Woodbridge, Jan, 5/73.
My dear Pollock,
I don’t know that I have anything to tell you, except a Story which I have already written to Donne and to Mrs. Kemble, all the way to Rome, out of a French Book. [147] I just now forget the name, and it is gone back to Mudie. About 1783, or a little later, a young Danseur of the French Opera falls in love with a young Danseuse of the same. She, however, takes up with a ‘Militaire,’ who indeed commands the Guard who are on
Service at the Opera. The poor Danseur gets mad with jealousy: attacks the Militaire on his post; who just bids his Soldiers tie the poor Lad to a Column, without further Injury. The Lad, though otherwise unhurt, falls ill of Shame and Jealousy; and dies, after bequeathing his Skeleton to the Doctor attached to the Opera, with an understanding that the said Skeleton is to be kept in the Doctor’s Room at the Opera. Somehow, this Skeleton keeps its place through Revolutions, and Changes of Dynasty: and re-appears on the Scene when some Diablerie is on foot, as in Freischütz; where, says the Book, it still produces a certain effect. I forgot to say that the Subject wished to be in that Doctor’s Room in order that he might still be near his Beloved when she danced.
Now, is not this a capital piece of French all over?
In Sophie Gay’s ‘Salons de Paris’ [148] I read that when Madlle Contat (the Predecessor of Mars) was learning under Préville and his Wife for the Stage, she gesticulated too much, as Novices do. So the Prévilles confined her Arms like ‘une Momie’ she says, and then set her off with a Scene. So long as no great Passion, or Business, was needed, she felt pretty comfortable, she says: but when the Dialogue grew hot, then she could not help trying to get her hands free; and that, as the Prévilles told her, sufficiently told her when Action should begin, and not till then, whether in Grave or Comic. This
anecdote (told by Contat herself) has almost an exact counterpart in Mrs. Siddons’ practice: who recited even Lear’s Curse with her hands and arms close to her side like an Egyptian Figure, and Sir Walter Scott, [149a] who heard her, said nothing could be more terrible. . . .
The Egyptian Mummy reminds me of a clever, dashing, Book we are reading on the subject, by Mr. Zincke, Vicar of a Village [149b] near Ipswich. Did you know, or do you believe, that the Mummy was wrapt up into its Chrysalis Shape as an Emblem of Future Existence; wrapt up, too, in bandages all inscribed with ritualistic directions for its intermediate stage, which was not one of total Sleep? I supposed that this might be a piece of ingenious Fancy: but Cowell, who has been over to see me, says it is probable.
I have brought my Eyes by careful nursing into sufficient strength to read Molière, and Montaigne, and two or three more of my old ‘Standards’ with all my old Relish. But I must not presume on this; and ought to spare your Eyes as well as my own in respect of this letter.
Woodbridge, Jan. /73.