see my capital Nephew, +Edmund Kerrich, before he goes to join his Regiment in +Ireland. I wish you could see him make his little (six +years old) put him through his Drill. That is worthy of +Dickens: and I am always yours sincerely—and I do hope not +just now very illegibly—</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 173</span>LXX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Febr</i>: 12/80.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>A week ago I had a somewhat poor account of Donne from Edith +D.—that he had less than his usually little Appetite, and +could not sleep without Chloral. This Account I at first +thought of sending to you: but then I thought you would soon be +back in London to hear [of] him yourself; so I sent it to his +great friend Merivale, who, I thought, must have less means of +hearing about him at Ely. I enclose you this Dean’s +letter: which you will find worth the trouble of decyphering, as +all this Dean’s are. And you will see there is a word +for you which you will have to interpret for me. What is +the promised work he is looking for so eagerly? <a +name="citation173"></a><a href="#footnote173" +class="citation">[173]</a> Your Records he +‘devoured’ a Year ago, as a letter of his then told +me; and I suppose that his other word about the number of your +Father’s house refers to something in those Records. +I am not surprised at such an Historian reading your Records: but +I was surprised to find him reading Charles Mathews’ +Memoir, as you will see he has been doing. I told him I had +been reading it: but then that is all in my line. Have +you? No, I think: nor I, by the way, quite half, and that +in Vol. ii.—where is really <!-- page 174--><a +name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>a +remarkable account of his getting into Managerial Debt, and its +very grave consequences.</p> +<p>I hear that Mr. Lowell is coming Ambassador to England, after +a very terrible trial in nursing (as he did) his Wife: who is +only very slowly recovering Mind as well as Body. I believe +I wrote all this to you before, as also that I am ever yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>I cannot remember Pangloss in Candide: only a Pedant Optimist, +I think, which became the <i>soubriquet</i> of Maupertuis’ +<i>Akakia</i> Optimism; but I have not the book, and do not want +to have it.</p> +<h2>LXXI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>March</i> 1, [1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I am something like my good old friend Bernard Barton, who +would begin—and end—a letter to some one who had just +gone away from his house. I should not mind that, only you +will persist in answering what calls for no answer. But the +enclosed came here To-day, and as I might mislay it if I waited +for my average time of writing to you, I enclose it to you +now. It shows, at any rate, that I do not neglect your +Queries; nor does he to whom I refer what I cannot answer myself. +<a name="citation174"></a><a href="#footnote174" +class="citation">[174]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>This Wright edits certain Shakespeare Plays for +Macmillan: very well, I fancy, so far as Notes go; simply +explaining what needs explanation for young Readers, and +eschewing all <i>æsthetic</i> (now, don’t say you +don’t know what ‘æsthetic’ means, etc.) +æsthetic (detestable word) observation. With this the +Swinburnes, Furnivalls, Athenæums, etc., find fault: and a +pretty hand they make of it when they try that tack. It is +safest surely to give people all the <i>Data</i> you can for +forming a Judgment, and then leave them to form it by +themselves.</p> +<p>You see that I enclose you the fine lines <a +name="citation175"></a><a href="#footnote175" +class="citation">[175]</a> which I believe I repeated to you, and +which I wish you to paste on the last page of my Crabbe, so as to +be a pendant to Richard’s last look at the Children and +their play. I know not how I came to leave it out when +first printing: for certainly the two passages had for many years +run together in my Memory.</p> +<p>Adieu, Madame: non pas pour toujours, j’espère; +pas même pour long temps. Cependant, ne vous +gênez pas, je vous prie, en répondant à une +lettre qui ne vaut—qui ne réclame pas +même—aucune réponse: tandis que vous me croyez +votre très dévoué</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edouard de +Petitgrange</span>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 176</span>LXXII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>March</i> 26, [1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>:</p> +<p>The Moon has reminded me that it is a month since I last went +up to London. I said to the Cabman who took me to Queen +Anne’s, ‘I think it must be close on Full +Moon,’ and he said, ‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ +not troubling himself to look back to the Abbey over which she +was riding. Well; I am sure I have little enough to tell +you; but I shall be glad to hear from you that you are well and +comfortable, if nothing else. And you see that I am putting +my steel pen into its very best paces all for you. By far +the chief incident in my life for the last month has been the +reading of dear old Spedding’s Paper on the Merchant of +Venice: <a name="citation176"></a><a href="#footnote176" +class="citation">[176]</a> there, at any rate, is one Question +settled, and in such a beautiful way as only he commands. I +could not help writing a few lines to tell him what I thought; +but even very sincere praise is not the way to conciliate +him. About Christmas I wrote him, relying on it that I +should be most likely to secure an answer if I expressed dissent +from some other work of his; and my expectation was justified by +one of the fullest answers he had written to me for many a day +and year.</p> +<p>I read in one of my Papers that Tennyson had <!-- page +177--><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>another Play accepted at the Lyceum. I think he +is obstinate in such a purpose, but, as he is a Man of Genius, he +may surprise us still by a vindication of what seem to me several +Latter-day failures. I suppose it is as hard for him to +relinquish his Vocation as other men find it to be in other +callings to which they have been devoted; but I think he had +better not encumber the produce of his best days by publishing so +much of inferior quality.</p> +<p>Under the cold Winds and Frosts which have lately visited +us—and their visit promises to be a long one—my +garden Flowers can scarce get out of the bud, even Daffodils have +hitherto failed to ‘take the winds,’ etc. +Crocuses early nipt and shattered (in which my Pigeons help the +winds) and Hyacinths all ready, if but they might!</p> +<p>My Sister Lusia’s Widower has sent me a Drawing by Sir +T. Lawrence of my Mother: bearing a surprising resemblance +to—The Duke of Wellington. This was done in her +earlier days—I suppose, not long after I was born—for +her, and his (Lawrence’s) friend Mrs. Wolff: and though, I +think, too Wellingtonian, the only true likeness of her. +Engravings were made of it—so good as to be facsimiles, I +think—to be given away to Friends. I should think +your mother had one. If you do not know it, I will bring +the Drawing up with me to London when next I go there: or will +send it up for your inspection, if you like. But I do not +suppose you will care for me to do that.</p> +<p><!-- page 178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>Here is a much longer letter than I thought for; I hope +not troublesome to your Eyes—from yours always and +sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<p>I have been reading Comus and Lycidas with wonder, and a sort +of awe. Tennyson once said that Lycidas was a touchstone of +poetic Taste.</p> +<h2>LXXIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>March</i> 28, [1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>No—the Flowers were not from me—I have nothing +full-blown to show except a few Polyanthuses, and a few +Pansies. These Pansies never throve with me till last year: +after a Cartload or two of Clay laid on my dry soil, I suppose, +the year before. Insomuch that one dear little Soul has +positively held on blowing, more or less confidently, all winter +through; when even the Marigold failed.</p> +<p>Now, I meant to have intimated about those Flowers in a few +French words on a Postcard—purposely to prevent your +answering—unless your rigorous Justice could only be +satisfied by a Post Card in return. But I was not sure how +you might like my Card; so here is a Letter instead; which I <!-- +page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>really do beg you, as a favour, not to feel bound to +answer. A time will come for such a word.</p> +<p>By the by, you can make me one very acceptable return, I hope +with no further trouble than addressing it to me. That +‘Nineteenth Century’ for February, with a Paper on +‘King John’ (your Uncle) in it. <a +name="citation179"></a><a href="#footnote179" +class="citation">[179]</a> Our Country Bookseller has been +for three weeks getting it for me—and now says he cannot +get it—‘out of print.’ I rather doubt +that the Copy I saw on your Table was only lent to you; if so, +take no more trouble about it; some one will find me a Copy.</p> +<p>I shall revolve in my own noble mind what you say about +Jessica and her Jewels: as yet, I am divided between you, and +that old Serpent, Spedding. Perhaps ‘That is only his +Fancy,’ as he says of Shylock. What a light, +graceful, way of saying well-considered Truth!</p> +<p>I doubt you are serious in reminding me of my Tumbler on the +Floor; and, I doubt not, quite right in being so. This +comes of one’s living so long either with no Company, or +with only free and easy. But I am always the same toward +you, whether my Tumbler in the right place or not,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">The Laird of +Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 180</span>LXXIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>April</i> 6, [1880.] <a +name="citation180a"></a><a href="#footnote180a" +class="citation">[180a]</a></p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I hope my letter, and the Magazine which accompanies it, will +not reach you at a time when you have family troubles to think +about. You can, however, put letter and Magazine aside at +once, without reading either; and, anyhow, I wish once +more—in vain, I suppose—that you would not feel bound +to acknowledge them.</p> +<p>I think this Atlantic, <a name="citation180b"></a><a +href="#footnote180b" class="citation">[180b]</a> which I took in +so long as you were embarked on it, was sent me by Mr. Norton, to +whom I had sent my Crabbe; and he had, I suppose, shown it to Mr. +Woodberry, the Critic. And the Critic has done his work +well, on the whole, I think: though not quite up to my mark of +praise, nor enough to create any revival of Interest in the +Poems. You will see that I have made two or three notes by +the way: but you are still less bound to read them than the +text.</p> +<p>If you be not bothered, I shall ask you to return <!-- page +181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>me +the Magazine. I have some thought of taking it in again, as +I like to see what goes on in the literary way in America, and I +found their critics often more impartial in their estimation of +English Authors than our own Papers are, as one might guess would +be the case.</p> +<p>I was, and am, reading your Records again, before this +Atlantic came to remind me of you. I have Bentley’s +second Edition. I feel the Dullness of that Dinner Party in +Portland Place <a name="citation181a"></a><a href="#footnote181a" +class="citation">[181a]</a> (I know it was) when Mrs. Frere +sang. She was somewhile past her prime then (1831), but +could sing the Classical Song, or Ballad, till much later in +Life. Pasta too, whom you then saw and heard! I still +love the pillars of the old Haymarket Opera House, where I used +to see placarded <span class="smcap">Medea in Corinto</span>. <a +name="citation181b"></a><a href="#footnote181b" +class="citation">[181b]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I am still yours sincerely<br /> +<span class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<p>You are better off in London this black weather.</p> +<p>P.S. Since my letter was written, I receive the promised +one from Mowbray: his Father well: indeed, in better health and +Spirits than usual: and going with Blanche to Southwell on +Wednesday (to-morrow) fortnight.</p> +<p>His London house almost, if not quite, out of +Quarantine. But—do not go! say I.</p> +<h2><!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 182</span>LXXV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>April</i> 23, [1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I was really sorry to hear from you that you were about to +move again. I suppose the move has been made by this time: +as I do not know whither, I must trouble Coutts, I suppose, to +forward my Letter to you; and then you will surely tell me your +new Address, and also how you find yourself in it.</p> +<p>I have nothing to report of myself, except that I was for ten +days at Lowestoft in company (though not in the house) with +Edward Cowell the Professor: with whom, as in last Autumn, I +read, and all but finished, the second part of Don Quixote. +There came Aldis Wright to join us; and he quite agrees with what +you say concerning the Jewel-robbery in the Merchant of +Venice. He read me the Play; and very well; thoroughly +understanding the text: with clear articulation, and the moderate +emphasis proper to room-reading; with the advantage also of never +having known the Theatre in his youth, so that he has not picked +up the twang of any Actor of the Day. Then he read me King +John, which he has some thoughts of editing next after Richard +III. And I was reminded of you at Ipswich twenty-eight +years ago; and of your Father—his look up at Angiers’ +Walls as he went out in Act ii. I wonder that Mrs. <!-- +page 183--><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>Siddons should have told Johnson that she preferred +Constance to any of Shakespeare’s Characters: perhaps I +misremember; she may have said Queen Catharine. <a +name="citation183a"></a><a href="#footnote183a" +class="citation">[183a]</a> I must not forget to thank you +for the Nineteenth Century from Hatchard’s; Tieck’s +Article very interesting to me, and I should suppose just in its +criticism as to what John Kemble then was. I have a little +print of him about the time: in Œdipus—(whose Play, I +wonder, on such a dangerous subject?) from a Drawing by that very +clever Artist De Wilde: who never missed Likeness, Character, and +Life, even when reduced to 16mo Engraving. <a +name="citation183b"></a><a href="#footnote183b" +class="citation">[183b]</a></p> +<p>What you say of Tennyson’s Eyes reminded me that he +complained of the Dots in Persian type flickering before them: +insomuch that he gave up studying it. This was some thirty +years ago. Talking on the subject one day to his Brother +Frederick, he—(Frederick)—said he thought possible +that a sense of the Sublime was connected with Blindness: as in +Homer, Milton, and Handel: and somewhat with old Wordsworth +perhaps; though his Eyes were, I think, rather weak than +consuming with any inward Fire.</p> +<p>I heard from Mr. Norton that Lowell had returned <!-- page +184--><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>to +Madrid in order to bring his Wife to London—if +possible. She seems very far from being recovered; and +(Norton thinks) would not have recovered in Spain: so Lowell will +have one consolation for leaving the land of Cervantes and +Calderon to come among the English, whom I believe he likes +little better than Hawthorne liked them.</p> +<p>I believe that yesterday was the first of my hearing the +Nightingale; certainly of hearing <i>my</i> Nightingale in the +trees which I planted, ‘hauts comme ça,’ as +Madame de Sévigné says. I am positively about +to read her again, ‘tout Madame de +Sévigné,’ as Ste. Beuve said. <a +name="citation184a"></a><a href="#footnote184a" +class="citation">[184a]</a> What better now Spring is come? +<a name="citation184b"></a><a href="#footnote184b" +class="citation">[184b]</a> She would be enjoying her +Rochers just now. And I think this is a dull letter of +mine; but I am always sincerely yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. de +Petitgrange</span>.</p> +<h2>LXXVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>May</i> 25/80.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>Another full Moon reminds [me] of my monthly call upon you by +Letter—a call to be regularly returned, I know, according +to your Etiquette. As so it must be, I shall be very glad +to hear that <!-- page 185--><a name="page185"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 185</span>you are better than when you last +wrote, and that some, if not all, of the ‘trouble’ +you spoke of has passed away. I have not heard of Donne +since that last letter of yours: but a Post Card from Mowbray, +who was out holyday-making in Norfolk, tells me that he will +write as soon as he has returned to London, which, I think, must +be about this very time.</p> +<p>I shall be sorry if you do not get your annual dose of +Mountain Air; why can you not? postponing your visit to Hampshire +till Autumn—a season when I think those who want company +and comfort are most glad of it. But you are determined, I +think, to do as you are asked: yes, even the more so if you do +not wish it. And, moreover, you know much more of what is +fittest to do than I.</p> +<p>A list of Trench’s works in the Academy made me think of +sending him my Crabbe; which I did: and had a very kind answer +from him, together with a Copy of a second Edition of his +Calderon Essay and Translation. He had not read any Crabbe +since he was a Lad: what he may think of him now I know not: for +I bid him simply acknowledge the receipt of my Volume, as I did +of his. I think much the best way, unless advice is wanted +on either side before publication.</p> +<p>If you write—which you will, unless—nay, whether +troubled or not, I think—I should like to hear if you have +heard anything of Mr. Lowell in London. I do not write to +him for fear of bothering him: but <!-- page 186--><a +name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>I wish to +know that his Wife is recovered. I have been thinking for +some days of writing a Note to Carlyle’s Niece, enclosing +her a Post Card to be returned to me with just a word about him +and herself. A Card only: for I do not know how occupied +she may be with her own family cares by this time.</p> +<p>I have re-read your Records, in which I do not know that I +find any too much, as I had thought there was of some early +Letters. Which I believe I told you while the Book was in +progress. <a name="citation186"></a><a href="#footnote186" +class="citation">[186]</a> It is, I sincerely say, a +capital Book, and, as I have now read it twice over with +pleasure, and I will say, with Admiration—if but for its +Sincerity (I think you will not mind my saying that much)—I +shall probably read it over again, if I live two years +more. I am now embarked on my blessed +Sévigné, who, with Crabbe, and John Wesley, seem to +be my great hobbies; or such as I do not tire of riding, though +my friends may weary of hearing me talk about them.</p> +<p>By the by, to-morrow is, I think, Derby Day; which I remember +chiefly for its marking the time when Hampton Court Chestnuts +were usually in full flower. You may guess that we in the +Country here have been gaping for rain to bring on our Crops, and +Flowers; very tantalising have been many promising Clouds, which +just dropped a few drops by way of Compliment, and then passed +on. But last <!-- page 187--><a name="page187"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 187</span>night, when Dombey was being read to +me we heard a good splash of rain, and Dombey was shut up that we +might hear, and see, and feel it. <a name="citation187"></a><a +href="#footnote187" class="citation">[187]</a> I never +could make out who wrote two lines which I never could forget, +wherever I found them:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Abroad, the rushing Tempest overwhelms<br +/> +Nature pitch dark, and rides the thundering elms.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Very like Glorious John Dryden; but many others of his time +wrote such lines, as no one does now—not even Messrs. +Swinburne and Browning.</p> +<p>And I am always your old Friend, with the new name of</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2>LXXVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>June</i> 23, [1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>You smile at my ‘Lunacies’ as you call my writing +periods; I take the Moon as a signal not to tax you too often for +your inevitable answer. I have now let her pass her Full: +and June is drawing short: <!-- page 188--><a +name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>and you +were to be but for June at Leamington: so—I must have your +answer, to tell me about your own health (which was not so good +when last you wrote) and that of your Family; and when, and +where, you go from Leamington. I shall be sorry if you +cannot go to Switzerland.</p> +<p>I have been as far as—Norfolk—on a week’s +visit (the only visit of the sort I now make) to George Crabbe, +my Poet’s Grandson, and his two Granddaughters. It +was a very pleasant visit indeed; the people all so sensible, and +friendly, talking of old days; the Country flat indeed, but +green, well-wooded, and well-cultivated: the weather well enough. +<a name="citation188a"></a><a href="#footnote188a" +class="citation">[188a]</a></p> +<p>I carried there two volumes of my Sévigné: and +even talked of going over to Brittany, only to see her Rochers, +as once I went to Edinburgh only to see Abbotsford. But +(beside that I probably should not have gone further than talking +in any case) a French Guide Book informed me that the present +Proprietor of the place will not let it be shown to Strangers who +pester him for a view of it, on the strength of those +‘paperasses,’ as he calls her Letters. <a +name="citation188b"></a><a href="#footnote188b" +class="citation">[188b]</a> So this is rather a comfort to +me. Had I gone, I <!-- page 189--><a +name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>should also +have visited my dear old Frederick Tennyson at Jersey. But +now I think we shall never see one another again.</p> +<p>Spedding keeps on writing Shakespeare Notes in answer to +sundry Theories broached by others: he takes off copies of his +MS. by some process he has learned; and, as I always insist on +some Copy of all he writes, he has sent me these, which I read by +instalments, as Eyesight permits. I believe I am not a fair +Judge between him and his adversaries; first, because I have but +little, if any, faculty of critical Analysis; and secondly, +because I am prejudiced with the notion that old Jem is +Shakespeare’s Prophet, and must be right. But, +whether right or wrong, the way in which he conducts, and pleads, +his Case is always Music to me. So it was even with Bacon, +with whom I could not be reconciled: I could not like Dr. Fell: +much more so with ‘the Divine Williams,’ who is a +Doctor that I do like.</p> +<p>It has turned so dark here in the last two days that I scarce +see to write at my desk by a window which has a hood over it, +meant to exclude—the Sun! I have increased my Family +by two broods of Ducks, who compete for the possession of a Pond +about four feet in diameter: and but an hour ago I saw my old +Seneschal escorting home a stray lot of Chickens. My two +elder Nieces are with me at present, but I do not think will be +long here, if a Sister comes to them from Italy.</p> +<p>Pray let me hear how you are. I am pretty well <!-- page +190--><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>myself:—though not quite up to the mark of my +dear Sévigné, who writes from her Rochers when +close on sixty—‘Pour moi, je suis d’une si +parfaite santé, que je ne comprends point ce que Dieu veut +faire de moi.’ <a name="citation190"></a><a +href="#footnote190" class="citation">[190]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">But yours always and a Day,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2>LXXVIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>July</i> 24, 1880.]</p> +<p>‘Il sera le mois de Juillet tant qu’il plaira +à Dieu’ writes my friend +Sévigné—only a week more of it now, +however. I should have written to my friend Mrs. Kemble +before this—in defiance of the Moon—had I not been +waiting for her Address from Mowbray Donne, to whom I wrote more +than a fortnight ago. I hope no ill-health in himself, or +his Family, keeps him from answering my Letter, if it ever +reached him. But I will wait no longer for his reply: for I +want to know concerning you and your health: and so I must +trouble Coutts to fill up the Address which you will not instruct +me in.</p> +<p>Here (Woodbridge) have I been since last I wrote—some +Irish Cousins coming down as soon as English Nieces had +left. Only that in the week’s interval I went to our +neighbouring Aldeburgh on <!-- page 191--><a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>the +Sea—where I first saw, and felt, the Sea some sixty-five +years ago; a dreary place enough in spite of some Cockney +improvements: my old Crabbe’s Borough, as you may +remember. I think one goes back to the old haunts as one +grows old: as the Chancellor l’Hôpital said when he +returned to his native Bourdeaux, I think: ‘Me voici, +Messieurs,’ returned to die, as the Hare does, in her +ancient ‘gîte.’ <a name="citation191"></a><a +href="#footnote191" class="citation">[191]</a> I shall soon +be going to Lowestoft, where one of my Nieces, who is married to +an Italian, and whom I have not seen for many years, is come, +with her Boy, to stay with her Sisters.</p> +<p>Whither are you going after you leave Hampshire? You +spoke in your last letter of Scarboro’: but I still think +you will get over to Switzerland. One of my old +Friends—and Flames—Mary Lynn (pretty name) who is of +our age, and played with me when we both were Children—at +that very same Aldeburgh—is gone over to those Mountains +which you are so fond of: having the same passion for them as you +have. I had asked her to meet me at that +Aldeburgh—‘Aldbro’’—that we might +ramble together along that beach where once we played; but she +was gone.</p> +<p>If you should come to Lowestoft instead of Scarbro’, we, +if you please, will ramble together too. But I do not +recommend the place—very ugly—on a <!-- page 192--><a +name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>dirty Dutch +Sea—and I do not suppose you would care for any of my +People; unless it were my little Niece Annie, who is a delightful +Creature.</p> +<p>I see by the Athenæum that Tom Taylor is dead <a +name="citation192a"></a><a href="#footnote192a" +class="citation">[192a]</a>—the ‘cleverest Man in +London’ Tennyson called him forty years ago. +Professor Goodwin, of the Boston Cambridge, is in England, and +made a very kind proposal to give me a look on his travels. +But I could not let him come out of his way (as it would have +been) for any such a purpose. <a name="citation192b"></a><a +href="#footnote192b" class="citation">[192b]</a> He wrote +that Mrs. Lowell was in better health: residing at Southampton, +which you knew well near fifty years ago, as your Book +tells. Mr. Lowell does not write to me now; nor is there +reason that he should.</p> +<p>Please to make my remembrances to Mr. Sartoris, <!-- page +193--><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>who scarcely remembers me, but whose London House was +very politely opened to me so many years ago. Anyhow, pray +let me hear of yourself: and believe me always yours +sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">The Laird of +Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2>LXXIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Friday</i>, [30 <i>July</i>, +1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I send you Mowbray’s reply to my letter of nearly three +weeks ago. No good news of his Father—still less of +our Army (news to me told to-day) altogether a sorry budget to +greet you on your return to London. But the public news you +knew already, I doubt not: and I thought as well to tell you of +our Donne at once.</p> +<p>I suppose one should hardly talk of anything except this +Indian Calamity: <a name="citation193"></a><a href="#footnote193" +class="citation">[193]</a> but I am selfish enough to ignore, as +much as I can, such Evils as I cannot help.</p> +<p>I think that Tennyson in calling Tom Taylor the +‘cleverest man,’ etc., meant pretty much as you +do. I believe he said it in reply to something I may have +said that was less laudatory. At one time Tennyson almost +lived with him and the Wigans whom I did <!-- page 194--><a +name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>not +know. Taylor always seemed to me as ‘clever’ as +any one: was always very civil to me: but one of those toward +whom I felt no attraction. He was too clever, I +think. As to Art, he knew nothing of it then, nor (as he +admits) up to 1852 or thereabout, when he published his very good +Memoir of Haydon. I think he was too ‘clever’ +for Art also.</p> +<p>Why will you write of ‘If you <i>bid</i> me come to +Lowestoft in October,’ etc., which, you must know, is just +what I should not ask you to do: knowing that, after what you +say, you would come, if asked, were—(a Bull begins +here)—were it ever so unlikely for you. I am going +thither next week, to hear much (I dare say) of a Brother in +Ireland who may be called to India; and am</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours sincerely,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<p>Why won’t you write to me from Switzerland to say where +a Letter may find you? If not, the Harvest Moon will +pass!</p> +<h2>LXXX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Ivy +House</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>:<br /> +<i>Sept</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 20, <a +name="citation194"></a><a href="#footnote194" +class="citation">[194]</a> [1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Here is a second Full Moon since last I wrote—(Harvest +Moon, I think). I knew not where to <!-- page 195--><a +name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 195</span>direct to +you before, and, as you remain determined not to apprize me +yourself, so I have refused to send through Coutts. You do +not lose much.</p> +<p>Here have been for nearly two months Five English Nieces +clustered round a Sister who married an Italian, and has not been +in England these dozen years. She has brought her Boy of +six, who seems to us wonderfully clever as compared to English +Children of his Age, but who, she tells us, is counted rather +behind his Fellows in Italy. Our meeting has been what is +called a ‘Success’—which will not be repeated, +I think. She will go back to her adopted Country in about a +month, I suppose. Do you know of any one likely to be going +that way about that time?</p> +<p>Some days ago, when I was sitting on the Pier, rather sad at +the Departure [of] a little Niece—an abridgment of all that +is pleasant—and good—in Woman—Charles Merivale +accosted me—he and his good, unaffected, sensible, wife, +and Daughter to match. He was looking well, and we have +since had a daily stroll together. We talked of you, for he +said (among the first things he did say) that he had been reading +your Records again: so I need not tell you his opinion of +them. He saw your Uncle in Cato when he was about four +years old; and believes that he (J. P. K.) had a bit of red +waistcoat looking out of his toga, by way of Blood. I tell +him he should call on you and clear up that, and talk on many +other points.</p> +<p><!-- page 196--><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>Mowbray Donne wrote me from Wales a month ago that his +Father was going on pretty well. I asked for further from +Mowbray when he should have returned from Wales: but he has not +yet written. Merivale, who is one of Donne’s greatest +Friends, has not heard of him more lately than I.</p> +<p>Now, my dear Mrs. Kemble, I want to hear of you from yourself: +and I have told you why it is that I have not asked you +before. I fancy that you will not be back in England when +this Letter reaches Westminster: but I fancy that it will not be +long before you find it waiting on your table for you.</p> +<p>And now I am going to look for the Dean, who, I hope, has been +at Church this morning: and though I have not done that, I am not +the less sincerely yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LXXXI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: +<i>Oct</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 20, 1880.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I was to have gone to London on Monday with my Italian Niece +on her way homeward. But she feared saying +‘Farewell’ and desired me to let her set off alone, +to avoid doing so.</p> +<p>Thus I delay my visit to you till November—perhaps +toward the middle of it: when I hope to <!-- page 197--><a +name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>find you, +with your blue and crimson Cushions <a name="citation197"></a><a +href="#footnote197" class="citation">[197]</a> in Queen +Anne’s Mansions, as a year ago. Mrs. Edwards is +always in town: not at all forgetful of her husband; and there +will be our Donne also of whom I hear nothing, and so conclude +there is nothing to be told, and with him my Visits will be +summed up.</p> +<p>Now, lose not a Day in providing yourself with Charles +Tennyson Turner’s Sonnets, published by Kegan Paul. +There is a Book for you to keep on your table, at your +elbow. Very many of the Sonnets I do not care for: mostly +because of the Subject: but there is pretty sure to be some +beautiful line or expression in all; and all pure, tender, noble, +and—original. Old Spedding supplies a beautiful Prose +Overture to this delightful Volume: never was Critic more one +with his Subject—or, Object, is it? Frederick +Tennyson, my old friend, ought to have done something to live +along with his Brothers: all who <i>will</i> live, I believe, of +their Generation: and he perhaps would, if he could, have +confined himself to limits not quite so narrow as the +Sonnet. But he is a Poet, and cannot be harnessed.</p> +<p>I have still a few flowers surviving in my Garden; and I +certainly never remember the foliage of trees so little changed +in October’s third week. A little flight of Snow +however: whose first flight used to <!-- page 198--><a +name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>quicken my +old Crabbe’s fancy: Sir Eustace Grey written under such +circumstances. <a name="citation198"></a><a href="#footnote198" +class="citation">[198]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">And I am always yours<br /> +<span class="smcap">Littlegrange</span></p> +<p>(not ‘Markethill’ as you persist in addressing +me.)</p> +<h2>LXXXII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, +<i>Nov</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 17/80.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>Here is the Moon very near her Full: so I send you a +Letter. I have it in my head you are not in London: and may +not be when I go up there for a few days next week—for this +reason I think so: viz., that you have not acknowledged a Copy of +Charles Tennyson’s Sonnets, which I desired Kegan Paul to +send you, as from me—with my illustrious Initials on the +Fly Leaf: and, he or one of his men, wrote that so it should be, +or had been done. It may nevertheless not have been: or, if +in part done, the illustrious Initials forgotten. But I +rather think the Book was sent: and that you would have guessed +at the Sender, Initials or not. And as I know you are even +over-scrupulous in acknowledging any such things, I gather that +the Book came when you had left London—for Leamington, very +likely: and that there you are now. The Book, and your +Acknowledgment <!-- page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 199</span>of it, will very well wait: but I +wish to hear about yourself—as also about yours—if +you should be among them. I talk of ‘next +week,’ because one of my few Visitors, Archdeacon Groome, +is coming the week after that, I believe, for a day or two to my +house: and, as he has not been here for two years, I do not wish +to be out of the way.</p> +<p>A Letter about a fortnight ago from Mowbray Donne told me that +his Father was fairly well: and a Post Card from Mowbray two days +ago informed [me] that Valentia was to be in London this present +week. But I have wanted to be here at home all this time: I +would rather see Donne when he is alone: and I would rather go to +London when there is more likelihood of seeing you there than now +seems to me. Of course you will not in the slightest way +hasten your return to London (if now away from it) for my poor +little Visits: but pray let me hear from you, and believe me +always the same</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>LXXXIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: +<i>Dec</i><sup><i>r</i></sup><i>.</i> 6, [1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I was surprised to see a Letter in your MS. which could not be +in answer to any of mine. But the Photos account for +it. Thank you: I keep that which I like best, and herewith +return the other.</p> +<p><!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span>Why will you take into your head that I could suppose +you wanting in Hospitality, or any other sort of +Generosity! That, at least, is not a Kemble failing. +Why, I believe you would give me—and a dozen +others—£1000 if you fancied one wanted it—even +without being asked. The Law of Mede and Persian is that +you <i>will</i> take up—a perverse notion—now and +then. There! It’s out.</p> +<p>As to the Tea—‘pure and simple’—with +Bread and Butter—it is the only meal I do care to join +in:—and this is why I did not see Mowbray Donne, who has +not his Dinner till an hour and a half after my last meal is +done.</p> +<p>I should very gladly have ‘crushed a Cup of Tea’ +with you that last Evening, coming prepared so to do. But +you had Friends coming; and so (as Mrs. Edwards was in the same +plight) I went to the Pit of my dear old Haymarket Opera: <a +name="citation200"></a><a href="#footnote200" +class="citation">[200]</a> remembering the very corner of the +Stage where Pasta stood when Jason’s People came to tell +her of his new Marriage; and (with one hand in her Girdle—a +movement (Mrs. Frere said) borrowed from Grassini) she +interrupted them with her +“Cessate—intesi!”—also when Rubini, +feathered hat in hand, began that “Ah te, oh +Cara”—and Taglioni hovered over the Stage. +There was the old Omnibus Box too where D’Orsay flourished +in ample white Waistcoat and Wristbands: and Lady +Blessington’s: and Lady Jersey’s on the Pit tier: and +my own Mother’s, among the lesser Stars, on the <!-- page +201--><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span>third. In place of all which I dimly saw a small +Company of less distinction in all respects; and heard an Opera +(<i>Carmen</i>) on the Wagner model: very beautiful +Accompaniments to no Melody: and all very badly sung except by +Trebelli, who, excellent. I ran out in the middle to the +dear Little Haymarket opposite—where Vestris and Liston +once were: and found the Theatre itself spoilt by being cut up +into compartments which marred the beautiful Horse-shoe shape, +once set off by the flowing pattern of Gold which used to run +round the house.</p> +<p>Enough of these Old Man’s fancies—But—Right +for all that!</p> +<p>I would not send you Spedding’s fine Article <a +name="citation201a"></a><a href="#footnote201a" +class="citation">[201a]</a> till you had returned from your +Visit, and also had received Mrs. Leigh at Queen +Anne’s. You can send it back to me quite at your +leisure, without thinking it necessary to write about it.</p> +<p>It is so mild here that the Thrush sings a little, and my +Anemones seem preparing to put forth a blossom as well as a +leaf. Yesterday I was sitting on a stile by our River +side.</p> +<p>You will doubtless see Tennyson’s new Volume, <a +name="citation201b"></a><a href="#footnote201b" +class="citation">[201b]</a> which is to my thinking far +preferable to his later things, though far inferior to those of +near forty years ago: and so, I think, scarce wanted. There +is a bit of Translation from an old War Song which shows <!-- +page 202--><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>what a Poet can do when he condescends to such work: +and I have always said that ’tis for the old Poets to do +some such service for their Predecessors. I hope this long +letter is tolerably legible: and I am in very truth</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Sincerely yours<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Laird of Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2>LXXXIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Christmas Day</i>, +[1880.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>:</p> +<p>You are at Leamington for this day, I expect: but, as I am not +sure of your address there, I direct to Queen Anne as +usual. This very morning I had a letter from my dear George +Crabbe, telling me that he has met your friend Mr. H. +Aïdé at Lord Walsingham’s, the Lord of G. +C.’s parish: and that Mr. Aïdé had asked him +(G. C.) for his copy of my Crabbe. I should have been very +glad to give him one had he, or you, mentioned to me that he had +any wish for the book: I am only somewhat disappointed that so +few do care to ask for it.</p> +<p>I am here all alone for my Christmas: which is not quite my +own fault. A Nephew, and a young London clerk, were to have +come, but prevented; even my little Reader is gone to London for +his Holyday, and left me with Eyes more out of <i>Kelter</i> <a +name="citation202"></a><a href="#footnote202" +class="citation">[202]</a> <!-- page 203--><a +name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>than usual +to entertain myself with. ‘These are my troubles, Mr. +Wesley,’ as a rich man complained to him when his Servant +put too many Coals on the fire. <a name="citation203a"></a><a +href="#footnote203a" class="citation">[203a]</a> On Friday, +Aldis Wright comes for two days, on his road to his old home +Beccles: and I shall leave him to himself with Books and a Cigar +most part of the Day, and make him read Shakespeare of a +night. He is now editing Henry V. for what they call the +Clarendon Press. He still knows nothing of Mr. Furness, +who, he thinks, must be home in America long ago.</p> +<p>Spedding writes me that Carlyle is now so feeble as to be +carried up and down stairs. But very ‘quiet,’ +which is considered a bad sign; but, as Spedding says, surely +much better than the other alternative, into which one of +Carlyle’s temperament might so probably have fallen. +Nay, were it not better for all of us? Mr. Froude is most +constantly with him.</p> +<p>If this Letter is forwarded you, I know that it will not be +long before I hear from you. And you know that I wish to +hear that all is well with you, and that I am always yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>How is Mr. Sartoris? And I see a Book of <i>hers</i> +advertised. <a name="citation203b"></a><a href="#footnote203b" +class="citation">[203b]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 204</span>LXXXV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Jan.</i> 17, [1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>The Moon has passed her Full: but my Eyes have become so +troubled since Christmas that I have not written before. +All Christmas I was alone: Aldis Wright came to me on New +Year’s Day, and read to me, among many other things, +‘Winter’s Tale’ which we could not take much +delight in. No Play more undoubtedly, nor altogether, +Shakespeare’s, but seeming to me written off for some +‘occasion’ theatrical, and then, I suppose that Mrs. +Siddons made much of the Statue Scene.</p> +<p>I cannot write much, and I fancy that you will not care to +read much, if you are indeed about to leave Queen Anne. +That is a very vexatious business. You will probably be +less inclined to write an answer to my letter, than to read it: +but answer it you will: and you need trouble yourself to say no +more than how you are, and where, and when, you are going, if +indeed you leave where you are. And do not cross your +letter, pray: and believe me always your sincere old friend</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 205--><a name="page205"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 205</span>LXXXVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Feb.</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>:</p> +<p>I expected to send you a piece of Print as well as a Letter +this Full Moon. <a name="citation205"></a><a href="#footnote205" +class="citation">[205]</a> But the Print is not come from +the Printer’s: and perhaps that is as well: for now you can +thank me for it beforehand when you reply (as I know you will) to +this Letter—and no more needs to be said. For I do +[not] need your Advice as to Publication in this case; no such +Design is in my head: on the contrary, not even a Friend will +know of it except yourself, Mr. Norton, and Aldis Wright: the +latter of whom would not be of the party but that he happened to +be here when I was too purblind to correct the few Proofs, and +very kindly did so for me. As for Mr. Norton (America), he +it was for whom it was printed at all—at his wish, he +knowing the MS. had been lying by me unfinisht for years. +It is a Version of the two Œdipus Plays of Sophocles united +as two Parts of one Drama. I should not send it to you but +that I feel sure that, if you are in fair health and spirits, you +will be considerably interested in it, and probably give me more +credit for my share in it than I deserve. As I make sure of +this you see there will be no need to say anything more about +it. The Chorus part is not mine, <!-- page 206--><a +name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>as you will +see; but probably quite as good. Quite enough on that +score.</p> +<p>I really want to know how you like your new Quarters in dear +<i>old</i> London: how you are; and whether relieved from Anxiety +concerning Mr. Leigh. It was a Gale indeed, such as the +oldest hereabout say they do not remember: but it was all from +the East: and I do not see why it should have travelled over the +Atlantic.</p> +<p>If you are easy on that account, and otherwise pretty well in +mind and Body, tell me if you have been to see the Lyceum +‘Cup’ <a name="citation206a"></a><a +href="#footnote206a" class="citation">[206a]</a> and what you +make of it. Somebody sent me a Macmillan <a +name="citation206b"></a><a href="#footnote206b" +class="citation">[206b]</a> with an Article about it by Lady +Pollock; the extracts she gave seemed to me a somewhat lame +imitation of Shakespeare.</p> +<p>I venture to think—and what is more daring—to +write, that my Eyes are better, after six weeks’ rest and +Blue Glasses. But I say so with due regard to my old Friend +Nemesis.</p> +<p>I have heard nothing about my dear Donne since you wrote: and +you only said that you had not <i>heard</i> a good account of +him. Since then you have, I doubt not, seen as well as +heard. But, now that I see better (Absit Invidia!) I will +ask Mowbray.</p> +<p>It is well, I think, that Carlyle desired to rest (as I am +told he did) where he was born—at Ecclefechan, from which I +have, or had, several Letters dated by <!-- page 207--><a +name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 207</span>him. +His Niece, who had not replied to my note of Enquiry, of two +months ago, wrote to me after his Death.</p> +<p>Now I have written enough for you as well as for myself: and +am yours always the same</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>. *</p> +<p>* ‘What foppery is this, sir?’—<i>Dr. +Johnson</i>.</p> +<h2>LXXXVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Feb.</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:—</p> +<p>As you generally return a Salute so directly, I began to be +alarmed at not hearing from you sooner—either that you were +ill, or your Daughter, or some ill news about Mr. Leigh. I +had asked one who reads the Newspapers, and was told there had +been much anxiety as to the Cunard Ship, which indeed was only +just saved from total Wreck. But all is well so far as you +and yours are concerned; and I will sing ‘Gratias’ +along with you.</p> +<p>Mowbray Donne wrote to tell me that he and his had provided +for some man to accompany our dear old Friend in his walks; and, +as he seems himself to like it, all is so far well in that +quarter also.</p> +<p>I was touched with the account of Carlyle’s simple +Obsequies among his own Kinsfolk, in the place of <!-- page +208--><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +208</span>his Birth—it was fine of him to settle that so it +should be. I am glad also that Mr. Froude is charged with +his Biography: a Gentleman, as well as a Scholar and +‘Writer of Books,’ who will know what to leave unsaid +as well as what to say.</p> +<p>Your account of ‘The Cup’ is what I should have +expected from you: and, if I may say so, from myself had I seen +it.</p> +<p>And with this Letter comes my Sophocles, of which I have told +you what I expect you will think also, and therefore need not +say—unless of a different opinion. It came here I +think the same Day on which I wrote to tell you it had not come: +but I would not send it until assured that all was well with +you. Such corrections as you will find are not meant as +Poetical—or rather Versifying—improvements, but +either to clear up obscurity, or to provide for some +modifications of the two Plays when made, as it were, into +one. Especially concerning the Age of Œdipus: whom I +do not intend to be the <i>old</i> man in Part II. as he appears +in the original. For which, and some other things, I will, +if Eyes hold, send you some printed reasons in an introductory +Letter to Mr. Norton, at whose desire I finished what had been +lying in my desk these dozen years.</p> +<p>As I said of my own Æschylus Choruses, I say of old +Potter’s now: better just to take a hint from them of what +they are about—or imagine it for yourself—and then +imagine, or remember, some grand Organ piece—as of +Bach’s Preludes—which will be <!-- page 209--><a +name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>far better +Interlude than Potter—or I—or even (as I dare think) +than Sophocles’ self!</p> +<p>And so I remain your ancient Heretic,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +G.</span></p> +<p>The newly printed Part II. would not bear Ink.</p> +<h2>LXXXVIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Feb.</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>Pray keep the Book: I always intended that you should do so if +you liked it: and, as I believe I said, I was sure that like it +you would. I did not anticipate how much: but am all the +more glad: and (were I twenty years younger) should be all the +more proud; even making, as I do, a little allowance for your old +and constant regard to the Englisher. The Drama is, +however, very skilfully put together, and very well versified, +although that not as an original man—such as +Dryden—would have versified it: I will, by and by, send you +a little introductory letter to Mr. Norton, explaining to him, a +Greek Scholar, why I have departed from so much of the original: +‘little’ I call the Letter, but yet so long that I +did not wish him, or you, to have as much trouble in reading, as +I, with my bad Eyes, had in writing it: so, as I tell +him—and you—it must go to the Printers along with the +Play which it prates about.</p> +<p>I think I once knew why the two Cities in Egypt <!-- page +210--><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>and Bœotia were alike named Thebes; and perhaps +could now find out from some Books now stowed away in a dark +Closet which affrights my Eyes to think of. But any of your +learned friends in London will tell you, and probably more +accurately than Paddy. I cannot doubt but that Sphinx and +heaps more of the childish and dirty mythology of Greece came +from Egypt, and who knows how far beyond, whether in Time or +Space!</p> +<p>Your Uncle, the great John, did enact Œdipus in some +Tragedy, by whom I know not: I have a small Engraving of him in +the Character, from a Drawing of that very clever artist De +Wilde; <a name="citation210"></a><a href="#footnote210" +class="citation">[210]</a> but this is a heavy Likeness, though +it may have been a true one of J. K. in his latter years, or in +one of his less inspired—or more +asthmatic—moods. This portrait is one of a great many +(several of Mrs. Siddons) in a Book I have—and which I will +send you if you would care to see it: plenty of them are rubbish +such as you would wonder at a sensible man having ever taken the +trouble to put together. But I inherit a long-rooted +Affection for the Stage: almost as real a World to me as Jaques +called it. Of yourself there is but a Newspaper Scrap or +two: I think I must have cut out and given you what was better: +but I never thought any one worth having except Sir +Thomas’, which I had from its very first Appearance, and +keep in a large Book along with some others of a like size: Kean, +Mars, Talma, Duchesnois, etc., <!-- page 211--><a +name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>which +latter I love, though I heard more of them than I saw.</p> +<p>Yesterday probably lighted you up once again in London, as it +did us down here. ‘Richard’ thought he began to +feel himself up to his Eyes again: but To-day all Winter again, +though I think I see the Sun resolved on breaking through the +Snow clouds. My little Aconites—which are sometimes +called ‘New Year Gifts,’ <a +name="citation211a"></a><a href="#footnote211a" +class="citation">[211a]</a> have almost lived their little Lives: +my Snowdrops look only too much in Season; but we will hope that +all this Cold only retards a more active Spring.</p> +<p>I should not have sent you the Play till Night had I thought +you would sit up that same night to read it. Indeed, I had +put it away for the Night Post: but my old Hermes came in to say +he was going into Town to market, and so he took it with him to +Post.</p> +<p>Farewell for the present—till next Full Moon? I am +really glad that all that Atlantic worry has blown over, and all +ended well so far as you and yours are concerned. And I am +always your ancient</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +G.</span></p> +<h2>LXXXIX. <a name="citation211b"></a><a href="#footnote211b" +class="citation">[211b]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>March</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>It was very, very good and kind of you to write to me about +Spedding. Yes: Aldis Wright had apprised <!-- page 212--><a +name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 212</span>me of the +matter just after it happened—he happening to be in London +at the time; and but two days after the accident heard that +Spedding was quite calm, and even cheerful; only anxious that +Wright himself should not be kept waiting for some communication +which S. had promised him! Whether to live, or to die, he +will be Socrates still.</p> +<p>Directly that I heard from Wright, I wrote to Mowbray Donne to +send me just a Post Card—daily if he or his wife +could—with but one or two words on +it—‘Better,’ ‘Less well,’ or +whatever it might be. This morning I hear that all is going +on even better than could be expected, according to Miss +Spedding. But I suppose the Crisis, which you tell me of, +is not yet come; and I have always a terror of that French +Adage—‘<i>Monsieur se porte mal</i>—<i>Monsieur +se porte mieux</i>—<i>Monsieur est</i>’—Ah, you +know—or you guess, the rest.</p> +<p>My dear old Spedding, though I have not seen him these twenty +years and more—and probably should never see him +again—but he lives—his old Self—in my heart of +hearts; and all I hear of him does but embellish the recollection +of him—if it could be embellished—for he is but the +same that he was from a Boy—all that is best in Heart and +Head—a man that would be incredible had one not known +him.</p> +<p>I certainly should have gone up to London—even with Eyes +that will scarce face the lamps of Woodbridge—not to see +him, but to hear the first intelligence <!-- page 213--><a +name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>I could +about him. But I rely on the Postcard for but a +Night’s delay. Laurence, Mowbray tells me, had been +to see him, and found him as calm as had been reported by +Wright. But the Doctors had said that he should be kept as +quiet as possible.</p> +<p>I think, from what Mowbray also says, that you may have seen +our other old Friend Donne in somewhat worse plight than usual +because of his being much shocked at this Accident. He +would feel it indeed!—as you do.</p> +<p>I had even thought of writing to tell you of all this, but +could not but suppose that you were more likely to know of it +than myself; though sometimes one is greatly mistaken with those +‘of course you knows, etc.’—But you have known +it all: and have very kindly written of it to me, whom you might +also have supposed already informed of it: but you took the +trouble to write, not relying on ‘of course you know, +etc.’</p> +<p>I have thought lately that I ought to make some enquiry about +Arthur Malkin, who was always very kind to me. I had meant +to send him my Crabbe, who was a great favourite of his +Father’s, ‘an excellent companion for Old Age’ +he told—Donne, I think. But I do not know if I ever +did send him the Book, and now, judging by what you tell me, it +is too late to do so, unless for Compliment.</p> +<p>The Sun, I see, has put my Fire out—for which I only +thank him, and will go to look for him himself in my +Garden—only with a Green Shade over my <!-- page 214--><a +name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>Eyes. +I must get to London to see you before you move away to +Leamington; when I can bear Sun or Lamp without odious blue +Glasses, etc. I dare to think those Eyes are better, though +not Sun-proof: and I am ever yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +G.</span></p> +<h2>XC. <a name="citation214"></a><a href="#footnote214" +class="citation">[214]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right">20 <i>March</i>, [1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I have let the Full Moon pass because I thought you had +written to me so lately, and so kindly, about our lost Spedding, +that I would not call on you too soon again. Of him I will +say nothing except that his Death has made me recall very many +passages in his Life in which I was partly concerned. In +particular, staying at his Cumberland Home along with Tennyson in +the May of 1835. ‘Voilà bien long temps de +ça!’ His Father and Mother were both +alive—he, a wise man, who mounted his Cob after Breakfast, +and was at his Farm till Dinner at two—then away again till +Tea: after which he sat reading by a shaded lamp: saying very +little, but always courteous, and quite content with any company +his Son might bring to the house so long as they let him go his +way: which indeed he would have gone whether they let him or +no. But he had seen enough of Poets not to like them or +their <!-- page 215--><a name="page215"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 215</span>Trade: Shelley, for a time living +among the Lakes: Coleridge at Southey’s (whom perhaps he +had a respect for—Southey, I mean), and Wordsworth, whom I +do not think he valued. He was rather jealous of +‘Jem,’ who might have done available service in the +world, he thought, giving himself up to such Dreamers; and +sitting up with Tennyson conning over the Morte d’Arthur, +Lord of Burleigh, and other things which helped to make up the +two Volumes of 1842. So I always associate that Arthur +Idyll with Basanthwaite Lake, under Skiddaw. Mrs. Spedding +was a sensible, motherly Lady, with whom I used to play Chess of +a Night. And there was an old Friend of hers, Mrs. Bristow, +who always reminded me of Miss La Creevy, if you know of such a +Person in Nickleby.</p> +<p>At the end of May we went to lodge for a week at +Windermere—where Wordsworth’s new volume of Yarrow +Revisited reached us. W. was then at his home: but Tennyson +would not go to visit him: and of course I did not: nor even saw +him.</p> +<p>You have, I suppose, the Carlyle Reminiscences: of which I +will say nothing except that, much as we outsiders gain by them, +I think that, on the whole, they had better have been kept +unpublished—for some while at least. As also thinks +Carlyle’s Niece, who is surprised that Mr. Froude, whom her +Uncle trusted above all men for the gift of Reticence, should +have been in so much hurry to publish what was left to his +Judgment to publish or no. But Carlyle himself, <!-- page +216--><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>I +think, should have stipulated for Delay, or retrenchment, if +publisht at all.</p> +<p>Here is a dull and coldish Day after the fine ones we have +had—which kept me out of doors as long as they +lasted. Now one turns to the Fireside again. +To-morrow is Equinox Day; when, if the Wind should return to +North East, North East will it blow till June 21, as we all +believe down here. My Eyes are better, I presume to say: +but not what they were even before Christmas. Pray let me +hear how you are, and believe me ever the same</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>Oh! I doubted about sending you what I yet will send, as you +already have what it refers to. It really calls for no +comment from any one who does not know the Greek; those who do +would probably repudiate it.</p> +<h2>XCI. <a name="citation216a"></a><a href="#footnote216a" +class="citation">[216a]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>April</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Somewhat before my usual time, you see, but Easter <a +name="citation216b"></a><a href="#footnote216b" +class="citation">[216b]</a> comes, and I shall be glad to hear if +you keep it in London, or elsewhere. Elsewhere there has +been no inducement to go until To-day: when <!-- page 217--><a +name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>the Wind, +though yet East, has turned to the Southern side of it: one can +walk without any wrapper; and I dare to fancy we have turned the +corner of Winter at last. People talk of changed Seasons: +only yesterday I was reading in my dear old +Sévigné, how she was with the Duke and Duchess of +Chaulnes at their Château of Chaulnes in Picardy all but +two hundred years ago; that is in 1689: and the green has not as +yet ventured to show its ‘nez’ nor a Nightingale to +sing. <a name="citation217"></a><a href="#footnote217" +class="citation">[217]</a> You see that I have returned to +her as for some Spring Music, at any rate. As for the +Birds, I have nothing but a Robin, who seems rather pleased when +I sit down on a Bench under an Ivied Pollard, where I suppose he +has a Nest, poor little Fellow. But we have terrible +Superstitions about him here; no less than that he always kills +his Parents if he can: my young Reader is quite determined on +this head: and there lately has been a Paper in some Magazine to +the same effect.</p> +<p>My dear old Spedding sent me back to old Wordsworth too, who +sings (his best songs, I think) about the Mountains and Lakes +they were both associated with: and with a quiet feeling he +sings, that somehow comes home to me more now than ever it did +before.</p> +<p>As to Carlyle—I thought on my first reading that he must +have been ‘<i>égaré</i>’ at the time of +writing: a <!-- page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 218</span>condition which I well remember +saying to Spedding long ago that one of his temperament might +likely fall into. And now I see that Mrs. Oliphant hints at +something of the sort. Hers I think an admirable Paper: <a +name="citation218"></a><a href="#footnote218" +class="citation">[218]</a> better than has yet been written, or +(I believe) is likely to be written by any one else. +Merivale, who wrote me that he had seen you, had also seen Mrs. +Procter, who was vowing vengeance, and threatening to publish +letters from Carlyle to Basil Montagu full of ‘fulsome +flattery’—which I do not believe, and should not, I +am sorry to say, unless I saw it in the original. I forget +now what T. C. says of him: (I have lent the Book out)—but +certainly Barry Cornwall told Thackeray he was ‘a +humbug’—which I think was no uncommon opinion: I do +not mean dishonest: but of pretension to Learning and Wisdom far +beyond the reality. I must think Carlyle’s judgments +mostly, or mainly, true; but that he must have ‘lost his +head,’ if not when he recorded them, yet when he left them +in any one’s hands to decide on their publication. +Especially when not about Public Men, but about their +Families. It is slaying the Innocent with the Guilty. +But of all this you have doubtless heard in London more than +enough. ‘Pauvre et triste +humanité!’ One’s heart opens again to +him at the last: sitting alone in the middle of her +Room—‘I want to die’—‘I +want—a Mother.’ ‘Ah, Mamma +Letizia!’ Napoleon is said to have murmured as he +lay. By way of pendant to <!-- page 219--><a +name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>this, +recurs to me the Story that when Ducis was wretched his mother +would lay his head on her Bosom—‘Ah, mon homme, mon +pauvre homme!’</p> +<p>Well—I am expecting Aldis Wright here at Easter: and a +young London Clerk (this latter I did invite for his short +holiday, poor Fellow!). Wright is to read me ‘The Two +Noble Kinsmen.’