»,„ /^^^ ij^ ' --"fv BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF aiienirg W. Sage 1891 iAE.Xfeo::z.«4«/ m jXl »^au. •357 PR5631.A3B8r"'™"'""-"'"'^ ^iMiSllSiS." °' '®"®''* °* W.M. Thackera 3 1924 013 562 743 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013562743 A COLLECTION OF LETTERS OF W. M. THACKERAY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. [Engraved by G. Kruell after the crayon portrait by Samuel Laurence.] COLLECTION OF LETTERS OF W. M. THACKERAY 1847-1855 WITH PORTRAITS AND REPRODUCTIONS OF LETTERS AND DRAWINGS LONDON SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE 1887 \All Rights Reserued.\ Richard Clay and Sons, LONDON, *** The letters contained in this volume are in course of publication in Scribnev's Magazine, and the book is printed from the stereotype plates of a volume about to be published in New York. The American publishers have prefixed the following explanatory note to their edition : — "In arranging the letters for publication, a simple chronological order has been followed, regardless of their relative importance. In some cases the originals were not dated ; and in each of these instances an effort has been made to supply the omission. Often it has been possible to do this with certainty ; and in that case the date is printed above the letter in Roman type. Where such certainty could not be reached, conjectural dates are given in italics and enclosed in brackets ; but even then they have been so far verified by means of incidents referred to in the letters, or other evidence, that they may be depended upon as fixing very closely the time of the notes to which they are attached. In this final arrangement of the letters, and in some additional annotation, the publishers have enjoyed the privilege of advice and assistance from Mr. James Russell Lowell, who kindly consented, with the cordial approval and thanks of Mrs. Brookfield, to give them this aid." LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE REPRODUCTIONS, UNLESS OTHERWISE SPECIFIED. ARE MADE FROM DRAWINGS AND LETTERS IN THE POSSESSION OF MRS. BROOKFIELD WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY, . . Frontispiece Engraved by G. Kruell after the portrait by Samuel Laurettce. PAGE Vignette — Drawing by Thackeray of Mrs. Broohfield and her two maids, Turpin and Payne, 5 Passage from a letter to Mr. Broohfield, with drawing, "My Barb is at the Postern," p Passage from a letter from Brussels, with drawing, " The Broken Knife," zo From the same letter, with drawing, " The Slashers," . 12 Drawing by Thackeray in water color and pencil (Mrs. Broohfield), . . ,s Clevedon Court (from a recent photograph), . ... 28 Passage from a letter to Mr. Broohfield, with drawing, "Harry Hallam with Dog and Gun," . ... 29 Passage from a letter of November i, 1848, with drawing, "A Party of Us Drove in an Oxford Cart," . • 31 From the same, with drawing, " The Oxford Man's Bed," 32 Drawing hy Thackeray, an equestrian statue of himself, . . 40 Facsimile of a minute dinner-note from Thackeray, . . 5/ Sketch of Mrs. Brookfield (from a collection of Thackeray's drawings privately printed for Sir Arthur Elton, of Clevedon Court), . . . . , . . . . ^4 In the Nursery ut Clevedon Court (from the Clevedon drawings), 62 Passage from a letter from Brighton, with drawing, "An Evening Reading," 63 Clevedon Church (from a recent photograph), . ... 68 Note sent by Thackeray to Mrs. Elliot, written in the form of the initials J. O. B., 72 Facsimile of a letter from Paris, with sketch of Jules Janin, . . . 80 Stan:\^a from the original manuscript of dough's "Flags of Piccadilly," with a drawing by Thackeray, in the possession of Mr. James Russell Lowell, . ... 82 Note and sketch sent by Thackeray to Mrs. Elliot, in the possession of Miss Kate Perry, g4 Facsimile of letter from Dieppe, with drawings of Angelina Henrion and a clergyman's wife, .... no Vlll " The Lady of the House," a drawing by Thackeray (perhaps Lady Castlereagh ? ) , 114 The Statuette of Thackeray by Joseph Edgar Boehm, R.A., . 1 18 Memorial Tablets to Arthur and Henry Hallam in Clevedon Church (from a photograph), 130 Sketch by Thackeray, 138 Facsimile of a letter to Mrs. Elliot, now in the possession of her sister, Miss Kate Perry, 142 In the School-room of Clevedon Court (from the Clevedon drawings), . 148 Passage from a letter from Switzerland, with drawing of the View from a Window at Basel, I'jO Sketch by Thackeray — His Daughters and Major and Mrs. Carmichael Smyth, . . . . , . . .1^4 Portrait of Thackeray (from a photograph in the possession of Mrs. James T. Fields), 757 Vignette— Profile of the Boehm Statuette, . . . . iy6 Portrait of Thackeray (from a drawing by Samuel Laurence), . iy8 Vignette — Drawing sent to Miss Kate Perry, . . . .183 INTRODUCTION. No writer of recent times is so much quoted as Thack- eray ; scarcely a week passes without his name recur- ring in one or other of the leading articles of the day ; and yet whilst his published works retain their influence so firmly, the personal impression of his life and conversation becomes more and more shadowy and indistinct as the friends who knew and loved him the most are gradually becoming fewer and passing away. Thackeray's nature was essentially modest and retiring. More than once it appears that he had desired his daughter to publish no memoir of him. Mrs. Ritchie, who alone could do justice to her Father's memory, and who has inherited the true woman's share of his genius, and of the tender and perceptive sympathy of his character, has ever held this in- junction sacred, even to the extent of withholding all his let- ters to his family from publication. Yet it happens from time to time that some chance letters of doubtful authenticity, and others utterly spurious, have appeared in print, and have even perhaps found acceptance amongst those who, knowing him only by his published works, were without the true key for distinguishing what was genuine from what was simply counterfeit. The letters which form this collection were most of them written by Mr. Thackeray to my husband, the late Rev'd W. H. Brookfield, and myself, from about 1847, and continuing 2 INTRODUCTION. during many years of intimate friendship, beginning from the time when he first Hved in London, and when he especially needed our sympathy. His happy married life had been broken up by the malady which fell upon his young wife after the birth of her youngest child ; his two remaining little girls were under his mother's care, at Paris. Mr. Thackeray was living alone in London. " Vanity Fair " was not yet written when these letters begin. His fame was not yet established in the world at large ; but amongst his close personal friends, an undoubting belief in his genius had already become strongly rooted. No one earlier than my dear gifted hus- band adopted and proclaimed this new faith. The letters now so informally collected together are not a consecutive series ; but they have always been carefully preserved with sincere affection by those to whom they were written. Some of them are here given without the omission of a word; others are extracts from communications of a more private charac- ter ; but if every one of these letters from Thackeray could be rightly made public, without the slightest restriction, they would all the more redound to his honour. Jane Octavia Brookfield. 29 Carlvle Square, Chelsea. LETTERS. [ya?i. 1847.] [To. Mr. Brookfield.l My Dear W.: There will be no dinner at Greenwich on Monday. Dickens has chosen that day for a reconciliation banquet between Forster and me. Is madame gone and is she better? My heart follows her respectfully to Devonshire and the dismal scenes of my youth. I am being brought to bed of my seventh darling with inexpressible throes: and dine out every day until Juice knows when. I will come to you on Sunday night if you like — though stop, why shouldn't you, after church, come and sleep out here in the country ? Yours, Jos. OSBORN. 6 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. \August, 1847.] \To Mr. Brookfield.'] LE DiMANCHE. Monsieur l'Abbe: De retour de Gravesend j'ai trouve chez moi un billet de M. Crowe, qui m'invite a diner demain a 6 heures pre- cises a Ampstead. En m^me temps M. Crowe m'a envoye une lettre pour vous, — ne vous trouvant pas a votre ancien logement (ou I'adresse de I'horrible bouge ou vous demeurez actuelle- ment est heureusement ignoree) — force fut ^ M. Crowe de s'adresser a moi — a moi qui connais I'ignoble caveau que vous occupez indignement, sous les dalles humides d'une eglise deserte, dans le voisinage fetide de fourmillants Ir- landais. Cette lettre, Monsieur, dont je parle — cette lettre — je I'ai laissee a la maison. Demain il sera trop tard de vous faire part de I'aimable invitation de notre ami commun. Je remplis enfim mon devoir envers M. Crowe en vous faisant savoir ses intentions hospitalieres a votre egard. Et je vous quitte, Monsieur, en vous donnant les assurances reiterees de ma haute consideration. \ Chevalier de Titmarsh. J'offre a Madame I'Abbesse mes hommages respec- tueux. 1847. \To Mr. Brookfield.] My Dear old B. : Can you come and dine on Thursday at six ? I shall be at home — no party — nothing — only me. And about your LETTERS OF- THACKERAY. 7 night-cap, why not come out for a day or two, though the rooms are very comfortable in the Church vaults.* Fare- well. Ever your Louisa. (And Madam, is she well ? ) [1847.] lEnclosing the following note.'] Temple, 8 Nov. My Dear Thackeray : A thousand thanks. It will do admirably, and I will not tax you again in the same manner. Don't get nervous or think about criticism, or trouble yourself about the opinions of friends ; you have completely beaten Dickens out of the inner circle already. I dine at Gore House to-day ; look in if you can. Ever yours, A. H. Madam : Although I am certainly committing a breach of confi- dence, I venture to offer my friend up to you, because you have considerable humour, and I think will possibly laugh at * In this Letter, and elsewhere, reference is made to my husband's living in the " church vaults." Our income at this time was very small, and a long illness had involved us in some difficulty. Mr. Brookfield's aversion to debt and his firm rectitude of principle decided him to give up our lodgings, and to remove by himself into the vestry of his District Church, which was situated in a very squalid neighborhood. Here he could live rent free, and in the midst of his parish work, whilst he sent me to stay with my dear father, the late Sir Charles Elton, at Clevedon Court, for the recovery of my health. At this juncture our cir- cumstances gradually brightened. Mr. Thackeray, my uncle, Mr. Hallam, and other friends interested themselves towards obtaining better preferment for Mr. Brookfield, whose great ability and high character were brought to the notice of Lord Lansdowne, then President of the Council, and head of the Education Department. He appointed Mr. Brookfield to be one of H. M. Inspectors of Schools, an employment which was very congenial to him. Our dif- ficulties were then removed, and we were able to establish ourselves in a comfortable house in Portman Street, to which so many of these letters are addressed. 8 LETTERS OF- THACKERAY. him. You know you yourself often hand over some folks to some other folks, and deserve to be treated as you treat others. The circumstances arose of a letter which H sent me, containing prodigious compliments. I answered that these praises from all quarters frightened me rather than elated me, and sent him a drawing for a lady's album, with a caution not to ask for any more, hence the reply. Ah ! Madame, how much richer truth is than fiction, and how great that phrase about the " inner circle " is. I write from the place from which I heard your little voice last night, I mean this morning, at who knows how much o'clock. I wonder whether you will laugh as much as I do ; my papa in the next room must think me insane, but I am not, and am of Madame, the Serviteur and jFrhre affectionnd. W. M..T. [1847.] \To Mr. Brookfield.] My dear W. H. B. : I daresay you are disgusted at my not coming to the bouge, on Sunday night, but there was a good reason, which may be explained if required hereafter. And I had made up my account for some days at Southampton, hoping to start this day, but there is another good reason for staying at home. Poor old grandmother's will, burial &c., detained me in town. Did you see her death in the paper ? Why I write now, is to beg, and implore, and intreat that you and Mrs. Brookfield will come and take these three nice little rooms here, and stop with me until you have found other lodgment. It will be the very greatest comfort and kindness to me, and I shall take it quite hungry if you don't come. Will you come on Saturday now ? the good things LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 9 you shall have for dinner are quite incredible. I have got a box of preserved apricots from Fortnum and Mason's which alone ought to make any lady happy, and two shall be put under my lady's pillow every night. Now do come — and farewell. My barb is at the postern. I have had him clipped and his effect in the Park is quite tremenjus. jUU U \u)( Ui«.Xt^ liuj \a^ pillotJ -eve^ VjuiM-. frVnti ^ ccil „ ,AL lo/si? (4 a4 tut' Im'JWIi 1 Lm«. LX Uw cL^^JL Oul U <^J| vL \W Ta^ M Brussels, Friday [28 July], 1848. I have just .had a dreadful omen. Somebody gave me a paper-knife with a mother of pearl blade and a beautiful Sil- ver handle. Annie recognised it in a minute, lying upon my dressing table, with a " Here's Mrs. So and So's butter knife." I suppose she cannot have seen it above twice, but that child remembers everything. Well, this morning, being fairly on my travels, and having the butter knife in my desk, u lO LETTERS OF THACKERAY. I thought I would begin to cut open a book I had bought, never having as yet had occasion to use it. The moment I tried, the blade broke away from the beautiful handle. What does this portend ? It is now — [here drawing] There is a blade and there is a hilt, but they refuse to act together. Something is going to happen I am sure. I. took leave of my family on Sunday, after a day in the rain at Hampton Court. . . . Forster* was dining with Mr. Chapman the publisher, where we passed the day. His article in the Examiner did not please me so much as his genuine good nature in insisting upon walking with Annie at night, and holding an umbrella over her through the pouring rain. Did you read the Spectator s sarcastic notice of V. F. ? I don't think it is just, but think Kintoul is a very honest man and rather inclined to deal severely with his private friends, lest he should fall into the other extreme; — to be sure he keeps out of it, I mean the other extreme, very well. I passed Monday night and part of Tuesday in the artless society of some officers of the 21st, or Royal Scots Fusiliers, in garrison at Canterbury. We went to a barrack room, where we drank about, out of a Silver cup and a glass. I heard such stale old garrison stories. I recognised among the stories many old friends of my youth, very pleasant to meet when one was eighteen, but of whom one is rather shy now. Not so these officers, however ; they tell each other the stalest and wickedest old Joe Millers ; the jolly grey- headed old majors have no reverence for the beardless en- " John Forster, the intimate friend of Charles Diclcens, and well-known writer. