A COLLECTION of Cornell University Library PR 5631.A3B87 1887a A collection of letters of Thackeray, 18 3 1924 013 562 768 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013562768 A COLLECTION OF LETTERS OF THACKERAY ' s '. WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY, [Engraved by G. Kruell after the crayun portrait by Samuel Laurence] A COLLECTION OF LETTERS OF THACKERAY 1847-18J5 IVITH PORTRAITS AND REPRODUCTIONS OF LETTERS AND DRAWINGS NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS MDCCCLXXXVII COPYRIGHT, 1886, )887 BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS lAli rights reserved\ PUBLISHERS' NOTE. :i;*^ In arranging the letters for publication, a sim- ple chronological order has been followed, regardless of their relative importance. In some cases the origi- nals 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 vi LETTERS OF THACKERAY. the cordial approval and thanks of Mrs..Brookfield, to give them this aid. The publishers are permitted to make public the following letter from Mrs. Ritchie to Mrs. Brookfield : 36a Rosary Gardens, Hereford Square, S. W. April 28. My Dear Mrs. Brookfield : I am very glad to hear that you have made a satisfactory arrangement for publishing your selections from my Father's letters. I am of course unable myself by his expressed wish to do anything of the sort. While I am glad to be spared the doubts and difficulties of such a work, I have often felt sorry to think that no one should ever know more of him. You know better than anyone what we should like said or unsaid, and what he would have wished ; so that I am very glad to think you have undertaken the work, and am always your affectionate Anne Ritchie. 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 Laurence. 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," 9 Passage from a letter from Brussels, with drawing, " The Broken Knife," 10 From the same letter, with drawing, " The Slashers," . 12 Drawing by Thackeray in water color and pencil (Mrs. Brookfield), 18 Clevedon- Court (from a recent photograph), . ... 28 Passage from a letter to Mr. Brookfield, with drawing, "Harry Hallam with Dog and Gun," . ... 29 vu PAGE 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 by 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), 54 In the Nursery at 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 Stanza from the original manuscript of Clough'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 clergvman's wife, iio vm " The Lady of the House," a drawing by Thackeray (perhaps Lady Castlereagh ? ) , 114 The Statuette of Thackeray by foseph Edgar Boehm, R.A., 118 Memorial Tablets to Arthur and Henry Hallam in Clevedon Church (from a photograph), 1 30 Sketch by Thackeray, 138 Facsimile of a letter to Mrs. Elliot, now in the possession of her sistsr. 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), 1^8 Vignette— Profile of the Boehm Statuette, . . . .1^6 Portrait of Thackeray (from a drawing by Samuel Laurence), . iy8 Vignette — Drawing sent to Miss Kate Perry, .... 18 j INTRODUCTION. NO writer of recent times is so much quoted as Thackeray ; scarcely a week passes without his name recurring 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 re- tiring. 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 injunction sacred, even to the extent of withholding all his letters 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 2 INTRODUCTION. without the true key for distinguishing what was genu- ine 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, ^^<^ continuing during many years of intimate friendship, beginning from the time when he first lived in London, and when he especially needed our sym- pathy. 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 husband 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 com- munications of a more private character ; 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 Carlyle Square, Chelsea. LETTERS. [>«. 1847.] [To Mr. Brookfield.'] 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 yuice 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'Abb^: 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 ^ votre ancien logement (oh I'adresse de I'horrible bouge oil vous demeurez actuelle- ment est heureusement ignoree) — force fut a M. Crowe de s'adresser ^ 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 enfin mon devoir envers M. Crowe en vous faisant savoir ses intentions hospitalieres ^ votre egard. Et je vous quitte. Monsieur, en vous donnant les assurances reiterees de ma haute consideration. Chevalier de Titmarsh. J'offre ^ 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.] \_Enolosing 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 iirm 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 Frlre affectionnd. W. M. T. [1847-] \To Mr. Brookfield.l 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 l^wt \kmXu. Ium LJy P'^ JU;ou. SufMt. :/ 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. 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 - v 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 Dickens, and well-known writer. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. II signs, lior vice-versa. I heard of the father and son in the other regiment in garrison at Canterbury, the Slashers if you pleasie, 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 Ijttle thing isn't it ? " the great Jacobs said, " I brought it over frpm Paris." They go to his entertainment 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 2 1 st 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- ers, 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 charmipg, harmonious, powerful com- 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- loU^ U^ <, "«*■' •^^'^ ^**'*** ^*^ "^ 4u«(u^ 4>l '*^*^ <2.«UiU]n<4. ti tiul Uiivi^ui.. . unn. JpiujJi. ^km*^ [clLntft w«-. 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 " mats, mon 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 mignonne 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 I will go and breakfast at a Cafe with lots of newspapers, and gargons 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 Poste Restante at Spa. I am going to-day to the Hdtel de la Terrasse, where Becky used to live, and shall pass by Captain Osborn's lodg- ings, where I recollect meeting him and his little wife — who has married again somebody told me ; — but it is always the way LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 1 5 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 read 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 I return to England, of the landlord of the H6tel 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 Hdtel des Pays Bas, was to survey the town and partake of a glass of water at the Pouhon wellj 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 dhSte with perfect affability, just like an ordinary person ; an ordinary person at the table d'hdte, 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 aftfer 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, 4;hat 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 infei-ior buildings and the vast plains, and hills be- yond, topped