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

Which Story Originated Thus: They Had Agreed With The

     Constitutionalists In Algeciras That On A Certain Day The Latter

     Were To _Get Rid_ Of Their Officers (Murder Them Civilly, I

     Suppose), And Then Light Beacons On The Heights, At Which Signal

     Torrijos And His Companions, Among Them Our Party Who Were Lying

     Armed On Board A Schooner In The Bay, Were To Make Good Their

     Landing. The English Authorities At Gibraltar, However, Had Note Of

     This, And While They Lay Watching For The Signal They Were Boarded

     By One Of The Government Ships And Taken Prisoners. The Number Of

     English Soldiers In Whose Custody They Found Themselves Being,

     However, Inferior To Their Own, They Agreed That If The Beacons

     Made Their Appearance They Would Turn Upon Their Guards And Either

     Imprison Or Kill Them. But The Beacons Were Never Lighted; Their

     Spanish Fellow-Revolutionists Broke Faith With Them, And They

     Remained Ingloriously On Board Until Next Day, When They Were

     Ignominiously Suffered To Go Quietly On Shore Again.

                                  GREAT RUSSELL STREET, March 8, 1831.

     I Am Going To Be Very Busy Signing My Name; My Benefit Is Fixed For

     The 21st; I Do Not Yet Know What The Play Is To Be. Our Young,

     Unsuccessful Playwright, Mr. Wade, Whom I Like Very Much (He Took

     His Damnation As Bravely As Capaneo), And Macdonald, The Sculptor,

     Dined With Us On Sunday. On Monday I Went To The Library Of The

     British Museum To Consult Du Bellay's History For My New Version Of

     The Last Scene Of "Francis I." I Looked At Some Delightful Books,

     And Among Others, A Very Old And Fine MS. Of The "Roman De La

     Rose," Beautifully Illuminated; Also All The Armorial Bearings,

     Shields, Banners, Etc., Of The Barons Of King John's Time, The

     Barons Of Runnymede And The Charter, Most Exquisitely And Minutely

     Copied From Monuments, Stained Glass, Brass Effigies, Etc.; It Was

     A Fine Work, Beautifully Executed For The Late King, George IV. I

     Wish It Had Been Executed For Me. I Did Get A---- To Walk In The

     Square With Me Once, But She Likes It Even Less Than I Do; My

     Intellectual Conversation Is No Equivalent For The Shop-Windows Of

     Regent Street And The Counters Of The Bazaar, And She Has Gone Out

     With My Aunt Every Day Since, "Leaving The Square To Solitude And

     Me;" So I Take My Book With Me (I Can Read Walking At My Quickest

     Pace), And Like To Do So.

     Tuesday Evening I Played Belvidera. I Was Quite Nervous At Acting

     It Again After So Long A Period. After The Play My Father And I

     Went To Lady Dacre's And Had A Pleasant Party Enough. Mrs. Norton

     Was There, More Entertaining And Blinding Beautiful Than Ever.

     Henry Desired Me To Give Her His "Desperate Love," To Which She

     Replied By Sending The Poor Youth Her "Deadly Scorn." Lord

     Melbourne Desired To Be Introduced To Me, And I Think If He Likes,

     He Shall Be The Decrepit Old Nobleman You Are So Afraid Of Me

     Marrying. I Was Charmed With His Face, Voice, And Manner; We Dine

     With Him Next Wednesday Week, And I Will Write You Word If The

     Impression Deepens.

     My Dear H----, Only Imagine My Dismay; My Father Told Me That After

     Easter I Should Have To Play Lady Macbeth! It Is No Use Thinking

     About It, For That Only Frightens Me More; But, Looking At It As

     Calmly And Reasonably As Possible, Surely It Is Too Great An

     Undertaking For So Young A Person As Myself. Perhaps I May Play It

     Better Than Most Girls Of My Age Would; What Will That Amount To?

     That Towering, Tremendous Woman, What A Trial Of Courage And

     Composure For Me! If You Were A Good Friend, Now, You Would Come Up

     To Town "For That Occasion Only," And Sustain Me With Your

     Presence.

     The Beautiful Miss Bayley Is At Length Married To William Ashley

     [The Present Earl Of Shaftesbury], And Everybody Is Rejoicing With

     Them Or For Them; It Is Pleasant To Catch Glimpses Of Fresh Shade

     And Flowers As One Goes Along The Dusty Highroad Of Life.

     I Must Now Tell You What I Am Going To Do, That You May Know Where

     To Find Me: To-Morrow, I Go To A Private Morning Concert With My

     Mother; In The Evening, I Act Beatrice, And After The Play All

     Sorts Of People Are Coming Here To Supper. On Monday, I Act Fazio;

     Wednesday, We Dine At Lady Macdonald's; Thursday, I Act Mrs.

