Saturday, 19th.
Giorno d'orrore!—but I won't anticipate. They have settled to act Much Ado about Nothing, instead of the Inconstant. I have no clothes for Beatrice,—but that don't matter. After breakfast, went to rehearsal, and then walked with my father to see a very pretty model of what is to be the town-hall. It never will be, for the corporation are as poor as Job's kittens (Americanism—communicated by Captain ——), and the city of Washington itself is only kept alive by Congress. Talking of the city of Washington,—'tis the strangest thing by way of a town that can be fancied. It is laid out to cover, I should think, some ten miles square, but the houses are here, there, and no where: the streets, conventionally not properly so called, are roads, crooked or straight, where buildings are intended to be. Every now and then an interesting gap of a quarter of a mile occurs between those houses that are built: in the midst of the town, you can't help fancying you are in the country; and between wooden palings, with nothing to be seen on either side but cedar bushes and sand, you are informed you are in the midst of the town. The Elysian Fields is a broken patch of moorland, sand, and gravel: the Jardin des Plantes is a nursery-ground full of slips of shrubs a foot and a half high; the Tiber, alias Goose Creek, is an unhappy-looking ditch;—and Washington altogether struck me as a rambling red-brick image of futurity, where nothing is, but all things are to be. Came home and habited. At half-past twelve, Captain —— came for me; just as we were going, —— called. He was on horseback, and asked leave to join us, which I agreed to very readily. He was pilot, and led us round and about, through the woods, and across the waters; all of which, as Captain —— observed, was in the day's work. We returned at half-past three. Directly after dinner, I set out to pay sundry cards. The day had been heavenly,—bright, and warm, and balmy; the evening was beautifully soft; and as I drove over hill and dale, marsh and moorland, through the city of Washington, paying my cards, the stars came out one after another in the still sky, and the scattered lights of the town looked like a capricious congregation of Jack-o'-lanterns, some high, some low, some here, some there, showing more distinctly, by the dark spaces between them, the enormous share that emptiness has in the congressional city. One of my visits lay nearly three miles out of town, so that I was not back until six o'clock. As I came rushing along the corridor, I met D—— coming to meet me, who exclaimed, with an air of mingled horror and satisfaction, "Oh, here you are!—here is coffee and Mr. —— waiting for you!" I went into the room, and found a goodly-looking personage, old enough to know better, sitting with my father, who appeared amazingly disturbed, held an open letter in his hand, and exclaimed, the moment I came in, "There, sir, there is the young lady to speak for herself." I courtesied, and sat down. "Fanny," quoth my father, "something particularly disagreeable has occurred,—pray, can you call to mind any thing you said during the course of your Thursday's ride, which was likely to be offensive to Mr. ——, or any thing abusive of this country?" As I have already had sundry specimens of the great talent there is for tattle in the exclusive coteries of this gossiping new world, I merely untied my bonnet, and replied, that I did not at that moment recollect a word that I had said during my whole ride, and should certainly not give myself any trouble to do so. "Now, my dear," said my father, his own eyes flashing with indignation, "don't put yourself into a passion; compose yourself, and recollect. Here is a letter I have just received." He proceeded to read it, and the contents were to this effect—that during my ride with Mr. —— I had said I did not choose to ride an American gentleman's horse, and had offered him two dollars for the hire of his; that moreover, I had spoken most derogatorily of America and Americans; in consequence of all which, if my father did not give some explanation, or make some apology to the public, I should certainly be hissed off the stage, as soon as I appeared on it that evening. This was pleasant. I stated the conversation as it had passed, adding, that as to any sentiments a person might express on any subject, liberty of opinion, and liberty of speech, were alike rights which belonged to every body, and that, with a due regard to good feeling, and good breeding, they were rights which nobody ought, and I never would forego. Mr. —— opened his eyes. I longed to add, that any conversation between me and any other person was nobody's business but mine, and his or hers, and that the whole thing was, on the part of the young gentleman concerned, the greatest piece of blackguardism, and on that of the old gentleman concerned the greatest piece of twaddle, that it had ever been my good fortune to hear of. "For," said Mr. ——, "not less than fifty members of Congress have already mentioned the matter to me." Fifty old gossiping women! why the whole thing is for all the world like a village tattle in England, among half a dozen old wives round their tea-pots. All Washington was in dismay; and my evil deeds and evil words were the town talk,—fields, gaps, marshes, and all, rang with them. This is an agreeable circumstance, and a display of national character highly entertaining and curious.