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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Which Made So Great An Impression On Me. Not Long After This Mrs.
Siddons, Dining With Us One Day, Asked My Mother How The Sketch Lawrence
Was Making Of Me Was Getting On. After My Mother's Reply, My Aunt
Remained Silent For Some Time, And Then, Laying Her Hand On My Father's
Arm, Said, "Charles, When I Die, I Wish To Be Carried To My Grave By You
And Lawrence." Lawrence Reached His Grave While She Was Yet Tottering On
The Brink Of Hers.
After My Next Sitting, My Mother, Thinking He Might Be Gratified By My
Aunt's Feeling Toward Him, Mentioned Her Having Dined With Us. He Asked
Eagerly Of Her Health, Her Looks, Her Words, And My Mother Telling Him
Of Her Speech About Him, He Threw Down His Pencil, Clasped His Hands,
And, With His Eyes Full Of Tears And His Face Convulsed, Exclaimed,
"Good God! Did She Say That?"
When My Likeness Was Finished, Lawrence Showed It To My Mother, Who,
Though She Had Attended All My Sittings, Had Never Seen It Till It Was
Completed. As She Stood Silently Looking At It, He Said, "What Strikes
You? What Do You Think?" "It Is Very Like Maria," Said My Mother, Almost
Involuntarily, I Am Sure, For Immediately This Strange Man Fell Into One
Of These Paroxysms Of Emotion, And Became So Agitated As Scarcely To Be
Able To Speak; And At Last, With A Violent Effort, Said, "Oh, She Is
Very Like Her; She Is Very Like Them All!"
In Spite Of These Emotions Which I Heard And Saw Sir Thomas Lawrence
Express, I Know Positively That At His Death A Lady, Who Had Been An
Intimate Acquaintance Of Our Family For Many Years, Put On Widow's Weeds
For Him, In The Full Persuasion That Had He Lived He Would Have Married
Her, And That, The Mutual Regard They Entertained For Each Other
Warranted Her Assuming The Deepest Mourning For Him. Not The Least
Curious Part Of The Emotional Demonstrations I Have Described, Was The
Contrast Which They Formed To Sir Thomas Lawrence's Habitual Demeanor,
Which Was Polished And Refined, But Reserved To A Degree Of Coldness,
And As Indicative Of Reticent Discretion And Imperturbable Self-Control
As Became A Man Who Lived In Such High Social Places, And Frequented The
Palaces Of Royalty And The Boudoirs Of The Great Rival Beauties Of The
English Aristocracy. On My Twentieth Birthday, Which Occurred Soon After
My First Appearance, Lawrence Sent Me A Magnificent Proof-Plate Of
Reynolds's Portrait Of My Aunt As The "Tragic Muse," Beautifully Framed,
And With This Inscription: "This Portrait, By England's Greatest
Painter, Of The Noblest Subject Of His Pencil, Is Presented To Her Niece
And Worthy Successor, By Her Most Faithful Humble Friend And Servant,
Lawrence." When My Mother Saw This, She Exclaimed At It, And Said, "I Am
Surprised He Ever Brought Himself To Write Those Words--Her 'Worthy
Successor.'" A Few Days After, Lawrence Begged Me To Let Him Have The
Print Again, As He Was Not Satisfied With The Finishing Of The Frame. It
Was Sent To Him, And When It Came Back He Had Effaced The Words In Which
He Had Admitted _Any_ Worthy Successor To His "Tragic Muse;" And Mr.
H----, Who Was At That Time His Secretary, Told Me That Lawrence Had The
Print Lying With That Inscription In His Drawing-Room For Several Days
Before Sending It To Me, And Had Said To Him, "Cover It Up; I Cannot
Bear To Look At It."