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 11 signs, nor vice-versa. I heard of the father and son in the other regiment in garrison at Canterbury, the Slashers if you please, being carried up drunk to bed the night before. Fancy what a life. Some of ours, — I don't mean yours Madam, but I mean mine and others — are not much better, though more civilised. We went to see the wizard Jacobs at the theatre, he came up in the midst of the entertainment, and spoke across the box to the young officers ; — he knows them in private life, they think him a good fellow. He came up and asked them confidentially, if they didn't like a trick he had just performed. " Neat little thing isn't it ? " the great Jacobs said, " I brought it over from Paris." They go to his entertainmdnt every night, fancy what a career of pleasure ! A wholesome young Squire with a large brown face and a short waistcoat, came up to us and said, " Sorry you're goin', I have sent up to barracks a great lot o' rabbuis." They were of no use, those rabbuts : the 21st was to march the next day. I saw the men walking about on the last day, taking leave of their sweethearts, (who will probably be consoled by the Slashers). I was carried off by my brother-in-law through the rain, to see a great sight, the regimental soup-tureens and dishcov- crs, before they were put away. "Feel that" says he, "Will- iam, just feel the weight of that ! " I was called upon twice to try the weight of that soup dish, and expressed the very high- est gratification at being admitted to that privilege. Poor simple young fellows and old youngsters ! I felt ashamed of myself for spying out their follies and fled from them and came off to Dover. It was pouring with rain all day, and I had no opportunity of putting anything into the beautiful new sketch books. I passed an hour in the Cathedral, which seemed all beau- tiful to me; the fifteenth Century part, the thirteenth century 12 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. part, and the crypt above all, which they say is older than the Conquest. The most charming, harmonious, powerful comT bination of shafts and arches, beautiful whichever way you saw them developed, like a fine music or the figures in a Kaleidoscope, rolling out mysteriously, a beautiful foundation for a beautiful building. I thought how some people's tower- ■)~r r' ^*** t^M <^(jUj ' I InnaJUo inuJUmtr «J l*<^»4 u.un ing intellects and splendid cultivated geniuses rise upon sim- ple, beautiful foundations hidden out of sight, and how this might be a good simile, if I knew of any very good and wise man just now. But I don't know of many, do you ? Part of the Crypt was given up to French Calvinists ; and texts from the French Bible of some later sect are still painted LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 1 3 on the pillars, surrounded by French ornaments,, looking very queer and out of place. So, for the matter of that, do we look queer and out of place in that grand soaring artificial building : we may put a shovel hat on the pinnacle of the steeple, as Omar did a crescent on the peak of the church at Jerusalem ; but it does not belong to us, I mean according to the fitness of things. We ought to go to church in a very strong, elegant, beautifully neat room ; croziers, and banners, incense, and jimcracks, grand processions of priests and monks (with an inquisition in the distance), and lies, avarice, tyranny, torture, all sorts of horrible and unnatural oppressions and falsehoods kept out of sight ; such a place as this ought to belong to the old religion. How somebody of my acquaint- ance would like to walk into a beautiful calm confessional and go and kiss the rood or the pavement of a'Becket's shrine. Fancy the church quite full ; the altar lined with pontifical gentlemen bobbing up and down ; the dear little boys in white and red flinging about the incense pots ; the music roaring out from the organs ; all the monks and clergy in their stalls, and the archbishop on his throne — O ! how fine ! And then think of the + of our Lord speaking quite simply to simple Syrian people, a child or two maybe at his knees, as he taught them that love was the truth. Ah ! as one thinks of it, how grand that figure looks, and how small all the rest ; but I dare say I am getting out of my depth. I came on hither [to Brussels] yesterday, having passed the day previous at Dover, where it rained incessantly, and where I only had the courage to write the first sentence of this letter, being utterly cast down and more under the influ- ence of blue devils than I ever remember before ; but a fine ■bright sky at five o'clock in the morning, and a jolly brisk breeze, and the. ship cutting through the water at fifteen miles an hour, restored cheerfulness to this wearied spirit, and en- abled it to partake freely of beefsteak and pommes-de-terre at ; 14 / ■ LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Ostend ; after an hour of which amusement, it was time to take the train and come on to Brussels. The country is de- lightfully well cultivated ; all along the line you pass by the most cheerful landscapes with old cities, gardens, cornfields and rustic labour. At the table dhdte I sat next a French Gentleman and his lady. She first sent away the bread ; she then said " mais, inon ami, ce potage est abominable / then she took a piece of pudding on her fork, not to eat, but to smell, after which she sent it away. Experience told me it was a little grisette giv- ing herself airs, so I complimented the waiter on the bread, recommended the soup to a man, and took two portions of the pudding, under her nose. Then we went (I found a companion, an ardent admirer, in the person of a Manchester merchant) to the play, to see Dejazet, in the " Gentil Bernard," of which piece I shall say nothing, but I think it was the wickedest I ever saw, and one of the pleasantest, adorably funny and naughty. As the part (^Gentil Bernard is a prodigious rake,) is acted by a woman, the reality is taken from It, and one can bear to listen, but such a little rake, such charming Impudence, such little songs, such little dresses ! She looked as m,ignonne as a china im- age, and danced, fought, sang and capered, in a way that would have sent Walpole mad could he have seen her. And now writing has made me hungry, and If you please 1 will go and breakfast at a Cafe with lots of newspapers, and gar9ons bawling out " Voila M'sieu" — how pleasant to think of! The Manchester admirer goes to London to-day and will take this. If you want any more please send me word Paste Restante at Spa. I am going to-day to the ^H6tel-^-lar^Terrasse, where Becky usedjgJLve, and shall pass by Captain Osborn's lodg- Ings, where I recollect meeting him and his little wife — who has married again somebody told nie ; — but it is always the way LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 15 with these grandes passions — Mrs. Dobbins, or some such name, she is now ; always an over-rated woman, I thought; How curious it is ! I beheve perfectly in all those people, and feel quite an interest in the Inn in which they lived. Good bye, my dear gentleman and lady, and let me hear the latter is getting well. W. M. T. H6tel des Pays Bas, Spa. August 1st to 5th. 1848. My dear friends : Whoever you may be who receive these lines, — for un- less I receive a letter from the person whom I privately mean, I shall send them post-paid to somebody else, — I have the pleasure to inform you, that on yesterday, the 30th, at 7 A.M., I left Brussels, with which I was much pleased, and not a little tired, and arrived quite safe per railroad and dili- gence at the watering place of Spa. I slept a great deal in the coach, having bought a book at Brussels to amuse me, and having for companions, three clergymen (of the deplo- rable Romish faith) with large idolatrous three-cornered hats, who fead their breviaries all the time I was awake, and I have no doubt gave utterance to their damnable Popish opin- ions when the stranger's ears were closed ; and lucky for the priests that I was so situated, for speaking their language a great deal better than they do themselves (being not only image-worshippers but Belgians, whose jargon is as abomi- nable as their superstition) I would have engaged them in a controversy, in which I daresay they would have been utterly confounded by one who had the Thirty-nine Articles of truth on his side. Their hats could hardly get out of the coach door when they quitted the carriage, and one of them, when he took off his, to make a parting salute to the company, quite extinguished a little passenger. 1 6 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. We arrived at Spa at two o'clock, and being driven on the top of the diligence to two of the principal hotels, they would not take me in as I had only a little portmanteau, or at least only would offer me a servant's bedroom. These miserable miscreants did not see by my appearance that I was not a flunkey, but on the contrary, a great and popular author ; and I intend to have two fine pictures painted when 1 return to England, of the landlord of the Hdtel d'Orange re- fusing a bed-chamber to the celebrated Titmarsh, and of the proprietor of the Hotel d'York, offering Jeames a second- floor back closet. Poor misguided people ! It was on the 30th July 1848. The first thing I did after at length secur- ing a handsome apartment at the H6tel des Pays Bas, was to survey the town and partake of a glass of water at the Pouhon Avell, where the late Peter the Great, the imperator of the Bo-Russians appears also to have drunk ; so that two great men at least have refreshed themselves at that fountain. I ■was next conducted to the baths, where a splendid concert of ■wind and stringed instruments was performed under my win- dow, and many hundreds of gentle-folks of all nations were congregated in the public walk, no doubt to celebrate my ar- rival. They are so polite however at this place of elegant ease, that they didn't take the least notice of the Illustrious Stranger, but allowed him to walk about quite unmolested and, (to all appearance) unremarked. I went to the table dhdte with perfect affability, just like an ordinary person ; an ordinary person at the table d'hSte, mark the pleasantry. If that joke doesn't make your sides ache, what, my dear friend, can move you ? We had a number of good things, fifteen or sixteen too many I should say. I was myself obliged to give in at about the twenty-fifth dish ; but there was a Flemish lady near me, a fair blue-eyed being, who carried on long after the English author's meal was concluded, and who said at dinner to-day, (when she beat me by at least treble the LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 1 7 amount of victuals) that she was languid and tired all day, and an invalid, so weak and delicate that she could not walk. " No wonder," thought an observer of human nature, who saw her eating a second supply of lobster salad, which she introduced with her knife, " no wonder, my blue-eyed female,, that you are ill, when you take such a preposterous quantity of nourishment ; " but as the waters of this place are emi- nently ferruginous, I presume that she used the knife in ques- tion for the purpose of taking steel with her dinner. The subject I feel is growing painful, and we will, if you please, turn to more delicate themes. I retired to my apartment at seven, with the same book which I had purchased, and which sent me into a second sleep until ten when it was time to go to rest. At eight I was up and stirring, at 8.30 I was climbing the brow of a lit- tle mountain which overlooks this pretty town, and whence,, from among firs and oaks, I could look down upon the spires of the church, and the roofs of the Redoute, and the princi- pal and inferior buildings and the vast plains, and hills be- yond, topped in many places with pine woods, and covered Vvfith green crops and yellow corn. Had I a friend to walk hand in hand with, him or her, on these quiet hills, the prom- enade methinks might be pleasant. I thought of many such as I paced among the rocks and shrubberies. Breakfast suc- ceeded that solitary, but healthy reverie, when coffee and eggs were served to the Victim of Sentiment. Sketch-book in hand, the individual last alluded to set forth in quest of ob- jects suitable for his pencil. But it is more respectful to Nat- ure to look at her and gaze with pleasure, rather than to sit down with pert assurance, and begin to take her portrait. A man who persists in sketching, is like one who insists on singing during the performance of an opera. What business has he to be trying his stupid voice ? He is not there to imi- tate, but to admire to the best of his power. Thrice the rain 2 3 l8 ZETTERS OF THACKERAY. came down and drove me away from my foolish endeavours, as I was making the most abominable caricatures of pretty, quaint cottages, shaded by huge ancient trees. In the evening was a fine music at the Redoute, which being concluded, those who had a mind were free to repair to a magnificent neighbouring saloon, superbly lighted, where a great number of persons were assembled amusing them- selves, round two tables covered with green cloth and orna- mented with a great deal of money. They were engaged at a game which seems very simple ; one side of the table is marked red and the other black, and you have but to decide which of the red or the black you prefer, and if the colour you choose is turned up on the cards, which a gentleman deals, another gentleman opposite to him gives you five franks, or a napoleon or whatever sum of money you have thought fit to bet upon your favourite colour. But if your colour loses, then he takes your napoleon. This he did, I am sorry to say, to me twice, and as I thought this was enough, I came home and wrote a letter, full of non- sense to — \August nth] My Dear Mrs. Brookfield : You see how nearly you were missing this delightful let- ter, for upon my word I had packed it up small and was going to send it off in a rage to somebody else, this very day, to a young lady whom some people think over-rated very likely, or to some deserving person, when, O gioja e felicitti (I don't know whether that is the way to spell gioja, but rather pique myself on the g) when O ! bonheur suprime, the waiter enters my door at lo o'clock this morning, just as I had fin- ished writing page seven of PENDENNIS, and brings me the Times newspaper and a beautiful thick 2/4 letter, in a fine large hand. I eagerly seized— the newspaper, (ha ha ! I ■:^'~i' [Drawing by Thackeray in water-colour and pencil (Mrs. Brookfield).j LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 19 had somebody there) and was quickly absorbed in its con- tents. The news from Ireland Is of great interest and im- portance, and we may indeed return thanks that the deplo- rable revolution and rebellion, which everybody anticipated in that country, has been averted in so singular, I may say un- precedented a manner. How pitiful is the figure cut by Mr, Smith O'Brien, and indeed by Popery altogether ! &c. &c. One day is passed away here very like its defunct prede- cessor. I have not lost any more money at the odious gam- bling table, but go and watch the players there with a great deal of interest. There are ladies playing — young and pretty ones too. One is very like a lady I used to know, a curate's wife in a street off Golden Square, whatdyoucallit street, where the pianoforte maker lives ; and I daresay this person is puzzled why I always go and stare at her so. She has her whole soul in the pastime, puts out her five-franc pieces in the most timid way, and watches them disappear under the croupier s rake with eyes so uncommonly sad and tender, that I feel inclined to go up to her and say " Madam, you are exceedingly like a lady, a curate's wife whom I once knew, in England, and as I take an interest in you, I Avish you would get out of this place as quick as you can, and take your beau- tiful eyes off the black and red." But I suppose it would be thought rude if I were to make any such statement and — Ah ! what do I remember ? There's no use in sending off this letter to-day, this is Friday, and it cannot be delivered on Sunday in a Protestant metropolis. There was no use in hurrying home from Lady , (Never mind, it is only an Irish baronet's wife, who tries to disguise her Limerick brogue, but the fact is she has an exceedingly pretty daugh- ter), I say there was no use in hurrying home so as to get this off by the post. Yesterday I didn't know a soul in this place, but got in the course of the day a neat note from a lady who had the > 20 y \ LETTERS OF THACKERAY. -delight of an Introduction to me at D-v-nsh-re House, and •who proposed tea in the most flattering manner. Now, I know a French duke and duchess, and at least six of the most genteel persons in Spa, and some of us are going out riding in a few minutes, the rain having cleared off, the sky .being bright, and. the surrounding hills and woods looking uncommonly green and tempting. A pause of two hours is supposed io have takeiz place since the above was wriiten. A gentleman enters, as if from horse- back, into the room No. 32 of the Hotel dcs Pays B as, look- ing on to the fountain iiz the Grande Place. He divests him- >self of a part of his dress, which has been spattered with mud during an arduous but delightful ride over commons, roads, woods, nay, mountains. He