Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2) by Frances Ann Kemble (best e reader for android .txt) 📕

Do Not _Yet_ Call Her My Friend. You Are My Friend, And Mrs. Harry

     Siddons Is My Friend, And You Are The Only Persons I Call By That

     Name. I Have Read "Paul Clifford," According To Your Desire, And

     Like It Very Much; It Is Written With A Good Purpose, And Very

     Powerfully. You Asked Me If I Believed Such Selfishness As

     Brandon's To Be Natural, And I Said Yes, Not Having Read The Book,

     But Merely From Your Report Of Him; And, Having Read The Book, I

     Say So Still.

                                                 DUBLIN, August, 1830.

     MY DEAR H----,

     I Should Have Answered Your Letter Sooner Had I Before Been Able To

     Give You Any Certain Intelligence Of Our Theatrical Proceedings

     Next Week, But I Was So Afraid Of Some Change Taking Place In The

     List Of The Plays That I Resolved Not To Write Until Alteration Was

     Impossible. The Plays For Next Week Are, On Monday, "Venice

     Preserved;" On Wednesday, "The Grecian Daughter;" Thursday, "The

     Merchant Of Venice." I Wish Your People May Be Able To Come Up, The

     Latter End Of The Week; I Think "Romeo And Juliet," And "The

     Merchant Of Venice," Are Nice Plays For Them To See. But You Have,

     I Know, An Invitation From Mrs. J---- To Come Into Town On Monday.

     I Do Not Know Whether My Wishes Have At All Influenced Her In This,

     But She Has My Very Best Thanks For It, And I Know That They Will

     Have Some Weight With You In Inclining You To Accept It; Do, My

     Dearest H----, Come If You Can. I Shall Certainly Not Be Able To

     Return To Ardgillan, And So My Only Chance Of Seeing You Depends

     Upon Your Coming Into Dublin. I Wish I Had Been With You When You

     Sat In The Sun And Listened To The Wind Singing Over The Sea. I

     Have A Great Admiration For The Wind, Not So Much For Its Purifying

     Influences Only, As For Its Invisible Power, Strength, The Quality

     Above All Others Without Which There Is Neither Moral Nor Mental

     Greatness Possible. Natural Objects Endowed With This Invisible

     Power Please Me Best, As Human Beings Who Possess It Attract Me

     Most; And My Preference For It Over Other Elements Of Character Is

     Because I Think It Communicates Itself, And That While In Contact

     With It One Feels As If It Were _Catching_; And Whether By The

     Shore, When The Tide Is Coming Up Fast And Irresistible, Or In The

     Books Or Intercourse Of Other Minds, It Seems To Rouse

     Corresponding Activity And Energy In One's Self, Persuading One,

     For The Time Being, That One Is Strong. I Am Sure I Have Felt

     Taller By Three Inches, As Well As Three Times More Vigorous In

     Body And Mind, Than I Really Am, When Running By The Sea. It Seemed

     As If That Great Mass Of Waters, As It Rushed And Roared By My

     Side, Was Communicating Power Directly To My Mind As Well As My

     Bodily Frame, By Its Companionship. I Wish I Was On The Shore Now

     With You. It Is Surprising (Talking Of E----) How Instantaneously,

     And By What Subtle, Indescribable Means, Certain Qualities Of

     Individual Natures Make Themselves Felt--Refinement, Imagination,

     Poetical Sensibility. People's Voices, Looks, And Gestures Betray

     These So Unconsciously; And I Think More By The Manner, A Great

     Deal, Than The Matter Of Their Speech. Refinement, Particularly, Is

     A Wonderfully Subtle, Penetrating Element; Nothing Is So Positive

     In Its Effect, And Nothing So Completely Escapes Analysis And

     Defies Description.

     I Am Glad Dear Little H---- Thought I "Grew Pretty;" There Is A

     World Of Discrimination In That Sentence Of His. To Your Charge

     That I Should Cultivate My Judgment In Preference To My

     Imagination, I Can Only Answer, "I Am Ready And Willing To Do So;"