in many places with pine woods, and covered with 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 1 8 LETTERS 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 bla,ck 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 felicita (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 :■/ t,S;J-i,i! 1 Wi ( i [Drawing by Thackeray in water-colour and pencil (Mrs. Brookfield).] LETTERS OF THACKERAY. IQ 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 wish 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 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 to have taken place since the above was written. A gentleman enters, as if from horse- back, into the room. No. 32 of the Hotel des Pays Bas, look- ing on to the fountain in 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 purple 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 have 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 me 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 mari) 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, especially 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 write 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 f good ? God bless you, my dear Brookfield, and believe that I am always affectionately yours, W. M. T. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 23 [1848.] My dear Mrs. Brookfield : Now that it is over and irremediable I am thinking with a sort of horror of a bad joke ii) 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, rfiy 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, when 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 tHed 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. Jck habe auck viel geliebt. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 25 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 io an invitation to dinner, a few days later. 1 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. 27 1848. \To Mr. Brookfield.'\ 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 honje 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 your letter. Good bye dear Mrs, Brookfield, al- ways yours, W. M. T. 28 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Lhomme propose. Since this was wrote the author went to the railroad, found that he arrived a minute too late, and that there were no trains for \\ hours. So I came back into town and saw the publishers, who begged and implored me so, not to go out pleasuring, &c., that I am 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 impossi- * Clevedon Court, Somersetshire, often referred to in these letters, and ah'eady mentioned in the note p. 7, the home of Sir Charles Elton, Mrs. Brookfield's father. Clevedon Court dates from the reign of Edward II. (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 \MmsA AMt. rttt^^^ ll,^ — Adelaide Procter, an uncommonly nice, dear, good girl. Old Dilke of the Athen^um, 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 vAs\i 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. 30 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. an article. After I saw you on Sunday I did actually come back straight, on the omnibus. I have befen 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 this 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 renomme 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 November, 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 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, andl 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, and 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. .^kXCktU . Iluil {tMA \»A*\ I'lMM tlui^fcMul two dozen I should think, who sing quite ravishingly. It is a sort of perfection of sensuous gratification ; children's voices charm me so, that they set all my sensibilities into a quiver ; do they you ? I am sure they do. These pretty brats with sweet innocent voices and white robes, sing quite celestially ; — no, not celestially, for I don't believe it is devotion at all, but a high delight out of which one comes, not impurified I hope, but with a thankful pleased gentle frame of mind. I suppose I have a great faculty of enjoyment. At Clevedon I had gratification in looking at trees, landscapes, effects of shine and shadow &c., which made that dear old Inspector who walked with me, wonder. Well there can be no harm in this I am sure. What a shame it is to go on bragging about what is after all sheer roaring good health for the most part ; and now J am going to breakfast. Good bye. I have been lionising the town ever since, and am come home quite tired. I have breakfasted here, lunched at Christ Church, seen Mer- ton, and All Souls with Norman Macdonald, where there is a beautiful library and a boar's head in the kitchen, over which it was good to see Norman's eyes gloating ; and it being All Saints' day, I am going to chapel here, where they have also a very good music I am told. Are you better ma'am ? I hope you are. On Friday I hope to have the pleasure to see you, and am till then, and even till Saturday, Yours, W. M. T. [29M Nov : 1848.] My dear Lady : I am very much pained and shocked at the news brought at dinner to-day that poor dear Charles Duller is gone. Good God ! think about the poor mother surviving, and what 3 34 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. an anguish that must be ! If I were to die I cannot bear to think of my mother Hving beyond me, as I daresay she will. But isn't it an awful, awful, sudden summons? There go wit, fame, friendship, ambition, high repute ! Ah ! aimons nous Men. It seems to me that is the only thing we can carry away. When we go, let us have some who love us wherever we are. I send you this little line as I tell you and William most things. Good night. Tuesday. [Nov. 1848.] Good night my dear Madam. Since I came home from dining with Mr. Morier, I have been writing a letter to Mr. T. Carlyle and thinking about other things as well as the letter all the time ; and I have read over a letter I received to-day which apologizes for everything and whereof the tremulous author ceaselessly doubts and misgives.