curls his hair in the most kill- ing manner, and prepares to go out to dinner. The ptirple .shadows are falling on the Grande Place, and the roofs of the houses looking westward are in aflame. The clock of the old church strikes six. It is the appointed hour ' he gives one last glance at the looking-glass, and his last thought is for — {see page 4 — last three words.) The dinner was exceedingly stupid, I very nearly fell asleep by the side of the lady of the house. It was all over •by nine o'clock, half an hour before Payne comes to fetch you to bed, and I went to the gambling house and lost two napo- leons more. May this be a warning to all dissipated middle- aged persons. I have just got two new novels from the library by Mr. Fielding ; the one is Amelia, the most de- ■lightful portrait of a woman that surely ever was painted ; the other is Joseph Andrews, which gives me no particular pleasure, for it is both coarse and careless, and the author makes an absurd brag of his twopenny learning, upon which he values himself evidently more than upon the best of his own qualities. Good night, you see I am writing to you as LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 21 if I was talking. It is but ten o'clock, and yet it seems quite time here to go to bed. ... I haye got a letter from Annie, so clever, humourous and wise, that it is fit to be printed in a book. As for Miss Jin- gleby, I admire her pretty face and manners more than her singing, which is very nice, and just what a lady's should be, but I believe my heart is not engaged in that quarter. Why there is six times as much writing in my letter as in yours ! you ought to send me ever so many pages if bargains were equal between the male and female, but they never are. There is a prince here who is seventy-two years of age and wears frills to his trowsers. What if I were to pay my bill and go off this minute to the Rhine ? It would be better to see that than these gen- teel dandies here. I don't care about the beauties of the Rhine any more, but it is always pleasant and friendly. There is no reason why I should not sleep at Bonn to-night, looking out on the Rhine opposite Drachenfels — that is the best way of travelling surely, never to know where you are going until the moment and fate say " go." Who knows ? By setting off at twelve o'clock, something may happen to alter the whole course of my life ? perhaps I may meet with some beautiful creature who . . , But then it is such a bore, packing up those shirts. I wonder whether anybody will write to ra.e. paste restante at Homburg, near Frankfort- on-the-Maine ? And if you would kindly send a line to Annie at Captain Alexander's, Montpellier Road, Twickenham, tell- ing her to write to me there and not at Brussels, you would add, Madame, to the many obligations you have already con- ferred on Your most faithful servant, W. M. Thackeray. I have made a dreadful dumpy little letter, but an enve- lope would cost 1/2 more. I don't like to say anything dis- 22 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. respectful of Dover, as you are going there, but it seemed awfully stupid. May I come, and see you as I pass through ? A line at the Ship for me would not fail to bring me. 21 August. [1848] Home. \To Mr. Brookfield.] My dear old B. : I am just come back and execute my first vow, which was to tell you on landing that there is a certain bath near Minden, and six hours from Cologne by the railway (so that people may go all the way at their ease) where all sorts of complaints — -including of course yours, all and several, are to be cured. The bath is Rehda, station Rehda. Dr. Sutro of the Lon- don German Hospital, knows all about it. I met an acquaint- ance just come thence, (a Mrs. Bracebridge and her mart) who told me of it. People are ground young there — a young physician has been cured of far gone tubercles in the lungs ; maladies of languor, rheumatism, liver complaints, all sorts of wonders are performed there, espeoially female wonders. Y not take Madame there, go, drink, bathe, and be cured ? Y not go there as well as anywhere else this summer season ? Y not come up and see this German doctor, or ask Bullar to w^rite to him ? Do, my dear old fellow ; and I will vow a candle to honest Home's chapel if you are cured. Did the Vienna beer in which I drank your health, not do you any good ? God bless you, my dear Brookfield, and believe that I am always affectionately yours, W. M. T. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 22,\ [1848.] My dear Mrs. Brookfield : Now that it is over and irremediable I am thinking with a sort of horror of a bad joke in the last number of Vanity Fair, which may perhaps annoy some body whom I wouldn't wish to displease. Amelia is represented as having a lady's maid, and the lady's maid's name is Payne. I laughed when I wrote it, and thought that it was good fun, but now, who knows whether you and Payne and everybody won't be an- gry, and in fine, I am in a great tremor. The only way will be, for you I fear to change Payne's name to her Christian one. Pray don't be angry if you are, and forgive me if I have offended. You know you are only a piece of Amelia, my mother is another half, my poor little wife — y est pour beaucoup. and I am Yours most sincerely W. M. Thackeray, I hope you will write to say that you forgive me. October 1848. 13 Young Street, Kensington. My Dear Lady Brookfield : I wrote you a letter three nights ago in the French lan- guage, describing my disappointment at not having received any news of you. Those which I had from Mrs. Turpin were not good, and it would have been a pleasure to your humble servant to have had a line. Mr. William dined with the children good-naturedly on Sunday, -virhen I was yet away at Brighton. My parents are not come yet, the old gentleman having 24 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. had an attack of illness to which he is subject ; but they prom- ised to be with me on Tuesday, some day next week I hope. I virtuously refused three invitations by this day's post, and keep myself in readiness to pass the first two or three even- ings on my Papa's lap. That night I wrote to you the French letter, I wrote one to Miss Brandauer, the governess, warning her off. I didn't send either. I have a great mind to send yours though, it is rather funny, though I daresay with plenty of mistakes, and written by quite a different man, to the Englishman who is yours respectfully. A language I am sure would change a. man ; so does a handwriting.. I am sure if I wrote to you in this hand, and adopted it for a continuance, my disposition and sentiments would alter and all my views of life. I tried to copy, not now but the other day, a letter Miss Procter showed me from her uncle, in a commercial hand, and found myself after three pages quite an honest, regular, stupid, commercial man ; such is sensibility and the mimetic faculty in some singularly organized beings. How many people are you ? You are Dr. Packman's Mrs. B, and Mrs. Jackson's Mrs. B, and Ah ! you are my Mrs. B. you know you are now, and quite different to us all, and you are your sister's Mrs. B. and Miss Wynne's, and you make gentle fun of us all round to your private B. and offer us up to make him sport. You see I am making you out to be an Ogre's wife, and poor William the Ogre, to whom you serve us up cooked for din- ner. Well, stick a knife into me, here is my busam ; I won't cry out, you poor Ogre's wife, I know you are good natured and soft-hearted aufond. I have been re-reading the Hoggarty Diamond this morn- ing ; upon my word and honour, if it doesn't make you cry, I shall have a mean opinion of you. It was written at a time of great affliction, when my heart was very soft and humble. Amen. Ich habe auch viel geliebi. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 2$ Why shouldn't I start off, this instant for the G. W. Sta- tion and come and shake hands, and ask your family for some dinner ; I should like it very much. Well, I am looking- out of the window to see if the rain will stop, or give me an ex- cuse for not going to Hatton to the Chief Baron's. I won't go — that's a comfort. I am writing to William to ask him to come and dine to- morrow, we will drink your health if he comes. I should like to take another sheet and go on tittle-tattling, it drops off almost as fast as talking. I fancy you lying on the sofa, and the boy outside, walking up and down the oss. But I wont. To-morrow is Sunday. Good bye, dear lady, and believe me yours in the most friendly manner. W. M. T. [Reply to an invitation to dinner, a few days later.'] Had I but ten minutes sooner Got your hospitable line, 'Twould have been delight and honour With a gent like you to dine ; — But my word is passed to others, Fitz, he is engaged too : Agony my bosom smothers. As I write adieu, adieu ! {Lines sent in a note of about this date.'} I was making this doggerel instead of writing my Punch this morning, shall I send it or no ? 'Tis one o'clock, the boy from Punch is sitting in the pas- sage here. It used to be the hour of lunch at Portman Street, near Port- man Squeer. 26 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. O ! Stupid little printers' boy, I cannot write, my head is queer, And all my foolish brains employ in thinking- of a lady dear. It was but yesterday, and on my honest word it seems a year — As yet that person was not gone, as yet I saw that lady dear — She's left us now, my boy, and all this town, this life, is blank and drear. Thou printers' devil in the hall, didst ever see my lady dear. You'd understand, you little knave, I think, if you could only see her. Why now I look so glum and grave for losing- of this lady dear. A lonely man I am in life, my business is to joke and jeer, A lonely man without a wife, God took from me a lady dear. A friend I had, and at his side, — the story dates from seven long year — • One day I found a blushing bride, a tender lady kind and dear ! They took me in, they pitied me, they gave me kindly words and cheer, A kinder welcome who shall see, than yours, O, friend and lady dear ? The rest is wanting. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 2% 1848. \To Mr. Brookfield.l My dear Vieux : When I came home last night I found a beautiful opera ticket for this evening, — Jenny Lind, charming bally, box 72. — I am going to dine at home with the children and shall go to the opera, and will leave your name down be- low. Do come and we will sit, we 2, and see the piece like 2 lords, and we can do the other part afterwards. I present my respectful compliments to Mrs. Brookfield and am yours, W. M. T. If you can come to dinner, there's a curry. Oct. 4th 1848 Dear Mrs. Brookfield : If you would write me a line to say that you made a good journey and were pretty well, to Sir Thomas Cullam's, Hard- wick, Bury St. Edmunds, you would confer indeed a favour on yours respectfully. William dined here last night and was pretty cheerful. As I passed by Portman Street, after you were gone, just to take a look up at the windows, the usual boy started forward to take the horse. I laughed a sad laugh. I didn't want nobody to take the horse. It's a long time since you were away. The cab is at the door to take me to the railroad. Mrs. Procter was very kind and Ade- laide sympathised with me. I have just opened my desk, there are all the papers I had at Spa — Pendennis, unread since, and yqur letter. Good bye dear Mrs. Brookfield, al- ways yours, W. M. T. 28 lETTEES OF THACKERAY. Lhomme propose. Since this was wrote the author jvent to the railroad, found that he arrived a minute too late, and that there were no trains for 4^ hours. So I came back into town and saw the publishers, who begged and ihiplored me so, not to go out pleasuring, &c., that I ani going to Brighton instead of Bury. I looked in the map, I was thinking of coming to Weston - Super - Mare,— only it seemed such a hint. [Club] . \To Mr. Brookfield] October 1848. My dear Reverence : I take up the pen to congratulate you on the lovely weather, which must, with the company of those to whom you are attached, render your stay at Clevedon* so delightful. It snowed here this morning, since which there has been a fog succeeded by a drizzly rain. I have passed the day writing and trying to alter Pendennis, which is without any man- ner of doubt, awfully stupid ; the very best passages, which pleased the author only last week, looking hideously dull by the dull fog of this day. I pray, I pray, that it may be the weather. Will you say something for it at church next Sunday ? My old parents arrived last night, it was quite a sight to see the poor old mother with the children : and Bradbury, the printer, coming to dun me for Pendennis this morning. I slunk away from home, where writing is an utter im.possi- * Clevedon Court, Somersetshire, often referred to in these letters, and already mentioned in the note p. 7, the home of Sir Charles Elton, Mrs. Brookfield's father. Clevedon Court dates from the reign of Edward l\. (1307 to 1327), and though added to and altered in Elizabeth's time, the original plan can be clearly traced and much of the 14th Cen- tury work is untouched. The manor of Clevedon passed into the hands of the Eltons in 1709. the present possessor being Sir Edmund Elton, 8th Baronet. The manor-house is the original of Castlewood in Esmond, LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 29 bility, and have been operating on it here. The real truth is now, that there is half an hour before dinner, and I don't know what to do, unless I write you a screed, to pass away the time. There are secret and selfish motives in the most seemingly generous actions of men. T'other day I went to Harley Street and saw the most beautiful pair of embroidered slippers, worked for a lady at whose feet , . , ; and I begin more and more to think .. i? '"■ ■"" UnAt* Ktre i\unf\-i Chuji Ua. <4 ljJUi\^ v^t ll,^ — «>i^\\>AM,n^ 3kalu^ iiu6icA Lo ? - aU lU U Uu A'««' Adelaide Procter, an uncommonly nice, dear, good girl. Old ■Dilke of the Athenceum, vows that Procter and his wife, be- tween them, wrote Jane Eyre, and when I protest ignorance, says, " Pooh ! you know who wrote it, you are the deepest rogue in England, &c." I wonder whether it can be true ? It is just possible, and then what a singular circumstance is the + fire of the two dedications.* O! Mon Dieu ! but I wish Pendennis were better. As if I had not enough to do, I have begun to blaze away in the Chronicle again : its an awful bribe — that five guineas * Jane Eyre to Thackeray, Vanity Fair to Barry Cornwall, 20 ' LETTERS rOF THACKERAY. an aVticle. After L saw' you on Sunday I did actually, come back straight, on the omnibus. I have been to the Cider Cel- lars since again to hear the man sing about going to be hanged, I have had a headache afterwards, I have drawn, I have written, I have distracted my mind with healthy labor. Now wasn't thfs much better than plodding about with you in heavy boots amidst fields and woods ? But unless you come back, and as soon as my work is done, I thought a day or two would be pleasantly spent in your society, if the house of Clevedon admits of holding any more. Does Harry Hallam go out with dog and gun ? I should like to come and see him shoot, and in fact, get up field sports through him and others. Do you remark all that elaborate shading, the shot &c., ? All that has been done to while away the time until the dinner's ready, and upon my con- science I believe it is very near come. Yes, it is 6\. If Mrs. Parr is at Clevedon, present the respects of Mephistopheles, as also to any other persons with whom I am acquainted in your numerous and agreeable family circle, 1848 \To Mr. Brookfield.'\ Va diner chez ton classique ami, tant renomml pour le Grec. Je ne pourrais mieux faire que de passer la soiree avec une famille que j'ai negligee quelque peu — la mienne. Oui, Monsieur, dans les caresses innocentes de mes enfans cheris, dans la conversation edifiante de Monsieur mon beau- pere, je tacherai de me consoler de ta seconde infidelite. Samedi je ne puis venir : J'ai d'autres engagemens auxquels je ne veux pas manquer. Va. Sois heureux. Je te pardonne. Ton melancholique ami Chevalier de Titmarsh. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 31 \\st Noveinber, 1848.] Dear Mrs. Brookfield: I was at Oxford by the time your dinner was over, and found eight or nine jovial gentlemen in black, feasting in the common room and drinking port wine solemnly. We had a great sitting of Port wine, and I daresay the even- ing was pleasant enough. They gave me a bed in College, — such a bed, I could not sleep. Yesterday, (for this is half past seven o'clock in the morning, would you believe it ?) a party of us drove in an Oxford Cart to Blenheim, where we saw iw iiHuA, }JA ^tttSvtM - a. juolw l/I!ifkA4« .^ /(^Itt. ^a4i Ra(4«4 some noble pictures, a portrait by Raphael, one of the great Raphaels of the world, — (Look, this is college paper, with beautiful lines already made) — A series of magnificent Ru- bens, one of which, representing himself walking in a garden with Mrs. Rubens and the baby, did one good to look at and remember ; and some very questionable Titians indeed— I mean on the score of authenticity, not of morals, though the subjects are taken from the loves of those extraordinary gods and goddesses, mentioned in Lempriere's Dictionary, — and we walked in the park, with much profit ; surveying the great copper-coloured trees, and the glum old bridge and pillar and Rosamond's Well ; and the queer, grand, ugly but magnifi- cent house, a piece of splendid barbarism, yet grand and im- posing somehow, like a chief raddled over with war-paint, and ■attired with careful hideousness. Well, I can't make out the 32 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. simile on paper, though it's in my own mind pretty clear. What you would have liked best was the chapel dedicated to God and the Duke of Marlborough. The monument to the latter, occupies the whole place, almost, so that the for- mer is quite secondary. O ! 'what comes ? It was the scout who brought me your letter, aad I am very much obliged to you for it. . . . I was very sorry indeed to hear that you have been ill — I was afraid the journey would agitate you, that was what I was thinking of as I was lying in the Oxford man's bed awake. CUlu^ t^ a. U14C s/lUw -jWu- . C c(ua«*W ftU 5tt*|J««4, i ^ Y^ WutA Ufc tl-- ^liL CtftJui M Rw. . m < aui«' V -L^l JcL H/ull. iiT^I """^ -tt^ ****>*" *^ It is always so with my good intentions, and I woke about dawn, and found it was quite time to go to bed. But the solitude and idleness I think is both cheerful and whole- some. I've a mind to stay on here, and begin to hope I shall write a stronger number of Pendennis than some of the last ones have been. The Clevedon plan was abandoned before I came away ; some place in S. Wales, I forget what, 64 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. was fixed upon by the old folks. I would go with them, but one Jias neither the advanta;ge of society nor of being alone, and it is best to follow my own ways. What a flood of ego- tism is being poured out on you ! Well, I do think of some other people in the world besides myself. 1849. Brighton, Saturday — Monday. Thank you for your letter, dear Mrs, Brookfield ; it made this gay place look twice as gay yesterday when I got it. Last night when I had come home to work, two men spied a light in my room, and came in and began smoking. They talked about racing and the odds all the time. One of them I am happy to say is a lord, and the other a Brighton buck. When they were gone (and indeed I listened to them with a great deal of pleasure for I like to hear people of all sorts,) at mid-night, and in the quiet I read your letter over again, and one from Miss Annie, and from my dear old mother, who is to come on the 12th. and whose heart is yearning for her children. I must be at home to receive her, and some days, ten or so at least, to make her comfortable, so with many thanks for Mrs. Elton's invitation, I must decline it for the present if you please. You may be sure I went the very first thing to Virginia and her sisters, who were very kind to me, and I think are very fond of me, and their talk and beauty consoled me, for my heart was very sore and I was ill and out of spirits. A change, a fine air, a wonderful sun- shine and moonlight, and a great Spectacle of happy people perpetually rolling by, has done me all the good in the world, LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 65 and then one of the Miss Smiths * told me a story which is the very thing for the beginning of Pendennis, which is actu- ally begun and in progress. This is a comical beginning rather. The other, which I didn't like was sentimental, and will yet come in very well after the startling comical business has been played off. See how beautifully I have put stops to the last sentence, and crossed the t's and dotted the i's ! It was written four hours ago, before dinner, before Jullien's concert, before a walk by the sea shore. ^ — I have been think- ing what a number of ladies, and gentlemen too, live like you just now, in a smart papered rooms, with rats gnawing behind the wainscot ; Be hanged to the rats, but they are a sort of company. You must have a poker ready, and if the rats come out, bang ! beat 4;hem on the head. This is an allegory, why, it would work up into a little moral poem if you chose to write it. Jullien was splendid in his white waistcoat, and played famous easy music which any- body may comprehend and like. There was a delightful cornet a piston, (mark the accent on the a). The fact is I am thinking about something else all the while and am very tired and weary, but I thought I would like to say good night to you, and what news shall I give you just for the last? Well then. Miss Virginia is gone away, not to come back while I am here. Good night, ma'am, if you please. . . . Being entirely occupied with my two new friends, Mrs. Pendennis and her son Mr. Arthur Pendennis, I got up very early again this morning, and was with them for more than two hours before breakfast. He is a very good natured * The Miss Smiths here referred to are the daughters of the late Horace Smith, author of " Rejected Addresses." The Virginia here mentioned was the beautiful Miss Pattle, then in her earliest youth, and who is now the widow of the late Earl Somers. In those days she lived with her sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Thoby Prinsep at Little Holland House, Kensington, where they gathered around them a charming society and where Mr. Thackeray was ever welcomed, almost as one of the family. Their garden parties will ever be remembered. 66 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. generous young fellow, and I begin to like him considerably, I wonder whether he is interesting to me from selfish reasons and because I fancy we resemble each other in many points, and whether I can get the public to like him too ? We had the most magnificent sunshine Sunday, and I passed the evening very rationally with Mr. Fonblanque and Mr. Shell, a great orator of whom perhaps you have heard, at present lying here afflicted with gout, and with such an Irish wife. Never was a truer saying than that those people are for- eigners. They have neither English notions, manners, nor morals. I mean what is right and natural to them, is absurd and unreasonable to us. It was as good as Mrs. O'Dowd to hear Mrs. Sheil interrupt her Richard and give her opin- ions on the state of Ireland, to those two great, hard-headed, keen, accomplished men of the world. Richard listened to her foolishness with admirable forbearance and good humour. I am afraid I don't respect your sex enough, though. Yes I do, when they are occupied with loving and sentiment rather than with other business of life. I had a mind to send you a weekly paper containing con- temptuous remarks regarding an author of your acquaintance. I don't know who this critic is, but he always has a shot at me once a month, and I bet a guinea he is an Irishman. So we have got the cholera. Are you looking out for a visit ? Did you try the Stethoscope, and after listening at your chest, did it say that your lungs were sore? LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 6^ Fragment. [1849.] I am going to dine at the Berrys to-day and to Lady Ash- burton's at night. I dined at home three days running, think of that. This is my news, it isn't much is it ? I have written a wicked number oi Pendennis, but like it rather, it has a good moral, I believe, although to some it may appear naughty. Big Higgins * who dined with me yesterday of- fered me, what do you think ? " If" says he, " you are tired and want to lie fallow for a year, come to me for the money. I have much more than I want." Wasn't it kind ? I like to hear and to tell of kind thing-s. Wednesday. 1849. What have I been doing since these many days ? I hardly know. I have written such a stupid number of Penden- nis in consequence of not seeing you, that I shall be ruined if you are to stay away much longer. . . . Has William written to you about our trip to Hampstead on Sunday ? It was very pleasant. We went first to St. Mark's church, where I always thought you went, but where the pew opener had never heard of such a person as Mrs. J. O. B. ; and hav- ing heard a jolly and perfectly stupid sermon, walked over Primrose Hill to the Crowes', where His Reverence gave Mrs. Crowe half an hour's private talk, whilst I was talking under the blossoming apple tree about newspapers to Monsieur Crowe. Well, Mrs. Crowe was delighted with William and his manner of discoorsing her ; and indeed though I say it * Big Higgins — the well-known writer under the signature of Jacob Omnium. 6S LETTERS OF THACKERAY. that shouldn't, from what he said afterwards, and from what we have often talked over pipes in private, that is a pious and kind soul. I mean his, and calculated to soothe and comfort and appreciate and elevate so to speak out of de- spair, many a soul that your more tremendous, rigorous di- vines would leave on the way side, where sin, that robber, had left them half killed. I will have a Samaritan parson when I fall among thieves. You, dear lady, may send for an ascetic if you like ; what is he to find wrong in you ? I have talked to my mother about her going to Paris with the children, she is very much pleased at the notion, and it won't be very lonely to me. I shall be alone for some months at any rate, and vow and swear I'll save money. Have you read Dickens ? O ! it is charming ! brave Dickens ! It has some of his very prettiest touches — those inimita- ble Dickens touches which make such a great man of him ; and the reading of the book has done another author a great deal of good. In the first place it pleases the other author to see that Dickens, who has long left off alluding to the A.'s works, has been copying the O. A., and greatly simplifying his style, and overcoming the use of fine words. By this the public will be the gainer and David Copperfield will be im- proved by taking a lesson from Vanity Fair. Secondly it has put me upon my metal ; for ah ! Madame, all the metal was out of me and I have been dreadfully and curiously cast down this month past. I say, secondly, it has put me on my metal and made me feel I must do something ; that I have fame and name and family to support. . . . I have just come away from a dismal sight ; Gore House full of snobs looking at the furniture. Foul Jews ; odious bombazine women, who drove up in mysterious flys which they had hired, the wretches, to be fined, so as to come in state to a fashionable lounge ; brutes keeping their hats on in the kind old drawing room, — I longed to knock some of i. — LETTERS OF THACKERAY. them off, and say " Sir, be civil in a lady's room." . . . There was one of the servants there, not a powdered one, but a butler, a whatdyoucallit. My heart melted towards him and I gave him a pound, Ah ! it was a strange, sad picture of Vanity Fair. My mind is all boiling up with it ; indeed, it is in a queer state. ... I give my best remembrances to all at Clevedon Court. [30th yune 1 849. J My dear lady: I have 2 opera boxes for tonight — a pit box — for the Hu- guenots at Covent Garden — where there is no ballet, and where you might sit and see this grand opera in great ease and quiet. Will you please to say if you will have it and I will send or bring it. Or if Miss Hallam dines with you, may I come afterwards to tea ? Say yes or no ; I sha'n't be offended, only best pleased of course with yes. I am engaged on Monday Tuesday and Wednesday nights, so if you go away on Thursday I shall have no chance of seeing you again for ever so long. I was to breakfast with Mr. Rogers this morning but he played me false, Good bye W. M. T. yo LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Fragment. 21 July 1849. {_To Mr. Brookfield.'] Adelaide Procter has sent me the most elegant velvet purse, embroidered with my initials, and forget-me-nots on the other side. I received this peace-offering with a gentle heart ; one must not lose old friends at our time of life, and if one has offended them one must try and try until they are brought back. . . . Mrs. Powell, the lady I asked you to stir about, has got the place of matron of the Governesses, a house and perqui- sites, and 100 a year, an immense thing for a woman with nothing. On the 30th June, the day you went, Rogers threw me over for breakfast, and to-day comes the most lamentable letter of excuse. Yesterday, the day madame went away, the Strutts asked me to Greenwich, and when I got there, no dinner. Another most pathetic letter of excuse. These must be answered in a witty manner, so must Miss Procter, for the purse ; so must Mrs. Alfred Montgomery, who offers a dinner on Monday ; so must two more, and I must write that demnition Mr. Browne before evensong. From the Punch office, where I'm come for to go to dress, to dine with the Lord mayor ; but I have nothing to say but that I am yours, my dear old friend, affectionately, W. M. T. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 71 Fragment. [1849] I was to go to Mrs. Montgomery's at this hour of 10.30, but it must be the contrary, that is, Mrs. Procter's. I wrote Adelaide her letter for the purse, and instead of thanking her much, only discoursed about old age, disappointment, death, and melancholy. The old people are charming at home, with their kind- ness. They are going away at the end of the week, some- Avhere, they don't say where, with the children. The dear old step-father moves me rather the most, he is so gentle and good humoured. Last night Harry came to dinner, and being Sunday there was none, and none to be had, and we went to the tavern hard-bye, where he didn't eat a bit. I did At Procter's was not furiously amusing — the eternal G. bores one. Her parents were of course there, the papa with a suspicious looking little order in his button hole, and a chevalier d' industrie air, which I can't get over. E. didn't sing, but on the other hand Mrs. did. She was passionate, she was enthusiastic, she was sublime, she was tender. There was one note that she kept so long, that I protest I had time to think about my affairs, to have a little nap, and to awake much refreshed, while it was going on still. At another time, overcome by almost unutterable tenderness, she piped so low, that it's a wonder one could hear at all. In a word, she was mirobolante, the most art- less, affected, good-natured, absurd, clever creature possible. When she had crushed G. who stood by the piano hating her, and paying her the most profound compliments — she 72 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. tripped off on my arm to the cab in waiting. I like that ab- surd kind creature. Drums are beating in various quarters for parties yet to come off, but I am refusing any more, being quite done up. I am thinking of sending the old and young folks to Cleve- don, I am sure Mrs. Robbins and Mrs. Parr will be kind to them, won't they ? [During an Illness, August 1849] No. I. 63 East Street, Brighton. Yesterday I had the courage to fly to Brighton, I have , got a most beautiful lodging, and had a delightful sleep. I write a line at seven o'clock of the morning to tell you these good news. G b y. — No. 2. 63 East Street Brighton. This morning's, you know, wasn't a letter, only to tell you that I was pretty well after my travels ; and after the letter was gone, thinks I, the handwriting is so bad and shaky, she will think I am worse, and only write fibs to try and soothe her. But the cause of the bad writing was a bad pen, and impossible ink. See how different this is, though I have not much to say now, only that I have been sitting on the chain pier in a bath chair for two hours, and feel greatly invigorated and pleasantly tired by the wholesome sea breezes. Shall I be asleep in two minutes I wonder ? I think I will try, I think snoring is better than writing. Come, o 3 a,s ;S £? n S- §?Sh p U U1 3< 2b. "Sg-2, r 3 n ? T V,&^, r./ j^j^-^'*"-^*-^^^^ f. .