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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I Prize Your Letters, And You Know It Is True. Still, I Do Not
Think My "Wish Is Father To My Thought" When I Say That I Think It
Is Not Good For You To Lose Entirely Even Such An Interest As I Am
To You. I Say "Even Such An Interest," Because I Believe Your
Trouble Must Have Rendered Me And My Pursuits, For The Present At
Least, Less Likely Than They Have Been To Occupy A Place In Your
Thoughts. But 'Tis For You To Decide; If My Letters Weary Or Annoy
You, Tell Me So, Dear H----, And I Will Not Write To You Until You
Can "Follow My Paces" Better. If You Do Not Like To Make The
Exertion Of Answering Me, I Will Still Continue To Let You Know My
Proceedings, And Take It For Granted That You Will Not Cease To
Love Me And Think Of Me. Dear H----, I Shall See You This Summer
Again; You, And Yours, Whom I Love For Your Sake. I Shall Go On
With This Letter, Because If You Are Inclined For A Gossip You Can
Read It; And If Not, It May Perhaps Amuse Your Invalid. I Have Been
Uncommonly Gay, For Me, This Winter, And I Dare Say Shall Continue
To Be So, As It Does Not Disagree With Me, And I Am So Fond Of
Dancing That A Quadrille Renders Palatable What Otherwise Would Be,
I Think, Disagreeable Enough--The Manner In Which Society Is Now
Organized. I Was At A Very Large Party The Other Night, At The Poet
Campbell's, Where Every Material For A Delightful Evening--Good
Rooms, Pretty Women, Clever Men--Was Brought Into Requisition To
Make What, After All, Appeared To Me Nothing But A Wearisome, Hot
Crowd. The Apartments Were Overfilled: To Converse With Anybody For
Five Minutes Was Impossible. If One Stood Up One Was Squeezed To
Death, And If One Sat Down One Was Stifled. I, Too (Who Was The
Small Lioness Of The Evening), Was Subjected To A Most Disagreeable
Ordeal, The Whole Night Being Stared At From Head To Foot By Every
One That Could Pass Within Staring Distance Of Me. You Probably
Will Wonder At This Circumstance Distressing A Young Person Who
Three Times A Week Exhibits Herself On The Stage To Several Hundred
People, But There I Do Not Distinguish The Individual Eyes That Are
Fixed On Me, And My Mind Is Diverted From The Annoyances Of My Real
Situation By The Distressful Circumstances Of My Feigned One.
Moreover, To Add To My Sorrows, At The Beginning Of The Evening A
Lady Spilled Some Coffee Over A Beautiful Dress Which I Was Wearing
For The First Time. Now I Will Tell You What Consolations I Had To
Support Me Under These Trials; First, The Self-Approving
Consciousness Of The Smiling Fortitude With Which I Bore My Gown's
Disaster; Secondly, A Lovely Nosegay, Which Was Presented To Me;
And Lastly, At About Twelve O'clock, When The Rooms Were A Little
Thinned, A Dance For An Hour Which Sent Me Home Perfectly Satisfied
With My Fate. By The Bye, I Asked Campbell If He Knew Any Method To
Preserve My Flowers From Fading, To Which He Replied, "Give Them To
Me, And I Will Immortalize Them." I Did So, And Am Expecting Some
Verses From Him In Return.
On Thursday Next I Come Out In Mrs. Beverley; I Am Much Afraid Of
It. The Play Wants The Indispensable Attribute Of All Works Of
Art--Imagination; It Is A Most Touching Story, And Mrs. Beverley Is
A Most Admirable Creature, But The Story Is Such As Might Be Read
In A Newspaper, And Her Character Has Its Like In Many An English
Home. I Think The Author Should Have Idealized Both His Incidents
And His Heroine A Little, To Produce A Really Fine Play. Mrs.
Volume 1 Chapter 13 Pg 46Beverley Is Not One Shade Inferior To Imogen In Purity, In Conjugal
Devotion, And In Truth, But While The One Is To All Intents And
Purposes A Model Wife, A Poet's Touch Has Made Of The Other A
Divine Image Of All That Is Lovely And Excellent In Woman; And Yet,
Certainly, Imogen Is Quite As _Real_ A Conception As Mrs. Beverley.
The Absence Of The Poetical Element In The Play Prevents My Being
Enthusiastic About My Part, And I Am The More Nervous About It For
That Reason; When I Am Excited I Feel That I Can Excite Others, But
In This Case--However, We Shall See; I May Succeed With It Better
Than I Expect, And Perhaps My Audience May Like To See Me As A
Quiet, Sober Lady, After The Belvideras And Juliets And Euphrasias
They Have Hitherto Seen Me Represent. I Will Tell You My Dress: It
Is A Silver Gray Silk, And A White Crape Hat With Drooping
Feathers. I Think It Will Be Very Pretty. My Father Acts Beverley
With Me, Which Will Be A Great Advantage To Me.
Oh! I Must Tell You Of A Delightful Adventure Which Befell Me The
Other Night While I Was Acting In "The Grecian Daughter." Mr.
