Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble (1871-1883) Part 26

LITTLEG.!

CI.

[_March_, 1882.]

MY DEAR LADY,

It is very kind of you to break through your rule of Correspondence, that you may tell me how it was with you that last Evening. I was aware of no 'stupidity' on your side: I only saw that you were what you called 'a little tired, and unwell.' Had I known how much, I should of course have left you with a farewell shake of hands at once. And in so far I must blame you. But I blame myself for rattling on, not only then, but always, I fear, in a manner that you tell me (and I thank you for telling me) runs into occasional impertinence--which no length of acquaintance can excuse, especially to a Lady. You will think that here is more than enough of this. But pray do you also say no more about it. I know that you regard me very kindly, as I am sure that I do you, all the while.

And now I have something to say upon something of a like account; about that Mr. Schutz Wilson, who solicited an Introduction to you for his Mercutio, and then proposed to you to avail _himself_ of it. That I thought he had better have waited for, rather than himself proposed; and I warned you that I had been told of his being somewhat of a 'prosateur'

at his Club. You, however, would not decline his visit, and would encourage him, or not, as you saw fit.

And now the man has heaped coals of fire on my head. Not content with having formerly appraised that Omar in a way that, I dare say, advanced him to another Edition: he (S.W.) now writes me that he feels moved to write in favour of another Persian who now accompanies Omar in his last Avatar! I have told him plainly that he had better not employ time and talent on what I do not think he will ever persuade the Public to care about--but he thinks he will. {236} He may very likely cool upon it: but, in the meanwhile, such are his good Intentions, not only to the little Poem, but, I believe, to myself also--personally unknown as we are to one another. Therefore, my dear Lady, though I cannot retract what I told you on such authority as I had,--nevertheless, as you were so far prejudiced in his favour because of such service as he formerly was to me, I feel bound to tell you of this fresh offer on his part: so that, as you were not unwilling to receive him on trial before, you may not be less favourably disposed toward him now; in case he should call--which I doubt not he will do; though be pleased to understand that I have no more encouraged him to do so now than at first I did.

What a long Story!--I still chirp a little in my throat; but go my ways abroad by Night as well as by Day: even sitting out, as only last night I did. The S.W. wind that is so mild, yet sweeps down my garden in a way that makes havoc of Crocus and Snowdrop; Messrs. Daffodil and Hyacinth stand up better against it.

I hear that Lord Houghton has been partly paralysed; but is up again.

Thompson, Master of Trinity, had a very slight attack of it some months ago; I was told Venables had been ill, but I know not of what, nor how much; and all these my contemporaries; and I, at any rate, still yours as ever

E. F.G.

CII.

LITTLEGRANGE: WOODBRIDGE, _March_ 31, [1882.]

DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:--

It is not yet full Moon: {237a}--but it is my 74th Birthday: and you are the only one whom I write to on that great occasion. A good Lady near here told me she meant to pay me a visit of congratulation: and I begged her to stay at home, and neither say, nor write, anything about it. I do not know that [I] have much to say to you now that I am inspired; but it occurred to me that you might be going away somewhere for Easter, and so I would try to get a word from you concerning yourself before you left London.

_The Book_? 'Ready immediately' advertised Bentley near a fortnight ago: to-morrow's Academy or Athenaeum will perhaps be talking of it to-morrow: of all which you will not read a word, I 'guess.' I think you will get out of London for Easter, if but to get out of the way. Or are you too indifferent even for that?

Satiated as you may have been with notices and records of Carlyle, do, nevertheless, look at Wylie's Book {237b} about him: if only for a Scotch Schoolboy's account of a Visit to him not long before he died, and also the words of his Bequest of Craigenputtock to some Collegiate Foundation.

Wylie (of whom I did not read all, or half) is a Wors.h.i.+pper, but not a blind one. He says that Scotland is to be known as the 'Land of Carlyle'

from henceforward. One used to hear of the 'Land of Burns'--then, I think, 'of Scott.'

There is already a flush of Green, not only on the hedges, but on some of the trees; all things forwarder, I think, by six weeks than last year.

