Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2), Frances Ann Kemble [i can read book club .txt] 📗
- Author: Frances Ann Kemble
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And Trashy I Cannot Well Conceive. It Had Been, You Know, A Great
Part Of My Aunt Siddons's, And Nothing Better Proves Her Great
Dramatic Genius Than Her Having Clothed So Meager A Part In Such
Magnificent Proportions As She Gave To It, And Filled Out By Her
Own Poetical Conception The Bare Skeleton Mr. Murphy's Euphrasia
Presented To Her. This Frightened Me A Great Deal; Juliet And
Belvidera Scarcely Anybody Can Do Ill, But Euphrasia I Thought Few
People Could Do Well, And I Feared I Was Not One Of Them. Moreover,
The Language Is At Once So Poor And So Bombastic That I Took Double
The Time In Getting The Part By Rote I Should Have Taken For Any
Part Of Shakespeare's. My Dress Was Beautiful; I Think I Will Tell
It You. You Know You Told Me Even An Account Of Hat And Feathers
Would Interest You. My Skirt Was Made Immensely Full And With A
Long Train; It Was Of White Merino, Almost As Fine As Cashmere,
With A Rich Gold Grecian Border. The Drapery Which Covered My
Shoulders (If You Wish To Look For The Sort Of Costume In
Engravings, I Give You Its Classical Name, _Peplum_) Was Made Of
The Same Material Beautifully Embroidered, Leaving My Arms Quite
Free And Uncovered. I Had On Flesh-Colored Silk Gloves, Of Course.
A Bright Scarlet Sash With Heavy Gilt Acorns, Falling To My Feet,
Scarlet Sandals To Match, And A Beautiful Grecian Head-Dress In
Gold, Devised By My Mother, Completed The Whole, Which Really Had A
Very Classical Effect, The Fine Material Of Which My Dress Was
Formed Falling With Every Movement Into Soft, Graceful Folds.
I Managed To Keep A Good Heart Until I Heard The Flourish Of Drums
And Trumpets, In The Midst Of Which I Had To Rush On The Stage, And
Certainly When I Did Come On My Appearance Must Have Been Curiously
In Contrast With The "Prave 'Ords" I Uttered, For I Felt Like
Nothing But A Hunted Hare, With My Eyes Starting From My Head, My
"Nostrils All Wide," And My Limbs Trembling To Such A Degree That I
Could Scarcely Stand. The Audience Received Me Very Kindly,
However, And After A Little While I Recovered My Breath And
Self-Possession, And Got On Very Comfortably, Considering That,
What With Nervousness And The Short Time They Had Had To Study Them
In, None Of The Actors Were Perfect In Their Parts. My Father Acted
Evander, Which Added, No Doubt, To The Interest Of The Situation.
The Play Went Off Admirably, And I Dare Say It Will Be Of Some
Service To Me, But I Fear It Is Too Dull And Poor In Itself,
Despite All That Can Be Done For It, To Be Of Much Use To The
Theater. One Of My Great Difficulties In The Play Was To Produce
Some Striking Effect After Stabbing Dionysius, Which Was A Point In
Which My Aunt Always Achieved A Great Triumph. She Used To Fall On
Volume 1 Chapter 13 Pg 43Her Knees As If Deprecating The Wrath Of Heaven For What She Had
Done, And Her Mode Of Performing This Was Described To Me. But,
Independently Of My Anxiety To Avoid Any Imitation That Might
Induce A Comparison That Could Not But Be Fatally To My
Disadvantage, I Did Not (To You I May Venture To Confess It) Feel
The Situation In The Same Manner. Euphrasia Had Just Preserved Her
Father's Life By A Deed Which, In Her Own Estimation And That Of
Her Whole Nation, Entitled Her To An Immortal Dwelling In The
Elysian Fields. The Only Feeling, Therefore, That I Can Conceive As
Checking For A Moment Her Exultation Would Be The Natural Womanly
Horror At The Sight Of Blood And Physical Suffering, The Expression
Of Which Seems To Me Not Only Natural To Her, As Of The "Feminine
Gender," But Not Altogether Superfluous To Reconcile An English
Audience To So Unfeminine A Proceeding As Stabbing A Man. To
Conciliate All This I Adopted The Course Of Immediately Dropping
The Arm That Held The Dagger, And With The Other Veiling My Eyes
With The Drapery Of My Dress, Which Answered Better My Own Idea Of
The Situation, And Seemed To Produce A Great Effect. My Dearest
H----, This Is A Long Detail, But I Think It Will Interest You And
Perhaps Amuse Your Niece; If, However, It Wearies Your Spirits,
Tell Me So, And Another Time I Will Not Confine My Communications
So Much To My Own Little-Corner Of Life.
