Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2) - Frances Ann Kemble (sad books to read TXT) 📗
- Author: Frances Ann Kemble
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They Were Plentifully Supplied With Funds, With Which They
Purchased And Manned A Vessel Destined To Carry Arms And Ammunition
To Spain For The Purposes Of The Revolutionists. This Ship They Put
Under Command Of An Experienced _Smuggler_, And It Was Actually
Leaving The Mouth Of The Thames With Sterling And Mr. Trench On
Board It, Bound For Spain, When By Order Of Lord Aberdeen It Was
Stopped. Our Two Young Gentlemen Jumped Into A Boat And Made Their
Escape, But Mr. Sterling, Hearing That Government Threatened To
Proceed Against The Captain Of The Captured Vessel, Came Forward
And Owned It As His Property, And Exonerated The Man, As Far As He
Could, From Any Share Of The Blame Attaching To An Undertaking In
Which He Was An Irresponsible Instrument. Matters Were In This
State, With A Prosecution Pending Over John Sterling, When The
Ministry Was Changed, And Nothing Further Has Been Done Or Said By
Government On The Subject Since.
My Brother Had Gone Off To Gibraltar Previously To All This, To
Take Measures For Facilitating Their Landing; He Is Now Quietly And
I Hope Comfortably Wintering There. Torrijos, It Seems, Is Not At
All Disheartened, But Is Waiting For The Propitious Moment, Which,
However, From The Appearance Of Things, I Should Not Consider
Likely To Be At Hand Just Yet. Mr. Sterling Has, I Understand, Been
So Seriously Ill Since His Marriage That At One Time His Life Was
Despaired Of, And Even Now That He Is A Little Recovered He Is
Ordered To Madeira As Soon As He Can Be Moved. This Is Very Sad For
His Poor Bride.
Of Our Home Circle I Have Nothing To Tell You. My Father, Dall, And
I Had A Very Delightful Day On Saturday At Brighton. After A Lovely
Day's Journey, We Arrived There On Friday. Our Companion In The
Coach Luckily Happened To Be A Son Of Dr. Burney's, Who Was An Old
And Intimate Friend Of My Father's, And They Discoursed Together
The Whole Way Along, Of All Sorts Of Events And People: Of My Uncle
John And My Aunt Siddons, In Their Prime; Of Mrs. Jordan And The
Late King; Of The Present One, Harlow, Lawrence, And Innumerable
Other Folk Of Note And Notoriety. Among Other Things They Had A
Long Discussion On The Subject Of Hamlet's Feigned Or--As My Father
Maintains And I Believe--Real Madness; All This Formed A Very
Amusing Accompaniment To The History Of Sir Launcelot Du Lac, Which
I Was Reading With Much Delight When I Was Not Listening To Their
Conversation.
I Like All That Concerns The Love Adventures Of These Valorous
Knights Of Yore; But Their Deadly Blows And Desperate Thrusts,
Their Slashing, Gashing, Mashing, Mangling, And Hewing Bore Me To
Death. The Fate Of Guinevere Interested Me Deeply, But Sir
Launcelot's Warlike Exploits I Got Dreadfully Weary Of; I Prefer
Him Greatly In Hall And Bower Rather Than In Tournament And
Battle-Field.
We Got Into Brighton At Half-Past Four, And Had Just Time To Dine,
Dress, And Go To The Theater, Where We Were To Act "The Stranger."
The House Was Very Full Indeed, But My Reception Was Not Quite What
I Had Expected; For Whether They Were Disappointed In My Dress
Volume 1 Chapter 18 Pg 117(Mrs. Haller Being Traditionally Clothed In Droopacious White
Muslin, And I Dressing Her In Gray Silk, Which Is Both Stiff And
Dull Looking, As I Think It Should Be), Or Whether, Which I Think
Still More Likely, They Were Disappointed In My "Personal
Appearance," Which, As You Know, Is Neither Tragical Nor Heroic, I
Know Not, But I Thought Their Welcome Rather, Cold; But The Truth
Is, I Believe My London Audience Spoils Me For Every Other.
However, The Play Went Off Admirably, And I Believe Everybody Was
Satisfied, Not Excepting The Manager, Who Assured Me So Full And
_Enthusiastic_ A House Had Not Been Seen In Brighton For Many
Years.
Our Rooms At The Inn [The Old Ship Was Then _The_ Famous Brighton
Hotel] Looked Out Upon The Sea, But It Was So Foggy When We Entered
Brighton That Although I Perceived The _Motion_ Of The Waves
Through The Mist That Hung Over Them, Their Color And Every Object
Along The Shore Was Quite Indistinct. The Next Morning Was
Beautiful. Dall And I Ran Down To The Beach Before Breakfast; There
Are No Sands, Unluckily, But We Stood Ankle-Deep In The Shingles,
Watching The Ebbing Tide And Sniffing The Sweet Salt Air For A Long
Time With Great Satisfaction. After Breakfast We Rehearsed "The
Provoked Husband," And From The Theater Proceeded To Take A Walk.