</p> +<p>And now I have written more than enough for yourself and me: +whose Eyes may be the worse for it to-morrow. I still go +about in Blue Glasses, and flinch from Lamp and Candle. +Pray let me know about your own Eyes, and your own Self; and +believe me always sincerely yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<p>I really was relieved that you did not write to thank me for +the poor flowers which I sent you. They were so poor that I +thought you would feel bound so to do, and, when they were gone, +repented. I have now some gay Hyacinths up, which make my +pattypan Beds like China Dishes.</p> +<h2>XCII. <a name="citation219"></a><a href="#footnote219" +class="citation">[219]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>April</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>:</p> +<p>This present Letter calls for no answer—except just that +which perhaps you cannot make it. If <!-- page 220--><a +name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 220</span>you have +that copy of Plays revised by John the Great which I sent, or +brought, you, I wish you would cause your Maid to pack it in +brown Paper, and send it by Rail duly directed to me. I +have a wish to show it to Aldis Wright, who takes an Interest in +your Family, as in your Prophet. If you have already +dismissed the Book elsewhere—not much liking, I think, the +stuff which J. K. spent so much trouble on, I shall not be +surprised, nor at all aggrieved: and there is not much for A. W. +to profit by unless in seeing what pains your noble Uncle took +with his Calling.</p> +<p>It has been what we call down here ‘smurring’ +rather than raining, all day long: and I think that Flower and +Herb already show their gratitude. My Blackbird (I think it +is the same I have tried to keep alive during the Winter) seems +also to have ‘wetted his Whistle,’ and what they call +the ‘Cuckoo’s mate,’ with a rather harsh +scissor note, announces that his Partner may be on the wing to +these Latitudes. You will hear of him at Mr. W. +Shakespeare’s, it may be. There must be Violets, +white and blue, somewhere about where he lies, I think. +They are generally found in a Churchyard, where also (the Hunters +used to say) a Hare: for the same reason of comparative security, +I suppose.</p> +<p>I am very glad you agree with me about Mrs. Oliphant. +That one paper of hers makes me wish to read her Books.</p> +<p>You must somehow, or somewhile, let me know <!-- page 221--><a +name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>your +Address in Leamington, unless a Letter addressed to Cavendish +Square will find you there. Always and truly yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +G.</span></p> +<h2>XCIII. <a name="citation221"></a><a href="#footnote221" +class="citation">[221]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 8, [1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>You will not break your Law, though you have done so +once—to tell me of Spedding—But now you will +not—nor let me know your Address—so I must direct to +you at a venture: to Marshall Thompson’s, whither I suppose +you will return awhile, even if you be not already there. I +think, however, that you are not there yet. If still at +Leamington, you look upon a sight which I used to like well; that +is, the blue Avon (as in this weather it will be) running through +buttercup meadows all the way to Warwick—unless those +Meadows are all built over since I was there some forty years +ago.</p> +<p>Aldis Wright stayed with me a whole week at Easter: and we did +very well. Much Shakespeare—especially concerning +that curious Question about the Quarto and Folio Hamlets which +people are now trying to solve by Action as well as by +Discussion. Then we had The Two Noble Kinsmen—which +Tennyson and other Judges were assured has much <!-- page +222--><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>of +W. S. in it. Which parts I forget, or never heard: but it +seemed to me that a great deal of the Play might be his, though +not of his best: but Wright could find him nowhere.</p> +<p>Miss Crabbe sent me a Letter from Carlyle’s Niece, cut +out from some Newspaper, about her Uncle’s MS. Memoir, and +his written words concerning it. Even if Froude’s +explanation of the matter be correct, he ought to have still +taken any hesitation on Carlyle’s part as sufficient proof +that the MS. were best left unpublisht: or, at any rate, great +part of it. If you be in London, you will be wearied enough +with hearing about this.</p> +<p>I am got back to my—Sévigné!—who +somehow returns to me in Spring: fresh as the Flowers. +These latter have done but badly this Spring, cut off or withered +by the Cold: and now parched up by this blazing Sun and dry +Wind. If you get my letter, pray answer it and tell me how +you are: and ever believe me yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2>XCIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i>, [1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>If I did not write (as doubtless I ought) to acknowledge the +Playbook, I really believe that I thought you would have felt +bound to answer my acknowledgment! It came all right, thank +you: and <!-- page 223--><a name="page223"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 223</span>A. Wright looked it over: and it has +been lying ready to be returned to you whenever you should be +returned to London. I assure you that I wish you to keep +it, unless it be rather unacceptable than otherwise; I never +thought you would endure the Plays themselves; only that you +might be interested in your brave Uncle’s patient and, I +think, just, revision of them. This was all I cared for: +and wished to show to A. W. as being interested in all that +concerns so noble an Interpreter of his Shakespeare as your Uncle +was. If you do not care—or wish—to have the +Book again, tell me of some one you would wish to have it: had I +wished, I should have told you so at once: but I now give away +even what I might have wished for to those who are in any way +more likely to be more interested in them than myself, or are +likely to have a few more years of life to make what they may of +them. I do not think that A. W. is one of such: he thought +(as you may do) of so much pains wasted on such sorry stuff.</p> +<p>So far from disagreeing with you about Shakespeare +emendations, etc., I have always been of the same mind: quite +content with what pleased myself, and, as to the elder +Dramatists, always thinking they would be better all annihilated +after some Selections made from them, as C. Lamb did.</p> +<p>Mowbray Donne wrote to me a fortnight or so since that his +Father was ‘pretty well,’ but weak in the +knees. Three days ago came in Archdeacon Groome, who told +me that a Friend of Mowbray’s <!-- page 224--><a +name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 224</span>had just +heard from him that his Father had symptoms of dropsy about the +Feet and Ankles. I have not, however, written to ask; and, +not having done so, perhaps ought not to sadden you with what may +be an inaccurate report. But one knows that, sooner or +later, some such end must come; and that, in the meanwhile, +Donne’s Life is but little preferable to that which +promises the speedier end to it.</p> +<p>We are all drying up here with hot Sun and cold Wind; my +Water-pot won’t keep Polyanthus and Anemone from +perishing. I should have thought the nightly Frosts and +Winds would have done for Fruit as well as Flower: but I am told +it is not so as yet: and I hope for an honest mess of Gooseberry +Fool yet. In the meanwhile, ‘Ce sera le mois de Mai +tant qu’il plaira à Dieu,’ and I am always +your ancient</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +G.</span></p> +<h2>XCV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <span +class="smcap">Tuesday</span>:<br /> +[<i>End of May</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>I must write you a word of ‘God Speed’ before you +go: before even you go to London to prepare for going: for, if I +wait till then, you will be all bother with preparations, and +leave-takings; and nevertheless feel yourself bound to +answer. Pray <!-- page 225--><a name="page225"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 225</span>do not, even if (as I suppose) still +at Leamington; for you will still have plenty to think about with +Daughter and Children. I do not propose to go to London to +shake hands before you go off: for, as I say, you will have +enough of that without me—and my blue Spectacles, which I +can only discard as yet when looking on the Grass and young +Leaves.</p> +<p>I duly sent your Book to Henry Kemble, as you desired: and +received a very polite Note from him in acknowledgment.</p> +<p>And now my house is being pulled about my Ears by preparations +for my Nieces next week. And, instead of my leaving the +coast clear to Broom and Dust-pan, I believe that Charles Keene +will be here from Friday to Monday. As he has long talked +of coming, I do not like to put him off now he has really +proposed to come, and we shall scramble on somehow. And I +will get a Carriage and take him a long Drive into the Country +where it is greenest. He is a very good fellow, and has +lately lost his Mother, to whom he was a very pious Son; a man +who can <i>reverence</i>, although a Droll in <i>Punch</i>.</p> +<p>You will believe that I wish you all well among your +Mountains. George Crabbe has been (for Health’s sake) +in Italy these last two months, and wrote me his last Note from +the Lago Maggiore. My Sister Jane Wilkinson talks of coming +over to England this Summer: but I think her courage will fail +her when the time comes. If ever you should go to, or near, +Florence, she would be sincerely glad <!-- page 226--><a +name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>to see you, +and to talk over other Days. She is not at all obtrusively +religious: and I think must have settled abroad to escape some of +the old Associations in which she took so much part, to but +little advantage to herself or others.</p> +<p>You know that I cannot write to you when you are abroad unless +you tell me whither I am to direct. And you probably will +not do that: but I do not, and shall [not] cease to be yours +always and truly</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>XCVI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Nov.</i> 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>:</p> +<p>I was not quite sure, from your letter, whether you had +received mine directed to you in the Cavendish Square +Hotel:—where your Nephew told me you were to be +found. It is no matter otherwise than that I wish you to +know that I had not only enquired if you were returned from +abroad, but had written whither I was told you were to be +found. Of which enough.</p> +<p>I am sorry you are gone again to Westminster, to which I +cannot reconcile myself as to our old London. Even +Bloomsbury recalls to me the pink May which used to be seen in +those old Squares—sixty years ago. But ‘enfin, +voilà qui est fait.’ You know where that comes +from. I have not lately been in company with my old dear: +Annie Thackeray’s <!-- page 227--><a +name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>Book <a +name="citation227a"></a><a href="#footnote227a" +class="citation">[227a]</a> is a pretty thing for Ladies in a +Rail carriage; but my old Girl is scarce half herself in +it. And there are many inaccuracies, I think. Mais +enfin, voilà, etc.</p> +<p>Athenæum and Academy advertise your Sequel to Records. +<a name="citation227b"></a><a href="#footnote227b" +class="citation">[227b]</a> I need not tell you that I look +forward to it. I wish you would insert that capital Paper +on Dramatic and Theatrical from the Cornhill. <a +name="citation227c"></a><a href="#footnote227c" +class="citation">[227c]</a> It might indeed very properly, +as I thought, have found a place in the Records.</p> +<p>Mowbray Donne wrote me a month ago that his Father was very +feeble: one cannot expect but that he will continue to become +more and more so. I should run up to London to see him, if +I thought my doing so would be any real comfort to him: but +<i>that</i> only his Family can be to him: and I think he may as +little wish to exhibit his Decay to an old Friend, who so long +knew him in a far other condition, as his friend might wish to +see him so altered. This is what I judge from my own +feelings.</p> +<p>I have only just got my Garden laid up for the winter, and +planted some trees in lieu of those which that last gale blew +down. I hear that Kensington Gardens suffered greatly: how +was it with your Green Park, on which you now look down from such +a height, and, I suppose, through a London Fog?</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours<br /> +<span class="smcap">Little G.</span></p> +<h2><!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 228</span>XCVII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Dec.</i> 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>I <i>will</i> write to you before 1881 is gone, carrying +Christmas along with him. A dismal Festivity it always +seems to me—I dare say not much merrier to you. I +think you will tell me where, and with whom, you pass it. +My own company are to be, Aldis Wright, with whom Shakespeare, +etc., a London Clerk, may be—that is, if he can get +sufficient Holyday—and one or two Guests for the Day.</p> +<p>I forget if I wrote to you since I had a letter from Hallam +Tennyson, telling me of a Visit that he and his Father had been +making to Warwickshire and Sherwood. The best news was that +A. T. was ‘walking and working as usual.’</p> +<p>Why, what is become of your Sequel? I see no more +advertisement of it in Athenæum and Academy—unless it +appears in the last, which I have not conned over. Somehow +I think it not impossible—or even unlikely—that +you—may—have—withdrawn—for some reason of +your own. You see that I speak with +hesitation—meaning no offence—and only hoping for my +own, and other sakes that I am all astray.</p> +<p>We are reading Nigel, which I had not expected to care for: +but so far as I got—four first Chapters—makes me long +for Night to hear more. That return <!-- page 229--><a +name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>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 <i>clear +Daylight</i>, 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>But I do not forget him—‘No!’—as the +Spaniards say. Nor you, dear Mrs. Kemble, being your +ancient Friend (with a new name) <span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>!</p> +<p>What would you say of the Œdipus, not of Sophocles, but +of Dryden and Nat Lee, in which your uncle acted!</p> +<p>P.S. You did not mention anything about your Family, so +I conclude that all is well with them, both in England and +America.</p> +<p>I wish you would just remember me to Mr. H. Aïdé, +who was very courteous to me when I met him in your room.</p> +<p>This extra Paper is, you see, to serve instead of crossing my +Letter.</p> +<h2><!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 230</span>XCVIII. <a name="citation230"></a><a +href="#footnote230" class="citation">[230]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Feb.</i> 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 231--><a +name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>have +happened—even with Medes and Persians. I do not think +you will be offended at my vain surmises.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>I read (Eyes permitting) the Correspondence between Goethe and +Schiller (translated) from 1798 to 1806 <a +name="citation231"></a><a href="#footnote231" +class="citation">[231]</a>—extremely interesting to me, +though I do not understand—and generally skip—the +more purely Æsthetic 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 <i>Gallows</i> 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.</p> +<p><!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +232</span>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Though Laird of <span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2>XCIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Feb.</i> 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>:—</p> +<p>The same Post which brought me your very kind Letter, brought +me also the enclosed.</p> +<p>The writer of it—Mr. Schütz Wilson—a +<i>Littérateur général</i>—I +believe—wrote up Omar Khayyâm 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.</p> +<p>If Terriss and Schütz 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.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 233--><a +name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 233</span>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.</p> +<p>Blakesley (Lincoln’s Dean) goes to stay in London next +week, and hopes to play Whist in Weymouth Street.</p> +<p>Kegan Paul, etc., publish dear Spedding’s +‘Evenings,’ <a name="citation233"></a><a +href="#footnote233" class="citation">[233]</a> 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</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">LittleG.</span></p> +<h2>C.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Feb.</i> 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>I have quoted, and sent to Mr. Schütz 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 <i>ipsissima +verba</i>.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>I dare say you are pretty much indifferent whether he ventures +or not; if he does, I can only hope that <!-- page 234--><a +name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. <a name="citation234a"></a><a href="#footnote234a" +class="citation">[234a]</a> I am still wheezy, and want to +get in order so as to visit my few friends in London next week. +<a name="citation234b"></a><a href="#footnote234b" +class="citation">[234b]</a></p> +<p>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">LittleG.</span>!</p> +<h2>CI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>March</i>, 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>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’ +<!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +235</span>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.</p> +<p>And now I have something to say upon something of a like +account; about that Mr. Schütz Wilson, who solicited an +Introduction to you for his Mercutio, and then proposed to you to +avail <i>himself</i> 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.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 236--><a +name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>persuade +the Public to care about—but he thinks he will. <a +name="citation236"></a><a href="#footnote236" +class="citation">[236]</a> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 237--><a name="page237"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 237</span>CII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>: <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>March</i> 31, [1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:—</p> +<p>It is not yet full Moon: <a name="citation237a"></a><a +href="#footnote237a" class="citation">[237a]</a>—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.</p> +<p><i>The Book</i>? ‘Ready immediately’ +advertised Bentley near a fortnight ago: to-morrow’s +Academy or Athenæum 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?</p> +<p>Satiated as you may have been with notices and records of +Carlyle, do, nevertheless, look at Wylie’s Book <a +name="citation237b"></a><a href="#footnote237b" +class="citation">[237b]</a> about him: if only for a Scotch +Schoolboy’s <!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 238</span>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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Did my Patron, Mr. Schütz 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 Athenæum +or Academy <!-- page 239--><a name="page239"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 239</span>that Mercutio did as usual. +Have you seen the Play?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>But pray do you tell me a word about Mrs. Kemble; and beg her +to believe me ever the same</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2>CIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Spring</i>, 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>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 <!-- +page 240--><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 241--><a name="page241"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 241</span>wondered at, nor complained of. <a +name="citation241a"></a><a href="#footnote241a" +class="citation">[241a]</a> Tell me how you fare; and +believe me</p> +<p>Your sincere as ancient</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<p>I now fancy that it must be Bentley who delays your Book, till +Ballantine & Co. have blown over. <a +name="citation241b"></a><a href="#footnote241b" +class="citation">[241b]</a></p> +<h2>CIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Whitmonday</i>, [<i>May</i> +29<i>th</i>, 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Not full moon yet, but Whitsun the 29th of May, <a +name="citation241c"></a><a href="#footnote241c" +class="citation">[241c]</a> 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.</p> +<p>I heard from Mowbray that his Father had been all but lost to +him: but had partially recovered. Not <!-- page 242--><a +name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>for long, I +suppose: nor need I hope: and this is all I will say to you on +this subject.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Your sincere Ancient<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>CV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>June</i> 24, [1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>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 <!-- page +243--><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +243</span>not allow me to do without his help. Of that +Death <a name="citation243a"></a><a href="#footnote243a" +class="citation">[243a]</a> I say nothing: as you may expect of +me, and as I should expect of you also; if I may say so.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. <a +name="citation243b"></a><a href="#footnote243b" +class="citation">[243b]</a> The job, he says, was forced +<!-- page 244--><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span>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!</p> +<p>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>I see your Book advertised as ‘ready.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 245--><a name="page245"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 245</span>CVI. <a name="citation245a"></a><a +href="#footnote245a" class="citation">[245a]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>August</i>, 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I have let the Full Moon <a name="citation245b"></a><a +href="#footnote245b" class="citation">[245b]</a> 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!</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 246--><a +name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours always,<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>Faites, s’il vous plait, mes petits Compliments à +Madame Wister.</p> +<h2><!-- page 247--><a name="page247"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 247</span>CVII. <a name="citation247"></a><a +href="#footnote247" class="citation">[247]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Aldeburgh</span>: <i>Sept.</i> 1, [1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Still by the Sea—from which I saw <i>The Harvest +Moon</i> 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.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 248--><a name="page248"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 248</span>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.</p> +<p>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 <a name="citation248"></a><a href="#footnote248" +class="citation">[248]</a> 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.’</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 249--><a +name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>later +Records so interesting as the earlier. Not from any falling +off of the recorder, but of the material.</p> +<p>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)</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours sincerely always<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<h2>CVIII. <a name="citation249"></a><a href="#footnote249" +class="citation">[249]</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Oct.</i> 17, [1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I suppose that you are returned from the Loire by this time; +but as I am not sure that you have returned to the ‘Hotel +des Deux Mondes,’ whence you dated your last, I make bold +once more to trouble Coutts with adding your Address to my +Letter. I think I shall have it from yourself not long +after. I shall like to hear a word about my old France, +dear to me from childish associations; and in particular of the +Loire endeared to me by Sévigné—for I never +saw the glimmer of its Waters myself. If you were in +England I should send you an account of a tour there, written by +a Lady in 1833—written in the good old way of Ladies’ +writing, without any of the <!-- page 250--><a +name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 250</span>smartness, +and not too much of the ‘graphic’ of later +times. Did you look at Les Rochers, which, I have read, is +not to be looked <i>into</i> by the present owner? <a +name="citation250a"></a><a href="#footnote250a" +class="citation">[250a]</a></p> +<p>Now for my ‘Story, God bless you,’ etc., you may +guess where none is to be told. Only, my old Housekeeper +here has been bedded for this last month, an illness which has +caused her great pain, and at one time seemed about to make an +End of her. So it may do still: but for the last few days +she has suffered less pain, and so we—hope. This has +caused much trouble in my little household, as you may +imagine—as well on our own account, as on hers.</p> +<p>Mowbray Donne wrote me that his Edith had been +seriously—I know not if dangerously—ill; and he +himself much out of sorts, having never yet (he says, and I +believe) recovered from his Father’s death. Blanche, +for the present, is quartered at Friends’ and +Kinsfolk’s houses.</p> +<p>Aldis Wright has sent me a Photograph, copied from Mrs. +Cameron’s original, of James Spedding—so fine that I +know not whether I feel more pleasure or pain in looking at +it. When you return to England, you shall see it +somehow.</p> +<p>I have had a letter or two from Annie Ritchie, who is busy +writing various Articles for Magazines. One concerning Miss +Edgeworth in the Cornhill is pleasant reading. <a +name="citation250b"></a><a href="#footnote250b" +class="citation">[250b]</a> She tells me that Tennyson is +at Aldworth (his Hampshire house, you know), and a notice in <!-- +page 251--><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +251</span>Athenæum or Academy tells that he is about to +produce ‘a Pastoral Drama’ at one of the smaller +Theatres! <a name="citation251a"></a><a href="#footnote251a" +class="citation">[251a]</a></p> +<p>You may have seen—but more probably have not +seen—how Mr. Irving and Co. have brought out ‘Much +Ado’ with all <i>éclat</i>.</p> +<p>It seems to me (but I believe it seems so every year) that our +trees keep their leaves very long; I suppose because of no severe +frosts or winds up to this time. And my garden still shows +some Geranium, Salvia, Nasturtium, Great Convolvulus, and that +grand African Marigold whose Colour is so comfortable to us +Spanish-like Paddies. <a name="citation251b"></a><a +href="#footnote251b" class="citation">[251b]</a> I have +also a dear Oleander which even now has a score of blossoms on +it, and touches the top of my little Greenhouse—having been +sent me when ‘haut comme ça,’ as Marquis +Somebody used to say in the days of Louis XIV. Don’t +you love the Oleander? So clean in its leaves and stem, as +so beautiful in its flower; loving to stand in water, which it +drinks up so fast. I rather worship mine.</p> +<p>Here is pretty matter to get Coutts to further on to +Paris—to Mrs. Kemble in Paris. And I have written it +all in my best MS. with a pen that has been held with its nib in +water for more than a fortnight—Charles Keene’s +recipe for keeping Pens in condition—Oleander-like.</p> +<p><!-- page 252--><a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +252</span>Please to make my Compliments to Mrs. Wister—my +good wishes to the young Musician; <a name="citation252a"></a><a +href="#footnote252a" class="citation">[252a]</a> and pray do you +believe me your sincere as ever—in spite of his new +name—</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<h2>CIX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Nov.</i>, 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>You must be homeward-bound by this time, I think: but I hope +my letter won’t light upon you just when you are leaving +Paris, or just arriving in London—perhaps about to see Mrs. +Wister off to America from Liverpool! But you will know +very well how to set my letter aside till some better +opportunity. May Mrs. Wister fare well upon her Voyage over +the Atlantic, and find all well when she reaches her home.</p> +<p>I have been again—twice or thrice—to Aldeburgh, +when my contemporary old Beauty Mary Lynn was staying there; and +pleasant Evenings enough we had, talking of other days, and she +reading to me some of her Mudie Books, finishing with a nice +little Supper, and some hot grog (for me) which I carried back to +the fire, and <i>set on the carpet</i>. <a +name="citation252b"></a><a href="#footnote252b" +class="citation">[252b]</a> She read me (for one thing) +‘Marjorie Fleming’ from a Volume of Dr. <!-- page +253--><a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +253</span>Brown’s Papers <a name="citation253a"></a><a +href="#footnote253a" class="citation">[253a]</a>—read it as +well as she could for laughing—‘idiotically,’ +she said—but all the better to my mind. She had been +very dismal all day, she said. Pray get some one to read +you ‘Marjorie’—which I say, because (as I +found) it agrees with one best in that way. If only for +dear Sir Walter’s sake, who doated on the Child; and would +not let his Twelfth Night be celebrated till she came through the +Snow in a Sedan Chair, where (once in the warm Hall) he called +all his Company down to see her nestling before he carried her +upstairs in his arms. A very pretty picture. My old +Mary said that Mr. Anstey’s ‘Vice Versa’ made +her and a friend, to whom she read it, laugh idiotically too: but +I could not laugh over it alone, very clever as it is. And +here is enough of me and Mary.</p> +<p>Devrient’s Theory of Shakespeare’s Sonnets (which +you wrote me of) I cannot pretend to judge of: what he said of +the Englishwomen, to whom the Imogens, Desdemonas, etc., were +acceptable, seems to me well said. I named it to Aldis +Wright in a letter, but what he thinks on the +subject—surely no otherwise than Mrs. Kemble—I have +not yet heard. My dear old Alfred’s Pastoral troubles +me a little—that he should have exposed himself to ridicule +in his later days. Yet I feel sure that his aim is a noble +one; and there was a good notice in the Academy <a +name="citation253b"></a><a href="#footnote253b" +class="citation">[253b]</a> saying there was much that was fine +in the Play—nay, that <!-- page 254--><a +name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>a whole +good Play might yet be made of it by some better +Playwright’s practical Skill.</p> +<p>And here is the end of my paper, before I have said something +else that I had to say. But you have enough for the present +from your ancient E. F.G.—who has been busy arranging some +‘post mortem’ papers.</p> +<h2>CX.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>March</i> 6, [1883.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I have asked more than one person for tidings of you, for the +last two months: and only yesterday heard from M. Donne that he +had seen you at the Address to which I shall direct this +letter. I wrote to you about mid-November, desiring Coutts +to forward my letter: in which I said that if you were in no mood +to write during the time of Mrs. Wister’s departure for +America (which you had told me was to be November end) you were +not to trouble yourself at all. Since which time I have +really not known whether you had not gone off to America +too. Anyhow, I thought better to wait till I had some token +of your ‘whereabout,’ if nothing more. And now +Mowbray tells me that much, and I will venture another Letter to +you after so long an interval. You must always follow your +own inclination as to answering me—not by any means make a +‘Duty’ of it.</p> +<p><!-- page 255--><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +255</span>As usual I have nothing to say of myself but what you +have heard from me for years. Only that my (now one year +old) friend Bronchitis has thus far done but little more than to +keep me aware that he has not quitted me, nor even thinks of so +doing. Nay, this very day, when the Snow which held off all +winter is now coming down under stress of N.E. wind, I feel my +friend stirring somewhat within.</p> +<p>Enough of that and of myself. Mowbray gives me a very +good report of you—Absit Nemesis for my daring to write +it!—And you have got back to something of our old London +Quarters, which I always look to as better than the new. +And do you go to even a Play, in the old Quarters also? +Wright, who was with me at Christmas, was taken by Macmillan to +see ‘Much Ado,’ and found, all except Scenery, etc. +(which was too good) so bad that he vowed he would never go to +see Sh. ‘at any of your Courts’ again. Irving +without any Humour, Miss Terry with simply Animal Spirits, +etc. However, Wright did intend once more to +try—Comedy of Errors, at some theatre; but how he liked +it—I may hear if he comes to me at Easter.</p> +<p>Now this is enough—is it not?—for a letter: but I +am as always</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Sincerely yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<h2><!-- page 256--><a name="page256"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 256</span>CXI.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>April</i> 12, [1883.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>I do not think you will be sorry that more than a Moon has +waxed and waned since last I wrote to you. For you have +seen long enough how little I had to tell, and that nevertheless +you were bound to answer. But all such Apologies are stale: +you will believe, I hope, that I remain as I was in regard to +you, as I shall believe that you are the same toward me.</p> +<p>Mowbray Donne has told me two months ago that he could not get +over the Remembrance of last May; and that, acting on Body as +well as Mind, aged him, I suppose, as you saw. Mowbray is +one of the most loyal men toward Kinsman and Friend.</p> +<p>Now for my own little Budget of News. I got through +those Sunless East winds well enough: better than I am feeling +now they both work together. I think the Wind will rule +till Midsummer: ‘Enfin tant qu’il plaira à +Dieu.’ Aldis Wright was with me for Easter, and we +went on our usual way, together or apart. Professor Norton +had sent me his Carlyle-Emerson Correspondence, which we conned +over together, and liked well on either side. Carlyle +should not have said (and still less Norton printed) that +Tennyson was a ‘gloomy’ Soul, nor Thackeray <!-- page +257--><a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +257</span>‘of inordinate Appetite,’ neither of which +sayings is true: nor written of Lord Houghton as a ‘Robin +Redbreast’ of a man. I shall wait very patiently till +Mudie sends me Jane Carlyle—where I am told there is a word +of not unkindly toleration of me; which, if one be named at all, +one may be thankful for. <a name="citation257"></a><a +href="#footnote257" class="citation">[257]</a></p> +<p>Here are two Questions to be submitted to Mrs. Kemble by +Messrs. Aldis Wright and Littlegrange—viz., What she +understands by—</p> +<p>(1.) ‘The Raven himself is hoarse,’ etc.</p> +<p>(2.) ‘But this <i>eternal</i> Blazon must not +be,’ etc.</p> +<p>Mrs. Kemble (who <i>will</i> answer my letter) can tell me how +she fares in health and well-being; yes, and if she has seen, or +heard, anything of Alfred Tennyson, who is generally to be heard +of in London at this time of year. And pray let Mrs. Kemble +believe in the Writer of these poor lines as her ancient, and +loyal, Subject</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>‘The raven himself is hoarse,’ etc.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Lady Macbeth compares the Messenger, hoarse +for lack of Breath, to a raven whose croaking was held to be +prophetic of Disaster. This we think the natural +interpretation of the words, though it is rejected by some +Commentators.”—<i>Clark and Wright’s Clarendon +Press Shakespeare</i>.</p> +<p>“‘Eternal Blazon’ = revelation of +Eternity. It may be, <!-- page 258--><a +name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 258</span>however, +that Sh. uses ‘eternal’ for ‘infernal’ +here, as in <i>Julius Cæsar</i> I. 2, 160: ‘The +eternal Devil’; and <i>Othello</i> IV. 2, 130: ‘Some +eternal villain.’ ‘Blazon’ is an heraldic +term, meaning Description of armorial bearings, * hence used for +description generally; as in <i>Much Ado</i> II. 1, 307. +The verb ‘blazon’ occurs in <i>Cymbeline</i> IV. 2, +170.”—<i>Ibid</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Thus have I written out in my very best hand: as I will take +care to do in future; for I think it very bad manners to puzzle +anyone—and especially a Lady—with that which is a +trouble to read; and I really had no idea that I have been so +guilty of doing so to Mrs. Kemble.</p> +<p>Also I beg leave to say that nothing in Mowbray’s letter +set me off writing again to Mrs. Kemble, except her Address, +which I knew not till he gave it to me, and I remain her very +humble obedient Servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">The Laird of +Littlegrange</span>—</p> +<p>of which I enclose a side view done by a Woodbridge Artisan +for his own amusement. So that Mrs. Kemble may be made +acquainted with the ‘<i>habitat</i>’ of the +Flower—which is about to make an Omelette for its Sunday +Dinner.</p> +<p>N.B.—The ‘Raven’ is not he that reports the +news to Miladi M., but ‘one of my fellows Who almost dead +for breath, etc.’</p> +<p>* Not, as E. F.G. had thought, the Bearings +themselves.</p> +<h2><!-- page 259--><a name="page259"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 259</span>CXII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>May</i>, 1883.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I conclude (from what you wrote me in your last letter) that +you are at Leamington by this time; and I will venture to ask a +word of you before you go off to Switzerland, and I shall have to +rely on Coutts & Co. for further Correspondence between +us. I am not sure of your present Address, even should you +be at Leamington—not sure—but yet I think my letter +will find you—and, if it do not—why, then you will be +saved the necessity of answering it.</p> +<p>I had written to Mowbray Donne to ask about himself and his +Wife: and herewith I enclose his Answer—very sad, and very +manly. You shall return it if you please; for I set some +store by it.</p> +<p>Now I am reading—have almost finished—Jane +Carlyle’s Letters. I dare say you have already heard +them more than enough discussed in London; and therefore I will +only say that it is at any rate fine of old Carlyle to have laid +himself so easily open to public Rebuke, though whether such +Revelations are fit for Publicity is another question. At +any rate, it seems to me that <i>half</i> her letters, and +<i>all</i> his ejaculations of Remorse summed up in a Preface, +would have done better. There is an Article by brave Mrs. +Oliphant in this month’s Contemporary Review <a +name="citation259"></a><a href="#footnote259" +class="citation">[259]</a> (or <!-- page 260--><a +name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 260</span>Magazine) +well worth reading on the subject; with such a Challenge to +Froude as might almost be actionable in Law. We must +‘hear both sides,’ and wait for the Volume which [is] +to crown all his Labours in this Cause.</p> +<p>I think your Leamington Country is more in Leaf than ours +‘down-East:’ which only just begins to ‘stand +in a mist of green.’ <a name="citation260"></a><a +href="#footnote260" class="citation">[260]</a> By the by, I +lately heard from Hallam Tennyson that all his Party were well +enough; not having been to London this Spring because +Alfred’s Doctor had warned him against London Fogs, which +suppress Perspiration, and bring up Gout. Which is the best +piece of news in my Letter; and I am</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours always and a Day<br /> +E. F.G.</p> +<p>P.S. I do not enclose Mowbray’s letter, as I had +intended to do, for fear of my own not finding you.</p> +<h2>CXIII.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>May</i>, 1883.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>;</p> +<p>Stupid me! And now, after a little hunt, I find poor +Mowbray’s Letter, which I had made sure of having sent +you. But I should not now send it if I did not implore you +not to write in case you <!-- page 261--><a +name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 261</span>thought fit +to return it; which indeed I did ask you to do; but now I would +rather it remained with you, who will acknowledge all the true +and brave in it as well as I—yes, it may be laid, if you +please, even among those of your own which you tell me +Mowbray’s Father saved up for you. If you return it, +let it be without a word of your own: and pray do not +misunderstand me when I say that. You will hear of me (if +Coutts be true) when you are among your Mountains again; and, if +you do hear of me, I know you will—for you +must—reply.</p> +<p>At last some feeling of Spring—a month before +Midsummer. And next week I am expecting my grave Friend +Charles Keene, of Punch, to come here for a week—bringing +with him his Bagpipes, and an ancient Viol, and a Book of +Strathspeys and Madrigals; and our Archdeacon will come to meet +him, and to talk over ancient Music and Books: and we shall all +three drive out past the green hedges, and heaths with their +furze in blossom—and I wish—yes, I do—that you +were of the Party.</p> +<p>I love all Southey, and all that he does; and love that +Correspondence of his with Caroline Bowles. We (Boy and I) +have been reading an account of Zetland, which makes me thirst +for ‘The Pirate’ again—tiresome, I +know—more than half of it—but what a Vision it leaves +behind! <a name="citation261"></a><a href="#footnote261" +class="citation">[261]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 262--><a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +262</span>Now, Madam, you cannot pretend that you have to jump at +my meaning through my MS. I am sure it is legible enough, +and that I am ever yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F.G.</p> +<p>You write just across the Address you date from; but I jump at +that which I shall direct this Letter by.</p> +<h2>CXIV.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>May</i> 27/83.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>:</p> +<p>I feel minded to write you a word of Farewell before you start +off for Switzerland: but I do not think it will be very welcome +to you if, as usual, you feel bound to answer it on the Eve of +your Departure. Why not let me hear from you when you are +settled for a few days somewhere among your Mountains?</p> +<p>I was lately obliged to run to London on a disagreeable +errand: which, however, got itself over soon after midday; when I +got into a Cab to Chelsea, for the purpose of seeing +Carlyle’s Statue on the Embankment, and to take a last look +at his old House in Cheyne Row. The Statue very good, I +thought, <!-- page 263--><a name="page263"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 263</span>though looking somewhat small for +want of a good Background to set it off: but the old House! +Shut up—neglected—‘To Let’—was sad +enough to me. I got back to Woodbridge before night. <a +name="citation263"></a><a href="#footnote263" +class="citation">[263]</a></p> +<p>Since then I have had Charles Keene (who has not been well) +staying with me here for ten days. He is a very good Guest, +inasmuch as he entertains himself with Books, and +Birds’-nests, and an ancient Viol which he has brought down +here: as also a Bagpipe (his favourite instrument), only leaving +the ‘Bag’ behind: he having to supply its functions +from his own lungs. But he will leave me to-morrow or next +day; and with June will come my two Nieces from Lowestoft: and +then the Longest Day will come, and we shall begin declining +toward Winter again, after so shortly escaping from it.</p> +<p>This very morning I receive The Diary of John Ward, Vicar of +Stratford on Avon from 1648 to 1679—with some notices of W. +S. which you know all about. And I am as ever</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Sincerely yours<br /> +<span class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<p>Is not this Letter legible enough?</p> +<h2>INDEX</h2> +<p><!-- page 265--><a name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +265</span>Academy (Royal), pictures at, 49</p> +<p>Aconites, “New Year’s Gifts,” 211, 231</p> +<p>Aïdé (H.), 202</p> +<p>Anstey’s ‘Vice Versa,’ 253</p> +<p>Arkwright (Mrs.), 87</p> +<p>Autumn colours, 112</p> +<p>Bagehot’s Essays, 170</p> +<p>Barton (Bernard), 174</p> +<p>Basselin (Olivier), quoted, 23</p> +<p>Beard (Dr.), 48</p> +<p>Belvidere Hat, 163</p> +<p>Béranger, 20-22</p> +<p>Beuve (Sainte), Causeries, 40, 53</p> +<p>Blackbird <i>v.</i> Nightingale, 46</p> +<p>Blakesley (J. W.), Dean of Lincoln, 78, 233</p> +<p>Boccaccio, 117</p> +<p>Brown (Dr. John), 253</p> +<p>Burns, compared with Béranger, 20-22; quoted, 37</p> +<p>Burrows (General), his defeat by Ayoub Khan, 193</p> +<p>Calderon, 63, 185</p> +<p>Candide, 174</p> +<p>Carlyle (T.), 17; forwards Mr. Ruskin’s letter to E. +F.G., 19; his Kings of Norway, 61, 65; presented with a Medal and +Address on his 80th birthday, 88, 91; vehement against Darwin and +the Turk, 110; on Sir Walter Scott, 131; is reading Shakespeare +and Boswell’s Hebrides, 170; becomes very feeble, 203; is +buried at Ecclefechan, 206, 207; his Reminiscences, 215, 218; his +Letters to Emerson, 246, 256</p> +<p>Carlyle (Mrs.), her Letters, 257, 259</p> +<p>Carlyle (Mrs. Alexander), 163, 170, 186, 207, 215, 222</p> +<p>Chateaubriand’s father, 59</p> +<p>Chorley (H. F.), his death, 11; Life of, 38, 53</p> +<p>Clerke Saunders, 164</p> +<p>Coriolanus, 139</p> +<p>Corneille, 73</p> +<p>Country church, Scene in, 46</p> +<p>Cowell (Professor), 155</p> +<p>Crabbe (G.), the Poet, quoted, 39, 43, 55, 59, 118; his +portrait by Pickersgill, 39,150; article on him in the Cornhill, +58; his fancy quickened by a fall of snow, 198</p> +<p>Crabbe (George), Vicar of Bredfield, the poet’s son, +43</p> +<p>Crabbe (George), Rector of Merton, the poet’s grandson, +202, 225</p> +<p><!-- page 266--><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +266</span>Deffand (Madame du), 53</p> +<p>De Quincey (T.), on Janus Weathercock, 90</p> +<p>Derby Day, 186</p> +<p>De Soyres (John), E. F.G.’s nephew, 238</p> +<p>De Soyres (Mrs.), E. F.G.’s sister, her death, 168</p> +<p>Devrient, his Theory of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, 253</p> +<p>Dickens (Charles), 69; E. F.G.’s admiration for him, 51, +126; his passion for colours, 54</p> +<p>Donne (Blanche), 48, 111, 149, 154</p> +<p>Donne (Charles), 95, 111, 131</p> +<p>Donne (Mrs. Charles), her death, 106</p> +<p>Donne (Mowbray), 10, 29, 39, 62, 86, 95, 111, 140, 181, 185, +193, 196, 199, 206, 207, 212, 223, 227, 242, 259, 260; visits E. +F.G., 86</p> +<p>Donne (Valentia), 6, 18, 111, 161, 199; her marriage, 127</p> +<p>Donne (W. B.), mentioned, 3, 4, 6, 8, 18, 48, 60, 64, 78, 98, +102, 111, 121, 181, 207, 212, 223, 227, 229, 241; his Lectures, +10; his illness, 35, 37, 39, 42; retires from his post as +Licenser of Plays, 48, 50; his successor, 50; reviews +Macready’s Memoirs, 75; his death, 243</p> +<p>Ducis, 219</p> +<p>Dunwich, 138</p> +<p>Eastern Question (the), 117</p> +<p>Eckermann, a German Boswell, 155</p> +<p>Edwards (Edwin), 139, 140, 158; his death, 155; exhibition of +his pictures, 166, 168, 169</p> +<p>Elio (F. J.), 120</p> +<p>Elliot (Sir Gilbert), pastoral by, 82</p> +<p>Euphranor, 65</p> +<p>FitzGerald (Edward), parts with his yacht, 3; his +reader’s mistakes, 4; his house at Woodbridge, 8; his +unwillingness to have visitors, 8, 9; his mother, 11; reads +Hawthorne’s Notes of Italian Travel, 12; Memoirs of +Harness, 13; cannot read George Eliot, 15, 38, 171; his love for +Sir Walter Scott, 15, 229; visits his brother Peter, 16; on the +art of being photographed, 24, 25; reads Walpole, Wesley, and +Boswell’s Johnson, 28; in Paris in 1830, 31; cannot read +Goethe’s Faust, 31, 124; reads Ste. Beuve’s +Causeries, 40, and Don Quixote, 41, 45; has a skeleton of his +own, bronchitis, 45, 47, 75; goes to Scotland, 49; to the +Academy, 49; reads Dickens, 51; Crabbe, 54; condenses the Tales +of the Hall, 59, 64, 118; death of his brother Peter, 64; +translations from Calderon, 63; tries to read Gil Blas and La +Fontaine, 66; admires Corneille, 73; reads Madame de +Sévigné, 73; writes to Notes and Queries, 82; +begins to ‘smell the ground,’ 83; his recollections +of Paris, 85; reads Mrs. Trollope’s ‘A Charming +Fellow,’ 95; on framing pictures, 96, 99, 102, 106; +translation of the Agamemnon, 97, 103, 107, 111; <!-- page +267--><a name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +267</span>meets Macready, 103; his Lugger Captain, 104, 115, 117; +prefers the Second Part of Don Quixote, 108; scissors and paste +his ‘Harp and Lute,’ 126; reads Dickens’ Great +Expectations, 126; on nightingales, 128, 136, 184; wished to +dedicate Agamemnon to Mrs. Kemble, 129; reads The Heart of +Mid-Lothian, 130; Catullus, 135; Guy Mannering, 137; at Dunwich, +138; reads Coriolanus, 139; Kenilworth, 145; David Copperfield, +145; his Readings in Crabbe, 147, 150; reads Hawthorne’s +Journals, 153; at Lowestoft, 155; reads Forster’s Life of +Dickens, 155; and Trollope’s Novels, 155, 171; +Eckermann’s Goethe, 155; works on Crabbe’s Posthumous +Tales, 164; his Quarter-deck, 167; Dombey and Son, 172, 187; +Comus and Lycidas, 178; Mrs. Kemble’s Records, 186; Madame +de Sévigné, 186, 188; visits George Crabbe at +Merton, 188, 243; his ducks and chickens, 189; his Irish cousins, +190; at Aldeburgh, 190; with his nieces at Lowestoft, 195; sends +Charles Tennyson’s Sonnets to Mrs. Kemble, 198; his eyes +out of ‘Keller,’ 202, 206; reads Winter’s Tale, +204; his translations of the two Œdipus plays, 205, 208; +his affection for the stage, 210; his collection of actors’ +portraits, 210; his love for Spedding, 212; his reminiscences of +a visit with Tennyson at Mirehouse, 214; reads Wordsworth, 217; +sends his reader to see Macbeth, 231; feels as if some of the +internal timbers were shaken, 240; reads Froude’s Carlyle, +243, 245, 248; at Aldeburgh, 245, 247; meets Professor Fawcett, +247; consults Mrs. Kemble on two passages of Shakespeare, 257; +goes to look at Carlyle’s statue and his old house, 262</p> +<p>FitzGerald (Jane), afterwards Mrs. Wilkinson, E. F.G.’s +sister, 112, 122</p> +<p>FitzGerald (J. P.), E. F.G.’s eldest brother, 95, 100; +his illness, 141, 144; and death, 149</p> +<p>FitzGerald (Mrs.), E. F.G.’s mother, 11, 61, 96; her +portrait by Sir T. Lawrence, 177</p> +<p>FitzGerald (Percy), his Lives of the Kembles, 5, 6</p> +<p>FitzGerald (Peter), E. F.G.’s brother, 16; his death, +64</p> +<p>Frere (Mrs.), 83, 87, 181</p> +<p>Froude (J. A.), constantly with Carlyle, 203; is charged with +his biography, 208; his Life of Carlyle, 243; writes to E. F.G., +243</p> +<p>Fualdès, murder of, 85; play founded on, 89</p> +<p>Furness (H. H.), 60, 64, 66, 101, 203</p> +<p>Gil Blas, 66</p> +<p>Glyn (Miss), 97</p> +<p>Goethe, 31, 123, 124; his conversations by Eckermann, 155</p> +<p>Goethe and Schiller, correspondence of, 231</p> +<p><!-- page 268--><a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +268</span>Goodwin (Professor), proposes to visit E. F.G., 192</p> +<p>Gordon (Mrs.), 132, 203</p> +<p>Gout, 7</p> +<p>Groome (Archdeacon), 4, 45, 199, 223</p> +<p>Half Hours with the Worst Authors, 31, 34</p> +<p>Hamlet, theory of Gervinus on, 32; the Quarto and Folio Texts +of, 221</p> +<p>Harlowe’s picture of the Trial Scene in Henry VIII., +87</p> +<p>Harness (Rev. W.), Memoirs of, 6, 13</p> +<p>Hatherley (Lord), letter from, 132</p> +<p>Hawthorne (Nathaniel), his Notes of Italian Travel, 12, +153</p> +<p>Haydn, 83</p> +<p>Haydon (B. R.), verses by his wife, 34</p> +<p>Haymarket Opera (The), 200</p> +<p>Hayward (A.), his translation of Faust, 124; his Select +Essays, 170</p> +<p>Helen of Kirkconnel, 164</p> +<p>Helps (Sir Arthur), his death, 68</p> +<p>Hertford (Lord), 48, 50</p> +<p>Hood (T.), verses by, 87, 95</p> +<p>Houghton (Lord), 164, 236, 239, 257</p> +<p>Hugo (F. Victor), his translation of Shakespeare, 114</p> +<p>Hunt (Holman), The Shadow of Death, 40</p> +<p>Intellectual Peat, 69</p> +<p>Irving (Henry), in Hamlet, 74, 75; his portrait, 86; in Queen +Mary, 107, 109; his reading of Eugene Aram, 124; in Much Ado +about Nothing, 251, 255</p> +<p>Jenny (Mr.), the owner of Bredfield House, 10</p> +<p>Jessica, 179</p> +<p>Kean (Edmund), in Othello, 53</p> +<p>Keats (John), his Letters, 134; his Life and Letters, by Lord +Houghton, 164</p> +<p>Keene (Charles), 225, 249, 261; at Little Grange, 242, 263</p> +<p>Kelly (Michael), his Reminiscences, 146</p> +<p>Kemble (Charles), in Othello, 53; as Falconbridge and +Petruchio, 58; in As You Like It, 58; as Charles Surface, 58; as +Cromwell, 87; in King John, 182</p> +<p>Kemble (Mrs. Charles), 61, 62; her ‘Smiles and +Tears,’ 14; contributes to Kitchener’s Cook’s +Oracle, 89; miniature of her as Urania, 96, 99, 100, 101, 106, +146</p> +<p>Kemble (Fanny), her laws of correspondence, 2; her +daughter’s marriage, 3; her Memoirs, 29; in America, 36, +46; her article ‘On the Stage’ in the Cornhill +Magazine, 53, 78, 227; her letter about Macready, 57; her +photograph, 61; as Louisa of Savoy, 73; writes her ‘Old +Woman’s Gossip’ in the Atlantic Monthly, 84, 92; +letter from her to the Editor, 93; omitted passage from her +‘Gossip,’ 93-94; uses a type-writer, 94; her opinion +of Portia, 95, 124; on Goethe and Portia, 123; end of her +‘Gossip,’ 125, 129; her Records of a Girlhood, 186; +her favourite Colours, 197; her portrait by Sir T. Lawrence, <!-- +page 269--><a name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +269</span>210; her Records of Later Life, 227, 228</p> +<p>Kemble (Henry), Mrs. Kemble’s brother, 58, 109</p> +<p>Kemble (Henry), Mrs. Kemble’s nephew, 225</p> +<p>Kemble (John Mitchell), 120, 153, 159</p> +<p>Kemble (J. P.), 179, 183; portrait of him as Œdipus, +183, 210; Plays revised by him, 220</p> +<p>Kerrich (Edmund), E. F.G.’s nephew, 129, 172</p> +<p>La Fontaine, 66</p> +<p>Laurence (S.), copies Pickersgill’s portrait of Crabbe, +39; letter from, 90</p> +<p>Leigh (the Hon. Mrs.), Mrs. Kemble’s daughter, 161; her +marriage, 3</p> +<p>L’Hôpital (Chancellor), quoted, 191</p> +<p>Little Grange, first named, 42</p> +<p>Lowell (J. R.), ‘Among my Books,’ 97, 119, 135; +his Odes, 120, 122; letter from, 136; his coming to England as +Minister of the United States, 174; illness of his wife, 174, +184, 186, 192</p> +<p>Lynn (Mary), 191, 252, 253</p> +<p>Macbeth quoted, 43, 68; French opera by Chélard, acted +at Dublin, 81</p> +<p>Macready (W. C,), 27; his Memoirs edited by Sir W. F. Pollock, +38, 44, 50, 52, 68, 70, 98, 102; his Macbeth, 44, 57, 68; plays +Henry IV., 58; reads Mrs. Kemble’s English Tragedy, 72</p> +<p>Malkin (Arthur), 110, 132, 213</p> +<p>Malkin (Dr. B. H.), Master of Bury School, 94; Crabbe a +favourite with him, 213</p> +<p>Marjorie Fleming, 252</p> +<p>Marot (Clément), quoted, 23</p> +<p>Matthews (Charles), his Memoir, 173</p> +<p>Merivale (Charles), Dean of Ely, 195, 218</p> +<p>Montaigne, 103, 104, 105, 117</p> +<p>Musset (Alfred de), Memoir of, 138; loves to read Clarissa +Harlowe, 138</p> +<p>Napoleon, saying of, 218</p> +<p>Naseby, proposed monument at, 17, 27</p> +<p>Norton (C. E), 19, 97, 119, 123, 135, 151, 180, 183, 205, 209, +246, 256</p> +<p>Œdipus, by Dryden and Lee, 229</p> +<p>Oleander, 251</p> +<p>Oliphant (Mrs.), on Carlyle, 218, 220; on Mrs. Carlyle, +259</p> +<p>Oriole, 46</p> +<p>Pasta, saying of, 53</p> +<p>Pasta, in Medea, 181, 200</p> +<p>Pasteur (Le Bon), 30, 33</p> +<p>Peacock (E.), Headlong Hall quoted, 40</p> +<p>Piccolomini, 11</p> +<p>Pigott (E. F. S.), succeeds W. B. Donne, 50</p> +<p>Piozzi (Mrs.), Memoirs of, 46</p> +<p>Pollock (Sir W. F ), visits E. F.G., 15; edits +Macready’s Memoirs, 38, 44; letter from, 55; visits +Carlyle, 110</p> +<p>Portia, 95, 124</p> +<p>Quixote (Don), 41, 108, 155, 182; must be read in Spanish, +114, 117</p> +<p><!-- page 270--><a name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +270</span>Ritchie (Mrs.), Miss Thackeray, 135</p> +<p>Rossi in Hamlet, 107</p> +<p>Rousseau on stage decoration, 110</p> +<p>Santley (Mrs.), 111</p> +<p>Sartoris (Edward), 192, 203</p> +<p>Sartoris (Greville), death of, 38</p> +<p>Sartoris (Mrs.), Mrs. Kemble’s sister, 38; her illness, +140, 149; and death, 154; her Medusa and other Tales, 203</p> +<p>Scott (Sir Walter), his indifference to fame, 116; the easy +movement of his stories, 130; Barry Cornwall’s saying of +him, 131; his Kenilworth, 145; the Fortunes of Nigel, 228, 231; +Marjorie Fleming, 252; The Pirate, 261</p> +<p>Sévigné (Madame de), 73, 103, 105, 137, 184, +186, 188, 222; her Rochers, 105, 184; not shown to visitors, 188; +list of her dramatis personæ, 125; quoted, 190, 217</p> +<p>Shakespeare, edited by Clark and Wright, 68, 69</p> +<p>Shakespeare, 69</p> +<p>Shakespeare’s predecessors, 223</p> +<p>Siddons (Mrs.), 46, 71, 183; her portrait by Sir T. Lawrence, +81; article on her in the Nineteenth Century, 134; in +Winter’s Tale, 204</p> +<p>Skeat (Professor), his Inaugural Lecture, 153</p> +<p>Southey’s Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 261</p> +<p>Spanish Tragedy (The), scene from, 62</p> +<p>Spedding (James), is finishing his Life and Letters of Bacon, +27; has finished them, 42, 51: his note on Antony and Cleopatra, +43, 45; emendation of Shakespeare, 45; paper on Richard III., 74; +his opinion of Irving’s Hamlet, 74; and Miss Ellen +Terry’s Portia, 74, 77; will not see Salvini in Othello, +74; on The Merchant of Venice, 77, 80, 176, 201; the Latest +Theory about Bacon, 111; Shakespeare Notes, 189; his Preface to +Charles Tennyson Turner’s Sonnets, 197; his accident, 212; +and death, 214; his Evenings with a Reviewer, 233: Mrs. +Cameron’s photograph of him, 250</p> +<p>Stephen (Leslie), 58; his ‘Hours in a Library,’ +118</p> +<p>Taylor (Tom), 166, 193; his death, 192; his Memoir of Haydon, +194</p> +<p>Tennyson (A.), in Burns’s country, 22; changes his +publisher, 37; his Queen Mary, 77; mentioned, 82, 113, 160, 193, +228, 239; his Mary Tudor, 107, 109; visits E. F.G. at Woodbridge, +113, 114; the attack on him in the Quarterly, 116; his Harold, +122; portrait of him, 134; his saying of Clarissa Harlow, 138; of +Crabbe’s portrait by Pickersgill, 151; used to repeat +Clerke Saunders and Helen of Kirkconnel, 164; The Falcon, 169; +The Cup, 206, 208; his saying of Lycidas, 178; his eyes, 183; +Ballads and other Poems, 201; with E. F.G. at Mirehouse, <!-- +page 271--><a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +271</span>214; The Promise of May, 251, 253</p> +<p>Tennyson (Frederick), visits E. F.G., 16; his saying of +blindness, 183; his poems, 197</p> +<p>Tennyson (Hallam, now Lord), 114, 228, 239, 260</p> +<p>Tennyson (Lionel), 98; his marriage, 135</p> +<p>Terry (Miss Ellen), as Portia, 74, 77; Tom Taylor’s +opinion of her, 95</p> +<p>Thackeray (Minnie), death of, 90</p> +<p>Thackeray (Miss), 99; her Old Kensington, 13, 15, 39; meets E. +F.G. at the Royal Academy, 16; her Village on the Cliff, 38; on +Madame de Sévigné, 227; on Miss Edgeworth, 250</p> +<p>Thackeray (W. M.), 38, 120; not the author of a Tragedy, 51; +his Drawings published, ‘The Orphan of Pimlico,’ +etc., 91; his pen and ink drawing of Mrs. Kemble as Louisa of +Savoy, 73</p> +<p>Thurtell, the murderer, 152</p> +<p>Tichborne trial, 28, 36</p> +<p>Tieck, ‘an Eyewitness of John Kemble’ in The +Nineteenth Century, 179, 183</p> +<p>Trench (Archbishop), his Translation of Calderon, 185; E. F.G. +sends him his Crabbe, 185</p> +<p>Tunbridge Wells, 57</p> +<p>Turner (Charles Tennyson), his Sonnets, 151, 197</p> +<p>‘Twalmley’ (‘the Great’), 75, 102, +116</p> +<p>Two Noble Kinsmen (The), 221</p> +<p>Urania, 146</p> +<p>Wade (T.), author of the Jew of Aragon, 120</p> +<p>Wainewright (T. G.), 90</p> +<p>Wales (Prince of), Thanksgiving service for his recovery, +10</p> +<p>Ward (John), Vicar of Stratford on Avon, his diary, 263</p> +<p>Wesley (John), his Journal one of E. F.G.’s hobbies, 28, +186</p> +<p>Whalley (Dr.), his reading of a passage in Macbeth, 46</p> +<p>Wilkinson (Mrs.), E. F.G.’s sister, 112, 122, 169, +225</p> +<p>Wilson (H. Schütz), 232, 233, 235</p> +<p>Wister (Mrs.), Mrs. Kemble’s daughter, 6, 36, 252, +254</p> +<p>Woodberry (G. E.), his article on Crabbe, 180</p> +<p>Wylie (W. H.), on Thomas Carlyle, 237</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote3a"></a><a href="#citation3a" +class="footnote">[3a]</a> Mrs. Kemble’s daughter, +Frances Butler, was married to the Hon. and Rev. James Wentworth +Leigh, now Dean of Hereford, 29th June 1871.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3b"></a><a href="#citation3b" +class="footnote">[3b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +126.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> Fitzgerald’s Lives of the +Kembles was reviewed in the <i>Athenæum</i>, 12th August +1871, and the ‘Memoirs of Mr. Harness,’ 28th +October.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7" +class="footnote">[7]</a> Macbeth, ii. 2, 21.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> In writing to Sir Frederick +Pollock on November 17th, 1871, FitzGerald says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The Game-dealer here telling me that he has +some very good Pheasants, I have told him to send you a +Brace—to go in company with Braces to Carlyle, and Mrs. +Kemble. This will, you may think, necessitate your writing +a Reply of Thanks before your usual time of writing: but +don’t do that:—only write to me now in case the +Pheasants don’t reach you; I know you will thank me for +them, whether they reach you or not; and so you can defer writing +so much till you happen next upon an idle moment which you may +think as well devoted to me; you being the only man, except +Donne, who cares to trouble himself with a gratuitous letter to +one who really does not deserve it.</p> +<p>‘Donne, you know, is pleased with Everybody, and with +Everything that Anybody does for him. You must take his +Praises of Woodbridge with this grain of Salt to season +them. It may seem odd to you at first—but not perhaps +on reflection—that I feel more—nervous, I may +say—at the prospect of meeting with an old Friend, after +all these years, than of any indifferent Acquaintance. I +feel it the less with Donne, for the reason aforesaid—why +should I not feel it with you who have given so many tokens since +our last meeting that you are well willing to take me as I +am? If one is, indeed, by Letter what one is in +person.—I always tell Donne not to come out of his way +here—he says he takes me in the course of a Visit to some +East-Anglian kinsmen. Have you ever any such +reason?—Well; if you have no better reason than that of +really wishing to see me, for better or worse, in my home, +come—some Spring or Summer day, when my Home at any rate is +pleasant. This all sounds mock-modesty; but it is not; as I +can’t read Books, Plays, Pictures, etc. and don’t see +People, I feel, when a Man comes, that I have all to ask and +nothing to tell; and one doesn’t like to make a Pump of a +Friend.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote10a"></a><a href="#citation10a" +class="footnote">[10a]</a> At the Royal Institution, on +‘The Theatre in Shakespeare’s Time.’ The +series consisted of six lectures, which were delivered from 20th +January to 24th February 1872. On 18th February 1872, Mrs. +Kemble wrote: ‘My dear old friend Donne is lecturing on +Shakespeare, and I have heard him these last two times. He +is looking ill and feeble, and I should like to carry him off +too, out of the reach of his too many and too heavy +cares.’—‘Further Records,’ ii. 253.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10b"></a><a href="#citation10b" +class="footnote">[10b]</a> 27th February, 1872, for the +recovery of the Prince of Wales.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10c"></a><a href="#citation10c" +class="footnote">[10c]</a> Mr. Jenney, the owner of +Bredfield House, where FitzGerald was born. See +‘Letters,’ i. 64.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> H. F. Chorley died 16th February +1872.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13a"></a><a href="#citation13a" +class="footnote">[13a]</a> Perhaps Widmore, near +Bromley. See ‘Further Records,’ ii. 253.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13b"></a><a href="#citation13b" +class="footnote">[13b]</a> ‘Old Kensington,’ +the first number of which appeared in the <i>Cornhill +Magazine</i> for April 1872.</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15" +class="footnote">[15]</a> He came May 18th, 1872, the day +before Whitsunday.</p> +<p><a name="footnote16a"></a><a href="#citation16a" +class="footnote">[16a]</a> F. T. came August 1st, 1872.</p> +<p><a name="footnote16b"></a><a href="#citation16b" +class="footnote">[16b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +142-3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19a"></a><a href="#citation19a" +class="footnote">[19a]</a> Miss Harriet St. Leger.