Cecilia Dined With Us On Sunday, But Was Very Far From Well. I Have
Not Seen My Aunt Siddons Since Sir Thomas Lawrence's Death. I
Almost Dread Doing So: She Must Have Felt So Much On Hearing It; He
Was For Many Years So Mixed Up With Those Dearest To Her, And His
Memory Must Always Recall Theirs. I Hear Campbell Means To Write
His Life. His Letters To Me Will Perhaps Be Published In It. Had I
Known They Were Likely To Be So Used, I Would Have Preserved Them
All. As It Is, It Is The Merest Chance That All Of Them Are Not
Destroyed; For, Admirable As They Were In Point Of Taste And
Critical Judgment, Some Of Them Seemed To Me Such Mere Specimens Of
Refined Flattery That, Having Extracted The Advice Likely To Be
Profitable To Me, I Committed The Epistles Themselves To The
Flames, Which Probably Would Have Been The Ultimate Destination Of
Them All; But Now They Have Acquired A Sad Value They Had Not
Before, And I Shall Keep Them As Relics Of A Man Of Great Genius
And, In Many Respects, I Believe, A Truly Amiable Person.
The Drawing, Which Is, You Know, My Mother's Property, Is Safe In
Mr. Lane's Hands, And Will Be Restored To Us On Saturday. The
Funeral Takes Place To-Morrow; My Father, I Believe, Will Attend;
Neither My Mother Nor Myself Can Muster Courage To Witness It,
Although We Had Places Offered To Us. It Is To Take Place In St.
Paul's, For Westminster Abbey Is Full. All The Beautiful Unfinished
Portraits Which Filled His Rooms Will Be Returned Imperfect To
Their Owners, And I Wonder Who Will Venture To Complete Them, For
He Has Certainly Not Left His Like Behind Him. Reports Have Been
Widely Spread That His Circumstances Were Much Embarrassed, But I
Fancy When All His Effects Are Sold There Will Be A Small Surplus.
He Behaved With The Utmost Liberality About His Drawing Of Me, For
He Gave It To My Mother, And Would Not Accept Of Any Remuneration
For The Copyright Of The Print From Mr. Lane--Who, It Is Said, Made
Volume 1 Chapter 13 Pg 44Three Hundred Pounds By The First Impressions Taken From It--Saying
That He Had Had So Much Pleasure In The Work That He Would Not Take
A Farthing For Either Time Or Trouble.
We Are All Tolerably Well; I Am Quite So, And Rejoice Daily In That
Strength Of Constitution Which, Among Other Of My Qualifications,
Entitles Me To The Appellation Of "Shetland Pony."
How Are You All? How Is E----? Tell Her All About Me, Because It
May Amuse Her. I Wish You Could Have Seen Me, Dear H----, In My
Greek Dress; I Really Look Very Well In It, And Taller Than Usual,
In Consequence Of All The Long Draperies; Moreover, I "Stood
Grandly" Erect, And Put Off The "Sidelong Stoop" In Favor Of A More
Heroic And Statue-Like Deportment. Oh, H----, I Am Exceedingly
Happy, _Et Pour Peu De Chose_, Perhaps You Will Think: My Father
Has Given Me Leave To Have Riding Lessons, So That I Shall Be In
Right Earnest "An Angel On Horseback," And When I Come To Ardgillan
(And It Won't Be Long First) I Shall Make You Mount Upon A Horse
And Gallop Over The Sand With Me; Won't You, My Dear? Believe Me
Ever Your Affectionate
FANNY.
The Words In Inverted Commas At The End Of This Letter Had Reference To
Some Strictures Miss S---- Had Made Upon My Carriage, And To A Family
Joke Against Me In Consequence Of My Having Once Said, In Speaking Of My
Desire To Ride, That I Should Not Care To Be An Angel In Heaven Unless I
Could Be An "Angel On Horseback." My Invariable Description Of A Woman
Riding Was "A Happy Woman," And After Much Experience Of Unhappiness,
Certainly Not Dissipated By Equestrian Exercise, I Still Agree With
Wordsworth That "The Horse And Rider Are A Happy Pair." After Acting The
Grecian Daughter For Some Time I Altered My Attitude In The Last Scene,
After The Murder Of Dionysius, More To My Own Satisfaction: Instead Of
Dropping The Arm That Held The Dagger By My Side, I Raised The Weapon To
Heaven, As If Appealing To The Gods For Justification And Tendering
Them, As It Were, The Homage Of My Deed; Of Course I Still Continued To
Vail My Eyes And Turn My Head Away From The Sight Of My Victim.
JAMES STREET, BUCKINGHAM GATE, Saturday, February 20th.
DEAREST H----,
I Need Hardly Apologize To You For My Long Silence, For I Am Sure
That You Will Have Understood It To Have Proceeded From No Want Of
Inclination On My Part To Answer Your Last, But From Really Not
Having Had Half An Hour At My Command In Which To Do So. I Have
Thought, Too (Although That Has Not Prevented My Writing), Much
Upon The Tenor Of Your Letter, And The Evident Depression It Was
Written In, And I Hardly Know How To Resolve: Whether I Ought Not
To Forbear Wearying You With Matters Which Every Way Are Discordant
With Your Own Thoughts And Feelings, Or Whether It Is Better, By
Inducing You To Answer Me, To Give You Some Motive, However
Trifling, For Exertion. Dearest H----, If The Effort Of Writing To
Me Is Too Painful To You, Do Not Do It. I Give You A Most
Disinterested Counsel, For I Have Told You More Than Once How Much
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