All This Was Very Fine, But Still It Was Streets And Houses; And
There Were Crowds Of Gay People Parading Up And Down, Looking As
Busy About Nothing And As Full Of Themselves As If The Great Awful
Sea Had Not Been Close Beside Them. In Fact, I Was Displeased With
The Levity Of Their Deportment, And The Contrast Of All That
Fashionable Frivolity With The Grandest Of All Natural Objects
Seemed To Me Incongruous And Discordant; And I Was So Annoyed At
Finding Myself By The Sea-Side And _Yet_ Still Surrounded With All
The Glare And Gayety Of London, That I Think I Wished Myself At The
Bottom Of The Cliff And Brighton At The Bottom Of The Sea. However,
We Walked On And On, Beyond The Parade, Beyond The Town, Till We
Had Nothing But The Broad Open Downs To Contrast With The Broad
Open Sea, And Then I Was Completely Happy. I Gave My Muff To My
Father And My Fur Tippet To Dall, For The Sun Shone Powerfully On
The Heights, And I Walked And Ran Along The Edge Of The Cliffs,
Gazing And Pondering, And Enjoying The Solemn Sound And The
Brilliant Sight, And The Nervous Excitement Of A Slight Sense Of
Fear As I Peeped Over At The Depth Below Me. From This Diversion,
However, My Father Called Me Away, And, To Console Me For Not
Allowing Me To Run The Risk Of Being Dashed To Pieces, Offered To
Run A Race Up A Small Hill With Me, And Beat Me Hollow.
We Had Walked About Four Miles When We Halted At One Of The
Preventive Service Stations To Look About Us. The Tide Had Not Yet
Come In, But Its Usual Height When Up Was Indicated, First By A
Delicate, Waving Fringe Of Sea-Weed, Like Very Bright Green Moss,
And Then, Nearer In Shore, By An Incrustation Of Chalk Washed From
The Cliffs, Which Formed A Deep Embossed Silver Embroidery Along
The Coast As Far As Eye Could See. The Sunshine Was Dazzling, And
Its Light On The Detached Masses Of Milky Chalk Which Lay Far
Beneath Us Made Them Appear Semi-Transparent, Like Fragments Of
Volume 1 Chapter 18 Pg 118Alabaster Or Carnelian. I Was Wishing That I _Could But_ Get Down
The Cliff, When A Worthy Sailor Appeared Toiling Up It, And I
Discovered His Winding Stair Case Cut In The Great Chalk Wall, Down
Which I Proceeded Without Further Ado. I Was A Little Frightened,
For The Steps Were None Of The Most Regular Or Convenient, And I
Felt As If I Were Hanging (And At An Uncomfortable Distance From
Either) Between Heaven And Earth. I Got Down Safe, However, And Ran
To The Water's Edge, Danced A Galop On One Smooth Little Sand
Island, Waited Till The Tide, Which Was Coming Up, Just Touched My
Toes, Gave It A Kick Of Cowardly Defiance, And Then Showed It A
Fair Pair Of Heels And Scrambled Up The Cliff Again, Very Much
Enchanted With My Expedition.
I Think A Fight With Smugglers Up That Steep Staircase At Night,
With A Heavy Sea Rolling And Roaring Close Under It, Would Be
Glorious! When I Reached The Top My Father Said It Was Time To Go
Home, So We Returned. The Parade Was Crowded Like Hyde Park In The
Height Of The Season [Thackeray Called Brighton London-Super-Mare],
And When Once I Was Out Of The Crowd And Could Look Down Upon It
From Our Windows As It Promenaded Up And Down, I Never Saw Anything
Gayer: Carriages Of Every Description--Most Of Them
Open--Cavalcades Of Ladies And Gentlemen Riding To And Fro, Throngs
Of Smart Bonnets And Fine Dresses; And Beyond All This The High
Tide, With One Broad Crimson Path Across It, Thrown By The Sun,
Looking As If It Led Into Some Enchanted World Beyond The Waters.
I Thought Of Dear A----; For Though She Is Seeing The Sea--And I
Think The Sea At Ardgillan, With Its Lovely Mountains On One Side
And Skerries On The Other, Far More Beautiful Than This--I Am Sure
She Would Have Been Enchanted With The Life, The Bustle, And
Brilliancy Of The Parade Combined With Its Fine Sea View, For I,
Who Am Apt Rather Selfishly To Wish Myself Alone In The Enjoyment
Of Nature, Looked At The Bright, Moving Throng With Pleasure When
Once I Was Out Of It.
Our House At The Theater At Night Was Very Fine; And Now, As You
Are Perhaps Tired Of Brighton, You Will Not Be Sorry To Get Home
With Me; But Pray Communicate The End Of Our "Land Sorrow" To
A----. We Were To Start For London Sunday Morning At Ten [A Journey
Of Six Hours By Coach, Now Of Less Than Two By Rail], And My Father
Had Taken Three Inside Places In A Coach, Which Was To Call For Us
At Our Inn. I Ran Down To The Beach And Had A Few Moments Alone
There. It Was A Beautiful Morning, And The Fishing Boats Were One
By One Putting Out Into The Calmest Sleepy Sea. I Longed To Ask To
Be Taken On Board One Of Them; But I Was Summoned Away
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