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

Various Fantastic Head-Gear Of Each Successive Parisian "Fashion Of The

Day." As A Girl She Had Been Remarkably Slender, But She Grew To An

Enormous Size, Without The Increased Bulk Of Her Person Disfiguring Or

Rendering Coarse Her Beautiful Face.]

     Thursday I Acted Lady Townley, And Acted It Abominably Ill, And Was

     Much Mortified To Find That Cecilia Had Got My Cousin Harry To

     Chaperon Her Two Boys To The Play That Night; Because, As He Never

     Before Went To See Me Act, It Is Rather Provoking That The Only

     Time He Did So I Should Have Sent Him To Sleep, Which He Gallantly

     Assured Me I Did. I Do Not Find Cousins So Much More Polite Than

     Brothers (One's Natural Born Plagues). Harry's Compliment To My

     Acting Had Quite A Brotherly Tenderness, I Think. Friday, New

     Year's Eve, We Went To A Ball At Mrs. G----'S, Which I Did Not Much

     Enjoy; And Yesterday, New Year's Day, Henry And I Spent The Evening

     At Mrs. Harry's. There Was No One There But Cecy And Her Two Boys,

     And We Danced, Almost Without Stopping, From Eight Till Twelve.

[The Lads My Cousin Cecilia Called Her Boys Were The Two Younger Sons Of

Her Brother George Siddons, Mrs. Siddons's Eldest Son, Then And For Many

Years After Collector Of The Port At Calcutta. These Lads And Their

Sisters Were Being Educated In England, And Were Spending Their

Christmas Holidays With Their Grandmother, Mrs. Siddons. The Youngest Of

These Three Schoolboys, Henry, Was The Father Of The Beautiful Mrs.

Scott-Siddons Of The Present Day. It Was In The House Of My Cousin

George Siddons, Then One Of The Very Pleasantest And Gayest In Calcutta,

That His Young Nephew Harry, Son Of His Sister-In-Law, My Dear Mrs.

Harry Siddons, Was To Find A Home On His Arrival In India, And

Subsequently A Wife In Harriet, The Second Daughter Of The House.]

     I Am To Act Juliet To-Morrow, And Calista On Thursday; Friday And

     Saturday I Am To Act Mrs. Haller And Lady Townley At Brighton. I

     Shall See The Sea, That's One Comfort, And It Will Be Something To

     Live Upon For Some Time To Come. Next Wednesday Week I Am To Come

     Out In Bianca, In Milman's "Fazio." Do You Know The Play? It Is

     Very Powerful, And My Part Is A Very Powerful One Indeed. I Have

     Hopes It May Succeed Greatly. Mr. Warde Is To Be My Fazio, For, I

     Hear, People Object To My Having My Father's Constant Support, And

     Wish To See Me Act _Alone_; What Geese, To Be Sure! I Wonder

     Whether They Think My Father Has Hold Of Strings By The Means Of

     Which He Moves My Arms And Legs! I Am Very Glad Something Likely To

     Strike The Public Is To Be Given Before "Inez De Castro" (A Tragedy

     Of Miss Mitford's), For It Will Need All The Previous Success Of A

     Fine Play And Part To Carry Us Safely Through That.

     I Have Not Seen Mr. Murray Again; I Conclude He Is Out Of Town Just

     Now.

     We Have Made All Inquiries About Poor Dear A----'S Trunk, And Of

     Course, As Soon As We Hear Of It, It Will Be Sent To Her; I Am Very

     Sorry For Her, Poor Dear Little Child, But I Advise Her, When She

     Does Get Them, To Put On Each Of Her New Dresses For An Hour By

     Turns, And Sit Opposite The Glass In Them. Good-By, Dear H----.

     Your Affectionate

                                                                 F. K.

                              GREAT RUSSELL STREET, 6th January, 1831.

     DEAREST H----,

     I Have Only Time To Say Two Words To You, For I Am In The Midst Of

     Preparations For Our Flight To Brighton, To-Morrow. Thank You For

     Your Last Letter; I Liked It Very Much, And Will Answer It At

     Length When We Come Back To Town.

     Mr. Murray Has Got My MSS., But I Have Yet Heard Nothing About It

     From Him. My Fire Is Not In That Economical Invention, The

     "Miserable Basket" [An Iron Frame Fitting Inside Our Common-Sized

     Grate To Limit The Extravagant Consumption Of Coal], But Well

     Spread Out In The Large Comfortable Grate; Yet I Am Sitting With My

     Door And Windows All Wide Open; It Is A Lovely, Bright, Mild Spring

     Day. I Do Not Lose My Time Any More Of A Morning Watching The Fire

     Kindling, For The Housemaid Lights It Before I Get Out Of Bed, So

     My Poetry And Philosophy Are Robbed Of A Most Interesting Subject

     Of Meditation.