^ Who knows whether she is not con- verted by Joseph Bullar by this time. She is a sister of mine, and her name is God bless her. Wednesday. I was at work until seven o'clock ; not to very much purpose, but executing with great labour and hardship the days work. Then I went to dine with Dr. Hall, the crack doctor here, a literate man, a traveller, and otherwise a kind bigwig. After dinner we went to hear Mr. Sortain lecture, of whom you may perhaps have heard me speak, as a great, remarkable orator and preacher of the Lady Huntingdon Connexion. (The paper is so greasy that I am forced to try several pens and manners of hand- writing, but none will do.) We had a fine lecture with brilliant Irish metaphors and outbursts of rhetoric ad- dressed to an assembly of mechanics, shopboys and young women, who could not, and perhaps had best not, under- LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 35 Stand that flashy speaker. It was about the origin of na- tions he spoke, one of those big themes on which a man may talk eternally and with a never ending outpouring of words ; and he talked magnificently, about the Arabs for the most part, and tried to prove that because the Arabs acknowledged their descent from Ishmael or Esau, there- fore the Old Testament History was true. But the Arabs may have had Esau for a father and yet the bears may not have eaten up the little children for quizzing Elisha's bald head. As I was writing to Carlyle last night, (I haven't sent the letter as usual, and shall not most likely,) Saint Stephen was pelted to death by Old Testaments, and Our Lord was killed like a felon by the law, which He came to repeal. I was thinking about Joseph BuUar's doctrine after I went to bed, founded on what I cannot but think a blasphemous as- ceticism, which has obtained in the world ever so long, and which is disposed to curse, hate and undervalue the world altogether. Why should we ? What we see here of this world is but an expression of God's will, so to speak — a beau- tiful earth and sky and sea — beautiful affections and sorrows, wonderful changes and developments of creation, suns rising, stars shining, birds singing, clouds and shadows changing and fading, people loving each other, smiling and crying, the multiplied phenomena of Nature, multiplied in fact and fancy, in Art and Science, in every way that a man's intellect or ed- ucation or imagination can be brought to bear. — And who is to say that we are to ignore all this, or not value them and love them, because there is another unknown world yet to come ? Why that unknown future world is but a manifesta- tion of God Almighty's will, and a development of Nature, neither more nor less than this in which we are, and an angel glorified or a sparrow on a gutter are equally parts of His creation. The light upon all the saints in Heaven is just as much and no more God's work, as the sun which shall 36 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. shine to-morrow upon this infinitesimal speck of creation, and under which I shall read, please God, a letter from my kindest Lady and friend. About my future state I don't know ; I leave it in the disposal of the awful Father, — but for to-day I thank God that I can love you, and that you yonder and others besides are thinking of me with a tender regard. Hallelujah may be greater in degree than this, but not in kind, and countless ages of stars may be blazing infinitely, but you and I have a right to rejoice and believe in our little part and to trust in to-day as in tomorrow. God bless my dear lady and her husband. I hope you are asleep now, and I must go too, for the candles are just winking out. Thursday. I am glad to see among the new inspectors, in the Gazette in this morning's papers, my old acquaintance Longueville Jones, an excellent, worthy, lively, accomplished fellow, whom I like the better because he flung up his fellow and tutorship at Cambridge in order to marry on nothing a year. We worked in Galignani's newspaper for ten francs a day, very cheerfully ten years ago, since when he has been a schoolmaster, taken pupils or bid for them, and battled man- fully with fortune. William will be sure to like him, I think, he is so honest, and cheerful. I have sent off my letter to Lady Ashburton this morning, ending with some pretty phrases about poor old C. B. whose fate affects me very much, so much that I feel as if I were making my will and getting ready to march too. Well ma'am, I have as good a right to pre- sentiments as you have, and to sickly fancies and desponden- cies ; but I should like to see before I die, and think of it daily more and more, the commencement of Jesus Christ's christianism in the world, where I am sure people may be made a hundred times happier than by its present forms, Ju- daism, asceticism, Bullarism. I wonder will He come again and tell it us. We are taught to be ashamed of our best feel- ings all our life. I don't want to blubber upon everybody's LETTERS OF THACKERAY. ^ shoulders ; but to have a good will for all, and a strong, very strong regard for a few, which I shall not be ashamed to own to them. . . . It is near upon three o'clock, and I am getting rather anxious about the post from Southampton via London. Why, if it doesn't come in, you won't get any letter to-morrow, no, nothing — and I made so sure. Well, I will try and go to work, it is only one more little drop. God bless you, dear lady. . . . . Friday. I have had a good morning's work and at two o'clock comes your letter; dear friend, thank you. What a coward I was, I will go and walk and be happy for an hour, it is a grand frosty sunshine. Tomorrow morning early back to London. 31 January, 1849 Ship, Dover. Just before going away. How long is it since I have written to you in my natural handwriting ? . . . I am so far on my way to Paris, Meu- rice's Hotel, Rue de Rivoli. ... I had made up my mind to this great, I may say decisive step, when I came to see you on Saturday, before you went to Hither Green. I didn't go to the Sterling, as it was my last day, and due nat- urally to the family. We went to bed at half past nine o'clock. To-day I went round on a circuit of visits, including Turpin at your house. It seems as if I was going on an ever so long journey. Have you any presentiments ? I know some peo- ple who have. Thank you for your note of this morning, and my dear old William for his regard for me ; try you and con- serve the same. . . . There is a beautiful night, and I am going by Calais. Here, with a step on the steaming vessel, I am, affectionately yours, W. M. T. 38 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Meurice's Hotel, Rivoli Street, Paris. \Feb : 1,849.] - If you please, I am come home very tired and sleepy from the Opera, where my friend Rothschild gave me a place in his box. There was a grand ballet of which I could not under- stand one word, that is one pas, for not a word was spoken ; and I saw some celebrities in the place. The President, M. Lamartine, in a box near a handsome lady ; M. Marrast, in a box near a handsome lady ; there was one with a bouquet of lilies, or some sort of white flowers, so enormous that it looked like a bouquet in a pantomine, which was to turn into some- thing, or out of which a beautiful dancer was to spring. The house was crammed with well-dressed folks, and is sumptuous and splendid beyond measure. But O ! think of old Lamar- tine in a box by a handsome lady. Not any harm in the least, that I know of, only that the most venerable and grizzled bearded statesmen and philosophers find time from their busi- ness and political quandaries, to come and sigh and ogle a lit- tle at the side of ladies in boxes. I am undergoing the quarantine of family dinners with the most angelic patience. Yesterday being the first day, it was an old friend and leg of lamb. I graciously said to the old friend, " Why the deuce wouldn't you let me go and dine at a restaurant, don't you suppose I have leg of lamb at home ? " To-day with an aunt of mine, where we had mock turtle soup, by Heavens ! and I arranged with my other aunt for another dinner. I knew how it would be ; it must be ; and there's my cousin to come off yet, who says, " you must come and dine. I haven't a soul, but will give you a