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19b"></a><a href="#citation19b" +class="footnote">[19b]</a> April 14th, 1873. See +‘Letters,’ ii. 154.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23a"></a><a href="#citation23a" +class="footnote">[23a]</a> Probably the piece +beginning—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘On plante des pommiers ès bords<br +/> +Des cimitieres, près des morts, &c</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Olivier Basselin (‘Vaux-de-Vire,’ ed Jacob, 1858, +xv. p. 28)</p> +<p>On Oct 13th, 1879, FitzGerald wrote of a copy of Olivier (ed. +Du Bois, 1821) which he had sent by me to Professor Cowell: +“If Cowell does not care for Olivier—the dear +Phantom!—pray do you keep him. Read a little +piece—the two first Stanzas—beginning ‘Dieu +garde de deshonneur,’ p. 184—quite beautiful to me; +though not classed as Olivier’s. Also ‘Royne +des Flours, &c,’ p. 160. These are things that +Béranger could not reach with all his Art; but Burns could +without it.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote23b"></a><a href="#citation23b" +class="footnote">[23b]</a> De Damoyselle Anne de Marle +(Marot, ‘Cimetière,’ xiv ):—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Lors sans viser au lieu dont elle vint,<br +/> +Et desprisant la gloire que l’on a<br /> +En ce bas monde, icelle Anne ordonna,<br /> +Que son corps fust entre les pauures mys<br /> +En cette fosse. Or prions, chers amys,<br /> +Que l’ame soit entre les pauures mise,<br /> +Qui bien heureux sont chantez en +l’Église.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> On March 30, 1873, FitzGerald +wrote to Sir Frederick Pollock:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“At the beginning of this year I submitted +to be Photo’ed at last—for many Nieces, and a few old +Friends—I must think that you are an old Friend as well as +a very kind and constant one; and so I don’t like not to +send you what I have sent others.—The Artist who took me, +took (as he always does) three several Views of one’s Face: +but the third View (looking full-faced) got blurred by my +blinking at the Light: so only these two were reproduced—I +shouldn’t know that either was meant for [me]: nor, I +think, would any one else, if not told: but the Truth-telling Sun +somehow did them; and as he acted so handsomely by me, I take +courage to distribute them to those who have a regard for me, and +will naturally like to have so favourable a Version of +one’s Outward Aspect to remember one by. I should not +have sent them if they had been otherwise. The up-looking +one I call ‘The Statesman,’ quite ready to be called +to the Helm of Affairs: the Down-looking one I call The +Philosopher. Will you take which you like? And when +next old Spedding comes your way, give him the other (he +won’t care which) with my Love. I only don’t +write to him because my doing so would impose on his Conscience +an Answer—which would torment him for some little +while. I do not love him the less: and believe all the +while that he not the less regards me.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Again on May 5, he wrote: “I think I shall have a word +about M[acready] from Mrs. Kemble, with whom I have been +corresponding a little since her return to England. She has +lately been staying with her Son in Law, Mr. Leigh (?), at +Stoneleigh Vicarage, near Kenilworth. In the Autumn she +says she will go to America, never to return to England. +But I tell her she <i>will</i> return. She is to sit for +her Photo at my express desire, and I have given her Instructions +<i>how</i> to sit, derived from my own successful +Experience. One rule is to sit—in a dirty +Shirt—(to avoid dangerous White) and another is, not to sit +on a Sunshiny Day: which we must leave to the Young.</p> +<p>“By the by, I sent old Spedding my own lovely Photo +(<i>the Statesman</i>) which he has acknowledged in +Autograph. He tells me that he begins to ‘smell +Land’ with his Bacon.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote28a"></a><a href="#citation28a" +class="footnote">[28a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +165-7.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28b"></a><a href="#citation28b" +class="footnote">[28b]</a> See letter of April 22nd, +1873.</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30" +class="footnote">[30]</a> Shakespeare, Ant. & Cl., v. +2, line 6:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Which shackles accidents, and bolts up +change.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31" +class="footnote">[31]</a> In his ‘Half Hours with the +Worst Authors’ FitzGerald has transcribed ‘Le Bon +Pasteur,’ which consists of five stanzas of eight lines +each, beginning:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Bons habitans de ce Village,<br /> +Prêtez l’oreille un moment,’ &c.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Each stanza ends:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Et le bon Dieu vous benira.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He adds: ‘One of the pleasantest remembrances of France +is, having heard this sung to a Barrel-organ, and chorus’d +by the Hearers (who had bought the Song-books) one fine Evening +on the Paris Boulevards, June: 1830.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote34a"></a><a href="#citation34a" +class="footnote">[34a]</a> Haydon entered these verses in +his Diary for May, 1846: ‘The struggle is severe, for +myself I care not, but for her so dear to me I feel. It +presses on her mind, and in a moment of pain, she wrote the +following simple bit of feeling to Frederick, who is in South +America, on Board <i>The Grecian</i>.’ There are +seven stanzas in the original, but FitzGerald has omitted in his +transcript the third and fourth and slightly altered one or two +of the lines. He called them ‘A poor Mother’s +Verses.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote34b"></a><a href="#citation34b" +class="footnote">[34b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +280.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37" +class="footnote">[37]</a> Burns, quoted from memory as +usual. See Globe Edition, p. 214; ed. Cunningham, iv. +293.</p> +<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38" +class="footnote">[38]</a> Greville Sartoris was killed by a +fall from his horse, not in the hunting-field, 23 Oct. 1873.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39" +class="footnote">[39]</a> ‘Rage’ in the +original. See Tales of the Hall, Book XII. Sir Owen +Dale.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40" +class="footnote">[40]</a> Quoting from Peacock’s +‘Headlong Hall’:—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Nature had but little +clay<br /> +Like that of which she moulded him.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>See ‘Letters,’ i. 75, note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42" +class="footnote">[42]</a> 18 April 1874. Professor +Hiram Corson endeavoured to maintain the correctness of the +reading of the Folios in Antony and Cleopatra, v. 2. 86-88:</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘For his +Bounty,<br /> +There was no winter in ’t. An <i>Anthony</i> it +was,<br /> +That grew the more by reaping.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Spedding admirably defended Theobald’s certain +emendation of ‘autumn’ for ‘Anthony.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43" +class="footnote">[43]</a> These lines are not to be found +in Crabbe, so far as I can ascertain, but they appear to be a +transformation of two which occur in the Parish Register, Part +II., in the story of Phebe Dawson (Works, ii. 183):</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Friend of distress! The mourner feels +thy aid;<br /> +She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>They had taken possession of FitzGerald’s memory in +their present shape, for in a letter to me, dated 5 Nov. 1877, +speaking of the poet’s son, who was Vicar of Bredfield, he +says: “It is now just twenty years since the Brave old Boy +was laid in Bredfield Churchyard. Two of his Father’s +Lines might make Epitaph for some good soul:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Friend of the Poor, the Wretched, the +Betray’d;<br /> +They cannot pay thee—but thou shalt be paid.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Pas mal ça, eh!”</p> +<p><a name="footnote45a"></a><a href="#citation45a" +class="footnote">[45a]</a> In a letter to me dated October +29th, 1871, FitzGerald says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“A suggestion that casually fell from old +Spedding’s lips (I forget how long ago) occurred to me the +other day. Instead of</p> +<p>‘Do such business as the bitter day,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>read ‘better day’—a certain Emendation, I +think. I hope you take Spedding into your Counsel; he might +be induced to look over one Play at a time though he might shrink +from all in a Body; and I scarce ever heard him conning a page of +Shakespeare but he suggested something which was an +improvement—on Shakespeare himself, if not on his +Editors—though don’t [tell] Spedding that I say so, +for God’s sake.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote45b"></a><a href="#citation45b" +class="footnote">[45b]</a> In ‘Notes and +Queries,’ April 18th, 1874.</p> +<p><a name="footnote48a"></a><a href="#citation48a" +class="footnote">[48a]</a> Lord Hertford</p> +<p><a name="footnote48b"></a><a href="#citation48b" +class="footnote">[48b]</a> Frank Carr Beard, the friend and +medical adviser of Dickens and Wilkie Collins.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49a"></a><a href="#citation49a" +class="footnote">[49a]</a> See Lockhart’s ‘Life +of Scott,’ vii. 394. ‘About half-past one, +<span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, on the 21st of September, +[1832], Sir Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his +children. It was a beautiful day—so warm that every +window was wide open, and so perfectly still, that the sound of +all others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the +Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around +the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his +eyes.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote49b"></a><a href="#citation49b" +class="footnote">[49b]</a> Dryburgh.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49c"></a><a href="#citation49c" +class="footnote">[49c]</a> The North West Passage. +The ‘Old Sea Captain’ was Trelawny.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50a"></a><a href="#citation50a" +class="footnote">[50a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +173-4.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50b"></a><a href="#citation50b" +class="footnote">[50b]</a> E. F. S. Pigott.</p> +<p><a name="footnote52"></a><a href="#citation52" +class="footnote">[52]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +172.</p> +<p><a name="footnote53a"></a><a href="#citation53a" +class="footnote">[53a]</a> Not <i>Macmillan</i>, but +<i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, Dec. 1863, ‘On the +Stage.’ See Letter of 24 Aug. 1875.</p> +<p><a name="footnote53b"></a><a href="#citation53b" +class="footnote">[53b]</a> “Pasta, the great lyric +tragedian, who, Mrs. Siddons said, was capable of giving her +lessons, replied to the observation, ‘Vous avez dû +beaucoup étudier l’antique.’ ‘Je +l’ai beaucoup senti.’”—From Mrs. +Kemble’s article ‘On the Stage’ +(‘Cornhill,’ 1863), reprinted as an Introduction to +her Notes upon some of Shakespeare’s Plays.</p> +<p><a name="footnote53c"></a><a href="#citation53c" +class="footnote">[53c]</a> ‘Causeries du +Lundi,’ xiv. 234.</p> +<p><a name="footnote53d"></a><a href="#citation53d" +class="footnote">[53d]</a> Lettre de Viard a M. Walpole, in +‘Lettres de Madame du Deffand,’ iv. 178 (Paris, +1824). FitzGerald probably read it in Ste. Beuve, +‘Causeries du Lundi,’ i. 405.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54"></a><a href="#citation54" +class="footnote">[54]</a> Cedars, not yew. See +Memoirs of Chorley, ii. 240.</p> +<p><a name="footnote55"></a><a href="#citation55" +class="footnote">[55]</a> In Tales of the Hall, Book XI. +(‘Works,’ vi. 284), quoted from memory.</p> +<p><a name="footnote56"></a><a href="#citation56" +class="footnote">[56]</a> Virgil, Æn. vi. 127.</p> +<p><a name="footnote57a"></a><a href="#citation57a" +class="footnote">[57a]</a> Referring to the well-known +print of ‘Remarkable Characters who were at Tunbridge Wells +with Richardson in 1748.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote57b"></a><a href="#citation57b" +class="footnote">[57b]</a> James Spedding.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59a"></a><a href="#citation59a" +class="footnote">[59a]</a> In the original draft of Tales +of the Hall, Book VI.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59b"></a><a href="#citation59b" +class="footnote">[59b]</a> See Memoirs of Chateaubriand, +written by himself, Eng. trans. 1849 p. 123. At the +Château of Combourg in Brittany, ‘When supper was +over, and the party of four had removed from the table to the +chimney, my mother would throw herself, with a sigh, upon an old +cotton-covered sofa, and near her was placed a little stand with +a light. I sat down by the fire with Lucile; the servants +removed the supper-things, and retired. My father then +began to walk up and down, and never ceased until his +bedtime. He wore a kind of white woollen gown, or rather +cloak, such as I have never seen with anyone else. His +head, partly bald, was covered with a large white cap, which +stood bolt upright. When, in the course of his walk, he got +to a distance from the fire, the vast apartment was so +ill-lighted by a single candle that he could be no longer seen, +he could still be heard marching about in the dark, however, and +presently returned slowly towards the light, and emerged by +degrees from obscurity, looking like a spectre, with his white +robe and cap, and his tall, thin figure.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote64a"></a><a href="#citation64a" +class="footnote">[64a]</a> ‘The Mighty +Magician’ and ‘Such Stuff as Dreams are made +of.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote64b"></a><a href="#citation64b" +class="footnote">[64b]</a> See Winter’s Tale, iv. 4, +118-120.</p> +<p><a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65" +class="footnote">[65]</a> ‘Euphranor.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote67"></a><a href="#citation67" +class="footnote">[67]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +180.</p> +<p><a name="footnote68"></a><a href="#citation68" +class="footnote">[68]</a> Sir Arthur Helps died March 7th, +1875.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69"></a><a href="#citation69" +class="footnote">[69]</a> The Passage of Carlyle to which +FitzGerald refers is perhaps in ‘Anti-Dryasdust,’ in +the Introduction to Cromwell’s Letters and Speeches. +‘By very nature it is a labyrinth and chaos, this that we +call Human History; an <i>abatis</i> of trees and brushwood, a +world-wide jungle, at once growing and dying. Under the +green foliage and blossoming fruit-trees of To-day, there lie, +rotting slower or faster, the forests of all other Years and +Days. Some have rotted fast, plants of annual growth, and +are long since quite gone to inorganic mould; others are like the +aloe, growths that last a thousand or three thousand +years.’ Ste. Beuve, in his ‘Nouveaux +Lundis’ (iv. 295), has a similar remark: ‘Pour un +petit nombre d’arbres qui s’élèvent de +quelques pieds au-dessus de terre et qui +s’aperçoivent de loin, il y a partout, en +littérature, de cet humus et de ce détrius +végétal, de ces feuilles accumulées et +entassées qu’on ne distingue pas, si l’on ne +se baisse.’ At the end of his copy FitzGerald has +referred to this as ‘Carlyle’s Peat.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote71"></a><a href="#citation71" +class="footnote">[71]</a> In The Gamester. See +‘Macready’s Reminiscences,’ i. 54-57.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72a"></a><a href="#citation72a" +class="footnote">[72a]</a> In Rowe’s Tamerlane. +See ‘Macready’s Reminiscences,’ i. 202.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72b"></a><a href="#citation72b" +class="footnote">[72b]</a> Probably the English Tragedy, +which was finished in October 1838. See ‘Records of +Later Days,’ ii. 168.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74"></a><a href="#citation74" +class="footnote">[74]</a> In the <i>Transactions of the New +Shakspere Society</i> for 1875-76. The surviving editor of +the ‘Cambridge Shakspeare’ does not at all feel that +Spedding’s criticism ‘smashed’ the theory which +was only put forward as a tentative solution of a perhaps +insoluble problem.</p> +<p><a name="footnote75a"></a><a href="#citation75a" +class="footnote">[75a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +177.</p> +<p><a name="footnote75b"></a><a href="#citation75b" +class="footnote">[75b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +198, 228, and Boswell’s ‘Johnson’ (ed. Birkbeck +Hill), iv. 193.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77" +class="footnote">[77]</a> FitzGerald wrote to me about the +same time:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Spedding has (you know) a delicious little +Paper about the Merchant of Venice in July +<i>Fraser</i>:—but I think he is wrong in subordinating +Shylock to the Comedy Part. If that were meant to be so, +Williams [‘the divine Williams,’ as some Frenchman +called Shakespeare] miscalculated, throwing so much of his very +finest writing into the Jew’s Mouth, the downright human +Nature of which makes all the Love-Story Child’s play, +though very beautiful Child’s play indeed.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote78"></a><a href="#citation78" +class="footnote">[78]</a> ‘On the Stage,’ in +the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i> for December 1863 Reprinted as an +Introduction to Mrs. Kemble’s ‘Notes upon some of +Shakespeare’s Plays.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote79"></a><a href="#citation79" +class="footnote">[79]</a> See his ‘Life and +Letters,’ p. 46.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80"></a><a href="#citation80" +class="footnote">[80]</a> In the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i> +for July 1875, The Merchant of Venice at the Prince of +Wales’s Theatre.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82a"></a><a href="#citation82a" +class="footnote">[82a]</a> ‘The Enterprising +Impresario’ by Walter Maynard (Thomas Willert Beale), 1867, +pp 273-4.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82b"></a><a href="#citation82b" +class="footnote">[82b]</a> Beginning, ‘A spirit +haunts the year’s last hours.’ It first +appeared in the poems of 1830, p. 67, and is now included in +Tennyson’s Collected Works. See +‘Letters,’ ii. 256.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82c"></a><a href="#citation82c" +class="footnote">[82c]</a> By Sir Gilbert Elliot, father of +the first Lord Minto. The query appeared 25 Sept. 1875 +(‘N. & Q.’ 5th Series, iv. 247), and two answers +are given at p. 397, but not by E. F.G.</p> +<p><a name="footnote83"></a><a href="#citation83" +class="footnote">[83]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +185.</p> +<p><a name="footnote84"></a><a href="#citation84" +class="footnote">[84]</a> The <i>Atlantic Monthly</i> for +August, September, and October 1875.</p> +<p><a name="footnote85a"></a><a href="#citation85a" +class="footnote">[85a]</a> <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, August +1875, p. 167, by T. S. Perry.</p> +<p><a name="footnote85b"></a><a href="#citation85b" +class="footnote">[85b]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, p. 240.</p> +<p><a name="footnote86"></a><a href="#citation86" +class="footnote">[86]</a> From Oct. 30 to Nov. 4.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87a"></a><a href="#citation87a" +class="footnote">[87a]</a> The Trial of Queen Katharine in +<i>Henry VIII</i>. Charles Kemble acted Cromwell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87b"></a><a href="#citation87b" +class="footnote">[87b]</a> <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, August +1875, p. 165.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88a"></a><a href="#citation88a" +class="footnote">[88a]</a> ‘The Exile,’ quoted +from memory.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88b"></a><a href="#citation88b" +class="footnote">[88b]</a> See letter of August 24, +1875.</p> +<p><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89" +class="footnote">[89]</a> <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, August +1875, p. 156.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90a"></a><a href="#citation90a" +class="footnote">[90a]</a> Thomas Griffiths +Wainewright. De Quincey’s account of him is in his +essay on Charles Lamb (‘Works,’ ed. 1862, viii. +146). His career was the subject of a story by Dickens, +called ‘Hunted Down.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote90b"></a><a href="#citation90b" +class="footnote">[90b]</a> Minnie Thackeray (Mrs. Leslie +Stephen) died Nov. 28.</p> +<p><a name="footnote91"></a><a href="#citation91" +class="footnote">[91]</a> About the same time he wrote to +me:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘A dozen years ago I entreated Annie +Thackeray, Smith & Elder, &c., to bring out a Volume of +Thackeray’s better Drawings. Of course they +wouldn’t—now Windus and Chatto have, you know, +brought out a Volume of his inferior: and now Annie T. S. & +E. prepare a Volume—when it is not so certain to pay, at +any rate, as when W. M. T. was the Hero of the Day. +However, I send them all I have: pretty confident they will +select the worst; of course, for my own part, I would rather have +any other than copies of what I have: but I should like the World +to acknowledge he could do something beside the ugly and +ridiculous. Annie T. sent me the enclosed Specimen: very +careless, but full of Character. I can see W. M. T. drawing +it as he was telling one about his Scotch Trip. That +disputatious Scotchman in the second Row with Spectacles, +and—teeth. You may know some who will be amused at +this:—but send it back, please: no occasion to write +beside.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote92"></a><a href="#citation92" +class="footnote">[92]</a> When I was preparing the first +edition of FitzGerald’s Letters I wrote to Mrs. Kemble for +permission to quote the passage from her Gossip which is here +referred to. She replied (11 Dec. 1883):—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I have no objection whatever to your +quoting what I said of Edward Fitzgerald in the <i>Atlantic +Monthly</i>, but I suppose you know that it was omitted from +Bentley’s publication of my book at Edward’s <i>own +desire</i>. He did not certainly knock me on the head with +Dr. Johnson’s sledge-hammer, but he did make me feel +painfully that I had been guilty of the impertinence of +praising.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I did not then avail myself of the permission so readily +granted, but I venture to do so now, in the belief that the +publicity from which his sensitive nature shrank during his +lifetime may now without impropriety be given to what was written +in all sincerity by one of his oldest and most intimate +friends. It was Mrs. Kemble who described him as ‘an +eccentric man of genius, who took more pains to avoid fame than +others do to seek it,’ and this description is fully borne +out by the account she gave of him in the offending passage which +follows:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“That Mrs. Fitzgerald is among the most +vivid memories of my girlish days. She and her husband were +kind and intimate friends of my father and mother. He was a +most amiable and genial Irish gentleman, with considerable +property in Ireland and Suffolk, and a fine house in Portland +Place, and had married his cousin, a very handsome, clever, and +eccentric woman. I remember she always wore a bracelet of +his hair, on the massive clasp of which were engraved the words, +‘<i>Stesso sangue</i>, <i>stessa sorte</i>.’ I +also remember, as a feature of sundry dinners at their house, the +first gold dessert and table ornaments that I ever saw, the +magnificence of which made a great impression upon me; though I +also remember their being replaced, upon Mrs. Fitzgerald’s +wearying of them, by a set of ground glass and dead and burnished +silver, so exquisite that the splendid gold service was +pronounced infinitely less tasteful and beautiful. One +member of her family—her son Edward Fitzgerald—has +remained my friend till this day. His parents and mine are +dead. Of his brothers and sisters I retain no knowledge, +but with him I still keep up an affectionate and to me most +valuable and interesting correspondence. He was +distinguished from the rest of his family, and indeed from most +people, by the possession of very rare intellectual and artistic +gifts. A poet, a painter, a musician, an admirable scholar +and writer, if he had not shunned notoriety as sedulously as most +people seek it, he would have achieved a foremost place among the +eminent men of his day, and left a name second to that of very +few of his contemporaries. His life was spent in literary +leisure, or literary labours of love of singular excellence, +which he never cared to publish beyond the circle of his intimate +friends: Euphranor, Polonius, collections of dialogues full of +keen wisdom, fine observation, and profound thought; sterling +philosophy written in the purest, simplest, and raciest English; +noble translations, or rather free adaptations of +Calderon’s two finest dramas, The Wonderful Magician and +Life’s a Dream, and a splendid paraphrase of the Agamemnon +of Æschylus, which fills its reader with regret that he +should not have <i>Englished</i> the whole of the great trilogy +with the same severe sublimity. In America this gentleman +is better known by his translation or adaptation (how much more +of it is his own than the author’s I should like to know if +I were Irish) of Omar Khayyám, the astronomer-poet of +Persia. Archbishop Trench, in his volume on the life and +genius of Calderon, frequently refers to Mr. Fitzgerald’s +translations, and himself gives a version of Life’s a +Dream, the excellence of which falls short, however, of his +friend’s finer dramatic poem bearing the same name, though +he has gallantly attacked the difficulty of rendering the Spanish +in English verse. While these were Edward +Fitzgerald’s studies and pursuits, he led a curious life of +almost entire estrangement from society, preferring the +companionship of the rough sailors and fishermen of the Suffolk +coast to that of lettered folk. He lived with them in the +most friendly intimacy, helping them in their sea ventures, and +cruising about with one, an especially fine sample of his sort, +in a small fishing-smack which Edward Fitzgerald’s bounty +had set afloat, and in which the translator of Calderon and +Æschylus passed his time, better pleased with the +fellowship and intercourse of the captain and crew of his small +fishing craft than with that of more educated and sophisticated +humanity. He and his brothers were school-fellows of my +eldest brother under Dr. Malkin, the master of the grammar school +of Bury St. Edmunds.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote94"></a><a href="#citation94" +class="footnote">[94]</a> Mrs. Kemble’s letter was +written with a typewriter (see ‘Further Records,’ i. +198, 240, 247). It was given by FitzGerald to Mr. F. +Spalding, now of the Colchester Museum, through whose kindness I +am enabled to quote it:—</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">York +Farm</span>, <span class="smcap">Branchtown</span>.<br /> +‘<i>Tuesday</i>, <i>Dec.</i> 14. 1875.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Edward +FitzGerald</span>,</p> +<p>‘I have got a printing-machine and am going to try and +write to you upon it and see if it will suit your eyes better +than my scrawl of handwriting. Thank you for the +Photographs and the line of music; I know that old bit of tune, +it seems to me. I think Mr. Irving’s face more like +Young’s than my Father’s. Tom Taylor, years +ago, told me that Miss Ellen Terry would be a consummate comic +actress. Portia should never be without some one to set her +before the Public. She is my model woman.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote97a"></a><a href="#citation97a" +class="footnote">[97a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +192</p> +<p><a name="footnote97b"></a><a href="#citation97b" +class="footnote">[97b]</a> See the <i>Athenæum</i> +for Jan. 1, 15, 22, 29, 1876.</p> +<p><a name="footnote100"></a><a href="#citation100" +class="footnote">[100]</a> In her ‘Further +Records,’ i. 250, Mrs. Kemble wrote, March 11th, +1876:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Last week my old friend Edward Fitzgerald +(Omar Kyam, you know), sent me a beautiful miniature of my +mother, which his mother—her intimate friend—had kept +till her death, and which had been painted for Mrs. +Fitzgerald. It is a full-length figure, very beautifully +painted, and very like my mother. Almost immediately after +receiving this from England, my friend Mr. Horace Furness came +out to see me. He is a great collector of books and prints, +and brought me an old engraving of my mother in the character of +Urania, which a great many years ago I remember to have seen, and +which was undoubtedly the original of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s +miniature. I thought the concidence of their both reaching +me at the same time curious.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote105"></a><a href="#citation105" +class="footnote">[105]</a> On July 22nd, 1880, he wrote to +me:—“I am still reading her! And could make a +pretty Introduction to her; but Press-work is hard to me now, and +nobody would care for what I should do, when done. Mrs. +Edwards has found me a good Photo of ‘nos pauvres +Rochers,’ a straggling old Château, with (I suppose) +the Chapel which her old ‘Bien Bon’ Uncle built in +1671—while she was talking to her Gardener Pilois and +reading Montaigne, Molière, Pascal, <i>or</i> Cleopatra, +among the trees she had planted. Bless her! I should +like to have made Lamb like her, in spite of his anti-gallican +Obstinacy.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote106"></a><a href="#citation106" +class="footnote">[106]</a> Mrs. Charles Donne, daughter of +John Mitchell Kemble, died April 15th, 1876.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107"></a><a href="#citation107" +class="footnote">[107]</a> First acted April 18th, +1876.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a" +class="footnote">[108a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +293.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108b"></a><a href="#citation108b" +class="footnote">[108b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +198.</p> +<p><a name="footnote109a"></a><a href="#citation109a" +class="footnote">[109a]</a> <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, June +1876, p. 719.</p> +<p><a name="footnote109b"></a><a href="#citation109b" +class="footnote">[109b]</a> Which opened May 10th, +1876.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110"></a><a href="#citation110" +class="footnote">[110]</a> In one of his Common Place Books +FitzGerald has entered from the <i>Monthly Mirror</i> for 1807 +the following passage of Rousseau on Stage +Scenery—‘Ils font, pour épouventer, un Fracas +de Decorations sans Effet. Sur la scene même il ne +faut pas tout dire à la Vue: mais ébranler +l’Imagmation.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111" +class="footnote">[111]</a> For April and May 1876: +‘The Latest Theory about Bacon.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote113a"></a><a href="#citation113a" +class="footnote">[113a]</a> See letter of October 4th, +1875</p> +<p><a name="footnote113b"></a><a href="#citation113b" +class="footnote">[113b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +202-205.</p> +<p><a name="footnote113c"></a><a href="#citation113c" +class="footnote">[113c]</a> This card is now in my +possession, ‘Mr. Alfred Tennyson. +Farringford.’ On it is written in pencil, “Dear +old Fitz—I am passing thro’ and will call +again. [The last three words are crossed out and ‘am +here’ is written over them]. A.T.” +FitzGerald enclosed it to Thompson (Master of Trinity) and wrote +on the back, ‘P.S. Since writing, this card was sent +in: the Writer followed with his Son: and here we all are as if +twenty years had not passed since we met.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote114a"></a><a href="#citation114a" +class="footnote">[114a]</a> About the same time he wrote to +me:—“Tennyson came here suddenly ten days +ago—with his Son Hallam, whom I liked much. It was a +Relief to find a Young Gentleman not calling his Father +‘The Governor’ but even—‘Papa,’ and +tending him so carefully in all ways. And nothing of +‘awfully jolly,’ etc. I put them up at the +Inn—Bull—as my own House was in a sort of Interregnum +of Painting, within and without: and I knew they would be well +provided at ‘John Grout’s’—as they +were. Tennyson said he had not found such Dinners at Grand +Hotels, etc. And John (though a Friend of Princes of all +Nations—Russian, French, Italian, etc.—who come to +buy Horse flesh) was gratified at the Praise: though he said to +me ‘Pray, Sir, what is the name of the +Gentleman?’”</p> +<p><a name="footnote114b"></a><a href="#citation114b" +class="footnote">[114b]</a> On September 11th, 1877, he +wrote to me: ‘You ought to have Hugo’s French +Shakespeare: it is not wonderful to see how well a German +Translation thrives:—but French Prose—no doubt better +than French Verse. When I was looking over King John the +other day I knew that Napoleon would have owned it as the thing +he craved for in the Theatre: as also the other Historical +Plays:—not Love of which one is sick: but the Business of +Men. He said this at St. Helena, or elsewhere.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote115"></a><a href="#citation115" +class="footnote">[115]</a> It was in 1867. See +‘Letters,’ ii. 90, 94.</p> +<p><a name="footnote116"></a><a href="#citation116" +class="footnote">[116]</a> Life, vi. 215. Letter to +Lockhart, January 15th, 1826.</p> +<p><a name="footnote117a"></a><a href="#citation117a" +class="footnote">[117a]</a> These expressions must not be +looked for in the Decameron, as ‘emendato secondo +l’ordine del Sacro Concilio di Trento.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote117b"></a><a href="#citation117b" +class="footnote">[117b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +203. In a letter to me dated November 4th, 1876, he +says:—</p> +<p>“I have taken refuge from the Eastern Question in +Boccaccio, just as the ‘piacevoli Donne’ who tell the +Stories escaped from the Plague. I suppose one must read +this in Italian as my dear Don in Spanish: the Language of each +fitting the Subject ‘like a Glove.’ But there +is nothing to come up to the Don and his Man.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote118"></a><a href="#citation118" +class="footnote">[118]</a> Book XVIII., vol. vii. p. +188.</p> +<p><a name="footnote119a"></a><a href="#citation119a" +class="footnote">[119a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +208.</p> +<p><a name="footnote119b"></a><a href="#citation119b" +class="footnote">[119b]</a> Gillies’ Memoirs of a +Literary Veteran. See Letters, ii. 197, 199.</p> +<p><a name="footnote120a"></a><a href="#citation120a" +class="footnote">[120a]</a> An Ode for the Fourth of July, +1876.</p> +<p><a name="footnote120b"></a><a href="#citation120b" +class="footnote">[120b]</a> Mr. Wade, author of <i>The Jew +of Aragon</i>, which failed. Mrs. Kemble says (<i>Atlantic +Monthly</i>, December 1876, p. 707):—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I was perfectly miserable when the curtain +fell, and the poor young author, as pale as a ghost, came forward +to meet my father at the side scene, and bravely holding out his +hand to him said, ‘Never mind, Mr. Kemble, I’ll do +better another time.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote120c"></a><a href="#citation120c" +class="footnote">[120c]</a> Francisco Javier Elio, a +Spanish General, was executed in 1822 for his seventies against +the liberals dining the reactionary period 1814-1820.</p> +<p><a name="footnote122a"></a><a href="#citation122a" +class="footnote">[122a]</a> <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, +February 1877, p. 222.</p> +<p><a name="footnote122b"></a><a href="#citation122b" +class="footnote">[122b]</a> Holbrook, near Ipswich. +That she had also some of the family humour is evident from what +she wrote to Mr. Crabbe of her brother’s early life. +‘As regards spiritual advantages out of the house he had +none; for our Pastor was one of the old sort, with a jolly red +nose caused by good cheer. He used to lay his Hat and Whip +on the Communion Table and gabble over the service, running down +the Pulpit Stairs not to lose the opportunity of being invited to +a good dinner at the Hall.’ It was with reference to +his sister’s husband that FitzGerald in conversation with +Tennyson used the expression ‘A Mr. Wilkinson, a +clergyman.’</p> +<p>‘Why, Fitz,’ said Tennyson, ‘that’s a +verse, and a very bad one too.’ And they would +afterwards humorously contend for the authorship of the worst +line in the English language.</p> +<p><a name="footnote123"></a><a href="#citation123" +class="footnote">[123]</a> <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, +February 1877, pp. 210, 211, and pp. 220, 221.</p> +<p><a name="footnote124a"></a><a href="#citation124a" +class="footnote">[124a]</a> See note to Letter of Dec. +29<i>th</i> 1875.</p> +<p><a name="footnote124b"></a><a href="#citation124b" +class="footnote">[124b]</a> For November 1875, in an +article called ‘The Judgment of Paris,’ p. 400.</p> +<p><a name="footnote125a"></a><a href="#citation125a" +class="footnote">[125a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +217. This is in my possession.</p> +<p><a name="footnote125b"></a><a href="#citation125b" +class="footnote">[125b]</a> It came to an end in April +1877. In a letter to Miss St. Leger, December 31st, 1876 +(‘Further Records,’ ii. 33), Mrs. Kemble says, +‘You ask me how I mean to carry on the publication of my +articles in the <i>Atlantic Magazine</i> when I leave America; +but I do not intend to carry them on. The editor proposed +to me to do so, but I thought it would entail so much trouble and +uncertainty in the transmission of manuscript and proofs, that it +would be better to break off when I came to Europe. The +editor will have manuscript enough for the February, March, and +April numbers when I come away, and with those I think the series +must close. As there is no narrative or sequence of events +involved in the publication, it can, of course, be stopped at any +moment; a story without an end can end anywhere.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote126"></a><a href="#citation126" +class="footnote">[126]</a> See letter of December 29th, +1875.</p> +<p><a name="footnote127a"></a><a href="#citation127a" +class="footnote">[127a]</a> 15, Connaught Square. See +‘Further Records,’ ii. 42, etc.</p> +<p><a name="footnote127b"></a><a href="#citation127b" +class="footnote">[127b]</a> Valentia Donne marred the Rev. +R. F. Smith, minor Canon of Southwell, May 24th, 1877.</p> +<p><a name="footnote131a"></a><a href="#citation131a" +class="footnote">[131a]</a> ‘We might say in a short +word, which means a long matter, that your Shakespeare fashions +his characters from the heart outwards, your Scott fashions them +from the skin inwards, never getting near the heart of +them.’—Carlyle, ‘Miscellanies,’ vi. 69 +(ed. 1869), ‘Sir Walter Scott’</p> +<p><a name="footnote131b"></a><a href="#citation131b" +class="footnote">[131b]</a> Procter, +‘Autobiographical Fragments,’ p. 154.</p> +<p><a name="footnote134a"></a><a href="#citation134a" +class="footnote">[134a]</a> February 9th, 1878.</p> +<p><a name="footnote134b"></a><a href="#citation134b" +class="footnote">[134b]</a> It was not in the +<i>Fortnightly</i> but in the <i>Nineteenth Century</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote134c"></a><a href="#citation134c" +class="footnote">[134c]</a> This portrait is in my +possession. FitzGerald fastened it in a copy of the +‘Poems chiefly Lyrical’ (1830) which he gave me bound +up with the ‘Poems’ of 1833. He wrote +underneath, ‘Done in a Steamboat from Gravesend to London, +Jan: 1842.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote135a"></a><a href="#citation135a" +class="footnote">[135a]</a> Criticisms and Elucidations of +Catullus by H. A. J. Munro.</p> +<p><a name="footnote135b"></a><a href="#citation135b" +class="footnote">[135b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +233, 235, 236, 238, 239.</p> +<p><a name="footnote136"></a><a href="#citation136" +class="footnote">[136]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +247.</p> +<p><a name="footnote138a"></a><a href="#citation138a" +class="footnote">[138a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +243.</p> +<p><a name="footnote138b"></a><a href="#citation138b" +class="footnote">[138b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +248.</p> +<p><a name="footnote145"></a><a href="#citation145" +class="footnote">[145]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +265.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146"></a><a href="#citation146" +class="footnote">[146]</a> II. 166 (ed. 1826).</p> +<p><a name="footnote149"></a><a href="#citation149" +class="footnote">[149]</a> John Purcell FitzGerald died at +Boulge, May 4th, 1879.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151a"></a><a href="#citation151a" +class="footnote">[151a]</a> See letter of May 5th, +1877.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151b"></a><a href="#citation151b" +class="footnote">[151b]</a> In a letter to me dated May +7th, 1879, he says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I see by Athenæum that Charles +Tennyson (Turner) is dead. <i>Now</i> people will begin to +talk of his beautiful Sonnets: small, but original, things, as +well as beautiful. Especially after that somewhat absurd +Sale of the Brothers’ early Editions.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote152"></a><a href="#citation152" +class="footnote">[152]</a> Gay, <i>The Beggar’s +Opera</i>, Act III, Air 57.</p> +<p><a name="footnote153"></a><a href="#citation153" +class="footnote">[153]</a> Professor Skeat’s +Inaugural Lecture, in <i>Macmillan’s Magazine</i> for +February 1879, pp. 304-313.</p> +<p><a name="footnote154"></a><a href="#citation154" +class="footnote">[154]</a> Mrs. Sartoris, Mrs. +Kemble’s sister, died August 4, 1879. See +‘Further Records,’ ii. 277.</p> +<p><a name="footnote155"></a><a href="#citation155" +class="footnote">[155]</a> Edwin Edwards, who died +September 15. See ‘Letters,’ ii. 277.</p> +<p><a name="footnote157"></a><a href="#citation157" +class="footnote">[157]</a> In a letter to me of September +29 1879, he says, “My object in going to London is, to see +poor Mrs. Edwards, who writes me that she has much collapsed in +strength (no wonder!) after the Trial she endured for near three +years more or less, and, you know, a very hard light for the last +year . . .</p> +<p>“Besides her, Mrs. Kemble, who has lately lost her +Sister, and returned from Switzerland to London just at a time +when most of her Friends are out of it—<i>she</i> wants to +see me, an old Friend of hers and her Family’s, whom she +has not seen for more than twenty years. So I do hope to do +my ‘petit possible’ to solace both these poor Ladies +at the same time.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote158"></a><a href="#citation158" +class="footnote">[158]</a> On September 11 he wrote to me, +‘Ah, pleasant Dunwich Days! I should never know a +better Boy than Edwards, nor a braver little Wife than her, were +I to live six times as long as I am like to do.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote160"></a><a href="#citation160" +class="footnote">[160]</a> See letter of October 4, +1875.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161"></a><a href="#citation161" +class="footnote">[161]</a> Mrs. Leigh’s son, Pierce +Butler, was born on Sunday, November 2, 1879.</p> +<p><a name="footnote162"></a><a href="#citation162" +class="footnote">[162]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +326.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163a"></a><a href="#citation163a" +class="footnote">[163a]</a> Mrs. Kemble appears to have +adopted this suggestion. In her ‘Records of a +Girlhood,’ ii. 41, she says of Sir Thomas Lawrence, +‘He came repeatedly to consult with my mother about the +disputed point of my dress, and gave his sanction to her decision +upon it. The first dress of Belvidera [in <i>Venice +Preserved</i>], I remember, was a point of nice discussion +between them. . . . I was allowed (not, however, without serious +demur on the part of Lawrence) to cover my head with a black hat +and white feather.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote163b"></a><a href="#citation163b" +class="footnote">[163b]</a> William Mason.</p> +<p><a name="footnote166"></a><a href="#citation166" +class="footnote">[166]</a> November 10, 1879.</p> +<p><a name="footnote168"></a><a href="#citation168" +class="footnote">[168]</a> Mrs. De Soyres died at Exeter, +December 11, 1879.</p> +<p><a name="footnote169"></a><a href="#citation169" +class="footnote">[169]</a> Played at St. James’s +Theatre, December 18, 1879.</p> +<p><a name="footnote171"></a><a href="#citation171" +class="footnote">[171]</a> ‘The Duke’s +Children.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote173"></a><a href="#citation173" +class="footnote">[173]</a> Probably the ‘Records of +Later Life,’ published in 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote174"></a><a href="#citation174" +class="footnote">[174]</a> On 1st February 1880, FitzGerald +wrote to me:—“Do you know what ‘Stub +Iron’ is? (I do), and what ‘Heel-taps’ derives +from, which Mrs. Kemble asks, and I cannot tell her.” +This is probably the query referred to.</p> +<p><a name="footnote175"></a><a href="#citation175" +class="footnote">[175]</a> Beginning ‘As men may +children at their sports behold!’—Tales of the Hall, +book xxi., at the end of ‘Smugglers and +Poachers.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote176"></a><a href="#citation176" +class="footnote">[176]</a> In the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, +March 1880, ‘The Story of the Merchant of +Venice.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote179"></a><a href="#citation179" +class="footnote">[179]</a> ‘An Eye-witness of John +Kemble,’ by Sir Theodore Martin. The eye-witness is +Tieck.</p> +<p><a name="footnote180a"></a><a href="#citation180a" +class="footnote">[180a]</a> This letter was written on a +Tuesday, and April 6 was a Tuesday in 1880. Moreover, in +1880, at Easter, Donne’s house was in quarantine. +FitzGerald probably had the advanced sheets of the <i>Atlantic +Monthly</i> for May from Professor Norton as early as the +beginning of April.</p> +<p><a name="footnote180b"></a><a href="#citation180b" +class="footnote">[180b]</a> The <i>Atlantic Monthly</i> for +May 1880, contained an article by Mr. G. E. Woodberry on Crabbe, +‘A Neglected Poet.’ See letter to Professor +Norton, May 1, 1880, in ‘Letters,’ ii. 281.</p> +<p><a name="footnote181a"></a><a href="#citation181a" +class="footnote">[181a]</a> No. 39, where +FitzGerald’s father and mother lived. See +‘Records of a Girlhood,’ iii. 28.</p> +<p><a name="footnote181b"></a><a href="#citation181b" +class="footnote">[181b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +138.</p> +<p><a name="footnote183a"></a><a href="#citation183a" +class="footnote">[183a]</a> It was Queen Catharine. +When Mrs. Siddons called upon Johnson in 1783, he +“particularly asked her which of Shakespeare’s +characters she was most pleased with. Upon her answering +that she thought the character of Queen Catharine, in <i>Henry +the Eighth</i>, the most natural:—‘I think so too, +Madam, (said he;) and when ever you perform it, I will once more +hobble out to the theatre +myself.’”—Boswell’s ‘Life of +Johnson’ (ed. Birkbeck Hill), iv. 242.</p> +<p><a name="footnote183b"></a><a href="#citation183b" +class="footnote">[183b]</a> See letters of February and +December 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote184a"></a><a href="#citation184a" +class="footnote">[184a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +244, 249.</p> +<p><a name="footnote184b"></a><a href="#citation184b" +class="footnote">[184b]</a> On June 30, 1880, he wrote to +me, ‘Half her Beauty is the liquid melodiousness of her +language—all unpremeditated as a +Blackbird’s.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote186"></a><a href="#citation186" +class="footnote">[186]</a> See letter of May 5, 1877.</p> +<p><a name="footnote187"></a><a href="#citation187" +class="footnote">[187]</a> In a letter to me of the same +date he wrote: ‘Last night when Miss Tox was just coming, +like a good Soul, to ask about the ruined Dombey, we heard a +Splash of Rain, and I had the Book shut up, and sat listening to +the Shower by myself—till it blew over, I am sorry to say, +and no more of the sort all night. But we are thankful for +that small mercy.</p> +<p>‘I am reading through my Sévigné +again—welcome as the flowers of May.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote188a"></a><a href="#citation188a" +class="footnote">[188a]</a> On June 9, 1879, FitzGerald +wrote to me: “I was from Tuesday to Saturday last in +Norfolk with my old Bredfield Party—George, not very well: +and, as he has not written to tell me he is better, I am rather +anxious. You should know him; and his Country: which is +still the old Country which we have lost here; small enclosures, +with hedgeway timber: green gipsey drift-ways: and Crome Cottage +and Farmhouse of that beautiful yellow ‘Claylump’ +with red pantile roof’d—not the d---d Brick and Slate +of these parts.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote188b"></a><a href="#citation188b" +class="footnote">[188b]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +290.</p> +<p><a name="footnote190"></a><a href="#citation190" +class="footnote">[190]</a> See letter of Madame de +Sévigné to Madame de Grignan, June 15, 1689.</p> +<p><a name="footnote191"></a><a href="#citation191" +class="footnote">[191]</a> In one of FitzGerald’s +Common Place Books he gives the story thus: “When +Chancellor Cheverny went home in his Old Age and for the last +time, ‘Messieurs’ (dit-il aux Gentilshommes du Canton +accourus pour le saluer), ‘Je ressemble au bon +Lièvre qui vient mourir au Gîte.’”</p> +<p><a name="footnote192a"></a><a href="#citation192a" +class="footnote">[192a]</a> Tom Taylor died July 12, +1880.</p> +<p><a name="footnote192b"></a><a href="#citation192b" +class="footnote">[192b]</a> On July 16 FitzGerald wrote to +me: ‘Not being assured that you were back from Revision, I +wrote yesterday to Cowell asking him—and you, when +returned—to call on Professor Goodwin, of American +Cambridge, who goes to-morrow to your Cambridge—to +see—if not to stay with—Mr. Jebb. Mr. Goodwin +proposed to give me a look here before he went to Cambridge: but +I told him I could not bear the thought of his coming all this +way for such a purpose. I think you can witness that I do +not wish even old English Friends to take me except on their way +elsewhere: and for an American Gentleman! It is not +affectation to say that any such proposal worried me. So +what must I do but ask him to be sure to see Messrs. Wright and +Cowell when he got to Cambridge: and spend part of one of his +days there in going to Bury, and (even if he cared not for the +Abbey with its Abbot Samson and Jocelyn) to sit with a Bottle of +light wine at the Angel window, face to face with that lovely +Abbey gate. Perhaps Cowell, I said, might go over with +him—knowing and loving Gothic—that was a liberty for +me to take with Cowell, but he need not go—I did not hint +at you. I suppose I muddled it all. But do show the +American Gentleman some civilities, to make amends for the +disrespect which you and Cowell told me of in April.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote193"></a><a href="#citation193" +class="footnote">[193]</a> The defeat of General Burrows by +Ayoub Khan, announced in the House of Commons, July 28, +1880. On July 29 further telegrams reported that General +Burrows and other officers had arrived at Candahar after the +defeat.</p> +<p><a name="footnote194"></a><a href="#citation194" +class="footnote">[194]</a> The date should be September 19, +which was a Sunday in 1880. Full moon was on September +18.</p> +<p><a name="footnote197"></a><a href="#citation197" +class="footnote">[197]</a> In her ‘Further +Records,’ i. 295, Mrs. Kemble says, ‘Russia leather, +you know, is almost an element of the atmosphere of my rooms, as +all the shades of violet and purple are of their colouring, so +that my familiar friends associate the two with their notions of +my habitat.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote198"></a><a href="#citation198" +class="footnote">[198]</a> See ‘Life of +Crabbe,’ p. 262.</p> +<p><a name="footnote200"></a><a href="#citation200" +class="footnote">[200]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +295.</p> +<p><a name="footnote201a"></a><a href="#citation201a" +class="footnote">[201a]</a> On ‘The Story of the +Merchant of Venice’ in the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i> for +March 1880.</p> +<p><a name="footnote201b"></a><a href="#citation201b" +class="footnote">[201b]</a> ‘Ballads and other +Poems,’ 1880.</p> +<p><a name="footnote202"></a><a href="#citation202" +class="footnote">[202]</a> <i>Kelter</i>, condition, +order. Forby’s ‘Vocabulary of East +Anglia.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote203a"></a><a href="#citation203a" +class="footnote">[203a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +110</p> +<p><a name="footnote203b"></a><a href="#citation203b" +class="footnote">[203b]</a> ‘Medusa and other +Tales’ (1868), republished in 1880 with a preface by her +daughter, Mrs. Gordon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote205"></a><a href="#citation205" +class="footnote">[205]</a> Full moon February 14th.</p> +<p><a name="footnote206a"></a><a href="#citation206a" +class="footnote">[206a]</a> Acted at the Lyceum, January +3rd, 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote206b"></a><a href="#citation206b" +class="footnote">[206b]</a> For February 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote210"></a><a href="#citation210" +class="footnote">[210]</a> See letters of April 23rd, 1880, +and December 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote211a"></a><a href="#citation211a" +class="footnote">[211a]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +180, 320.</p> +<p><a name="footnote211b"></a><a href="#citation211b" +class="footnote">[211b]</a> Printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 298-301.</p> +<p><a name="footnote214"></a><a href="#citation214" +class="footnote">[214]</a> Partly printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 305-7.</p> +<p><a name="footnote216a"></a><a href="#citation216a" +class="footnote">[216a]</a> Printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 310-312.</p> +<p><a name="footnote216b"></a><a href="#citation216b" +class="footnote">[216b]</a> April 17th was Easter Day in +1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote217"></a><a href="#citation217" +class="footnote">[217]</a> Madame de Sévigné +writes from Chaulnes, April 17th, 1689, ‘A peine le vert +veut-il montrer le nez; pas un rossignol encore; enfin, +l’hiver le 17 d’Avril.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote218"></a><a href="#citation218" +class="footnote">[218]</a> In <i>Macmillan’s +Magazine</i> for April 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote219"></a><a href="#citation219" +class="footnote">[219]</a> Partly printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 313.</p> +<p><a name="footnote221"></a><a href="#citation221" +class="footnote">[221]</a> Partly printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 312.</p> +<p><a name="footnote227a"></a><a href="#citation227a" +class="footnote">[227a]</a> On Madame de +Sévigné.</p> +<p><a name="footnote227b"></a><a href="#citation227b" +class="footnote">[227b]</a> Published in 1882 as +‘Records of Later Life.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote227c"></a><a href="#citation227c" +class="footnote">[227c]</a> See letter of August 24th, +1875.</p> +<p><a name="footnote230"></a><a href="#citation230" +class="footnote">[230]</a> Partly printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 320-1.</p> +<p><a name="footnote231"></a><a href="#citation231" +class="footnote">[231]</a> The correct date is +1794-1805.</p> +<p><a name="footnote233"></a><a href="#citation233" +class="footnote">[233]</a> ‘Evenings with a +Reviewer.’ The Reviewer was Macaulay, and the review +the Essay on Bacon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote234a"></a><a href="#citation234a" +class="footnote">[234a]</a> At Boulge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote234b"></a><a href="#citation234b" +class="footnote">[234b]</a> He was in London from February +17th to February 20th.</p> +<p><a name="footnote236"></a><a href="#citation236" +class="footnote">[236]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +324-6.</p> +<p><a name="footnote237a"></a><a href="#citation237a" +class="footnote">[237a]</a> Full moon April 3rd, 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote237b"></a><a href="#citation237b" +class="footnote">[237b]</a> ‘Thomas Carlyle. +The Man and His Books.’ By W. H. Wylie. 1881, +p. 363.</p> +<p><a name="footnote241a"></a><a href="#citation241a" +class="footnote">[241a]</a> On May 7 FitzGerald wrote to me +from Lowestoft:</p> +<blockquote><p>“I too am taking some medicine, which, +whatever effect it has on me, leaves an indelible mark on +Mahogany: for (of course) I spilled a lot on my Landlady’s +Chiffonier, and found her this morning rubbing at the +‘damned Spot’ with Turpentine, and in +vain.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And two days later:</p> +<blockquote><p>“I was to have gone home to-day: but +Worthington wishes me to stay, at any rate, till the week’s +end, by which time he thinks to remove what he calls ‘a +Crepitation’ in one lung, by help of the Medicine which +proved its power on the mahogany. Yesterday came a +Cabinet-maker, who was for more than half an hour employed in +returning that to its ‘sound and pristine health,’ or +such as I hope my Landlady will be satisfied with.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote241b"></a><a href="#citation241b" +class="footnote">[241b]</a> Serjeant Ballantine’s +‘Experiences of a Barrister’s Life’ appeared in +March 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote241c"></a><a href="#citation241c" +class="footnote">[241c]</a> Full moon was June 1st, +1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote243a"></a><a href="#citation243a" +class="footnote">[243a]</a> W. B. Donne died June 20th, +1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote243b"></a><a href="#citation243b" +class="footnote">[243b]</a> This letter is in my +possession, and as it indicates what Mr. Froude’s plan +originally was, though he afterwards modified it, I have thought +it worth while to give it in full.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">‘5 <span +class="smcap">Onslow Gardens</span>, S.W.<br /> +‘<i>May</i> 19.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear mr. FitzGerald</span>,</p> +<p>‘Certainly you are no stranger to me. I have heard +so often from Carlyle, and I have read so much in his letters, +about your exertions, and about your entertainment of him at +various times, that I can hardly persuade myself that I never saw +you.</p> +<p>‘The letters you speak of must be very interesting, and +I would ask you to let me see them if I thought that they were +likely to be of use to me; but the subject with which I have to +deal is so vast that I am obliged to limit myself, and so +intricate that I am glad to be able to limit myself. I +shall do what Carlyle desired me to do, <i>i.e.</i> edit the +collection of his wife’s letters, which he himself prepared +for publication.</p> +<p>‘This gift or bequest of his governs the rest of my +work. What I have already done is an introduction to these +letters. When they are published I shall add a volume of +personal recollections of his later life; and this will be +all. Had I been left unencumbered by special directions I +should have been tempted to leave his domestic history untouched +except on the outside, and have attempted to make a complete +biography out of the general materials. This I am unable to +do, and all that I can give the world will be materials for some +other person to use hereafter. I can explain no further the +conditions of the problem. But for my own share of it I +have materials in abundance, and I must avoid being tempted off +into other matters however important in themselves.</p> +<p>‘I may add for myself that I did not seek this duty, nor +was it welcome to me. C. asked me to undertake it. +When I looked through the papers I saw how difficult, how, in +some aspects of it, painful, the task would be.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘Believe me,<br /> +‘faithfully yours,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">J. A. Froude</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote245a"></a><a href="#citation245a" +class="footnote">[245a]</a> Printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 332.</p> +<p><a name="footnote245b"></a><a href="#citation245b" +class="footnote">[245b]</a> July 30th.</p> +<p><a name="footnote247"></a><a href="#citation247" +class="footnote">[247]</a> Printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 333.</p> +<p><a name="footnote248"></a><a href="#citation248" +class="footnote">[248]</a> Here begins second half-sheet, +dated ‘Monday, Sept. 5.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote249"></a><a href="#citation249" +class="footnote">[249]</a> Partly printed in +‘Letters,’ ii. 335.</p> +<p><a name="footnote250a"></a><a href="#citation250a" +class="footnote">[250a]</a> See letter of June 23rd, +1880.</p> +<p><a name="footnote250b"></a><a href="#citation250b" +class="footnote">[250b]</a> Reprinted in ‘A Book of +Sibyls,’ 1883.</p> +<p><a name="footnote251a"></a><a href="#citation251a" +class="footnote">[251a]</a> <i>The Promise of May</i> was +acted at the Globe Theatre, November 11th, 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote251b"></a><a href="#citation251b" +class="footnote">[251b]</a> See letter of November 13th, +1879.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252a"></a><a href="#citation252a" +class="footnote">[252a]</a> Mrs. Wister’s son.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252b"></a><a href="#citation252b" +class="footnote">[252b]</a> See letter of March 28th, +1880.</p> +<p><a name="footnote253a"></a><a href="#citation253a" +class="footnote">[253a]</a> ‘John Leech and other +Papers,’ 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote253b"></a><a href="#citation253b" +class="footnote">[253b]</a> November 18th, 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote257"></a><a href="#citation257" +class="footnote">[257]</a> See ‘Letters and Memorials +of Jane Welsh Carlyle,’ ii. 249.</p> +<p><a name="footnote259"></a><a href="#citation259" +class="footnote">[259]</a> For May 1883: ‘Mrs. +Carlyle.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote260"></a><a href="#citation260" +class="footnote">[260]</a> Tennyson’s +‘Brook.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote261"></a><a href="#citation261" +class="footnote">[261]</a> In a letter to Sir Frederick +Pollock, March 16th, 1879, he says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I have had Sir Walter read to me first of a +Night, by way of Drama; then ten minutes for Refreshment, and +then Dickens for Farce. Just finished the Pirate—as +wearisome for Nornas, Minnas, Brendas, etc., as any of the Scotch +Set; but when the Common People have to talk, the Pirates to +quarrel and swear, then Author and Reader are at home; and at the +end I ‘fare’ to like this one the best of the +Series. The Sea scenery has much to do with this preference +I dare say.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote263"></a><a href="#citation263" +class="footnote">[263]</a> See ‘Letters,’ ii. +344.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD TO +FANNY KEMBLE (1871-1883)***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 21434-h.htm or 21434-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/4/3/21434 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble (1871-1883) + + +Author: Edward FitzGerald + +Editor: William Aldis Wright + +Release Date: May 14, 2007 [eBook #21434] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD TO +FANNY KEMBLE (1871-1883)*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1902 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +LETTERS +OF +EDWARD FITZGERALD +TO +FANNY KEMBLE +1871-1883 + + +EDITED BY +WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT + +London +MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED + +NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY +1902 + +_All rights reserved_ + +_First Edition_ 1895 +_Second Edition_ 1902 + +{Edward FitzGerald. From a photograph by Mess. Cade & Wight, Ipswich: +pi.jpg} + +Of the letters which are contained in the present volume, the first +eighty-five were in the possession of the late Mr. George Bentley, who +took great interest in their publication in _The Temple Bar Magazine_, +and was in correspondence with the Editor until within a short time of +his death. The remainder were placed in the Editor's hands by Mrs. +Kemble in 1883, and of these some were printed in whole or in part in +FitzGerald's Letters and Literary Remains, which first appeared in 1889. + +TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, +20_th_ _June_ 1895. + +{Frances Anne Kemble. Engraved by J. G. Stodart from the original +painting by Sully in the possession of the Hon. Mrs. Leigh: pii.jpg} + + + + +LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD TO FANNY KEMBLE +1871-1883 + + +'Letters . . . such as are written from wise men, are, of all the words +of man, in my judgment the best.'