*.. tfi Y \^^4., ^^ '*^/. vN**' ,yfev,^ '«^ 7c S^^,^^ '*'^*n-^' LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 7i let us try a little doze ; a comfortable little doze of a quarter of an hour. Since then, a somewhat fatiguing visit from the Miss Smiths, who are all kindness, and look very pretty in their mourning.* I found acquaintances on the pier too, and my chair anchored alongside of that of a very interesting nice little woman, Mrs. Whitmore, so that there was more talkee- talkee. Well, I won't go on writing any more about my ailments, and dozes and fatigues ; but sick folks are abomi- nably selfish ; sick men that is, and so God bless my dear lady. W. M. T. Thursday. I cannot write you long, dear lady ; I have two notes to my mother daily, and a long one to Elliotson, &c. ; but I am getting on doucement, like the change of air exceedingly, the. salt water baths, and the bath-chair journeys to the pier where it is almost as fresh as being at sea. But do you go on writing, please, and as often as you can ; for it does me good to get kind letters. God bless you and good-night, is all I can say now, with my love to his Reverence from W. M. T. * Horace Smith died 12th July, 1849. 74 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. {Paris, Feb. 1849] My dear Lady: I have been to see a great character to-day and another still greater yesterday. To-day was Jules Janin, whose books you never read, nor do I suppose you could very well.. He: is the critic of the Journal des Debats and has made his, weekly feuilleton famous throughout Europe — He does not know a word of English, but he translated Sterne and. I think Clarissa Harlowe. One week, having no theatres to describe in his feuilleton, or no other subject handy, he described his own marriage, which took place in fact that week, and abso- lutely made a present of his sensations to all the European public. He has the most wonderful verve, humour, oddity, honesty, bonhomie. He was ill with the gout, or recovering perhaps ; but bounced about the room, gesticulating, joking, gasconading, quoting Latin, pulling out his books which are very handsome, and tossing about his curling brown hair; — • a magnificent jolly intelligent face such as would suit Pan I should think, a flood of humourous, rich, jovial talk. And now I have described this, how are you to have the least idea of him. — I daresay it is not a bit like him. He recommended me to read Diderot ; which I have been reading in at his rec- ommendation; and that is a remarkable sentimental cynic, too ; in his way of thinking and sudden humours not unlike — not unlike Mr. Bowes of the Chatteris Theatre. I can fancy Harry Pendennis and him seated on the bridge and talking of their mutual mishaps ; — no Arthur Pendennis the boy's name is ! I shall be forgetting my own next. But mind you, my similes don't go any further : and I hope you don't go for to fancy that you know anybody like Miss Foth- eringay — you don't suppose that I think that you have no heart, do you ? But there's many a woman who has none, LETTERS OF THACKERAY. ("75 and about whom men go crazy ; — such was the other char- acter I saw yesterday. We had a long talk in which she showed me her interior, and I inspected it and left it in a state of wonderment which I can't describe. . . . She is kind, frank, open-handed, not very refined, with a warm outpouring of language ; and thinks herself the most feeling creature in the world. The way in which she fasci- nates some people is quite extraordinary. She affected me by telling me of an old friend of ours in the country — Dr. Portman's daughter indeed, who was a parson in our parts — - who died of consumption the other day after leading the pur- est and saintliest life, and who after she had received the sac- rament read over her friend's letter and actually died with it on the bed. Her husband adores her ; he is an old cavalry Colonel of sixty, and the poor fellow away now in India, and yearning after her writes her yards and yards of the most tender, submissive, frantic letters ; five or six other men are crazy about her. She trotted them all out, one after another before me last night ; not humourously, I mean, nor making fun of them ; but complacently, describing their adoration for her and acquiescing in their opinion of herself. Friends, lover, husband, she coaxes them all ; and no more cares for them than worthy Miss Fotheringay did.^-OhJ Beckyjs_a_trifle to her ; and I am sure I might draw her picture and she would never know in the least that it was herself. I suppose I did not fall in love with her myself because we were brought up together ; she was a very simple generous creature then. Tuesday. Friend came in as I was writing last night, perhaps in time to stop my chattering ; but I am encore tout dmerveillS de ma cousine. By all the Gods ! I never had the opportunity of inspecting such a naturalness and co- quetry ; not that I suppose that there are not many such women ; but I have only myself known one or two women intimately, and I daresay the novelty would wear off if I 16 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. knew more. I had the Revue des 2 mondes and the your- nal des Ddbats to dinner ; and what do you think by way of a deHcate attention the ^/^^ served us up? Mock- turtle soup again, and uncommonly good it was too. After dinner I went to a ball at the prefecture of Police ; the most splendid apartments I ever saw in my life. Such lights, pillars, mar- ble, hangings, carvings, and gildings. I am sure King Bel- shazzar could not have been more magnificently lodged. — There must have been 15 hundred people, of whom I did not know one single soul. I am surprised that the people did not faint in the Saloons, which were like burning fiery furnaces ; but there they were dancing and tripping away, ogling and flirting, and I suppose not finding the place a bit inconveniently warm. The women were very queer looking bodies for the most, I thought, but the men dandies every one, fierce and trim with curling little mustachios. I felt dimly that I was 3 inches, taller than any body else in the room but I hoped that nobody took notice of me. There was a rush for ices at a footman who brought those refresh- ments which was perfectly terrific. — They were scattered melting over the heads of the crowd, as I ran out of it in a panic. There was an old British dowager with two daugh- ters seated up against a wall very dowdy and sad, poor old lady ; I wonder what she wanted there and whether that was what she called pleasure. I went to see William's old friend and mine, Bowes ; he has forty thousand a year and palaces in the country, and here he is a manager of a Theatre of Va- rietes, and his talk was about actors and coulisses all the time of our interview. I wish it could be the last, but he has made me promise to dine with him, and go I must, to be killed by his melancholy gentlemanlikeness. I think that is all I did yesterday. Dear lady, I am pained at your having been unwell; I thought you must have been, when Saturday came without any letter. There wont be one today I bet LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 77 twopence. I am going to a lecture at the Institute ; a lect- ure on Burns by M. Chasles, who is professor of English literature. What a course of lionizing, isn't it ? But it must stop ; for is not the month the shortest of months ? I went to see my old haunts when I came to Paris 13 years ago, and made believe to be a painter, — ^just after I was ruined and before I fell in love and took to marriage and writing. It was a very jolly time, I was as poor as Job and sketched away most abominably, but pretty contented ; and we used to meet in each others little rooms and talk about art and smoke pipes and drink bad brandy and water. — That awful habit still remains, but where is art, that dear mistress whom i loved, though in a very indolent capricious manner, but with a real sincerity ? — I see ' her far, very far off. I jilted her, I know it very well ; but you see it was Fate ordained that marriage should never take place; and forced me to take on with another lady, two other ladies, three other la- dies ; I mean the muse and my wife &c. &c. Well you are very good to listen to all this egotistic prat- tle, chere soeur, si douce ct si bonne. I have no reason to be ashamed of my loves, seeing that all three are quite law- ful. Did you go to, see my people yesterday? Someday when his reverence is away, will you have, the children ? and not, if you please, be so vain as to fancy that you can't amuse them or that they will be bored in your house. They must and shall be fond of you, if you please. Alfred's open mouth as he looked at the broken bottle and spilt wine must have been a grand picture of agony. I couldn't find the lecture room at the Institute, so I went to the Louvre instead, and took a feast with the statues and pictures. The Venus of Milo is the grandest figure of figures. The wave of the lines of the figure, whenever seen, fills my senses with pleasure. What is it which so charms, satisfies one, in certain lines ? O ! the man who achieved that statue 78 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. was a beautiful genius. I have been sitting thinking of it these lo minutes in a delightful sensuous rumination. The Colours of the Titian pictures comfort one's eyes similarly ; and after these feasts, which wouldn't please my lady very much I daresay, being I should think too earthly for you, I went and looked at a picture I usedn't to care much for in old days, an angel saluting a Virgin and child by Pietro Cortona, ■ — a sweet smiling angel with a lily in her hands, looking so tender and gentle I wished that instant to make a copy of it, and do it beautifully, which I cant, and present it to some- body on Lady-day. — There now, just fancy it is done, and presented in a neat compliment, and hung up in your room — a pretty piece — dainty and devotional? — I drove about with ,, and wondered at her more and more. — She is come to " my dearest William " now : though she doesn't care a fig for me. — She told me astonishing things, showed me a letter in which every word was true and which was a fib from beginning to end; — A miracle of deception; — flattered, fon- dled, coaxed — O ! she was worth coming to Paris for ! . . , Pray God to keep us simple. I have never looked at any- thing in my life which has so amazed me. Why, this is as good, almost, as if I had you to talk to. Let us go out and have another walk. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 79 Fragment \^Paris, 1849] Of course in all families the mother is the one to whom the children cling. We don't talk to them, feel with them, love them, occupy ourselves about them as the female does, — We think about our business and pleasure, not theirs. Why do I trouble you with these perplexities ? If I mayn't tell you what I feel, what is the use of a friend ? That's why I would rather have a sad letter from you, or a short one if you are tired and unwell, than a sham-gay one — and I don't subscribe at all to the doctrine of " striving to be cheerful ". A quoi bon, convulsive grins and humbugging good-humour ? Let us have a reasonable cheerfulness, and melancholy too, if there is occasion for it — and no more hypocrisy in life than need be. We had a pleasant enough visit to Versailles, and then I went to see old Halliday, and then to see old Bess, and to sit with the sick Tom Fraser. I spend my days so, and upon my word ought to get some reward for being so virtuous. On Sunday I took a carriage and went to S. in the coun- try. The jolly old nurse who has been in the Ricketts family 1 20 years or more or less, talked about Miss Rosa, late M" Fanshawe, and remembers her the flower of that branch of the family, and exceedingly pretty and with a most lovely com- plexion. — And then I told them what a lovely jewel the pres- ent Miss Rosa was ; and how very fond I was of her mamma ; — and so we had a tolerably pleasant afternoon ; — and I came back and sat again with Mr. Thomas Fraser. Yesterday there was a pretty little English dance next door at Mrs. Er- rington's, and an English country dance being proposed, one of the young bucks good-naturedly took a fiddle and played 8o LETTERS OF THACKERAY. very well too, and I had for a partner Madame Gudin, the painters wife, I think I mentioned her to you, didn't I ? She is a daughter of Lord James Hay — a very fair com- plexion and jolly face, and so with the greatest fear and trepi- dation (for I never could understand a figure) I asked her— and she refused because she tells me that she is too ill, and I am sure I was very glad to be out of the business. I went to see a play last night, and the new comedian Mademoiselle Brohan of whom all the world is talking, a beau- tiful young woman of 17 looking 25 and — I thought — vulgar, intensely affected, and with a kind of stupid intelligence that passes for real wit with the pittites, who applauded with im- mense enthusiasm all her smiles and shrugs and gestures and ogles. But they wouldn't have admired her if she hadn't been so beautiful, if her eyes weren't bright and her charms undeniable. — I was asked to beg some of the young English Seigneurs here to go to an Actress ball, where there was to be a great deal of Parisian beauty, which a cosmophilite ought to see perhaps as well as any other phase of society. — But I refused Madame Osy's ball — my grey head has no call to show amongst these young ones, and, as in the next novel we are to have none but good characters — -what is the use of examining folks who are quite otherwise. Meanwhile, and for 10 days more, I must do my duty and go out feeling deucedly lonely in the midst of the racketting and jigging. I am engaged to dinner for the next 3 days, and on Friday when I had hoped to be at home — my mother has a tea- party, and asked trembling (for she is awfully afraid of me) whether I would come — Of course I'll go. W. M. T. VurMu*«^ VW I AUmU ILa «f*^iu«J <4 (i »»ct«fe. 1 ^uM^ (Xlk ) i^ iuA %u. Luc CnAJLlM + ^1au4, UMfU ftuM*. M fa«t , flu4 Ues Russell Lowell.J LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 83 I look upon the altered line And think it ever is my lot ; A something always comes to blot And mar my impossible design— A mocking Fate that bids me pine, And struggle and achieve it not. Poor baulked endeavours incomplete ! Poor feeble sketch the world to show, While the marred truth lurks lost below ! What's life but this ? a cancelled sheet, A laugh disguising a defeat ! Let's tear and laugh and own it so. Exit with a laugh of demoniac scorn. But I send the very original drawing, to these very original verses — 3 Sept. 1849. From Paris, Monday. The man who was to carry my letter yesterday, fled with- out giving me notice, so Madame loses the sermon to Annie, the pretty picture, &c. I haven't the courage to pay the postage for so much rubbish. Isn't it curious that a gentle- man of such expensive habits should have this meanness about paper and postage ? The best is that I have spent three francs in cab-hire, hunting for the man who was to carry my two-franc letter. The follies of men are ceaseless, even §4 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. of comic authors, who make it their business to laug hat the follies of all the rest of the world. What do you think I did yesterday night ? If you please, ma'am, I went to the play ; and I suppose because it was Sunday, was especially diverted, and laughed so as to make myself an object in the stalls ; but it was at pure farcicality, not at wit. The piece was about a pleasure excursion to London ; and the blunders and buffoonery, mingled, made the laughter, " Eh out, nous irons a Greenwich, manger un excellent sandwich " was a part of one of the songs. My poor Aunt is still in life, but that is all ; she has quite lost her senses. I talked for some time with her old husband, who has been the most affectionate husband to her, and who is looking on, he being 72 years old himself, with a calm res- olution and awaiting the moment which is to take away his life's companion. . . . As for Pendennis, I began upon No. 7 to-day and found a picture which was perfectly new and a passage which I had as