good Indian din- ner." I will make a paper in Punch about.it, and exhale my griefs in print. I will tell you about my cousin when I get home, — when I get to Portman Street that is., . . . What brought me to this place ? Well I am glad I came, it will give LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 39 me a subject for at least six weeks in Punch, of which I was getting so weary that I thought I must have done with it. Are you better for a little country air ? Did you walk in that cheerful paddock where the cows are ? And did you have clothes enough to your bed ? I shall go to mine now, after writing this witty page, for I have been writing and spin- ning about all day, and am very tired and sleepy if you please. Bon Soir, Madame. . . . Saturday. Though there is no use in writing, because there is no post, but ^ue voulez vous, Madame ? On aime ti dire un petit bonjour a ses amis. I feel almost used to the place already and begin to be interested about the politics. Some say there's a revolution ready for today. The town is crammed with soldiers, and one has a curious feeling of inter- est and excitement, as in walking about on ice that is rather dangerous, and may tumble in at any moment, I had three newspapers for my breakfast, which my man,) it is rather grand having a laquais de place, but I can't do without him, and invent all sorts of pretexts to employ him) bought for five pence of your money. The mild papers say we have escaped an immense danger, a formidable plot has been crushed, and Paris would have been on fire and fury but for the timely dis- covery. The Red Republicans say, " Plot ! no such thing, the infernal tyrants at the head of affairs wish to find a pre- text for persecuting patriots, and the good and the brave are shut up in dungeons." Plot or no plot, which is it ? I think I prefer to believe that there has been a direful conspiracy, and that we have escaped a tremendous danger. It makes one feel brave somehow, and as if one had some merit in overthrowing this rascally conspiracy. I am going to the Chamber directly. The secretary at the Embassy got me a ticket. The Embassy is wonderfully civil ; Lord Normanby is my dearest friend, he is going to take me to the President, — very likely to ask me to dinner. You would have thought 40 LETTERS OF, THACKERAY. I was an earl, I was received with so much of empressemeni by the ambassador. I hadn't been in Paris ten minutes, before I met ten people of my acquaintance. ... As for Oh ! it was won- derful. We have not met for five years on account of a cool- ness, — that is a great heat, — resulting out of a dispute in which I was called to be umpire and gave judgment against her and her husband ; but we have met, it is forgotten. . . . Poor soul, she performed beautifully. " What, William, not the least changed, just the same as ever, in spite of all your fame ? " — Fame be hanged, thought I, pardonnez-moi le mot, — "just the same simple creature." O ! what a hypocrite I felt. I like her too ; but she poor, poor soul — well, she did her comedy exceedingly well. I could only say, " My dear, you have grown older," that was the only bit of truth that passed, and she didn't like it. Quand vous serez bien vieille, and I say to you, " my dear you are grown old " (only I shall not say " my dear," but something much more distant and re- spectful), I wonder whether you will like it. Now it is time to go to the Chamber, but it was far pleasanter to sit and chatter with Madame. I have been to see a piece of a piece called the My stores de Londres, since the above, and- most tremendous mysteries they were indeed. It appears that there lived in London, three or four years ago, a young grandee of Spain and count of the Empire, the Marquis of Rio Santo, an Irishman by birth, who in order to free his native country from the intoler- able tyranny of England, imagined to organize an extraor- dinary conspiracy of the rogues and thieves of the metropolis, with whom some of the principal merchants, jewellers and physicians were concerned, who were to undermine and de- stroy somehow the infamous British power. The merchants were to forge and utter bank-notes, the jewellers to sell sham diamonds to the aristocracy, and so ruin them ; the physi- [From a drawing by Thackeray in the possession of Mrs. Brool»jf~ • \-'^ Vf . »ti,y Note from Thackeray (actual size). [To Mr. Brookfield.'] 25 April 1849. My dear Vieux : ' Will ye dine with me on Friday at the G ? My work will be just over on that day, and bedad, we'll make a night of it, > and go to the play. On Thursday I shall dine here and Sun- day most probbly, and shall we go to Richmond on Sunday ? Make your game and send me word. Ever yours, W. M. T. P. S. Having occasion to write to a man in Bloomsbury Place, and to Lady Davy, I mixed up the addresses and am too mean to throw away the envelope, so give you the ben- efit of the same. 52 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. [1849.] Monday. My letter to-day, dear lady, must needs be a very short one, for the post goes in half an hour, and I've been occupied all day with my own business and other people's. At three o'clock, just as I was in full work comes a letter from a pro- tegie of my mother's, a certain Madame de B. informing me that she, Madame de B., had it in view to commit suicide inu mediately, unless she could be in some measure relieved (or releived, which is it?) from her present difficulties. So I> have had to post off to this Madame de B., whom I expected to find starving, and instead met a woman a great deal fatter than the most full-fed person need be, and having just had a good dinner ; but that didn't prevent her, the confounded old fiend, from abusing the woman who fed her and was good to her, from spoiling the half of a day's work for me, and taking me of a fool's errand, I was quite angry, instead of a corpse perhaps, to find a fat and voluble person who had no more idea of hanging herself to the bed-post than you or I have. However, I got a character in making Madame de B's ac- quaintance, and some day she will turn up in that inevitable repertory of all one's thoughts and experiences que vous saves. Thence, as it was near, I went to see a sick poetess, who is pining away for love of S M , that you have heard of, and who literally has been brought near to the grave by that amorous malady. She is very interesting somehow, ghastly pale and thin, recumbent on a sofa, and speaking scarcely above her breath. I wonder though after all, was it the love, or was it the bronchitis, or was it the chest or the spine that was affected ? All I know is that Don Saville may have made love to her once, but has tried his hand in other LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 53 quarters since, and you know one doesn't think the worse of a man of honour for cheating in affairs of the heart. The numbers that I myself have — fiddledee, this is nonsense. The Reform banquet was very splendid and dull enough, A bad dinner and bad wine, and pretty fair speaking ; my friend fat James being among not the least best of the speak- ers. They all speak in a kind of sing-song or chant, without which I suppose it is impossible for the