XLIX.
Woodbridge, June 23/77.
Dear Mrs. Kemble,
I knew the best thing I could do concerning the Book you wanted was to send your Enquiry to the Oracle itself:—whose Reply I herewith enclose.
Last Evening I heard read Jeanie Deans’ Audience with Argyle, and then with the Queen. There I stop with the Book. Oh, how refreshing is the leisurely, easy, movement of the Story, with its true, and well-harmonized Variety of Scene and Character! There is of course a Bore—Saddletree—as in Shakespeare. I presume to think—as in Cervantes—as in Life itself: somewhat too much of him in Scott, perhaps. But when the fuliginous and Spasmodic Carlyle
and Co. talk of Scott’s delineating his Characters from without to within [131a]—why, he seems to have had a pretty good Staple of the inner Man of David, and Jeanie Deans, on beginning his Story; as of the Antiquary, Dalgetty, the Ashtons, and a lot more. I leave all but the Scotch Novels. Madge has a little—a wee bit—theatrical about her: but I think her to be paired off with Ophelia, and worth all Miss Austen’s Drawing-room Respectabilities put together. It is pretty what Barry Cornwall says on meeting Scott among other Authors at Rogers’: ‘I do not think any one envied him any more than one envies Kings.’ [131b] You have done him honour in your Gossip: as one ought to do in these latter Days.
So this will be my last letter to you till you write me from Switzerland: where I wish you to be as soon as possible. And am yours always and sincerely
E. F.G.
A Letter from Donne speaks cheerfully. And Charles to be married again! It may be best for him.
L.
31, Great George Street, S.W.
Feb. 20, 1878.
Dear Edward FitzGerald,
I have sent your book (‘Mrs. Kemble’s Autobiography’) as far as Bealings by a safe convoy, and my cousin, Elizabeth Phillips, who is staying there, will ultimately convey it to its destination at your house.
It afforded Charlotte [wife] and myself several evenings of very agreeable reading, and we certainly were impressed most favourably with new views as to the qualities of heart and head of the writer. Some observations were far beyond what her years would have led one to expect. I think some letters to her friend ‘S.’ on the strange fancy which hurried off her brother from taking orders, to fighting Spanish quarrels, are very remarkable for their good sense, as well as warm feeling. Her energy too in accepting her profession at the age of twenty as a means of assisting her father to overcome his difficulties is indicative of the best form of genius—steady determination to an end.
Curiously enough, whilst reading the book, we met Mrs. Gordon (a daughter of Mrs. Sartoris) and her husband at Malkin’s at dinner, and I had the pleasure of sitting next to her. The durability of type in the
Kemble face might be a matter for observation with physiologists, and from the little I saw of her I should think the lady worthy of the family.
If the book be issued in a reprint a few omissions might be well. I fear we lost however by some lacunæ which you had caused by covering up a page or two.
Charlotte unites with me in kindest regards to yourself
Yours very sincerely,
Hatherley.
E. FitzGerald, Esq.
I send this to you, dear Mrs. Kemble, not because the writer is a Lord—Ex-Chancellor—but a very good, amiable, and judicious man. I should have sent you any other such testimony, had not all but this been oral, only this one took away the Book, and thus returns it. I had forgot to ask about the Book; oh, make Bentley do it; if any other English Publisher should meditate doing so, he surely will apprise you; and you can have some Voice in it.
Ever yours
E. F.G.
No need to return, or acknowledge, the Letter.
LI.
Little Grange: Woodbridge.
February 22, [1878.]
My dear Lady,
I am calling on you earlier than usual, I think. In my ‘Academy’ [134a] I saw mention of some Notes on Mrs. Siddons in some article of this month’s ‘Fortnightly’ [134b]—as I thought. So I bought the Number, but can find no Siddons there. You probably know about it; and will tell me?
If you have not already read—buy Keats’ Love-Letters to Fanny Brawne. One wishes she had another name; and had left some other Likeness of herself than the Silhouette (cut out by Scissors, I fancy) which dashes one’s notion of such a Poet’s worship. But one knows what misrepresentations such Scissors make. I had—perhaps have—one of Alfred Tennyson, done by an Artist on a Steamboat—some thirty years ago; which, though not inaccurate of outline, gave one the idea of a respectable Apprentice. [134c] But Keats’ Letters—It happened that,
just before they reached me, I had been hammering out some admirable Notes on Catullus [135a]—another such fiery Soul who perished about thirty years of age two thousand years ago; and I scarce felt a change from one to other. [135b] From Catullus’ better parts, I mean; for there is too much of filthy and odious—both of Love and Hate. Oh, my dear Virgil never fell into that: he was fit to be Dante’s companion beyond even Purgatory.
I have just had a nice letter from Mr. Norton in America: an amiable, modest man surely he must be. His aged Mother has been ill: fallen indeed into some half-paralysis: affecting her Speech principally. He says nothing of Mr. Lowell; to whom I would write if I did not suppose he was very busy with his Diplomacy, and his Books, in Spain. I hope he will give us a Cervantes, in addition to the Studies in his ‘Among my Books,’ which seem to me, on the whole, the most conclusive Criticisms we have on their several subjects.
Do you ever see Mrs. Ritchie? Fred. Tennyson wrote me that Alfred’s son (Lionel, the younger, I suppose) was to be married in Westminster Abbey: which Fred, thinks an ambitious flight of Mrs. A. T.
I may as well stop in such Gossip. Snowdrops and Crocuses out: I have not many, for what I had have been buried under an overcoat of Clay, poor
little Souls. Thrushes tuning up; and I hope my old Blackbirds have not forsaken me, or fallen a prey to Cats.
And I am ever yours
E. F.G.