utterly forgotten as if I had never read or written it. This shortness of memory fright- ens me, and makes me have gloomy anticipations. Will poor Annie have to nurse an old imbecile of a father some day, who will ramble incoherently about old days and people whom he used to love ? What a shame it is to talk such gloomy stuff to my dear lady ; well, you are accustomed to hear my chatter, gloomy or otherwise, as my thoughts go by. I fancy myself by the dear old sofa almost, as I sit here prating ; and shut my eyes and see you quite clear. I am glad you have been doing works of art with your needle. . . . W. H. Ainsworth, Esquire, is here ; we dined next each other at the ^ Fr'bres yesterday and rather fraternized. He showed a friendly disposition I thought, and a desire to forgive me my success ; but beyond a good-humoured acquiescence in his good will, I don't care. I suppose one doesn't care for people, only for a very, very few. A man came in just now LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 85 who told me he had heard how I was dead. I began to laugh, and my laugh meant, " Well old fellow, you don't care, do you ? " And why should he ? How often I must have said and said these things over to you. Oui Madame, je me rdpdte. Je me fats vieux ; joublie ; je radote ^ je ne park que deinoi. Je vousfais subir inon egoisme, ma m'elancholie. — Le jour viendra-t-il ok elle vous gineraf Eh, mon dieu j — ne soyons pas trap curieux ; dem,ain viendra ; aujourd' hui j' oublierai — pourquoi ne vous voisje pas aujour-d' huif I think you have enough of this for to-day, so good-night. Good bye, Mr. Williams. I fancy the old street-sweeper at the corner is holding the cob, I take my hat and stick, I say good bye again, the door bangs finally. Here's a shilling for you, old street-sweeper ; the cob trots solitary into the Park. jfe fais de la littdrature, m.a parole d' honneur! — du style — du Sterne tout j)ur — O vanitas vanitatum.! God bless all, W. M. T. \ji,th Sept. 1849] Tuesday, Paris. Perhaps by my intolerable meanness and blundering, you will not get any letter from me till to-morrow. On Sunday, the man who was to take the letter failed me ; yesterday I went with it in a cab to the Grande Poste, which is a mile off, and where you have to go to pay. The cab horse was lame, and we arrived two minutes too late ; I put the letter into the unpaid-letter box ; I dismissed the poor old broken cab horse, behind which it was agonizing to sit ; in fine it was a failure. When I got to dinner at my aunt's, I found all was over. Mrs. H. died on Sunday night in her sleep, quite without pain, or any knowledge of the transition. I went and sat 86 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. with her husband, an old fellow of seventy-two, and found him bearing his calamity in a very honest manly way. What do you think the old gentleman was doing ? Well, he was drinking gin and water, and I had some too, telling his valet to make me some. Man thought this was a master-stroke of diplomacy and evidently thinks I have arrived to take pos- session as heir, but I know nothing about money matters as yet, and think that the old gentleman at least will have the enjoyment of my aunt's property during life. He told me some family secrets, in which persons of repute figure not honorably. Ah ! they shock one to think of. Pray, have you ever committed any roguery in money matters ? Has William ? Have I ? I am more likely to do it than he, that honest man, not having his resolution or self-denial. But I've not as yet, beyond the roguery of not saving perhaps, which is knavish too. I am very glad I came to see my dear- est old aunt. She is such a kind tender creature, laws bless us, how fond she would be of you. I was going to begin about William and say, ' do you remember a friend of mine who came to dine at the Thermes, and sang the song about the Mogul, and the blue-bottle fly,' but modesty forbade and I was dumb. Since this was written in the afternoon I suppose if there has been one virtuous man in Paris it is madame's most oba- jient servant. I went to sit with Mr. H. and found him tak- ing what he calls his tiffin in great comfort (tiffin is the meal which I have sometimes had the honor of sharing with you at one o'clock) and this transacted, — and I didn't have any tiffin, having consumed a good breakfast two hours previously — I went up a hundred stairs at least, to Miss. B. H.'s airy apartment, and found her and her sister, and sat for an hour. She asked after you so warmly that I was quite pleased ; she said she had the highest respect for you, and I was glad to find somebody who knew you ; and all I can say is, if you LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 87 fancy I like being here better than in London, you are in a pleasing error ; Then I went to see a friend of my mother's, then to have a very good dinner at the Cafe de Paris, where I had potage (I la pourpart, think oi pourpart soup. We had it merely for the sake of the name, and it was uncommonly good. Then back to old H. again, to bawl into his ears for an hour and a half; then to drink tea with my aunt — why, life has been a series of sacrifices today, and I must be written up in the book of good works. For I should have liked to go to the play, and follow my own devices best, but for that stern sen- timent of duty, which fitfully comes over the most abandoned of men, at times. All the time I was with Mr. H. in the morning, what do you think they were doing in the next room ? It was like a novel. They were rapping at a coffin in the bedroom, but he was too deaf to hear, and seems too old to care very much. Ah ! dear lady, I hope you are sleeping happily at this hour, and you, and Mr. Williams, and another party who is nameless, shall have all the benefits of an old sinner's prayers. I suppose I was too virtuous on Tuesday, for yesterday I got back to my old selfish ways again, and did what I liked from morning till night. This self indulgence though entire was not criminal, at first at least, but I shall come to the painful part of my memoirs presently. All the forenoon I read with intense delight, a novel called Le Vicomte de Bra- gelonne, a continuation of the famous Mousquetaires and just as interesting, keeping one panting from volume to volume, and longing for more. This done, and after a walk and some visits, read more novels, David Copperfield to wit, in which there is a charming bit of insanity, and which I begin to be- lieve is the very best thing the author has yet done. Then to the VaridUs Theatre, to see the play Chamdldon, after which all Paris is running, a general satire upon the last 60 88 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. years. Everything is satirised, Louis XVI, the Convention, the Empire, the Restoration etc., the barricades, at which these people were murdering each other only yesterday — it's awful, immodest, surpasses my cynicism altogether. At the end of the piece they pretend to bring in the author and a little child who can just speak, comes in and sings a satiric song, in a feeble, tender. Infantine pipe, which seemed to me as impious as the whole of the rest of the piece. They don't care for anything, not religion, not bravery, not liberty, not great men, not modesty. Ah ! madame, what a great moral- ist somebody is, and what moighiy foine principles entoirely he has ! But now, with a blush upon my damask cheek, I come to the adventures of the day. You must know I went to the play with an old comrade, Roger de Beauvoir, an ex-dandy and man of letters, who talked incessantly during the whole of dinner time, as I remember, though I can't for the life of me recall what he said. Well we went together to the play, and he took me where William would long to go, to the green-room. I have never been in a French green-room be- fore, and was not much excited, but when he proposed to take me up to the loge of a beautiful actress with sparkling eyes and the prettiest little ;'^/;'^«jj-^'nosey-posey in the world, I said to the rdgisseur of the theatre ' lead on ' ! and we went through passages and up stairs to the loge, which is not a box, but' O ! gracious goodness, a dressing room ! — — She had just taken off her rouge, her complexion Vas only a thousand times more brilliant, perhaps, the peignoir of black satin which partially enveloped her perfect form, only served to heighten &c, which it could but partially do &c. Her lips are really as red as &c, and not covered with paint at all. Her voice is delicious, her eyes, O ! they flashed &c upon me, and I felt my &c, beating so that I could hardly speak. I pitched in, if you will permit me the phrase, two or LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 89 three compliments however, very large and heavy, of the good old English sort, and O ! mon dieu she has asked me to go and see her. Shall I go, or shan't I ? Shall I go this very day at 4 o'clock, or shall I not ? Well, I won't tell you, I will put up my letter before 4, and keep this piece of intelli- gence for the next packet. The funeral takes place to-morrow, and as I don't seem to do much work here, I shall be soon probably on the wing, but perhaps I will take a week's touring somewhere about France, Tours and Nantes perhaps or elsewhere, or any- where, I don't know, but I hope before I go to hear once more from you. I am happy indeed to hear how well you are. What a shame it was to assault my dear lady with my blue devils. Who could help looking to the day of failing powers, but if I last a few years, no doubt I can get a shelter somewhere against that certain adversity, and so I ought not to show you my glum face or my dismal feelings. That's the worst of habit and confidence. You are so kind to me that I like to tell you all, and to think that in good or ill fortune I have your sympathy. Here's an opportunity for sentiment, here's just a little bit of the page left to say something neat and pretty. Jeles mdprise les jolis mots, vous en ai-je jamais fait de m,a vie ? ye les laisse ^ Monsieur Bullar et ses pa- reils — -j' en ferai pour Madem,oiselle Page, pour la ravissante la sdm-illante la fritillante AdHe {cest ainsi quelle se nomme) mais pour vous ? Allons — partons — il est quatre heures — fermons la lettre — disons adieu, lamie et moi — vous rndcri- rez avant mon dipart n'est ce pas? Allez bien, dorm,ez Hen, marchez bien, s il vous plait, et gardy mwaw ung petty mo. reso de voter cure. W. M. T. 13 90 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Paris, [1849] As my mother wants a line from me, and it would cost me no more to write on two half sheets than one whole one, com- mon economy suggests that I should write you a line to say that I am pretty well, and leading, as before, a dismal but dutiful life. I go and sit with the old Scotch widower every night, and with my aunt afterwards. This isn't very amusing, but the sense of virtue and self-denial tickles one, as it were, and I come home rather pleased to my bed of a night. I shall stay here for a few days more. My tour will be to Boulogne, probably, where I shan't find the Crowes, who are going away, but shall have Mrs. Procter ; and next week will see me back in London probably, working away as in the old way. Yesterday I went a little way into the country to see Miss R's husband, my old friend S. They have just got a little son, a beautiful child, and the happiness of this couple was pleasant, albeit somehow painful, to witness. She is a very nice, elegant accomplished young lady, adoring her Augustus, who is one of the best and kindest of old snobs. We walked across vines to the coach at half past seven o'clock, after an evening of two hours and a half, which was quite enough for me. She is a little thing, and put me in mind of my own wife somehow. Give Mrs. Fanshawe, with my respectful love, a good account of her cousin. I am bound to-day to another country place, but don't like the idea of it. Tomorrow I dine with Mr. T. B. Macaulay, who is staying in this hotel. And what else has happened ? I have been to see the actress, who received us in a yellow satin drawing room, and who told me that she had but one fault in the world, that she had trop bon cceur, and I am ashamed to say that I pitched in still stronger compliments than before, and I daresay that she LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 9 1 thinks the enormous old Englishman is rapturously in love with her ; but she will never see him again, that faithless giant. I am past the age when Fotheringays inflame, but I shall pop her and her boudoir into a book some day, and that will be the end of our transactions. A good character for a book accompanied us to the funeral, an expatriated parson, very poijipous, and feeble-minded: who gets his living by black jobs entirely and attends all the funerals of our country- men ; he has had a pretty good season and is tolerably cheer- ful. I was struck by "Behold I show you a mystery" and the noble words subsequent, but my impression is, that St. Paul fully believed that the end of things and the triumph of his adored master, was to take place in his own time, or the time of those round about him. Surely St. John had the same feeling, and I suppose that this secret passed fondly among the initiated, and that they died hoping for its fulfil- ment. Is this heresy ? Let his reverence tell me. Madame, if you will be so diffident about your composi- tions there is no help for it. Your letter made me laugh very much, and therefore made me happy. When I saw that nice little Mrs. S. with her child yesterday, of course I thought about somebody else. The tones of a mother's voice speaking to an infant, play the deuce with me some- how ; that charming nonsense and tenderness work upon me until I feel like a woman or a great big baby myself, — fiddlededee. . . . And here the paper is full and we come to the final G. B. Y, I am always, W. M. T. 92 LETTERS OE THACKERAY. [Paris, September 14, 1849.] My dear Lady : This letter doesn't count, though it's most probbly the last of the series. Yesterday I couldn't write for I went to Chambourey early in the morning to see those two poor Miss Powers, and the poor old faded and unhappy D'Orsay, and I did not return home till exactly i minute before post time, perhaps 2 late for the letter which I flung into the post last night. And so this is the last of the letters and I am coming back immediately. The last anything is unpleas- ant. . , . I was to have gone to-morrow for certain to Boulogne, at least, but a party to Fontainebleau was proposed — by whom do you think ? — ^by the President himself, I am going to dine with him to-day, think of that ! I believe I write this for the purpose solely of telling you this, — the truth is I have made acquaintance here with Lord Douglas, who is very good nat- ured, and I suppose has been instigating the President to these hospitalities. I am afraid I disgusted Macaulay yester- day at dinner, at Sir George Napier's. We were told that an American lady was coming in the evening, whose great desire in life, was to meet the author of Vanity Fair, and the author of the Lays of A. Rome, so I proposed to Macaulay to enact me, and to let me take his character. But he said solemnly, that he did not approve of practical jokes, and so this sport did not come to pass. Well, I shall see you at any rate, some day before the 23d., and I hope you will be happy at Southampton enjoying the end of the autumn, and I shall be glad to smoke a pipe with old Mr. Williams too, for I don't care for new acquaintances, whatever some people say, and have only your house now where I am completely at home. I have been idle here, but I have done plenty of du- LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 93 tifulness, haven't I ? I must go dress myself and tell old Dr. Halliday that I am going to dine with the President, that will please him more than even my conversation this evening, and the event will be written over to all the family before long, be sure of that. Don't you think Mr. Parr will like to know it, and that it will put me well with him ? Perhaps I shall find the grand cross of the Legion of Honor under my plate, I will put it on and come to you in it in that case. I was going to have the impudence to give you a daguer- reotype of myself which has been done here, very like and droll it looks, but it seemed to me too impertinent, and I gave it to somebody else. I've bought William four glasses