orator nowadays to pitch his sentences, and Madam, you are aware that the Ro- mans had a pipe when they spoke ; not a pipe such as your husband uses, but a pitch-pipe, I wanted to have gone to smoke a last calumet at poor dear old Portman Street, but our speechifiers did not stop till 12,30 and not then ; but the best of them had fired off by that time and I came off. Yes- terday, after devoting the morning to composition, I went and called on the Rev, W, H, Brookfield, whom I found very busy packing up and wishing me at Jericho, so I went to the Miss Leslies' and Captn, Morgan, the American Captain ; and then to dine at Hampstead, where the good natured folks took in me and the two young ones. Finally, in the evening to Lady Tennent's, where I have been most remiss in visit-paying, for I like her, and she was a kind old friend to me. To-day I am goingfto dine with the Dowager Duch- ess of Bedford, afterwards to Mrs, Procter's, afterwards to Lady Granville's, Here you have your humble servant's journal, and you see his time is pretty well occupied, I have had a good deal of the children too, and am getting on apace ' with my number, though I don't like it. Shall I send you some of it? No, I won't, though if I do a very good piece indeed, perhaps I may, I think I shall go to Brighton ; I think you will be away six weeks at least; and I hope to hear that my dear lady is well and that she remembers her affectionate old friend Makepeace, 54 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 1849. \To Mr. Brookfield] My DEAR ViEux : A long walk and stroll in Richmond Park yesterday, a blue followed by a black this morning, have left me calmer, exhausted, but melancholy. I shall dine at the Garrick at seven o'clock or so, and go to the . Lyceum afterwards. --Come into town if you get this in time and let us go. . . . Get David Copperfield, by Jingo it's beautiful ; it beats the yellow chap of this month hollow;. ^ W. M. T. Will you send rne two cigars per bearer ? I am working with three pipe-smoking Frenchmen, and I can't smoke their abominations, and I hope Madame is pretty well after her triumphant dibut last night. [1849] Reform Club, Tuesday — My dear Lady : I write only a word and in the greatest hurry to say I am very well in health. I've been at work, and have written somewhat and done my two plates, which only took two hours ; and now that they're done, I feel that I want so to come back to Ryde, I must get a rope or a chain to bind my- self down to my desk here.* All the world is out of town — Mrs. Procter not at home, perhaps to my visit, — dear kind * Mr. Thackeray had been spending a few days at Ryde with my brother and his wife, where I was staying. fe^ SKETCH OF MRS. BROOKFIELD. [From a collection of Thackeray's drawings privately printed foi Sir Arthur Elton.] LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 55 Kate Perry whom indeed I like with all my heart just pack- ing up to go to Brighton. My Chesterfield loves flown away to Tunbridge Wells, and so I am alone and miss you. I sent your package off to Harry this morning. The lucky rogue ! I suppose he will see Madam and all those kind Ryde folks. Tell them if you please how very grateful I am to them for their goodnature. I can't help fancying them relations rather than friends. I got some dinner ; at \o\ o'clock I drank to the health of Madame Ma bonne soeur ; — I hadn't the courage to go home till past midnight, when all the servants got out of bed to let me in. There was such a heap of letters ! I send you a couple which may amuse you. Send me Colonel Fergu- son's back, as I must answer him ; but I don't think I shall be able to get away in August to Scotland. Who can the excoriated female be who imparts her anguish to me ? what raw wound has the whip of the satirist been touching ? As I was sitting with my Frenchmen at 3 o'clock, I thought to myself O Lor ! Mr. Makepeace, how much better you were off yesterday ! Good bye dear lady, God bless every kind person of all those who love you. — I feel here, you must know, just as I used five and twenty years ago at school, the day after com- ing back from the hoHdays. If you have nothing to say to me, pray write ; if you have something, of course you will. Good bye, shake hands, I am always my dear lady's sincere W. M. T. 56 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. [1849] Last night was a dinner at Spencer Cowper's, the man who- used to be ..callgd— t he fortunate youth some few years back, when ;^io,ooo, or perhaps ^^20,000 a year,- was sud- denly left him by a distant relative, and when he was without a guinea in the world. It was a Sybaritic repast, in a mag- nificent apartment, and we were all of us young voluptuaries of fashion. There were portraits of Louis Quatorze ladies round the room (I was going to say salle a manger, but room after all is as good a word).. We sat in the comfortablest arm chairs, and valets went round every instant filling our glasses with the most exquisite liquors. The glasses were as big as at Kinglake's dinner — do you remember Kinglake's feast. Ma'am ? Then we adjourned into wadded drawing rooms, all over sofas and lighted with a hundred candles, where smoking was practised, and we enjoyed a pleasant and lively conversation, carried on in the 2 languages of which we young dogs are perfect masters. As I came away at mid- night I saw C.'s carriage lamps blazing in the courtyard, keep- ing watch until the fortunate youth should come out to pay a visit to some Becky no doubt. The young men were clever, very frank and gentlemenlike ; one, rather well-read ; quite as pleasant companions as one deserves to meet, and as for your hunible servant, he saw a chapter or two of Pendennis in some of them. I am going with M. to-day, to see Alexis the sonnambu- list. She came yesterday evening and talked to me for two hours before dinner. I astonished her by finding out her secrets by some of those hits que vous savez — Look, here is a bit of paper with a note to her actually commenced in reply to my dearest William, — but I couldn't get out my dearest M. in return, and stopped at " My " — . But I like her better LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 57 than I did, — and begin to make allowances for a woman of great talents married to a stupid, generous, obstinate, devoted heavy dragoon, thirty years her senior. My dear old mother with her imperial manner tried to take the command of both of them, and was always anxious to make them understand that I was the divinest creature in the world, whose shoe- strings neither of them was fit to tie. Hence bickerings, ha- treds, secret jealousies and open revolt, and I can fancy them both worked up to a pitch of hatred of me, that my success in life must have rendered only more bitter. But about Alexis — this wonder of wonders reads letters and tells you their contents and the names of their authors without even thinking of opening the seal ; and I want you very much, if you please, and instantly on receipt of this to send me a bit of your hair that I may have a consultation on it. Mind you, I don't want it for myself; I pledge you my word I'll burn it, or give you back every single hair. . . . but do if you please, mum, gratify my curiosity in this matter and consult the soothsayer regarding you. M. showed him letters, and vows he is right in every particular. And as I sha'n't be very long here I propose by return of post, for this favour. Are you going to dine at Lansdowne House on Saturday ? The post is come in and brought me an invitation, and a let- ter from my Ma, and my daughters, but none from my sister. Are you ill again, dear lady ? Don't be ill, God bless you — good bye. I shall write again if you please, but I sha'n't be long before I come. Don't be ill, I am afraid you are. You hav'n't been to Kensington. My love to Mr. Williams, fare- well, and write tomorrow. 