--BACON. + +The following letters, addressed by Edward FitzGerald to his life-long +friend Fanny Kemble, form an almost continuous series, from the middle of +1871 to within three weeks of his death in 1883. They are printed as +nearly as possible as he wrote them, preserving his peculiarities of +punctuation and his use of capital letters, although in this he is not +always consistent. In writing to me in 1873 he said, 'I love the old +Capitals for Nouns.' It has been a task of some difficulty to arrange +the letters in their proper order, in consequence of many of them being +either not dated at all or only imperfectly dated; but I hope I have +succeeded in giving them, approximately at least, in their true sequence. +The notes which are added are mainly for the purpose of explaining +allusions, and among them will be found extracts from other letters in my +possession which have not been published. The references to the printed +'Letters' are to the separate edition in the Eversley Series, 2 vols. +(Macmillans, 1894). + +In a letter to Mr. Arthur Malkin, October 15, 1854 ('Further Records,' +ii. 193), Mrs. Kemble enunciates her laws of correspondence, to which +frequent reference is made in the present series as the laws of the Medes +and Persians: 'You bid me not answer your letter, but I have certain +_organic laws_ of correspondence from which nothing short of a miracle +causes me to depart; as, for instance, I never write till I am written +to, I always write when I am written to, and I make a point of always +returning the same amount of paper I receive, as you may convince +yourself by observing that I send you two sheets of note-paper and Mary +Anne only half one, though I have nothing more to say to you, and I have +to her.' + +WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT. + +_January_ 1895. + + + + +I. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _July_ 4, [1871.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I asked Donne to tell you, if he found opportunity, that some two months +ago I wrote you a letter, but found it so empty and dull that I would not +send it to extort the Reply which you feel bound to give. I should have +written to tell you so myself; but I heard from Donne of the Wedding soon +about to be, and I would not intrude then. Now that is over {3a}--I hope +to the satisfaction of you all--and I will say my little say, and you +will have to Reply, according to your own Law of Mede and Persian. + +It is a shame that one should only have oneself to talk about; and yet +that is all I have; so it shall be short. If you will but tell me of +yourself, who have read, and seen, and done, so much more, you will find +much more matter for your pen, and also for my entertainment. + +Well, I have sold my dear little Ship, {3b} because I could not employ my +Eyes with reading in her Cabin, where I had nothing else to do. I think +those Eyes began to get better directly I had written to agree to the +Man's proposal. Anyhow, the thing is done; and so now I betake myself to +a Boat, whether on this River here, or on the Sea at the Mouth of it. + +Books you see I have nothing to say about. The Boy who came to read to +me made such blundering Work that I was forced to confine him to a +Newspaper, where his Blunders were often as entertaining as the Text +which he mistook. We had 'hangarues' in the French Assembly, and, on one +occasion, 'ironclad Laughter from the Extreme Left.' Once again, at the +conclusion of the London news, 'Consolations closed at 91, ex Div.'--And +so on. You know how illiterate People will jump at a Word they don't +know, and twist it in[to] some word they are familiar with. I was +telling some of these Blunders to a very quiet Clergyman here some while +ago, and he assured me that a poor Woman, reading the Bible to his +Mother, read off glibly, 'Stand at a Gate and swallow a Candle.' I +believe this was no Joke of his: whether it were or not, here you have it +for what you may think it worth. + +I should be glad to hear that you think Donne looking and seeming well. +Archdeacon Groome, who saw him lately, thought he looked very jaded: +which I could not wonder at. Donne, however, writes as if in good +Spirits--brave Man as he is--and I hope you will be able to tell me that +he is not so much amiss. He said that he was to be at the Wedding. + +You will tell me too how long you remain in England; I fancy, till +Winter: and then you will go to Rome again, with its new Dynasty +installed in it. I fancy I should not like that so well as the old; but +I suppose it's better for the Country. + +I see my Namesake (Percy) Fitzgerald advertizes a Book about the Kembles. +That I shall manage to get sight of. He made far too long work of +Garrick. I should have thought the Booksellers did not find that pay, +judging by the price to which Garrick soon came down. Half of it would +have been enough. + +Now I am going for a Sail on the famous River Deben, to pass by the same +fields of green Wheat, Barley, Rye, and Beet-root, and come back to the +same Dinner. Positively the only new thing we have in Woodbridge is a +Waxen Bust (Lady, of course) at the little Hairdresser's opposite. She +turns slowly round, to our wonder and delight; and I caught the little +Barber the other day in the very Act of winding her up to run her daily +Stage of Duty. Well; she has not got to answer Letters, as poor Mrs. +Kemble must do to hers always sincerely + +E. F.G. + + + + +II. + + +WOODBRIDGE. NOVr. 2/71. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Is it better not to write at all than only write to plead that one has +nothing to say? Yet I don't like to let the year get so close to an end +without reminding you of me, to whom you have been always so good in the +matter of replying to my letters, as in other ways. + +If I can tell you nothing of myself: no Books read because of no Eyes to +read them: no travel from home because of my little Ship being vanished: +no friends seen, except Donne, who came here with Valentia for two +days--_you_ can fill a sheet like this, I know, with some account of +yourself and your Doings: and I shall be very glad to hear that all is +well with you. Donne said he believed you were in Ireland when he was +here; and he spoke of your being very well when he had last seen you; +also telling me he thought you were to stay in England this winter. By +the by, I also heard of Mrs. Wister being at Cambridge; not Donne told me +this, but Mr. Wright, the Bursar of Trinity: and every one who speaks of +her says she is a very delightful Lady. Donne himself seemed very well, +and in very good Spirits, in spite of all his domestic troubles. What +Courage, and Good Temper, and Self-sacrifice! Valentia (whom I had not +seen these dozen years) seemed a very sensible, unaffected Woman. + +I would almost bet that you have not read my Namesake's Life of your +Namesakes, which I must borrow another pair of Eyes for one day. My Boy- +reader gave me a little taste of it from the Athenaeum; as also of Mr. +Harness' Memoirs, {6} which I must get at. + +This is a sorry sight {7} of a Letter:--do not trouble yourself to write +a better--that you must, in spite of yourself--but write to me a little +about yourself; which is a matter of great Interest to yours always + +E. F.G. + + + + +III. + + +[_Nov._ 1871.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I ought to be much obliged to you for answering my last letter with an +uneasy hand, as you did. So I do thank you: and really wish that you +would not reply to this under any such pain: but how do I know but that +very pain will make you more determined to reply? I must only beg you +not to do so: and thus wash _my_ hands of any responsibilities in the +matter. + +And what will you say when I tell you that I can hardly pity one who +suffers from Gout; though I would undoubtedly prefer that you should be +free from that, or any other ailment. But I have always heard that Gout +exempts one from many other miseries which Flesh is heir to: at any rate, +it almost always leaves the Head clear: and that is so much! My Mother, +who suffered a good deal, used often to say how she was kept awake of +nights by the Pain in her feet, or hands, but felt so clear aloft that +she made Night pass even agreeably away with her reflections and +recollections. + +And you have your recollections and Reflections which you are gathering +into Shape, you say, in a Memoir of your own Life. And you are good +enough to say that you would read it to me if I--were good enough to +invite you to my House here some Summer Day! I doubt that Donne has +given you too flattering an account of my house, and me: you know he is +pleased with every one and everything: I know it also, and therefore no +longer dissuade him from spending his time and money in a flying Visit +here in the course of his Visits to other East Anglian friends and +Kinsmen. But I feel a little all the while as if I were taking all, and +giving nothing in return: I mean, about Books, People, etc., with which a +dozen years discontinuance of Society, and, latterly, incompetent Eyes, +have left me in the lurch. If you indeed will come and read your Memoir +to me, I shall be entitled to be a Listener only: and you shall have my +Chateau all to yourself for as long as you please: only do not expect me +to be quite what Donne may represent. + +It is disgusting to talk so much about oneself: but I really think it is +better to say so much on this occasion. If you consider my +circumstances, you will perhaps see that I am not talking unreasonably: I +am sure, not with sham humility: and that I am yours always and sincerely + +E. F.G. + +P.S. I should not myself have written so soon again, but to apprise you +of a brace of Pheasants I have sent you. Pray do not write expressly to +acknowledge them:--only tell me if they don't come. I know you thank me. +{9} + + + + +IV. + + +[27 _Feb._, 1872.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Had I anything pleasant to write to you, or better Eyes to write it with, +you would have heard from me before this. An old Story, by way of +Apology--to one who wants no such Apology, too. Therefore, true though +it be there is enough of it. + +I hear from Mowbray Donne that you were at his Father's Lectures, {10a} +and looking yourself. So that is all right. Are your Daughters--or one +of them--still with you? I do not think you have been to see the +Thanksgiving Procession, {10b} for which our Bells are even now +ringing--the old Peal which I have known these--sixty years almost--though +at that time it reached my Eyes (_sic_) through a Nursery window about +two miles off. From that window I remember seeing my Father with another +Squire {10c} passing over the Lawn with their little pack of Harriers--an +almost obliterated Slide of the old Magic Lantern. My Mother used to +come up sometimes, and we Children were not much comforted. She was a +remarkable woman, as you said in a former letter: and as I constantly +believe in outward Beauty as an Index of a Beautiful Soul within, I used +sometimes to wonder what feature in her fine face betrayed what was not +so good in her Character. I think (as usual) the Lips: there was a twist +of Mischief about them now and then, like that in--the Tail of a +Cat!--otherwise so smooth and amiable. I think she admired your Mother +as much as any one she knew, or had known. + +And (I see by the Athenaeum) Mr. Chorley is dead, {11} whom I used to see +at your Father's and Sister's houses. Born in 1808 they say: so, one +year older than yours truly E. F.G.--who, however, is going to live +through another page of Letter-paper. I think he was a capital Musical +Critic, though he condemned Piccolomini, who was the last Singer I heard +of Genius, Passion, and a Voice that told both. I am told she was no +Singer: but that went some way to make amends. Chorley, too, though an +irritable, nervous creature, as his outside expressed, was kind and +affectionate to Family and Friend, I always heard. But I think the +Angels must take care to keep in tune when he gets among them. + +This is a wretched piece of Letter to extort the Answer which you feel +bound to give. But I somehow wished to write: and not to write about +myself; and so have only left room to say--to repeat--that I am yours +ever sincerely + +E. F.G. + + + + +V. + + +[1872.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I set off with a Letter to you, though I do not very well know how I am +to go on with it. But my Reader has been so disturbed by a Mouse in the +room that I have dismissed him--9.30 p.m.--and he has been reading (so +far as he could get on) Hawthorne's Notes of Italian Travel: which +interest me very much indeed, as being the Notes of a Man of Genius who +will think for himself independently of Murray &c. And then his Account +of Rome has made me think of you more than once. We have indeed left off +to-night at Radicofani: but, as my Boy is frightened away by the Mouse, I +fancy I will write to you before I take my one Pipe--which were better +left alone, considering that it gives but half an hour's rather pleasant +musing at the expense of a troubled night. Is it not more foolish then +to persist in doing this than being frightened at a Mouse? This is not a +mere fancy of the Boy--who is not a Fool, nor a 'Betty,' and is seventeen +years old: he inherits his terror from his Mother, he says: positively he +has been in a cold Sweat because of this poor little thing in the room: +and yet he is the son of a Butcher here. So I sent him home, and write +to you instead of hearing him read Hawthorne. He is to bring some +poisoned Wheat for the Mouse to-morrow. + +Another Book he read me also made me think of you: Harness: whom I +remember to have seen once or twice at your Father's years ago. The +Memoir of him (which is a poor thing) still makes one like--nay, +love--him--as a kindly, intelligent, man. I think his latter letters +very pleasant indeed. + +I do not know if you are in London or in your 'Villeggiatura' {13a} in +Kent. Donne must decide that for me. Even my Garden and Fields and +Shrubs are more flourishing than I have yet seen them at this time of +Year: and with you all is in fuller bloom, whether you be in Kent or +Middlesex. Are you going on with your Memoir? Pray read Hawthorne. I +dare say you do not quite forget Shakespeare now and then: dear old +Harness, reading him to the last! + +Pray do you read Annie Thackeray's new Story {13b} in Cornhill? She +wrote me that she had taken great pains with it, and so thought it might +not be so good as what she took less pains with. I doated on her Village +on the Cliff, but did not care for what I had read of hers since: and +this new Story I have not seen! And pray do you doat on George Eliot? + +Here are a few questions suggested for you to answer--as answer I know +you will. It is almost a Shame to put you to it by such a piece of +inanity as this letter. But it is written: it is 10 p.m. A Pipe--and +then to Bed--with what Appetite for Sleep one may. + +And I am yours sincerely always + +E. F.G. + + + + +VI. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _June_ 6, [1872]. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Some little while ago I saw in a London Book Catalogue 'Smiles and +Tears--a Comedy by Mrs. C. Kemble'--I had a curiosity to see this: and so +bought it. Do you know it?--Would you like to have it? It seems to be +ingeniously contrived, and of easy and natural Dialogue: of the half +sentimental kind of Comedy, as Comedies then were (1815) with a +serious--very serious--element in it--taken from your Mother's Friend's, +Mrs. Opie's (what a sentence!) story of 'Father and Daughter'--the +seduced Daughter, who finds her distracted Father writing her name on a +Coffin he has drawn on the Wall of his Cell--All ends happily in the +Play, however, whatever may be the upshot of the Novel. But an odd thing +is, that this poor Girl's name is 'Fitz Harding'--and the Character was +played by Miss Foote: whether before, or after, her seduction by Colonel +Berkeley I know not. The Father was played by Young. + +Sir Frederick Pollock has been to see me here for two days, {15} and put +me up to much that was going on in the civilized World. He was very +agreeable indeed: and I believe his Visit did him good. What are you +going to do with your Summer? Surely never came Summer with more +Verdure: and I somehow think we shall have more rain to keep the Verdure +up, than for the last few years we have had. + +I am quite sure of the merit of George Eliot, and (I should have thought) +of a kind that would suit me. But I have not as yet found an Appetite +for her. I have begun taking the Cornhill that I may read Annie +Thackeray--but I have not found Appetite for her as yet. Is it that one +recoils from making so many new Acquaintances in Novels, and retreats +upon one's Old Friends, in Shakespeare, Cervantes, and Sir Walter? Oh, I +read the last as you have lately been reading--the Scotch Novels, I mean: +I believe I should not care for the Ivanhoes, Kenilworths, etc., any +more. But Jeanie Deans, the Antiquary, etc., I shall be theirs as long +as I am yours sincerely + +E. F.G. + + + + +VII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _August_ 9, [1872]. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I think I shall hear from you once again before you go abroad. To Rome! +My Brother Peter also is going to winter there: but you would not have +much in common with him, I think, so I say nothing of an Acquaintance +between you. + +I have been having Frederick Tennyson with me down here. {16a} He has +come to England (from Jersey where his home now is) partly on Business, +and partly to bring over a deaf old Gentleman who has discovered the +Original Mystery of Free-masonry, by means of Spiritualism. The +Freemasons have for Ages been ignorant, it seems, of the very Secret +which all their Emblems and Signs refer to: and the question is, if they +care enough for their own Mystery to buy it of this ancient Gentleman. If +they do not, he will shame them by Publishing it to all the world. +Frederick Tennyson, who has long been a Swedenborgian, a Spiritualist, +and is now even himself a Medium, is quite grand and sincere in this as +in all else: with the Faith of a Gigantic Child--pathetic and yet +humorous to consider and consort with. + +I went to Sydenham for two days to visit the Brother I began telling you +of: and, at a hasty visit to the Royal Academy, caught a glimpse of Annie +Thackeray: {16b} who had first caught a glimpse of me, and ran away from +her Party to seize the hands of her Father's old friend. I did not know +her at first: was half overset by her cordial welcome when she told me +who she was; and made a blundering business of it altogether. So much +so, that I could not but write afterwards to apologize to her: and she +returned as kind an Answer as she had given a Greeting: telling me that +my chance Apparition had been to her as 'A message from Papa.' It was +really something to have been of so much importance. + +I keep intending to go out somewhere--if for no other reason than that my +rooms here may be cleaned! which they will have it should be done once a +year. Perhaps I may have to go to my old Field of Naseby, where Carlyle +wants me to erect a Stone over the spot where I dug up some remains of +those who were slain there over two hundred years ago, for the purpose of +satisfying him in his Cromwell History. This has been a fixed purpose of +his these twenty years: I thought it had dropped from his head: but it +cropped up again this Spring, and I do not like to neglect such wishes. +Ever yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +VIII. + + +_April_ 22, [1873.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +One last word about what you call my 'Half-invitation' to Woodbridge. In +one sense it is so; but not in the sense you imagine. + +I never do invite any of my oldest Friends to come and see me, am almost +distressed at their proposing to do so. If they take me in their way to, +or from, elsewhere (as Donne in his Norfolk Circuit) it is another +matter. + +But I have built a pleasant house just outside the Town, where I never +live myself, but keep it mainly for some Nieces who come there for two or +three months in the Summer: and, when they are not there, for any Friends +who like to come, for the Benefit of fresh Air and Verdure, _plus_ the +company of their Host. An Artist and his Wife have stayed there for some +weeks for the last two years; and Donne and Valentia were to have come, +but that they went abroad instead. + +And so, while I should even deprecate a Lady like you coming thus far +only for my sake, who ought rather to go and ask Admission at your Door, +I should be glad if you liked to come to my house for the double purpose +aforesaid. + +My Nieces have hitherto come to me from July to September or October. +Since I wrote to you, they have proposed to come on May 21; though it may +be somewhat later, as suits the health of the Invalid--who lives on small +means with her elder Sister, who is her Guardian Angel. I am sure that +no friend of mine--and least of all you--would dissent from my making +them my first consideration. I never ask them in Winter, when I think +they are better in a Town: which Town has, since their Father's Death, +been Lowestoft, where I see them from time to time. Their other six +sisters (one only married) live elsewhere: all loving one another, +notwithstanding. + +Well: I have told you all I meant by my 'Half-Invitation.' These N.E. +winds are less inviting than I to these parts; but I and my House would +be very glad to entertain you to our best up to the End of May, if you +really liked to see Woodbridge as well as yours always truly + +E. F.G. + +P.S.--You tell me that, once returned to America, you think you will not +return ever again to England. But you will--if only to revisit those at +Kenilworth--yes, and the blind Lady you are soon going to see in Ireland +{19a}--and two or three more in England beside--yes, and old England +itself, 'with all her faults.' + +By the by:--Some while ago {19b} Carlyle sent me a Letter from an +American gentleman named Norton (once of the N. American Review, C. says, +and a most amiable, intelligent Gentleman)--whose Letter enclosed one +from Ruskin, which had been entrusted to another American Gentleman named +Burne Jones--who kept it in a Desk ten years, and at last forwarded it as +aforesaid--to me! The Note (of Ruskin's) is about one of the Persian +Translations: almost childish, as that Man of Genius is apt to be in his +Likes as well as Dislikes. I dare say he has forgotten all about +Translator and Original long before this. I wrote to thank Mr. Norton +for + +(_Letter unfinished_.) + + + + +IX. + + +[1873.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +It is scarce fair to assail you on your return to England with another +Letter so close on that to which you have only just answered--you who +_will_ answer! I wish you would consider this Letter of mine an Answer +(as it really is) to that last of yours; and before long I will write +again and call on you then for a Reply. + +What inspires me now is, that, about the time you were writing to me +about Burns and Beranger, I was thinking of them 'which was the Greater +Genius?'--I can't say; but, with all my Admiration for about a Score of +the Frenchman's almost perfect Songs, I would give all of them up for a +Score of Burns' Couplets, Stanzas, or single Lines scattered among those +quite _im_perfect Lyrics of his. Beranger, no doubt, was The _Artist_; +which still is not the highest Genius--witness Shakespeare, Dante, +AEschylus, Calderon, to the contrary. Burns assuredly had more _Passion_ +than the Frenchman; which is not Genius either, but a great Part of the +Lyric Poet still. What Beranger might have been, if born and bred among +Banks, Braes, and Mountains, I cannot tell: Burns had that advantage over +him. And then the Highland Mary to love, amid the heather, as compared +to Lise the Grisette in a Parisian Suburb! Some of the old French +Virelays and _Vaux-de-vire_ come much nearer the Wild Notes of Burns, and +go to one's heart like his; Beranger never gets so far as that, I think. +One knows he will come round to his pretty _refrain_ with perfect grace; +if he were more Inspired he couldn't. + + 'My Love is like the red, red, Rose + That's newly sprung in June, + My Love is like the Melody + That's sweetly play'd in tune.' + +and he will love his Love, + + 'Till a' the Seas gang Dry' + +Yes--Till a' the Seas gang dry, my Dear. And then comes some weaker +stuff about Rocks melting in the Sun. All Imperfect; but that red, red +Rose has burned itself into one's silly Soul in spite of all. Do you +know that one of Burns' few almost perfect stanzas was perfect till he +added two Syllables to each alternate Line to fit it to the lovely Music +which almost excuses such a dilution of the Verse? + + 'Ye Banks and Braes o' bonnie Doon, + How can ye bloom (so fresh) so fair? + Ye little Birds how can ye sing, + And I so (weary) full of care! + Thou'lt break my heart, thou little Bird, + That sings (singest so) upon the Thorn: + Thou minds me of departed days + That never shall return + (Departed never to) return.' + +Now I shall tell you two things which my last Quotation has recalled to +me. + +Some thirty years ago A. Tennyson went over Burns' Ground in Dumfries. +When he was one day by Doon-side--'I can't tell how it was, Fitz, but I +fell into a Passion of Tears'--And A. T. not given to the melting mood at +all. + +No. 2. My friend old Childs of the romantic town of Bungay (if you can +believe in it!) told me that one day he started outside the Coach in +company with a poor Woman who had just lost Husband or Child. She talked +of her Loss and Sorrow with some Resignation; till the Coach happened to +pull up by a roadside Inn. A 'little Bird' was singing somewhere; the +poor Woman then broke into Tears, and said--'I could bear anything but +that.' I dare say she had never even heard of Burns: but he had heard +the little Bird that he knew would go to all Hearts in Sorrow. + +Beranger's Morals are Virtue as compared to what have followed him in +France. Yet I am afraid he partly led the way. Burns' very _Passion_ +half excused him; so far from its being Refinement which Burke thought +deprived Vice of half its Mischief! + +Here is a Sermon for you, you see, which you did not compound for: nor I +neither when I began my Letter. But I think I have told you the two +Stories aforesaid which will almost deprive my sermon of half its +Dulness. And I am now going to transcribe you a _Vau-de-vire_ of old +Olivier de Basselin, {23a} which will show you something of that which I +miss in Beranger. But I think I had better write it on a separate Paper. +Till which, what think you of these lines of Clement Marot on the Death +of some French Princess who desired to be buried among the Poor? {23b} + +[P.S.--These also must go on the Fly-leaf: being too long, Alexandrine, +for these Pages.] + +What a Letter! But if you are still at your Vicarage, you can read it in +the Intervals of Church. I was surprised at your coming so early from +Italy: the famous Holy Week there is now, I suppose, somewhat shorn of +its Glory.--If you were not so sincere I should think you were +persiflaging me about the Photo, as applied to myself, and yourself. Some +years ago I said--and now say--I wanted one of you; and if this letter +were not so long, would tell you a little how to sit. Which you would +not attend to; but I should be all the same, your long-winded + +Friend +E. F.G. + + + + +X. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _May_ 1, [1873.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I am very glad that you will be Photographed: though not by the Ipswich +Man who did me, there are no doubt many much better in London. + +Of course the whole Figure is best, if it can be artistically arranged. +But certainly the safe plan is to venture as little as possible when an +Artist's hand cannot harmonize the Lines and the Lights, as in a Picture. +And as the Face is the Chief Object, I say the safest thing is to sit for +the Face, neck, and Shoulders only. By this, one not only avoids any +conflict about Arms and Hands (which generally disturb the Photo), but +also the Lines and Lights of Chair, Table, etc. + +For the same reason, I vote for nothing but a plain Background, like a +Curtain, or sober-coloured Wall. + +I think also that there should be no White in the Dress, which is apt to +be too positive for the Face. Nothing nearer White than such material as +(I think) Brussels Lace (?) of a yellowish or even dirty hue; of which +there may be a Fringe between Dress and Skin. I have advised Men Friends +to sit in a--dirty Shirt! + +I think a three-quarter face is better that a Full; for one reason, that +I think the Sitter feels more at ease looking somewhat away, rather than +direct at the luminous Machine. This will suit you, who have a finely +turned Head, which is finely placed on Neck and Shoulders. But, as your +Eyes are fine also, don't let them be turned too much aside, nor at all +downcast: but simply looking as to a Door or Window a little on one side. + +Lastly (!) I advise sitting in a lightly clouded Day; not in a bright +Sunlight at all. + +You will think that I am preaching my own Photo to you. And it is true +that, though I did not sit with any one of these rules in my head; but +just as I got out of a Cab, etc., yet the success of the Thing made me +consider afterward why it succeeded; and I have now read you my Lecture +on the Subject. Pray do not forgo your Intention--nay, your Promise, as +I regard it--to sit, and send me the result. {25} + +Here has been a bevy of Letters, and long ones, from me, you see. I +don't know if it is reasonable that one should feel it so much easier to +write to a Friend in England than to the same Friend abroad; but so it +is, with me at least. I suppose that a Letter directed to Stoneleigh +will find you before you leave--for America!--and even after that. But I +shall not feel the same confidence and ease in transcribing for you +pretty Norman Songs, or gossiping about them as I have done when my +Letters were only to travel to Kenilworth: which very place--which very +name of a Place--makes the English world akin. I suppose you have been +at Stratford before this--an event in one's Life. It was not the Town +itself--or even the Church--that touched me most: but the old Footpaths +over the Fields which He must have crossed three Centuries ago. + +Spedding tells me he is nearing Land with his Bacon. And one begins to +think Macready a Great Man amid the Dwarfs that now occupy his Place. + +Ever yours sincerely + +E. F.G. + + + + +XI. + + +_September_ 18/73. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I have not forgotten you at all, all these months--What a Consolation to +you! But I felt I had nothing to send among the Alps after you: I have +been nowhere but for two Days to the Field of Naseby in Northamptonshire, +where I went to identify the spot where I dug up the Dead for Carlyle +thirty years ago. I went; saw; made sure; and now--the Trustees of the +Estate won't let us put up the Memorial stone we proposed to put up; they +approve (we hear) neither of the Stone, nor the Inscription; both as +plain and innocent as a Milestone, says Carlyle, and indeed much of the +same Nature. This Decision of the foolish Trustees I only had some ten +days ago: posted it to Carlyle who answered from Dumfries; and his Answer +shows that he is in full vigour, though (as ever since I have known him) +he protests that Travelling has utterly discomfited him, and he will move +no more. But it is very silly of these Trustees. {28a} + +And, as I have been nowhere, I have seen no one; nor read anything but +the Tichborne Trial, and some of my old Books--among them Walpole, +Wesley, and Johnson (Boswell, I mean), three very different men whose +Lives extend over the same times, and whose diverse ways of looking at +the world they lived in make a curious study. I wish some one would +write a good Paper on this subject; I don't mean to hint that I am the +man; on the contrary, I couldn't at all; but I could supply some [one] +else with some material that he would not care to hunt up in the Books +perhaps. + +Well: all this being all, I had no heart to write--to the Alps! And now +I remember well you told me you [were] coming back to England--for a +little while--a little while--and then to the New World for ever--which I +don't believe! {28b} Oh no! you will come back in spite of yourself, +depend upon it--and yet I doubt that my saying so will be one little +reason why you will not! But do let me hear of you first: and believe me +ever yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +XII. + + +[WOODBRIDGE, 1873.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +You must attribute this third Letter to an '_Idee_' that has come into my +head relating to those Memoirs of yourself which you say you are at some +loss to dispose of. I can easily understand that your Children, born and +bred (I think) in another World, would not take so much interest in them +as some of your old Friends who make part of your Recollections: as you +yourself occupy much of theirs. But then they are _old_ Friends; and are +not their Children, Executors and Assigns, as little to be depended on as +your own Kith and Kin? Well; I bethink me of one of your old Friends' +Children whom I could reckon upon for you, as I would for myself: Mowbray +Donne: the Son of one who you know loves you of old, and inheriting all +his Father's Loyalty to his Father's Friends. I am quite convinced that +he is to be perfectly depended upon in all respects for this purpose; for +his Love, his Honour, and his Intelligence. I should then make him one +day read the Memoirs to me--for I can't be assured of my own Eyes +interpreting your MS. without so much difficulty as would disturb one's +Enjoyment, or Appreciation, of such a Memoir. Unless indeed you should +one day come down yourself to my Chateau in dull Woodbridge, and there +read it over, and talk it over. + +Well; this is what I seriously advise, always supposing that you have +decided not to print and publish the Memoir during your Life. No doubt +you could make money of it, beside 'bolting up' {30} such Accident as the +Future comprehends. The latter would, I know, be the only recommendation +to you. + +I don't think you will do at all as I advise you. But I nevertheless +advise you as I should myself in case I had such a Record as you have to +leave behind me.-- + +Now once more for French Songs. When I was in Paris in 1830, just before +that Revolution, I stopped one Evening on the Boulevards by the Madeleine +to listen to a Man who was singing to his Barrel-organ. Several passing +'Blouses' had stopped also: not only to listen, but to join in the Songs, +having bought little '_Libretti_' of the words from the Musician. I +bought one too; for, I suppose, the smallest French Coin; and assisted in +the Song which the Man called out beforehand (as they do Hymns at +Church), and of which I enclose you the poor little Copy. '_Le Bon +Pasteur_, s'il vous plait'--I suppose the Circumstances: the 'beau +temps,' the pleasant Boulevards, the then so amiable People, all +contributed to the effect this Song had upon me; anyhow, it has +constantly revisited my memory for these forty-three years; and I was +thinking, the other day, touched me more than any of Beranger's most +beautiful Things. This, however, may be only one of 'Old Fitz's' +Crotchets, as Tennyson and others would call them. {31} + +I have been trying again at another Great _Artist's_ work which I never +could care for at all, Goethe's _Faust_, in Hayward's Prose Translation; +Eighth Edition. Hayward quotes from Goethe himself, that, though of +course much of a Poem must evaporate in a Prose Translation, yet the +Essence must remain. Well; I distinguish as little of that Essential +Poetry in the Faust now as when I first read it--longer ago than '_Le Bon +Pasteur_,' and in other subsequent Attempts. I was tempted to think this +was some Defect--great Defect--in myself: but a Note at the end of the +Volume informs me that a much greater Wit than I was in the same +plight--even Coleridge; who admires the perfect German Diction, the +Songs, Choruses, etc. (which are such parts as cannot be translated into +Prose); he also praises Margaret and Mephistopheles; but thinks Faust +himself dull, and great part of the Drama flat and tiresome; and the +whole Thing not a self-evolving Whole, but an unconnected Series of +Scenes: all which are parts that can be judged of from Translation, by +Goethe's own Authority. I find a great want of Invention and Imagination +both in the Events and Characters. + +Gervinus' Theory of Hamlet is very staking. Perhaps Shakespeare himself +would have admitted, without ever having expressly designed, it. I +always said with regard to the Explanation of Hamlet's Madness or Sanity, +that Shakespeare himself might not have known the Truth any more than we +understand the seeming Discords we see in People we know best. +Shakespeare intuitively imagined, and portrayed, the Man without being +able to give a reason--_perhaps_--I believe in Genius doing this: and +remain your Inexhaustible Correspondent + +E. F.G. + +Excuse this very bad writing, which I have gone over 'with the pen of +Correction,' and would have wholly re-written if my Eyes were not +be-glared with the Sun on the River. You need only read the first part +about Donne. + + + + +XIII. + + +[1873.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Had you but written your Dublin Address in full, I should have caught you +before you left. As you did not, I follow your Directions, and enclose +to Coutts. + +You see which of the three Photos I prefer--and very much prefer--by the +two which I return: I am very much obliged to you indeed for taking all +the Trouble; and the Photo I have retained is very satisfactory to me in +every respect: as I believe you will find it to be to such other Friends +as you would give a Copy to. I can fancy that this Photo is a fair one; +I mean, a fair Likeness: one of the full Faces was nearly as good to me, +but for the darkness of the Lips--that common default in these things--but +the other dark Fullface is very unfair indeed. You must give Copies to +dear old Donne, and to one or two others, and I should like to hear from +you [before you] leave England which they prefer. + +It was indeed so unlike your obstinate habit of Reply--this last +exception--that I thought you must be ill; and I was really thinking of +writing to Mr. Leigh to ask about you--I have been ailing myself with +some form of Rheumatism--whether Lumbago, Sciatica, or what not--which +has made my rising up and sitting down especially uncomfortable; Country +Doctor quite incompetent, etc. But the Heavenly Doctor, Phoebus, seems +more efficient--especially now he has brought the Wind out of N.E. + +I had meant to send you the Air of the Bon Pasteur when I sent the words: +I never heard it but that once, but I find that the version you send me +is almost identical with my Recollection of it. There is little merit in +the Tune, except the pleasant resort to the Major at the two last Verses. +I can now hear the Organist's _burr_ at the closing 'Benira.' + +I happened the other day on some poor little Verses {34a} which poor +Haydon found of his poor Wife's writing in the midst of the Distress from +which he extricated himself so suddenly. And I felt how these poor +Verses touched me far more than any of Beranger's--though scarcely more +than many of Burns'. I know that the Story which they involve appeals +more to one's heart than the Frenchman does; but I am also sure that his +perfect _Art_ injures, and not assists, the utterance of Nature. I +transcribe these poor Verses for you, as you may not have the Book at +hand, and yet I think you will thank me for recalling them to you. I +find them in a MS. Book I have which I call 'Half Hours with the Worst +Authors,' {34b} and if People would believe that I know what is good for +them in these matters, the Book would make a very good one for the +Public. But if People don't see as I do by themselves, they wouldn't any +the more for my telling them, not having any Name to bid their Attention. +So my Bad Authors must be left to my Heirs and Assigns; as your Good +Memoirs! + +On second Thoughts, I shall (in spite of your Directions) keep two of the +Photos: returning you only the hateful dark one. That is, I shall keep +the twain, unless you desire me to return you one of them. Anyhow, do +write to me before you go quite away, and believe me always yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +XIV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Novr._ 18/73. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I should have written to you before, but that I was waiting for some +account, for better or worse, of our friend Donne; who has been seriously +ill this Fortnight and more. I don't know what his original Ailment was, +unless a Cold; but the Effect has been to leave him so weak, that even +now the Doctor fears for any Relapse which he might not be strong enough +to bear. He had been for a Visit to friends in the West of England: and +became ill directly he returned to London. You may think it odd I don't +know what was his Illness; but Mowbray, who has told me all I know, did +not tell me that: and so I did not ask, as I could do no good by knowing. +Perhaps it is simply a Decay, or Collapse, of Body, or Nerves--or even +Mind:--a Catastrophe which I never thought unlikely with Donne, who has +toiled and suffered so much, for others rather than for himself; and +keeping all his Suffering to himself. He wrote me a letter about himself +a week ago; cheerful, and telling me of Books he read: so as no one would +guess he was so ill; but a Letter from Mowbray by the same Post told me +he was still in a precarious Condition. I had wished to tell you that he +was better, if not well: but I may wait some time for that: and so I will +write now:--with the Promise that I will write again directly there is +anything else to tell. + +Here my Reader comes to give me an Instalment of Tichborne: so I shall +shut up, perhaps till To-morrow. + +The Lord Chief Justice and Co. have just decided to adjourn the Trial for +ten Days, till Witnesses arrive from your side of the Atlantic. My +Reader has just adjourned to some Cake and Porter--I tell him not to +hurry--while I go on with this Letter. To tell you that, I might almost +have well adjourned writing 'sine die' (can you construe?), for I don't +think I have more to tell you now. Only that I am reading--Crabbe! And +I want you to tell me if he is read on that side of the Atlantic from +which we are expecting Tichborne Witnesses. + +(Reader finishes Cake and Porter: and we now adjourn to 'All the Year +Round.') + +10 p.m. 'All the Year Round' read--part of it--and Reader departed. + +Pray do tell me if any one reads Crabbe in America; nobody does here, you +know, but myself; who bore about it. Does Mrs. Wister, who reads many +things? Does Mrs. Kemble, now she has the Atlantic between her and the +old Country? + + 'Over the Forth I look to the North, + But what is the North and its Hielands to me? + The North and the East gie small ease to my breast, + The far foreign land and the wide rolling Sea.' {37} + +I think that last line will bring the Tears into Mrs. Kemble's Eyes--which +I can't find in the Photograph she sent me. Yet they are not +extinguisht, surely? + +I read in some Athenaeum that A. Tennyson was changing his Publisher +again: and some one told me that it was in consequence of the resigning +Publisher having lost money by his contract with the Poet; which was, to +pay him 1000 pounds per Quarter for the exclusive sale of his Poems. It +was a Woodbridge _Literati_ who told me this, having read it in a Paper +called 'The Publisher.' More I know not. + +A little more such stuff I might write: but I think here is enough of it. +For this Night, anyhow: so I shall lick the Ink from my Pen; and smoke +one Pipe, not forgetting you while I do so; and if nothing turns up To- +morrow, here is my Letter done, and I remaining yours always sincerely + +E. F.G. + + + + +XV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Nov._ 24, [1873]. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +A note from Mowbray to-day says 'I think I can report the Father really +on the road to recovery.' + +So, as I think you will be as glad to know this as I am, I write again +over the Atlantic. And, after all, you mayn't be over the Atlantic, but +in London itself! Donne would have told me: but I don't like to trouble +him with Questions, or writing of any sort. If you be in London, you +will hear somehow of all this matter: if in America, my Letter won't go +in vain. + +Mowbray wrote me some while ago of the Death of your Sister's Son in the +Hunting-field. {38} Mowbray said, aged thirty, I think: I had no idea, +so old: born when I was with Thackeray in Coram Street--(_Jorum_ Street, +he called it) where I remember Mrs. Sartoris coming in her Brougham to +bid him to Dinner, 1843. + +I wrote to Annie Thackeray yesterday: politely telling her I couldn't +relish her Old Kensington a quarter as much as her Village on the Cliff: +which, however, I doat on. I still purpose to read Miss Evans: but my +Instincts are against her--I mean, her Books. + +What have you done with your Memoirs? Pollock is about to edit +Macready's. And Chorley--have you read him? I shall devour him in +time--that is, when Mudie will let me. + +I wonder if there are Water-cresses in America, as there are on my tea- +table while I write? + +What do you think of these two lines which Crabbe didn't print? + + 'The shapeless purpose of a Soul that feels, + And half suppresses Wrath, {39} and half reveals.' + +My little bit of Good News about our Friend is the only reason and +Apology for this Letter from + +Yours ever and always +E. F.G. + + + + +XVI. + + +LOWESTOFT: _Febr._ 10/74. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +A Letter to be written to you from the room I have written to you before +in: but my Letter must wait till I return to Woodbridge, where your +Address is on record. I have thought several times of writing to you +since this Year began; but I have been in a muddle--leaving my old +Markethill Lodgings, and vacillating between my own rather lonely +Chateau, and this Place, where some Nieces are. I had wished to tell you +what I know of our dear Donne: who Mowbray says gets on still. I suppose +he will never be so strong again. Laurence wrote me that he had met him +in the Streets, looking thinner (!) with (as it were) keener Eyes. That +is a Portrait Painter's observation: probably a just one. Laurence has +been painting for me a Copy of Pickersgill's Portrait of Crabbe--but I am +afraid has made some muddle of it, according to his wont. I asked for a +Sketch: he _will_ elaborate--and spoil. Instead of copying the Colours +he sees and could simply match on his Palette, he _will_ puzzle himself +as to whether the Eyebrows were once sandy, though now gray; and wants to +compare Pickersgill's Portrait with Phillips'--which I particularly +wished to be left out of account. Laurence is a dear little fellow--a +Gentleman--Spedding said, 'made of Nature's very finest Clay.' {40} So +he is: but the most obstinate little man--'incorrigible,' Richmond called +him; and so he wearies out those who wish most to serve and employ him; +and so has spoiled his own Fortune. + +Do you read in America of Holman Hunt's famous new Picture of 'The Shadow +of Death,' which he has been some seven Years painting--in Jerusalem, and +now exhibits under theatrical Lights and accompaniments? This does not +induce me to believe in H. Hunt more than heretofore: which is--not at +all. Raffaelle, Mozart, Shakespeare, did not take all that time about a +work, nor brought it forth to the world with so much Pomp and +Circumstance. + +Do you know Sainte Beuve's Causeries? I think one of the most delightful +Books--a Volume of which I brought here, and makes me now write of it to +you. It is a Book worth having--worth buying--for you can read it more +than once, and twice. And I have taken up Don Quixote again: more +Evergreen still; in Spanish, as it must be read, I doubt. + +Here is a Sheet of Paper already filled, with matters very little worthy +of sending over the Atlantic. But you will be glad of the Donne news, at +any rate. Do tell me ever so little of yourself in return. + +Now my Eyes have had enough of this vile steel pen; and so have yours, I +should think: and I will mix a Glass of poor Sherry and Water, and fill a +Pipe, and think of you while I smoke it. Think of me sometimes as + +Yours always sincerely, +E. F.G. + +P.S. I shall venture this Letter with no further Address than I remember +now. + + + + +XVII. + + +LITTLE GRANGE: WOODBRIDGE, _May_ 2/74. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +My Castle Clock has gone 9 p.m., and I myself am but half an hour home +from a Day to Lowestoft. Why I should begin a Letter to you under these +circumstances I scarce know. However, I have long been intending to +write: nay, actually did write half a Letter which I mislaid. What I +wanted to tell you was--and is--that Donne is going on very well: Mowbray +thinks he may be pronounced 'recovered.' You may have heard about him +from some other hand before this: I know you will be glad to hear it at +any time, from any quarter. + +This my Castle had been named by me 'Grange Farm,' being formerly a +dependency of a more considerable Chateau on the hill above. But a fine +tall Woman, who has been staying two days, ordered me to call it 'Little +Grange.' So it must be. She came to meet a little Niece of mine: both +Annies: one tall as the other is short: both capital in Head and Heart: I +knew they would _fadge_ well: so they did: so we all did, waiting on +ourselves and on one another. Odd that I have another tip-top Annie on +my small list of Acquaintances--Annie Thackeray. + +I wonder what Spring is like in America. We have had an April of really +'magnifique' Weather: but here is that vixen May with its N.E. airs. A +Nightingale however sings so close to my Bedroom that (the window being +open) the Song is almost too loud. + +I thought you would come back to Nightingale-land! + +Donne is better: and Spedding has at last (I hear) got his load of Bacon +off his Shoulders, after carrying it for near Forty years! Forty years +long! A fortnight ago there was such a delicious bit of his in Notes and +Queries, {42} a Comment on some American Comment on a passage in Antony +and Cleopatra, that I recalled my old Sorrow that he had not edited +Shakespeare long ago instead of wasting Life in washing his Blackamoor. +Perhaps there is time for this yet: but is there the Will? + +Pray, Madam, how do you emphasize the line-- + + 'After Life's fitful Fever he sleeps well,' + +which, by the by, one wonders never to have seen in some Churchyard? What +do you think of this for an Epitaph--from Crabbe?-- + + 'Friend of the Poor--the Wretched--the Betray'd, + They cannot pay thee--but thou shalt be paid.' {43} + +This is a poor Letter indeed to make you answer--as answer you will--I +really only intended to tell you of Donne; and remain ever yours + +E. F.G. + +Pollock is busy editing Macready's Papers. + + + + +XVIII. + + +LOWESTOFT: _June_ 2/74. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Many a time have I written to you from this place: which may be the +reason why I write again now--the very day your Letter reaches me--for I +don't know that I have much to say, nor anything worth forcing from you +the Answer that you will write. Let me look at your Letter again. Yes: +so I thought of '_he_ sleeps well,' and yet I do not remember to have +heard it so read. (I never heard you read the Play) I don't think +Macready read it so. I liked his Macbeth, I must say: only he would say +'Amen st-u-u-u-ck in his throat,' which was not only a blunder, but a +vulgar blunder, I think. + +Spedding--I should think indeed it was too late for him to edit +Shakespeare, if he had not gone on doing so, as it were, all his Life. +Perhaps it is too late for him to remember half, or a quarter, of his own +Observations. Well then: I wish he would record what he does remember: +if not an Edition of Shakespeare yet so many Notes toward an Edition. I +am persuaded that no one is more competent. {45a} + +You see your Americans will go too far. It was some American Professor's +Note {45b} on 'the Autumn of his Bounty' which occasioned Spedding's +delightful Comment some while ago, and made me remember my old wish that +he should do the thing. But he will not: especially if one asks him. + +Donne--Archdeacon Groome told me a Fortnight ago that he had been at +Weymouth Street. Donne better, but still not his former Self. + +By the by, I have got a Skeleton of my own at last: Bronchitis--which +came on me a month ago--which I let go on for near three weeks--then was +forced to call in a Doctor to subdue, who kept me a week indoors. And +now I am told that, every Cold I catch, my Skeleton is to come out, etc. +Every N.E. wind that blows, etc. I had not been shut up indoors for some +fifty-five years--since Measles at school--but I had green before my +Windows, and Don Quixote for Company within. _Que voulez-vous_? + +Shakespeare again. A Doctor Whalley, who wrote a Tragedy for Mrs. +Siddons (which she declined), proposed to her that she should read--'But +screw your Courage to the _sticking place_,' with the appropriate action +of using the Dagger. I think Mrs. Siddons good-naturedly admits there +may be something in the suggestion. One reads this in the last memoir of +Madame Piozzi, edited by Mr. Hayward. + +_Blackbird_ v. _Nightingale_. I have always loved the first best: as +being so jolly, and the Note so proper from that golden Bill of his. But +one does not like to go against received opinion. Your _Oriole_ has been +seen in these parts by old--very old--people: at least, a gay bird so +named. But no one ever pretends to see him now. + +Now have you perversely crossed the Address which you desire me to abide +by: and I can't be sure of your 'Branchtown'? But I suppose that enough +is clear to make my Letter reach you if it once gets across the Atlantic. +And now this uncertainty about your writing recalls to me--very +absurdly--an absurd Story told me by a pious, but humorous, man, which +will please you if you don't know it already. + +_Scene_.--Country Church on Winter's Evening. Congregation, with the Old +Hundredth ready for the Parson to give out some Dismissal Words. + +_Good old Parson_, not at all meaning rhyme, 'The Light has grown so very +dim, I scarce can see to read the Hymn.' + +_Congregation_, taking it up: to the first half of the Old Hundredth-- + + 'The Light has grown so very dim, + I scarce can see to read the Hymn.' + +(Pause, as usual: _Parson_, mildly impatient) 'I did not mean to read a +Hymn; I only meant my Eyes were dim.' + +_Congregation_, to second part of Old Hundredth:-- + + 'I did not mean to read a Hymn; + I only meant my Eyes were dim.' + +_Parson_, out of Patience, etc.:-- + + 'I didn't mean a Hymn at all,-- + I think the Devil's in you all.' + +I say, if you don't know this, it is worth your knowing, and making known +over the whole Continent of America, North and South. And I am your +trusty and affectionate old Beadsman (left rather deaf with that blessed +Bronchitis) + +E. F.G. + + + + +XIX. + + +LITTLE GRANGE: WOODBRIDGE, _July_ 21, [1874.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I must write to you--for I have seen Donne, and can tell you that he +looks and seems much better than I had expected, though I had been told +to expect well: he was upright, well coloured, animated; I should say +(_sotto voce_) better than he seemed to me two years ago. And this in +spite of the new Lord Chamberlain {48a} having ousted him from his +Theatrical post, wanting a younger and more active man to go and see the +Plays, as well as read them. I do not think this unjust; I was told by +Pollock that the dismissal was rather abrupt: but Donne did not complain +of it. When does he complain? He will now, however, leave Weymouth +Street, and inhabit some less costly house--not wanting indeed so large +[a] one for his present household. He is shortly going with his +Daughters to join the Blakesleys at Whitby. Mowbray was going off for +his Holiday to Cornwall: I just heard him speaking of Freddy's present +Address to his father: Blanche was much stronger, from the treatment of a +Dr. Beard {48b} (I think). I was quite moved by her warm salutation when +I met her, after some fifteen years' absence. All this I report from a +Visit I made to Donne's own house in London. A thing I scarce ever +thought to do again, you may know: but I could not bear to be close to +him in London for two days without assuring myself with my own Eyes how +he looked. I think I observed a slight hesitation of memory: but +certainly not so much as I find in myself, nor, I suppose, unusual in +one's Contemporaries. My visit to London followed a visit to Edinburgh: +which I have intended these thirty years, only for the purpose of seeing +my dear Sir Walter's House and Home: and which I am glad to have seen, as +that of Shakespeare. I had expected to find a rather Cockney Castle: but +no such thing: all substantially and proportionably built, according to +the Style of the Country: the Grounds well and simply laid out: the woods +he planted well-grown, and that dear Tweed running and murmuring still--as +on the day of his Death. {49a} I did not so much care for Melrose, and +Jedburgh, {49b} though his Tomb is there--in one of the half-ruined +corners. Another day I went to Trossachs, Katrine, Lomond, etc., which +(as I expected) seemed much better to me in Pictures and Drop-scenes. I +was but three days in Scotland, and was glad to get back to my own dull +flat country, though I did worship the Pentland, Cheviot, and Eildon, +Hills, more for their Associations than themselves. They are not big +enough for that. + +I saw little in London: the Academy Pictures even below the average, I +thought: only a Picture by Millais of an old Sea Captain {49c} being read +to by his Daughter which moistened my Eyes. I thought she was reading +him the Bible, which he seemed half listening to, half rambling over his +past Life: but I am told (I had no Catalogue) that she was reading about +the North West Passage. There were three deep of Bonnets before Miss +Thompson's famous Roll Call of the Guards in the Crimea; so I did not +wait till they fell away. {50a} + +Yours always + +E. F.G. + + + + +XX. + + +LOWESTOFT: _Aug._ 24, [1874.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Your letter reached me this morning: and you see I lose no time in +telling you that, as I hear from Pollock, Donne is allowed 350 pounds a +year retiring Pension. So I think neither he nor his friends have any +reason to complain. His successor in the office is named (I think) +'Piggott' {50b}--Pollock thinks a good choice. Lord Hertford brought the +old and the new Examiners together to Dinner: and all went off well. +Perhaps Donne himself may have told you all this before now. He was to +be, about this time, with the Blakesleys at Whitby or Filey. I have not +heard any of these particulars from himself: nothing indeed since I saw +him in London. + +Pollock was puzzled by an entry in Macready's Journal--1831 or +1832--'Received Thackeray's Tragedy' with some such name as +'Retribution.' I told Pollock I was sure it was not W. M. T., who +(especially at that time) had more turn to burlesque than real Tragedy: +and sure that he would have told me of it then, whether accepted or +rejected--as rejected it was. Pollock thought for some while that, in +spite of the comic Appearance we keep up, we should each of us rise up +from the Grave with a MS. Tragedy in our hands, etc. However, he has +become assured it was some other Thackeray: I suppose one mentioned by +Planche as a Dramatic _Dilettante_--of the same Family, I think, as W. M. +T. + +Spedding has sent me the concluding Volume of his Bacon: the final +summing up simple, noble, deeply pathetic--rather on Spedding's own +Account than his Hero's, for whose Vindication so little has been done by +the sacrifice of forty years of such a Life as Spedding's. Positively, +nearly all the new matter which S. has produced makes against, rather +than for, Bacon: and I do think the case would have stood better if +Spedding had only argued from the old materials, and summed up his +Vindication in one small Volume some thirty-five years ago. + +I have been sunning myself in Dickens--even in his later and very +inferior 'Mutual Friend,' and 'Great Expectations'--Very inferior to his +best: but with things better than any one else's best, caricature as they +may be. I really must go and worship at Gadshill, as I have worshipped +at Abbotsford, though with less Reverence, to be sure. But I must look +on Dickens as a mighty Benefactor to Mankind. {52} + +This is shamefully bad writing of mine--very bad manners, to put any +one--especially a Lady--to the trouble and pain of deciphering. I hope +all about Donne is legible, for you will be glad of it. It is Lodging- +house Pens and Ink that is partly to blame for this scrawl. Now, don't +answer till I write you something better: but believe me ever and always +yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +XXI. + + +LOWESTOFT: _October_ 4/74. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Do, pray, write your Macready (Thackeray used to say 'Megreedy') Story to +Pollock: Sir F. 59 Montagu Square. I rather think he was to be going to +Press with his Megreedy about this time: but you may be sure he will deal +with whatever you may confide to him discreetly and reverently. It is +'Miladi' P. who worshipped Macready: and I think I never recovered what +Esteem I had with her when I told her I could not look on him as a +'Great' Actor at all. I see in Planche's Memoirs that when your Father +prophesied great things of him to your Uncle J. P. K., the latter said, +'_Con quello viso_?' which '_viso_' did very well however in parts not +positively heroic. But one can't think of him along with Kean, who was +heroic in spite of undersize. How he swelled up in Othello! I remember +thinking he looked almost as tall as your Father when he came to Silence +that dreadful Bell. + +I think you agree with me about Kean: remembering your really capital +Paper--in _Macmillan_ {53a}--about Dramatic and Theatric. I often look +to that Paper, which is bound up with some Essays by other +Friends--Spedding among them--no bad Company. I was thinking of your +Pasta story of 'feeling' the Antique, etc., {53b} when reading in my dear +Ste. Beuve {53c} of my dear Madame du Deffand asking Madame de Choiseul: +'You _know_ you love me, but do you _feel_ you love me?' '_Quoi_? _vous +m'aimez donc_?' she said to her secretary Wiart, when she heard him +sobbing as she dictated her last letter to Walpole. {53d} + +All which reminds me of one of your friends departed--Chorley--whose +Memoirs one now buys from Mudie for 2_s._ 6_d._ or so. And +well--_well_--worth to those who recollect him. I only knew him by +Face--and Voice--at your Father's, and your Sister's: and used to think +what a little waspish _Dilettante_ it was: and now I see he was something +very much better indeed: and I only hope I may have Courage to face my +Death as he had. Dickens loved him, who did not love Humbugs: and +Chorley would have two strips of Gadshill Yew {54} put with him in his +Coffin. Which again reminds me that--_a propos_ of your comments on +Dickens' crimson waistcoat, etc., Thackeray told me thirty years ago, +that Dickens did it, not from any idea of Cockney fashion: but from a +veritable passion for Colours--which I can well sympathize with, though I +should not exhibit them on my own Person--for very good reasons. Which +again reminds me of what you write about my abiding the sight of you in +case you return to England next year. Oh, my dear Mrs. Kemble, you must +know how wrong all that is--_tout au contraire_, in fact. Tell me a word +about Chorley when next you write: you said once that Mendelssohn laughed +at him: then, he ought not. How well I remember his strumming away at +some Waltz in Harley or Wimpole's endless Street, while your Sister and a +few other Guests went round. I thought then he looked at one as if +thinking 'Do you think me then--a poor, red-headed Amateur, as Rogers +does?' That old Beast! I don't scruple to say so. + +I am positively looking over my everlasting Crabbe again: he naturally +comes in about the Fall of the Year. Do you remember his wonderful +'October Day'? {55} + + 'Before the Autumn closed, + When Nature, ere her Winter Wars, reposed + When from our Garden, as we looked above, + No Cloud was seen; and nothing seem'd to move; + When the wide River was a Silver Sheet, + And upon Ocean slept the unanchor'd fleet: + When the wing'd Insect settled in our Sight, + And waited Wind to recommence her flight.' + +And then, the Lady who believes her young Lover dead, and has vowed +eternal Celibacy, sees him advancing, a portly, well to do, middle aged +man: and swears she won't have him: and does have him, etc. + +Which reminds me that I want you to tell me if people in America read +Crabbe. + +Farewell, dear Mrs. Kemble, for the present: always yours + +E. F.G. + +Have you the Robin in America? One is singing in the little bit Garden +before me now. + + + + +XXII. + + +59 MONTAGU SQUARE, LONDON, W. +5 _Oct._/74. + +MY DEAR FITZ, + +It is very good of Mrs. Kemble to wish to tell me a story about Macready, +and I shall be glad to know it. + +Only--she should know that I am not writing his life--but editing his +autobiographical reminiscences and diaries--and unless the anecdote could +be introduced to explain or illustrate these, it would not be serviceable +for my present purpose. + +But for its own sake and for Macready's I should like to be made +acquainted with it. + +I am making rapid way with the printing--in fact have got to the end of +what will be Vol. I. in slip--so that I hope the work may be out by or +soon after Christmas, if the engravings are also ready by that time. + +It will be, I am sure, most interesting--and will surprise a great many +people who did not at all know what Macready really was. + +You last heard of me at Clovelly--where we spent a delightful month--more +rain than was pleasant--but on the whole charming. I think I told you +that Annie Thackeray was there for a night--and that we bound her over +not to make the reading public too well acquainted with the place, which +would not be good for it. + +Since then--a fortnight at St. Julians--and the same time at Tunbridge +Wells--I coming up to town three times a week-- + + Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis, {56} + +and as there are other points of resemblance--so it is natural that the +Gates of Justice should be open even during the Vacation--just a little +ajar--with somebody to look after it, which somebody it has been my lot +to be this year. + +T. Wells was very pleasant--I like the old-fashioned place--and can +always people the Pantiles (they call it the Parade now) with Dr. Johnson +and the Duchess of Kingston, and the Bishop of Salisbury and the foreign +baron, and the rest. {57a} + +Miladi and Walter are at Paris for a few days. I am keeping house with +Maurice--Yours, W. F. Pk. + +We have J. S.'s {57b} seventh volume--and I am going to read it--but do +not know where he is himself. I have not seen the 'white, round +object--which is the head of him' for some time past--not since--July.