Who for your favour still most humbly sues;
That you for classic learning will receive
My soul’s best wishes, which I freely give—
For polished periods round, and touched with art,
The fervent offering of my grateful heart.
So Mrs. Siddons made her bow. When she next appeared at Bath it was as the greatest tragic actress then on the stage.
Towards the end of August, she set out determined to make her way slowly to London, acting at various country theatres as she went along. Her letters written to the Whalleys are full of fun, and show she had the pen of a ready writer.
“You will be pleased to hear,” she says, “that Mrs. Carr was very civil to me—gave me a comfortable bed, and I slept very well. We were five of us in the machine, all females but one, a youth of about sixteen, and the most civilized being you can conceive—a native of Bristol, too.
“One of the ladies was, I believe verily, a little insane. Her dress was the most peculiar, and manner the most offensive, I ever remember to have met with; her person was taller and more thin than you can imagine; her hair raven black, drawn as tight as possible over her cushion before and behind; and at the top of her head was placed a solitary fly-cap of the last century, composed of materials of about twenty sorts, and as dirty as the ground; her neck, which was a thin scrag of a quarter of a yard long, and the colour of a walnut, she wore uncovered, for the solace of all beholders; her Circassian was an olive-coloured cotton of three several sorts, about two breadths wide in the skirt, and tied up exactly in the middle in one place only. She had a black petticoat spotted with red, and over that a very thin white muslin one, with a long black gauze apron, and without the least hoop. I never in my life saw so odd an appearance; and my opinion was not singular, for wherever we stopped she inspired either mirth or amazement, but was quite innocent of it herself. On taking her seat among us at Bristol, she flew into a violent passion on seeing one of the windows down. I said I would put it up, if she pleased. ‘To be sure,’ said she; ‘I have no ambition to catch my death!’ No sooner had she done with me, but she began to scold the woman who sat opposite to her for touching her foot. ‘You have not been used to riding in a coach, I fancy, good woman.’ She met in this lady a little more spirit than she found in me, and we were obliged to her for keeping this unhappy woman in tolerable order for the remainder of the day. Bless me! I had almost forgot to tell you that I was desired to make tea at breakfast. Vain were my endeavours to please this strange creature. She had desired to have her tea in a basin, and I followed her directions as near as it was possible in the making her tea; but she had no sooner tasted it than she bounced to the window and threw it out, declaring she had never met with such a set of awkward, ill-bred people. What could be expected in a stage-coach, indeed? She snatched the canister from me, poured a great quantity into the basin, with sugar, cream, and water, and drank it all together. Did you ever hear of anything so strange? When we sat down to dinner, she seemed terrified to death lest anybody should eat but herself.
“The remaining part of our journey was made almost intolerable by her fretfulness. One minute she was screaming out lest the coachman should overturn us; she was sure he would, because she would not give him anything for neglecting to keep her trunk dry; and, though it was immoderately hot, we were obliged very often to sit with the windows up, for she had been told that the air was pestilential after sunset, and that, however people liked it, she did not choose to hazard her life by sitting with the windows open. All were disposed, for the sake of peace, to let her have her own way, except the person whom we were really obliged to for quieting her every now and then. She had been handsome, but was now, I suppose, sixty years old. I pity her temper, and am sorry for her situation, which I have set down as that of a disappointed old maid.