Abbot, Who Personates My Husband, Phocion, At A Certain Part Of The
Play Where We Have To Embrace, Thought Fit To Clasp Me So
Energetically In His Arms That He Threw Me Down, And Fell Down
Himself. I Fell Seated, With All My Draperies In Most Modest Order,
Which Was Very Fortunate, But Certainly I Never Was More Frightened
Or Confused. However, I Soon Recovered My Presence Of Mind, And
Helped My Better Half On With His Part, For He Was Quite Aghast,
Poor Man, At His Own Exploit, And I Do Believe Would Have Been
Standing With His Eyes And Mouth Wide Open To This Moment, If I Had
Not Managed To Proceed With The Scene Somehow And Anyhow.
I Gave The Commission For Your Print Of Me, Dear H----, To
Colnaghi, And I Hope You Will Like It, And That The More You Look
At It The Stronger The Likeness Will Appear To You. Was My Brother
John Returned From Germany, When Last I Wrote To You? I Forget.
However, He Has Just Left Us To Take His Degree At Cambridge,
Previous To Being Ordained. Henry, Too, Returned Yesterday To
Paris, So That The House Is In Mourning For Its Liveliest Inmates.
I Continue Quite Well, And Indeed I Think My Work Agrees With Me;
Or If I Am A Little Tired With Acting, Why, A Night's Dancing Soon
Sets Me Right Again. T---- B---- Is In Town, And Came To See Me The
Other Day. I Like Her; She Is A Gentle, Nice Person; She Is Going
Back In A Week To Cassiobury. How I Wish You And I Had Wings, And
That Heath Farm Belonged To Us! It Is Coming To The Time Of Year
When We First Became Acquainted; And, Besides All Its Associations
Of Kindly Feeling And Affectionate Friendship, Your Image Is
Connected In My Mind With All The Pleasantest Things In Nature--The
Spring, May Blossoms, Glow-Worms, "Bright Hill And Bosky Dell;" And
It Dates From Somewhere "Twixt The Last Violet And The Earliest
Rose," Which Is Not A Quotation, Though I Have Put It In Inverted
Commas, But Something That Just Came To The Tip Of My Pen And Looks
Like Poetry. I Must Leave Off Now, For I Got Leave To Stay At Home
To-Night To Write To You Instead Of Going To The Opera, With Many
Injunctions That I Would Go To Bed Early; So, Now It Is Late, I
Must Do So. Good-By, Dearest H----; Believe Me Ever
Volume 1 Chapter 13 Pg 47
Yours Most Affectionately,
F. A. K.
P.S.--This Is My Summer Tour--Bath, Edinburgh, Dublin, Liverpool,
Manchester, And Birmingham. I Am Miss _Fanny_ Kemble, Because Henry
Kemble's Daughter, My Uncle Stephen's Granddaughter, Is Miss Kemble
By Right Of Birth.
The Lady Who Spoiled My Pretty Cream-Colored Poplin Dress By Spilling
Coffee On The Front Of It, Instantly, In The Midst Of Her Vehement
Self-Upbraidings And Humble Apologies For Her Awkwardness, Adopted A
Very Singular Method Of Appeasing My Displeasure And Soothing My
Distress, By Deliberately Pouring A Spoonful Of Coffee Upon The Front
Breadth Of Her Own Velvet Gown. My Amazement At This Proceeding Was
Excessive, And It Neither Calmed My Wrath Nor Comforted My Sorrow, But
Exasperated Me With A Sense Of Her Extreme Folly And Her Conviction Of
Mine. The Perpetrator Of This Singular Act Of Atonement Was The
Beautiful Julia, Eldest Daughter Of The Adjutant-General, Sir John
Macdonald, And The Lady Whom The Duke Of Wellington Pronounced The
Handsomest Woman In London; A Verdict Which Appeared To Me Too
Favorable, Though She Certainly Was One Of The Handsomest Women In
London. An Intimate Acquaintance Subsisted Between Her Family And Ours
For Several Years, And I Was Indebted To Sir John Macdonald's
Assistance, Most Kindly Exerted In My Behalf, For The Happiness Of
Giving My Youngest Brother His Commission In The Army, Which Sir John
Enabled Me To Purchase In His Own Regiment; And I Was Indebted To The
Great Liberality Of Mr. John Murray, The Celebrated Publisher, For The
Means Of Thus Providing For My Brother Henry. The Generous Price
(Remuneration I Dare Not Call It) Which He Gave Me For My Play Of
"Francis The First" Obtained For Me My Brother's Commission.
JAMES STREET, BUCKINGHAM GATE, March 9th.
DEAREST H----,
I Have Been So Busy All This Day, Signing Benefit Tickets, That I
Hardly Feel As If I Could Write Anything But "25th March, F.A.K."
Our Two Last Letters Crossed On The Road, And Yours Was So Kind An
Answer To Mine, Which You Had Not Yet Received, That I Feel No
Further Scruple In Breaking In Upon You With The Frivolity Of My
Worldly Occupations And Proceedings.
I Was Sorry That The Newspapers Should Give You The First Account
Of My Mrs. Beverley, But My Time Is So Taken Up With "An Infinite
Deal Of Nothing" That I Have Not Had An Hour To Call My Own Till
This Evening, And This Evening Is My Only Unengaged One For Nearly
Three Weeks To Come.
The Papers Will Probably Have Set Your
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