58 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 1849. \To Mr. Brookfield'] My dear Vieux: If you come home in any decent time I wish you would go off to poor Mrs. Crowe at Hampstead.* A letter has just come, from Eugenie, who describes the poor lady as low, wretched, and hysterical — she may drop. Now a word or two of kindness from a black coat might make all the differ- ence to her, and who so able to administer as your reverence ? I am going out myself to laugh, talk and to the best of my ability, soothe and cheer her; but the professional man is the best, depend upon it, and I wish you would stretch a point in order to see her. Yours till this evening. [1849] \To Mr. Brookfield] My dear Vieux : I wish you would go and call upon Lady Ashburton. Twice Ashburton has told me that she wants to make your acquaintance, and twice remarked that it would be but an act of politeness in you to call on a lady in distress, who wants your services. Both times I have said that you are uncom- monly proud and shy, and last night told him he had best call on you, which he said he should hasten to do. But surely you might stretch a leg over the barrier when there's a lady actually beckoning to you to come over, and such an uncom- * Mrs. Crowe, mother of Eyre Crowe, the well-known artist, who went with Mr. Thackeray to America on his first tour there, aAd who was always one of his most faithful friends. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 59 monly good dinner laid on the other side. There was a va- cant place yesterday, as you might have had, and such a company of jolly dogs, St. Davids, Hallam sen'r and ever so many more of our set. Do come if you can, and believe me to be yours, '^ A, Pendennis, Major H.P.^ To the Rev. JV. H. Brookfield. Monday. My dear Vieux : A. Sterling * dines with me at the Garrick at seven on Friday ; I hope you will come too. And on Friday the 21st. June, Mr. Thackeray requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Brookfield's and Mr. Henry Hallam's company at dinner at 7.30 to meet Sir Alexander and Lady Duff Gordon, Sir Henry and Lady De Bathe &c. &c. I" hope' you will both come to this, please ; you ought to acknowledge the kind- ness of the key,t and those kind Gordons will like to see you. About 1849. My dear lady: A note comes asking me to dine tomorrow with Mr. Ben- edict,% close by you at No. 2 Manchester Square, to meet, Mdme Jenny Lind. I reply that a lady is coming to dine with my mother, whom I must of course meet, but that I hope Mrs. B. will allow me to come to her in the e^yening with my mamma and this lady under each arm, and I promise they will * a. sterling, brother to John Sterling of whom Carlyle wrote the life. + The key of the Portman Square Garden which was kindly lent to me. X Mr. Benedict, the late lamented and kindly musician, Sir Julius Benedict. 6o LETTERS OF THACKERAY. look and behave well. Now suppose Mrs, S. and I were to come and dine with you, or my mother alone, if you liked to have her better ; yes, that would be best, and I could come at nine o'clock and accompany you to the Swedish nightin- gale. I am as usual Your obedient servant Clarence Bulbul. [1849] My dear jlady : It was begun, "dear Sir," to somebody of the other sex. I think it is just possible, that Mr. William on returning to- day, may like to have his wife to himself, and that the ap- pearance of my eternal countenance might be a bore, hence I stay away. . . . And about tomorrow, the birthday of my now motherless daughter. Miss Annie. Will you come out, — being as I must consider you, if you please, the children's aunt, — at two, or three o'clk, or so, and take innocent pleasures with them, such as the Coliseum and the Zoological Gardens ? and are you free so as to give them some dinner or tea in the even- ing ? I dine out myself at 8 o'clock, and should like them to share innocent pleasures with their relation. My mother writes from Fareham that the old great aunt is better, and will not depart probably yet awhile. And now concerning Monday. You two must please re- member that you are engaged to this house at seven. I have written to remind the Scotts, to ask the Pollocks, and the Carlyles are coming. And now with regard to this evening, I dine in West- bourne Terrace, then I must go to Marshall's in Eaton Square LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 6 1 and then to Mrs. Sartoris, where I don't expect to see you ; but if a gentleman of the name of W. H. B. should have a mind to come, we might &c. &:c. Madam, I hope you have had a pleasant walk on Clap- ham's breezy common, and that you are pretty well. I myself was very quiet, went with the children to Hampstead, and then to the Opera, and only one party. I am writing at the Reform Club, until four o'clock, when I have an engagement with O ! such a charming person, and tite-k-tite too. Well, it's with the dentist's arm chair, but I should like to have the above queries satisfactorily answered, and am always Ma- dam's W. M. T. 13 July 1849 From Brighton. Now for to go to begin that long letter which I have a right to send you, after keeping silence, or the next thing to silence, for a whole week. As I have nothing to tell about, it is the more likely to be longer and funnier — no, not funnier, for I believe I am generally most funny when I am most melancholy, — and who can be melancholy with such air, ocean and sunshine ? not if I were going to be hanged tomorrow could I afford to be anything but ex- ceedingly lazy, hungry and comfortable. Why is a day's Brighton the best of doctors ? I don't mean this for a riddle, but I got up hungry, and have been yawning in the sun like a fat lazzarone, with great happiness all day. I have got a. window with a magnificent prospect, a fresh sea breeze blow- ing in, such a blue sea yonder as can scarcely be beat by the Na,ples or the Mediterranean blue ; and have passed the main part of the morning reading O ! such a stupid book„ 62 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Fanny Hervey, the new intime novel of the season, as good as Miss Austen's people say. In two hours I am engaged to dinner in London. Well, I have broken with that place thank Heaven, for a little, and shall only go back to do my plates and to come away. Whither to go ? I have a fancy that Ryde in the Isle of Wight would be as nice a place as any for idling, for sketching, for dawdling, and getting health ; but the Rev. Mr. Brookfield must determine this for me, and I look to see him here in