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

     It Is The Failure Of Some Plan Of Hers Which Obliges Her To Do

     This. I Have The Loves Of All To Give You, And They Are All Very

     Troublesome, Crying, "Give Mine Separately," "Don't Lump Mine;" So

     Please Take Them Each Separately And Singly. I Have Been Sobbing My

     Heart Out Over Constance This Morning, And Act Fazio To-Night,

     Which Is Hard Work.

                          Your Affectionate

                                                                    F.

                           GREAT RUSSELL STREET, Saturday, March 19th.

     DEAR H----,

     You Ask If Mr. Trench's Account Of Their Spanish Escapade Is Likely

     To Soften My Father's View Of The Folly Of The Expedition. I Think

     Not, By Any Means--As How Should It? But The Yesterday Papers

     Reported A Successful Attack Upon Cadiz And The Proclamation Of

     Torrijos General-In-Chief By The Constitutionalists, Who Were

     Rising All Over The Country. This Has Been Again Contradicted

     To-Day, And May Have Been A Mere Stock-Jobbing Story, After All. If

     It Be True, However, The Results May Be Of Serious Importance To My

     Brother. Should The Constitutionalists Get The Upper Hand, His

     Adherence To Torrijos May Place Him In A Prominent Position, I Am

     Afraid; Perhaps, However, Though Success May Not Alter My Father's

     Opinion Of The Original Folly Of John's Undertaking, It May In Some

     Measure Reconcile Him To It. I Suppose It Is Not Impossible Now

     That John Should Become An Officer In The Spanish Army, And That

     After So Many Various And Contradictory Plans His Career May

     Finally Be That Of A Soldier. How Strange And Sad It All Seems To

     Me, To Be Sure!

     You Say It's A Horrid Thing One Can't "Try On One's Body" And

     Choose Such A One As Would Suit One; But Do You Consider Your Body

     Accidental, As It Were, Or Do You Really Think We Could Do Better

     For Ourselves Than Has Been Done For Us In This Matter? After All,

     Our Souls Get Used To Our Bodies, And In Some Fashion Alter And

     Shape Them To Fit; Then You Know If We Had Different Bodies We

     Should Be Different People And Not Our _Same Selves_ At All; If I

     Had Been Tall, As I Confess I In My Heart Of Hearts Wish I Were,

     What Another Moral Creature Should I Have Been.

     You Urge Me To Work, Dear H----, And Study My Profession, And Were

     I To Say I Hate It, You Would Retort, "You Do It, Therefore Take

     Pains To Do It Well." And So I Do, As Well As I Can; I Have Been

     Studying Constance With My Father, And Rubbed Off Some Of The Rough

     Edges Of It A Little.

     I Am Sorry To Say I Shall Not Have A Good Benefit; Unluckily, The

     Second Reading Of The Reform Bill Comes On To-Morrow (To-Night, By

     The Bye, For It Is Monday), And There Will Be As Many People In The

     House Of Commons As In _My_ House, And Many More In Parliament

     Street Than In Either; It Is Unfortunate For Me, But Cannot Be

     Helped. I Was Going To Say, Pray For Me, But I Forgot That You Will

     Not Get This Till "It Is Bedtime, Hal, And All Is Well." The

     Publication Of My Play Is Not To Take Place Till After This Reform

     Fever Has A Little Abated.

