"Sunday, January, 9, 1814.--Yesterday, according to appointment, I went to Princess Charlotte. Found at Warwick House the harp-player, Dizzi; was asked to remain and listen to his performance, but was talked to during the whole time, which completely prevented all possibility of listening to the music. The d.u.c.h.ess of Leeds and her daughter were in the room, but left it soon. Next arrived Miss Knight, who remained all the time I was there. Princess Charlotte was very gracious--showed me all her bonny dyes, as B---would have called them--pictures, and cases, and jewels, &c. She talked in a very desultory way, and it would be difficult to say of what. She observed her mother was in very low spirits. I asked her how she supposed she could be otherwise? This QUESTIONING answer saves a great deal of trouble, and serves two purposes--i.e. avoids committing oneself, or giving offence by silence.
There was hung in the apartment one portrait, amongst others, that very much resembled the Duke of D---. I asked Miss Knight whom it represented. She said that was not known; it had been supposed a likeness of the Pretender, when young. This answer suited my thoughts so comically I could have laughed, if one ever did at courts anything but the contrary of what one was inclined to do.
"Princess Charlotte has a very great variety of expression in her countenance--a play of features, and a force of muscle, rarely seen in connection with such soft and shadeless coloring. Her hands and arms are beautiful; but I think her figure is already gone, and will soon be precisely like her mother"s: in short it is the very picture of her, and NOT IN MINIATURE. I could not help a.n.a.lyzing my own sensations during the time I was with her, and thought more of them than I did of her. Why was I at all flattered, at all more amused, at all more supple to this young princess, than to her who is only the same sort of person set in the shade of circ.u.mstances and of years? It is that youth, and the approach of power, and the latent views of self-interest, sway the heart and dazzle the understanding. If this is so with a heart not, I trust, corrupt, and a head not particularly formed for interested calculations, what effect must not the same causes produce on the generality of mankind?
"In the course of the conversation, the Princess Charlotte contrived to edge in a good deal of tum-de-dy, and would, if I had entered into the thing, have gone on with it, while looking at a little picture of herself, which had about thirty or forty different dresses to put over it, done on isingla.s.s, and which allowed the general coloring of the picture to be seen through its transparency. It was, I thought, a pretty enough conceit, though rather like dressing up a doll. "Ah!," said Miss Knight, "I am not content though, madame--for I yet should have liked one more dress--that of the favorite Sultana."
""No, no!" said the princess, "I never was a favorite, and never can be one,"--looking at a picture which she said was her father"s, but which I do not believe was done for the regent any more than for me, but represented a young man in a hussar"s dress--probably a former favorite.
"The Princess Charlotte seemed much hurt at the little notice that was taken of her birthday. After keeping me for two hours and a half she dismissed me; and I am sure I could not say what she said, except that it was an olio of decousus and heterogeneous things, partaking of the characteristics of her mother, grafted on a younger scion. I dined tete-a-tete with my dear old aunt: hers is always a sweet and soothing society to me."
There"s a pleasing, lady-like, moral extract for you! An innocent young thing of fifteen has picturs of TWO lovers in her room, and expex a good number more. This dellygate young creature EDGES in a good deal of TUMDEDY (I can"t find it in Johnson"s Dixonary), and would have GONE ON WITH THE THING (ellygence of languidge), if the dairy-lady would have let her.
Now, to tell you the truth, Mr. Yorke, I doan"t beleave a single syllible of this story. This lady of honner says, in the fust place, that the princess would have talked a good deal of TUMDEDY: which means, I suppose, indeasnsy, if she, the lady of honner WOULD HAVE LET HER.
This IS a good one! Why, she lets every body else talk tumdedy to their hearts" content; she lets her friends WRITE tumdedy, and, after keeping it for a quarter of a sentry, she PRINTS it. Why then, be so squeamish about HEARING a little! And, then, there"s the stoary of the two portricks. This woman has the honner to be received in the frendlyest manner by a British princess; and what does the grateful loyal creature do? 2 picturs of the princess"s relations are hanging in her room, and the Dairy-woman swears away the poor young princess"s carrickter, by swearing they are picturs of her LOVERS. For shame, oh, for shame! you slanderin backbitin dairy-woman you! If you told all them things to your "dear old aunt," on going to dine with her, you must have had very "sweet and soothing society" indeed.