     Haller; And Saturday, Beatrice Again. I Have Not An Idea What Will

     Be Done For My Benefit; We Are All Devising And Proposing. I Myself

     Want Them To Bring Out Massinger's "Maid Of Honor;" I Think It

     Beautiful.

     Now, Dear H----, I Must Leave Off, And Sign My Tickets. We All Send

     Our Loves To You: My Mother Tells Me Not To Let You Forget Her; She

     Says She Is Afraid You Class Her With Mrs. John Kemble. If Ever

     There Were Two Dissimilar Human Beings, It Is Those Two. Ever Your

     Affectionate

                                                                FANNY.

                                 GREAT RUSSELL STREET, March 13, 1831.

     DEAR H----,

     I Received Your Letter Yesterday, And Must Exult In My

     Self-Command, For Mrs. Jameson Was With Me, And I Did Not Touch It

     Till She Was Gone. Thank You First Of All For Spenser; That _Is_

     Poetry! I Was Much Benefited As Well As Delighted By It.

     Considering The Power Of Poetry To Raise One's Mind And Soul Into

     The Noblest Moods, I Do Not Think It Is Held In Sufficient

     Reverence Nowadays; The Bards Of Old Were Greater People In Their

     Society Than Our Modern Ones Are; To Be Sure, Modern Poetry Is Not

     All Of A Purely Elevating Character, And Poets Are _Paid_, Besides

     Being Asked Out To Dinner, Which The Bards Always Were. I Think The

     Tone Of A Good Deal Of Campbell's "Pleasures Of Hope" Very Noble,

     And Some Of Mrs. Hemans's Things Are Very Beautiful In Sentiment As

     Well As Expression. But Then, All That Order Of Writing Is So

     Feeble Compared With The Poetry Of Our Old Masters, Who Do Not So

     Much Appeal To Our Feelings As To Our Reason And Imagination

     Combined. I Do Not Believe That To Be Sublime Is In The Power Of A

     Woman, Any More Than To Be Logical; And Mrs. Hemans, Who Is

     Neither, Writes Charmingly, And One Loves Her As A Christian Woman

     Even More Than One Admires Her As A Writer.

     Yes, It Is Very Charming That The Dove, The Favorite Type Of

     Gentleness And Tenderness And "Harmlessness," Should Have Such A

     Swift And Vigorous Power Of Flight; _Suaviter--Fortiter_, A Good

     Combination.

     We Are Having The Most Tempestuous Weather; A---- Is Horribly

     Frightened, And I Am Rather Awed. I Got The Encyclopædia To-Night

     To Study The Cause Of The Equinoctial Gales, Which I Thought We

     Should Both Be The Better For Knowing, But Could Find Nothing About

     Them; Can You Tell Me Of Any Book Or Treatise Upon This Subject?

     My Dear H----, Shut Your Eyes While You Read This, Because If You

     Don't, They'll Never Shut Again. Constance Is What I Am To Play For

     My Benefit. I Am Horribly Frightened; It Is A Cruel Weight To Lay

     Upon My Shoulders: However, There Is Nothing For It But Doing My

     Best, And Leaving The Rest To Fate. I Almost Think Now I Could Do

     Lady Macbeth Better. I Am Like Poor Little Arthur, Who Begged To

     Have His Tongue Cut Off Rather Than Have His Eyes Put Out; That

     Last Scene Of Constance--Think What An Actress One Should Be To Do

     It Justice! Pray For Me.

     And So The Poles Are Crushed! What A Piteous Horror! Will There

     Never Come A Day Of Retribution For This!

     Mrs. Jameson Came And Sat With Me Some Time Yesterday Evening, And

     Read Me A Good Deal Of Her Work On Shakespeare's Female Characters;

     They Are Very Pleasing Sketches--Outlines--But Her Criticism And

     Analysis Are Rather Graceful Than Profound Or Powerful. Tuesday

     Next My Mother And I Spend The Evening With Her; Wednesday, We Dine

     At Sir John Macdonald's; Thursday, I Act Mrs. Haller; Friday, We

     Have An Evening Party At Home; Saturday, I Play Beatrice; Monday,

     Constance (Come Up For It!); Tuesday, We Dine With Lord Melbourne;

     And This Is As Much Of The Book Of Fate As Is Unrolled To Me At

     Present.

     Mrs. Harry Came Here To-Day; It Is The First Time I Have Seen Her

     This Month; She Is Looking Wretchedly, And Talks Of Returning To

     Edinburgh. My First Feeling At Hearing This Was Joy That I Shall

     Not Go There And Find The Face And Voice For Ever Associated With

     Edinburgh