Part 23

_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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Oh, how I did wince to think of going on again after this scene, though the feeling of the audience was most evident; for all the applause I had fancied they bestowed upon my dress was, in fact, an unsolicited testimony of their disbelief in the accusation brought against me. They received my father's words with acclamations; and when the curtain drew up, and I was discovered, the pit rose and waved their hats, and the applause was tremendous. I was crying dreadfully, and could hardly speak; however, I mastered myself and went on with my part,--though, what with the dreadful exertion that it is in itself, and the painful excitement I had just undergone, I thought I should have fainted before I got through with it.

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_Saturday, Feb. 2d._

After breakfast, ---- called to see how I did after my walk: he sat for some time. At twelve, went out paying bills and calls; bought a German æolina; sat some time with old Mrs. ----, and spent a delightful hour with Mr. ---- and his family. He is a most agreeable person, but he thinks too well of acting. Came home; dined at three; Mr. and Mrs. ---- dined with us. After dinner, went into her room, and remained there till time to go to the theatre. Young ---- and Dr. ---- came in. The play was the Gamester: it was my benefit, and I am afraid the good folks who addressed that amiable placard to the public will have been rather ill satisfied with their suggestion about my benefit. The house was literally crammed, in consequence of that very circumstance,--crammed is the word. When the curtain drew up, they applauded me without end, and I courtesied as profoundly as I was able; indeed, I am extremely obliged to this same excellent public, for they have testified most satisfactorily every way the kindest feeling possible for me, and the most entire faith in my good behaviour. I did not play well, my voice was so dreadfully affected by my cough.

_Monday, 4th._

Dined at three. After dinner, Mrs. ---- came into our room, where I sang and played till time to go to the theatre. The play was the Merchant of Venice, and Katharine and Petruchio for the farce;--my father's benefit: the house was crammed from floor to ceiling, as full as it could hold: so much for the success of the hand-bills. Indeed, as somebody suggested, I think if we could find the author of that placard out we are bound to give him a handsome reward, for he certainly has given us two of the finest benefits that ever were seen. I heard that a man said the other day that he should not be surprised if _my father had got the whole of this up himself_. Oh, day and night! that such thoughts should come into any human being's head.[88] At the end, the people shouted and shrieked for us. He went on, and made them a speech, and I went on and made them a courtesy; and certainly they do deserve the civillest of speeches, and lowest of courtesies from us, for they have behaved most kindly and courteously to us; and, for mine own good part, I love the whole city of Philadelphia from this time forth, for evermore.[89]

Mr. ---- came round to the stage door to bid us good-night; and as we drove off, a whole parcel of folk, who had gathered round the door to see us depart, set up a universal hurrah! How strange a thing it is, that popular shout. After all, Pitt or Canning could get no more for the finest oratory that human lips ever uttered, or the wisest policy that human brain ever devised. Sometimes they got the reverse; but then the _hereafter_--there's the rub! Praise is so sweet to me that I would have it lasting: above all, I would wish to feel that I deserved it. I must do so if I am to value it a straw; and acting, even the best that ever was seen, is, to my mind, but a poor claim to approbation. I think the applause of an audience in a play-house should be reckoned with the friendly and favourable opinions of a good-natured tipsy man,--'tis given under excitement. Oh Lord! how unsatisfactory all things are!

_Wednesday, 13th, New York._

After dinner, ---- came in. He sat himself down, and presently was over-head in reminiscences. His account of Tom Paine's escape from the Conciergerie, on the eve of being guillotined, was extremely interesting. His own introduction to, and subsequent acquaintance with, that worthy, was equally so, and his summing up was highly characteristic. "I tell ye, madam, the saving of that man's life was an especial providence, that he might come over to this country, where his works have done so much harm, and might have done so much more, and just exemplify the result of his own principles put into practice in his own person, and show that the glorious light of reason, and the noble natural gifts of man, of which he preached so much, would neither prevent a man's becoming a drunkard and a spendthrift, nor a debased degraded being. If Paine had been guillotined, madam, he would have been a martyr, and his works would have had ten times the power of evil they had before. But he lived to be a miserable low unthrift, and sot, and died neglected and despised by all reputable and respectable individuals, and, I say again, it was a manifest providence that he did so." We left the gentlemen to their wine for a short time, but were presently summoned back. ---- had gone to the theatre. ---- began his history to me, and it was, word for word, a repetition of Galt's book, except that occasionally it was more touching. The pity of all this is, the man's own consciousness that he is a lion. His vanity is almost as amusing as his recollections are curious and interesting; and though the tears were in my eye several times while he described the blessed time he lived with his sweet Phoebe, yet, at others, I could scarce help exclaiming, in the words of his own countryman, "Heigh, cretur, cretur! thou hast unco plause o' thysel'!" He ended his narrative with a eulogy of women that would have warmed the heart of a stone; and to my utter surprise addressed Mr. ---- with, "Out upon ye, bachelors, all! ye throw away your lives, and your life's happiness!" This last attack of ----'s seemed too much for Mr. ----; and, as I turned to him with the tears in my eyes, to desire he would not laugh, which he was doing very heartily, he said he couldn't stand it any longer, and went away, apparently more amused than edified by ----'s appeal.

_Thursday, 14th._

St. Valentine's day! I wish all these pretty golden days, which, like the flowers in the sundial of Linnæus, were wont so gaily to mark the flight of time, were not becoming so dim in our calendars; I wish St. Valentine's day, and May morning, and Christmas day, and New-Year's day, were not putting off their holiday suits to wear the work-day russet of their drudging fellows; I wish we were not making all things, of all sorts, so completely of a neutral tint.

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I wouldn't be in the Reform Parliament of England for ten thousand pounds! ----, and ----, the bruiser, and the bankrupt! Oh, shame, England, shame!--Poor England!