I had marked out many more extrax, which I intended to write about; but I think I have said enough about this Dairy: in fack, the butler, and the gals in the servants"-hall are not well pleased that I should go on reading this naughty book; so we"ll have no more of it, only one pa.s.sidge about Pollytics, witch is sertnly quite new:--
"No one was so likely to be able to defeat Bonaparte as the Crown Prince, from the intimate knowledge he possessed of his character.
Bernadotte was also instigated against Bonaparte by one who not only owed him a personal hatred, but who possessed a mind equal to his, and who gave the Crown Prince both information and advice how to act. This was no less a person than Madame de Stael. It was not, as some have a.s.serted, THAT SHE WAS IN LOVE WITH BERNADOTTE; for, at the time of their intimacy, MADAME DE STAEL WAS IN LOVE WITH ROCCA. But she used her influence (which was not small) with the Crown Prince, to make him fight against Bonaparte, and to her wisdom may be attributed much of the success which accompanied his attack upon him. Bernadotte has raised the flame of liberty, which seems fortunately to blaze all around. May it liberate Europe; and from the ashes of the laurel may olive branches spring up, and overshadow the earth!"
There"s a discuvery! that the overthrow of Boneypart is owing to MADAME DE STAEL! What nonsince for Colonel Southey or Doctor Napier to write histories of the war with that Capsican hupstart and murderer, when here we have the whole affair explaned by the lady of honor!
"Sunday, April 10, 1814.--The incidents which take place every hour are miraculous. Bonaparte is deposed, but alive; subdued, but allowed to choose his place of residence. The island of Elba is the spot he has selected for his ignominious retreat. France is holding forth repentant arms to her banished sovereign. The Poissardes who dragged Louis XVI.
to the scaffold are presenting flowers to the Emperor of Russia, the restorer of their legitimate king! What a stupendous field for philosophy to expatiate in! What an endless material for thought! What humiliation to the pride of mere human greatness! How are the mighty fallen! Of all that was great in Napoleon, what remains? Despoiled of his usurped power, he sinks to insignificance. There was no moral greatness in the man. The meteor dazzled, scorched, is put out,--utterly, and for ever. But the power which rests in those who have delivered the nations from bondage, is a power that is delegated to them from heaven; and the manner in which they have used it is a guarantee for its continuance. The Duke of Wellington has gained laurels unstained by any useless flow of blood. He has done more than conquer others--he has conquered himself: and in the midst of the blaze and flush of victory, surrounded by the homage of nations, he has not been betrayed into the commission of any act of cruelty or wanton offence. He was as cool and self-possessed under the blaze and dazzle of fame as a common man would be under the shade of his garden-tree, or by the hearth of his home. But the tyrant who kept Europe in awe is now a pitiable object for scorn to point the finger of derision at: and humanity shudders as it remembers the scourge with which this man"s ambition was permitted to devastate every home tie, and every heartfelt joy."
And now, after this sublime pa.s.sidge, as full of awfle reflections and pious sentyments as those of Mrs. Cole in the play, I shall only quot one little extrak more:--
"All goes gloomily with the poor princess. Lady Charlotte Campbell told me she regrets not seeing all these curious personages; but she says, the more the princess is forsaken, the more happy she is at having offered to attend her at this time. THIS IS VERY AMIABLE IN HER, and cannot fail to be gratifying to the princess."
So it is--wery amiable, wery kind and considerate in her, indeed. Poor Princess! how lucky you was to find a frend who loved you for your own sake, and when all the rest of the wuld turned its back kep steady to you. As for believing that Lady Sharlot had any hand in this book,*
heaven forbid! she is all grat.i.tude, pure grat.i.tude, depend upon it. SHE would not go for to blacken her old frend and patron"s carrickter, after having been so outrageously faithful to her; SHE wouldn"t do it, at no price, depend upon it. How sorry she must be that others an"t quite so squemish, and show up in this indesent way the follies of her kind, genrus, foolish bennyfactris!
* The "authorized" announcement, in the John Bull newspaper, sets this question at rest. It is declared that her ladyship is not the writer of the Diary.--O. Y.
EPISTLES TO THE LITERATI.
CH-S Y-LL-WPL-SH, ESQ., TO SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, BT.
JOHN THOMAS SMITH, ESQ., TO C--S Y--H, ESQ.
NOTUS.
The suckmstansies of the following harticle are as follos:--Me and my friend, the sellabrated Mr. Smith, reckonized each other in the Haymarket Theatre, during the performints of the new play. I was settn in the gallery, and sung out to him (he was in the pit), to jine us after the play, over a gla.s.s of bear and a cold hoyster, in my pantry, the family being out.
