Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble (1871-1883) Part 28

CIX.

[_Nov._, 1882.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:

You must be homeward-bound by this time, I think: but I hope my letter won't light upon you just when you are leaving Paris, or just arriving in London--perhaps about to see Mrs. Wister off to America from Liverpool!

But you will know very well how to set my letter aside till some better opportunity. May Mrs. Wister fare well upon her Voyage over the Atlantic, and find all well when she reaches her home.

I have been again--twice or thrice--to Aldeburgh, when my contemporary old Beauty Mary Lynn was staying there; and pleasant Evenings enough we had, talking of other days, and she reading to me some of her Mudie Books, finis.h.i.+ng with a nice little Supper, and some hot grog (for me) which I carried back to the fire, and _set on the carpet_. {252b} She read me (for one thing) 'Marjorie Fleming' from a Volume of Dr. Brown's Papers {253a}--read it as well as she could for laughing--'idiotically,'

she said--but all the better to my mind. She had been very dismal all day, she said. Pray get some one to read you 'Marjorie'--which I say, because (as I found) it agrees with one best in that way. If only for dear Sir Walter's sake, who doated on the Child; and would not let his Twelfth Night be celebrated till she came through the Snow in a Sedan Chair, where (once in the warm Hall) he called all his Company down to see her nestling before he carried her upstairs in his arms. A very pretty picture. My old Mary said that Mr. Anstey's 'Vice Versa' made her and a friend, to whom she read it, laugh idiotically too: but I could not laugh over it alone, very clever as it is. And here is enough of me and Mary.

Devrient's Theory of Shakespeare's Sonnets (which you wrote me of) I cannot pretend to judge of: what he said of the Englishwomen, to whom the Imogens, Desdemonas, etc., were acceptable, seems to me well said. I named it to Aldis Wright in a letter, but what he thinks on the subject--surely no otherwise than Mrs. Kemble--I have not yet heard. My dear old Alfred's Pastoral troubles me a little--that he should have exposed himself to ridicule in his later days. Yet I feel sure that his aim is a n.o.ble one; and there was a good notice in the Academy {253b} saying there was much that was fine in the Play--nay, that a whole good Play might yet be made of it by some better Playwright's practical Skill.

And here is the end of my paper, before I have said something else that I had to say. But you have enough for the present from your ancient E.

F.G.--who has been busy arranging some 'post mortem' papers.

CX.

WOODBRIDGE: _March_ 6, [1883.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

I have asked more than one person for tidings of you, for the last two months: and only yesterday heard from M. Donne that he had seen you at the Address to which I shall direct this letter. I wrote to you about mid-November, desiring Coutts to forward my letter: in which I said that if you were in no mood to write during the time of Mrs. Wister's departure for America (which you had told me was to be November end) you were not to trouble yourself at all. Since which time I have really not known whether you had not gone off to America too. Anyhow, I thought better to wait till I had some token of your 'whereabout,' if nothing more. And now Mowbray tells me that much, and I will venture another Letter to you after so long an interval. You must always follow your own inclination as to answering me--not by any means make a 'Duty' of it.

As usual I have nothing to say of myself but what you have heard from me for years. Only that my (now one year old) friend Bronchitis has thus far done but little more than to keep me aware that he has not quitted me, nor even thinks of so doing. Nay, this very day, when the Snow which held off all winter is now coming down under stress of N.E. wind, I feel my friend stirring somewhat within.

Enough of that and of myself. Mowbray gives me a very good report of you--Absit Nemesis for my daring to write it!--And you have got back to something of our old London Quarters, which I always look to as better than the new. And do you go to even a Play, in the old Quarters also?

Wright, who was with me at Christmas, was taken by Macmillan to see 'Much Ado,' and found, all except Scenery, etc. (which was too good) so bad that he vowed he would never go to see Sh. 'at any of your Courts' again.

Irving without any Humour, Miss Terry with simply Animal Spirits, etc.