-- + + + + +XXIII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Novr._ 17/74. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Your Letter about Megreedy, as Thackeray used to call him, is very +interesting: I mean as connected with your Father also. Megreedy, with +all his flat face, managed to look well as Virginius, didn't he? And, as +I thought, well enough in Macbeth, except where he _would_ stand with his +mouth open (after the Witches had hailed him), till I longed to pitch +something into it out of the Pit, the dear old Pit. How came _he_ to +play Henry IV. instead of your Father, in some Play I remember at C. G., +though I did not see it? How well I remember your Father in Falconbridge +(Young, K. John) as he looked sideway and upward before the Curtain fell +on his Speech. + +Then his Petruchio: I remember his looking up, as the curtain fell at the +end, to where he knew that Henry had taken me--some very upper Box. And +I remember too his standing with his Hunting spear, looking with pleasure +at pretty Miss Foote as Rosalind. He played well what was natural to +him: the gallant easy Gentleman--I thought his Charles Surface rather +cumbrous: but he was no longer young. + +Mrs. Wister quite mistook the aim of my Query about Crabbe: I asked if he +were read in America for the very reason that he is not read in England. +And in the October _Cornhill_ is an Article upon him (I hope not by +Leslie Stephen), so ignorant and self-sufficient that I am more wroth +than ever. The old Story of 'Pope in worsted stockings'--why I could +cite whole Paragraphs of as fine texture as Moliere--incapable of +Epigram, the Jackanapes says of 'our excellent Crabbe'--why I could find +fifty of the very best Epigrams in five minutes. But now do you care for +him? 'Honour bright?' as Sheridan used to say. I don't think I ever +knew a Woman who did like C., except my Mother. What makes People (this +stupid Reviewer among them) talk of worsted Stockings is because of +having read only his earlier works: when he himself talked of his Muse as + + 'Muse of the Mad, the Foolish, and the Poor,' {59a} + +the Borough: Parish Register, etc. But it is his Tales of the Hall which +discover him in silk Stockings; the subjects, the Scenery, the Actors, of +a more Comedy kind: with, I say, Paragraphs, and Pages, of fine Moliere +style--only too often defaced by carelessness, disproportion, and +'longueurs' intolerable. I shall leave my Edition of Tales of the Hall, +made legible by the help of Scissors and Gum, with a word or two of Prose +to bridge over pages of stupid Verse. I don't wish to try and supersede +the Original, but, by the Abstract, to get People to read the whole, and +so learn (as in Clarissa) how to get it all under command. I even wish +that some one in America would undertake to publish--in whole, or part by +part--my 'Readings in Crabbe,' viz., Tales of the Hall: but no one would +let me do the one thing I can do. + +I think you must repent having encouraged such a terrible Correspondent +as myself: you have the remedy in your own hands, you know. I find that +the Bronchitis I had in Spring returns upon me now: so I have to give up +my Night walks, and stalk up and down my own half-lighted Hall (like +Chateaubriand's Father) {59b} till my Reader comes. Ever yours truly + +E. F.G. + +_Novr._ 21. + +I detained this letter till I heard from Donne, who has been at Worthing, +and writes cheerfully. + + + + +XXIV. + + +LOWESTOFT, _Febr._ 11/75. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Will you please to thank Mr. Furness for the trouble he has taken about +Crabbe. The American Publisher is like the English, it appears, and both +may be quite right. They certainly are right in not accepting anything +except on very good recommendation; and a Man's Fame is the best they can +have for that purpose. I should not in the least be vext or even +disappointed at any rejection of my Crabbe, but it is not worth further +trouble to any party to send across the Atlantic what may, most probably, +be returned with thanks and Compliments. And then Mr. Furness would feel +bound to ask some other Publisher, and you to write to me about it. No, +no! Thank him, if you please: you know I thank you: and then I will let +the matter drop. + +The Athenaeum told me there was a Paper by Carlyle in the January +Fraser--on the old Norway Kings. Then People said it was not his: but +his it is, surely enough (though I have no Authority but my own Judgment +for saying so), and quite delightful. If missing something of his Prime, +missing also all his former 'Sound and Fury,' etc., and as alive as ever. +I had thoughts of writing to him on the subject, but have not yet done +so. But pray do you read the Papers: there is a continuation in the +February Fraser: and 'to be continued' till ended, I suppose. + +Your Photograph--Yes--I saw your Mother in it, as I saw her in you when +you came to us in Woodbridge in 1852. That is, I saw her such as I had +seen her in a little sixpenny Engraving in a 'Cottage Bonnet,' something +such as you wore when you stept out of your Chaise at the Crown Inn. + +My Mother always said that your Mother was by far the most witty, +sensible, and agreeable Woman she knew. I remember one of the very few +delightful Dinner parties I ever was at--in St. James' Place--(was it?) a +Party of seven or eight, at a round Table, your Mother at the head of the +Table, and Mrs. F. Kemble my next Neighbour. And really the (almost) +only other pleasant Dinner was one you gave me and the Donnes in Savile +Row, before going to see Wigan in 'Still Waters,' which you said was +_your_ Play, in so far as you had suggested the Story from some French +Novel. + +I used to think what a deep current of melancholy was under your Mother's +Humour. Not 'under,' neither: for it came up as naturally to the surface +as her Humour. My mother always said that one great charm in her was, +her Naturalness. + +If you read to your Company, pray do you ever read _the_ Scene in the +'Spanish Tragedy' quoted in C. Lamb's Specimens--such a Scene as (not +being in Verse, and quite familiar talk) I cannot help reading to my +Guests--very few and far between--I mean by 'I,' one who has no gift at +all for reading except the feeling of a few things: and I can't help +stumbling upon Tears in this. Nobody knows who wrote this one scene: it +was thought Ben Jonson, who could no more have written it than I who read +it: for what else of his is it like? Whereas, Webster one fancies might +have done it. It is not likely that you do not know this wonderful bit: +but, if you have it not by heart almost, look for it again at once, and +make others do so by reading to them. + +The enclosed Note from Mowbray D[onne] was the occasion of my writing +thus directly to you. And yet I have spoken 'de omnibus other rebus' +first. But I venture to think that your feeling on the subject will be +pretty much like my own, and so, no use in talking. + +Now, if I could send you part of what I am now packing up for some +Woodbridge People--some--some--Saffron Buns!--for which this Place is +notable from the first day of Lent till Easter--A little Hamper of these! + +Now, my dear Mrs. Kemble, do consider this letter of mine as an Answer to +yours--your two--else I shall be really frightened at making you write so +often to yours always and sincerely + +E. F.G. + + + + +XXV. + + +LOWESTOFT, _March_ 11/75. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I am really ashamed that you should apologize for asking me a Copy of +Calderon, etc. {64a} I had about a hundred Copies of all those things +printed _when_ printed: and have not had a hundred friends to give them +to--poor Souls!--and am very well pleased to give to any one who +likes--especially any Friend of yours. I think however that your reading +of them has gone most way to make your Lady ask. But, be that as it may, +I will send you a Copy directly I return to my own Chateau, which I mean +to do when the Daffodils have taken the winds of March. {64b} + +We have had severe weather here: it has killed my Brother Peter (not +John, my eldest) who tried to winter at Bournemouth, after having +wintered for the last ten years at Cannes. Bronchitis:--which (_sotto +voce_) I have as yet kept Cold from coming to. But one knows one is not +'out of the Wood' yet; May, if not March, being, you know, one of our +worst Seasons. + +I heard from our dear Donne a week ago; speaking with all his own blind +and beautiful Love for his lately lost son; and telling me that he +himself keeps his heart going by Brandy. But he speaks of this with no +Fear at all. He is going to leave Weymouth Street, but when, or for +where, he does not say. He spoke of a Letter he had received from you +some while ago. + +Now about Crabbe, which also I am vext you should have trouble about. I +wrote to you the day after I had your two Letters, with Mr. Furness' +enclosed, and said that, seeing the uncertainty of any success in the +matter, I really would not bother you or him any more. You know it is +but a little thing; which, even if a Publisher tried piece-meal, would +very likely be scouted: I only meant 'piece-meal,' by instalments: so as +they could be discontinued if not liked. But I suppose I must keep my +Work--of paste, and scissors--for the benefit of the poor Friends who +have had the benefit of my other Works. + +Well: as I say, I wrote and posted my Letter at once, asking you to thank +Mr. Furness for me. I think this must be a month ago--perhaps you had my +Letter the day after you posted this last of yours, dated February 21. Do +not trouble any more about it, pray: read Carlyle's 'Kings of Norway' in +Fraser and believe me ever yours + +E. F.G. + +I will send a little bound Copy of the Plays for yourself, dear Mrs. +Kemble, if you will take them; so you can give the Lady those you +have:--but, whichever way you like. + + + + +XXVI. + + +LOWESTOFT, _March_ 17/75. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +This bit of Letter is written to apprise you that, having to go to +Woodbridge three days ago, I sent you by Post a little Volume of the +Plays, and (what I had forgotten) a certain little Prose Dialogue {65} +done up with them. This is more than you wanted, but so it is. The +Dialogue is a pretty thing in some respects: but disfigured by some +confounded _smart_ writing in parts: And this is all that needs saying +about the whole concern. You must not think necessary to say anything +more about it yourself, only that you receive the Book. If you do not, +in a month's time, I shall suppose it has somehow lost its way over the +Atlantic: and then I will send you the Plays you asked for, stitched +together--and those only. + +I hope you got my Letter (which you had not got when your last was +written) about Crabbe: for I explained in it why I did not wish to +trouble you or Mr. Furness any more with such an uncertain business. +Anyhow, I must ask you to thank him for the trouble he had already taken, +as I hope you know that I thank you also for your share in it. + +I scarce found a Crocus out in my Garden at home, and so have come back +here till some green leaf shows itself. We are still under the dominion +of North East winds, which keep people coughing as well as the Crocus +under ground. Well, we hope to earn all the better Spring by all this +Cold at its outset. + +I have so often spoken of my fear of troubling you by all my Letters, +that I won't say more on that score. I have heard no news of Donne since +I wrote. I have been trying to read Gil Blas and La Fontaine again; but, +as before, do not relish either. {67} I must get back to my Don Quixote +by and by. + +Yours as ever + +E. F.G. + +I wonder if this letter will smell of Tobacco: for it is written just +after a Pipe, and just before going to bed. + + + + +XXVII. + + +LOWESTOFT: _April_ 9/75. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I wrote you a letter more than a fortnight ago--mislaid it--and now am +rather ashamed to receive one from you thanking me beforehand for the +mighty Book which I posted you a month ago. I only hope you will not +feel bound to acknowledge [it] when it does reach you, I think I said so +in the Letter I wrote to go along with it. And I must say no more in the +way of deprecating your Letters, after what you write me. Be assured +that all my deprecations were for your sake, not mine; but there's an end +of them now. + +I had a longish letter from Donne himself some while ago; indicating, I +thought, _some_ debility of Mind and Body. He said, however, he was +going on very well. And a Letter from Mowbray (three or four days old) +speaks of his Father as 'remarkably well.' But these Donnes won't +acknowledge Bodily any more than Mental fault in those they love. Blanche +had been ill, of neuralgic Cold: Valentia not well: but both on the +mending hand now. + +It has been indeed the Devil of a Winter: and even now--To-day as I +write--no better than it was three months ago. The Daffodils scarce dare +take April, let alone March; and I wait here till a Green Leaf shows +itself about Woodbridge. + +I have been looking over four of Shakespeare's Plays, edited by Clark and +Wright: editors of the 'Cambridge Shakespeare.' These 'Select Plays' are +very well done, I think: Text, and Notes; although with somewhat too much +of the latter. Hamlet, Macbeth, Tempest, and Shylock--I heard them +talking in my room--all alive about me. + +By the by--How did _you_ read 'To-morrow and To-morrow, etc.' All the +Macbeths I have heard took the opportunity to become melancholy when they +came to this: and, no doubt, some such change from Fury and Desperation +was a relief to the Actor, and perhaps to the Spectator. But I think it +_should_ all go in the same Whirlwind of Passion as the rest: +Folly!--Stage Play!--Farthing Candle; Idiot, etc. Macready used to drop +his Truncheon when he heard of the Queen's Death, and stand with his +Mouth open for some while--which didn't become him. + +I have not seen his Memoir: only an extract or two in the Papers. He +always seemed to me an Actor by Art and Study, with some native Passion +to inspire him. But as to Genius--we who have seen Kean! + +I don't know if you were acquainted with Sir A. Helps, {68} whose Death +(one of this Year's Doing) is much regretted by many. I scarcely knew +him except at Cambridge forty years ago: and could never relish his +Writings, amiable and sensible as they are. I suppose they will help to +swell that substratum of Intellectual _Peat_ (Carlyle somewhere calls it) +{69} from [which] one or two living Trees stand out in a Century. So +Shakespeare above all that Old Drama which he grew amidst, and which (all +represented by him alone) might henceforth be left unexplored, with the +exception of a few twigs of Leaves gathered here and there--as in Lamb's +Specimens. Is Carlyle himself--with all his Genius--to subside into the +Level? Dickens, with all his Genius, but whose Men and Women act and +talk already after a more obsolete fashion than Shakespeare's? I think +some of Tennyson will survive, and drag the deader part along with it, I +suppose. And (I doubt) Thackeray's terrible Humanity. + +And I remain yours ever sincerely, +A very small Peat-contributor, +E. F.G. + +I am glad to say that Clark and Wright Bowdlerize Shakespeare, though +much less extensively than Bowdler. But in one case, I think, they have +gone further--altering, instead of omitting: which is quite wrong! + + + + +XXVIII. + + +LOWESTOFT: _April_ 19/75. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Yesterday I wrote you a letter: enveloped it: then thought there was +something in it you might misunderstand--Yes!--the written word across +the Atlantic looking perhaps so different from what intended; so kept my +Letter in my pocket, and went my ways. This morning your Letter of April +3 is forwarded to me; and I shall re-write the one thing that I yesterday +wrote about--as I had intended to do before your Letter came. Only, let +me say that I am really ashamed that you should have taken the trouble to +write again about my little, little, Book. + +Well--what I wrote about yesterday, and am to-day about to re-write, +is--Macready's Memoirs. You asked me in your previous Letter whether I +had read them. No--I had not: and had meant to wait till they came down +to Half-price on the Railway Stall before I bought them. But I wanted to +order something of my civil Woodbridge Bookseller: so took the course of +ordering this Book, which I am now reading at Leisure: for it does not +interest me enough to devour at once. It is however a very unaffected +record of a very conscientious Man, and Artist; conscious (I think) that +he was not a great Genius in his Profession, and conscious of his defect +of Self-control in his Morals. The Book is almost entirely about +_himself_, _his_ Studies, _his_ Troubles, _his_ Consolations, etc.; not +from Egotism, I do think, but as the one thing he had to consider in +writing a Memoir and Diary. Of course one expects, and wishes, that the +Man's self should be the main subject; but one also wants something of +the remarkable people he lived with, and of whom one finds little here +but that 'So-and-so came and went'--scarce anything of what they said or +did, except on mere business; Macready seeming to have no Humour; no +intuition into Character, no Observation of those about him (how could he +be a great Actor then?)--Almost the only exception I have yet reached is +his Account of Mrs. Siddons, whom he worshipped: whom he acted with in +her later years at Country Theatres: and who was as kind to him as she +was even then heart-rending on the Stage. He was her Mr. Beverley: {71} +'a very young husband,' she told him: but 'in the right way if he would +study, study, study--and not marry till thirty.' At another time, when +he was on the stage, she stood at the side scene, called out 'Bravo, Sir, +Bravo!' and clapped her hands--all in sight of the Audience, who joined +in her Applause. Macready also tells of her falling into such a +Convulsion, as it were, in Aspasia {72a} (what a subject for such a +sacrifice!) that the Curtain had to be dropped, and Macready's Father, +and Holman, who were among the Audience, looked at each other to see +which was whitest! This was the Woman whom people somehow came to look +on as only majestic and terrible--I suppose, after Miss O'Neill rose upon +her Setting. + +Well, but what I wrote about yesterday--a passage about you yourself. I +fancy that he and you were very unsympathetic: nay, you have told me of +some of his Egotisms toward you, 'who had scarce learned the rudiments of +your Profession' (as also he admits that he scarce had). But, however +that may have been, his Diary records, 'Decr. 20 (1838) Went to Covent +Garden Theatre: on my way continued the perusal of Mrs. Butler's Play, +which is a work of uncommon power. Finished the reading of Mrs. Butler's +Play, which is one of the most powerful of the modern Plays I have +seen--most painful--almost shocking--but full of Power, Poetry and +Pathos. She is one of the most remarkable women of the present Day.' + +So you see that if he thought you deficient in the Art which you (like +himself) had unwillingly to resort to, you were efficient in the far +greater Art of supplying that material on which the Histrionic must +depend. (N.B.--Which play of yours? Not surely the 'English Tragedy' +unless shown to him in MS.? {72b} Come: I have sent you my Translations: +you should give me your Original Plays. When I get home, I will send you +an old Scratch by Thackeray of yourself in Louisa of Savoy--shall I?) + +On the whole, I find Macready (so far as I have gone) a just, generous, +religious, and affectionate Man; on the whole, humble too! One is well +content to assure oneself of this; but it is not worth spending 28_s._ +upon. + +Macready would have made a better Scholar--or Divine--than Actor, I +think: a Gentleman he would have been in any calling, I believe, in spite +of his Temper--which he acknowledges, laments, and apologizes for, on +reflection. + +Now, here is enough of my small writing for your reading. I have been +able to read, and admire, some Corneille lately: as to Racine--'_Ce n'est +pas mon homme_,' as Catharine of Russia said of him. Now I am at Madame +de Sevigne's delightful Letters; I should like to send you a Bouquet of +Extracts: but must have done now, being always yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +XXIX. + + +LOWESTOFT: _May_ 16/75 + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I have been wishing to send you Carlyle's Norway Kings, and oh! such a +delightful Paper of Spedding's on the Text of Richard III. {74} But I +have waited till I should hear from you, knowing that you _will_ reply! +And not feeling sure, till I hear, whether you are not on your way to +England Eastward ho!--even as I am now writing!--Or, I fancy--should you +not be well? Anyhow, I shall wait till some authentic news of yourself +comes to me. I should not mind sending you Carlyle--why, yes! I _will_ +send him! But old Spedding--which is only a Proof--I won't send till I +know that you are still where you were to receive it--Oh! such a piece of +musical criticism! without the least pretence to being Musick: as dry as +he can make it, in fact. But he does, with utmost politeness, smash the +Cambridge Editors' Theory about the Quarto and Folio Text of R. III.--in +a way that perhaps Mr. Furness might like to see. + +Spedding says that Irving's Hamlet is simply--_hideous_--a strong +expression for Spedding to use. But--(lest I should think his +condemnation was only the Old Man's fault of depreciating all that is +new), he extols Miss Ellen Terry's Portia as simply _a perfect +Performance_: remembering (he says) all the while how fine was Fanny +Kemble's. Now, all this you shall read for yourself, when I have token +of your Whereabout, and Howabout: for I will send you Spedding's Letter, +as well as his Paper. + +Spedding won't go and see Salvini's Othello, because he does not know +Italian, and also because he hears that Salvini's is a different +Conception of Othello from Shakespeare's. I can't understand either +reason; but Spedding is (as Carlyle {75a} wrote me of his Bacon) the +'invincible, and victorious.' At any rate, I can't beat him. Irving I +never could believe in as Hamlet, after seeing part of his famous +Performance of a Melodrama called 'The Bells' three or four years ago. +But the Pollocks, and a large World beside, think him a Prodigy--whom +Spedding thinks--a Monster! To this Complexion is the English Drama +come. + +I wonder if your American Winter has transformed itself to such a sudden +Summer as here in Old England. I returned to my Woodbridge three weeks +ago: not a leaf on the Trees: in ten days they were all green, and +people--perspiring, I suppose one must say. Now again, while the Sun is +quite as Hot, the Wind has swerved round to the East--so as one broils on +one side and freezes on t'other--and I--the Great Twalmley {75b}--am +keeping indoors from an Intimation of Bronchitis. I think it is time for +one to leave the Stage oneself. + +I heard from Mowbray Donne some little while ago; as he said nothing (I +think) of his Father, I conclude that there is nothing worse of him to be +said. He (the Father) has a Review of Macready--laudatory, I suppose--in +the Edinburgh, and _Mr._ Helen Faucit (Martin) as injurious a one in the +Quarterly: the reason of the latter being (it is supposed) because _Mrs._ +H. F. is not noticed except just by name. To this Complexion also! + +Ever yours, +E. F.G. + +Since writing as above, your Letter comes; as you do not speak of moving, +I shall send Spedding and Carlyle by Post to you, in spite of the Loss of +Income you tell me of which would (I doubt) close up _my_ thoughts some +while from such speculations. I do not think _you_ will take trouble so +to heart. Keep Spedding for me: Carlyle I don't want again. Tired as +you--and I--are of Shakespeare Commentaries, you will like this. + + + + +XXX. + + +LOWESTOFT: _July_ 22/75. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I have abstained from writing since you wrote me how busily your Pen was +employed for the Press: I wished more than ever to spare you the trouble +of answering me--which I knew you would not forgo. And now you will feel +called upon, I suppose, though I would fain spare you. + +Though I date from this place still, I have been away from it at my own +Woodbridge house for two months and more; only returning here indeed to +help make a better Holiday for a poor Lad who is shut up in a London +Office while his Heart is all for Out-of-Door, Country, Sea, etc. We +have been having wretched Holyday weather, to be sure: rain, mist, and +wind; St. Swithin at his worst: but all better than the hateful London +Office--to which he must return the day after To-morrow, poor Fellow! + +I suppose you will see--if you have not yet seen--Tennyson's Q. Mary. I +don't know what to say about it; but the Times says it is the finest Play +since Shakespeare; and the Spectator that it is superior to Henry VIII. +Pray do you say something of it, when you write:--for I think you must +have read it before that time comes. + +Then Spedding has written a delicious Paper in Fraser about the late +Representation of The Merchant of Venice, and his E. Terry's perfect +personation of his perfect Portia. I cannot agree with him in all he +says--for one thing, I must think that Portia made 'a hole in her +manners' when she left Antonio trembling for his Life while she all the +while [knew] how to defeat the Jew by that knowledge of the Venetian Law +which (oddly enough) the Doge knew nothing about. Then Spedding thinks +that Shylock has been so pushed forward ever since Macklin's time as to +preponderate over all the rest in a way that Shakespeare never intended. +{77} But, if Shakespeare did not intend this, he certainly erred in +devoting so much of his most careful and most powerful writing to a +Character which he meant to be subsidiary, and not principal. But +Spedding is more likely to be right than I: right or wrong he pleads his +cause as no one else can. His Paper is in this July number of Fraser: I +would send it you if you had more time for reading than your last Letter +speaks of; I _will_ send if you wish. + +I have not heard of Donne lately: he had been staying at Lincoln with +Blakesley, the Dean: and is now, I suppose, at Chislehurst, where he took +a house for a month. + +And I am yours ever and sincerely +E. F.G. + + + + +XXXI. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _Aug._ 24, [1875.] + +Now, my dear Mrs. Kemble, you will have to call me 'a Good Creature,' as +I have found out a Copy of your capital Paper, {78} and herewith post it +to you. Had I not found this Copy (which Smith & Elder politely found +for me) I should have sent you one of my own, cut out from a Volume of +Essays by other friends, Spedding, etc., on condition that you should +send me a Copy of such Reprint as you may make of it in America. It is +extremely interesting; and I always think that your Theory of the +Intuitive _versus_ the Analytical and Philosophical applies to the other +Arts as well as that of the Drama. Mozart couldn't tell how he made a +Tune; even a whole Symphony, he said, unrolled itself out of a leading +idea by no logical process. Keats said that no Poetry was worth +[anything] unless it came spontaneously as Leaves to a Tree, etc. {79} I +have no faith in your Works of Art done on Theory and Principle, like +Wordsworth, Wagner, Holman Hunt, etc. + +But, one thing you can do on Theory, and carry it well into Practice: +which is--to write your Letter on Paper which does not let the Ink +through, so that (according to your mode of paging) your last Letter was +crossed: I really thought it so at first, and really had very hard work +to make it out--some parts indeed still defying my Eyes. What I read of +your remarks on Portia, etc., is so good that I wish to keep it: but +still I think I shall enclose you a scrap to justify my complaint. It +was almost by Intuition, not on Theory, that I deciphered what I did. +Pray you amend this. My MS. is bad enough, and on that very account I +would avoid diaphanous Paper. Are you not ashamed? + +I shall send you Spedding's beautiful Paper on the Merchant of Venice +{80} if I can lay hands on it: but at present my own room is given up to +a fourth Niece (Angel that I am!) You would see that S[pedding] agrees +with you about Portia, and in a way that I am sure must please you. But +(so far as I can decipher that fatal Letter) you say nothing at all to me +of the other Spedding Paper I sent to you (about the Cambridge Editors, +etc.), which I must have back again indeed, unless you wish to keep it, +and leave me to beg another Copy. Which to be sure I can do, and will, +if your heart is set upon it--which I suppose it is not at all. + +I have not heard of Donne for so long a time, that I am uneasy, and have +written to Mowbray to hear. M[owbray] perhaps is out on his Holyday, +else I think he would have replied at once. And 'no news may be the Good +News.' + +I have no news to tell of myself; I am much as I have been for the last +four months: which is, a little ricketty. But I get out in my Boat on +the River three or four hours a Day when possible, and am now as ever +yours sincerely + +E. F.G. + + + + +XXXII. + + +[_Oct._ 4, 1875] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I duly received your last legible Letter, and Spedding's Paper: for both +of which all Thanks. But you must do something more for me. I see by +Notes and Queries that you are contributing Recollections to some +American Magazine; I want you to tell me where I can get this, with all +the back Numbers in which you have written. + +I return the expected favour (Hibernice) with the enclosed Prints, one of +which is rather a Curiosity: that of Mrs. Siddons by Lawrence when he was +_aetat._ 13. The other, done from a Cast of herself by herself, is only +remarkable as being almost a Copy of this early Lawrence--at least, in +Attitude, if not in Expression. I dare say you have seen the Cast +itself. And now for a Story better than either Print: a story to which +Mrs. Siddons' glorious name leads me, burlesque as it is. + +You may know there is a French Opera of Macbeth--by Chelard. This was +being played at the Dublin Theatre--Viardot, I think, the Heroine. +However that may be, the Curtain drew up for the Sleep-walking Scene; +Doctor and Nurse were there, while a long mysterious Symphony went +on--till a Voice from the Gallery called out to the Leader of the Band, +Levey--'Whisht! Lavy, my dear--tell us now--is it a Boy or a Girl?' This +Story is in a Book which I gave 2_s._ for at a Railway Stall; called +Recollections of an Impresario, or some such name; {82a} a Book you would +not have deigned to read, and so would have missed what I have read and +remembered and written out for you. + +It will form the main part of my Letter: and surely you will not expect +anything better from me. + +Your hot Colorado Summer is over; and you are now coming to the season +which you--and others beside you--think so peculiarly beautiful in +America. We have no such Colours to show here, you know: none of that +Violet which I think you have told me of as mixing with the Gold in the +Foliage. Now it is that I hear that Spirit that Tennyson once told of +talking to himself among the faded flowers in the Garden-plots. I think +he has dropt that little Poem {82b} out of his acknowledged works; there +was indeed nothing in it, I think, but that one Image: and that sticks by +me as _Queen Mary_ does not. + +I have just been telling some Man enquiring in Notes and Queries where he +may find the beautiful foolish old Pastoral beginning-- + + 'My Sheep I neglected, I broke my Sheep-hook, &c.' {82c} + +which, if you don't know it, I will write out for you, ready as it offers +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, + +From Lowestoft still I date: as just ten years ago when I was about +building a Lugger, and reading Montaigne. The latter holds his own with +me after three hundred years: and the Lugger does not seem much the worse +for her ten years' wear, so well did she come bouncing between the Piers +here yesterday, under a strong Sou'-Wester. My Great Captain has her no +more; he has what they call a 'Scotch Keel' which is come into fashion: +her too I see: and him too steering her, broader and taller than all the +rest: fit to be a Leader of Men, Body and Soul; looking now Ulysses-like. +Two or three years ago he had a run of constant bad luck; and, being +always of a grand convivial turn, treating Everybody, he got deep in +Drink, against all his Promises to me, and altogether so lawless, that I +brought things to a pass between us. 'He should go on with me if he +would take the Tee-total Pledge for one year'--'No--he had broken his +word,' he said, 'and he would not pledge it again,' much as he wished to +go on with me. That, you see, was very fine in him; he is altogether +fine--A Great Man, I maintain it: like one of Carlyle's old Norway Kings, +with a wider morality than we use; which is very good and fine (as this +Captain said to me) 'for you who are born with a silver spoon in your +mouths.' I did not forget what Carlyle too says about Great Faults in +Great Men: even in David, the Lord's Anointed. But I thought best to +share the Property with him and let him go his way. He had always +resented being under any Control, and was very glad to be his own sole +Master again: and yet clung to me in a wild and pathetic way. He has not +been doing better since: and I fear is sinking into disorder. + +This is a long story about one you know nothing about except what little +I have told you. But the Man is a very remarkable Man indeed, and you +may be interested--you must be--in him. + +'Ho! parlons d'autres choses, ma Fille,' as my dear Sevigne says. She +now occupies Montaigne's place in my room: well--worthily: she herself a +Lover of Montaigne, and with a spice of his free thought and speech in +her. I am sometimes vext I never made her acquaintance till last year: +but perhaps it was as well to have such an acquaintance reserved for +one's latter years. The fine Creature! much more alive to me than most +Friends--I _should_ like to see her 'Rochers' in Brittany. {105} + +'Parlons d'autres choses'--your Mother's Miniature. You seemed at first +to think it was taken from the Engraving: but the reverse was always +clear to me. The whole figure, down to the Feet, is wanted to account +for the position of the Legs; and the superior delicacy of Feature would +not be gained _from_ the Engraving, but the contrary. The Stars were +stuck in to make an 'Urania' of it perhaps. I do not assert that your +Miniature is the original: but that such a Miniature is. I did not +expect that Black next the Picture would do: had you 'tried on the +Bonnet' first, as I advised? I now wish I had sent the Picture over in +its original Frame, which I had doctored quite well with a strip of Black +Paper pasted over the Gold. It might really have gone through Quaritch's +Agency: but I got into my head that the Post was safer. (How badly I am +writing!) I had a little common Engraving of the Cottage bonnet +Portrait: so like Henry. If I did not send it to you, I know not what is +become of it. + +Along with your Letter came one from Donne telling me of your Niece's +Death. {106} He said he had written to tell you. In reply, I gave him +your message; that he must 'hold on' till next year when peradventure you +may see England again, and hope to see him too. + +Sooner or later you will see an Account of 'Mary Tudor' at the Lyceum. +{107} It is just what I expected: a 'succes d'estime,' and not a very +enthusiastic one. Surely, no one could have expected more. And now +comes out a new Italian Hamlet--Rossi--whose first appearance is recorded +in the enclosed scrap of _Standard_. And (to finish Theatrical or +Dramatic Business) Quaritch has begun to print Agamemnon--so leisurely +that I fancy he wishes to wait till the old Persian is exhausted, and so +join the two. I certainly am in no hurry; for I fully believe we shall +only get abused for the Greek in proportion as we were praised for the +Persian--in England. I mean: for you have made America more favourable. + +'Parlons d'autres choses.' 'Eh? mais de quoi parler,' etc. Well: a +Blackbird is singing in the little Garden outside my Lodging Window, +which is frankly opened to what Sun there is. It has been a singular +half year; only yesterday Thunder in rather cold weather; and last week +the Road and Rail in Cambridge and Huntingdon was blocked up with Snow; +and Thunder then also. I suppose I shall get home in ten days: before +this Letter will reach you, I suppose: so your next may be addressed to +Woodbridge. I really don't know if these long Letters are more of +Trouble or Pleasure to you: however, there is an end to all: and that End +is that I am yours as truly as ever I was + +E. F.G. + + + + +XL. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _July_ 4, [1876.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Here I am back into the Country, as I may call my suburb here as compared +to Lowestoft; all my house, except the one room--which 'serves me for +Parlour and Bedroom and all' {108a}--occupied by Nieces. Our weather is +temperate, our Trees green, Roses about to bloom, Birds about to leave +off singing--all sufficiently pleasant. I must not forget a Box from +Mudie with some Memoirs in it--of Godwin, Haydon, etc., which help to +amuse one. And I am just beginning Don Quixote once more for my 'piece +de Resistance,' not being so familiar with the First Part as the Second. +Lamb and Coleridge (I think) thought that Second Part should not have +been written; why then did I--not for contradiction's sake, I am sure--so +much prefer it? Old Hallam, in his History of Literature, resolved me, I +believe, by saying that Cervantes, who began by making his Hero +ludicrously crazy, fell in love with him, and in the second part tamed +and tempered him down to the grand Gentleman he is: scarce ever +originating a Delusion, though acting his part in it as a true Knight +when led into it by others. {108b} A good deal however might well be +left out. If you have Jarvis' Translation by, or near, you, pray +read--oh, read all of the second part, except the stupid stuff of the old +Duenna in the Duke's Palace. + +I fear I get more and more interested in your 'Gossip,' as you approach +the Theatre. I suppose indeed that it is better to look on than to be +engaged in. I love it, and reading of it, now as much as ever I cared to +see it: and that was, very much indeed. I never heard till from your +last Paper {109a} that Henry was ever thought of for Romeo: I wonder he +did not tell me this when he and I were in Paris in 1830, and used to go +and see 'La Muette!' (I can hear them calling it now:) at the Grand +Opera. I see that 'Queen Mary' has some while since been deposed from +the Lyceum; and poor Mr. Irving descended from Shakespeare to his old +Melodrama again. All this is still interesting to me down here: much +more than to you--over there!-- + +'Over there' you are in the thick of your Philadelphian Exhibition, +{109b} I suppose: but I dare say you do not meddle with it very much, and +will probably be glad when it is all over. I wish now I had sent you the +Miniature in its Frame, which I had instructed to become it. What you +tell us your Mother said concerning Dress, I certainly always felt: only +secure the Beautiful, and the Grand, in all the Arts, whatever Chronology +may say. Rousseau somewhere says that what you want of Decoration in the +Theatre is, what will bewilder the Imagination--'ebranler l'Imagination,' +I think: {110} only let it be Beautiful! + +_June_ 5. + +I kept this letter open in case I should see Arthur Malkin, who was +coming to stay at a Neighbour's house. He very kindly did call on me: he +and his second wife (who, my Neighbour says, is a very proper Wife), but +I was abroad--though no further off than my own little Estate; and he +knows I do not visit elsewhere. But I do not the less thank him, and am +always yours + +E. F.G. + +Pollock writes me he had just visited Carlyle--quite well for his Age: +and vehement against Darwin, and the Turk. + + + + +XLI. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _July_ 31/76. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +A better pen than usual tempts me to write the little I have to tell you; +so that [at] any rate your Eyes shall not be afflicted as sometimes I +doubt they are by my MS. + +Which MS. puts me at once in mind of Print: and to tell you that I shall +send you Quaritch's Reprint of Agamemnon: which is just done after many +blunders. The revises were not sent me, as I desired: so several things +are left as I meant not: but 'enfin' here it is at last so fine that I am +ashamed of it. For, whatever the merit of it may be, it can't come near +all this fine Paper, Margin, etc., which Quaritch _will_ have as counting +on only a few buyers, who will buy--in America almost wholly, I think. +And, as this is wholly due to you, I send you the Reprint, however little +different to what you had before. + +'Tragedy wonders at being so fine,' which leads me to that which ought +more properly to have led to _it_: your last two Papers of 'Gossip,' +which are capital, both for the Story told, and the remarks that arise +from it. To-morrow, or next day, I shall have a new Number; and I really +do count rather childishly on their arrival. Spedding also is going over +some of his old Bacon ground in the Contemporary, {111} and his writing +is always delightful to me though I cannot agree with him at last. I am +told he is in full Vigour: as indeed I might guess from his writing. I +heard from Donne some three weeks ago: proposing a Summer Holyday at +Whitby, in Yorkshire: Valentia, I think, not very well again: Blanche +then with her Brother Charles. They all speak very highly of Mrs. +Santley's kindness and care. Mowbray talks of coming down this way +toward the end of August: but had not, when he last wrote, fixed on his +Holyday place. + +Beside my two yearly elder Nieces, I have now a younger who has spent the +last five Winters in Florence with your once rather intimate (I think) +Jane FitzGerald my Sister. She married, (you may know) a Clergyman +considerably older than herself. I wrote to Annie Thackeray lately, and +had an answer (from the Lakes) to say she was pretty well--as also Mr. +Stephen. + +And I am ever yours +E. F.G. + +P.S. On second thoughts I venture to send you A. T.'s letter, which may +interest you and cannot shame her. I do not want it again. + + + + +XLII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Septr._ 21/76. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Have your American Woods begun to hang out their Purple and Gold yet? on +this Day of Equinox. Some of ours begin to look rusty, after the Summer +Drought; but have not turned Yellow yet. I was talking of this to a +Heroine of mine who lives near here, but visits the Highlands of +Scotland, which she loves better than Suffolk--and she said of those +Highland Trees--'O, they give themselves no dying Airs, but turn Orange +in a Day, and are swept off in a Whirlwind, and Winter is come.' + +Now too one's Garden begins to be haunted by that Spirit which Tennyson +says is heard talking to himself among the flower-borders. Do you +remember him? {113a} + +And now--Who should send in his card to me last week--but the old Poet +himself--he and his elder Son Hallam passing through Woodbridge from a +Tour in Norfolk. {113b} 'Dear old Fitz,' ran the Card in pencil, 'We are +passing thro'.' {113c} I had not seen him for twenty years--he looked +much the same, except for his fallen Locks; and what really surprised me +was, that we fell at once into the old Humour, as if we had only been +parted twenty Days instead of so many Years. I suppose this is a Sign of +Age--not altogether desirable. But so it was. He stayed two Days, and +we went over the same old grounds of Debate, told some of the old +Stories, and all was well. I suppose I may never see him again: and so I +suppose we both thought as the Rail carried him off: and each returned to +his ways as if scarcely diverted from them. Age again!--I liked Hallam +much; unaffected, unpretending--no Slang--none of Young England's +nonchalance--speaking of his Father as 'Papa' and tending him with great +Care, Love, and Discretion. Mrs. A. T. is much out of health, and scarce +leaves Home, I think. {114a} + +I have lately finished Don Quixote again, and I think have inflamed A. T. +to read him too--I mean in his native Language. For this _must_ be, good +as Jarvis' Translation is, and the matter of the Book so good that one +would think it would lose less than any Book by Translation. But somehow +that is not so. I was astonished lately to see how Shakespeare's Henry +IV. came out in young V. Hugo's Prose Translation {114b}: Hotspur, +Falstaff and all. It really seemed to show me more than I had yet seen +in the original. + +Ever yours, +E. F.G. + + + + +XLIII. + + +LOWESTOFT: _October_ 24/76. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Little--Nothing--as I have to write, I am nevertheless beginning to write +to you, from this old Lodging of mine, from which I think our +Correspondence chiefly began--ten years ago. I am in the same Room: the +same dull Sea moaning before me: the same Wind screaming through the +Windows: so I take up the same old Story. My Lugger was then about +building: {115} she has passed into other hands now: I see her from time +to time bouncing into Harbour, with her '244' on her Bows. Her Captain +and I have parted: I thought he did very wrongly--Drink, among other +things: but he did not think he did wrong: a different Morality from +ours--that, indeed, of Carlyle's ancient Sea Kings. I saw him a few days +ago in his house, with Wife and Children; looking, as always, too big for +his house: but always grand, polite, and unlike anybody else. I was +noticing the many Flies in the room--'Poor things,' he said, 'it is the +warmth of our Stove makes them alive.' When Tennyson was with me, whose +Portrait hangs in my house in company with those of Thackeray and this +Man (the three greatest men I have known), I thought that both Tennyson +and Thackeray were inferior to him in respect of Thinking of Themselves. +When Tennyson was telling me of how The Quarterly abused him (humorously +too), and desirous of knowing why one did not care for his later works, +etc., I thought that if he had lived an active Life, as Scott and +Shakespeare; or even ridden, shot, drunk, and played the Devil, as Byron, +he would have done much more, and talked about it much less. 'You know,' +said Scott to Lockhart, 'that I don't care a Curse about what I write,' +{116} and one sees he did not. I don't believe it was far otherwise with +Shakespeare. Even old Wordsworth, wrapt up in his Mountain mists, and +proud as he was, was above all this vain Disquietude: proud, not vain, +was he: and that a Great Man (as Dante) has some right to be--but not to +care what the Coteries say. What a Rigmarole! + +Donne scarce ever writes to me (Twalmley the Great), and if he do not +write to you, depend upon it he thinks he has nothing worth sending over +the Atlantic. I heard from Mowbray quite lately that his Father was very +well. + +Yes: you told me in a previous Letter that you were coming to England +after Christmas. I shall not be up to going to London to see you, with +all your Company about you; perhaps (don't think me very impudent!) you +may come down, if we live till Summer, to my Woodbridge Chateau, and +there talk over some old things. + +I make a kind of Summer in my Room here with Boccaccio. What a Mercy +that one can return with a Relish to these Books! As Don Quixote can +only be read in his Spanish, so I do fancy Boccaccio only in his Italian: +and yet one is used to fancy that Poetry is the mainly untranslateable +thing. How prettily innocent are the Ladies, who, after telling very +loose Stories, finish with 'E cosi Iddio faccia [noi] godere del nostro +Amore, etc.,' sometimes, _Domeneddio_, more affectionately. {117a} + +Anyhow, these Ladies are better than the accursed Eastern Question; +{117b} of which I have determined to read, and, if possible, hear, no +more till the one question be settled of Peace or War. If war, I am told +I may lose some 5000 pounds in Russian Bankruptcy: but I can truly say I +would give that, and more, to ensure Peace and Good Will among Men at +this time. Oh, the Apes we are! I must retire to my Montaigne--whom, by +the way, I remember reading here, when the Lugger was building! Oh, the +Apes, etc. But there was A Man in all that Business still, who is so +now, somewhat tarnished.--And I am yours as then sincerely + +E. F.G. + + + + +XLIV. + + +LOWESTOFT: _December_ 12/76. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +If you hold to your Intention of coming to Europe in January, this will +be my last Letter over the Atlantic--till further Notice! I dare say you +will send me a last Rejoinder under the same conditions. + +I write, you see, from the Date of my last letter: but have been at home +in the meanwhile. And am going home to-morrow--to arrange about +Christmas Turkeys (God send we haven't all our fill of that, this Year!) +and other such little matters pertaining to the Season--which, to myself, +is always a very dull one. Why it happens that I so often write to you +from here, I scarce know; only that one comes with few Books, perhaps, +and the Sea somehow talks to one of old Things. I have ever my Edition +of Crabbe's Tales of the Hall with me. How pretty is this-- + + 'In a small Cottage on the rising Ground + West of the Waves, and just beyond their Sound.' {118} + +Which reminds me also that one of the Books I have here is Leslie +Stephen's 'Hours in a Library,' really delightful reading, and, I think, +really settling some Questions of Criticism, as one wants to be finally +done in all Cases, so as to have no more about and about it. I think I +could have suggested a little Alteration in the matter of this Crabbe, +whom I probably am better up in than L. S., though I certainly could not +write about it as he does. Also, one word about _Clarissa_. Almost all +the rest of the two Volumes I accept as a Disciple. {119a} + +Another Book of the kind--Lowell's 'Among my Books,' is excellent also: +perhaps with more _Genius_ than Stephen: but on the other hand not so +temperate, judicious, or scholarly in _taste_. It was Professor Norton +who sent me Lowell's Second Series; and, if you should--(as you +inevitably will, though in danger of losing the Ship) answer this Letter, +pray tell me if you know how Professor Norton is--in health, I mean. You +told me he was very delicate: and I am tempted to think he may be less +well than usual, as he has not acknowledged the receipt of a Volume +{119b} I sent him with some of Wordsworth's Letters in it, which he had +wished to see. The Volume did not need Acknowledgment absolutely: but +probably would not have been received without by so amiable and polite a +Man, if he [were] not out of sorts. I should really be glad to hear that +he has only forgotten, or neglected, to write. + +Mr. Lowell's Ode {120a} in your last Magazine seemed to me full of fine +Thought; but it wanted Wings. I mean it kept too much to one Level, +though a high Level, for Lyric Poetry, as Ode is supposed to be: both in +respect to Thought, and Metre. Even Wordsworth (least musical of men) +changed his Flight to better purpose in his Ode to Immortality. Perhaps, +however, Mr. Lowell's subject did not require, or admit, such +Alternations. + +Your last Gossip brought me back to London--but what Street I cannot make +sure of--but one Room in whatever Street it were, where I remember your +Mr. Wade, who took his Defeat at the Theatre so bravely. {120b} And your +John, in Spain with the Archbishop of Dublin: and coming home full of +Torrijos: and singing to me and Thackeray one day in Russell Street: +{120c} + +{Music score for Si un Elio conspiro alevo. . .: p120.jpg} + +All which comes to me west of the waves and just within the sound: and is +to travel so much farther Westward over an Expanse of Rollers such as we +see not in this Herring-pond. Still, it is--The Sea. + +Now then Farewell, dear Mrs. Kemble. You will let me know when you get +to Dublin? I will add that, after very many weeks, I did hear from +Donne, who told me of you, and that he himself had been out to dine: and +was none the worse. + +And I still remain, you see, your long-winded Correspondent + +E. F.G. + + + + +XLV. + + +12 MARINE TERRACE, LOWESTOFT, +_February_ 19/77. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Donne has sent me the Address on the cover of this Letter. I know you +will write directly you hear from me; that is 'de rigueur' with you; and, +at any rate, you have your Voyage home to England to tell me of: and how +you find yourself and all in the Old Country. I suppose you include my +Old Ireland in it. Donne wrote that you were to be there till this +Month's end; that is drawing near; and, if that you do not protract your +Visit, you will [be] very soon within sight of dear Donne himself, who, I +hear from Mowbray, is very well. + +Your last Gossip was very interesting to me. I see in it (but not in the +most interesting part) {122a} that you write of a 'J. F.,' who tells you +of a Sister of hers having a fourth Child, etc. I fancy this must be a +Jane FitzGerald telling you of her Sister Kerrich, who would have +numbered about so many Children about that time--1831. Was it that Jane? +I think you and she were rather together just then. After which she +married herself to a Mr. Wilkinson--made him very Evangelical--and +tiresome--and so they fed their Flock in a Suffolk village. {122b} And +about fourteen or fifteen years ago he died: and she went off to live in +Florence--rather a change from the Suffolk Village--and there, I suppose, +she will die when her Time comes. + +Now you have read Harold, I suppose; and you shall tell me what you think +of it. Pollock and Miladi think it has plenty of Action and Life: one of +which Qualities I rather missed in it. + +Mr. Lowell sent me his Three Odes about Liberty, Washington, etc. They +seemed to me full of fine Thought, and in a lofty Strain: but wanting +Variety both of Mood and Diction for Odes--which are supposed to mean +things to be chanted. So I ventured to hint to him--Is he an angry man? +But he wouldn't care, knowing of me only through amiable Mr. Norton, who +knows me through you. I think _he_ must be a very amiable, modest, man. +And I am still yours always + +E. F.G. + + + + +XLVI. + + +12 MARINE TERRACE, LOWESTOFT, +_March_ 15, [1877. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +By this time you are, I suppose, at the Address you gave me, and which +will now cover this Letter. You have seen Donne, and many Friends, +perhaps--and perhaps you have not yet got to London at all. But you will +in time. When you do, you will, I think, have your time more taken up +than in America--with so many old Friends about you: so that I wish more +and more you would not feel bound to answer my Letters, one by one; but I +suppose you will. + +What I liked so much in your February Atlantic {123} was all about Goethe +and Portia: I think, _fine_ writing, in the plain sense of the word, and +partly so because not 'fine' in the other Sense. You can indeed spin out +a long Sentence of complicated Thought very easily, and very clearly; a +rare thing. As to Goethe, I made another Trial at Hayward's Prose +Translation this winter, but failed, as before, to get on with it. I +suppose there is a Screw loose in me on that point, seeing what all +thinking People think of it. I am sure I have honestly tried. As to +Portia, I still think she ought not to have proved her 'Superiority' by +withholding that simple Secret on which her Husband's Peace and his +Friend's Life depended. Your final phrase about her 'sinking into +perfection' is capital. Epigram--without Effort. + +You wrote me that Portia was your _beau-ideal_ of Womanhood {124a}--Query, +of _Lady-hood_. For she had more than 500 pounds a year, which Becky +Sharp thinks enough to be very virtuous on, and had not been tried. Would +she have done Jeanie Deans' work? She might, I believe: but was not +tried. + +I doubt all this will be rather a Bore to you: coming back to England to +find all the old topics of Shakespeare, etc., much as you left them. You +will hear wonderful things about Browning and Co.--Wagner--and H. Irving. +In a late TEMPLE BAR magazine {124b} Lady Pollock says that her Idol +Irving's Reading of Hood's Eugene Aram is such that any one among his +Audience who had a guilty secret in his Bosom 'must either tell it, or +die.' These are her words. + +You see I still linger in this ugly place: having a very dear little +Niece a little way off: a complete little 'Pocket-Muse' I call her. One +of the first Things she remembers is--_you_, in white Satin, and very +handsome, she says, reading Twelfth Night at this very place. And I am + +Yours ever +E. F.G. + +(I am now going to make out a Dictionary-list of the People in my dear +Sevigne, for my own use.) {125a} + + + + +XLVII. + + +LITTLE GRANGE: WOODBRIDGE. +_May_ 5/77. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I am disappointed at not finding any Gossip in the last Atlantic; {125b} +the Editor told us at the end of last Year that it was to be carried on +through this: perhaps you are not bound down to every month: but I hope +the links are not to discontinue for long. + +I did not mean in my last letter to allude again to myself and Co. in +recommending some omissions when you republish. {126} That--_viz._, +about myself--I was satisfied you would cut out, as we had agreed before. +(N.B. No occasion to omit your kindly Notices about my Family--nor my +own Name among them, if you like: only not all about myself.) What I +meant in my last Letter was, some of your earlier Letters--or parts of +Letters--to H.--as some from Canterbury, I think--I fancy some part of +your early Life might be condensed. But I will tell you, if you will +allow me, when the time comes: and then you can but keep to your own +plan, which you have good reason to think better than mine--though I am +very strong in Scissors and Paste: my 'Harp and Lute.' Crabbe is under +them now--as usual, once a Year. If one lived in London, or in any busy +place, all this would not be perhaps: but it hurts nobody--unless you, +who do hear too much about it. + +Last night I made my Reader begin Dickens' wonderful 'Great +Expectations': not considered one of his best, you know, but full of +wonderful things, and even with a Plot which, I think, only needed less +intricacy to be admirable. I had only just read the Book myself: but I +wanted to see what my Reader would make of it: and he was so interested +that he re-interested me too. Here is another piece of Woodbridge Life. + +Now, if when London is hot you should like to run down to this +Woodbridge, here will be my house at your Service after July. It may be +so all this month: but a Nephew, Wife, and Babe did talk of a Fortnight's +Visit: but have not talked of it since I returned a fortnight ago. June +and July my Invalid Niece and her Sister occupy the House--not longer. +Donne, and all who know me, know that I do not like anyone to come out of +their way to visit me: but, if they be coming this way, I am very glad to +do my best for them. And if any of them likes to occupy my house at any +time, here it is at their Service--at yours, for as long as you will, +except the times I have mentioned. I give up the house entirely except +my one room, which serves for Parlour and Bed: and which I really prefer, +as it reminds me of the Cabin of my dear little Ship--mine no more. + +Here is a long Story about very little. Woodbridge again. + +A Letter from Mowbray Donne told me that you had removed to some house +in--Connaught Place? {127a}--but he did not name the number. + +Valentia's wedding comes on: perhaps you will be of the Party. {127b} I +think it would be one more of Sorrow than of Gladness to me: but perhaps +that may be the case with most Bridals. + +It is very cold here: ice of nights: but my Tulips and Anemones hold up +still: and Nightingales sing. Somehow, I don't care for those latter at +Night. They ought to be in Bed like the rest of us. This seems talking +for the sake of being singular: but I have always felt it, singular or +not. + +And I am yours always + +E. F.G. + + + + +XLVIII. + + +[_June_, 1877.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I only write now on the express condition (which I understand you to +accept) that you will not reply till you are in Switzerland. I mean, of +course, within any reasonable time. Your last Letter is not a happy one +*: but the record of your first Memoir cannot fail to interest and touch +me. + +I surmise--for you do not say so--that you are alone in London now: then, +you must get away as soon as you can; and I shall be very glad to hear +from yourself that you are in some green Swiss Valley, with a blue Lake +before you, and snowy mountain above. + +I must tell you that, my Nieces being here--good, pious, and tender, they +are too--(but one of them an Invalid, and the other devoted to attend +her) they make but little change in my own way of Life. They live by +themselves, and I only see them now and then in the Garden--sometimes not +five minutes in the Day. But then I am so long used to Solitude. And +there is an end of that Chapter. + +I have your Gossip bound up: the binder backed it with Black, which I +don't like (it was his doing, not mine), but you say that your own only +Suit is Sables now. I am going to lend it to a very admirable Lady who +is going to our ugly Sea-side, with a sick Brother: only I have pasted +over one column--_which_, I leave you to guess at. + +I think I never told you--what is the fact, however--that I had wished to +dedicate Agamemnon to you, but thought I could not do so without my own +name appended. Whereas, I could, very simply, as I saw afterwards when +too late. If ever he is reprinted I shall (unless you forbid) do as I +desired to do: for, if for no other reason, he would probably never have +been published but for you. Perhaps he had better [have] remained in +private Life so far as England is concerned. And so much for that grand +Chapter. + +I think it is an ill-omened Year: beside War (which I _won't_ read about) +so much Illness and Death--hereabout, at any rate. A Nephew of mine--a +capital fellow--was pitched upon his head from a Gig a week ago, and we +know not yet how far that head of his may recover itself. But, beside +one's own immediate Friends, I hear of Sickness and Death from further +Quarters; and our Church Bell has been everlastingly importunate with its +"Toll-toll." But Farewell for the present: pray do as I ask you about +writing: and believe me ever yours, + +E. F.G. + +* You were thinking of something else when you misdirected your letter, +which sent it a round before reaching Woodbridge. + + + + +XLIX. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _June_ 23/77. + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I knew the best thing I could do concerning the Book you wanted was to +send your Enquiry to the Oracle itself:--whose Reply I herewith enclose. + +Last Evening I heard read Jeanie Deans' Audience with Argyle, and then +with the Queen. There I stop with the Book. Oh, how refreshing is the +leisurely, easy, movement of the Story, with its true, and +well-harmonized Variety of Scene and Character! There is of course a +Bore--Saddletree--as in Shakespeare. I presume to think--as in +Cervantes--as in Life itself: somewhat too much of him in Scott, perhaps. +But when the fuliginous and Spasmodic Carlyle and Co. talk of Scott's +delineating his Characters from without to within {131a}--why, he seems +to have had a pretty good Staple of the inner Man of David, and Jeanie +Deans, on beginning his Story; as of the Antiquary, Dalgetty, the +Ashtons, and a lot more. I leave all but the Scotch Novels. Madge has a +little--a wee bit--theatrical about her: but I think her to be paired off +with Ophelia, and worth all Miss Austen's Drawing-room Respectabilities +put together. It is pretty what Barry Cornwall says on meeting Scott +among other Authors at Rogers': 'I do not think any one envied him any +more than one envies Kings.' {131b} You have done him honour in your +Gossip: as one ought to do in these latter Days. + +So this will be my last letter to you till you write me from Switzerland: +where I wish you to be as soon as possible. And am yours always and +sincerely + +E. F.G. + +A Letter from Donne speaks cheerfully. And Charles to be married again! +It may be best for him. + + + + +L. + + +31, GREAT GEORGE STREET, S.W. +_Feb._ 20, 1878. + +DEAR EDWARD FITZGERALD, + +I have sent your book ('Mrs. Kemble's Autobiography') as far as Bealings +by a safe convoy, and my cousin, Elizabeth Phillips, who is staying +there, will ultimately convey it to its destination at your house. + +It afforded Charlotte [wife] and myself several evenings of very +agreeable reading, and we certainly were impressed most favourably with +new views as to the qualities of heart and head of the writer. Some +observations were far beyond what her years would have led one to expect. +I think some letters to her friend 'S.' on the strange fancy which +hurried off her brother from taking orders, to fighting Spanish quarrels, +are very remarkable for their good sense, as well as warm feeling. Her +energy too in accepting her profession at the age of twenty as a means of +assisting her father to overcome his difficulties is indicative of the +best form of genius--steady determination to an end. + +Curiously enough, whilst reading the book, we met Mrs. Gordon (a daughter +of Mrs. Sartoris) and her husband at Malkin's at dinner, and I had the +pleasure of sitting next to her. The durability of type in the Kemble +face might be a matter for observation with physiologists, and from the +little I saw of her I should think the lady worthy of the family. + +If the book be issued in a reprint a few omissions might be well. I fear +we lost however by some lacunae which you had caused by covering up a +page or two. + +Charlotte unites with me in kindest regards to yourself + +Yours very sincerely, +HATHERLEY. + +E. FITZGERALD, ESQ. + +I send this to you, dear Mrs. Kemble, not because the writer is a Lord--Ex- +Chancellor--but a very good, amiable, and judicious man. I should have +sent you any other such testimony, had not all but this been oral, only +this one took away the Book, and thus returns it. I had forgot to ask +about the Book; oh, make Bentley do it; if any other English Publisher +should meditate doing so, he surely will apprise you; and you can have +some Voice in it. + +Ever yours +E. F.G. + +No need to return, or acknowledge, the Letter. + + + + +LI. + + +LITTLE GRANGE: WOODBRIDGE. +_February_ 22, [1878.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I am calling on you earlier than usual, I think. In my 'Academy' {134a} +I saw mention of some Notes on Mrs. Siddons in some article of this +month's 'Fortnightly' {134b}--as I thought. So I bought the Number, but +can find no Siddons there. You probably know about it; and will tell me? + +If you have not already read--_buy_ Keats' Love-Letters to Fanny Brawne. +One wishes she had another name; and had left some other Likeness of +herself than the Silhouette (cut out by Scissors, I fancy) which dashes +one's notion of such a Poet's worship. But one knows what +misrepresentations such Scissors make. I had--perhaps have--one of +Alfred Tennyson, done by an Artist on a Steamboat--some thirty years ago; +which, though not inaccurate of outline, gave one the idea of a +respectable Apprentice. {134c} But Keats' Letters--It happened that, +just before they reached me, I had been hammering out some admirable +Notes on Catullus {135a}--another such fiery Soul who perished about +thirty years of age two thousand years ago; and I scarce felt a change +from one to other. {135b} From Catullus' better parts, I mean; for there +is too much of filthy and odious--both of Love and Hate. Oh, my dear +Virgil never fell into that: he was fit to be Dante's companion beyond +even Purgatory. + +I have just had a nice letter from Mr. Norton in America: an amiable, +modest man surely he must be. His aged Mother has been ill: fallen +indeed into some half-paralysis: affecting her Speech principally. He +says nothing of Mr. Lowell; to whom I would write if I did not suppose he +was very busy with his Diplomacy, and his Books, in Spain. I hope he +will give us a Cervantes, in addition to the Studies in his 'Among my +Books,' which seem to me, on the whole, the most conclusive Criticisms we +have on their several subjects. + +Do you ever see Mrs. Ritchie? Fred. Tennyson wrote me that Alfred's son +(Lionel, the younger, I suppose) was to be married in Westminster Abbey: +which Fred, thinks an ambitious flight of Mrs. A. T. + +I may as well stop in such Gossip. Snowdrops and Crocuses out: I have +not many, for what I had have been buried under an overcoat of Clay, poor +little Souls. Thrushes tuning up; and I hope my old Blackbirds have not +forsaken me, or fallen a prey to Cats. + +And I am ever yours +E. F.G. + + + + +LII. + + +THE OLD (CURIOSITY) SHOP. WOODBRIDGE, +_April_ 16, [1878.] + +[Where, by the by, I heard the Nightingale for the first time yesterday +Morning. That is, I believe, almost its exact date of return, wind and +weather permitting. Which being premised--] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I think it is about the time for you to have a letter from me; for I +think I am nearly as punctual as the Nightingale, though at quicker +Intervals; and perhaps there may be other points of Unlikeness. After +hearing that first Nightingale in my Garden, I found a long, kind, and +pleasant, Letter from Mr. Lowell in Madrid: the first of him too that I +have heard since he flew thither. Just before he wrote, he says, he had +been assigning Damages to some American who complained of having been fed +too long on Turtle's Eggs {136}:--and all that sort of Business, says the +Minister, does not inspire a man to Letter-writing. He is acclimatizing +himself to Cervantes, about whom he must write one of his fine, and (as I +think) final Essays: I mean such as (in the case of others he has done) +ought to leave no room for a reversal of Judgment. Amid the multitude of +Essays, Reviews, etc., one still wants _that_: and I think Lowell does it +more than any other Englishman. He says he meets Velasquez at every turn +of the street; and Murillo's Santa Anna opens his door for him. Things +are different here: but when my Oracle last night was reading to me of +Dandie Dinmont's blessed visit to Bertram in Portanferry Gaol, I said--'I +know it's Dandie, and I shouldn't be at all surprized to see him come +into this room.' No--no more than--Madame de Sevigne! I suppose it is +scarce right to live so among Shadows; but--after near seventy years so +passed--'Que voulez-vous?' + +Still, if any Reality would--of its own Volition--draw near to my still +quite substantial Self; I say that my House (if the Spring do not prove +unkindly) will be ready to receive--and the owner also--any time before +June, and after July; that is, before Mrs. Kemble goes to the Mountains, +and after she returns from them. I dare say no more, after so much so +often said, and all about oneself. + +Yesterday the Nightingale; and To-day a small, still, Rain which we had +hoped for, to make 'poindre' the Flower-seeds we put in Earth last +Saturday. All Sunday my white Pigeons were employed in confiscating the +Sweet Peas we had laid there; so that To-day we have to sow the same +anew. + +I think a Memoir of Alfred de Musset, by his Brother, well worth reading. +{138a} I don't say the best, but only to myself the most acceptable of +modern French Poets; and, as I judge, a fine fellow--of the moral French +type (I suppose some of the Shadow is left out of the Sketch), but of a +Soul quite abhorrent from modern French Literature--from V. Hugo (I +think) to E. Sue (I am sure). He loves to read--Clarissa! which reminded +me of Tennyson, some forty years ago, saying to me _a propos_ of that +very book, 'I love those large, _still_, Books.' During a long Illness +of A. de M. a Sister of the Bon Secours attended him: and, when she left, +gave him a Pen worked in coloured Silks, 'Pensez a vos promesses,' as +also a little 'amphore' she had knitted. Seventeen years (I think) +after, when his last Illness came on him, he desired these two things to +be enclosed in his Coffin. {138b} + +And I am ever yours +E. F.G. + + + + +LIII. + + +DUNWICH: _August_ 24, [1878.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I forget if I wrote to you from this solitary Seaside, last year: telling +you of its old Priory walls, etc. I think you must have been in +Switzerland when I was here; however, I'll not tell you the little there +is to tell about it now; for, beside that I may have told it all before, +this little lodging furnishes only a steel pen, and very diluted ink (as +you see), and so, for your own sake, I will be brief. Indeed, my chief +object in writing at all, is, to ask when you go abroad, and how you have +done at Malvern since last I heard from you--now a month ago, I think. + +About the beginning of next week I shall be leaving this place--for good, +I suppose--for the two friends--Man and Wife--who form my Company here, +living a long musket shot off, go away--he in broken health--and would +leave the place too solitary without them. So I suppose I shall decamp +along with them; and, after some time spent at Lowestoft, find my way +back to Woodbridge--in time to see the End of the Flowers, and to prepare +what is to be done in that way for another Year. + +And to Woodbridge your Answer may be directed, if this poor Letter of +mine reaches you, and you should care to answer it--as you will--oh yes, +you will--were it much less significant. + +I have been rather at a loss for Books while here, Mudie having sent me a +lot I did not care for--not even for Lady Chatterton. Aldis Wright gave +me his Edition of Coriolanus to read; and I did not think '_pow wow_' of +it, as Volumnia says. All the people were talking about me. + +And I am ever yours truly +E. F.G. + + + + +LIV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _April_ 3/79. + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:-- + +I know well how exact you are in answering Letters; and I was afraid that +you must be in some trouble, for yourself, or others, when I got no reply +to a second Letter I wrote you addressed to Baltimore Hotel, +Leamington--oh, two months ago. When you last wrote to me, you were +there, with a Cough, which you were just going to take with you to Guy's +Cliff. That I thought not very prudent, in the weather we then had. Then +I was told by some one, in a letter (not from any Donne, I think--no, +Annie Ritchie, I believe) that Mrs. Sartoris was very ill; and so between +two probable troubles, I would not trouble you as yet again. I had to go +to London for a day three weeks ago (to see a poor fellow dying, sooner +or later, of Brain disease), and I ferreted out Mowbray Donne from +Somerset House and he told me you were in London, still ill of a Cough; +but not your Address. So I wrote to his Wife a few days ago to learn it; +and I shall address this Letter accordingly. Mrs. Mowbray writes that +you are better, but obliged to take care of yourself. I can only say 'do +not trouble yourself to write'--but I suppose you will--perhaps the more +if it be a trouble. See what an Opinion I have of you!--If you write, +pray tell me of Mrs. Sartoris--and do not forget yourself. + +It has been such a mortal Winter among those I know, or know of, as I +never remember. I have not suffered myself, further than, I think, +feeling a few stronger hints of a constitutional sort, which are, I +suppose, to assert themselves ever more till they do for me. And that, I +suppose, cannot be long adoing. I entered on my 71st year last Monday, +March 31. + +My elder--and now only--Brother, John, has been shut up with Doctor and +Nurse these two months--AEt. 76; his Wife AEt. 80 all but dead awhile +ago, now sufficiently recovered to keep her room in tolerable ease: I do +not know if my Brother will ever leave his house. + +Oh dear! Here is enough of Mortality. + +I see your capital Book is in its third Edition, as well it deserves to +be. I _see_ no one with whom to talk about it, except one brave Woman +who comes over here at rare intervals--she had read my Atlantic Copy, but +must get Bentley's directly it appeared, and she (a woman of remarkably +strong and independent Judgment) loves it all--not (as some you know) +wishing some of it away. No; she says she wants all to complete her +notion of the writer. Nor have I _heard_ of any one who thinks +otherwise: so 'some people' may be wrong. I know you do not care about +all this. + +I am getting my 'Tales of the Hall' printed, and shall one day ask you, +and three or four beside, whether it had better be published. I think +you, and those three or four others, will like it; but they may also +judge that indifferent readers might not. And that you will all of you +have to tell me when the thing is done. I shall not be in the least +disappointed if you tell me to keep it among 'ourselves,' so long as +'ourselves' are pleased; for I know well that Publication would not carry +it much further abroad; and I am very well content to pay my money for +the little work which I have long meditated doing. I shall have done 'my +little owl.' Do you know what that means?--No. Well then; my +Grandfather had several Parrots of different sorts and Talents: one of +them ('Billy,' I think) could only huff up his feathers in what my +Grandfather called an owl fashion; so when Company were praising the more +gifted Parrots, he would say--'You will hurt poor Billy's feelings--Come! +Do your little owl, my dear!'--You are to imagine a handsome, +hair-powdered, Gentleman doing this--and his Daughter--my Mother--telling +of it. + +And so it is I do my little owl. + +This little folly takes a long bit of my Letter paper--and I do not know +that you will see any fun in it. Like my Book, it would not tell in +Public. + +Spedding reads my proofs--for, though I have confidence in my Selection +of the Verse (owl), I have but little in my interpolated Prose, which I +make obscure in trying to make short. Spedding occasionally marks a +blunder; but (confound him!) generally leaves me to correct it. + +Come--here is more than enough of my little owl. At night we read Sir +Walter for an Hour (Montrose just now) by way of 'Play'--then 'ten +minutes' refreshment allowed'--and the Curtain rises on Dickens +(Copperfield now) which sends me gaily to bed--after one Pipe of solitary +Meditation--in which the--'little owl,' etc. + +By the way, in talking of Plays--after sitting with my poor friend and +his brave little Wife till it was time for him to turn bedward--I looked +in at the famous Lyceum Hamlet; and soon had looked, and heard enough. It +was incomparably the worst I had ever witnessed, from Covent Garden down +to a Country Barn. I should scarce say this to you if I thought you had +seen it; for you told me you thought Irving might have been even a great +Actor, from what you saw of his Louis XI. I think. When he got to +'Something too much of this,' I called out from the Pit door where I +stood, 'A good deal too much,' and not long after returned to my solitary +inn. Here is a very long--and, I believe (as owls go) a rather pleasant +Letter. You know you are not bound to repay it in length, even if you +answer it at all; which I again vainly ask you not to do if a bore. + +I hear from Mrs. Mowbray that our dear Donne is but 'pretty well'; and I +am still yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +LV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _April_ 25, [1879.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I think I have let sufficient time elapse before asking you for another +Letter. I want to know how you are: and, if you can tell me that you are +as well as you and I now expect to be--anyhow, well rid of that Whooping +Cough--that will be news enough for one Letter. What else, you shall add +of your own free will:--not feeling bound. + +When you last wrote me from Leamington, you crossed over your Address: +and I (thinking perhaps of America) deciphered it 'Baltimore.' I wonder +the P. O. did not return me my Letter: but there was no Treason in it, I +dare say. + +My Brother keeps waiting--and hoping--for--Death: which will not come: +perhaps Providence would have let it come sooner, were he not rich enough +to keep a Doctor in the house, to keep him in Misery. I don't know if I +told you in my last that he was ill; seized on by a Disease not uncommon +to old Men--an 'internal Disorder' it is polite to say; but I shall say +to you, disease of the Bladder. I had always supposed he would be found +dead one good morning, as my Mother was--as I hoped to be--quietly dead +of the Heart which he had felt for several Years. But no; it is seen +good that he shall be laid on the Rack--which he may feel the more keenly +as he never suffered Pain before, and is not of a strong Nerve. I will +say no more of this. The funeral Bell, which has been at work, as I +never remember before, all this winter, is even now, as I write, tolling +from St. Mary's Steeple. + +'Parlons d'autres choses,' as my dear Sevigne says. + +I--We--have finished all Sir Walter's Scotch Novels; and I thought I +would try an English one: Kenilworth--a wonderful Drama, which Theatre, +Opera, and Ballet (as I once saw it represented) may well reproduce. The +Scene at Greenwich, where Elizabeth 'interviews' Sussex and Leicester, +seemed to me as fine as what is called (I am told, wrongly) Shakespeare's +Henry VIII. {145} Of course, plenty of melodrama in most other +parts:--but the Plot wonderful. + +Then--after Sir Walter--Dickens' Copperfield, which came to an end last +night because I would not let my Reader read the last Chapter. What a +touch when Peggotty--the man--at last finds the lost Girl, and--throws a +handkerchief over her face when he takes her to his arms--never to leave +her! I maintain it--a little Shakespeare--a Cockney Shakespeare, if you +will: but as distinct, if not so great, a piece of pure Genius as was +born in Stratford. Oh, I am quite sure of that, had I to choose but one +of them, I would choose Dickens' hundred delightful Caricatures rather +than Thackeray's half-dozen terrible Photographs. + +In Michael Kelly's Reminiscences {146} (quite worth reading about +Sheridan) I found that, on January 22, 1802, was produced at Drury Lane +an Afterpiece called _Urania_, by the Honourable W. Spencer, in which +'the scene of Urania's descent was entirely new to the stage, and +produced an extraordinary effect.' Hence then the Picture which my poor +Brother sent you to America. + +'D'autres choses encore.' You may judge, I suppose, by the N.E. wind in +London what it has been hereabout. Scarce a tinge of Green on the +hedgerows; scarce a Bird singing (only once the Nightingale, with broken +Voice), and no flowers in the Garden but the brave old Daffydowndilly, +and Hyacinth--which I scarce knew was so hardy. I am quite pleased to +find how comfortably they do in my Garden, and look so Chinese gay. Two +of my dear Blackbirds have I found dead--of Cold and Hunger, I suppose; +but one is even now singing--across that Funeral Bell. This is so, as I +write, and tell you--Well: we have Sunshine at last--for a day--'thankful +for small Blessings,' etc. + +I think I have felt a little sadder since March 31 that shut my +seventieth Year behind me, while my Brother was--in some such way as I +shall be if I live two or three years longer--'Parlons d'autres'--that I +am still able to be sincerely yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +LVI. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _May_ 18, [1879.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +By this Post you ought to receive my Crabbe Book, about which I want your +Opinion--not as to your own liking, which I doubt not will be more than +it deserves: but about whether it is best confined to Friends, who will +like it, as you do, more or less out of private prejudice--Two points in +particular I want you to tell me; + +(1) Whether the Stories generally seem to you to be curtailed so much +that they do not leave any such impression as in the Original. That is +too long and tiresome; but (as in Richardson) its very length serves to +impress it on the mind:--My Abstract is, I doubt not, more readable: but, +on that account partly, leaving but a wrack behind. What I have done +indeed is little else than one of the old Review Articles, which gave a +sketch of the work, and let the author fill in with his better work. + +Well then I want to know--(2) if you find the present tense of my Prose +Narrative discordant with the past tense of the text. I adopted it +partly by way of further discriminating the two: but I may have +misjudged: Tell me: as well as any other points that strike you. You can +tell me if you will--and I wish you would--whether I had better keep the +little _Opus_ to ourselves or let it take its chance of getting a few +readers in public. You may tell me this very plainly, I am sure; and I +shall be quite as well pleased to keep it unpublished. It is only a +very, very, little Job, you see: requiring only a little Taste, and Tact: +and if they have failed me--_Voila_! I had some pleasure in doing my +little work very dexterously, I thought; and I did wish to draw a few +readers to one of my favourite Books which nobody reads. And, now that I +look over it, I fancy that I may have missed my aim--only that my Friends +will like, etc. Then, I should have to put some Preface to the Public: +and explain how many omissions, and some transpositions, have occasioned +the change here and there of some initial particle where two originally +separated paragraphs are united; some use made of Crabbe's original MS. +(quoted in the Son's Edition;) and all such confession to no good, either +for my Author or me. I wish you could have just picked up the Book at a +Railway Stall, knowing nothing of your old Friend's hand in it. But that +cannot be; tell me then, divesting yourself of all personal Regard: and +you may depend upon it you will--save me some further bother, if you bid +me let publishing alone. I don't even know of a Publisher: and won't +have a favour done me by 'ere a one of them,' as Paddies say. This is a +terrible Much Ado about next to Nothing. 'Parlons,' etc. + +Blanche Donne wrote me you had been calling in Weymouth Street: that you +had been into Hampshire, and found Mrs. Sartoris better--Dear Donne seems +to have been pleased and mended by his Children coming about him. I say +but little of my Brother's Death. {149} We were very good friends, of +very different ways of thinking; I had not been within side his lawn +gates (three miles off) these dozen years (no fault of his), and I did +not enter them at his Funeral--which you will very likely--and +properly--think wrong. He had suffered considerably for some weeks: but, +as he became weaker, and (I suppose) some narcotic Medicine--O blessed +Narcotic!--soothed his pains, he became dozily happy. The Day before he +died, he opened his Bed-Clothes, as if it might be his Carriage Door, and +said to his Servant 'Come--Come inside--I am going to meet them.' + +Voila une petite Histoire. Et voila bien assez de mes Egoismes. Adieu, +Madame; dites-moi tout franchement votre opinion sur ce petit Livre; ah! +vous n'en pouvez parler autrement qu'avec toute franchise--et croyez moi, +tout aussi franchement aussi, + +Votre ami devoue +E. F.G. + + + + +LVII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _May_ 22, [1879.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I must thank you for your letter; I was, beforehand, much of your +Opinion; and, unless I hear very different advice from the two others +whom I have consulted--Spedding, the All-wise--(I mean that), and Aldis +Wright, experienced in the Booksellers' world, I shall very gladly abide +by your counsel--and my own. You (I do believe) and a few friends who +already know Crabbe, will not be the worse for this 'Handybook' of one of +his most diffuse, but (to me) most agreeable, Books. That name +(Handybook), indeed, I had rather thought of calling the Book, rather +than 'Readings'--which suggests readings aloud, whether private or +public--neither of which I intended--simply, Readings to oneself. I, who +am a poor reader in any way, have found it all but impossible to read +Crabbe to anybody. So much for that--except that, the Portrait I had +prepared by way of frontispiece turns out to be an utter failure, and +that is another satisfactory reason for not publishing. For I +particularly wanted this Portrait, copied from a Picture by Pickersgill +which was painted in 1817, when these Tales were a-writing, to correct +the Phillips Portrait done in the same year, and showing Crabbe with his +company Look--not insincere at all--but not at all representing the +_writer_. When Tennyson saw Laurence's Copy of this Pickersgill--here, +at my house here--he said--'There I recognise the Man.' + +If you were not the truly sincere woman you are, I should have thought +that you threw in those good words about my other little Works by way of +salve for your _dictum_ on this Crabbe. But I know it is not so. I +cannot think what 'rebuke' I gave you to 'smart under' as you say. {151a} + +If you have never read Charles Tennyson (Turner's) Sonnets, I should like +to send them to you to read. They are not to be got now: and I have +entreated Spedding to republish them with Macmillan, with such a preface +of his own--congenial Critic and Poet--as would discover these Violets +now modestly hidden under the rank Vegetation of Browning, Swinburne, and +Co. Some of these Sonnets have a Shakespeare fancy in them:--some rather +puerile--but the greater part of them, pure, delicate, beautiful, and +quite original. {151b} I told Mr. Norton (America) to get them published +over the water if no one will do so here. + +Little did I think that I should ever come to relish--old Sam Rogers! But +on taking him up the other day (with Stothard's Designs, to be sure!) I +found a sort of Repose from the hatchet-work School, of which I read in +the Athenaeum. + +I like, you know, a good Murder; but in its place-- + + 'The charge is prepared; the Lawyers are met-- + The Judges all ranged, a terrible Show' {152}-- + +only the other night I could not help reverting to that sublime--yes!--of +Thurtell, sending for his accomplice Hunt, who had saved himself by +denouncing Thurtell--sending for him to pass the night before Execution +with perfect Forgiveness--Handshaking--and 'God bless you--God bless +you--you couldn't help it--I hope you'll live to be a good man.' + +You accept--and answer--my Letters very kindly: but this--pray do +think--is an answer--verily by return of Post--to yours. + +Here is Summer! The leaves suddenly shaken out like flags. I am +preparing for Nieces, and perhaps for my Sister Andalusia--who used to +visit my Brother yearly. + +Your sincere Ancient +E. F.G. + + + + +LVIII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _August_ 4, [1879]. + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE: + +Two or three days, I think, after receiving your last letter, I posted an +answer addrest to the Poste Restante of--Lucerne, was it?--anyhow, the +town whose name you gave me, and no more. Now, I will venture through +Coutts, unwilling as I am to trouble their Highnesses--with whom my +Family have banked for three--if not four--Generations. Otherwise, I do +not think they would be troubled with my Accounts, which they attend to +as punctually as if I were 'my Lord;' and I am now their last Customer of +my family, I believe, though I doubt not they have several Dozens of my +Name in their Books--for Better or Worse. + +What now spurs me to write is--an Article {153} I have seen in a Number +of Macmillan for February, with very honourable mention of your Brother +John in an Introductory Lecture on Anglo Saxon, by Professor Skeat. If +you have not seen this 'Hurticle' (as Thackeray used to say) I should +like to send it to you; and will so do, if you will but let me know where +it may find you. + +I have not been away from this place save for a Day or two since last you +heard from me. In a fortnight I may be going to Lowestoft along with my +friends the Cowells. + +I take great Pleasure in Hawthorne's Journals--English, French, and +Italian--though I cannot read his Novels. They are too thickly detailed +for me: and of unpleasant matter too. We of the Old World beat the New, +I think, in a more easy manner; though Browning & Co. do not bear me out +there. And I am sincerely yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +LIX. + + +LOWESTOFT, _Septr._ l8, [1879.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Your last letter told me that you were to be back in England by the +middle of this month. So I write some lines to ask if you _are_ back, +and where to be found. To be sure, I can learn that much from some +Donne: to the Father of whom I must commit this letter for any further +Direction. But I will also say a little--very little having to +say--beyond asking you how you are, and in what Spirits after the great +Loss you have endured. {154} + +Of that Loss I heard from Blanche Donne--some while, it appears, before +you heard of it yourself. I cannot say that it was surprising, however +sad, considering the terrible Illness she had some fifteen years ago. I +will say no more of it, nor of her, of whom I could say so much; but +nothing that would not be more than superfluous to you. + +It did so happen, that, the day before I heard of her Death, I had +thought to myself that I would send her my Crabbe, as to my other +friends, and wondered that I had not done so before. I should have sent +off the Volume for Donne to transmit when--Blanche's Note came. + +After writing of this, I do not think I should add much more, had I much +else to write about. I will just say that I came to this place five +weeks ago to keep company with my friend Edward Cowell, the Professor; we +read Don Quixote together in a morning and chatted for two or three hours +of an evening; and now he is gone away to Cambridge and [has] left me to +my Nephews and Nieces here. By the month's end I shall be home at +Woodbridge, whither any Letter you may please to write me may be +addressed. + +I try what I am told are the best Novels of some years back, but find I +cannot read any but Trollope's. So now have recourse to Forster's Life +of Dickens--a very good Book, I still think. Also, Eckermann's +Goethe--almost as repeatedly to be read as Boswell's Johnson--a German +Johnson--and (as with Boswell) more interesting to me in Eckermann's +Diary than in all his own famous works. + +Adieu: Ever yours sincerely +E. F.G. + +I am daily--hourly--expecting to hear of the Death of another Friend +{155}--not so old a Friend, but yet a great loss to me. + + + + +LX. + + +11 MARINE TERRACE, LOWESTOFT, +_Septr._ 24, [1879 ] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I was to have been at Woodbridge before this: and your Letter only +reached me here yesterday. I have thought upon your desire to see me as +an old Friend of yourself and yours; and you shall not have the trouble +of saying so in vain. I should indeed be perplext at the idea of your +coming all this way for such a purpose, to be shut up at an Hotel with no +one to look in on you but myself (for you would not care for my Kindred +here)--and my own Woodbridge House would require a little time to set in +order, as I have for the present lost the services of one of my 'helps' +there. What do you say to my going to London to see you instead of your +coming down to see me? I should anyhow have to go to London soon; and I +could make my going sooner, or as soon as you please. Not but, if you +want to get out of London, as well as to see me, I can surely get my +house right in a little time, and will gladly do so, should you prefer +it. I hope, indeed, that you will not stay in London at this time of +year, when so many friends are out of it; and it has been my thought--and +hope, I may say--that you have already betaken yourself to some pleasant +place, with a pleasant Friend or two, which now keeps me from going at +once to look for you in London, after a few Adieus here. Pray let me +know your wishes by return of Post: and I will do my best to meet them +immediately: being + +Ever sincerely yours +E. F.G. + + + + +LXI. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Sept._ 28, [1879.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:-- + +I cannot be sure of your Address: but I venture a note--to say that--If +you return to London on Wednesday, I shall certainly run up (the same +day, if I can) to see you before you again depart on Saturday, as your +letter proposes. {157} + +But I also write to beg you not to leave your Daughter for ever so short +a while, simply because you had so arranged, and told me of your +Arrangement. + +If this Note of mine reach you somehow to morrow, there will be plenty of +time for you to let me know whether you go or not: and, even if there be +not time before Wednesday, why, I shall take no harm in so far as I +really have a very little to do, and moreover shall see a poor Lady who +has just lost her husband, after nearly three years anxious and uncertain +watching, and now finds herself (brave and strong little Woman) somewhat +floored now the long conflict is over. These are the people I may have +told you of whom I have for some years met here and there in +Suffolk--chiefly by the Sea; and we somehow suited one another. {158} He +was a brave, generous, Boy (of sixty) with a fine Understanding, and +great Knowledge and Relish of Books: but he had applied too late in Life +to Painting which he could not master, though he made it his Profession. +A remarkable mistake, I always thought, in so sensible a man. + +Whether I find you next week, or afterward (for I promise to find you any +time you appoint) I hope to find you alone--for twenty years' Solitude +make me very shy: but always your sincere + +E. F.G. + + + + +LXII. + + +LITTLE GRANGE: WOODBRIDGE. _October_ 7, [1879] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +When I got home yesterday, and emptied my Pockets, I found the precious +Enclosure which I had meant to show, and (if you pleased) to give you. A +wretched Sketch (whether by me or another, I know not) of your Brother +John in some Cambridge Room, about the year 1832-3, when he and I were +staying there, long after Degree time--he, studying Anglo-Saxon, I +suppose--reading something, you see, with a glass of Ale on the table--or +old Piano-forte was it?--to which he would sing very well his German +Songs. Among them, + +{Music Score: p159.jpg} + +Do you remember? I afterwards associated it with some stray verses +applicable to one I loved. + + 'Heav'n would answer all your wishes, + Were it much as Earth is here; + Flowing Rivers full of Fishes, + And good Hunting half the Year.' + +Well:--here is the cause of this Letter, so soon after our conversing +together, face to face, in Queen Anne's Mansions. A strange little After- +piece to twenty years' Separation. + +And now, here are the Sweet Peas, and Marigolds, sown in the Spring, +still in a faded Blossom, and the Spirit that Tennyson told us of fifty +years ago haunting the Flower-beds, {160} and a Robin singing--nobody +else. + +And I am to lose my capital Reader, he tells me, in a Fortnight, no Book- +binding surviving under the pressure of Bad Times in little Woodbridge. +'My dear Fitz, there is no Future for little Country towns,' said Pollock +to me when he came here some years ago. + +But my Banker here found the Bond which he had considered unnecessary, +safe in his Strong Box:--and I am your sincere Ancient + +E. F.G. + +Burn the poor Caricature if offensive to you. The 'Alexander' profile +was become somewhat tarnished then. + + + + +LXIII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Oct._ 27, [1879.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I am glad to think that my Regard for you and yours, which I know to be +sincere, is of some pleasure to you. Till I met you last in London, I +thought you had troops of Friends at call; I had not reflected that by +far the greater number of them could not be Old Friends; and those you +cling to, I feel, with constancy. + +I and my company (viz. Crabbe, etc.) could divert you but little until +your mind is at rest about Mrs. Leigh. I shall not even now write more +than to say that a Letter from Mowbray, which tells of the kind way you +received him and his Brother, says also that his Father is well, and +expects Valentia and Spouse in November. + +This is all I will write. You will let me know by a line, I think, when +that which you wait for has come to pass. A Post Card with a few words +on it will suffice. + +You cross over your Address (as usual) but I do my best to find you. + +Ever yours +E. F.G. + + + + +LXIV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Octr._ [? _Nov._] 4/79. + +MY DEAR LADY:-- + +I need not tell you that I am very glad of the news your note of Sunday +tells me: and I take it as a pledge of old Regard that you told it me so +soon: even but an hour after that other Kemble was born. {161} + +I know not if the short letter which I addressed to 4 Everton Place, +Leamington (as I read it in your former Letter), reached you. Whatever +the place be called, I expect you are still there; and there will be for +some time longer. As there may be some anxiety for some little time, I +shall not enlarge as usual on other matters; if I do not hear from you, I +shall conclude that all is going on well, and shall write again. +Meanwhile, I address this Letter to London, you see, to make sure of you +this time: and am ever yours sincerely + +E. F.G. + +By the by, I think the time is come when, if you like me well enough, you +may drop my long Surname, except for the external Address of your letter. +It may seem, but is not, affectation to say that it is a name I dislike; +{162} for one reason, it has really caused me some confusion and trouble +with other more or less Irish bodies, being as common in Ireland as +'Smith,' etc., here--and particularly with 'Edward'--I suppose because of +the patriot Lord who bore [it]. I should not, even if I made bold to +wish so to do, propose to treat you in the same fashion; inasmuch as I +like your Kemble name, which has become as it were classical in England. + + + + +LXV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Nov._ 13/79. + +MY DEAR LADY, + +Now that your anxieties are, as I hope, over, and that you are returned, +as I suppose, to London, I send you a budget. First: the famous +_Belvidere Hat_; which I think you ought to stick into your Records. +{163a} Were I a dozen years younger, I should illustrate all the Book in +such a way; but, as my French song says, 'Le Temps est trop court pour de +si longs projets.' + +Next, you behold a Photo of Carlyle's Niece, which he bid her send me two +or three years ago in one of her half-yearly replies to my Enquiries. +What a shrewd, tidy, little Scotch Body! Then you have her last letter, +telling of her Uncle, and her married Self, and thanking me for a little +Wedding gift which I told her was bought from an Ipswich Pawnbroker +{163b}--a very good, clever fellow, who reads Carlyle, and comes over +here now and then for a talk with me. Mind, when you return me the +Photo, that you secure it around with your Letter paper, that the Postman +may not stamp into it. Perhaps this trouble is scarce worth giving you. + +'Clerke Sanders' has been familiar to me these fifty years almost; since +Tennyson used to repeat it, and 'Helen of Kirkconnel,' at some Cambridge +gathering. At that time he looked something like the Hyperion shorn of +his Beams in Keats' Poem: with a Pipe in his mouth. Afterwards he got a +touch, I used to say, of Haydon's Lazarus. Talking of Keats, do not +forget to read Lord Houghton's Life and Letters of him: in which you will +find what you may not have guessed from his Poetry (though almost +unfathomably deep in that also) the strong, masculine, Sense and Humour, +etc., of the man more akin to Shakespeare, I am tempted to think, in a +perfect circle of Poetic Faculties, than any Poet since. + +Well: the Leaves which hung on more bravely than ever I remember are at +last whirling away in a Cromwell Hurricane--(not quite that, neither)--and +my old Man says he thinks Winter has set in at last. We cannot complain +hitherto. Many summer flowers held out in my Garden till a week ago, +when we dug up the Beds in order for next year. So now little but the +orange Marigold, which I love for its colour (Irish and Spanish) and +Courage, in living all Winter through. Within doors, I am again at my +everlasting Crabbe! doctoring his Posthumous Tales _a la mode_ of those +of 'The Hall,' to finish a Volume of simple 'Selections' from his other +works: all which I will leave to be used, or not, whenever old Crabbe +rises up again: which will not be in the Lifetime of yours ever + +E. F.G. + +I dared not decypher all that Mrs. Wister wrote in my behalf--because I +knew it must be sincere! Would she care for my Eternal Crabbe? + + + + +LXVI. + + +[_Nov._ 1879.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I must say a word upon a word in your last which really pains me--about +yours and Mrs. Wister's sincerity, etc. Why, I do most thoroughly +believe in both; all I meant was that, partly from your own old personal +regard for me, and hers, perhaps inherited from you, you may both very +sincerely over-rate my little dealings with other great men's thoughts. +For you know full well that the best Head may be warped by as good a +Heart beating under it; and one loves the Head and Heart all the more for +it. Now all this is all so known to you that I am vexed you will not at +once apply it to what I may have said. I do think that I have had to say +something of the same sort before now; and I do declare I will not say it +again, for it is simply odious, all this talking of oneself. + +Yet one thing more. I did go to London on this last occasion purposely +to see you at that particular time: for I had not expected Mrs. Edwards +to be in London till a Fortnight afterward, until two or three days after +I had arranged to go and meet you the very day you arrived, inasmuch as +you had told me you were to be but a few days in Town. + +There--there! Only believe me; my sincerity, Madam; and--_Voila ce qui +est fait_. _Parlons_, etc. + +Well: Mrs. Edwards has opened an Exhibition of her husband's works in +Bond Street--contrary to my advice--and, it appears, rightly contrary: +for over 300 pounds of them were sold on the first private View day, +{166} and Tom Taylor, the great Art Critic (who neither by Nature nor +Education can be such, 'cleverest man in London,' as Tennyson once said +he was), has promised a laudatory notice in the omnipotent Times, and +then People will flock in like Sheep. And I am very glad to be proved a +Fool in the matter, though I hold my own opinion still of the merit of +the Picture part of the Show. Enough! as we Tragic Writers say: it is +such a morning as I would not have sacrificed indoors or in +letter-writing to any one but yourself, and on the subject named. + +BELIEVE ME YOURS SINCERELY. + + + + +LXVII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Decr._ 10, [1879.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +Pray let me know how you have fared thus far through Winter--which began +so early, and promises to continue so long. Even in Jersey Fred. +Tennyson writes me it is all Snow and N.E. wind: and he says the North of +Italy is blocked up with Snow. You may imagine that we are no better off +in the East of England. How is it in London, and with yourself in Queen +Anne's Mansions? I fancy that you walk up and down that ante-room of +yours for a regular time, as I force myself to do on a Landing-place in +this house when I cannot get out upon what I call my Quarter-deck: a walk +along a hedge by the upper part of a field which 'dominates' (as the +phrase now goes) over my House and Garden. But I have for the last +Fortnight had Lumbago, which makes it much easier to sit down than to get +up again. However, the time goes, and I am surprised to find Sunday come +round again. (Here is my funny little Reader come--to give me 'All the +Year Round' and Sam Slick.) + +_Friday_. + +I suppose I should have finished this Letter in the way it begins, but by +this noon's post comes a note from my Brother-in-law, De Soyres, telling +me that his wife Andalusia died yesterday. {168} She had somewhile +suffered with a weak Heart, and this sudden and extreme cold paralysed +what vitality it had. But yesterday I had posted her a Letter +re-enclosing two Photographs of her Grand Children whom she was very fond +and proud of; and that Letter is too late, you see. Now, none but Jane +Wilkinson and E. F.G. remain of the many more that you remember, and +always looked on with kindly regard. This news cuts my Letter shorter +than it would have been; nevertheless pray let me know how you yourself +are: and believe me yours + +Ever and truly, +E. F.G. + +I have had no thought of going to London yet: but I shall never go in +future without paying a Visit to you, if you like it. I know not how +Mrs. Edwards' Exhibition of her Husband's Pictures succeeds: I begged her +to leave such a scheme alone; I cannot admire his Pictures now he is gone +more than I did when he was here; but I hope that others will prove me to +be a bad adviser. + + + + +LXVIII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Jan._ 8/80. + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I think sufficient time has elapsed since my last letter to justify my +writing you another, which, you know, means calling on you to reply. When +last you wrote, you were all in Flannel; pray let me hear you now are. +Certainly, we are better off in weather than a month ago: but I fancy +these Fogs must have been dismal enough in London. A Letter which I have +this morning from a Niece in Florence tells me they have had 'London Fog' +(she says) for a Fortnight there. She says, that my sister Jane (your +old Friend) is fairly well in health, but very low in Spirits after that +other Sister's Death. I will [not] say of myself that I have weathered +away what Rheumatism and Lumbago I had; nearly so, however; and tramp +about my Garden and Hedgerow as usual. And so I clear off Family scores +on my side. Pray let me know, when you tell of yourself, how Mrs. Leigh +and those on the other side of the Atlantic fare. + +Poor Mrs. Edwards, I doubt, is disappointed with her Husband's Gallery: +not because of its only just repaying its expenses, except in so far as +that implies that but few have been to see it. She says she feels as if +she had nothing to live for, now that 'her poor Old Dear' is gone. One +fine day she went down to Woking where he lies, and--she did not wish to +come back. It was all solitary, and the grass beginning to spring, and a +Blackbird or two singing. She ought, I think, to have left London, as +her Doctor told her, for a total change of Scene; but she may know best, +being a very clever, as well as devoted little Woman. + +Well--you saw 'The Falcon'? {169} Athenaeum and Academy reported of it +much as I expected. One of them said the Story had been dramatised +before: I wonder why. What reads lightly and gracefully in Boccaccio's +Prose, would surely not do well when drawn out into dramatic Detail: two +People reconciled to Love over a roasted Hawk; about as unsavoury a Bird +to eat as an Owl, I believe. No doubt there was a Chicken substitute at +St. James', but one had to believe it to be Hawk; and, anyhow, I have +always heard that it is very difficult to eat, and talk, on the +Stage--though people seem to manage it easily enough in real Life. + +By way of a Christmas Card I sent Carlyle's Niece a Postage one, directed +to myself, on the back of which she might [write] a few words as to how +he and herself had weathered the late Cold. She replied that he was +well: had not relinquished his daily Drives: and was (when she wrote) +reading Shakespeare and Boswell's Hebrides. The mention of him reminds +me of your saying--or writing--that you felt shy of 'intruding' yourself +upon him by a Visit. My dear Mrs. Kemble, this is certainly a mistake +(wilful?) of yours; he may have too many ordinary Visitors; but I am +quite sure that he would be gratified at your taking the trouble to go +and see him. Pray try, weather and flannel permitting. + +I find some good Stuff in Bagehot's Essays, in spite of his name, which +is simply 'Bagot,' as men call it. Also, I find Hayward's Select Essays +so agreeable that I suppose they are very superficial. + +At night comes my quaint little Reader with Chambers' Journal, and All +[the] Year Round--the latter with one of Trollope's Stories {171}--always +delightful to me, and (I am told) very superficial indeed, as compared to +George Eliot, whom I cannot relish at all. + +Thus much has come easily to my pen this day, and run on, you see, to the +end of a second Sheet. So I will 'shut up,' as young Ladies now say; but +am always and sincerely yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +LXIX. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Febr_: 3/80. + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I do not think it is a full month since I last taxed you for some account +of yourself: but we have had hard weather, you know, ever since: your +days have been very dark in London, I am told, and as we have all been +wheezing under them, down here, I want to know how you stand it all. I +only hope my MS. is not very bad; for I am writing by Candle, before my +Reader comes. He eat such a Quantity of Cheese and Cake between the Acts +that he could scarce even see to read at all after; so I had to remind +him that, though he was not quite sixteen, he had much exceeded the years +of a Pig. Since which we get on better. I did not at all like to have +my Dombey spoiled; especially Captain Cuttle, God bless him, and his +Creator, now lying in Westminster Abbey. The intended Pathos is, as +usual, missed: but just turn to little Dombey's Funeral, where the +Acrobat in the Street suspends his performance till the Funeral has +passed, and his Wife wonders if the little Acrobat in her Arms will so +far outlive the little Boy in the Hearse as to wear a Ribbon through his +hair, following his Father's Calling. It is in such Side-touches, you +know, that Dickens is inspired to Create like a little God Almighty. I +have read half his lately published letters, which, I think, add little +to Forster's Account, unless in the way of showing what a good Fellow +Dickens was. Surely it does not seem that his Family were not fond of +him, as you supposed? + +I have been to Lowestoft for a week to see my capital Nephew, Edmund +Kerrich, before he goes to join his Regiment in Ireland. I wish you +could see him make his little (six years old) put him through his Drill. +That is worthy of Dickens: and I am always yours sincerely--and I do hope +not just now very illegibly-- + +LITTLEGRANGE. + + + + +LXX. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Febr_: 12/80. + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE: + +A week ago I had a somewhat poor account of Donne from Edith D.--that he +had less than his usually little Appetite, and could not sleep without +Chloral. This Account I at first thought of sending to you: but then I +thought you would soon be back in London to hear [of] him yourself; so I +sent it to his great friend Merivale, who, I thought, must have less +means of hearing about him at Ely. I enclose you this Dean's letter: +which you will find worth the trouble of decyphering, as all this Dean's +are. And you will see there is a word for you which you will have to +interpret for me. What is the promised work he is looking for so +eagerly? {173} Your Records he 'devoured' a Year ago, as a letter of his +then told me; and I suppose that his other word about the number of your +Father's house refers to something in those Records. I am not surprised +at such an Historian reading your Records: but I was surprised to find +him reading Charles Mathews' Memoir, as you will see he has been doing. I +told him I had been reading it: but then that is all in my line. Have +you? No, I think: nor I, by the way, quite half, and that in Vol. +ii.--where is really a remarkable account of his getting into Managerial +Debt, and its very grave consequences. + +I hear that Mr. Lowell is coming Ambassador to England, after a very +terrible trial in nursing (as he did) his Wife: who is only very slowly +recovering Mind as well as Body. I believe I wrote all this to you +before, as also that I am ever yours + +E. F.G. + +I cannot remember Pangloss in Candide: only a Pedant Optimist, I think, +which became the _soubriquet_ of Maupertuis' _Akakia_ Optimism; but I +have not the book, and do not want to have it. + + + + +LXXI. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _March_ 1, [1880.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I am something like my good old friend Bernard Barton, who would +begin--and end--a letter to some one who had just gone away from his +house. I should not mind that, only you will persist in answering what +calls for no answer. But the enclosed came here To-day, and as I might +mislay it if I waited for my average time of writing to you, I enclose it +to you now. It shows, at any rate, that I do not neglect your Queries; +nor does he to whom I refer what I cannot answer myself. {174} + +This Wright edits certain Shakespeare Plays for Macmillan: very well, I +fancy, so far as Notes go; simply explaining what needs explanation for +young Readers, and eschewing all _aesthetic_ (now, don't say you don't +know what 'aesthetic' means, etc.) aesthetic (detestable word) +observation. With this the Swinburnes, Furnivalls, Athenaeums, etc., +find fault: and a pretty hand they make of it when they try that tack. It +is safest surely to give people all the _Data_ you can for forming a +Judgment, and then leave them to form it by themselves. + +You see that I enclose you the fine lines {175} which I believe I +repeated to you, and which I wish you to paste on the last page of my +Crabbe, so as to be a pendant to Richard's last look at the Children and +their play. I know not how I came to leave it out when first printing: +for certainly the two passages had for many years run together in my +Memory. + +Adieu, Madame: non pas pour toujours, j'espere; pas meme pour long temps. +Cependant, ne vous genez pas, je vous prie, en repondant a une lettre qui +ne vaut--qui ne reclame pas meme--aucune reponse: tandis que vous me +croyez votre tres devoue + +EDOUARD DE PETITGRANGE. + + + + +LXXII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _March_ 26, [1880.] + +MY DEAR LADY: + +The Moon has reminded me that it is a month since I last went up to +London. I said to the Cabman who took me to Queen Anne's, 'I think it +must be close on Full Moon,' and he said, 'I shouldn't wonder,' not +troubling himself to look back to the Abbey over which she was riding. +Well; I am sure I have little enough to tell you; but I shall be glad to +hear from you that you are well and comfortable, if nothing else. And +you see that I am putting my steel pen into its very best paces all for +you. By far the chief incident in my life for the last month has been +the reading of dear old Spedding's Paper on the Merchant of Venice: {176} +there, at any rate, is one Question settled, and in such a beautiful way +as only he commands. I could not help writing a few lines to tell him +what I thought; but even very sincere praise is not the way to conciliate +him. About Christmas I wrote him, relying on it that I should be most +likely to secure an answer if I expressed dissent from some other work of +his; and my expectation was justified by one of the fullest answers he +had written to me for many a day and year. + +I read in one of my Papers that Tennyson had another Play accepted at the +Lyceum. I think he is obstinate in such a purpose, but, as he is a Man +of Genius, he may surprise us still by a vindication of what seem to me +several Latter-day failures. I suppose it is as hard for him to +relinquish his Vocation as other men find it to be in other callings to +which they have been devoted; but I think he had better not encumber the +produce of his best days by publishing so much of inferior quality. + +Under the cold Winds and Frosts which have lately visited us--and their +visit promises to be a long one--my garden Flowers can scarce get out of +the bud, even Daffodils have hitherto failed to 'take the winds,' etc. +Crocuses early nipt and shattered (in which my Pigeons help the winds) +and Hyacinths all ready, if but they might! + +My Sister Lusia's Widower has sent me a Drawing by Sir T. Lawrence of my +Mother: bearing a surprising resemblance to--The Duke of Wellington. This +was done in her earlier days--I suppose, not long after I was born--for +her, and his (Lawrence's) friend Mrs. Wolff: and though, I think, too +Wellingtonian, the only true likeness of her. Engravings were made of +it--so good as to be facsimiles, I think--to be given away to Friends. I +should think your mother had one. If you do not know it, I will bring +the Drawing up with me to London when next I go there: or will send it up +for your inspection, if you like. But I do not suppose you will care for +me to do that. + +Here is a much longer letter than I thought for; I hope not troublesome +to your Eyes--from yours always and sincerely + +LITTLEGRANGE. + +I have been reading Comus and Lycidas with wonder, and a sort of awe. +Tennyson once said that Lycidas was a touchstone of poetic Taste. + + + + +LXXIII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _March_ 28, [1880.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +No--the Flowers were not from me--I have nothing full-blown to show +except a few Polyanthuses, and a few Pansies. These Pansies never throve +with me till last year: after a Cartload or two of Clay laid on my dry +soil, I suppose, the year before. Insomuch that one dear little Soul has +positively held on blowing, more or less confidently, all winter through; +when even the Marigold failed. + +Now, I meant to have intimated about those Flowers in a few French words +on a Postcard--purposely to prevent your answering--unless your rigorous +Justice could only be satisfied by a Post Card in return. But I was not +sure how you might like my Card; so here is a Letter instead; which I +really do beg you, as a favour, not to feel bound to answer. A time will +come for such a word. + +By the by, you can make me one very acceptable return, I hope with no +further trouble than addressing it to me. That 'Nineteenth Century' for +February, with a Paper on 'King John' (your Uncle) in it. {179} Our +Country Bookseller has been for three weeks getting it for me--and now +says he cannot get it--'out of print.' I rather doubt that the Copy I +saw on your Table was only lent to you; if so, take no more trouble about +it; some one will find me a Copy. + +I shall revolve in my own noble mind what you say about Jessica and her +Jewels: as yet, I am divided between you, and that old Serpent, Spedding. +Perhaps 'That is only his Fancy,' as he says of Shylock. What a light, +graceful, way of saying well-considered Truth! + +I doubt you are serious in reminding me of my Tumbler on the Floor; and, +I doubt not, quite right in being so. This comes of one's living so long +either with no Company, or with only free and easy. But I am always the +same toward you, whether my Tumbler in the right place or not, + +THE LAIRD OF LITTLEGRANGE. + + + + +LXXIV. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _April_ 6, [1880.] {180a} + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I hope my letter, and the Magazine which accompanies it, will not reach +you at a time when you have family troubles to think about. You can, +however, put letter and Magazine aside at once, without reading either; +and, anyhow, I wish once more--in vain, I suppose--that you would not +feel bound to acknowledge them. + +I think this Atlantic, {180b} which I took in so long as you were +embarked on it, was sent me by Mr. Norton, to whom I had sent my Crabbe; +and he had, I suppose, shown it to Mr. Woodberry, the Critic. And the +Critic has done his work well, on the whole, I think: though not quite up +to my mark of praise, nor enough to create any revival of Interest in the +Poems. You will see that I have made two or three notes by the way: but +you are still less bound to read them than the text. + +If you be not bothered, I shall ask you to return me the Magazine. I +have some thought of taking it in again, as I like to see what goes on in +the literary way in America, and I found their critics often more +impartial in their estimation of English Authors than our own Papers are, +as one might guess would be the case. + +I was, and am, reading your Records again, before this Atlantic came to +remind me of you. I have Bentley's second Edition. I feel the Dullness +of that Dinner Party in Portland Place {181a} (I know it was) when Mrs. +Frere sang. She was somewhile past her prime then (1831), but could sing +the Classical Song, or Ballad, till much later in Life. Pasta too, whom +you then saw and heard! I still love the pillars of the old Haymarket +Opera House, where I used to see placarded MEDEA IN CORINTO. {181b} + +And I am still yours sincerely +LITTLEGRANGE. + +You are better off in London this black weather. + +P.S. Since my letter was written, I receive the promised one from +Mowbray: his Father well: indeed, in better health and Spirits than +usual: and going with Blanche to Southwell on Wednesday (to-morrow) +fortnight. + +His London house almost, if not quite, out of Quarantine. But--do not +go! say I. + + + + +LXXV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _April_ 23, [1880.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I was really sorry to hear from you that you were about to move again. I +suppose the move has been made by this time: as I do not know whither, I +must trouble Coutts, I suppose, to forward my Letter to you; and then you +will surely tell me your new Address, and also how you find yourself in +it. + +I have nothing to report of myself, except that I was for ten days at +Lowestoft in company (though not in the house) with Edward Cowell the +Professor: with whom, as in last Autumn, I read, and all but finished, +the second part of Don Quixote. There came Aldis Wright to join us; and +he quite agrees with what you say concerning the Jewel-robbery in the +Merchant of Venice. He read me the Play; and very well; thoroughly +understanding the text: with clear articulation, and the moderate +emphasis proper to room-reading; with the advantage also of never having +known the Theatre in his youth, so that he has not picked up the twang of +any Actor of the Day. Then he read me King John, which he has some +thoughts of editing next after Richard III. And I was reminded of you at +Ipswich twenty-eight years ago; and of your Father--his look up at +Angiers' Walls as he went out in Act ii. I wonder that Mrs. Siddons +should have told Johnson that she preferred Constance to any of +Shakespeare's Characters: perhaps I misremember; she may have said Queen +Catharine. {183a} I must not forget to thank you for the Nineteenth +Century from Hatchard's; Tieck's Article very interesting to me, and I +should suppose just in its criticism as to what John Kemble then was. I +have a little print of him about the time: in OEdipus--(whose Play, I +wonder, on such a dangerous subject?) from a Drawing by that very clever +Artist De Wilde: who never missed Likeness, Character, and Life, even +when reduced to 16mo Engraving. {183b} + +What you say of Tennyson's Eyes reminded me that he complained of the +Dots in Persian type flickering before them: insomuch that he gave up +studying it. This was some thirty years ago. Talking on the subject one +day to his Brother Frederick, he--(Frederick)--said he thought possible +that a sense of the Sublime was connected with Blindness: as in Homer, +Milton, and Handel: and somewhat with old Wordsworth perhaps; though his +Eyes were, I think, rather weak than consuming with any inward Fire. + +I heard from Mr. Norton that Lowell had returned to Madrid in order to +bring his Wife to London--if possible. She seems very far from being +recovered; and (Norton thinks) would not have recovered in Spain: so +Lowell will have one consolation for leaving the land of Cervantes and +Calderon to come among the English, whom I believe he likes little better +than Hawthorne liked them. + +I believe that yesterday was the first of my hearing the Nightingale; +certainly of hearing _my_ Nightingale in the trees which I planted, +'hauts comme ca,' as Madame de Sevigne says. I am positively about to +read her again, 'tout Madame de Sevigne,' as Ste. Beuve said. {184a} What +better now Spring is come? {184b} She would be enjoying her Rochers just +now. And I think this is a dull letter of mine; but I am always +sincerely yours + +E. DE PETITGRANGE. + + + + +LXXVI. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _May_ 25/80. + +MY DEAR LADY, + +Another full Moon reminds [me] of my monthly call upon you by Letter--a +call to be regularly returned, I know, according to your Etiquette. As +so it must be, I shall be very glad to hear that you are better than when +you last wrote, and that some, if not all, of the 'trouble' you spoke of +has passed away. I have not heard of Donne since that last letter of +yours: but a Post Card from Mowbray, who was out holyday-making in +Norfolk, tells me that he will write as soon as he has returned to +London, which, I think, must be about this very time. + +I shall be sorry if you do not get your annual dose of Mountain Air; why +can you not? postponing your visit to Hampshire till Autumn--a season +when I think those who want company and comfort are most glad of it. But +you are determined, I think, to do as you are asked: yes, even the more +so if you do not wish it. And, moreover, you know much more of what is +fittest to do than I. + +A list of Trench's works in the Academy made me think of sending him my +Crabbe; which I did: and had a very kind answer from him, together with a +Copy of a second Edition of his Calderon Essay and Translation. He had +not read any Crabbe since he was a Lad: what he may think of him now I +know not: for I bid him simply acknowledge the receipt of my Volume, as I +did of his. I think much the best way, unless advice is wanted on either +side before publication. + +If you write--which you will, unless--nay, whether troubled or not, I +think--I should like to hear if you have heard anything of Mr. Lowell in +London. I do not write to him for fear of bothering him: but I wish to +know that his Wife is recovered. I have been thinking for some days of +writing a Note to Carlyle's Niece, enclosing her a Post Card to be +returned to me with just a word about him and herself. A Card only: for +I do not know how occupied she may be with her own family cares by this +time. + +I have re-read your Records, in which I do not know that I find any too +much, as I had thought there was of some early Letters. Which I believe +I told you while the Book was in progress. {186} It is, I sincerely say, +a capital Book, and, as I have now read it twice over with pleasure, and +I will say, with Admiration--if but for its Sincerity (I think you will +not mind my saying that much)--I shall probably read it over again, if I +live two years more. I am now embarked on my blessed Sevigne, who, with +Crabbe, and John Wesley, seem to be my great hobbies; or such as I do not +tire of riding, though my friends may weary of hearing me talk about +them. + +By the by, to-morrow is, I think, Derby Day; which I remember chiefly for +its marking the time when Hampton Court Chestnuts were usually in full +flower. You may guess that we in the Country here have been gaping for +rain to bring on our Crops, and Flowers; very tantalising have been many +promising Clouds, which just dropped a few drops by way of Compliment, +and then passed on. But last night, when Dombey was being read to me we +heard a good splash of rain, and Dombey was shut up that we might hear, +and see, and feel it. {187} I never could make out who wrote two lines +which I never could forget, wherever I found them:-- + + 'Abroad, the rushing Tempest overwhelms + Nature pitch dark, and rides the thundering elms.' + +Very like Glorious John Dryden; but many others of his time wrote such +lines, as no one does now--not even Messrs. Swinburne and Browning. + +And I am always your old Friend, with the new name of + +LITTLEGRANGE. + + + + +LXXVII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _June_ 23, [1880.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +You smile at my 'Lunacies' as you call my writing periods; I take the +Moon as a signal not to tax you too often for your inevitable answer. I +have now let her pass her Full: and June is drawing short: and you were +to be but for June at Leamington: so--I must have your answer, to tell me +about your own health (which was not so good when last you wrote) and +that of your Family; and when, and where, you go from Leamington. I +shall be sorry if you cannot go to Switzerland. + +I have been as far as--Norfolk--on a week's visit (the only visit of the +sort I now make) to George Crabbe, my Poet's Grandson, and his two +Granddaughters. It was a very pleasant visit indeed; the people all so +sensible, and friendly, talking of old days; the Country flat indeed, but +green, well-wooded, and well-cultivated: the weather well enough. {188a} + +I carried there two volumes of my Sevigne: and even talked of going over +to Brittany, only to see her Rochers, as once I went to Edinburgh only to +see Abbotsford. But (beside that I probably should not have gone further +than talking in any case) a French Guide Book informed me that the +present Proprietor of the place will not let it be shown to Strangers who +pester him for a view of it, on the strength of those 'paperasses,' as he +calls her Letters. {188b} So this is rather a comfort to me. Had I +gone, I should also have visited my dear old Frederick Tennyson at +Jersey. But now I think we shall never see one another again. + +Spedding keeps on writing Shakespeare Notes in answer to sundry Theories +broached by others: he takes off copies of his MS. by some process he has +learned; and, as I always insist on some Copy of all he writes, he has +sent me these, which I read by instalments, as Eyesight permits. I +believe I am not a fair Judge between him and his adversaries; first, +because I have but little, if any, faculty of critical Analysis; and +secondly, because I am prejudiced with the notion that old Jem is +Shakespeare's Prophet, and must be right. But, whether right or wrong, +the way in which he conducts, and pleads, his Case is always Music to me. +So it was even with Bacon, with whom I could not be reconciled: I could +not like Dr. Fell: much more so with 'the Divine Williams,' who is a +Doctor that I do like. + +It has turned so dark here in the last two days that I scarce see to +write at my desk by a window which has a hood over it, meant to +exclude--the Sun! I have increased my Family by two broods of Ducks, who +compete for the possession of a Pond about four feet in diameter: and but +an hour ago I saw my old Seneschal escorting home a stray lot of +Chickens. My two elder Nieces are with me at present, but I do not think +will be long here, if a Sister comes to them from Italy. + +Pray let me hear how you are. I am pretty well myself:--though not quite +up to the mark of my dear Sevigne, who writes from her Rochers when close +on sixty--'Pour moi, je suis d'une si parfaite sante, que je ne comprends +point ce que Dieu veut faire de moi.' {190} + +But yours always and a Day, +LITTLEGRANGE. + + + + +LXXVIII. + + +[WOODBRIDGE, _July_ 24, 1880.] + +'Il sera le mois de Juillet tant qu'il plaira a Dieu' writes my friend +Sevigne--only a week more of it now, however. I should have written to +my friend Mrs. Kemble before this--in defiance of the Moon--had I not +been waiting for her Address from Mowbray Donne, to whom I wrote more +than a fortnight ago. I hope no ill-health in himself, or his Family, +keeps him from answering my Letter, if it ever reached him. But I will +wait no longer for his reply: for I want to know concerning you and your +health: and so I must trouble Coutts to fill up the Address which you +will not instruct me in. + +Here (Woodbridge) have I been since last I wrote--some Irish Cousins +coming down as soon as English Nieces had left. Only that in the week's +interval I went to our neighbouring Aldeburgh on the Sea--where I first +saw, and felt, the Sea some sixty-five years ago; a dreary place enough +in spite of some Cockney improvements: my old Crabbe's Borough, as you +may remember. I think one goes back to the old haunts as one grows old: +as the Chancellor l'Hopital said when he returned to his native +Bourdeaux, I think: 'Me voici, Messieurs,' returned to die, as the Hare +does, in her ancient 'gite.' {191} I shall soon be going to Lowestoft, +where one of my Nieces, who is married to an Italian, and whom I have not +seen for many years, is come, with her Boy, to stay with her Sisters. + +Whither are you going after you leave Hampshire? You spoke in your last +letter of Scarboro': but I still think you will get over to Switzerland. +One of my old Friends--and Flames--Mary Lynn (pretty name) who is of our +age, and played with me when we both were Children--at that very same +Aldeburgh--is gone over to those Mountains which you are so fond of: +having the same passion for them as you have. I had asked her to meet me +at that Aldeburgh--'Aldbro''--that we might ramble together along that +beach where once we played; but she was gone. + +If you should come to Lowestoft instead of Scarbro', we, if you please, +will ramble together too. But I do not recommend the place--very ugly--on +a dirty Dutch Sea--and I do not suppose you would care for any of my +People; unless it were my little Niece Annie, who is a delightful +Creature. + +I see by the Athenaeum that Tom Taylor is dead {192a}--the 'cleverest Man +in London' Tennyson called him forty years ago. Professor Goodwin, of +the Boston Cambridge, is in England, and made a very kind proposal to +give me a look on his travels. But I could not let him come out of his +way (as it would have been) for any such a purpose. {192b} He wrote that +Mrs. Lowell was in better health: residing at Southampton, which you knew +well near fifty years ago, as your Book tells. Mr. Lowell does not write +to me now; nor is there reason that he should. + +Please to make my remembrances to Mr. Sartoris, who scarcely remembers +me, but whose London House was very politely opened to me so many years +ago. Anyhow, pray let me hear of yourself: and believe me always yours +sincerely + +THE LAIRD OF LITTLEGRANGE. + + + + +LXXIX. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Friday_, [30 _July_, 1880.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I send you Mowbray's reply to my letter of nearly three weeks ago. No +good news of his Father--still less of our Army (news to me told to-day) +altogether a sorry budget to greet you on your return to London. But the +public news you knew already, I doubt not: and I thought as well to tell +you of our Donne at once. + +I suppose one should hardly talk of anything except this Indian Calamity: +{193} but I am selfish enough to ignore, as much as I can, such Evils as +I cannot help. + +I think that Tennyson in calling Tom Taylor the 'cleverest man,' etc., +meant pretty much as you do. I believe he said it in reply to something +I may have said that was less laudatory. At one time Tennyson almost +lived with him and the Wigans whom I did not know. Taylor always seemed +to me as 'clever' as any one: was always very civil to me: but one of +those toward whom I felt no attraction. He was too clever, I think. As +to Art, he knew nothing of it then, nor (as he admits) up to 1852 or +thereabout, when he published his very good Memoir of Haydon. I think he +was too 'clever' for Art also. + +Why will you write of 'If you _bid_ me come to Lowestoft in October,' +etc., which, you must know, is just what I should not ask you to do: +knowing that, after what you say, you would come, if asked, were--(a Bull +begins here)--were it ever so unlikely for you. I am going thither next +week, to hear much (I dare say) of a Brother in Ireland who may be called +to India; and am + +Ever yours sincerely, +LITTLEGRANGE. + +Why won't you write to me from Switzerland to say where a Letter may find +you? If not, the Harvest Moon will pass! + + + + +LXXX. + + +IVY HOUSE, LOWESTOFT: +_Septr._ 20, {194} [1880.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Here is a second Full Moon since last I wrote--(Harvest Moon, I think). I +knew not where to direct to you before, and, as you remain determined not +to apprize me yourself, so I have refused to send through Coutts. You do +not lose much. + +Here have been for nearly two months Five English Nieces clustered round +a Sister who married an Italian, and has not been in England these dozen +years. She has brought her Boy of six, who seems to us wonderfully +clever as compared to English Children of his Age, but who, she tells us, +is counted rather behind his Fellows in Italy. Our meeting has been what +is called a 'Success'--which will not be repeated, I think. She will go +back to her adopted Country in about a month, I suppose. Do you know of +any one likely to be going that way about that time? + +Some days ago, when I was sitting on the Pier, rather sad at the +Departure [of] a little Niece--an abridgment of all that is pleasant--and +good--in Woman--Charles Merivale accosted me--he and his good, +unaffected, sensible, wife, and Daughter to match. He was looking well, +and we have since had a daily stroll together. We talked of you, for he +said (among the first things he did say) that he had been reading your +Records again: so I need not tell you his opinion of them. He saw your +Uncle in Cato when he was about four years old; and believes that he (J. +P. K.) had a bit of red waistcoat looking out of his toga, by way of +Blood. I tell him he should call on you and clear up that, and talk on +many other points. + +Mowbray Donne wrote me from Wales a month ago that his Father was going +on pretty well. I asked for further from Mowbray when he should have +returned from Wales: but he has not yet written. Merivale, who is one of +Donne's greatest Friends, has not heard of him more lately than I. + +Now, my dear Mrs. Kemble, I want to hear of you from yourself: and I have +told you why it is that I have not asked you before. I fancy that you +will not be back in England when this Letter reaches Westminster: but I +fancy that it will not be long before you find it waiting on your table +for you. + +And now I am going to look for the Dean, who, I hope, has been at Church +this morning: and though I have not done that, I am not the less +sincerely yours + +E. F.G. + + + + +LXXXI. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Octr._ 20, 1880. + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I was to have gone to London on Monday with my Italian Niece on her way +homeward. But she feared saying 'Farewell' and desired me to let her set +off alone, to avoid doing so. + +Thus I delay my visit to you till November--perhaps toward the middle of +it: when I hope to find you, with your blue and crimson Cushions {197} in +Queen Anne's Mansions, as a year ago. Mrs. Edwards is always in town: +not at all forgetful of her husband; and there will be our Donne also of +whom I hear nothing, and so conclude there is nothing to be told, and +with him my Visits will be summed up. + +Now, lose not a Day in providing yourself with Charles Tennyson Turner's +Sonnets, published by Kegan Paul. There is a Book for you to keep on +your table, at your elbow. Very many of the Sonnets I do not care for: +mostly because of the Subject: but there is pretty sure to be some +beautiful line or expression in all; and all pure, tender, noble, +and--original. Old Spedding supplies a beautiful Prose Overture to this +delightful Volume: never was Critic more one with his Subject--or, +Object, is it? Frederick Tennyson, my old friend, ought to have done +something to live along with his Brothers: all who _will_ live, I +believe, of their Generation: and he perhaps would, if he could, have +confined himself to limits not quite so narrow as the Sonnet. But he is +a Poet, and cannot be harnessed. + +I have still a few flowers surviving in my Garden; and I certainly never +remember the foliage of trees so little changed in October's third week. +A little flight of Snow however: whose first flight used to quicken my +old Crabbe's fancy: Sir Eustace Grey written under such circumstances. +{198} + +And I am always yours +LITTLEGRANGE + +(not 'Markethill' as you persist in addressing me.) + + + + +LXXXII. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _Novr._ 17/80. + +MY DEAR LADY, + +Here is the Moon very near her Full: so I send you a Letter. I have it +in my head you are not in London: and may not be when I go up there for a +few days next week--for this reason I think so: viz., that you have not +acknowledged a Copy of Charles Tennyson's Sonnets, which I desired Kegan +Paul to send you, as from me--with my illustrious Initials on the Fly +Leaf: and, he or one of his men, wrote that so it should be, or had been +done. It may nevertheless not have been: or, if in part done, the +illustrious Initials forgotten. But I rather think the Book was sent: +and that you would have guessed at the Sender, Initials or not. And as I +know you are even over-scrupulous in acknowledging any such things, I +gather that the Book came when you had left London--for Leamington, very +likely: and that there you are now. The Book, and your Acknowledgment of +it, will very well wait: but I wish to hear about yourself--as also about +yours--if you should be among them. I talk of 'next week,' because one +of my few Visitors, Archdeacon Groome, is coming the week after that, I +believe, for a day or two to my house: and, as he has not been here for +two years, I do not wish to be out of the way. + +A Letter about a fortnight ago from Mowbray Donne told me that his Father +was fairly well: and a Post Card from Mowbray two days ago informed [me] +that Valentia was to be in London this present week. But I have wanted +to be here at home all this time: I would rather see Donne when he is +alone: and I would rather go to London when there is more likelihood of +seeing you there than now seems to me. Of course you will not in the +slightest way hasten your return to London (if now away from it) for my +poor little Visits: but pray let me hear from you, and believe me always +the same + +E. F.G. + + + + +LXXXIII. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Decr._ 6, [1880.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I was surprised to see a Letter in your MS. which could not be in answer +to any of mine. But the Photos account for it. Thank you: I keep that +which I like best, and herewith return the other. + +Why will you take into your head that I could suppose you wanting in +Hospitality, or any other sort of Generosity! That, at least, is not a +Kemble failing. Why, I believe you would give me--and a dozen +others--1000 pounds if you fancied one wanted it--even without being +asked. The Law of Mede and Persian is that you _will_ take up--a +perverse notion--now and then. There! It's out. + +As to the Tea--'pure and simple'--with Bread and Butter--it is the only +meal I do care to join in:--and this is why I did not see Mowbray Donne, +who has not his Dinner till an hour and a half after my last meal is +done. + +I should very gladly have 'crushed a Cup of Tea' with you that last +Evening, coming prepared so to do. But you had Friends coming; and so +(as Mrs. Edwards was in the same plight) I went to the Pit of my dear old +Haymarket Opera: {200} remembering the very corner of the Stage where +Pasta stood when Jason's People came to tell her of his new Marriage; and +(with one hand in her Girdle--a movement (Mrs. Frere said) borrowed from +Grassini) she interrupted them with her "Cessate--intesi!"--also when +Rubini, feathered hat in hand, began that "Ah te, oh Cara"--and Taglioni +hovered over the Stage. There was the old Omnibus Box too where D'Orsay +flourished in ample white Waistcoat and Wristbands: and Lady +Blessington's: and Lady Jersey's on the Pit tier: and my own Mother's, +among the lesser Stars, on the third. In place of all which I dimly saw +a small Company of less distinction in all respects; and heard an Opera +(_Carmen_) on the Wagner model: very beautiful Accompaniments to no +Melody: and all very badly sung except by Trebelli, who, excellent. I +ran out in the middle to the dear Little Haymarket opposite--where +Vestris and Liston once were: and found the Theatre itself spoilt by +being cut up into compartments which marred the beautiful Horse-shoe +shape, once set off by the flowing pattern of Gold which used to run +round the house. + +Enough of these Old Man's fancies--But--Right for all that! + +I would not send you Spedding's fine Article {201a} till you had returned +from your Visit, and also had received Mrs. Leigh at Queen Anne's. You +can send it back to me quite at your leisure, without thinking it +necessary to write about it. + +It is so mild here that the Thrush sings a little, and my Anemones seem +preparing to put forth a blossom as well as a leaf. Yesterday I was +sitting on a stile by our River side. + +You will doubtless see Tennyson's new Volume, {201b} which is to my +thinking far preferable to his later things, though far inferior to those +of near forty years ago: and so, I think, scarce wanted. There is a bit +of Translation from an old War Song which shows what a Poet can do when +he condescends to such work: and I have always said that 'tis for the old +Poets to do some such service for their Predecessors. I hope this long +letter is tolerably legible: and I am in very truth + +Sincerely yours +THE LAIRD OF LITTLEGRANGE. + + + + +LXXXIV. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _Christmas Day_, [1880.] + +MY DEAR LADY: + +You are at Leamington for this day, I expect: but, as I am not sure of +your address there, I direct to Queen Anne as usual. This very morning I +had a letter from my dear George Crabbe, telling me that he has met your +friend Mr. H. Aide at Lord Walsingham's, the Lord of G. C.'s parish: and +that Mr. Aide had asked him (G. C.) for his copy of my Crabbe. I should +have been very glad to give him one had he, or you, mentioned to me that +he had any wish for the book: I am only somewhat disappointed that so few +do care to ask for it. + +I am here all alone for my Christmas: which is not quite my own fault. A +Nephew, and a young London clerk, were to have come, but prevented; even +my little Reader is gone to London for his Holyday, and left me with Eyes +more out of _Kelter_ {202} than usual to entertain myself with. 'These +are my troubles, Mr. Wesley,' as a rich man complained to him when his +Servant put too many Coals on the fire. {203a} On Friday, Aldis Wright +comes for two days, on his road to his old home Beccles: and I shall +leave him to himself with Books and a Cigar most part of the Day, and +make him read Shakespeare of a night. He is now editing Henry V. for +what they call the Clarendon Press. He still knows nothing of Mr. +Furness, who, he thinks, must be home in America long ago. + +Spedding writes me that Carlyle is now so feeble as to be carried up and +down stairs. But very 'quiet,' which is considered a bad sign; but, as +Spedding says, surely much better than the other alternative, into which +one of Carlyle's temperament might so probably have fallen. Nay, were it +not better for all of us? Mr. Froude is most constantly with him. + +If this Letter is forwarded you, I know that it will not be long before I +hear from you. And you know that I wish to hear that all is well with +you, and that I am always yours + +E. F.G. + +How is Mr. Sartoris? And I see a Book of _hers_ advertised. {203b} + + + + +LXXXV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _Jan._ 17, [1881.] + +DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +The Moon has passed her Full: but my Eyes have become so troubled since +Christmas that I have not written before. All Christmas I was alone: +Aldis Wright came to me on New Year's Day, and read to me, among many +other things, 'Winter's Tale' which we could not take much delight in. No +Play more undoubtedly, nor altogether, Shakespeare's, but seeming to me +written off for some 'occasion' theatrical, and then, I suppose that Mrs. +Siddons made much of the Statue Scene. + +I cannot write much, and I fancy that you will not care to read much, if +you are indeed about to leave Queen Anne. That is a very vexatious +business. You will probably be less inclined to write an answer to my +letter, than to read it: but answer it you will: and you need trouble +yourself to say no more than how you are, and where, and when, you are +going, if indeed you leave where you are. And do not cross your letter, +pray: and believe me always your sincere old friend + +E. F.G. + + + + +LXXXVI. + + +[_Feb._, 1881.] + +MY DEAR LADY: + +I expected to send you a piece of Print as well as a Letter this Full +Moon. {205} But the Print is not come from the Printer's: and perhaps +that is as well: for now you can thank me for it beforehand when you +reply (as I know you will) to this Letter--and no more needs to be said. +For I do [not] need your Advice as to Publication in this case; no such +Design is in my head: on the contrary, not even a Friend will know of it +except yourself, Mr. Norton, and Aldis Wright: the latter of whom would +not be of the party but that he happened to be here when I was too +purblind to correct the few Proofs, and very kindly did so for me. As +for Mr. Norton (America), he it was for whom it was printed at all--at +his wish, he knowing the MS. had been lying by me unfinisht for years. It +is a Version of the two OEdipus Plays of Sophocles united as two Parts of +one Drama. I should not send it to you but that I feel sure that, if you +are in fair health and spirits, you will be considerably interested in +it, and probably give me more credit for my share in it than I deserve. +As I make sure of this you see there will be no need to say anything more +about it. The Chorus part is not mine, as you will see; but probably +quite as good. Quite enough on that score. + +I really want to know how you like your new Quarters in dear _old_ +London: how you are; and whether relieved from Anxiety concerning Mr. +Leigh. It was a Gale indeed, such as the oldest hereabout say they do +not remember: but it was all from the East: and I do not see why it +should have travelled over the Atlantic. + +If you are easy on that account, and otherwise pretty well in mind and +Body, tell me if you have been to see the Lyceum 'Cup' {206a} and what +you make of it. Somebody sent me a Macmillan {206b} with an Article +about it by Lady Pollock; the extracts she gave seemed to me a somewhat +lame imitation of Shakespeare. + +I venture to think--and what is more daring--to write, that my Eyes are +better, after six weeks' rest and Blue Glasses. But I say so with due +regard to my old Friend Nemesis. + +I have heard nothing about my dear Donne since you wrote: and you only +said that you had not _heard_ a good account of him. Since then you +have, I doubt not, seen as well as heard. But, now that I see better +(Absit Invidia!) I will ask Mowbray. + +It is well, I think, that Carlyle desired to rest (as I am told he did) +where he was born--at Ecclefechan, from which I have, or had, several +Letters dated by him. His Niece, who had not replied to my note of +Enquiry, of two months ago, wrote to me after his Death. + +Now I have written enough for you as well as for myself: and am yours +always the same + +LITTLEGRANGE. * + +* 'What foppery is this, sir?'--_Dr. Johnson_. + + + + +LXXXVII. + + +[_Feb._, 1881.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:-- + +As you generally return a Salute so directly, I began to be alarmed at +not hearing from you sooner--either that you were ill, or your Daughter, +or some ill news about Mr. Leigh. I had asked one who reads the +Newspapers, and was told there had been much anxiety as to the Cunard +Ship, which indeed was only just saved from total Wreck. But all is well +so far as you and yours are concerned; and I will sing 'Gratias' along +with you. + +Mowbray Donne wrote to tell me that he and his had provided for some man +to accompany our dear old Friend in his walks; and, as he seems himself +to like it, all is so far well in that quarter also. + +I was touched with the account of Carlyle's simple Obsequies among his +own Kinsfolk, in the place of his Birth--it was fine of him to settle +that so it should be. I am glad also that Mr. Froude is charged with his +Biography: a Gentleman, as well as a Scholar and 'Writer of Books,' who +will know what to leave unsaid as well as what to say. + +Your account of 'The Cup' is what I should have expected from you: and, +if I may say so, from myself had I seen it. + +And with this Letter comes my Sophocles, of which I have told you what I +expect you will think also, and therefore need not say--unless of a +different opinion. It came here I think the same Day on which I wrote to +tell you it had not come: but I would not send it until assured that all +was well with you. Such corrections as you will find are not meant as +Poetical--or rather Versifying--improvements, but either to clear up +obscurity, or to provide for some modifications of the two Plays when +made, as it were, into one. Especially concerning the Age of OEdipus: +whom I do not intend to be the _old_ man in Part II. as he appears in the +original. For which, and some other things, I will, if Eyes hold, send +you some printed reasons in an introductory Letter to Mr. Norton, at +whose desire I finished what had been lying in my desk these dozen years. + +As I said of my own AEschylus Choruses, I say of old Potter's now: better +just to take a hint from them of what they are about--or imagine it for +yourself--and then imagine, or remember, some grand Organ piece--as of +Bach's Preludes--which will be far better Interlude than Potter--or I--or +even (as I dare think) than Sophocles' self! + +And so I remain your ancient Heretic, + +LITTLE G. + +The newly printed Part II. would not bear Ink. + + + + +LXXXVIII. + + +[_Feb._, 1881.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +Pray keep the Book: I always intended that you should do so if you liked +it: and, as I believe I said, I was sure that like it you would. I did +not anticipate how much: but am all the more glad: and (were I twenty +years younger) should be all the more proud; even making, as I do, a +little allowance for your old and constant regard to the Englisher. The +Drama is, however, very skilfully put together, and very well versified, +although that not as an original man--such as Dryden--would have +versified it: I will, by and by, send you a little introductory letter to +Mr. Norton, explaining to him, a Greek Scholar, why I have departed from +so much of the original: 'little' I call the Letter, but yet so long that +I did not wish him, or you, to have as much trouble in reading, as I, +with my bad Eyes, had in writing it: so, as I tell him--and you--it must +go to the Printers along with the Play which it prates about. + +I think I once knew why the two Cities in Egypt and Boeotia were alike +named Thebes; and perhaps could now find out from some Books now stowed +away in a dark Closet which affrights my Eyes to think of. But any of +your learned friends in London will tell you, and probably more +accurately than Paddy. I cannot doubt but that Sphinx and heaps more of +the childish and dirty mythology of Greece came from Egypt, and who knows +how far beyond, whether in Time or Space! + +Your Uncle, the great John, did enact OEdipus in some Tragedy, by whom I +know not: I have a small Engraving of him in the Character, from a +Drawing of that very clever artist De Wilde; {210} but this is a heavy +Likeness, though it may have been a true one of J. K. in his latter +years, or in one of his less inspired--or more asthmatic--moods. This +portrait is one of a great many (several of Mrs. Siddons) in a Book I +have--and which I will send you if you would care to see it: plenty of +them are rubbish such as you would wonder at a sensible man having ever +taken the trouble to put together. But I inherit a long-rooted Affection +for the Stage: almost as real a World to me as Jaques called it. Of +yourself there is but a Newspaper Scrap or two: I think I must have cut +out and given you what was better: but I never thought any one worth +having except Sir Thomas', which I had from its very first Appearance, +and keep in a large Book along with some others of a like size: Kean, +Mars, Talma, Duchesnois, etc., which latter I love, though I heard more +of them than I saw. + +Yesterday probably lighted you up once again in London, as it did us down +here. 'Richard' thought he began to feel himself up to his Eyes again: +but To-day all Winter again, though I think I see the Sun resolved on +breaking through the Snow clouds. My little Aconites--which are +sometimes called 'New Year Gifts,' {211a} have almost lived their little +Lives: my Snowdrops look only too much in Season; but we will hope that +all this Cold only retards a more active Spring. + +I should not have sent you the Play till Night had I thought you would +sit up that same night to read it. Indeed, I had put it away for the +Night Post: but my old Hermes came in to say he was going into Town to +market, and so he took it with him to Post. + +Farewell for the present--till next Full Moon? I am really glad that all +that Atlantic worry has blown over, and all ended well so far as you and +yours are concerned. And I am always your ancient + +LITTLE G. + + + + +LXXXIX. {211b} + + +[_March_, 1881.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +It was very, very good and kind of you to write to me about Spedding. +Yes: Aldis Wright had apprised me of the matter just after it happened--he +happening to be in London at the time; and but two days after the +accident heard that Spedding was quite calm, and even cheerful; only +anxious that Wright himself should not be kept waiting for some +communication which S. had promised him! Whether to live, or to die, he +will be Socrates still. + +Directly that I heard from Wright, I wrote to Mowbray Donne to send me +just a Post Card--daily if he or his wife could--with but one or two +words on it--'Better,' 'Less well,' or whatever it might be. This +morning I hear that all is going on even better than could be expected, +according to Miss Spedding. But I suppose the Crisis, which you tell me +of, is not yet come; and I have always a terror of that French +Adage--'_Monsieur se porte mal_--_Monsieur se porte mieux_--_Monsieur +est_'--Ah, you know--or you guess, the rest. + +My dear old Spedding, though I have not seen him these twenty years and +more--and probably should never see him again--but he lives--his old +Self--in my heart of hearts; and all I hear of him does but embellish the +recollection of him--if it could be embellished--for he is but the same +that he was from a Boy--all that is best in Heart and Head--a man that +would be incredible had one not known him. + +I certainly should have gone up to London--even with Eyes that will +scarce face the lamps of Woodbridge--not to see him, but to hear the +first intelligence I could about him. But I rely on the Postcard for but +a Night's delay. Laurence, Mowbray tells me, had been to see him, and +found him as calm as had been reported by Wright. But the Doctors had +said that he should be kept as quiet as possible. + +I think, from what Mowbray also says, that you may have seen our other +old Friend Donne in somewhat worse plight than usual because of his being +much shocked at this Accident. He would feel it indeed!--as you do. + +I had even thought of writing to tell you of all this, but could not but +suppose that you were more likely to know of it than myself; though +sometimes one is greatly mistaken with those 'of course you knows, +etc.'--But you have known it all: and have very kindly written of it to +me, whom you might also have supposed already informed of it: but you +took the trouble to write, not relying on 'of course you know, etc.' + +I have thought lately that I ought to make some enquiry about Arthur +Malkin, who was always very kind to me. I had meant to send him my +Crabbe, who was a great favourite of his Father's, 'an excellent +companion for Old Age' he told--Donne, I think. But I do not know if I +ever did send him the Book, and now, judging by what you tell me, it is +too late to do so, unless for Compliment. + +The Sun, I see, has put my Fire out--for which I only thank him, and will +go to look for him himself in my Garden--only with a Green Shade over my +Eyes. I must get to London to see you before you move away to +Leamington; when I can bear Sun or Lamp without odious blue Glasses, etc. +I dare to think those Eyes are better, though not Sun-proof: and I am +ever yours + +LITTLE G. + + + + +XC. {214} + + +20 _March_, [1881.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I have let the Full Moon pass because I thought you had written to me so +lately, and so kindly, about our lost Spedding, that I would not call on +you too soon again. Of him I will say nothing except that his Death has +made me recall very many passages in his Life in which I was partly +concerned. In particular, staying at his Cumberland Home along with +Tennyson in the May of 1835. 'Voila bien long temps de ca!' His Father +and Mother were both alive--he, a wise man, who mounted his Cob after +Breakfast, and was at his Farm till Dinner at two--then away again till +Tea: after which he sat reading by a shaded lamp: saying very little, but +always courteous, and quite content with any company his Son might bring +to the house so long as they let him go his way: which indeed he would +have gone whether they let him or no. But he had seen enough of Poets +not to like them or their Trade: Shelley, for a time living among the +Lakes: Coleridge at Southey's (whom perhaps he had a respect for--Southey, +I mean), and Wordsworth, whom I do not think he valued. He was rather +jealous of 'Jem,' who might have done available service in the world, he +thought, giving himself up to such Dreamers; and sitting up with Tennyson +conning over the Morte d'Arthur, Lord of Burleigh, and other things which +helped to make up the two Volumes of 1842. So I always associate that +Arthur Idyll with Basanthwaite Lake, under Skiddaw. Mrs. Spedding was a +sensible, motherly Lady, with whom I used to play Chess of a Night. And +there was an old Friend of hers, Mrs. Bristow, who always reminded me of +Miss La Creevy, if you know of such a Person in Nickleby. + +At the end of May we went to lodge for a week at Windermere--where +Wordsworth's new volume of Yarrow Revisited reached us. W. was then at +his home: but Tennyson would not go to visit him: and of course I did +not: nor even saw him. + +You have, I suppose, the Carlyle Reminiscences: of which I will say +nothing except that, much as we outsiders gain by them, I think that, on +the whole, they had better have been kept unpublished--for some while at +least. As also thinks Carlyle's Niece, who is surprised that Mr. Froude, +whom her Uncle trusted above all men for the gift of Reticence, should +have been in so much hurry to publish what was left to his Judgment to +publish or no. But Carlyle himself, I think, should have stipulated for +Delay, or retrenchment, if publisht at all. + +Here is a dull and coldish Day after the fine ones we have had--which +kept me out of doors as long as they lasted. Now one turns to the +Fireside again. To-morrow is Equinox Day; when, if the Wind should +return to North East, North East will it blow till June 21, as we all +believe down here. My Eyes are better, I presume to say: but not what +they were even before Christmas. Pray let me hear how you are, and +believe me ever the same + +E. F.G. + +Oh! I doubted about sending you what I yet will send, as you already have +what it refers to. It really calls for no comment from any one who does +not know the Greek; those who do would probably repudiate it. + + + + +XCI. {216a} + + +[_April_, 1881.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +Somewhat before my usual time, you see, but Easter {216b} comes, and I +shall be glad to hear if you keep it in London, or elsewhere. Elsewhere +there has been no inducement to go until To-day: when the Wind, though +yet East, has turned to the Southern side of it: one can walk without any +wrapper; and I dare to fancy we have turned the corner of Winter at last. +People talk of changed Seasons: only yesterday I was reading in my dear +old Sevigne, how she was with the Duke and Duchess of Chaulnes at their +Chateau of Chaulnes in Picardy all but two hundred years ago; that is in +1689: and the green has not as yet ventured to show its 'nez' nor a +Nightingale to sing. {217} You see that I have returned to her as for +some Spring Music, at any rate. As for the Birds, I have nothing but a +Robin, who seems rather pleased when I sit down on a Bench under an Ivied +Pollard, where I suppose he has a Nest, poor little Fellow. But we have +terrible Superstitions about him here; no less than that he always kills +his Parents if he can: my young Reader is quite determined on this head: +and there lately has been a Paper in some Magazine to the same effect. + +My dear old Spedding sent me back to old Wordsworth too, who sings (his +best songs, I think) about the Mountains and Lakes they were both +associated with: and with a quiet feeling he sings, that somehow comes +home to me more now than ever it did before. + +As to Carlyle--I thought on my first reading that he must have been +'_egare_' at the time of writing: a condition which I well remember +saying to Spedding long ago that one of his temperament might likely fall +into. And now I see that Mrs. Oliphant hints at something of the sort. +Hers I think an admirable Paper: {218} better than has yet been written, +or (I believe) is likely to be written by any one else. Merivale, who +wrote me that he had seen you, had also seen Mrs. Procter, who was vowing +vengeance, and threatening to publish letters from Carlyle to Basil +Montagu full of 'fulsome flattery'--which I do not believe, and should +not, I am sorry to say, unless I saw it in the original. I forget now +what T. C. says of him: (I have lent the Book out)--but certainly Barry +Cornwall told Thackeray he was 'a humbug'--which I think was no uncommon +opinion: I do not mean dishonest: but of pretension to Learning and +Wisdom far beyond the reality. I must think Carlyle's judgments mostly, +or mainly, true; but that he must have 'lost his head,' if not when he +recorded them, yet when he left them in any one's hands to decide on +their publication. Especially when not about Public Men, but about their +Families. It is slaying the Innocent with the Guilty. But of all this +you have doubtless heard in London more than enough. 'Pauvre et triste +humanite!' One's heart opens again to him at the last: sitting alone in +the middle of her Room--'I want to die'--'I want--a Mother.' 'Ah, Mamma +Letizia!' Napoleon is said to have murmured as he lay. By way of pendant +to this, recurs to me the Story that when Ducis was wretched his mother +would lay his head on her Bosom--'Ah, mon homme, mon pauvre homme!' + +Well--I am expecting Aldis Wright here at Easter: and a young London +Clerk (this latter I did invite for his short holiday, poor Fellow!). +Wright is to read me 'The Two Noble Kinsmen.' + +And now I have written more than enough for yourself and me: whose Eyes +may be the worse for it to-morrow. I still go about in Blue Glasses, and +flinch from Lamp and Candle. Pray let me know about your own Eyes, and +your own Self; and believe me always sincerely yours + +LITTLEGRANGE. + +I really was relieved that you did not write to thank me for the poor +flowers which I sent you. They were so poor that I thought you would +feel bound so to do, and, when they were gone, repented. I have now some +gay Hyacinths up, which make my pattypan Beds like China Dishes. + + + + +XCII. {219} + + +[_April_, 1881.] + +MY DEAR LADY: + +This present Letter calls for no answer--except just that which perhaps +you cannot make it. If you have that copy of Plays revised by John the +Great which I sent, or brought, you, I wish you would cause your Maid to +pack it in brown Paper, and send it by Rail duly directed to me. I have +a wish to show it to Aldis Wright, who takes an Interest in your Family, +as in your Prophet. If you have already dismissed the Book elsewhere--not +much liking, I think, the stuff which J. K. spent so much trouble on, I +shall not be surprised, nor at all aggrieved: and there is not much for +A. W. to profit by unless in seeing what pains your noble Uncle took with +his Calling. + +It has been what we call down here 'smurring' rather than raining, all +day long: and I think that Flower and Herb already show their gratitude. +My Blackbird (I think it is the same I have tried to keep alive during +the Winter) seems also to have 'wetted his Whistle,' and what they call +the 'Cuckoo's mate,' with a rather harsh scissor note, announces that his +Partner may be on the wing to these Latitudes. You will hear of him at +Mr. W. Shakespeare's, it may be. There must be Violets, white and blue, +somewhere about where he lies, I think. They are generally found in a +Churchyard, where also (the Hunters used to say) a Hare: for the same +reason of comparative security, I suppose. + +I am very glad you agree with me about Mrs. Oliphant. That one paper of +hers makes me wish to read her Books. + +You must somehow, or somewhile, let me know your Address in Leamington, +unless a Letter addressed to Cavendish Square will find you there. Always +and truly yours + +LITTLE G. + + + + +XCIII. {221} + + +_May_ 8, [1881.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE: + +You will not break your Law, though you have done so once--to tell me of +Spedding--But now you will not--nor let me know your Address--so I must +direct to you at a venture: to Marshall Thompson's, whither I suppose you +will return awhile, even if you be not already there. I think, however, +that you are not there yet. If still at Leamington, you look upon a +sight which I used to like well; that is, the blue Avon (as in this +weather it will be) running through buttercup meadows all the way to +Warwick--unless those Meadows are all built over since I was there some +forty years ago. + +Aldis Wright stayed with me a whole week at Easter: and we did very well. +Much Shakespeare--especially concerning that curious Question about the +Quarto and Folio Hamlets which people are now trying to solve by Action +as well as by Discussion. Then we had The Two Noble Kinsmen--which +Tennyson and other Judges were assured has much of W. S. in it. Which +parts I forget, or never heard: but it seemed to me that a great deal of +the Play might be his, though not of his best: but Wright could find him +nowhere. + +Miss Crabbe sent me a Letter from Carlyle's Niece, cut out from some +Newspaper, about her Uncle's MS. Memoir, and his written words concerning +it. Even if Froude's explanation of the matter be correct, he ought to +have still taken any hesitation on Carlyle's part as sufficient proof +that the MS. were best left unpublisht: or, at any rate, great part of +it. If you be in London, you will be wearied enough with hearing about +this. + +I am got back to my--Sevigne!--who somehow returns to me in Spring: fresh +as the Flowers. These latter have done but badly this Spring, cut off or +withered by the Cold: and now parched up by this blazing Sun and dry +Wind. If you get my letter, pray answer it and tell me how you are: and +ever believe me yours + +LITTLEGRANGE. + + + + +XCIV. + + +_May_, [1881.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +If I did not write (as doubtless I ought) to acknowledge the Playbook, I +really believe that I thought you would have felt bound to answer my +acknowledgment! It came all right, thank you: and A. Wright looked it +over: and it has been lying ready to be returned to you whenever you +should be returned to London. I assure you that I wish you to keep it, +unless it be rather unacceptable than otherwise; I never thought you +would endure the Plays themselves; only that you might be interested in +your brave Uncle's patient and, I think, just, revision of them. This +was all I cared for: and wished to show to A. W. as being interested in +all that concerns so noble an Interpreter of his Shakespeare as your +Uncle was. If you do not care--or wish--to have the Book again, tell me +of some one you would wish to have it: had I wished, I should have told +you so at once: but I now give away even what I might have wished for to +those who are in any way more likely to be more interested in them than +myself, or are likely to have a few more years of life to make what they +may of them. I do not think that A. W. is one of such: he thought (as +you may do) of so much pains wasted on such sorry stuff. + +So far from disagreeing with you about Shakespeare emendations, etc., I +have always been of the same mind: quite content with what pleased +myself, and, as to the elder Dramatists, always thinking they would be +better all annihilated after some Selections made from them, as C. Lamb +did. + +Mowbray Donne wrote to me a fortnight or so since that his Father was +'pretty well,' but weak in the knees. Three days ago came in Archdeacon +Groome, who told me that a Friend of Mowbray's had just heard from him +that his Father had symptoms of dropsy about the Feet and Ankles. I have +not, however, written to ask; and, not having done so, perhaps ought not +to sadden you with what may be an inaccurate report. But one knows that, +sooner or later, some such end must come; and that, in the meanwhile, +Donne's Life is but little preferable to that which promises the speedier +end to it. + +We are all drying up here with hot Sun and cold Wind; my Water-pot won't +keep Polyanthus and Anemone from perishing. I should have thought the +nightly Frosts and Winds would have done for Fruit as well as Flower: but +I am told it is not so as yet: and I hope for an honest mess of +Gooseberry Fool yet. In the meanwhile, 'Ce sera le mois de Mai tant +qu'il plaira a Dieu,' and I am always your ancient + +LITTLE G. + + + + +XCV. + + +WOODBRIDGE: TUESDAY: +[_End of May_, 1881.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE: + +I must write you a word of 'God Speed' before you go: before even you go +to London to prepare for going: for, if I wait till then, you will be all +bother with preparations, and leave-takings; and nevertheless feel +yourself bound to answer. Pray do not, even if (as I suppose) still at +Leamington; for you will still have plenty to think about with Daughter +and Children. I do not propose to go to London to shake hands before you +go off: for, as I say, you will have enough of that without me--and my +blue Spectacles, which I can only discard as yet when looking on the +Grass and young Leaves. + +I duly sent your Book to Henry Kemble, as you desired: and received a +very polite Note from him in acknowledgment. + +And now my house is being pulled about my Ears by preparations for my +Nieces next week. And, instead of my leaving the coast clear to Broom +and Dust-pan, I believe that Charles Keene will be here from Friday to +Monday. As he has long talked of coming, I do not like to put him off +now he has really proposed to come, and we shall scramble on somehow. And +I will get a Carriage and take him a long Drive into the Country where it +is greenest. He is a very good fellow, and has lately lost his Mother, +to whom he was a very pious Son; a man who can _reverence_, although a +Droll in _Punch_. + +You will believe that I wish you all well among your Mountains. George +Crabbe has been (for Health's sake) in Italy these last two months, and +wrote me his last Note from the Lago Maggiore. My Sister Jane Wilkinson +talks of coming over to England this Summer: but I think her courage will +fail her when the time comes. If ever you should go to, or near, +Florence, she would be sincerely glad to see you, and to talk over other +Days. She is not at all obtrusively religious: and I think must have +settled abroad to escape some of the old Associations in which she took +so much part, to but little advantage to herself or others. + +You know that I cannot write to you when you are abroad unless you tell +me whither I am to direct. And you probably will not do that: but I do +not, and shall [not] cease to be yours always and truly + +E. F.G. + + + + +XCVI. + + +[_Nov._ 1881.] + +MY DEAR LADY: + +I was not quite sure, from your letter, whether you had received mine +directed to you in the Cavendish Square Hotel:--where your Nephew told me +you were to be found. It is no matter otherwise than that I wish you to +know that I had not only enquired if you were returned from abroad, but +had written whither I was told you were to be found. Of which enough. + +I am sorry you are gone again to Westminster, to which I cannot reconcile +myself as to our old London. Even Bloomsbury recalls to me the pink May +which used to be seen in those old Squares--sixty years ago. But 'enfin, +voila qui est fait.' You know where that comes from. I have not lately +been in company with my old dear: Annie Thackeray's Book {227a} is a +pretty thing for Ladies in a Rail carriage; but my old Girl is scarce +half herself in it. And there are many inaccuracies, I think. Mais +enfin, voila, etc. + +Athenaeum and Academy advertise your Sequel to Records. {227b} I need +not tell you that I look forward to it. I wish you would insert that +capital Paper on Dramatic and Theatrical from the Cornhill. {227c} It +might indeed very properly, as I thought, have found a place in the +Records. + +Mowbray Donne wrote me a month ago that his Father was very feeble: one +cannot expect but that he will continue to become more and more so. I +should run up to London to see him, if I thought my doing so would be any +real comfort to him: but _that_ only his Family can be to him: and I +think he may as little wish to exhibit his Decay to an old Friend, who so +long knew him in a far other condition, as his friend might wish to see +him so altered. This is what I judge from my own feelings. + +I have only just got my Garden laid up for the winter, and planted some +trees in lieu of those which that last gale blew down. I hear that +Kensington Gardens suffered greatly: how was it with your Green Park, on +which you now look down from such a height, and, I suppose, through a +London Fog? + +Ever yours +LITTLE G. + + + + +XCVII. + + +[_Dec._ 1881.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE: + +I _will_ write to you before 1881 is gone, carrying Christmas along with +him. A dismal Festivity it always seems to me--I dare say not much +merrier to you. I think you will tell me where, and with whom, you pass +it. My own company are to be, Aldis Wright, with whom Shakespeare, etc., +a London Clerk, may be--that is, if he can get sufficient Holyday--and +one or two Guests for the Day. + +I forget if I wrote to you since I had a letter from Hallam Tennyson, +telling me of a Visit that he and his Father had been making to +Warwickshire and Sherwood. The best news was that A. T. was 'walking and +working as usual.' + +Why, what is become of your Sequel? I see no more advertisement of it in +Athenaeum and Academy--unless it appears in the last, which I have not +conned over. Somehow I think it not impossible--or even unlikely--that +you--may--have--withdrawn--for some reason of your own. You see that I +speak with hesitation--meaning no offence--and only hoping for my own, +and other sakes that I am all astray. + +We are reading Nigel, which I had not expected to care for: but so far as +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, + +I suppose that you are returned from the Loire by this time; but as I am +not sure that you have returned to the 'Hotel des Deux Mondes,' whence +you dated your last, I make bold once more to trouble Coutts with adding +your Address to my Letter. I think I shall have it from yourself not +long after. I shall like to hear a word about my old France, dear to me +from childish associations; and in particular of the Loire endeared to me +by Sevigne--for I never saw the glimmer of its Waters myself. If you +were in England I should send you an account of a tour there, written by +a Lady in 1833--written in the good old way of Ladies' writing, without +any of the smartness, and not too much of the 'graphic' of later times. +Did you look at Les Rochers, which, I have read, is not to be looked +_into_ by the present owner? {250a} + +Now for my 'Story, God bless you,' etc., you may guess where none is to +be told. Only, my old Housekeeper here has been bedded for this last +month, an illness which has caused her great pain, and at one time seemed +about to make an End of her. So it may do still: but for the last few +days she has suffered less pain, and so we--hope. This has caused much +trouble in my little household, as you may imagine--as well on our own +account, as on hers. + +Mowbray Donne wrote me that his Edith had been seriously--I know not if +dangerously--ill; and he himself much out of sorts, having never yet (he +says, and I believe) recovered from his Father's death. Blanche, for the +present, is quartered at Friends' and Kinsfolk's houses. + +Aldis Wright has sent me a Photograph, copied from Mrs. Cameron's +original, of James Spedding--so fine that I know not whether I feel more +pleasure or pain in looking at it. When you return to England, you shall +see it somehow. + +I have had a letter or two from Annie Ritchie, who is busy writing +various Articles for Magazines. One concerning Miss Edgeworth in the +Cornhill is pleasant reading. {250b} She tells me that Tennyson is at +Aldworth (his Hampshire house, you know), and a notice in Athenaeum or +Academy tells that he is about to produce 'a Pastoral Drama' at one of +the smaller Theatres! {251a} + +You may have seen--but more probably have not seen--how Mr. Irving and +Co. have brought out 'Much Ado' with all _eclat_. + +It seems to me (but I believe it seems so every year) that our trees keep +their leaves very long; I suppose because of no severe frosts or winds up +to this time. And my garden still shows some Geranium, Salvia, +Nasturtium, Great Convolvulus, and that grand African Marigold whose +Colour is so comfortable to us Spanish-like Paddies. {251b} I have also +a dear Oleander which even now has a score of blossoms on it, and touches +the top of my little Greenhouse--having been sent me when 'haut comme +ca,' as Marquis Somebody used to say in the days of Louis XIV. Don't you +love the Oleander? So clean in its leaves and stem, as so beautiful in +its flower; loving to stand in water, which it drinks up so fast. I +rather worship mine. + +Here is pretty matter to get Coutts to further on to Paris--to Mrs. +Kemble in Paris. And I have written it all in my best MS. with a pen +that has been held with its nib in water for more than a +fortnight--Charles Keene's recipe for keeping Pens in condition--Oleander- +like. + +Please to make my Compliments to Mrs. Wister--my good wishes to the young +Musician; {252a} and pray do you believe me your sincere as ever--in +spite of his new name-- + +LITTLEGRANGE. + + + + +CIX. + + +[_Nov._, 1882.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE: + +You must be homeward-bound by this time, I think: but I hope my letter +won't light upon you just when you are leaving Paris, or just arriving in +London--perhaps about to see Mrs. Wister off to America from Liverpool! +But you will know very well how to set my letter aside till some better +opportunity. May Mrs. Wister fare well upon her Voyage over the +Atlantic, and find all well when she reaches her home. + +I have been again--twice or thrice--to Aldeburgh, when my contemporary +old Beauty Mary Lynn was staying there; and pleasant Evenings enough we +had, talking of other days, and she reading to me some of her Mudie +Books, finishing with a nice little Supper, and some hot grog (for me) +which I carried back to the fire, and _set on the carpet_. {252b} She +read me (for one thing) 'Marjorie Fleming' from a Volume of Dr. Brown's +Papers {253a}--read it as well as she could for laughing--'idiotically,' +she said--but all the better to my mind. She had been very dismal all +day, she said. Pray get some one to read you 'Marjorie'--which I say, +because (as I found) it agrees with one best in that way. If only for +dear Sir Walter's sake, who doated on the Child; and would not let his +Twelfth Night be celebrated till she came through the Snow in a Sedan +Chair, where (once in the warm Hall) he called all his Company down to +see her nestling before he carried her upstairs in his arms. A very +pretty picture. My old Mary said that Mr. Anstey's 'Vice Versa' made her +and a friend, to whom she read it, laugh idiotically too: but I could not +laugh over it alone, very clever as it is. And here is enough of me and +Mary. + +Devrient's Theory of Shakespeare's Sonnets (which you wrote me of) I +cannot pretend to judge of: what he said of the Englishwomen, to whom the +Imogens, Desdemonas, etc., were acceptable, seems to me well said. I +named it to Aldis Wright in a letter, but what he thinks on the +subject--surely no otherwise than Mrs. Kemble--I have not yet heard. My +dear old Alfred's Pastoral troubles me a little--that he should have +exposed himself to ridicule in his later days. Yet I feel sure that his +aim is a noble one; and there was a good notice in the Academy {253b} +saying there was much that was fine in the Play--nay, that a whole good +Play might yet be made of it by some better Playwright's practical Skill. + +And here is the end of my paper, before I have said something else that I +had to say. But you have enough for the present from your ancient E. +F.G.--who has been busy arranging some 'post mortem' papers. + + + + +CX. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _March_ 6, [1883.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE, + +I have asked more than one person for tidings of you, for the last two +months: and only yesterday heard from M. Donne that he had seen you at +the Address to which I shall direct this letter. I wrote to you about +mid-November, desiring Coutts to forward my letter: in which I said that +if you were in no mood to write during the time of Mrs. Wister's +departure for America (which you had told me was to be November end) you +were not to trouble yourself at all. Since which time I have really not +known whether you had not gone off to America too. Anyhow, I thought +better to wait till I had some token of your 'whereabout,' if nothing +more. And now Mowbray tells me that much, and I will venture another +Letter to you after so long an interval. You must always follow your own +inclination as to answering me--not by any means make a 'Duty' of it. + +As usual I have nothing to say of myself but what you have heard from me +for years. Only that my (now one year old) friend Bronchitis has thus +far done but little more than to keep me aware that he has not quitted +me, nor even thinks of so doing. Nay, this very day, when the Snow which +held off all winter is now coming down under stress of N.E. wind, I feel +my friend stirring somewhat within. + +Enough of that and of myself. Mowbray gives me a very good report of +you--Absit Nemesis for my daring to write it!--And you have got back to +something of our old London Quarters, which I always look to as better +than the new. And do you go to even a Play, in the old Quarters also? +Wright, who was with me at Christmas, was taken by Macmillan to see 'Much +Ado,' and found, all except Scenery, etc. (which was too good) so bad +that he vowed he would never go to see Sh. 'at any of your Courts' again. +Irving without any Humour, Miss Terry with simply Animal Spirits, etc. +However, Wright did intend once more to try--Comedy of Errors, at some +theatre; but how he liked it--I may hear if he comes to me at Easter. + +Now this is enough--is it not?--for a letter: but I am as always + +Sincerely yours, + +E. F.G. + + + + +CXI. + + +WOODBRIDGE: _April_ 12, [1883.] + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE: + +I do not think you will be sorry that more than a Moon has waxed and +waned since last I wrote to you. For you have seen long enough how +little I had to tell, and that nevertheless you were bound to answer. But +all such Apologies are stale: you will believe, I hope, that I remain as +I was in regard to you, as I shall believe that you are the same toward +me. + +Mowbray Donne has told me two months ago that he could not get over the +Remembrance of last May; and that, acting on Body as well as Mind, aged +him, I suppose, as you saw. Mowbray is one of the most loyal men toward +Kinsman and Friend. + +Now for my own little Budget of News. I got through those Sunless East +winds well enough: better than I am feeling now they both work together. +I think the Wind will rule till Midsummer: 'Enfin tant qu'il plaira a +Dieu.' Aldis Wright was with me for Easter, and we went on our usual +way, together or apart. Professor Norton had sent me his Carlyle-Emerson +Correspondence, which we conned over together, and liked well on either +side. Carlyle should not have said (and still less Norton printed) that +Tennyson was a 'gloomy' Soul, nor Thackeray 'of inordinate Appetite,' +neither of which sayings is true: nor written of Lord Houghton as a +'Robin Redbreast' of a man. I shall wait very patiently till Mudie sends +me Jane Carlyle--where I am told there is a word of not unkindly +toleration of me; which, if one be named at all, one may be thankful for. +{257} + +Here are two Questions to be submitted to Mrs. Kemble by Messrs. Aldis +Wright and Littlegrange--viz., What she understands by-- + +(1.) 'The Raven himself is hoarse,' etc. + +(2.) 'But this _eternal_ Blazon must not be,' etc. + +Mrs. Kemble (who _will_ answer my letter) can tell me how she fares in +health and well-being; yes, and if she has seen, or heard, anything of +Alfred Tennyson, who is generally to be heard of in London at this time +of year. And pray let Mrs. Kemble believe in the Writer of these poor +lines as her ancient, and loyal, Subject + +E. F.G. + +'The raven himself is hoarse,' etc. + + "Lady Macbeth compares the Messenger, hoarse for lack of Breath, to a + raven whose croaking was held to be prophetic of Disaster. This we + think the natural interpretation of the words, though it is rejected + by some Commentators."--_Clark and Wright's Clarendon Press + Shakespeare_. + + "'Eternal Blazon' = revelation of Eternity. It may be, however, that + Sh. uses 'eternal' for 'infernal' here, as in _Julius Caesar_ I. 2, + 160: 'The eternal Devil'; and _Othello_ IV. 2, 130: 'Some eternal + villain.' 'Blazon' is an heraldic term, meaning Description of + armorial bearings, * hence used for description generally; as in _Much + Ado_ II. 1, 307. The verb 'blazon' occurs in _Cymbeline_ IV. 2, + 170."--_Ibid_. + +Thus have I written out in my very best hand: as I will take care to do +in future; for I think it very bad manners to puzzle anyone--and +especially a Lady--with that which is a trouble to read; and I really had +no idea that I have been so guilty of doing so to Mrs. Kemble. + +Also I beg leave to say that nothing in Mowbray's letter set me off +writing again to Mrs. Kemble, except her Address, which I knew not till +he gave it to me, and I remain her very humble obedient Servant, + +THE LAIRD OF LITTLEGRANGE-- + +of which I enclose a side view done by a Woodbridge Artisan for his own +amusement. So that Mrs. Kemble may be made acquainted with the +'_habitat_' of the Flower--which is about to make an Omelette for its +Sunday Dinner. + +N.B.--The 'Raven' is not he that reports the news to Miladi M., but 'one +of my fellows Who almost dead for breath, etc.' + +* Not, as E. F.G. had thought, the Bearings themselves. + + + + +CXII. + + +[_May_, 1883.