Here is a Day for entering on seventy-four! But I do think, notwithstanding, that I am not much the better for it. The Cold I had before Christmas, returns, or lurks about me: and I cannot resolve on my usual out-of-door liberty. Enough of that. I suppose that I shall have some Company at Easter; my poor London Clerk, if he can find no more amusing place to go to for his short Holyday; probably Aldis Wright, who always comes into these parts at these Seasons--his 'n.a.z.ione' being Beccles. Perhaps also a learned Nephew of mine--John De Soyres--now Professor of some History at Queen's College, London, may look in.

Did my Patron, Mr. Schutz Wilson, ever call on you, up to this time? I dare say, not; for he may suppose you still out of London. And, though I have had a little correspondence with him since, I have not said a word about your return--nor about yourself. I saw in my Athenaeum or Academy that Mercutio did as usual. Have you seen the Play?

I conclude (from not hearing otherwise from Mowbray) that his Father is much as when I saw him. I do not know if the Papers have reported anything more of Lord Houghton, and I have not heard of him from my few correspondents.

But pray do you tell me a word about Mrs. Kemble; and beg her to believe me ever the same

E. F.G.

CIII.

[_Spring_, 1882.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

I scarce think, judging by my old Recorder the Moon, that it is a month since I last wrote to you. But not far off, neither. Be that as it may, just now I feel inclined to tell you that I lately heard from Hallam Tennyson by way of acknowledgment of the Programme of a Recital of his Father's verse at Ipswich, by a quondam Tailor there. This, as you may imagine, I did for fun, such as it was. But Hallam replies, without much reference to the Reading: but to tell me how his Father had a fit of Gout in his hand while he was in London: and therefore it was that he had not called on you as he had intended. Think of my dear old Fellow with the Gout! In consequence of which he was forbidden his daily allowance of Port (if I read Hallam's scrawl aright), which, therefore, the Old Boy had stuck to like a fine Fellow with a constancy which few modern Britons can boast of. This reminded me that when I was on my last visit to him, Isle of Wight, 1854, he stuck to his Port (I do not mean too much) and asked me, who might be drinking Sherry, if I did not see that his was 'the best Beast of the two.' So he has remained true to his old Will Waterproof Colours--and so he was prevented from calling on you--his hand, Hallam says, swelled up like 'a great Sponge.' Ah, if he did not live on a somewhat large scale, with perpetual Visitors, I might go once more to see him.

Now, you will, I know, answer me (unless your hand be like his!) and then you will tell me how you are, and how your Party whom you were expecting at Leamington when last you wrote. I take for granted they arrived safe, in spite of the Wind that a little alarmed you at the time of your writing. And now, in another month, you will be starting to meet your American Family in Switzerland, if the Scheme you told me of still hold--with them, I mean. So, by the Moon's law, I shall write to you once again before you leave, and you--will once more answer!

I shall say thus much of myself, that I do not shake off the Cold and Cough that I have had, off and on, these four months: I certainly feel as if some of the internal timbers were shaken; which is not to be wondered at, nor complained of. {241a} Tell me how you fare; and believe me

Your sincere as ancient

LITTLEGRANGE.

I now fancy that it must be Bentley who delays your Book, till Ballantine & Co. have blown over. {241b}

CIV.

_Whitmonday_, [_May_ 29_th_, 1882.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

Not full moon yet, but Whitsun the 29th of May, {241c} and you told me of your expecting to be in Switzerland. And when once you get there, it is all over with full moons as far as my correspondence with you is concerned.

I heard from Mowbray that his Father had been all but lost to him: but had partially recovered. Not for long, I suppose: nor need I hope: and this is all I will say to you on this subject.

I have now Charles Keene staying Whitsuntide with me, and was to have had Archdeacon Groome to meet him; but he is worn out with Archidiaconal Charges, and so cannot come. But C. K. and I have been out in Carriage to the Sea, and no visitor, nor host, could wish for finer weather.

But this of our dear Donne over-clouds me a little, as I doubt not it does you. Mowbray was to have come down for three days just now to a Friend five miles off: but of course--you know.

Somehow I am at a loss to write to you on such airy topics as usual.

Therefore, I shall simply ask you to let me know, in as few lines as you care to write, when you leave England: and to believe me, wherever you go,

Your sincere Ancient E. F.G.