a day or two. . . . I wish they had called me sooner to dinner; there's only one man staying at this house, and he asked me at breakfast in a piteous tone, to let him dine with me. If we were two, he said, the rules of the club would allow us a joint, — as if this luxury would tempt the voluptuary who pens these lines. He has come down here suffering from indiges- tion, and with a fatal dying look, which I have seen in one or two people before ; he rushed wildly upon the joint and devoured it with famished eagerness. He said he had been curate of St. James, Westminster, — whereupon I asked if he knew my friend Brookfield. "My successor," says he, "a very able man, very good fellow, married a very nice woman." Upon my word he said all this, and of course it was not my business to contradict him. He said, no, he didn't say, but the waiter said, without my asking, that his name was Mr. Palmer ; and then he asked if Brookfield had any children, so I said I believed not, and began to ask about his own chil- dren. How queer it seemed to be talking in this way, and what 2|d incidents to tell ; but there are no others ; nobody is here. The paper this morning announced the death of dear old Horace Smith,* that good serene old man, who went out of the world in charity with all in it, and having "Horace Smith and his brother were the authors of "Rejected Addresses." The two Miss Horace Smiths are still living at Brighton, where Mr. Thackeray speaks of meeting them after his illness. Their society is still much sought after. y^^^f IN THE NURSCRY AT CLGVEDON COURT [From the Clevudon Drawings] LETTERS OF THACKERAY. ^Z shown through his life, as far as I knew it, quite a delightful love of God's works and creatures, — a true, loyal. Christian man. So was Morier, of a different order, but possessing that precious natural quality of love, which is awarded to some lucky minds such as these, Charles Lambs, and one or two more in our trade ; to many amongst the parsons I think ; to a friend of yours by the name of Makepeace, per- haps, but not unalloyed to this one, O ! God purify it, and make my heart clean. After dinner and a drive on the sea shore, I came home to an evening's reading which took place as follows — *«**• ' '■' ^tii. fuM^ ♦!■ . tfwtt \uuJkc u*t\ [ujnTttdAu. ^ •4j|C<. i**iMu. opAa, Inrvliifdf f? I V -I^PJ^Ji/ifc' \^im ^*^ *''^ '**'^ ***^ iiiMf . I W a, Um^ b j\Xtya^,^M^ 4M v<^^ <* M)ft, I jIuJl itruJbC x 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 has neither the advantage 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 them 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. 5 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, I 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. Sheil, 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. 67 Fragment. [1849.J 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 of 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 things. 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. 68 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. . . . SHave 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 3 in-r*"' i-- LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 69 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 jfune 1849.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. ■JO 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. J I 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- where, 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 mirobolantej_^&_mQ^;_^x=~- 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, .^■■^Li i "^^vv^-^^ -' _^)V-^4.^J-<> >- ^A ^f .vvij= O u JJ ' 3 u y ! 5-3 Si LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 73 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 Pehdennis 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. — Oh ! Becky is 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 dmerveilU 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 ^6 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. knew more. I had the Revue des 2 mondes and the Jour- nal des Dibats to dinner ; and what do you think by way of a delicate attention the ^^i?/" 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, oghng 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- ridtds, 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 ihat 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, chfere soeur, si douce et 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 ? Some day 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. ^ii^UU <^ ft«- -'uiiu ^ ttu. f'e^J Wti^ttc ttrUAg, ■ lu, Lett Um, t*fr^ n.aJU, Uwttu^ ool tu/tti 4- yt^Ut^i. Lit fil !"«.' (^ (lu |/l(»ij I t*** c4r ( A4M (a iia a^I <^ UfzJlua "liuf iv4«| Uit* ua^ LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 95 Fragment. [ Christmas, 1 849] I stop in the middle of Costigan with a remark applied to readers of Thomas ^ Kempis and others, which is, I think, that cushion-thumpers and High and Low Church extatics, have often carried what they call their love for A to what seems impertinence to me. How good my has been to me in sending me a back ache, — how good in taking it away, how blessed the spiritual gift which enabled me to receive the sermon this morning, — how trying my dryness at this after- noon's discourse, &c. I say it is awful and blasphemous to be calling upon Heaven to interfere about the thousand trivi- alities of a man's life, that has ordered me something indigestible for dinner, (which may account for my dryness in the afternoon's discourse) ; to say that it is Providence that sends a draught of air upon me which gives me a cold in the head, or superintends personally the action of the James' powder which makes me well. Bow down, Confess, Adore, Admire, and Reverence infinitely. Make your act of faith and trust. Acknowledge with constant awe the idea of the infinite Presence over all. — But what impudence it is in us, to talk about loving God enough, if I may so speak. Wretched little blindlings, what do we know about Him ? Who says that we are -to sacrifice the human affections as disrespectful to God ? The liars, the wretched canting fakirs of Christian- ism, the convent and conventicle dervishes, — they are only less unreasonable now than the Eremites and holy women who whipped and starved themselves, never washed, and en- couraged vermin for the glory of God. Washing is allowed now, and bodily filth and pain not always enjoined ; but still they say, shut your ears and don't hear music, close your 96 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. eyes and don't see nature and beauty, steel your hearts and be ashamed of your love for your neighbour ; and timid fond souls scared by their curses, and bending before their unend- ing arrogance and dulness, consent to be miserable, and bare their soft shoulders for the brutes' stripes, according to the nature of women. You dear Suttees, you get ready and glo- rify in being martyrized. Nature, truth, love, protest day after day in your tender hearts against the stupid remorseless tyranny which bullies you. Why you dear creature, what a history that is in the Thomas a Kempis book ! The scheme of that book carried out