     But It Is Nevertheless Not Altogether Easy For Me To Do It. My Life

     In London Leaves Me Neither Time Nor Opportunity For Any

     Self-Culture, And It Seems To Me As If My Best Faculties Were Lying

     Fallow, While A Comparatively Unimportant Talent, And My Physical

     Powers, Were Being Taxed To The Uttermost. The Profession I Have

     Embraced Is Supposed To Stimulate Powerfully The Imagination. I Do

     Not Find It So; It Appeals To Mine In A Slight Degree Compared With

     Other Pursuits; It Is Too Definite In Its Object And Too Confined

     In Its Scope To Excite My Imagination Strongly; And, Moreover, It

     Carries With It The Antidote Of Its Own Excitement In The Necessary

     Conditions Under Which It Is Exercised. Were It Possible To Act

     With One's Mind Alone, The Case Might Be Different; But The Body Is

     So Indispensable, Unluckily, To The Execution Of One's Most

     Poetical Conceptions On The Stage, That The Imaginative Powers Are

     Under Very Severe Though Imperceptible Restraint. Acting Seems To

     Me Rather Like Dancing Hornpipes In Fetters. And, By No Means The

     Least Difficult Part Of The Business Is To Preserve One's Own

     Feelings Warm, And One's Imagination Excited, While One Is Aiming

     Entirely At Producing Effects Upon Others; Surrounded, Moreover, As

     One Is, By Objects Which, While They Heighten The Illusion To The

     Distant Spectator, All But Destroy It To Us Of The _Dramatis

     Personæ_. None Of This, However, Lessens The Value And Importance

     Of Your Advice, Or My Own Conviction That "Mental Bracing" Is Good

     For Me. My Reception On Monday Was Quite Overpowering, And I Was

     Escorted Back To The Hotel, After The Play, By A Body-Guard Of

     About Two Hundred Men, Shouting And Hurrahing Like Mad; Strange To

     Say, They Were People Of Perfectly Respectable Appearance. My

     Father Was Not With Us, And They Opened The Carriage Door And Let

     Down The Steps, When We Got Home, And Helped Us Out, Clapping, And

     Showering The Most Fervent Expressions Of Good-Will Upon Me And

     Aunt Dall, Whom They Took For My Mother. One Young Man Exclaimed

     Pathetically, "Oh, I Hope Ye're Not Too Much Fatigued, Miss Kemble,

     By Your Exertions!" They Formed A Line On Each Side Of Me, And

     Several Of Them Dropped On Their Knees To Look Under My Bonnet, As

     I Ran Laughing, With My Head Down, From The Carriage To The House.

     I Was Greatly Confused And A Little Frightened, As Well As Amused

     And Gratified, By Their Cordial Demonstration.

     The Humors Of A Dublin Audience, Much As I Had Heard Of Them Before

     Going To Ireland, Surprised And Diverted Me Very Much. The Second

     Night Of Our Acting There, As We Were Leaving The Theater By The

     Private Entrance, We Found The Carriage Surrounded By A Crowd

     Eagerly Waiting For Our Coming Out. As Soon As My Father Appeared,

     There Was A Shout Of "Three Cheers For Misther Char-_Les!_" Then

     Came Dall, And "Three Cheers For Misthriss Char-_Les!_" Then I, And

     "Three Cheers For Miss Fanny!" "Bedad, She Looks Well By

     Gas-Light!" Exclaimed One Of My Admirers. "Och, And Bedad, She

     Looks Well By Daylight Too!" Retorted Another, Though What His

     Opportunity For Forming That Flattering Opinion Of The Genuineness

     Of My Good Looks Had Been, I Cannot Imagine. What Further Remarks

     Passed Upon Us I Do Not Know, As We Drove Off Laughing, And Left

     Our Friends Still Vociferously Cheering. My Father Told Us One Day

     Of His Being Followed Up Sackville Street By Two Beggar-Women,

     Between Whom The Following Dialogue Passed, Evidently With A View

     To His Edification: "Och, But He's An Iligant Man, Is Misther

     Char-_Les_ Kemble!" "An' 'Deed, So Was His Brudher Misther John,

     Thin--A Moighty Foine Man! And To See His _Demanour_, Puttin' His

     Hand In His Pocket And Givin' Me Sixpence, Bate All The Worrld!"

     When I Was Acting Lady Townley, In The Scene Where Her Husband

     Complains Of Her Late Hours And She Insolently Retorts, "I Won't

     Come Home Till Four, To-Morrow Morning," And Receives The Startling

     Reply With Which Lord Townley Leaves Her, "Then, Madam, You Shall

     Never Come Home Again," I Was Apt To Stand For A Moment Aghast At

     This Threat; And One Night During This Pause Of Breathless Dismay,

     One Of My Gallery Auditors, Thinking, I Suppose, That I Was Wanting

     In Proper Spirit Not To Make Some Rejoinder, Exclaimed, "Now Thin,

     Fanny!" Which Very Nearly Upset The Gravity Produced By My Father's

     Impressive Exit, Both In Me And In The Audience.

                                       DUBLIN, Friday, August 6, 1830.

     MY DEAREST H----,

     I Fear I Caused You A Disappointment By Not Writing To You

     Yesterday Afternoon, But As It Was Not Until Between Five And Six

     O'clock That I Learned We Were Not Going To Cork, When I Thought Of

     Writing You To That Effect I Found I Was Too Late For The Post. I

     Hope Still That Dall And I May Be Able To Come To Ardgillan Again,

     But We Cannot Leave My Father Alone Here, And His Departure For

     Liverpool Is At Present Quite Uncertain. I Have Been Trying To

     Reason Myself Into Patience, Notwithstanding A Very Childish

     Inclination To Cry About It, Which I Think I Will Indulge Because I

     Shall Be Able To Be So Much More