to drink beer out of, since I never can get one of the silver ones when I come ; don't let him be alarmed, these only cost a shilling apiece, and two such loves of cau de Cologne bottles for Mrs. Procter, and for my dear Mrs. Brookfield I have bought a diamond necklace and earrings, — I have bought you nothing but the handkerchiefs but I hope you will let me give you those, won't you ? I was very sorry for Turpin, I do feel an interest in her, and I think she is very pretty, all this I solemnly vow and protest. My paper is out, here's the last corner of the last letter. I wonder who will ask me to dine on Monday next. October 31st. [1849] My dear Monsieur et Madame : Harry says that you won't eat your dinner well if I don't write and tell you that I am thriving, and though I don't con- sider this a letter at all but simply a message, I have to state that I am doing exceedingly well, that I ate a mutton chop just now in Harry's presence with great gusto, that I slept 94 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 12 hours last night and in fact advance by steps which grow every day more firm toward convalescence. If you will both come down here I will give you beautiful rooms and the best of mutton. — I shall stop till Monday certainly, after which I may probably go to the club. G. B, Y. Both on you. W. M. T. [Probably from Brighton after serious illness.] \^Dcc : 1 849] My dear Lady : The weather is so fiije and cheerful that I have made my mind up to go down to Brighton tomorrow, or somewhere where I can be alone, and think about my friend Mr. Penden- nis, whom I have been forced to neglect. I have been work- ing now until seven o'clock and am dead beat, having done a poor dawdling day's work, writing too much, hipped, hacked and blue-devilled. I passed Portman Street after an hour's ride in the Park but hadn't time to come in, the infernal task- master hanging over me ; so I gave my bridle reins a shake and plunged into doggerel. Good bye God bless you, come soon back both of you. Write to me won't you ? I wish a Merry Christmas for you and am always yours, W. M. T. \\ iaat at I va/ui C% I i\MnM luMf* u]ti ^fCiM 99 about poor little B. Does any body suppose I should be such an idiot as to write verses to her ? I never wrote her a line. I once drew one picture in her music book, a caricature of a spoony song, in which I laughed at her, as has been my prac- tice — alas ! . . . The only person to whom I remember having said anything about Amelia was the late Mrs. Ban- croft, as I told you, and that was by a surprise. Yesterday after a hard day's labour went out to Rich- mond ; dined with old Miss Berrys. Lord Brougham there, enormously good fun, boiling over with humour and mischief, the best and wickedest old fellow I've met, I think. And I was better in health than I've been for a fortnight past. O ! how I should like to come on Sunday by the Excursion train, price 5 1 , and shake hands and come back again ! I've been working Pen all the morning and reading back numbers in order to get up names &c., I'd forgotten. I lit upon a very stupid part I'm sorry to say ; and yet how well written it is ! What a shame the author don't write a complete good story. Will he die before doing so ? or come back from America and / do it ? — And now on account of the confounded post regulations — I shan't be able to hear a word of you till Tuesday. It's a sin and a shame to cut 2 days out of our week as the Phari- sees do — and I'll never forgive Lord John Russell, never. — The young ladies are now getting ready to walk abroad with their dear Par. — ^It is but a hasty letter I send you dear lady, but my hand is weary with writing Pendennis — and my head boiling up with some nonsense that I must do after dinner for Punch. Isn't it strange that, in the midst of all the selfish- ness, that one of doing one's business, is the strongest of all. What funny songs I've written when fit to hang myself 1 lOO LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Thursday. As I am not to come back till Saturday, and lest you should think that any illness had befallen me, dear lady, I send you a little note. This place is as handsome as man could desire ; the jDark beautiful, the quizeen and drinks ex- cellent, the landlord most polite and good natured, with a very winning simplicity of manner and bonhomie, and the small select party tolerably pleasant, Charles Villiers, a bit- ter Voltairian joker, who always surprises one into laughter ; — Peacock— did you ever read Headlong Hall and Maid Marian ? — a charming lyrical poet and Horatian satirist he was when a writer ; now he is a whiteheaded jolly old world- ling, and Secretary to the E. India House, full of information about India and everything else in the world. There are 4 or 5 more, 2 young lords, — one extremely pleasant, gentle- man-like, and modest, who has seen battles in India and gives himself not the least airs ; — and there are the young ladies, 2 pretty little girls, with whom I don't get on very well though, — nor indeed with anybody over well. There's something wanting, I can't tell you what ; and I shall be glad to be on the homeward way again, but they wouldn't hear of my going on Friday, and it was only by a strong effort that I could get leave for Saturday. This paper you see is better, I bought it regardless of ex- pense — half a ream of it, at Bristol. That Bristol terminus is a confounding place. I missed the train I was to go by, had very nearly gone to Exeter and was obliged to post twenty-five miles in the dark, from Chip- penham, in order to get here too late for dinner. Whilst I am writing to you what am I thinking of? Something else to be sure, and have a doggrel ballad about a yellow " Post LETTERS OF THACKERAY. lOl Chay " running in my head which I ought to do for Mr. Punch. We went to the little church yesterday, where in a great pew with a fire in it, I said the best prayers I could for them as I am fond of. I wish one of them would get well . . . I must give my young ones three or four weeks of Paris and may go a travelling myself during that time ; for I think my dear old mother will be happier with the children and without their father, and will like best to have them all to herself. Mon dieu, is that the luncheon bell already ? I was late at dinner yesterday, and late at breakfast this morning. It is eating and idling all day long, but not altogether profitless idling, I have seen winter woods, winter landscapes, a kennel of hounds, jolly sportsmen riding out a hunting, a queer little country church with a choir not in surplices but in smock- frocks, and many a sight pleasant to think on. — I must go to lunch and finish after, both with my dear lady and the yellow po'chay. Will Mr. and Mrs. Brookfield come and dine with Mr. Thackeray on Saturday ? He will arrive by the train which reaches London at 5.25, and it would be very, very pleasant if you could come — or one of you, man or woman. Mean- while I close up my packet with a g. b. y. to my dear lady and a kiss to Miss Brookfield, and go out for a walk in the woods with a noble party that is waiting down-stairs. The days pass away in spite of us, and we are carried along the rapid stream of time, you see. And if days pass quick, why a month will, and then we shall be cosily back in London once more, and I shall see you at your own fire, or lying on your own sofa, very quiet and calm after all this trouble and turmoil. God bless you, dear lady and William, and your little maiden. W. M. T. I02 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 26 February, 1850. After hearing that Miss Brookfield was doing well in the arms of her Mamma, if you please, I rode in the Park on Tues- day, where there was such a crowd of carriages along the Serpentine, that I blushed to be on horseback there, and running the gauntlet of so many beauties. Out of a thou- sand carriages I didn't know one, which was odd, and strikes one as showing the enormity of London. Of course if there had been anybody in the carriages I should have known them, but there was nobody, positively nobody. (This sen- tence isn't as neatly turned as it might have been, and is by no means so playfully satirical as could be wished.) Riding over the Serpentine Bridge, six horsemen, with a lady in the middle, came galloping upon me, and sent me on to the foot pavement In a fright, when they all pulled up at a halt, and the lady in the middle cried out. How do you do Mr. &c. The lady in the middle was pretty Mrs. L. She made me turn back with the six horsemen ; of course I took off my hat Avith a profound bow, and said that to follow in her train was my greatest desire — and we rode back, all through the carriages, making an immense clatter and sensation, which the lady in the middle, her name was Mrs. Liddle, enjoyed very much. She looked uncommonly handsome, she had gentlemen with moustachios on each side of her. I thought we looked like Brighton bucks or provincial swells, and felt by no means elated. Then we passed out of Hyde Park into the Green Ditto, where the lady in the middle said she must have a canter, and off we set, the moustachios, the lady, and myself, skurry- ing the policemen off the road and making the walkers stare. I was glad when we got to St. James' Park gate, where I could take leave of that terrific black-eyed beauty, and ride LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 103 away by myself. As I rpde hqme by the Elliot's I longed to go in and tell theni what had happened, and how it was your little girl's birth-day ; but I did not, but came home and drank her health instead, and wrote her a letter and slept sound. Yesterday after writing for three hours or so, what did I go out for to see ? First the Miss Jingleby's, looking very fresh and pretty ; you see we have consolations ; then a poor fellow dying of consumption. He talked as they all do, with a jaunty, lively manner, as if he should recover ; his sister sat with us, looking very wistfully at him as he talked on about hunting, and how he had got his cold by falling with his horse in a brook, and how he should get better by going to St. Leonard's ; and I said of course he would, and his sister looked at him very hard. As I rode away through Brompton, I met two ladies not of my acquaintance, in a brougham, who nevertheless ogled and beckoned me in a very winning manner, which made me laugh most wonderful. O ! you poor little painted Jezebels, thinks I, do you thjnk you can catch such a grey-headed old fogey as me ? poor little things. Behind them came dear, honest, kind Castlereagh, galloping along ; he pulled up and shook hands ; that good fellow was going on an errand of charity and kindness, con- sumption hospital, woman he knows to get in, and so forth. There's a deal of good in the wicked world, isn't there ? I am sure it is partly because he is a lord that I like that man ; but it is his lovingness, manliness, and simplicity which I like best. Then I went to Chesham Place, where I told them about things. You ought to be fond of those two women, they speak so tenderly of you. Kate Perry is very ill and can scarcely speak with a sore throat ; they gave me a pretty bread tray, which they have carved for me, with wheat-ears round the edge, and W. M. T. in the centre. O ! yes, but before that I had ridden in the Park, and met dear old Elliot. IS I04 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. son, thundering along with the great horses, at ten miles an hour. The Httle 'oss trotted by the great 'osses quite easily though, and we shook hands at a capital pace, and talked in a friendly manner, and as I passed close by your door, why I just went in and saw William and Mrs. F. Then at eight o'clock, a grand dinner in Jewry My ! what a fine dinner, what plate and candelabra, what a deal of good things, and sweetmeats especially wonderful. The Christians were in a minority. Lady C. beautiful, serene, stupid old lady ; she asked Isn't that the great Mr. Thack- eray ? O ! my stars think of that ! Lord M H cele- brated as a gourmand ; he kindly told me of a particular dish, which I was not to let pass, something a la Pompadour, very nice. Charles Villiers, Lady Hislop, pretty little Hatty Elli- ot, and Lady Somebody, — and then I went to Miss Berrys' — Kinglake, Phillips, Lady Stuart de Rothesay, Lady Water- ford's mother. Colonel Damer. There's a day for you. Well, it was a very pleasant one, and perhaps this gossip about it, will amuse my dear lady. [Written to Mrs. Fanshawe and Mrs. Brookfield.J H6tel Bristol, Place Vend6me. Tuesday, March 5th. 1850 My dear Ladies : I am arrived just this minute safe and sound under the most beautiful blue sky, after a fair passage and a good night's rest at Boulogne, where I found, what do you think ? — a letter from a dear friend of mine, dated September 13th, which somehow gave me as much pleasure as if it had been a fresh letter almost, and for which I am very much obliged LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 105 to you. I travelled to Paris with a character for a book, Lord Howden, the ex-beau Caradoc or Cradock, a man for whom more women have gone distracted than you have any idea of. So delightful a middle-aged dandy ! Well, he will make a page in some book some day. In the meantime I want to know why there is no letter to tell me that madame is getting on well. I should like to hear so much. It seems a shame to have come away yesterday without going to ask. It was the suddenest freak, done, packed and gone in half an hour, hadn't time even to breakfast. . . . And as I really wanted a little change and fresh air for my lungs, I think I did well to escape I send this by the Morning Chronicle's packet. Don't be paying letters to me, but write & write away, and never mind the expense, Mrs. -Fanshawe. W. M. T. Hotel Bristol, Place Vend6me. [1850] Madame : One is arrived, one is at his ancient lodging of the Hbtel Bristol, one has heard the familiar clarions sound at nine hours and a half under the Column, the place is whipped by the rain actually, and only rare umbrellas make themselves to see here and there ; London is grey and brumous, but scarcely more sorrowful than this. For so love I these places, it is with the eyes that the sun makes itself on the first day at Paris ; one has suffered, one has been disabused, but one is not biased to this point that nothing more excites, nothing amuses. The first day of Paris amuses always. Isn't this a perfectly odious and affected style of writing? Io6 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Wouldn't you be disgusted to have a lettef written all like that ? Many people are scarcely less affected, though, in composing letters, and translate their thoughts into a pom- pous unfamiliar language, as necessary and proper for the circumstances of letter-writing. In the midst of this senti- ment Jeames comes in, having been etnployed to buy pens in the neighbourhood, and having paid he said thrfee frarlcs for twenty. — I go out in a rage to the shop, thinking to con- found the woman who had cheated him ; I place him outside the shop and entering myself ask the price of a score of pens ; one franc says the woman ; I call in Jeames to confront him with the tradeswoman ; she says, I sold monsieur a box of pens, he gave me a five-franc piece, I returned him two 2-franc pieces, and so it was ; only Jeames never having before seen a two-franc piece, thought that she had given back two franc pieces ; and so nobody is cheated, and I had my walk in the rain for nothing. But as this had brought me close to the Palais Royal, where there is the exhibition of pictures, I went to see it, wondering whether I could turn an honest penny by criticis- ing the same. But I find I have nothing to say about pict- ures. A pretty landscape or two pleased me ; no statues did ; some great big historical pictures bored me. This is a poor account of a Pans exhibition, isn't it ? looking for half a min- ute at a work which had taken a man all his might and main for a year ; on which he had employed all his talents, and set all his hopes and ambition ; about which he had lain awake at night very probably, and pinched himself of a dinner that he might buy colours or pay models, — I say it seeriis very unkind to look at such a thing with a yawn and turn away indifferent ; and it seemed to me as if the cold, marble statues looked after me reproachfully and said, " Come back, you sir 1 don't neglect me in this rude way. I