would make the world the most wretched, useless, dreary, doting place of sojourn — there would be no manhood, no love, no tender ties of mother and child, no use of intellect, no trade or science, a set of selfish beings crawling about avoiding one another and howling a perpetual miserere. We know that deductions like this have bpen drawn from the teaching of J. C, but please God the world is preparing to throw them over, and I won't believe them though they are written in ever so many books, any more than that the sky is green or the grass red. Those brutes made the grass red many a time, fancying they were acting rightly, amongst others with the blood of the person who was born today. Good-bye my dear lady and my dear old William. LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 97 Fragment. [1850] I was too tired to talk to Madam when I sent away the packet of MS to-day. I'm not much better now, only using her as pastime at a club half an hour before dinner. That's the way we use women. Well, I was rather pleased with the manuscript I sent you to-day, it seems to me to be good comedy, my mother would have acted in just such a way if I had run away with a naughty woman, that is I hope she would, though perhaps she is prouder than I am myself. I read over the first part of Pendennis to-day, all the Emily Costigan part, and liked it, I am glad to say ; but I am shocked to think that I had forgotten it, and read it almost as a new book. I remembered allusions which called back recollections of particular states of mind. The first part of that book was written after Clevedon in 1848 What a wholesome thing fierce mental occupation is ! Better than dissipation to take thoughts out of one ; only one can't always fix the mind down and other thoughts will bother it. Yesterday I sat for six hours and could do no work ; I wasn't sentimentalizing but I couldn't get the pen to go, and at four, rode out into the country and saw, whom do you think ? O ! lache, coward, sneak, and traitor, that pretty Mrs. M. I wrote you about. The night before in the same way, restless and wandering aventurier (admire my constant use of French terms), I went to Mrs. Prinsep's and saw Vir- ginia, then to Miss Berrys' and talked to Lord Lansdowne who was very jolly and kind. Then to Lady Ashburton, where were Jocelyns just come back from Paris, my lady in the prettiest wreath. — We talked 7 98 ' LETTERS OF THACKERAY. about the Gorham controversy, I think, and when the Joce- lyns were gone about John Mill's noble Article in the West- minster Review ', an article which you mustn't read, because it will shock your dear convictions, but wherein, as it seems to me, a great soul speaks great truths ; it is time to begin speaking truth I think. Lady Ashburton says not. Our Lord spoke it and was killed for it, and Stephen, and Paul, who slew Stephen. We shuffle and compromise and have Gorham controversies and say, "let things go on smoothly," and Jock Campbell writes to the Mother-Superior, and Mil- man makes elegant after-dinner speeches at the Mansion House — humbugs all ! I am becoming very stupid and rabid, dinner-time is come ; such a good dinner, truth be hangdd ! Let us go to Portland Place. {July, 1850] My dear Lady : I have had a bad week and a most cruel time of it this month ; my groans were heart-rending, my sufferings im- mense ; I thought No. XIX would never be born alive ; — It is, but stupid, ricketty, and of feeble intellect, I fear. Isn't that a pretty obstetrical metaphor ? Well, I suppose I couldn't get on because I hadn't you to come and grumble to. You see habit does' so much, and though there is Blanche Stanley to be sure, yet shall I tell you, — I will though perhaps you won't believe it— I haven't been there for a month. And what a singular thing it is about my dear friend Miss F. — that I never spoke to her but once in my life when I think the weather was our subject — and as for telling her that I had drawn Amelia from anybody of our acquaintance I should have as soon thought of — of what ? I have been laboriously cross- ing all my t's, see, and thinking of a simile. But it's good fun LETTERS OF THACKERAY. 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 /or 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! 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 park 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. lOI 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 with 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. 1 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. IO3 away by myself. As I rode home by the Elliot's I longed to go in and tell them 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 think 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 Avheat-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' I04 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. son, thundering along with the great horses, at ten miles an hour. The little '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 Hattie El- liot, and Lady Somebody, — and then I went to Miss Berrys' — Kinglake, Phillips, Lady Stuart de Rothesay, Lady Water- ford's mother. Colonel Darner. 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.] 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 H6tel Bristolj 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? I06 LETTERS OF THACKERAY. Wouldn't you be disgusted to have a letter 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 employed to buy pens in the neighbourhood, and having paid he said three francs 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 Paris 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 seems 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 ! don't neglect me in this rude way. I am very beautiful, I am indeed. I have many hidden charms and qualities which you LETTERS OF THACKERAY. lOj 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 hidden charms of the statue, but passed on and yawned over the next article in the Catalogue. There is a moral 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 grand ball, and promised to take me to a soiree at Monsieur Duchatel's. I went there after dining at home. Splendid hotel in the Faubourg 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- vitation. Everybody was there, Thiers, Mole, 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 diniinish 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. IO9 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 beeii 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 is 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 hei-e very soon, but I shall be across the water 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 in 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 egotistical a strain, that it was best burnt. I burnt another yesterday, written to Lady Ashburton, because it was 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, and 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 rw \l.^ H i^^^ <\tn^t tl U^ 1^ *W^ «U<.^ U^ ,^. I <:«« «4>-i»JU^ «i^ '^AfcC tj««. djMvu Uuce- Itt U^ci»M 1(^1^ l^-u^a ^ ^^;ta^ Jc-v^aL UxtJu^ iuHu |MXf^/^^''^-J il»^l*ull. tiKt (tH((.^ /l(^(( t((/((. -jtV