One Day, At The End Of My Sitting, Lawrence Showed Me A Lovely Portrait
Volume 1 Chapter 12 Pg 24Of Mrs. Inchbald, Of Whom My Mother, As We Drove Home, Told Me A Number
Of Amusing Anecdotes. She Was Very Beautiful, And Gifted With Original
Genius, As Her Plays And Farces And Novels (Above All, The "Simple
Story") Testify; She Was Not An Actress Of Any Special Merit, But Of
Respectable Mediocrity. She Stuttered Habitually, But Her Delivery Was
Never Impeded By This Defect On The Stage; A Curious Circumstance, Not
Uncommon To Persons Who Have That Infirmity, And Who Can Read And Recite
Without Suffering From It, Though Quite Unable To Speak Fluently. Mrs.
Inchbald Was A Person Of A Very Remarkable Character, Lovely, Poor, With
Unusual Mental Powers And Of Irreproachable Conduct. Her Life Was
Devoted To The Care Of Some Dependent Relation, Who From Sickness Was
Incapable Of Self-Support. Mrs. Inchbald Had A Singular Uprightness And
Unworldliness, And A Childlike Directness And Simplicity Of Manner,
Which, Combined With Her Personal Loveliness And Halting, Broken
Utterance, Gave To Her Conversation, Which Was Both Humorous And Witty,
A Most Peculiar And Comical Charm. Once, After Traveling All Day In A
Pouring Rain, On Alighting At Her Inn, The Coachman, Dripping All Over
With Wet, Offered His Arm To Help Her Out Of The Coach, When She
Exclaimed, To The Great Amusement Of Her Fellow-Travelers, "Oh, No, No!
Y-Y-Y-You Will Give Me M-M-M-My Death Of C-C-C-Cold; Do Bring Me A-A-A-A
_Dry_ Man." An Aristocratic Neighbor Of Hers, With Whom She Was Slightly
Acquainted, Driving With His Daughter In The Vicinity Of Her Very Humble
Suburban Residence, Overtook Her Walking Along The Road One Very Hot
Day, And, Stopping His Carriage, Asked Her To Let Him Have The Pleasure
Of Taking Her Home; When She Instantly Declined, With The Characteristic
Excuse That She Had Just Come From The Market Gardener's: "And, My Lord,
I-I-I Have My Pocket F-F-Full Of Onions,"--An Unsophisticated Statement
Of Facts Which Made Them Laugh Extremely. At The First Reading Of One Of
Her Pieces, A Certain Young Lady, With Rather A Lean, Lanky Figure,
Being Proposed To Her For The Part Of The Heroine, She Indignantly
Exclaimed, "No, No, No; I-I-I-I Won't Have That S-S-S-Stick Of A Girl!
D-D-D-Do Give Me A-A-A Girl With _Bumps!_" Coming Off The Stage One
Evening, She Was About To Sit Down By Mrs. Siddons In The Green-Room,
When Suddenly, Looking At Her Magnificent Neighbor, She Said, "No, I
Won't S-S-S-Sit By You; You're T-T-T-Too Handsome!"--In Which Respect
She Certainly Need Have Feared No Competition, And Less With My Aunt
Than Any One, Their Style Of Beauty Being So Absolutely Dissimilar.
Somebody Speaking Of Having Oysters For Supper, Much Surprise Was
Excited By Mrs. Inchbald's Saying That She Had Never Eaten One.
Questions And Remonstrances, Exclamations Of Astonishment, And Earnest
Advice To Enlarge Her Experience In That Respect, Assailed Her From The
Whole Green-Room, When She Finally Delivered Herself Thus: "Oh No,
Indeed! I-I-I-I Never, Never Could! What! E-E-E-Eat The Eyes And
T-T-T-The Nose, The Teeth A-A-A-And The Toes, The A-A-A-All Of A
Creature!" She Was An Enthusiastic Admirer Of My Uncle John, And The
Hero Of Her "Simple Story," Doriforth, Is Supposed To Have Been Intended
By Her As A Portrait Of Him. On One Occasion, When She Was Sitting By
The Fireplace In The Green-Room, Waiting To Be Called Upon The Stage,
She And Miss Mellon (Afterward Mrs. Coutts And Duchess Of St Albans)
Were Laughingly Discussing Their Male Friends And Acquaintances From The
Matrimonial Point Of View. My Uncle John, Who Was Standing Near,
Excessively Amused, At Length Jestingly Said To Mrs. Inchbald, Who Had
Been Comically Energetic In Her Declarations Of Who She Could Or Would,
Or Never Could Or Would, Have Married, "Well, Mrs. Inchbald, Would You
Volume 1 Chapter 12 Pg 25Have Had Me?" "Dear Heart!" Said The Stammering Beauty, Turning Her
Sweet Sunny Face Up To Him, "I'd Have J-J-J-Jumped At You!"