Smith came as appinted. We descorsed on the subjick of the comady; and, after sefral glases, we each of us agreed to write a letter to the other, giving our notiums of the pease. Paper was brought that momint; and Smith writing his harticle across the knife-bord, I dasht off mine on the dresser.
Our agreement was, that I (being remarkabble for my style of riting) should cretasize the languidge, whilst he should take up with the plot of the play; and the candied reader will parding me for having holtered the original address of my letter, and directed it to Sir Edward himself; and for having incopperated Smith"s remarks in the midst of my own:--
MAYFAIR, Nov. 30, 1839. Midnite.
HONRABBLE BARNET!--Retired from the littery world a year or moar, I didn"t think anythink would injuice me to come forrards again: for I was content with my share of reputation, and propoas"d to add nothink to those immortial wux which have rendered this Magaseen so sallybrated.
Shall I tell you the reazn of my re-appearants?--a desire for the benefick of my fellow-creatures? Fiddlestick! A mighty truth with which my busm labored, and which I must bring forth or die? Nonsince--stuff: money"s the secret, my dear Barnet,--money--l"argong, gelt, spicunia.
Here"s quarter-day coming, and I"m blest if I can pay my landlud, unless I can ad hartificially to my ink.u.m.
This is, however, betwigst you and me. There"s no need to blacard the streets with it, or to tell the British public that Fitzroy Y-ll-wpl-sh is short of money, or that the sallybrated hauthor of the Y--- Papers is in peskewniary difficklties, or is fiteagued by his superhuman littery labors, or by his famly suckmstansies, or by any other pusnal matter: my maxim, dear B, is on these pints to be as quiet as posbile. What the juice does the public care for you or me? Why must we always, in prefizzes and what not, be a-talking about ourselves and our igstrodnary merrats, woas, and injaries? It is on this subjick that I porpies, my dear Barnet, to speak to you in a frendly way; and praps you"ll find my advise tolrabbly holesum.
Well, then,--if you care about the apinions, fur good or evil, of us poor suvvants, I tell you, in the most candied way, I like you, Barnet.
I"ve had my fling at you in my day (for, entry nou, that last stoary I roat about you and Larnder was as big a bownsir as ever was)--I"ve had my fling at you; but I like you. One may objeck to an immense deal of your writings, which, betwigst you and me, contain more sham scentiment, sham morallaty, sham poatry, than you"d like to own; but, in spite of this, there"s the STUFF in you: you"ve a kind and loyal heart in you, Barnet--a trifle deboshed, perhaps; a kean i, igspecially for what"s comic (as for your tradgady, it"s mighty flatchulent), and a ready plesnt pen. The man who says you are an As is an As himself. Don"t believe him, Barnet! not that I suppose you wil,--for, if I"ve formed a correck apinion of you from your wucks, you think your small-beear as good as most men"s: every man does,--and why not? We brew, and we love our own tap--amen; but the pint betwigst us, is this stewpid, absudd way of crying out, because the public don"t like it too. Why shood they, my dear Barnet? You may vow that they are fools; or that the critix are your enemies; or that the wuld should judge your poams by your critticle rules, and not their own: you may beat your breast, and vow you are a marter, and you won"t mend the matter. Take heart, man! you"re not so misrabble after all: your spirits need not be so VERY cast down; you are not so VERY badly paid. I"d lay a wager that you make, with one thing or another--plays, novvles, pamphlicks, and little odd jobbs here and there--your three thowsnd a year. There"s many a man, dear Bullwig that works for less, and lives content. Why shouldn"t you? Three thowsnd a year is no such bad thing,--let alone the barnetcy: it must be a great comfort to have that b.l.o.o.d.y hand in your skitching.
But don"t you sea, that in a wuld naturally envius, wickid, and fond of a joak, this very barnetcy, these very c.u.mplaints,--this ceaseless groning, and moning, and wining of yours, is igsackly the thing which makes people laff and snear more? If you were ever at a great school, you must recklect who was the boy most bullid, and buffited, and purshewd--he who minded it most. He who could take a basting got but few; he who rord and wep because the knotty boys called him nicknames, was nicknamed wuss and wuss. I recklect there was at our school, in Smithfield, a chap of this milksop, spoony sort, who appeared among the romping, ragged fellers in a fine flanning dressing-gownd, that his mama had given him. That pore boy was beaten in a way that his dear ma and aunts didn"t know him; his fine flanning dressing-gownd was torn all to ribbings, and he got no pease in the school ever after, but was abliged to be taken to some other saminary, where, I make no doubt, he was paid off igsactly in the same way.