[87] It gave me at the time, however, a dreadful side-ach, and nervous cough. I went to the theatre, dressed, and came on the stage in the full expectation of being hissed off it, which is a pleasant sensation, very, and made my heart full of bitterness to think I should stand,—as no woman ought to stand,—the mark of public insult. However, no such thing occurred,—I went on and came off without any such trial of my courage; but I had been so much annoyed, and was still so indignant, that I passed the intervals between my scenes in crying,—which, of course, added greatly to the mirth and spirit of my performance of Beatrice. In the middle of the play, Mr. —— and Captain —— came behind the scenes, and then, indeed, I was quite glad to see Englishmen; though their compassionate sympathies for my wrongs, and tender fears lest I should catch cold behind those horrid scenes, very nearly set me off crying again. A soft word, when one is in deep commiseration of one's self, is very apt to open the flood-gates; but I was ashamed to cry before them, so tried to keep my heart-swellings down. When the play was over, came home. Mr. —— came and supped with us. By the by, he called this morning before I went out riding, and expressed many sorrows at our departure. He is a clever and extremely well-informed man, and I like him very much. When he was gone, sat talking over the —— affair. My father was in a greater passion than I think I ever saw him before. I am sure I would not have warranted one of that worthy young gentleman's bones, if he had fallen in with him. I am very glad he did not; for, to knock a man down, even though he does deserve it, is a serious matter rather.
Wednesday, 30th, Philadelphia.
After breakfast, practised for an hour: wrote journal. Mr. ——, the wild-eyed, flowing-haired, white-waistcoated, velvet-collared, —— —— called upon me. He sat some time asking me questions; but, since the —— affair, I have grown rather afraid of opening my mouth, and he had the conversation chiefly to himself. Finished journal; dined at half-past three: after dinner, went and sat with Mrs. ——. One Mr. ——, a Boston man who was at Mrs. ——'s ball last night, was in her room. I was introduced to him, and he spoke of the ——s.
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Sat with them till coffee-time. Went to the theatre at half-past five. It poured with rain, in spite of which the house was very good: the play was Fazio. When I came on in my fine dress, at the beginning of the second act, the people hailed me with such a tremendous burst of applause, and prolonged it so much, that I was greatly puzzled to imagine what on earth possessed them. I concluded they were pleased with my dress, but could not help being rather amused at their vehement and continued clapping, considering they had seen it several times before. However, they ceased at last, and I thought no more about it. Towards the time for the beginning of the third act, which opens with my being discovered waiting for Fazio's return, as I was sitting in my dressing-room working, D—— suddenly exclaimed, "Hark!—what is that?" —— opened the door, and we heard a tremendous noise of shouts and of applause. "They are waiting for you, certainly," said D——. She ran out, and returned, saying, "The stage is certainly waiting for you, Fanny, for the curtain is up." I rushed out of the room; but on opening the door leading to the stage, I distinctly heard my father's voice addressing the audience. I turned sick with a sort of indefinite apprehension, and on enquiry found that at the beginning of the play a number of handbills had been thrown into the pit, professing to quote my conversation with Mr. —— at Washington, and calling upon the people to resent my conduct in the grossest and most vulgar terms. This precious document had, it seems, been brought round by somebody to my father, who immediately went on with it in his hand, and assured the audience that the whole thing was a falsehood. I scarce heard what he said, though I stood at the side scene: I was crying dreadfully with fright and indignation. How I wished I was a caterpillar under a green gooseberry-bush!
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