am very beautiful, I am indeed. I have many hidden charms and qualities Tvhich you LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 107 don't know yet, and which you would know and love if you would but examine a little." But I didn't come back, the world didn't care for the hiddetl charms of the statue, but passed ort and yawned over the next article in the Catalogue. There is a mordl to this fable, I think ; and that is all I got out of the exhibition of the Palais Royal. Then I went to beat up the old haunts, and look about for lodgings which are awfully scarce and dear in this quar- ter. Here they can only take me in for a day or two, and I am occupying at present two rooms in a gorgeous suite of apartments big enough and splendid enough for the Lord Chief Baron * and all his family. Oh ! but first, I forgot, I went to breakfast with Bear Ellice, who told me Lady Sand- wich had a gt-and ball, and promised to take me to a soiree at Monsieur Duchatel's. I went thefe after dining at home. Splerldid hotel in the Flubourg Saint Germain ; magnificent drawing room ; vulgar people, I thought ; the walls were splendidly painted ; " C'est du Louis Quinze ou du com- mencement de Louis XVI," the host said. Blagueur ! the painting is about ten years old, and is of the highly orna- mental Cafe school. It is a Louis Phillippist house, and everybody was in mourning — for the dear Queen of the Bel- gians, I suppose. The men as they arrived went up and made their bows to the lady of the house, who sat by the fire talking to other two ladies, and this bow over, the gentlemen talked, standing, to each other. It was uncommonly stupid. Then we went off to Lady Sandwich's ball. I had wrote a note to her ladyship in the morning, and received a Kyind in- \ itation. Everybody was there, Thiers, Mold, and the French Sosoiatee, and lots of English ; the Castlereaghs, very kind and hearty, my lady looking very pretty, and Cas — (mark the easy grace of Cas) — well, and clear-sighted ; Lord Normanby and wife, exceeding gracious ; — -Lady Waldegrave ; — all sorts * The late Lord Chief Baron was the father of thirty-two children. Io8 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. of world, and if I want the reign of pleasure, it is here, it is here. Gudin the painter asked me to dine today and meet Dumas, which will be amusing I hope. And I forgot to say that Mr. Thomas Fraser says, that Mr. Inspector Brookfield is the most delightful fellow he ever met. I went to see my aunt besides all this, and the evening and the morning was the first day. Sunday morning. I passed the morning yesterday writ- ing the scene of a play, so witty and diabolical that I shall be curious to know if it is good ; and went to the pictures again, and afterwards to Lady Castlereagh and other polite persons, finishing the afternoon dutifully at home, and with my aunt and cousins, whom you would like. At dinner at Gudin's there was a great stupid company, and I sat between one of the stupidest and handsomest women I ever saw in my life, and a lady to whom I made three observations which she answered with Oui, Monsieur, and non, monsieur, and then commenced a conversation over my back with my hand- some neighbour. If this is French manners, says I, Civility be hanged, and so I ate my dinner ; and did not say one word more to that woman. But there were some pleasant people in spite of her : a painter (portrait) with a leonine mane, Mr. Gigoux, that I took a liking to ; an old general, jolly and gentlemanlike ; a humorous Prince, agreeable and easy : and a wonderful old buck, who was my pleasure. The party disported them- selves until pretty late, and we went up into a tower fitted up in the Arabian fashion and there smoked, which did not diminish the pleasure of the evening. Mrs. L. the engineer's wife, brought me home in her brougham, the great engineer sitting bodkin and his wife scolding me amiably, about Laura and Pendennis. A handsome woman this Mrs L. must have been when her engineer married her, but not quite up to her present aggrandized fortune LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 109 My old folks were happy in their quarter, and good old G. P. bears the bore of the children constantly in his room, with great good humour. But ah, somehow it is a dismal end to a career. , A famous beauty and a soldier who has been in twenty battles and led a half dozen of storming par- ties ! Here comes Jeames to say that the letters must this instant go ; and so God bless you and your husband and lit- tle maiden, and write soon, my dear kind lady, to W. M. T. [Paris, 1850] I send this scrap by a newspaper correspondent, just to say I am very well and so awfully hard at business I have no time for more. Wednesday, Madam and Dear Lady : If I have no better news to send you than this, pray don't mind, but keep the enclosures safe for me against I come back, which won't be many days now, please God. I had thought of setting off tomorrow, but as I have got into work- ing trim, I think I had best stop here and do a great bit of my number, before I unsettle myself by another journey. I have been to no gaieties, for I have been laid up with a violent cold and cough, which kept me in my rooms, too stupid even to write. But these ills have cleared away pretty well now, and I am bent upon going out to dinner au cabaret, and to some fun afterwards, I don't know where, nor scarce what I write, I am so tired. I wonder what will happen with Pen- dennis and Fanny Bolton ; writing it and sending it to you, somehow it seems as if it were true. I shall know more no LETTERS OF THACKERAY. about them tomorrow ; but mind, mind and keep the manu- script ; you see it }s five pages, fifteen pounds, by the immor- tal Gods ! I am asked to a marriage tomorrow, a young Foker, of twenty-two, with a lady here, a widow, and once a runaway. The pen drops out of my hand, it's so tired, but as the ambassador's bag goes for nothing, I like to say how do you do, and remember me to Miss Brookfield, and shake hands with William. God bless you all. This note which was to have gone away yesterday, was too late for the bag, and I was at work too late today to write a word for anything but Pendennis : I hope I shall bring a great part of it home with me at the end of the week, in the meantime don't put you to the trouble of the manu- script, which you see I was only sending because I had no news and no other signs of life to give. I have been out to the play tonight, and laughed very pleasantly at nonsense until now, when I am come home very tired and sleepy, and write just one word to say good-night They say there is to be another revolution here very soon, but I shall be across the "yvater before that event, and my old folks will be here instead. You must please to tell Mrs. Fanshawe that I am over head and ears jn work, and that I beg you to kiss the tips of her gloves for me. There is an- other letter for you begun somewhere, about the premises, but it was written in so gloomy and egotistjcaj a strain, that it was best burnt. I burnt another yesterday, written to Lady Ashburton, because it jyas too pert, and like Major Pendennis, talking only about lords and great people, in an easy off hand way. I think I only write naturally to one per- son now, a-nd make points and compose sentences to others. That is why you must be patient please, and let me go on twaddling and boring you. V ^ \w u i.^^ /J<<''j; llu»t 4'^^ ' ^'^'^ "■ ^^ ^ '^ IoTaJU- (Hilt i'^ f^'. tJl* t^ V^fl '^S •III 'l^** 6.«i.t<«.»trfc J'^t i!l(..4u^ iif 4^^ "U« *j^- ««<»«. Vtttt«t- _ auX HM tdjK iiiji iiOiifti f'^^H/t ^tKtf, UL t dituUuu- rtu UMi, .'t .^ , 59, 128 ; death of, 129. Hallam, Miss, 69. Halliday, Mr., 79. Heidelberg, Thackeray at, 145. Herbert, Mrs., 125. Higgins, Matthew James (Jacob Omnium), 67 n. Hislop, Lady, 104. Holland, Lord, 131. Hotel des Pays Bas, Spa, x(> et seq. Howden, Lord, 105. JACOBS, the Wizard, 11. "Jane Eyre," its authorship attributed to Procter, 29. Janin, Jules, 74 et seq. Jones, Longueville, 36. J^ENYON, Mr., 129. King-lake, Alexander William, 104. Kingsley, Charles, 145. INDEX. 187 T AMARTINE, Alphonse de, 38. Lansdowne, Lord, 116. Leslie, the Misses, 53, Lind, Mme. Jennie, 59, iig. Literary Fund, Thackeray's dinner and speech at, 120 et seq. Louvre, the, Thackeray at, 77. Lovelace, Lady, 47. Low, Andrew, 169. Lucerne, Thackeray at, 149. Lytton, Sir Bulvver, 123. jyiACAULAY, Thomas Babing- ton, 90, 92. Macdonald, Norman, 33. Mackenzie, Mrs. Stewart, 144. Maine, Henry, 117. Marrast, Mr., 38. Martchenko, MV., 146. Maurice's Hotel, Paris, Thackeray at, 38. Mill, John Stuart, 98. Molesworth, Sir William and Lady, 127. Montgomery, Mrs. Alfred, 70, 71- Morgan, Captain, 53. Morier, Mr., 34, 63. Morley, Lady, 116. " Mysteres de Londres," a French play, Thackeray's description of, 40. TVJAPIER, Sir George, 92. New York, Thackeray in, 158 ; imaginary letter from, 172. Normanby, Lord, 39, 107. Q'BRIEN, Smith, 19. Orsay, the Count d', iii. Osy, Mme., 80. Oxford, Thackeray at, 31. pALMER, Mr., 62. Paris, Thackeray in, 38, 74 ei seq., 104 et seq., i$i et seq. Parr, Mrs., 30, 72. Parr, Thomas, 144. Pattle, Miss Virginia, 65 «., 97, 128. Payne, Mrs. Brookfield's maid, 20, 23- Peacock, Thomas Love, 100. Peel, Sir Robert and Lady, 116. " Pendennis,'' 27, 29, 42, 46, 48, 49, 63, 65, 67, 74, 84, 97. Perry, Miss Kate, 55, 103 ; her recollections of Thackeray, 177 ; letters to, 168, 169. Perry, William, 177. Philadelphia, Thackeray in, 162. Powell, Mrs., 70. Prinsep, Mr. and Mrs., 65 n., 97. Procter, Adelaide, 29, 47, 70. Procter, Bryan Waller (Barry Corn- wall), 44, 45 n. Procter, Mrs., 27, 49, 53, 54, 126. Punch, 25 ; Thackeray resigns from, 174. pOTHESAY, Lady Stuart de, 104. Rawlinson, Major, 156. Rehda, baths of, 22. Rice, Spring, 136. Richmond, Thackeray at, i68. Robbins, Mrs., 72. Rothschild, Baron, 38. Royal Scots Fusiliers, Thackeray's visit to, 10. Ryde, Thackeray at, 54. i88 INDEX. gANDWICH, Lady, 107. Sartojis, Mrs., 61. Savannah, Thackeray at, 169. Scott, General Winfield, 167. Sterling, A., 59 n. Shell, Richard, 66. Simeon, Mr., 131. Smith, Horace, 62. Smith, the Misses, 62, 65 «., 73. Spa, Thackeray at, 15 et seq. Sortain, Mr., 34. Sutro, Dr., 22. "JAYLOR, Henry, 136, 156. Tennent, Lady, 53. Thackeray, William Makepeace, circumstances of his correspon- dence with Mr. and Mrs. Brook- field, I, 2 ; his visit to the Royal Scots Fusiliers in garrison, 10 ; his hour in Canterbury Cathe- dral, 11-13 ; journey to Brus- sels, 13 ; on Becky Sharp and others of his characters, ed on the 2Gth of Septcmhsr, 1887, and further Volumes at intervals of Three Montlis. Intending SrBscRiBERS can enter THiiiiE Names witii any Bookseller. NOTICE.— 4Aer the Zlst of December, 1887, the price of each Volume of ** THE DIUTIONAHY OF NATIONAL BIOGRAFHY'' will be raised froDi \2s. 6flt. to 105. in Cloth, and from 18s. to 20.?. in Ilalf-Mm'occo. This alteration in price is Tnade rt^cessary by the great excess of the cost of prodtoction above the original estimate. Tlie error in the calculation may perhaps be considered pardonable by those who Jiave examined t/ie work with sujicient care to appreciate the labour involved in its accuracy and completeness It may be satisfactory to Subscribers to learn that now that "nearly onefotwth vf the work has been published, and considerably more than on>e-fourth is in type, the Publisliers lume every reason to believe in the fidfilment of their original expectation, that '' THE DICTIONARY OF NATIONAL BIOGUAFHY" woiold be completed in about 60 Volumes. EXTBAGTS FBOM A r&W PRESS NOTICES OF BECENT VOLUMES. Tkuth. — "I am glad you sharn my admiration fnr Mr. Stephen's magnuvi o^ua — the viagnum Opua of our generation—* The Uicfionary of National Biogi'aptiy.' A Ulctioiiary of the kind had beeu uttmiipi.ed so often before by tliu sti'ongest men —publishers and editors— of the day, tliat X Iiardly expected it to sucuetd. No one expected such a success as it has so Cur achieved." The Athen^um.— "Unlilie their immediate pre- decessors, wliich covered a rather dull tratft of bio^i'aphy, tlie latest volumes of Mr. Stephen's Itictiouary are fall of imporiant aud Interesting articles. Great names strike tlie eye constuntly lis we turn tlie pages. . . . Altogether the volumes ai-e good reading. Wliat is more important, the articles, whether thty are on siiiaii or great personages, are nearly all np to tliu high standard whicii lias been set in the earlier portions uf the work, and occasionally above it." Saturday Review. —" From the names we have cited it will be seen that great pains have been taken with that portion of the LJictionary wliich relates to modern times, aiid this has been rightly done; for often nothing is mure difficult than to find a concise record of the life of a man who belonged to our own times or to those just preceding them. Cuusisteatly enough, the editor has been cuieful to keep the work reasonably up to date, as is shown by the insertion of a life of Cidouel Buniaby. ... On the wliole Mr. Leslie iistcplien is much to be congratulated on his seventh volume." The Manchester Examiner and Times.— "This magnificent work of reference has now left the tentative stage of its existence far behind, and Mr. Leslie Stephen and his contributors are well under we^gh. The editor himself contiuues to do the lion's share of the work, and whenever w'e turn to an article of strong literary iuterpst, we fiTH almost certain to see at the end the well-known initials, ... On the whole, this (volume 8) is one of the most interesting volumes which we hav& as yet received." The Quarterly Review. — "We have every reasoi^ to hope and believe tliat thuso uf us who live fur another decade, will see lue uumplption of a ' Dictionary of National Jiiugraphy,' of which the country may be justly proud, which, though it may need correcting and suppleuieuting, will probably never be supersedtid, aud which, in unity uf cunception and aim, in the number of the names inserted, in fulness and accuracy of details, in the care and precision with wliich the authorities are cited, and in the bibliographical information given, will .not only be immeasurably superior to any woi'k of thc kind whicli has been produced in Great Britain, but will as far surpass the German and Belgian biographical dictionaries now in pi-o- gress, as these two important' undertakings are in advauoe of the twu great Ijtcnch oolleyiions, which until lately reigned .supreme in the deijwtmeni of Biography." The Lancet.—" This volume (volume 9) contains biographical notices extending from Canute to Chaioner. Its contents show no falling olf in accuracy and completeness, so far as by a critical examination wc have been able to discover, from those of the previous volumes, of which we have on all occasions spoken with praise. When completed thc Lictiuuary will be weU-nifc,h invaluable." The Pall Mall Gazette.— " Among the moat important biograpliies in this volume (volume tsj are thuse of Bishop Butlei" and Lord Byron, aud both are from the pen of the editor. With the latter of these every reader who is not a partisan will probably be satisfied. ... As to the general execution, we can only repeat the high praise which it has been our pleasing duty to besiuw on former volumes. To find a na-ne omitted that shoidd have been iuheited is well-nigh impossible," London : SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place. SMITH, ELDER, & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. THE EEIGN" OP QUEEIT VICTORIA: A Suevey op Fifty Years of Proqrbss. Edited by T. Htimphey Wabd. Two vols., 8vo. 329. The various chapters have been contributed by the most Eminent Authorities on tlie several subjects. ProapectuBf with Press Notices, on appliilation. PRINCIPLES OF CIVIL GOVERNMENT. By John Boyd Kinneab, Author qf " Prin- clples of Property in Land." Crown 8vo. 7s. ed. %* This worlc includes chapters on the Representative System, Nationality, Federations, Local Government, Party Government, &c. PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE IN THEIR DAY. To wit ; Bernard de Mandeville, Daniel Bartoli, Ch'istopher Smart, George Bubb Dodington, Francis Furini, Gerard ne Lairesse, and Charles Avison. lutroduced by a Dialogue bdtween ApoUo and tlie Fates. Con- cluded by another Ijetwecn John Fust and his Friends. By Bobekt Browsing. Fep. 8vo, 9a. LIFE OF HENRY FAWCETT. By Leslie Stbphek, Author of " A Histoi-y of English Thought in the Eighteenth Century," '* Hours in a Library,"