TO MR. FRANK Wilson.
Windsor,
18th January.
...Last week we were in London, which was the cause of failure in writing then, where we have spent a week. It is the time of theatres, as you know, and we went at that branch of pleasuring systematically, going to four plays, one the most idiotic performance I ever saw, the latter part being a burlesque of Faust intended to be funny, at which we all assisted with solemn countenances. I never was more ashamed of myself than I was of spending several hours of time and a good deal of money upon such miserable conventional fooling. The other plays were better; one a posthumous production of Lord Lytton’s, very high-flown and magnificent. It was, however, played to an empty house, which was very dismal, and made one very compassionate of the actors. (It is an odd proceeding on my part to plunge into plays at once, before I tell you anything else!) Our stay in town, however, was distinguished this time by a perfectly novel feature. I told you of an old Mrs. Stewart, a wonderful old lady of seventy-four, who has twice paid us a visit here. We got lodgings through her means close to her house, and she had a succession of luncheon-parties for my gratification and exhibition. The lionising process, you know, is not one that I encourage. I saw, however, a good many people, and I suppose even where there is the least possible enjoyment in it that is more or less an advantage....
Dr. Bridge gave us a rather peculiar performance at the Abbey one of the evenings we were in town. We dined with him at his quaint little house in the cloisters, and after dinner went into the choir, while he played to us. The Abbey was all dark except the light in the organ-loft and a solitary lantern, and the effect was very fine. He played an old “Ave Maria,” evidently intended for a Litany with responses, and made great use of the stop which is called the vox humana. It was most dramatic and picturesque, the organ sounding exactly like the singing of monks far off in an unseen chapel. He took us afterwards about the church with a lantern; and to look down from a high chantry, down the long nave, with only the light from the organ-loft in the centre to show it, was very wonderful.
Now we are back again at home, to my great satisfaction. I know nothing more fatiguing than what is called pleasure, and longed for my work.
To Mr. Blackwood.
Windsor,
27th January.
...I think the Principal’s little book admirable. The Goethe is very good, but I have taken the liberty to ask Mr. Hayward (with trembling) to remember that we address a public which is not expected to understand allusions, but must have everything explained to it. He sent me, the other day, that potent, grave, and reverend signior, a little volume of society verses, the lightest of airy trifles, compliments, and gallantries. It took away my breath.
I should like very much to have ‘Marmorne,’ please. Mr. Pigott, the licenser of plays, was speaking to me about it the other day with the greatest enthusiasm. He says he has not seen anything so pretty for a long time, and asked me anxiously who was the author. I promised to ask you, though I told him I did not hope to get any information from you!
To Mr. W. Blackwood.
Windsor,
14th April.
...I hope to be able to get the ‘Moliere’ done, but I am at present kept back from everything and kept in great anxiety by the illness of Cecco, who has got gastric fever, and who fully occupies all my time and thoughts. It is not as yet a very severe case, the doctor assures me; but it is always a very anxious business, and as I am painfully anxious by nature, you may imagine that my mind is not very free for work. He was taken ill on the 4th, on the day before the beginning of an examination for which, poor boy, he had been working so hard, but he has been too ill to feel this disappointment. Would you tell your aunt Isabella this when you see her? I ought to have written to her, but cannot.
Cecco had been for some months working hard for the Newcastle Scholarship, to be even in the “select” for which is one of the greatest honours attainable by an Etonian. The night before the examination day he came home late from his tutor’s, where he had been doing some final work in preparation. He was ill, but declared he would be all right next day. In the morning, however, the fever had declared itself, and for the following thirteen days he was very ill. Through this time and the early days of convalescence his mother nursed him unremittingly, leaving him only for the two hours after midnight, when she lay down, allowing “cousin Annie” to take her place. And she worked as well as nursed!
To Mr. Blackwood.
Windsor,
17th April.
I am very happy to tell you that Cecco is now on the way to recovery, the fever having subsided on Thursday — in thirteen days instead of the three, four, or even six weeks with which we were threatened. The relief, I need not say, is unspeakable. I shall hope to be able to get him away to the seaside in a week or ten days. After that, if he recovers his strength, we may or may not cross the Channel; in any case I will send you a paper for the June number. I should like to go to Paris on account of the ‘Moliere’ as much as anything else, and if I send you anything on the subject of the Exhibition (I hate exhibitions), it will be more about the theatres and Paris in general than the Thing itself.
Chez M. Devell, près du Casino Rosendael, Dunkerque,
14th August.
…We have got settled down in the sand here, and live roughly in a way which we should think very disagreeable indeed at home. I confess I don’t much admire it here, but nothing better can be had. It is a very fine sea, and at the present moment much ruffled and out of temper, and looking its best in consequence.
I have just had a little run in Bruges and Ghent. How delightful they are! One forgets the stateliness and old-world grace of them, so homely and kindly too. Please tell Mrs. Blackwood that I was tempted and fell in the way of lace — old lace — and if she ever goes to the Béguinage, when they show her the commonplace productions of to-day, let her ask for a certain box of old lace which is kept in reserve. I wish I had not seen it, but she ought to see it. There is nothing so costly as bargains, and there are such bargains to be had! Pardon an outburst of enthusiasm.
Windsor,
3rd October.
...I am planning to go to Oxford for six months or so in January if I can let my house here, which I hope to do. Cyril and Cecco will both be at Balliol, and I see no good in staying here when both the bits of my heart will be in another place.
I have been thinking of preparing the “Beleaguered City” in two parts, as it wants carrying out, leaving the supernatural portion for the January number. I almost fear, however, that you will not care for another story, now that you have commenced the “New Ordeal” (how capital it is!). Will you kindly tell me about this, whether you would have room for it or not? as it seems to be specially suitable to the time of the year.
Windsor,
9th October.
...I think very highly of Daudet as a novelist, but I know nothing of him personally. Unfortunately for me, neither did I of Balzac, which has made Mr. Reeve gum on a reminiscence of his to a paper of mine (which you would not have), and which I suppose will be in the ‘Edinburgh’ next number — to my great discomfiture.
Windsor,
4th December.
I am sending you, after all, the “Beleaguered City.” It is not quite enough for a volume, and perhaps it is too much for two numbers of the Magazine. As I think, however, that it is worth something, I send it to you. If you like it for the Magazine, it might come in very well for the “Tales” afterwards. It is very much enlarged and altered, you will perceive. I have wasted a good deal of time upon it, which is foolish, but the subject struck my fancy.
The Principal [Tulloch] preached a noble sermon in Westminster on Saturday. I never heard anything finer. The place was crowded, a great many people standing; and the nave of the Abbey lighted up and filled with people, with all the misty distances of the aisles, and mystery of the lofty roof overhead, is a sight to see. The Principal had the sense, however, to leave the mist and mystery in the beautiful arches above him, and himself struck the most clear note of Christian sentiment and faith which I have almost ever heard from him. I was considerably nervous about the business altogether, not to say highly antagonistic, but nothing could have been finer.