One Day Lawrence Took Us, From The Room Where I Generally Sat To Him,
Into A Long Gallery Where Were A Number Of His Pictures, And, Leading Me
By The Hand, Desired Me Not To Raise My Eyes Till He Told Me. On The
Word Of Command I Looked Up, And Found Myself Standing Close To And
Immediately Underneath, As It Were, A Colossal Figure Of Satan. The
Sudden Shock Of Finding Myself In Such Proximity To This Terrible Image
Made Me Burst Into Nervous Tears. Lawrence Was Greatly Distressed At The
Result Of His Experiment, Which Had Been Simply To Obtain A Verdict From
My Unprepared Impression Of The Power Of His Picture. A Conversation We
Had Been Having Upon The Subject Of Milton And The Character Of Satan
Had Made Him Think Of Showing This Picture To Me. I Was Too Much
Agitated To Form Any Judgment Of It, But I Thought I Perceived Through
Its Fierce And Tragical Expression Some Trace Of My Uncle's Face And
Features, A Sort Of "More So" Of The Bitter Pride And Scornful
Melancholy Of The Banished Roman In The Volscian Hall. Lawrence's
Imagination Was So Filled With The Poetical And Dramatic Suggestions
Which He Derived From The Kemble Brother And Sister, That I Thought A
Likeness Of Them Lurked In This Portrait Of The Prince Of Darkness; And
Perhaps He Could Scarcely Have Found A Better Model For His Archfiend
Than My Uncle, To Whom His Mother Occasionally Addressed The
Characteristic Reproof, "Sir, You Are As Proud As Lucifer!" (He And That
Remarkable Mother Of His Must Really Have Been A Good Deal Like
Coriolanus And Volumnia.) To Console Me For The Fright He Had Given Me,
Lawrence Took Me Into His Drawing-Room--That Beautiful Apartment Filled
With Beautiful Things, Including His Magnificent Collection Of Original
Drawings By The Old Masters, And Precious Gems Of Old And Modern
Art--The Treasure-House Of All The Exquisite Objects Of Beauty And
Curiosity That He Had Gathered Together During His Whole Life, And That
(With The Exception Of Raphael's And Michael Angelo's Drawings, Now In
The Museum At Oxford) Were So Soon, At His Most Unexpected Death, To Be
Scattered Abroad And Become, In Separate, Disjointed Portions, The
Property Of A Hundred Different Purchasers. Here, He Said, He Hoped
Often To Persuade My Father And Mother And Myself To Pass Our Unengaged
Evenings With Him; Here He Should Like To Make My Brother John, Of Whom
I Had Spoken Enthusiastically To Him, Free Of His Art Collections; And,
Adding That He Would Write To My Mother To Fix The Day For My First
Sitting For Juliet, He Put Into My Hands A Copy Of The First Edition Of
Milton's "Paradise Lost." I Never Entered That Room Or His House, Or Saw
Him Again; He Died About Ten Days After That.
Lawrence Did Not Talk Much While He Took His Sketch Of Me, And I
Remember Very Little That Passed Between Him And My Mother But What Was
Purely Personal. I Recollect He Told Me That I Had A Double Row Of
Eyelashes, Which Was An Unusual Peculiarity. He Expressed The Most
Decided Preference For Satin Over Every Other Material For Painting,
Expatiating Rapturously On
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