A RHAPSODY.

White lady, sitting on the sea, Tell to me, oh, tell to me, How long shall thy reigning be, White lady, sitting on the sea?

Long as the oak with which I'm crown'd Shall bear one leaf above the ground, Round which the crawling ivy's grasp Its cursed tendrils does not clasp; Long as one foot remains to stand Firm on its own ancestral land; Or one true man be left to claim The burden of a noble name; Long as one Gothic shrine shall rise With 'scutcheon'd tomb, and banner'd stall, Or the blest glances of the skies, Through storied casements dimly fall; Long as one heart shall beat to hear Legends of the old valiant time; Long as the Sabbath wind shall bear The music of one haunting chime.

White lady, sitting on the sea, Tell to me, oh, tell to me, When shall thy downfalling be, White lady, sitting on the sea?

When the vile kennel mud is thrown Upon the ermine of the king, And the old worships are cast down Before a rabble's triumphing; When toothless ---- is young again, To do the mischief he but dreams, And little ---- shall make more plain The good that glitters through his schemes; When the steam-engine of the north Leaves making essays and wry faces; And patriot Whigs forget the worth Of pensions, power, pride, and places; When on the spot where Burke and Pitt Earn'd their high immortality, Boxers and bankrupts boldly sit, Then, then shall my downfalling be.

_Monday, 18th._

After breakfast, went to rehearsal; came home and stitched at my _Françoise de Foix_ head-dress. My father is extremely unwell; I scarce think he will be able to get through his part to-night. After dinner, practised, and read a canto in Dante. It pleases me, when I refer to Biagioli's notes, to find that the very lines Alfieri has noted are those under which I have drawn my emphatic pencil marks. At half-past five, went to the theatre. The play was Macbeth, for my benefit: the house was very full, and I played very ill. My father was dreadfully exhausted by his work. I had an interesting discussion with Mr. ---- about the costume and acting of the witches in this awful play. I should like to see them acted and dressed a little more like what they should be, than they generally are. It has been always customary,--Heaven only knows why,--to make low comedians act the witches, and to dress them like old fish-women. Instead of the wild unearthly appearance which Banquo describes, and which belongs to their most terrible and grotesquely poetical existence and surroundings, we have three jolly-faced fellows,--whom we are accustomed to laugh at, night after night, in every farce on the stage,--with as due a proportion of petticoats as any woman, letting alone witch, might desire, jocose red faces, peaked hats, and broomsticks, which last addition alone makes their costume different from that of Moll Flagon. If I had the casting of Macbeth, I would give the witches to the first melo-dramatic actors on the stage,--such men as T. P. Cooke, and O. Smith, who understand all that belongs to picturesque devilry to perfection,--and give them such dresses as, without ceasing to be grotesque, should be a little more fanciful, and less ridiculous than the established livery; something that would accord a little better with the blasted heath, the dark fungus-grown wood, the desolate misty hill-side, and the flickering light of the caldron cave.[90]

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_Wednesday, 20th._

After breakfast, ---- and Mr. ---- came. ---- gave me the words and tune of a bewitching old English ballad. Mr. ---- called and sat some time with me: I like him mainly,--he's very pleasant and clever. That handsome creature, Mme. ----, called with her daughter and her son-in-law. Mr. ---- and ---- dined with us. After dinner, came to my own room, sang over ----'s ballad, and amused myself with writing one of my own. At half-past five, took coffee, and off to the theatre. The house was very full; play, the Stranger: I didn't play well: I'd a gown on that did not fit me, to which species of accident our _art_ is marvellously subservient, for a tight arm-hole shall mar the grandest passage in Queen Constance, and too long or too short a skirt keep one's heart cold in the balcony scene in Juliet. Came home; supped; finished marking the Winter's Tale. What a dense fool that fat old Johnson must have been in matters of poetry! his notes upon Shakspeare make one swear, and his summing up of the Winter's Tale is worthy of a newspaper critic of the present day,--in spirit, I mean, not language; Dr. Johnson always wrote good English.--What dry, and sapless, and dusty earth his soul must have been made of, poor fat man! After all, 'tis even a greater misfortune than fault to be so incapable of beauty.

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BALLAD.

The Lord's son stood at the clear spring head, The May on the other side, "And stretch me your lily hand," he said, "For I must mount and ride.

"And waft me a kiss across the brook, And a curl of your yellow hair; Come summer or winter, I ne'er shall look Again on your eyes so fair.

"Bring me my coal-black steed, my squire, Bring Fleetfoot forth!" he cried; "For three-score miles he must not tire, To bear me to my bride.

"His foot must be swift, though my heart be slow; He carries me towards my sorrow; To the Earl's proud daughter I made my vow, And I must wed her to-morrow."

The Lord's son stood at the altar stone,-- The Earl's proud daughter near: "And what is that ring you have gotten on, That you kiss so oft and so dear?

"Is it a ring of the yellow gold, Or something more precious and bright? Give me that ring in my hand to hold, Or I plight ye no troth to-night."

"It is not a ring of the yellow gold, But something more precious and bright; But never shall hand, save my hand, hold This ring by day or night."

"And now I am your wedded wife, Give me the ring, I pray."-- "You may take my lands, you may take my life, But never this ring away."

They sat at the board; and the lady bride Red wine in a goblet pour'd; "And pledge me a health, sweet sir," she cried, "My husband and my lord."

The cup to his lips he had scarcely press'd, When he gasping drew his breath, His head sank down on his heaving breast, And he said, "It is death! it is death!--

"Oh bury me under the gay green shaw By the brook, 'neath the heathery sod, Where last her blessed eyes I saw, Where her blessed feet last trod!"

_Saturday, 23d._