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +I conclude (from what you wrote me in your last letter) that you are at +Leamington by this time; and I will venture to ask a word of you before +you go off to Switzerland, and I shall have to rely on Coutts & Co. for +further Correspondence between us. I am not sure of your present +Address, even should you be at Leamington--not sure--but yet I think my +letter will find you--and, if it do not--why, then you will be saved the +necessity of answering it. + +I had written to Mowbray Donne to ask about himself and his Wife: and +herewith I enclose his Answer--very sad, and very manly. You shall +return it if you please; for I set some store by it. + +Now I am reading--have almost finished--Jane Carlyle's Letters. I dare +say you have already heard them more than enough discussed in London; and +therefore I will only say that it is at any rate fine of old Carlyle to +have laid himself so easily open to public Rebuke, though whether such +Revelations are fit for Publicity is another question. At any rate, it +seems to me that _half_ her letters, and _all_ his ejaculations of +Remorse summed up in a Preface, would have done better. There is an +Article by brave Mrs. Oliphant in this month's Contemporary Review {259} +(or Magazine) well worth reading on the subject; with such a Challenge to +Froude as might almost be actionable in Law. We must 'hear both sides,' +and wait for the Volume which [is] to crown all his Labours in this +Cause. + +I think your Leamington Country is more in Leaf than ours 'down-East:' +which only just begins to 'stand in a mist of green.' {260} By the by, I +lately heard from Hallam Tennyson that all his Party were well enough; +not having been to London this Spring because Alfred's Doctor had warned +him against London Fogs, which suppress Perspiration, and bring up Gout. +Which is the best piece of news in my Letter; and I am + +Yours always and a Day +E. F.G. + +P.S. I do not enclose Mowbray's letter, as I had intended to do, for +fear of my own not finding you. + + + + +CXIII. + + +[_May_, 1883.] + +MY DEAR LADY; + +Stupid me! And now, after a little hunt, I find poor Mowbray's Letter, +which I had made sure of having sent you. But I should not now send it +if I did not implore you not to write in case you thought fit to return +it; which indeed I did ask you to do; but now I would rather it remained +with you, who will acknowledge all the true and brave in it as well as +I--yes, it may be laid, if you please, even among those of your own which +you tell me Mowbray's Father saved up for you. If you return it, let it +be without a word of your own: and pray do not misunderstand me when I +say that. You will hear of me (if Coutts be true) when you are among +your Mountains again; and, if you do hear of me, I know you will--for you +must--reply. + +At last some feeling of Spring--a month before Midsummer. And next week +I am expecting my grave Friend Charles Keene, of Punch, to come here for +a week--bringing with him his Bagpipes, and an ancient Viol, and a Book +of Strathspeys and Madrigals; and our Archdeacon will come to meet him, +and to talk over ancient Music and Books: and we shall all three drive +out past the green hedges, and heaths with their furze in blossom--and I +wish--yes, I do--that you were of the Party. + +I love all Southey, and all that he does; and love that Correspondence of +his with Caroline Bowles. We (Boy and I) have been reading an account of +Zetland, which makes me thirst for 'The Pirate' again--tiresome, I +know--more than half of it--but what a Vision it leaves behind! {261} + +Now, Madam, you cannot pretend that you have to jump at my meaning +through my MS. I am sure it is legible enough, and that I am ever yours + +E. F.G. + +You write just across the Address you date from; but I jump at that which +I shall direct this Letter by. + + + + +CXIV. + + +WOODBRIDGE, _May_ 27/83. + +MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE: + +I feel minded to write you a word of Farewell before you start off for +Switzerland: but I do not think it will be very welcome to you if, as +usual, you feel bound to answer it on the Eve of your Departure. Why not +let me hear from you when you are settled for a few days somewhere among +your Mountains? + +I was lately obliged to run to London on a disagreeable errand: which, +however, got itself over soon after midday; when I got into a Cab to +Chelsea, for the purpose of seeing Carlyle's Statue on the Embankment, +and to take a last look at his old House in Cheyne Row. The Statue very +good, I thought, though looking somewhat small for want of a good +Background to set it off: but the old House! Shut up--neglected--'To +Let'--was sad enough to me. I got back to Woodbridge before night. {263} + +Since then I have had Charles Keene (who has not been well) staying with +me here for ten days. He is a very good Guest, inasmuch as he entertains +himself with Books, and Birds'-nests, and an ancient Viol which he has +brought down here: as also a Bagpipe (his favourite instrument), only +leaving the 'Bag' behind: he having to supply its functions from his own +lungs. But he will leave me to-morrow or next day; and with June will +come my two Nieces from Lowestoft: and then the Longest Day will come, +and we shall begin declining toward Winter again, after so shortly +escaping from it. + +This very morning I receive The Diary of John Ward, Vicar of Stratford on +Avon from 1648 to 1679--with some notices of W. S. which you know all +about. And I am as ever + +Sincerely yours +LITTLEGRANGE. + +Is not this Letter legible enough? + + + + +INDEX + + +Academy (Royal), pictures at, 49 + +Aconites, "New Year's Gifts," 211, 231 + +Aide (H.), 202 + +Anstey's 'Vice Versa,' 253 + +Arkwright (Mrs.), 87 + +Autumn colours, 112 + +Bagehot's Essays, 170 + +Barton (Bernard), 174 + +Basselin (Olivier), quoted, 23 + +Beard (Dr.), 48 + +Belvidere Hat, 163 + +Beranger, 20-22 + +Beuve (Sainte), Causeries, 40, 53 + +Blackbird _v._ Nightingale, 46 + +Blakesley (J. W.), Dean of Lincoln, 78, 233 + +Boccaccio, 117 + +Brown (Dr. John), 253 + +Burns, compared with Beranger, 20-22; quoted, 37 + +Burrows (General), his defeat by Ayoub Khan, 193 + +Calderon, 63, 185 + +Candide, 174 + +Carlyle (T.), 17; forwards Mr. Ruskin's letter to E. F.G., 19; his Kings +of Norway, 61, 65; presented with a Medal and Address on his 80th +birthday, 88, 91; vehement against Darwin and the Turk, 110; on Sir +Walter Scott, 131; is reading Shakespeare and Boswell's Hebrides, 170; +becomes very feeble, 203; is buried at Ecclefechan, 206, 207; his +Reminiscences, 215, 218; his Letters to Emerson, 246, 256 + +Carlyle (Mrs.), her Letters, 257, 259 + +Carlyle (Mrs. Alexander), 163, 170, 186, 207, 215, 222 + +Chateaubriand's father, 59 + +Chorley (H. F.), his death, 11; Life of, 38, 53 + +Clerke Saunders, 164 + +Coriolanus, 139 + +Corneille, 73 + +Country church, Scene in, 46 + +Cowell (Professor), 155 + +Crabbe (G.), the Poet, quoted, 39, 43, 55, 59, 118; his portrait by +Pickersgill, 39,150; article on him in the Cornhill, 58; his fancy +quickened by a fall of snow, 198 + +Crabbe (George), Vicar of Bredfield, the poet's son, 43 + +Crabbe (George), Rector of Merton, the poet's grandson, 202, 225 + +Deffand (Madame du), 53 + +De Quincey (T.), on Janus Weathercock, 90 + +Derby Day, 186 + +De Soyres (John), E. F.G.'s nephew, 238 + +De Soyres (Mrs.), E. F.G.'s sister, her death, 168 + +Devrient, his Theory of Shakespeare's Sonnets, 253 + +Dickens (Charles), 69; E. F.G.'s admiration for him, 51, 126; his passion +for colours, 54 + +Donne (Blanche), 48, 111, 149, 154 + +Donne (Charles), 95, 111, 131 + +Donne (Mrs. Charles), her death, 106 + +Donne (Mowbray), 10, 29, 39, 62, 86, 95, 111, 140, 181, 185, 193, 196, +199, 206, 207, 212, 223, 227, 242, 259, 260; visits E. F.G., 86 + +Donne (Valentia), 6, 18, 111, 161, 199; her marriage, 127 + +Donne (W. B.), mentioned, 3, 4, 6, 8, 18, 48, 60, 64, 78, 98, 102, 111, +121, 181, 207, 212, 223, 227, 229, 241; his Lectures, 10; his illness, +35, 37, 39, 42; retires from his post as Licenser of Plays, 48, 50; his +successor, 50; reviews Macready's Memoirs, 75; his death, 243 + +Ducis, 219 + +Dunwich, 138 + +Eastern Question (the), 117 + +Eckermann, a German Boswell, 155 + +Edwards (Edwin), 139, 140, 158; his death, 155; exhibition of his +pictures, 166, 168, 169 + +Elio (F. J.), 120 + +Elliot (Sir Gilbert), pastoral by, 82 + +Euphranor, 65 + +FitzGerald (Edward), parts with his yacht, 3; his reader's mistakes, 4; +his house at Woodbridge, 8; his unwillingness to have visitors, 8, 9; his +mother, 11; reads Hawthorne's Notes of Italian Travel, 12; Memoirs of +Harness, 13; cannot read George Eliot, 15, 38, 171; his love for Sir +Walter Scott, 15, 229; visits his brother Peter, 16; on the art of being +photographed, 24, 25; reads Walpole, Wesley, and Boswell's Johnson, 28; +in Paris in 1830, 31; cannot read Goethe's Faust, 31, 124; reads Ste. +Beuve's Causeries, 40, and Don Quixote, 41, 45; has a skeleton of his +own, bronchitis, 45, 47, 75; goes to Scotland, 49; to the Academy, 49; +reads Dickens, 51; Crabbe, 54; condenses the Tales of the Hall, 59, 64, +118; death of his brother Peter, 64; translations from Calderon, 63; +tries to read Gil Blas and La Fontaine, 66; admires Corneille, 73; reads +Madame de Sevigne, 73; writes to Notes and Queries, 82; begins to 'smell +the ground,' 83; his recollections of Paris, 85; reads Mrs. Trollope's 'A +Charming Fellow,' 95; on framing pictures, 96, 99, 102, 106; translation +of the Agamemnon, 97, 103, 107, 111; meets Macready, 103; his Lugger +Captain, 104, 115, 117; prefers the Second Part of Don Quixote, 108; +scissors and paste his 'Harp and Lute,' 126; reads Dickens' Great +Expectations, 126; on nightingales, 128, 136, 184; wished to dedicate +Agamemnon to Mrs. Kemble, 129; reads The Heart of Mid-Lothian, 130; +Catullus, 135; Guy Mannering, 137; at Dunwich, 138; reads Coriolanus, +139; Kenilworth, 145; David Copperfield, 145; his Readings in Crabbe, +147, 150; reads Hawthorne's Journals, 153; at Lowestoft, 155; reads +Forster's Life of Dickens, 155; and Trollope's Novels, 155, 171; +Eckermann's Goethe, 155; works on Crabbe's Posthumous Tales, 164; his +Quarter-deck, 167; Dombey and Son, 172, 187; Comus and Lycidas, 178; Mrs. +Kemble's Records, 186; Madame de Sevigne, 186, 188; visits George Crabbe +at Merton, 188, 243; his ducks and chickens, 189; his Irish cousins, 190; +at Aldeburgh, 190; with his nieces at Lowestoft, 195; sends Charles +Tennyson's Sonnets to Mrs. Kemble, 198; his eyes out of 'Keller,' 202, +206; reads Winter's Tale, 204; his translations of the two OEdipus plays, +205, 208; his affection for the stage, 210; his collection of actors' +portraits, 210; his love for Spedding, 212; his reminiscences of a visit +with Tennyson at Mirehouse, 214; reads Wordsworth, 217; sends his reader +to see Macbeth, 231; feels as if some of the internal timbers were +shaken, 240; reads Froude's Carlyle, 243, 245, 248; at Aldeburgh, 245, +247; meets Professor Fawcett, 247; consults Mrs. Kemble on two passages +of Shakespeare, 257; goes to look at Carlyle's statue and his old house, +262 + +FitzGerald (Jane), afterwards Mrs. Wilkinson, E. F.G.'s sister, 112, 122 + +FitzGerald (J. P.), E. F.G.'s eldest brother, 95, 100; his illness, 141, +144; and death, 149 + +FitzGerald (Mrs.), E. F.G.'s mother, 11, 61, 96; her portrait by Sir T. +Lawrence, 177 + +FitzGerald (Percy), his Lives of the Kembles, 5, 6 + +FitzGerald (Peter), E. F.G.'s brother, 16; his death, 64 + +Frere (Mrs.), 83, 87, 181 + +Froude (J. A.), constantly with Carlyle, 203; is charged with his +biography, 208; his Life of Carlyle, 243; writes to E. F.G., 243 + +Fualdes, murder of, 85; play founded on, 89 + +Furness (H. H.), 60, 64, 66, 101, 203 + +Gil Blas, 66 + +Glyn (Miss), 97 + +Goethe, 31, 123, 124; his conversations by Eckermann, 155 + +Goethe and Schiller, correspondence of, 231 + +Goodwin (Professor), proposes to visit E. F.G., 192 + +Gordon (Mrs.), 132, 203 + +Gout, 7 + +Groome (Archdeacon), 4, 45, 199, 223 + +Half Hours with the Worst Authors, 31, 34 + +Hamlet, theory of Gervinus on, 32; the Quarto and Folio Texts of, 221 + +Harlowe's picture of the Trial Scene in Henry VIII., 87 + +Harness (Rev. W.), Memoirs of, 6, 13 + +Hatherley (Lord), letter from, 132 + +Hawthorne (Nathaniel), his Notes of Italian Travel, 12, 153 + +Haydn, 83 + +Haydon (B. R.), verses by his wife, 34 + +Haymarket Opera (The), 200 + +Hayward (A.), his translation of Faust, 124; his Select Essays, 170 + +Helen of Kirkconnel, 164 + +Helps (Sir Arthur), his death, 68 + +Hertford (Lord), 48, 50 + +Hood (T.), verses by, 87, 95 + +Houghton (Lord), 164, 236, 239, 257 + +Hugo (F. Victor), his translation of Shakespeare, 114 + +Hunt (Holman), The Shadow of Death, 40 + +Intellectual Peat, 69 + +Irving (Henry), in Hamlet, 74, 75; his portrait, 86; in Queen Mary, 107, +109; his reading of Eugene Aram, 124; in Much Ado about Nothing, 251, 255 + +Jenny (Mr.), the owner of Bredfield House, 10 + +Jessica, 179 + +Kean (Edmund), in Othello, 53 + +Keats (John), his Letters, 134; his Life and Letters, by Lord Houghton, +164 + +Keene (Charles), 225, 249, 261; at Little Grange, 242, 263 + +Kelly (Michael), his Reminiscences, 146 + +Kemble (Charles), in Othello, 53; as Falconbridge and Petruchio, 58; in +As You Like It, 58; as Charles Surface, 58; as Cromwell, 87; in King +John, 182 + +Kemble (Mrs. Charles), 61, 62; her 'Smiles and Tears,' 14; contributes to +Kitchener's Cook's Oracle, 89; miniature of her as Urania, 96, 99, 100, +101, 106, 146 + +Kemble (Fanny), her laws of correspondence, 2; her daughter's marriage, +3; her Memoirs, 29; in America, 36, 46; her article 'On the Stage' in the +Cornhill Magazine, 53, 78, 227; her letter about Macready, 57; her +photograph, 61; as Louisa of Savoy, 73; writes her 'Old Woman's Gossip' +in the Atlantic Monthly, 84, 92; letter from her to the Editor, 93; +omitted passage from her 'Gossip,' 93-94; uses a type-writer, 94; her +opinion of Portia, 95, 124; on Goethe and Portia, 123; end of her +'Gossip,' 125, 129; her Records of a Girlhood, 186; her favourite +Colours, 197; her portrait by Sir T. Lawrence, 210; her Records of Later +Life, 227, 228 + +Kemble (Henry), Mrs. Kemble's brother, 58, 109 + +Kemble (Henry), Mrs. Kemble's nephew, 225 + +Kemble (John Mitchell), 120, 153, 159 + +Kemble (J. P.), 179, 183; portrait of him as OEdipus, 183, 210; Plays +revised by him, 220 + +Kerrich (Edmund), E. F.G.'s nephew, 129, 172 + +La Fontaine, 66 + +Laurence (S.), copies Pickersgill's portrait of Crabbe, 39; letter from, +90 + +Leigh (the Hon. Mrs.), Mrs. Kemble's daughter, 161; her marriage, 3 + +L'Hopital (Chancellor), quoted, 191 + +Little Grange, first named, 42 + +Lowell (J. R.), 'Among my Books,' 97, 119, 135; his Odes, 120, 122; +letter from, 136; his coming to England as Minister of the United States, +174; illness of his wife, 174, 184, 186, 192 + +Lynn (Mary), 191, 252, 253 + +Macbeth quoted, 43, 68; French opera by Chelard, acted at Dublin, 81 + +Macready (W. C,), 27; his Memoirs edited by Sir W. F. Pollock, 38, 44, +50, 52, 68, 70, 98, 102; his Macbeth, 44, 57, 68; plays Henry IV., 58; +reads Mrs. Kemble's English Tragedy, 72 + +Malkin (Arthur), 110, 132, 213 + +Malkin (Dr. B. H.), Master of Bury School, 94; Crabbe a favourite with +him, 213 + +Marjorie Fleming, 252 + +Marot (Clement), quoted, 23 + +Matthews (Charles), his Memoir, 173 + +Merivale (Charles), Dean of Ely, 195, 218 + +Montaigne, 103, 104, 105, 117 + +Musset (Alfred de), Memoir of, 138; loves to read Clarissa Harlowe, 138 + +Napoleon, saying of, 218 + +Naseby, proposed monument at, 17, 27 + +Norton (C. E), 19, 97, 119, 123, 135, 151, 180, 183, 205, 209, 246, 256 + +OEdipus, by Dryden and Lee, 229 + +Oleander, 251 + +Oliphant (Mrs.), on Carlyle, 218, 220; on Mrs. Carlyle, 259 + +Oriole, 46 + +Pasta, saying of, 53 + +Pasta, in Medea, 181, 200 + +Pasteur (Le Bon), 30, 33 + +Peacock (E.), Headlong Hall quoted, 40 + +Piccolomini, 11 + +Pigott (E. F. S.), succeeds W. B. Donne, 50 + +Piozzi (Mrs.), Memoirs of, 46 + +Pollock (Sir W. F ), visits E. F.G., 15; edits Macready's Memoirs, 38, +44; letter from, 55; visits Carlyle, 110 + +Portia, 95, 124 + +Quixote (Don), 41, 108, 155, 182; must be read in Spanish, 114, 117 + +Ritchie (Mrs.), Miss Thackeray, 135 + +Rossi in Hamlet, 107 + +Rousseau on stage decoration, 110 + +Santley (Mrs.), 111 + +Sartoris (Edward), 192, 203 + +Sartoris (Greville), death of, 38 + +Sartoris (Mrs.), Mrs. Kemble's sister, 38; her illness, 140, 149; and +death, 154; her Medusa and other Tales, 203 + +Scott (Sir Walter), his indifference to fame, 116; the easy movement of +his stories, 130; Barry Cornwall's saying of him, 131; his Kenilworth, +145; the Fortunes of Nigel, 228, 231; Marjorie Fleming, 252; The Pirate, +261 + +Sevigne (Madame de), 73, 103, 105, 137, 184, 186, 188, 222; her Rochers, +105, 184; not shown to visitors, 188; list of her dramatis personae, 125; +quoted, 190, 217 + +Shakespeare, edited by Clark and Wright, 68, 69 + +Shakespeare, 69 + +Shakespeare's predecessors, 223 + +Siddons (Mrs.), 46, 71, 183; her portrait by Sir T. Lawrence, 81; article +on her in the Nineteenth Century, 134; in Winter's Tale, 204 + +Skeat (Professor), his Inaugural Lecture, 153 + +Southey's Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 261 + +Spanish Tragedy (The), scene from, 62 + +Spedding (James), is finishing his Life and Letters of Bacon, 27; has +finished them, 42, 51: his note on Antony and Cleopatra, 43, 45; +emendation of Shakespeare, 45; paper on Richard III., 74; his opinion of +Irving's Hamlet, 74; and Miss Ellen Terry's Portia, 74, 77; will not see +Salvini in Othello, 74; on The Merchant of Venice, 77, 80, 176, 201; the +Latest Theory about Bacon, 111; Shakespeare Notes, 189; his Preface to +Charles Tennyson Turner's Sonnets, 197; his accident, 212; and death, +214; his Evenings with a Reviewer, 233: Mrs. Cameron's photograph of him, +250 + +Stephen (Leslie), 58; his 'Hours in a Library,' 118 + +Taylor (Tom), 166, 193; his death, 192; his Memoir of Haydon, 194 + +Tennyson (A.), in Burns's country, 22; changes his publisher, 37; his +Queen Mary, 77; mentioned, 82, 113, 160, 193, 228, 239; his Mary Tudor, +107, 109; visits E. F.G. at Woodbridge, 113, 114; the attack on him in +the Quarterly, 116; his Harold, 122; portrait of him, 134; his saying of +Clarissa Harlow, 138; of Crabbe's portrait by Pickersgill, 151; used to +repeat Clerke Saunders and Helen of Kirkconnel, 164; The Falcon, 169; The +Cup, 206, 208; his saying of Lycidas, 178; his eyes, 183; Ballads and +other Poems, 201; with E. F.G. at Mirehouse, 214; The Promise of May, +251, 253 + +Tennyson (Frederick), visits E. F.G., 16; his saying of blindness, 183; +his poems, 197 + +Tennyson (Hallam, now Lord), 114, 228, 239, 260 + +Tennyson (Lionel), 98; his marriage, 135 + +Terry (Miss Ellen), as Portia, 74, 77; Tom Taylor's opinion of her, 95 + +Thackeray (Minnie), death of, 90 + +Thackeray (Miss), 99; her Old Kensington, 13, 15, 39; meets E. F.G. at +the Royal Academy, 16; her Village on the Cliff, 38; on Madame de +Sevigne, 227; on Miss Edgeworth, 250 + +Thackeray (W. M.), 38, 120; not the author of a Tragedy, 51; his Drawings +published, 'The Orphan of Pimlico,' etc., 91; his pen and ink drawing of +Mrs. Kemble as Louisa of Savoy, 73 + +Thurtell, the murderer, 152 + +Tichborne trial, 28, 36 + +Tieck, 'an Eyewitness of John Kemble' in The Nineteenth Century, 179, 183 + +Trench (Archbishop), his Translation of Calderon, 185; E. F.G. sends him +his Crabbe, 185 + +Tunbridge Wells, 57 + +Turner (Charles Tennyson), his Sonnets, 151, 197 + +'Twalmley' ('the Great'), 75, 102, 116 + +Two Noble Kinsmen (The), 221 + +Urania, 146 + +Wade (T.), author of the Jew of Aragon, 120 + +Wainewright (T. G.), 90 + +Wales (Prince of), Thanksgiving service for his recovery, 10 + +Ward (John), Vicar of Stratford on Avon, his diary, 263 + +Wesley (John), his Journal one of E. F.G.'s hobbies, 28, 186 + +Whalley (Dr.), his reading of a passage in Macbeth, 46 + +Wilkinson (Mrs.), E. F.G.'s sister, 112, 122, 169, 225 + +Wilson (H. Schutz), 232, 233, 235 + +Wister (Mrs.), Mrs. Kemble's daughter, 6, 36, 252, 254 + +Woodberry (G. E.), his article on Crabbe, 180 + +Wylie (W. H.), on Thomas Carlyle, 237 + + + + +Footnotes: + + +{3a} Mrs. Kemble's daughter, Frances Butler, was married to the Hon. and +Rev. James Wentworth Leigh, now Dean of Hereford, 29th June 1871. + +{3b} See 'Letters,' ii. 126. + +{6} Fitzgerald's Lives of the Kembles was reviewed in the _Athenaeum_, +12th August 1871, and the 'Memoirs of Mr. Harness,' 28th October. + +{7} Macbeth, ii. 2, 21. + +{9} In writing to Sir Frederick Pollock on November 17th, 1871, +FitzGerald says:-- + + 'The Game-dealer here telling me that he has some very good Pheasants, + I have told him to send you a Brace--to go in company with Braces to + Carlyle, and Mrs. Kemble. This will, you may think, necessitate your + writing a Reply of Thanks before your usual time of writing: but don't + do that:--only write to me now in case the Pheasants don't reach you; + I know you will thank me for them, whether they reach you or not; and + so you can defer writing so much till you happen next upon an idle + moment which you may think as well devoted to me; you being the only + man, except Donne, who cares to trouble himself with a gratuitous + letter to one who really does not deserve it. + + 'Donne, you know, is pleased with Everybody, and with Everything that + Anybody does for him. You must take his Praises of Woodbridge with + this grain of Salt to season them. It may seem odd to you at + first--but not perhaps on reflection--that I feel more--nervous, I may + say--at the prospect of meeting with an old Friend, after all these + years, than of any indifferent Acquaintance. I feel it the less with + Donne, for the reason aforesaid--why should I not feel it with you who + have given so many tokens since our last meeting that you are well + willing to take me as I am? If one is, indeed, by Letter what one is + in person.--I always tell Donne not to come out of his way here--he + says he takes me in the course of a Visit to some East-Anglian + kinsmen. Have you ever any such reason?--Well; if you have no better + reason than that of really wishing to see me, for better or worse, in + my home, come--some Spring or Summer day, when my Home at any rate is + pleasant. This all sounds mock-modesty; but it is not; as I can't + read Books, Plays, Pictures, etc. and don't see People, I feel, when a + Man comes, that I have all to ask and nothing to tell; and one doesn't + like to make a Pump of a Friend.' + +{10a} At the Royal Institution, on 'The Theatre in Shakespeare's Time.' +The series consisted of six lectures, which were delivered from 20th +January to 24th February 1872. On 18th February 1872, Mrs. Kemble wrote: +'My dear old friend Donne is lecturing on Shakespeare, and I have heard +him these last two times. He is looking ill and feeble, and I should +like to carry him off too, out of the reach of his too many and too heavy +cares.'--'Further Records,' ii. 253. + +{10b} 27th February, 1872, for the recovery of the Prince of Wales. + +{10c} Mr. Jenney, the owner of Bredfield House, where FitzGerald was +born. See 'Letters,' i. 64. + +{11} H. F. Chorley died 16th February 1872. + +{13a} Perhaps Widmore, near Bromley. See 'Further Records,' ii. 253. + +{13b} 'Old Kensington,' the first number of which appeared in the +_Cornhill Magazine_ for April 1872. + +{15} He came May 18th, 1872, the day before Whitsunday. + +{16a} F. T. came August 1st, 1872. + +{16b} See 'Letters,' ii. 142-3. + +{19a} Miss Harriet St. Leger. + +{19b} April 14th, 1873. See 'Letters,' ii. 154. + +{23a} Probably the piece beginning-- + + 'On plante des pommiers es bords + Des cimitieres, pres des morts, &c + +Olivier Basselin ('Vaux-de-Vire,' ed Jacob, 1858, xv. p. 28) + +On Oct 13th, 1879, FitzGerald wrote of a copy of Olivier (ed. Du Bois, +1821) which he had sent by me to Professor Cowell: "If Cowell does not +care for Olivier--the dear Phantom!--pray do you keep him. Read a little +piece--the two first Stanzas--beginning 'Dieu garde de deshonneur,' p. +184--quite beautiful to me; though not classed as Olivier's. Also 'Royne +des Flours, &c,' p. 160. These are things that Beranger could not reach +with all his Art; but Burns could without it." + +{23b} De Damoyselle Anne de Marle (Marot, 'Cimetiere,' xiv ):-- + + 'Lors sans viser au lieu dont elle vint, + Et desprisant la gloire que l'on a + En ce bas monde, icelle Anne ordonna, + Que son corps fust entre les pauures mys + En cette fosse. Or prions, chers amys, + Que l'ame soit entre les pauures mise, + Qui bien heureux sont chantez en l'Eglise.' + +{25} On March 30, 1873, FitzGerald wrote to Sir Frederick Pollock:-- + + "At the beginning of this year I submitted to be Photo'ed at last--for + many Nieces, and a few old Friends--I must think that you are an old + Friend as well as a very kind and constant one; and so I don't like + not to send you what I have sent others.--The Artist who took me, took + (as he always does) three several Views of one's Face: but the third + View (looking full-faced) got blurred by my blinking at the Light: so + only these two were reproduced--I shouldn't know that either was meant + for [me]: nor, I think, would any one else, if not told: but the Truth- + telling Sun somehow did them; and as he acted so handsomely by me, I + take courage to distribute them to those who have a regard for me, and + will naturally like to have so favourable a Version of one's Outward + Aspect to remember one by. I should not have sent them if they had + been otherwise. The up-looking one I call 'The Statesman,' quite + ready to be called to the Helm of Affairs: the Down-looking one I call + The Philosopher. Will you take which you like? And when next old + Spedding comes your way, give him the other (he won't care which) with + my Love. I only don't write to him because my doing so would impose + on his Conscience an Answer--which would torment him for some little + while. I do not love him the less: and believe all the while that he + not the less regards me." + +Again on May 5, he wrote: "I think I shall have a word about M[acready] +from Mrs. Kemble, with whom I have been corresponding a little since her +return to England. She has lately been staying with her Son in Law, Mr. +Leigh (?), at Stoneleigh Vicarage, near Kenilworth. In the Autumn she +says she will go to America, never to return to England. But I tell her +she _will_ return. She is to sit for her Photo at my express desire, and +I have given her Instructions _how_ to sit, derived from my own +successful Experience. One rule is to sit--in a dirty Shirt--(to avoid +dangerous White) and another is, not to sit on a Sunshiny Day: which we +must leave to the Young. + +"By the by, I sent old Spedding my own lovely Photo (_the Statesman_) +which he has acknowledged in Autograph. He tells me that he begins to +'smell Land' with his Bacon." + +{28a} See 'Letters,' ii. 165-7. + +{28b} See letter of April 22nd, 1873. + +{30} Shakespeare, Ant. & Cl., v. 2, line 6:-- + + 'Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change.' + +{31} In his 'Half Hours with the Worst Authors' FitzGerald has +transcribed 'Le Bon Pasteur,' which consists of five stanzas of eight +lines each, beginning:-- + + 'Bons habitans de ce Village, + Pretez l'oreille un moment,' &c. + +Each stanza ends:-- + + 'Et le bon Dieu vous benira.' + +He adds: 'One of the pleasantest remembrances of France is, having heard +this sung to a Barrel-organ, and chorus'd by the Hearers (who had bought +the Song-books) one fine Evening on the Paris Boulevards, June: 1830.' + +{34a} Haydon entered these verses in his Diary for May, 1846: 'The +struggle is severe, for myself I care not, but for her so dear to me I +feel. It presses on her mind, and in a moment of pain, she wrote the +following simple bit of feeling to Frederick, who is in South America, on +Board _The Grecian_.' There are seven stanzas in the original, but +FitzGerald has omitted in his transcript the third and fourth and +slightly altered one or two of the lines. He called them 'A poor +Mother's Verses.' + +{34b} See 'Letters,' ii. 280. + +{37} Burns, quoted from memory as usual. See Globe Edition, p. 214; ed. +Cunningham, iv. 293. + +{38} Greville Sartoris was killed by a fall from his horse, not in the +hunting-field, 23 Oct. 1873. + +{39} 'Rage' in the original. See Tales of the Hall, Book XII. Sir Owen +Dale. + +{40} Quoting from Peacock's 'Headlong Hall':-- + + 'Nature had but little clay + Like that of which she moulded him.' + +See 'Letters,' i. 75, note. + +{42} 18 April 1874. Professor Hiram Corson endeavoured to maintain the +correctness of the reading of the Folios in Antony and Cleopatra, v. 2. +86-88: + + 'For his Bounty, + There was no winter in 't. An _Anthony_ it was, + That grew the more by reaping.' + +Spedding admirably defended Theobald's certain emendation of 'autumn' for +'Anthony.' + +{43} These lines are not to be found in Crabbe, so far as I can +ascertain, but they appear to be a transformation of two which occur in +the Parish Register, Part II., in the story of Phebe Dawson (Works, ii. +183): + + 'Friend of distress! The mourner feels thy aid; + She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid.' + +They had taken possession of FitzGerald's memory in their present shape, +for in a letter to me, dated 5 Nov. 1877, speaking of the poet's son, who +was Vicar of Bredfield, he says: "It is now just twenty years since the +Brave old Boy was laid in Bredfield Churchyard. Two of his Father's +Lines might make Epitaph for some good soul:-- + + 'Friend of the Poor, the Wretched, the Betray'd; + They cannot pay thee--but thou shalt be paid.' + +Pas mal ca, eh!" + +{45a} In a letter to me dated October 29th, 1871, FitzGerald says:-- + + "A suggestion that casually fell from old Spedding's lips (I forget + how long ago) occurred to me the other day. Instead of + + 'Do such business as the bitter day,' + +read 'better day'--a certain Emendation, I think. I hope you take +Spedding into your Counsel; he might be induced to look over one Play at +a time though he might shrink from all in a Body; and I scarce ever heard +him conning a page of Shakespeare but he suggested something which was an +improvement--on Shakespeare himself, if not on his Editors--though don't +[tell] Spedding that I say so, for God's sake." + +{45b} In 'Notes and Queries,' April 18th, 1874. + +{48a} Lord Hertford + +{48b} Frank Carr Beard, the friend and medical adviser of Dickens and +Wilkie Collins. + +{49a} See Lockhart's 'Life of Scott,' vii. 394. 'About half-past one, +P.M., on the 21st of September, [1832], Sir Walter breathed his last, in +the presence of all his children. It was a beautiful day--so warm that +every window was wide open, and so perfectly still, that the sound of all +others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its +pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his +eldest son kissed and closed his eyes.' + +{49b} Dryburgh. + +{49c} The North West Passage. The 'Old Sea Captain' was Trelawny. + +{50a} See 'Letters,' ii. 173-4. + +{50b} E. F. S. Pigott. + +{52} See 'Letters,' ii. 172. + +{53a} Not _Macmillan_, but _Cornhill Magazine_, Dec. 1863, 'On the +Stage.' See Letter of 24 Aug. 1875. + +{53b} "Pasta, the great lyric tragedian, who, Mrs. Siddons said, was +capable of giving her lessons, replied to the observation, 'Vous avez du +beaucoup etudier l'antique.' 'Je l'ai beaucoup senti.'"--From Mrs. +Kemble's article 'On the Stage' ('Cornhill,' 1863), reprinted as an +Introduction to her Notes upon some of Shakespeare's Plays. + +{53c} 'Causeries du Lundi,' xiv. 234. + +{53d} Lettre de Viard a M. Walpole, in 'Lettres de Madame du Deffand,' +iv. 178 (Paris, 1824). FitzGerald probably read it in Ste. Beuve, +'Causeries du Lundi,' i. 405. + +{54} Cedars, not yew. See Memoirs of Chorley, ii. 240. + +{55} In Tales of the Hall, Book XI. ('Works,' vi. 284), quoted from +memory. + +{56} Virgil, AEn. vi. 127. + +{57a} Referring to the well-known print of 'Remarkable Characters who +were at Tunbridge Wells with Richardson in 1748.' + +{57b} James Spedding. + +{59a} In the original draft of Tales of the Hall, Book VI. + +{59b} See Memoirs of Chateaubriand, written by himself, Eng. trans. 1849 +p. 123. At the Chateau of Combourg in Brittany, 'When supper was over, +and the party of four had removed from the table to the chimney, my +mother would throw herself, with a sigh, upon an old cotton-covered sofa, +and near her was placed a little stand with a light. I sat down by the +fire with Lucile; the servants removed the supper-things, and retired. My +father then began to walk up and down, and never ceased until his +bedtime. He wore a kind of white woollen gown, or rather cloak, such as +I have never seen with anyone else. His head, partly bald, was covered +with a large white cap, which stood bolt upright. When, in the course of +his walk, he got to a distance from the fire, the vast apartment was so +ill-lighted by a single candle that he could be no longer seen, he could +still be heard marching about in the dark, however, and presently +returned slowly towards the light, and emerged by degrees from obscurity, +looking like a spectre, with his white robe and cap, and his tall, thin +figure.' + +{64a} 'The Mighty Magician' and 'Such Stuff as Dreams are made of.' + +{64b} See Winter's Tale, iv. 4, 118-120. + +{65} 'Euphranor.' + +{67} See 'Letters,' ii. 180. + +{68} Sir Arthur Helps died March 7th, 1875. + +{69} The Passage of Carlyle to which FitzGerald refers is perhaps in +'Anti-Dryasdust,' in the Introduction to Cromwell's Letters and Speeches. +'By very nature it is a labyrinth and chaos, this that we call Human +History; an _abatis_ of trees and brushwood, a world-wide jungle, at once +growing and dying. Under the green foliage and blossoming fruit-trees of +To-day, there lie, rotting slower or faster, the forests of all other +Years and Days. Some have rotted fast, plants of annual growth, and are +long since quite gone to inorganic mould; others are like the aloe, +growths that last a thousand or three thousand years.' Ste. Beuve, in +his 'Nouveaux Lundis' (iv. 295), has a similar remark: 'Pour un petit +nombre d'arbres qui s'elevent de quelques pieds au-dessus de terre et qui +s'apercoivent de loin, il y a partout, en litterature, de cet humus et de +ce detrius vegetal, de ces feuilles accumulees et entassees qu'on ne +distingue pas, si l'on ne se baisse.' At the end of his copy FitzGerald +has referred to this as 'Carlyle's Peat.' + +{71} In The Gamester. See 'Macready's Reminiscences,' i. 54-57. + +{72a} In Rowe's Tamerlane. See 'Macready's Reminiscences,' i. 202. + +{72b} Probably the English Tragedy, which was finished in October 1838. +See 'Records of Later Days,' ii. 168. + +{74} In the _Transactions of the New Shakspere Society_ for 1875-76. The +surviving editor of the 'Cambridge Shakspeare' does not at all feel that +Spedding's criticism 'smashed' the theory which was only put forward as a +tentative solution of a perhaps insoluble problem. + +{75a} See 'Letters,' ii. 177. + +{75b} See 'Letters,' ii. 198, 228, and Boswell's 'Johnson' (ed. Birkbeck +Hill), iv. 193. + +{77} FitzGerald wrote to me about the same time: + + "Spedding has (you know) a delicious little Paper about the Merchant + of Venice in July _Fraser_:--but I think he is wrong in subordinating + Shylock to the Comedy Part. If that were meant to be so, Williams + ['the divine Williams,' as some Frenchman called Shakespeare] + miscalculated, throwing so much of his very finest writing into the + Jew's Mouth, the downright human Nature of which makes all the Love- + Story Child's play, though very beautiful Child's play indeed." + +{78} 'On the Stage,' in the _Cornhill Magazine_ for December 1863 +Reprinted as an Introduction to Mrs. Kemble's 'Notes upon some of +Shakespeare's Plays.' + +{79} See his 'Life and Letters,' p. 46. + +{80} In the _Cornhill Magazine_ for July 1875, The Merchant of Venice at +the Prince of Wales's Theatre. + +{82a} 'The Enterprising Impresario' by Walter Maynard (Thomas Willert +Beale), 1867, pp 273-4. + +{82b} Beginning, 'A spirit haunts the year's last hours.' It first +appeared in the poems of 1830, p. 67, and is now included in Tennyson's +Collected Works. See 'Letters,' ii. 256. + +{82c} By Sir Gilbert Elliot, father of the first Lord Minto. The query +appeared 25 Sept. 1875 ('N. & Q.' 5th Series, iv. 247), and two answers +are given at p. 397, but not by E. F.G. + +{83} See 'Letters,' ii. 185. + +{84} The _Atlantic Monthly_ for August, September, and October 1875. + +{85a} _Atlantic Monthly_, August 1875, p. 167, by T. S. Perry. + +{85b} _Ibid._, p. 240. + +{86} From Oct. 30 to Nov. 4. + +{87a} The Trial of Queen Katharine in _Henry VIII_. Charles Kemble +acted Cromwell. + +{87b} _Atlantic Monthly_, August 1875, p. 165. + +{88a} 'The Exile,' quoted from memory. + +{88b} See letter of August 24, 1875. + +{89} _Atlantic Monthly_, August 1875, p. 156. + +{90a} Thomas Griffiths Wainewright. De Quincey's account of him is in +his essay on Charles Lamb ('Works,' ed. 1862, viii. 146). His career was +the subject of a story by Dickens, called 'Hunted Down.' + +{90b} Minnie Thackeray (Mrs. Leslie Stephen) died Nov. 28. + +{91} About the same time he wrote to me:-- + + 'A dozen years ago I entreated Annie Thackeray, Smith & Elder, &c., to + bring out a Volume of Thackeray's better Drawings. Of course they + wouldn't--now Windus and Chatto have, you know, brought out a Volume + of his inferior: and now Annie T. S. & E. prepare a Volume--when it is + not so certain to pay, at any rate, as when W. M. T. was the Hero of + the Day. However, I send them all I have: pretty confident they will + select the worst; of course, for my own part, I would rather have any + other than copies of what I have: but I should like the World to + acknowledge he could do something beside the ugly and ridiculous. + Annie T. sent me the enclosed Specimen: very careless, but full of + Character. I can see W. M. T. drawing it as he was telling one about + his Scotch Trip. That disputatious Scotchman in the second Row with + Spectacles, and--teeth. You may know some who will be amused at + this:--but send it back, please: no occasion to write beside.' + +{92} When I was preparing the first edition of FitzGerald's Letters I +wrote to Mrs. Kemble for permission to quote the passage from her Gossip +which is here referred to. She replied (11 Dec. 1883):-- + + 'I have no objection whatever to your quoting what I said of Edward + Fitzgerald in the _Atlantic Monthly_, but I suppose you know that it + was omitted from Bentley's publication of my book at Edward's _own + desire_. He did not certainly knock me on the head with Dr. Johnson's + sledge-hammer, but he did make me feel painfully that I had been + guilty of the impertinence of praising.' + +I did not then avail myself of the permission so readily granted, but I +venture to do so now, in the belief that the publicity from which his +sensitive nature shrank during his lifetime may now without impropriety +be given to what was written in all sincerity by one of his oldest and +most intimate friends. It was Mrs. Kemble who described him as 'an +eccentric man of genius, who took more pains to avoid fame than others do +to seek it,' and this description is fully borne out by the account she +gave of him in the offending passage which follows:-- + + "That Mrs. Fitzgerald is among the most vivid memories of my girlish + days. She and her husband were kind and intimate friends of my father + and mother. He was a most amiable and genial Irish gentleman, with + considerable property in Ireland and Suffolk, and a fine house in + Portland Place, and had married his cousin, a very handsome, clever, + and eccentric woman. I remember she always wore a bracelet of his + hair, on the massive clasp of which were engraved the words, '_Stesso + sangue_, _stessa sorte_.' I also remember, as a feature of sundry + dinners at their house, the first gold dessert and table ornaments + that I ever saw, the magnificence of which made a great impression + upon me; though I also remember their being replaced, upon Mrs. + Fitzgerald's wearying of them, by a set of ground glass and dead and + burnished silver, so exquisite that the splendid gold service was + pronounced infinitely less tasteful and beautiful. One member of her + family--her son Edward Fitzgerald--has remained my friend till this + day. His parents and mine are dead. Of his brothers and sisters I + retain no knowledge, but with him I still keep up an affectionate and + to me most valuable and interesting correspondence. He was + distinguished from the rest of his family, and indeed from most + people, by the possession of very rare intellectual and artistic + gifts. A poet, a painter, a musician, an admirable scholar and + writer, if he had not shunned notoriety as sedulously as most people + seek it, he would have achieved a foremost place among the eminent men + of his day, and left a name second to that of very few of his + contemporaries. His life was spent in literary leisure, or literary + labours of love of singular excellence, which he never cared to + publish beyond the circle of his intimate friends: Euphranor, + Polonius, collections of dialogues full of keen wisdom, fine + observation, and profound thought; sterling philosophy written in the + purest, simplest, and raciest English; noble translations, or rather + free adaptations of Calderon's two finest dramas, The Wonderful + Magician and Life's a Dream, and a splendid paraphrase of the + Agamemnon of AEschylus, which fills its reader with regret that he + should not have _Englished_ the whole of the great trilogy with the + same severe sublimity. In America this gentleman is better known by + his translation or adaptation (how much more of it is his own than the + author's I should like to know if I were Irish) of Omar Khayyam, the + astronomer-poet of Persia. Archbishop Trench, in his volume on the + life and genius of Calderon, frequently refers to Mr. Fitzgerald's + translations, and himself gives a version of Life's a Dream, the + excellence of which falls short, however, of his friend's finer + dramatic poem bearing the same name, though he has gallantly attacked + the difficulty of rendering the Spanish in English verse. While these + were Edward Fitzgerald's studies and pursuits, he led a curious life + of almost entire estrangement from society, preferring the + companionship of the rough sailors and fishermen of the Suffolk coast + to that of lettered folk. He lived with them in the most friendly + intimacy, helping them in their sea ventures, and cruising about with + one, an especially fine sample of his sort, in a small fishing-smack + which Edward Fitzgerald's bounty had set afloat, and in which the + translator of Calderon and AEschylus passed his time, better pleased + with the fellowship and intercourse of the captain and crew of his + small fishing craft than with that of more educated and sophisticated + humanity. He and his brothers were school-fellows of my eldest + brother under Dr. Malkin, the master of the grammar school of Bury St. + Edmunds." + +{94} Mrs. Kemble's letter was written with a typewriter (see 'Further +Records,' i. 198, 240, 247). It was given by FitzGerald to Mr. F. +Spalding, now of the Colchester Museum, through whose kindness I am +enabled to quote it:-- + +'YORK FARM, BRANCHTOWN. +'_Tuesday_, _Dec._ 14. 1875. + +'MY DEAR EDWARD FITZGERALD, + +'I have got a printing-machine and am going to try and write to you upon +it and see if it will suit your eyes better than my scrawl of +handwriting. Thank you for the Photographs and the line of music; I know +that old bit of tune, it seems to me. I think Mr. Irving's face more +like Young's than my Father's. Tom Taylor, years ago, told me that Miss +Ellen Terry would be a consummate comic actress. Portia should never be +without some one to set her before the Public. She is my model woman.' + +{97a} See 'Letters,' ii. 192 + +{97b} See the _Athenaeum_ for Jan. 1, 15, 22, 29, 1876. + +{100} In her 'Further Records,' i. 250, Mrs. Kemble wrote, March 11th, +1876:-- + + 'Last week my old friend Edward Fitzgerald (Omar Kyam, you know), sent + me a beautiful miniature of my mother, which his mother--her intimate + friend--had kept till her death, and which had been painted for Mrs. + Fitzgerald. It is a full-length figure, very beautifully painted, and + very like my mother. Almost immediately after receiving this from + England, my friend Mr. Horace Furness came out to see me. He is a + great collector of books and prints, and brought me an old engraving + of my mother in the character of Urania, which a great many years ago + I remember to have seen, and which was undoubtedly the original of + Mrs. Fitzgerald's miniature. I thought the concidence of their both + reaching me at the same time curious.' + +{105} On July 22nd, 1880, he wrote to me:--"I am still reading her! And +could make a pretty Introduction to her; but Press-work is hard to me +now, and nobody would care for what I should do, when done. Mrs. Edwards +has found me a good Photo of 'nos pauvres Rochers,' a straggling old +Chateau, with (I suppose) the Chapel which her old 'Bien Bon' Uncle built +in 1671--while she was talking to her Gardener Pilois and reading +Montaigne, Moliere, Pascal, _or_ Cleopatra, among the trees she had +planted. Bless her! I should like to have made Lamb like her, in spite +of his anti-gallican Obstinacy." + +{106} Mrs. Charles Donne, daughter of John Mitchell Kemble, died April +15th, 1876. + +{107} First acted April 18th, 1876. + +{108a} See 'Letters,' ii. 293. + +{108b} See 'Letters,' ii. 198. + +{109a} _Atlantic Monthly_, June 1876, p. 719. + +{109b} Which opened May 10th, 1876. + +{110} In one of his Common Place Books FitzGerald has entered from the +_Monthly Mirror_ for 1807 the following passage of Rousseau on Stage +Scenery--'Ils font, pour epouventer, un Fracas de Decorations sans Effet. +Sur la scene meme il ne faut pas tout dire a la Vue: mais ebranler +l'Imagmation.' + +{111} For April and May 1876: 'The Latest Theory about Bacon.' + +{113a} See letter of October 4th, 1875 + +{113b} See 'Letters,' ii. 202-205. + +{113c} This card is now in my possession, 'Mr. Alfred Tennyson. +Farringford.' On it is written in pencil, "Dear old Fitz--I am passing +thro' and will call again. [The last three words are crossed out and 'am +here' is written over them]. A.T." FitzGerald enclosed it to Thompson +(Master of Trinity) and wrote on the back, 'P.S. Since writing, this +card was sent in: the Writer followed with his Son: and here we all are +as if twenty years had not passed since we met.' + +{114a} About the same time he wrote to me:--"Tennyson came here suddenly +ten days ago--with his Son Hallam, whom I liked much. It was a Relief to +find a Young Gentleman not calling his Father 'The Governor' but +even--'Papa,' and tending him so carefully in all ways. And nothing of +'awfully jolly,' etc. I put them up at the Inn--Bull--as my own House +was in a sort of Interregnum of Painting, within and without: and I knew +they would be well provided at 'John Grout's'--as they were. Tennyson +said he had not found such Dinners at Grand Hotels, etc. And John +(though a Friend of Princes of all Nations--Russian, French, Italian, +etc.--who come to buy Horse flesh) was gratified at the Praise: though he +said to me 'Pray, Sir, what is the name of the Gentleman?'" + +{114b} On September 11th, 1877, he wrote to me: 'You ought to have +Hugo's French Shakespeare: it is not wonderful to see how well a German +Translation thrives:--but French Prose--no doubt better than French +Verse. When I was looking over King John the other day I knew that +Napoleon would have owned it as the thing he craved for in the Theatre: +as also the other Historical Plays:--not Love of which one is sick: but +the Business of Men. He said this at St. Helena, or elsewhere.' + +{115} It was in 1867. See 'Letters,' ii. 90, 94. + +{116} Life, vi. 215. Letter to Lockhart, January 15th, 1826. + +{117a} These expressions must not be looked for in the Decameron, as +'emendato secondo l'ordine del Sacro Concilio di Trento.' + +{117b} See 'Letters,' ii. 203. In a letter to me dated November 4th, +1876, he says:-- + +"I have taken refuge from the Eastern Question in Boccaccio, just as the +'piacevoli Donne' who tell the Stories escaped from the Plague. I +suppose one must read this in Italian as my dear Don in Spanish: the +Language of each fitting the Subject 'like a Glove.' But there is +nothing to come up to the Don and his Man." + +{118} Book XVIII., vol. vii. p. 188. + +{119a} See 'Letters,' ii. 208. + +{119b} Gillies' Memoirs of a Literary Veteran. See Letters, ii. 197, +199. + +{120a} An Ode for the Fourth of July, 1876. + +{120b} Mr. Wade, author of _The Jew of Aragon_, which failed. Mrs. +Kemble says (_Atlantic Monthly_, December 1876, p. 707):-- + + "I was perfectly miserable when the curtain fell, and the poor young + author, as pale as a ghost, came forward to meet my father at the side + scene, and bravely holding out his hand to him said, 'Never mind, Mr. + Kemble, I'll do better another time.'" + +{120c} Francisco Javier Elio, a Spanish General, was executed in 1822 +for his seventies against the liberals dining the reactionary period 1814- +1820. + +{122a} _Atlantic Monthly_, February 1877, p. 222. + +{122b} Holbrook, near Ipswich. That she had also some of the family +humour is evident from what she wrote to Mr. Crabbe of her brother's +early life. 'As regards spiritual advantages out of the house he had +none; for our Pastor was one of the old sort, with a jolly red nose +caused by good cheer. He used to lay his Hat and Whip on the Communion +Table and gabble over the service, running down the Pulpit Stairs not to +lose the opportunity of being invited to a good dinner at the Hall.' It +was with reference to his sister's husband that FitzGerald in +conversation with Tennyson used the expression 'A Mr. Wilkinson, a +clergyman.' + +'Why, Fitz,' said Tennyson, 'that's a verse, and a very bad one too.' And +they would afterwards humorously contend for the authorship of the worst +line in the English language. + +{123} _Atlantic Monthly_, February 1877, pp. 210, 211, and pp. 220, 221. + +{124a} See note to Letter of Dec. 29_th_ 1875. + +{124b} For November 1875, in an article called 'The Judgment of Paris,' +p. 400. + +{125a} See 'Letters,' ii. 217. This is in my possession. + +{125b} It came to an end in April 1877. In a letter to Miss St. Leger, +December 31st, 1876 ('Further Records,' ii. 33), Mrs. Kemble says, 'You +ask me how I mean to carry on the publication of my articles in the +_Atlantic Magazine_ when I leave America; but I do not intend to carry +them on. The editor proposed to me to do so, but I thought it would +entail so much trouble and uncertainty in the transmission of manuscript +and proofs, that it would be better to break off when I came to Europe. +The editor will have manuscript enough for the February, March, and April +numbers when I come away, and with those I think the series must close. +As there is no narrative or sequence of events involved in the +publication, it can, of course, be stopped at any moment; a story without +an end can end anywhere.' + +{126} See letter of December 29th, 1875. + +{127a} 15, Connaught Square. See 'Further Records,' ii. 42, etc. + +{127b} Valentia Donne marred the Rev. R. F. Smith, minor Canon of +Southwell, May 24th, 1877. + +{131a} 'We might say in a short word, which means a long matter, that +your Shakespeare fashions his characters from the heart outwards, your +Scott fashions them from the skin inwards, never getting near the heart +of them.'--Carlyle, 'Miscellanies,' vi. 69 (ed. 1869), 'Sir Walter Scott' + +{131b} Procter, 'Autobiographical Fragments,' p. 154. + +{134a} February 9th, 1878. + +{134b} It was not in the _Fortnightly_ but in the _Nineteenth Century_. + +{134c} This portrait is in my possession. FitzGerald fastened it in a +copy of the 'Poems chiefly Lyrical' (1830) which he gave me bound up with +the 'Poems' of 1833. He wrote underneath, 'Done in a Steamboat from +Gravesend to London, Jan: 1842.' + +{135a} Criticisms and Elucidations of Catullus by H. A. J. Munro. + +{135b} See 'Letters,' ii. 233, 235, 236, 238, 239. + +{136} See 'Letters,' ii. 247. + +{138a} See 'Letters,' ii. 243. + +{138b} See 'Letters,' ii. 248. + +{145} See 'Letters,' ii. 265. + +{146} II. 166 (ed. 1826). + +{149} John Purcell FitzGerald died at Boulge, May 4th, 1879. + +{151a} See letter of May 5th, 1877. + +{151b} In a letter to me dated May 7th, 1879, he says:-- + + 'I see by Athenaeum that Charles Tennyson (Turner) is dead. _Now_ + people will begin to talk of his beautiful Sonnets: small, but + original, things, as well as beautiful. Especially after that + somewhat absurd Sale of the Brothers' early Editions.' + +{152} Gay, _The Beggar's Opera_, Act III, Air 57. + +{153} Professor Skeat's Inaugural Lecture, in _Macmillan's Magazine_ for +February 1879, pp. 304-313. + +{154} Mrs. Sartoris, Mrs. Kemble's sister, died August 4, 1879. See +'Further Records,' ii. 277. + +{155} Edwin Edwards, who died September 15. See 'Letters,' ii. 277. + +{157} In a letter to me of September 29 1879, he says, "My object in +going to London is, to see poor Mrs. Edwards, who writes me that she has +much collapsed in strength (no wonder!) after the Trial she endured for +near three years more or less, and, you know, a very hard light for the +last year . . . + +"Besides her, Mrs. Kemble, who has lately lost her Sister, and returned +from Switzerland to London just at a time when most of her Friends are +out of it--_she_ wants to see me, an old Friend of hers and her Family's, +whom she has not seen for more than twenty years. So I do hope to do my +'petit possible' to solace both these poor Ladies at the same time." + +{158} On September 11 he wrote to me, 'Ah, pleasant Dunwich Days! I +should never know a better Boy than Edwards, nor a braver little Wife +than her, were I to live six times as long as I am like to do.' + +{160} See letter of October 4, 1875. + +{161} Mrs. Leigh's son, Pierce Butler, was born on Sunday, November 2, +1879. + +{162} See 'Letters,' ii. 326. + +{163a} Mrs. Kemble appears to have adopted this suggestion. In her +'Records of a Girlhood,' ii. 41, she says of Sir Thomas Lawrence, 'He +came repeatedly to consult with my mother about the disputed point of my +dress, and gave his sanction to her decision upon it. The first dress of +Belvidera [in _Venice Preserved_], I remember, was a point of nice +discussion between them. . . . I was allowed (not, however, without +serious demur on the part of Lawrence) to cover my head with a black hat +and white feather.' + +{163b} William Mason. + +{166} November 10, 1879. + +{168} Mrs. De Soyres died at Exeter, December 11, 1879. + +{169} Played at St. James's Theatre, December 18, 1879. + +{171} 'The Duke's Children.' + +{173} Probably the 'Records of Later Life,' published in 1882. + +{174} On 1st February 1880, FitzGerald wrote to me:--"Do you know what +'Stub Iron' is? (I do), and what 'Heel-taps' derives from, which Mrs. +Kemble asks, and I cannot tell her." This is probably the query referred +to. + +{175} Beginning 'As men may children at their sports behold!'--Tales of +the Hall, book xxi., at the end of 'Smugglers and Poachers.' + +{176} In the _Cornhill Magazine_, March 1880, 'The Story of the Merchant +of Venice.' + +{179} 'An Eye-witness of John Kemble,' by Sir Theodore Martin. The eye- +witness is Tieck. + +{180a} This letter was written on a Tuesday, and April 6 was a Tuesday +in 1880. Moreover, in 1880, at Easter, Donne's house was in quarantine. +FitzGerald probably had the advanced sheets of the _Atlantic Monthly_ for +May from Professor Norton as early as the beginning of April. + +{180b} The _Atlantic Monthly_ for May 1880, contained an article by Mr. +G. E. Woodberry on Crabbe, 'A Neglected Poet.' See letter to Professor +Norton, May 1, 1880, in 'Letters,' ii. 281. + +{181a} No. 39, where FitzGerald's father and mother lived. See 'Records +of a Girlhood,' iii. 28. + +{181b} See 'Letters,' ii. 138. + +{183a} It was Queen Catharine. When Mrs. Siddons called upon Johnson in +1783, he "particularly asked her which of Shakespeare's characters she +was most pleased with. Upon her answering that she thought the character +of Queen Catharine, in _Henry the Eighth_, the most natural:--'I think so +too, Madam, (said he;) and when ever you perform it, I will once more +hobble out to the theatre myself.'"--Boswell's 'Life of Johnson' (ed. +Birkbeck Hill), iv. 242. + +{183b} See letters of February and December 1881. + +{184a} See 'Letters,' ii. 244, 249. + +{184b} On June 30, 1880, he wrote to me, 'Half her Beauty is the liquid +melodiousness of her language--all unpremeditated as a Blackbird's.' + +{186} See letter of May 5, 1877. + +{187} In a letter to me of the same date he wrote: 'Last night when Miss +Tox was just coming, like a good Soul, to ask about the ruined Dombey, we +heard a Splash of Rain, and I had the Book shut up, and sat listening to +the Shower by myself--till it blew over, I am sorry to say, and no more +of the sort all night. But we are thankful for that small mercy. + +'I am reading through my Sevigne again--welcome as the flowers of May.' + +{188a} On June 9, 1879, FitzGerald wrote to me: "I was from Tuesday to +Saturday last in Norfolk with my old Bredfield Party--George, not very +well: and, as he has not written to tell me he is better, I am rather +anxious. You should know him; and his Country: which is still the old +Country which we have lost here; small enclosures, with hedgeway timber: +green gipsey drift-ways: and Crome Cottage and Farmhouse of that +beautiful yellow 'Claylump' with red pantile roof'd--not the d---d Brick +and Slate of these parts." + +{188b} See 'Letters,' ii. 290. + +{190} See letter of Madame de Sevigne to Madame de Grignan, June 15, +1689. + +{191} In one of FitzGerald's Common Place Books he gives the story thus: +"When Chancellor Cheverny went home in his Old Age and for the last time, +'Messieurs' (dit-il aux Gentilshommes du Canton accourus pour le saluer), +'Je ressemble au bon Lievre qui vient mourir au Gite.'" + +{192a} Tom Taylor died July 12, 1880. + +{192b} On July 16 FitzGerald wrote to me: 'Not being assured that you +were back from Revision, I wrote yesterday to Cowell asking him--and you, +when returned--to call on Professor Goodwin, of American Cambridge, who +goes to-morrow to your Cambridge--to see--if not to stay with--Mr. Jebb. +Mr. Goodwin proposed to give me a look here before he went to Cambridge: +but I told him I could not bear the thought of his coming all this way +for such a purpose. I think you can witness that I do not wish even old +English Friends to take me except on their way elsewhere: and for an +American Gentleman! It is not affectation to say that any such proposal +worried me. So what must I do but ask him to be sure to see Messrs. +Wright and Cowell when he got to Cambridge: and spend part of one of his +days there in going to Bury, and (even if he cared not for the Abbey with +its Abbot Samson and Jocelyn) to sit with a Bottle of light wine at the +Angel window, face to face with that lovely Abbey gate. Perhaps Cowell, +I said, might go over with him--knowing and loving Gothic--that was a +liberty for me to take with Cowell, but he need not go--I did not hint at +you. I suppose I muddled it all. But do show the American Gentleman +some civilities, to make amends for the disrespect which you and Cowell +told me of in April.' + +{193} The defeat of General Burrows by Ayoub Khan, announced in the +House of Commons, July 28, 1880. On July 29 further telegrams reported +that General Burrows and other officers had arrived at Candahar after the +defeat. + +{194} The date should be September 19, which was a Sunday in 1880. Full +moon was on September 18. + +{197} In her 'Further Records,' i. 295, Mrs. Kemble says, 'Russia +leather, you know, is almost an element of the atmosphere of my rooms, as +all the shades of violet and purple are of their colouring, so that my +familiar friends associate the two with their notions of my habitat.' + +{198} See 'Life of Crabbe,' p. 262. + +{200} See 'Letters,' ii. 295. + +{201a} On 'The Story of the Merchant of Venice' in the _Cornhill +Magazine_ for March 1880. + +{201b} 'Ballads and other Poems,' 1880. + +{202} _Kelter_, condition, order. Forby's 'Vocabulary of East Anglia.' + +{203a} See 'Letters,' ii. 110 + +{203b} 'Medusa and other Tales' (1868), republished in 1880 with a +preface by her daughter, Mrs. Gordon. + +{205} Full moon February 14th. + +{206a} Acted at the Lyceum, January 3rd, 1881. + +{206b} For February 1881. + +{210} See letters of April 23rd, 1880, and December 1881. + +{211a} See 'Letters,' ii. 180, 320. + +{211b} Printed in 'Letters,' ii. 298-301. + +{214} Partly printed in 'Letters,' ii. 305-7. + +{216a} Printed in 'Letters,' ii. 310-312. + +{216b} April 17th was Easter Day in 1881. + +{217} Madame de Sevigne writes from Chaulnes, April 17th, 1689, 'A peine +le vert veut-il montrer le nez; pas un rossignol encore; enfin, l'hiver +le 17 d'Avril.' + +{218} In _Macmillan's Magazine_ for April 1881. + +{219} Partly printed in 'Letters,' ii. 313. + +{221} Partly printed in 'Letters,' ii. 312. + +{227a} On Madame de Sevigne. + +{227b} Published in 1882 as 'Records of Later Life.' + +{227c} See letter of August 24th, 1875. + +{230} Partly printed in 'Letters,' ii. 320-1. + +{231} The correct date is 1794-1805. + +{233} 'Evenings with a Reviewer.' The Reviewer was Macaulay, and the +review the Essay on Bacon. + +{234a} At Boulge. + +{234b} He was in London from February 17th to February 20th. + +{236} See 'Letters,' ii. 324-6. + +{237a} Full moon April 3rd, 1882. + +{237b} 'Thomas Carlyle. The Man and His Books.' By W. H. Wylie. 1881, +p. 363. + +{241a} On May 7 FitzGerald wrote to me from Lowestoft: + + "I too am taking some medicine, which, whatever effect it has on me, + leaves an indelible mark on Mahogany: for (of course) I spilled a lot + on my Landlady's Chiffonier, and found her this morning rubbing at the + 'damned Spot' with Turpentine, and in vain." + +And two days later: + + "I was to have gone home to-day: but Worthington wishes me to stay, at + any rate, till the week's end, by which time he thinks to remove what + he calls 'a Crepitation' in one lung, by help of the Medicine which + proved its power on the mahogany. Yesterday came a Cabinet-maker, who + was for more than half an hour employed in returning that to its + 'sound and pristine health,' or such as I hope my Landlady will be + satisfied with." + +{241b} Serjeant Ballantine's 'Experiences of a Barrister's Life' +appeared in March 1882. + +{241c} Full moon was June 1st, 1882. + +{243a} W. B. Donne died June 20th, 1882. + +{243b} This letter is in my possession, and as it indicates what Mr. +Froude's plan originally was, though he afterwards modified it, I have +thought it worth while to give it in full. + + '5 ONSLOW GARDENS, S.W. + '_May_ 19. + + 'DEAR MR. FITZGERALD, + + 'Certainly you are no stranger to me. I have heard so often from + Carlyle, and I have read so much in his letters, about your exertions, + and about your entertainment of him at various times, that I can + hardly persuade myself that I never saw you. + + 'The letters you speak of must be very interesting, and I would ask + you to let me see them if I thought that they were likely to be of use + to me; but the subject with which I have to deal is so vast that I am + obliged to limit myself, and so intricate that I am glad to be able to + limit myself. I shall do what Carlyle desired me to do, _i.e._ edit + the collection of his wife's letters, which he himself prepared for + publication. + + 'This gift or bequest of his governs the rest of my work. What I have + already done is an introduction to these letters. When they are + published I shall add a volume of personal recollections of his later + life; and this will be all. Had I been left unencumbered by special + directions I should have been tempted to leave his domestic history + untouched except on the outside, and have attempted to make a complete + biography out of the general materials. This I am unable to do, and + all that I can give the world will be materials for some other person + to use hereafter. I can explain no further the conditions of the + problem. But for my own share of it I have materials in abundance, + and I must avoid being tempted off into other matters however + important in themselves. + + 'I may add for myself that I did not seek this duty, nor was it + welcome to me. C. asked me to undertake it. When I looked through + the papers I saw how difficult, how, in some aspects of it, painful, + the task would be. + + 'Believe me, + 'faithfully yours, + 'J. A. FROUDE.' + +{245a} Printed in 'Letters,' ii. 332. + +{245b} July 30th. + +{247} Printed in 'Letters,' ii. 333. + +{248} Here begins second half-sheet, dated 'Monday, Sept. 5.' + +{249} Partly printed in 'Letters,' ii. 335. + +{250a} See letter of June 23rd, 1880. + +{250b} Reprinted in 'A Book of Sibyls,' 1883. + +{251a} _The Promise of May_ was acted at the Globe Theatre, November +11th, 1882. + +{251b} See letter of November 13th, 1879. + +{252a} Mrs. Wister's son. + +{252b} See letter of March 28th, 1880. + +{253a} 'John Leech and other Papers,' 1882. + +{253b} November 18th, 1882. + +{257} See 'Letters and Memorials of Jane Welsh Carlyle,' ii. 249. + +{259} For May 1883: 'Mrs. Carlyle.' + +{260} Tennyson's 'Brook.' + +{261} In a letter to Sir Frederick Pollock, March 16th, 1879, he says:-- + + "I have had Sir Walter read to me first of a Night, by way of Drama; + then ten minutes for Refreshment, and then Dickens for Farce. Just + finished the Pirate--as wearisome for Nornas, Minnas, Brendas, etc., + as any of the Scotch Set; but when the Common People have to talk, the + Pirates to quarrel and swear, then Author and Reader are at home; and + at the end I 'fare' to like this one the best of the Series. The Sea + scenery has much to do with this preference I dare say." + +{263} See 'Letters,' ii. 344. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD TO +FANNY KEMBLE (1871-1883)*** + + +******* This file should be named 21434.txt or 21434.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/4/3/21434 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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