     Dear H----, This Is Wednesday, The 23rd; Monday And King John And

     My Constance Are All Over; But I Am At This Moment Still So _Deaf

     With Nervousness_ As Not To Hear The Ticking Of My Watch When Held

     To One Of My Ears; The Other Side Of My Head Is Not Deaf Any Longer

     _Now_; But On Monday Night I Hardly Heard One Word I Uttered

     Through The Whole Play. It Is Rather Hard That Having Endeavored

     (And Succeeded Wonderfully, Too) In Possessing My Soul In Peace

     During That Trial Of My Courage, My Nervous System Should Give Way

     In This Fashion. I Had A Knife Of Pain Sticking In My Side All

     Through The Play And All Day Long, Monday; As I Did Not Hear Myself

     Speak, I Cannot Tell You Anything Of My Performance. My Dress Was

     Of The Finest Pale-Blue Merino, All Folds And Drapery Like My

     Grecian Daughter Costume, With An Immense Crimson Mantle Hung On My

     Shoulders Which I Could Hardly Carry. My Head-Dress Was Exactly

     Copied From One Of My Aunt's, And You Cannot Imagine How Curiously

     Like Her I Looked. My Mother Says, "You Have Done It Better Than I

     Believe Any Other Girl Of Your Age Would Do It." But Of Course That

     Is Not A Representation Of Constance To Satisfy Her, Or Any One

     Else, Indeed. You Know, Dear H----, What My Own Feeling Has Been

     About This, And How Utterly Incapable I Knew Myself For Such An

     Undertaking; But You Did Not, Nor Could Any One, Know How

     Dreadfully I Suffered From The Apprehension Of Failure Which My

     Reason Told Me Was Well Founded. I Assure You That When I Came On

     The Stage I Felt Like Some Hunted Creature Driven To Bay; I Was

     Really Half Wild With Terror. The Play Went Off Admirably, But I

     Lay, When My Part Was Over, For An Hour On My Dressing-Room Floor,

     With Only Strength Enough Left To Cry. Your Letter To A---- Revived

     Me, And Just Brought Me Enough To Life Again To Eat My Supper,

     Which I Had Not Felt Able To Touch, In Spite Of My Exhaustion And

     Great Need Of It; When, However, I Once Began, My Appetite

     Justified The French Proverb And Took The Turn Of Voracity, And I

     Devoured Like A Homeric Hero. I Promised To Tell You Something Of

     Our Late Dinner At Lord Melbourne's, But Have Left Myself Neither

     Space Nor Time. It Was Very Pleasant, And I Fell Out Of My Love For

     Our Host (Who, Moreover, Is Absorbed By Mrs. Norton) And Into

     Another Love With Lord O----, Lord T----'S Son, Who Is One Of The

     Most Beautiful Creatures Of The Male Sex I Ever Saw; Unluckily, He

     Does Not Fulfill The Necessary Conditions Of Your Theory, And Is

     Neither As Old Nor As Decrepit As You Have Settled The Nobleman I

     Am To Marry Is To Be; So He Won't Do.

     We Are Going To A Party At Devonshire House To-Night. Here I Am

     Called Away To Receive Some Visitors. Pray Write Soon To Your

     Affectionate

                                                                FANNY.

     To-Morrow I Act Constance, And Saturday Isabella, Which Is All I

     Know For The Present Of The Future. I Have Just Bought A---- A

     Beautiful Guitar; I Promised Her One As Soon As My Play Was Out. My

     Room Is Delicious With Violets, And My New Blue Velvet Gown

     Heavenly In Color And All Other Respects Except The--Well,

     _Un_Heavenly Price Dévy Makes Me Pay For It.

                                  GREAT RUSSELL STREET, April 2, 1831.

     DEAR H----,

     I Am Truly Sorry For M----'S Illness, Just At The Height Of All Her

     Gay Season Gayeties, Too; It Is Too Provoking To Have One's Tackle

     Out Of Order And Lie On The Beach With Such A Summer Sea Sparkling

     Before One. I Congratulate L---- On Her Father's Relenting And

     Canceling His Edict Against Waltzing And Galloping. And Yet, I Am

     Always _Rather_ Sorry When A Determination Of That Sort, Firmly

     Expressed, Is Departed From. Of Course Our Views And Opinions, Not

     Being Infallible, Are Liable To Change, And May Not Unreasonably Be

     Altered Or Weakened By Circumstances And The More Enlightened

     Convictions Of Improved Powers And Enlarged Experience, But It Is

     As Well, Therefore, For Our Own Sakes, Not To Promulgate Them As If

     They Were Persian Decrees. One Can Step Gracefully Down From A

     Lesser Height, Where One Would Fall From A Greater. But With Young

     People Generally, I Think, To Retreat From A Position You Have

     Assumed Is To Run The Risk Of Losing Some Of Their Consideration

     And Respect; For They Have Neither Consciousness Of Their Own

     Frailty, Nor Charity For The Frailty Of Others, Nor The Wisdom To

     Perceive That A Resolution May Be Better Broken Than Kept; And

     Though Perhaps Themselves Gaining Some Desired End By The Yielding

     Of Their Elders, I Believe Any Indulgence So Granted (That Is,

     After Being Emphatically Denied) Never Fails To Leave On The

     Youthful Mind An Impression Of Want Of Judgment Or Determination In

     Those They Have To Do With.

     We Dine With The Fitzhughs On Tuesday Week; I Like Emily Much,

     Though She Will Talk Of Human Souls As "Vile;" I Gave Her Channing

     To Read, And She Liked It Very Much, But Said That His View Of

     Man's Nature Was Not That Of A Christian; I Think Her Contempt For

     It Still Less Such. As We Are Immortal In Spite Of Death, So I

     Think We Are Wonderful In Spite Of Our Weakness, And Admirable In

     Spite Of Our Imperfection, And Capable Of All Good In Spite Of All

     Our Evil.

     A----'S Guitar Is A Beauty, And Wears A Broad Blue Scarf And Has A

     Sweet, Low, Soft Voice. Mr. Pickersgill Is Going To Paint My

     Portrait; It Is A Present Major Dawkins Makes My Father And Mother,

     But I Do Wish They Would Leave Off Trying To Take My Picture. My

     Face Is Too Bad For Anything But Nature, And Never Was Intended For

     _Still_ Life. The Intention, However, Is Very Kind, And The Offer

     One That Can Scarcely Be Refused. I Wish You Would Come And Keep Me

     Awake Through My Sittings.

     Our Engagements--Social And Professional--Are A Dinner Party At