However, Wright did intend once more to try--Comedy of Errors, at some theatre; but how he liked it--I may hear if he comes to me at Easter.

Now this is enough--is it not?--for a letter: but I am as always

Sincerely yours,

E. F.G.

CXI.

WOODBRIDGE: _April_ 12, [1883.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:

I do not think you will be sorry that more than a Moon has waxed and waned since last I wrote to you. For you have seen long enough how little I had to tell, and that nevertheless you were bound to answer. But all such Apologies are stale: you will believe, I hope, that I remain as I was in regard to you, as I shall believe that you are the same toward me.

Mowbray Donne has told me two months ago that he could not get over the Remembrance of last May; and that, acting on Body as well as Mind, aged him, I suppose, as you saw. Mowbray is one of the most loyal men toward Kinsman and Friend.

Now for my own little Budget of News. I got through those Sunless East winds well enough: better than I am feeling now they both work together.

I think the Wind will rule till Midsummer: 'Enfin tant qu'il plaira a Dieu.' Aldis Wright was with me for Easter, and we went on our usual way, together or apart. Professor Norton had sent me his Carlyle-Emerson Correspondence, which we conned over together, and liked well on either side. Carlyle should not have said (and still less Norton printed) that Tennyson was a 'gloomy' Soul, nor Thackeray 'of inordinate Appet.i.te,'

neither of which sayings is true: nor written of Lord Houghton as a 'Robin Redbreast' of a man. I shall wait very patiently till Mudie sends me Jane Carlyle--where I am told there is a word of not unkindly toleration of me; which, if one be named at all, one may be thankful for.

{257}

Here are two Questions to be submitted to Mrs. Kemble by Messrs. Aldis Wright and Littlegrange--viz., What she understands by--

(1.) 'The Raven himself is hoa.r.s.e,' etc.

(2.) 'But this _eternal_ Blazon must not be,' etc.

Mrs. Kemble (who _will_ answer my letter) can tell me how she fares in health and well-being; yes, and if she has seen, or heard, anything of Alfred Tennyson, who is generally to be heard of in London at this time of year. And pray let Mrs. Kemble believe in the Writer of these poor lines as her ancient, and loyal, Subject

E. F.G.

'The raven himself is hoa.r.s.e,' etc.

"Lady Macbeth compares the Messenger, hoa.r.s.e for lack of Breath, to a raven whose croaking was held to be prophetic of Disaster. This we think the natural interpretation of the words, though it is rejected by some Commentators."--_Clark and Wright's Clarendon Press Shakespeare_.

"'Eternal Blazon' = revelation of Eternity. It may be, however, that Sh. uses 'eternal' for 'infernal' here, as in _Julius Caesar_ I. 2, 160: 'The eternal Devil'; and _Oth.e.l.lo_ IV. 2, 130: 'Some eternal villain.' 'Blazon' is an heraldic term, meaning Description of armorial bearings, * hence used for description generally; as in _Much Ado_ II. 1, 307. The verb 'blazon' occurs in _Cymbeline_ IV. 2, 170."--_Ibid_.

Thus have I written out in my very best hand: as I will take care to do in future; for I think it very bad manners to puzzle anyone--and especially a Lady--with that which is a trouble to read; and I really had no idea that I have been so guilty of doing so to Mrs. Kemble.

Also I beg leave to say that nothing in Mowbray's letter set me off writing again to Mrs. Kemble, except her Address, which I knew not till he gave it to me, and I remain her very humble obedient Servant,

THE LAIRD OF LITTLEGRANGE--

of which I enclose a side view done by a Woodbridge Artisan for his own amus.e.m.e.nt. So that Mrs. Kemble may be made acquainted with the '_habitat_' of the Flower--which is about to make an Omelette for its Sunday Dinner.

N.B.--The 'Raven' is not he that reports the news to Miladi M., but 'one of my fellows Who almost dead for breath, etc.'

* Not, as E. F.G. had thought, the Bearings themselves.

CXII.

[_May_, 1883.]

MY DEAR LADY,