     With Regard To What You Say About A----, I Do Not Know That I

     Expected Her To Love, Though I Was Sure She Would Admire, Nature;

     She Is Very Young Yet, And Her Quick, Observant Mind And Tendency

     To Wit And Sarcasm Make Human Beings More Amusing, If Not More

     Interesting, To Her Than Inanimate Objects. It Is Not The Beauty Of

     Nature Alone, As It Appeals Merely To Our Senses, That Produces

     That Passionate Love For It Which Induces Us To Prefer Communion

     With It To The Intercourse Of Our Fellows. The Elevated Trains Of

     Thought, And The Profound And Sublime Aspirations Which The

     External Beauty Of The World Suggests, Draw And Rivet Our Mind And

     Soul To Its Contemplation, And Produce A Sort Of Awful Sense Of

     Companionship With The Unseen, Which Cannot, I Think, Be An

     Experience Of Early Youth. For Then The Volatile, Vivid, And

     Various Spirit, With Its Sympathizing And Communicative Tendency,

     Has A Strong Propensity To Spend Itself On That Which Can Return

     Its Value In Like Commodity; And Exchange Of Thought And Feeling Is

     A Preponderating Desire And Necessity, And Human Fellowship And

     Intercourse Is Naturally Attractive To Unworn And Unwearied Human

     Nature. I Suppose The Consolatory Element In The Beautiful

     _Un_Human World In Which We Live Is Not Often Fully Appreciated By

     The Young, They Want Comparatively So Little Of It; Youth Is Itself

     So Thoroughly Its Own Consoler. Some Years Hence, I Dare Say A----

     Will Love Both The Sea And Sky Better Than She Does Now. To A

     Certain Degree, Too, The Love Of Solitude, Which Generally

     Accompanies A Deep Love For Nature, Is A Kind Of Selfishness That

     Does Not Often Exist In Early Life.

     I Am Desired To Close This Letter Immediately; I Have Therefore

     Only Time To Add That I Act Calista To-Night Here, Mrs. Haller

     To-Morrow At Brighton, And Saturday, Also There, Lady Townley. On

     Monday I Act Juliet Here, And On Wednesday Bianca In "Fazio"--When

     Pray For Me! Now You Know Where To Think Of Me. I Will Write To You

A _Real_ Letter On Sunday.

     Kiss A---- For Me, And Do Not Be Unhappy, My Dear, For You Will

     Soon See Me Again; And In The Meantime I Advise You, As You Think

     My Picture So Much More Agreeable Than Myself, To Console Yourself

     With That. Good-By.

                          Your Affectionate

                                                                FANNY.

The Fascination Of Sitting By A Brook And Watching The Lapsing Water,

Or, On The Sands, The Oncoming, Uprising, Breaking, And Melting Away Of

The White Wave-Crests, Is, I Suppose, Matter Of Universal Experience. I

Do Not Know Whether Watching Fire Has The Same Irresistible Attraction

For Everybody. It Has Almost A Stronger Charm For Me; And The Hours I

Have Spent Sitting On The Rug In Front Of My Grate, And Watching The

Wonderful Creature Sparkling And Glowing There, Have Been Almost More

Than I Dare Remember. I Was Obliged At Last, In Order Not To Waste Half

My Day In The Contemplation Of This Bewitching Element, To Renounce A

Practice I Long Indulged In Of Lighting My Own Fire; But To This Moment

I Envy The Servant Who Does That Office, Or Should Envy Her But That She

Never Remains On Her Knees Worshiping The Beautiful, Subtle Spirit She

Has Evoked, As I Could Still Find It In My Heart To Do.

I Think I Remember That Shelley Had This Passion For Fire-Gazing; It's A

Comfort To Think That Whatever He Could _Say_, He Could Never _See_ More

Enchanting Things In His Grate Than I Have In Mine; But Indeed, Even For

Shelley, The Motions And The Colors Of Flames Are Unspeakable.

                                GREAT RUSSELL STREET, January 9, 1831.

     DEAR H----,

     I Promised You A Letter To-Day, And If I Can Do So Now, At Least I

     Will Begin To Keep My Promise, Though I Think It Possible My

     Courage May Fail Me After The First Side Of My Sheet Of Paper. We

     Arrived In Town From Brighton On This Afternoon At Four O'clock,

     And Though It Is Not Yet Ten I Am So Weary, And Have So Much To Do

     To-Morrow (Rehearsing "Fazio" And Acting Juliet), That I Think I

     Shall Not Sit Up Much Longer To-Night, Even To Write To You.

     We Found My Mother Tolerably Well, And Henry, Who Had Been Out

     Skating All Day, In Great Beauty And High Spirits. I Must Now Tell

     You What I Had Not Room For When I Wrote You Those Few Lines In

     A----'S Letter.

     Mr. Barton, A Friend Of John's Who Traveled With Him In Germany,

     And Whose Sister Has Lately Married John Sterling (Of Whom You Have

     Often Heard Us Speak), Called Here The Other Day, And During The

     Course Of A Long Visit Told Us A Great Deal Of The Very Beginning

     Of This Spanish Expedition, And Of The Share Mr. Sterling And

     Richard Trench [The Present Venerable Archbishop Of Dublin] Had In

     Its Launching.

     It Seems (Though He Would Not Say Whence They Derived Them) That