Do you take the halligory, my dear Barnet? Mutayto nominy--you know what I mean. You are the boy, and your barnetcy is the dressing-gownd. You dress yourself out finer than other chaps and they all begin to sault and hustle you; it"s human nature, Barnet. You show weakness, think of your dear ma, mayhap, and begin to cry: it"s all over with you; the whole school is at you--upper boys and under, big and little; the dirtiest little f.a.g in the place will pipe out blaggerd names at you, and takes his pewny tug at your tail.
The only way to avoid such consperracies is to put a pair of stowt shoalders forrards, and bust through the crowd of raggym.u.f.fins. A good bold fellow dubls his fistt, and cries, "Wha dares meddle wi" me?" When Scott got HIS barnetcy, for instans, did any one of us cry out? No, by the laws, he was our master; and wo betide the chap that said neigh to him! But there"s barnets and barnets. Do you recklect that fine chapter in "Squintin Durward," about the too fellos and cups, at the siege of the bishop"s castle? One of them was a brave warner, and kep HIS cup; they strangled the other chap--strangled him, and laffed at him too.
With respeck, then, to the barnetcy pint, this is my advice: brazen it out. Us littery men I take to be like a pack of schoolboys--childish, greedy, envius, holding by our friends, and always ready to fight. What must be a man"s conduck among such? He must either take no notis, and pa.s.s on myjastick, or else turn round and pummle soundly--one, two, right and left, ding dong over the face and eyes; above all, never acknowledge that he is hurt. Years ago, for instans (we"ve no ill-blood, but only mention this by way of igsample), you began a sparring with this Magaseen. Law bless you, such a rid.i.c.klus gaym I never see: a man so belaybord, befl.u.s.tered, bewolloped, was never known; it was the laff of the whole town. Your intelackshal natur, respected Barnet, is not fizzickly adapted, so to speak, for encounters of this sort. You must not indulge in combats with us course bullies of the press: you have not the STAMINY for a reglar set-to. What, then, is your plan? In the midst of the mob to pa.s.s as quiet as you can: you won"t be undistubbed. Who is? Some stray kix and buffits will fall to you--mortial man is subjick to such; but if you begin to wins and cry out, and set up for a marter, wo betide you!
These remarks, pusnal as I confess them to be, are yet, I a.s.sure you, written in perfick good-natur, and have been inspired by your play of the "Sea Capting," and prefiz to it; which latter is on matters intirely pusnal, and will, therefore, I trust, igscuse this kind of ad hominam (as they say) disk-cushion. I propose, honrabble Barnit, to c.u.msider calmly this play and prephiz, and to speak of both with that honisty which, in the pantry or studdy, I"ve been always phamous for. Let us, in the first place, listen to the opening of the "Preface of the Fourth Edition:"
"No one can be more sensible than I am of the many faults and deficiencies to be found in this play; but, perhaps, when it is considered how very rarely it has happened in the history of our dramatic literature that good acting plays have been produced, except by those who have either been actors themselves, or formed their habits of literature, almost of life, behind the scenes, I might have looked for a criticism more generous, and less exacting and rigorous, than that by which the attempts of an author accustomed to another cla.s.s of composition have been received by a large proportion of the periodical press.
"It is scarcely possible, indeed, that this play should not contain faults of two kinds, first, the faults of one who has necessarily much to learn in the mechanism of his art; and, secondly, of one who, having written largely in the narrative style of fiction, may not unfrequently mistake the effects of a novel for the effects of a drama. I may add to these, perhaps, the deficiencies that arise from uncertain health and broken spirits, which render the author more susceptible than he might have been some years since to that spirit of depreciation and hostility which it has been his misfortune to excite amongst the general contributors to the periodical press for the consciousness that every endeavor will be made to cavil, to distort, to misrepresent, and, in fine, if possible, to RUN DOWN, will occasionally haunt even the hours of composition, to check the inspiration, and damp the ardor.
"Having confessed thus much frankly and fairly, and with a hope that I may ultimately do better, should I continue to write for the stage (which nothing but an a.s.surance that, with all my defects, I may yet bring some little aid to the drama, at a time when any aid, however humble, ought to be welcome to the lovers of the art, could induce me to do), may I be permitted to say a few words as to some of the objections which have been made against this play?"
Now, my dear sir, look what a pretty number of please you put forrards here, why your play shouldn"t be good.
First. Good plays are almost always written by actors.