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Walter Scott - The Man Behind the Books. Walter Scott
Читать онлайн.Название Walter Scott - The Man Behind the Books
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isbn 9788075833617
Автор произведения Walter Scott
Жанр Документальная литература
Издательство Bookwire
Dined with Lady Davy — a pleasant party; but I was out of spirits; I think partly on Johnnie’s account, partly from fatigue. There was William Henry Lyttelton amongst others; much of his oddity has rubbed off, and he is an honoured courtly gentleman, with a great deal of wit; and not one of the fine people who perplex you by shutting their mouths if you begin to speak. I never fear quizzing, so am not afraid of this species of lying-in-wait. Lord have mercy on me if I were!
May 15. — Dined at the Roxburghe Club. Lord Spencer presided, but had a cold which limited his exertions. Lord Clive, beside whom I sat, was deaf, though intelligent and good-humoured. The Duke of Devonshire was still deafer. There were many little chirruping men who might have talked but went into committee. There was little general conversation. I should have mentioned that I breakfasted with kind, good Mr. Hughes, and met the Bishop of Llandaff — strongly intelligent. I do not understand his politics about the Catholic question. He seems disposed to concede, yet is Toryissimus. Perhaps they wish the question ended, but the present opinions of the Sovereign are too much interested to permit them to quit it.
May 16. — Breakfasted with Mr. Reynolds; a miscellaneous party. Wordsworth, right welcome unto me was there. I had also a sight of Godwin the philosopher, grown old and thin — of Douglas Kinnaird, whom I asked about Byron’s statue, which is going forward — of Luttrell, and others whom I knew not. I stayed an instant at Pickering’s, a young publisher’s, and bought some dramatic reprints. I love them very much, but I would [not] advise a young man to undertake them. They are of course dear, and as they have not the dignity of scarcity, the bibliomaniacs pass them by as if they were plated candlesticks. They may hold as good a light for all that as if they were real silver, and therefore I buy them when I can light on them. But here I am spending money when I have more need to make it. On Monday, the 26th, it shall be Northward ho!
Dined at Lady Georgiana and Mr. Agar Ellis’s. There were Lord and Lady Stafford there, and others to whom I am sincerely attached.
May 17. — A day of busy idleness. Richardson came and breakfasted with me like a good fellow. Then I went to Mr. Chantrey, and sat for an hour to finish the bust. Thereafter, about twelve o’clock, I went to breakfast the second, at Lady Shelley’s, where there was a great morning party. A young lady begged a lock of my hair, which was not worth refusing. I stipulated for a kiss, which I was permitted to take. From this I went to the Duke of Wellington, who gave me some hints or rather details. Afterwards I drove out to Chiswick, where I had never been before. A numerous and gay party were assembled to walk and enjoy the beauties of that Palladian [dome?]; the place and highly ornamented gardens belonging to it resemble a picture of Watteau. There is some affectation in the picture, but in the ensemble the original looked very well. The Duke of Devonshire received every one with the best possible manners. The scene was dignified by the presence of an immense elephant, who, under charge of a groom, wandered up and down, giving an air of Asiatic pageantry to the entertainment. I was never before sensible of the dignity which largeness of size and freedom of movement give to this otherwise very ugly animal. As I was to dine at Holland House, I did not partake in the magnificent repast which was offered to us, and took myself off about five o’clock. I contrived to make a demi-toilette at Holland House rather than drive all the way to London. Rogers came to dinner, which was very entertaining. The Duke of Manchester was there, whom I remember having seen long ago. He had left a part of his brain in Jamaica by a terrible fracture, yet, notwithstanding the accident and the bad climate, was still a fine-looking man. Lady Holland pressed me to stay all night, which I did accordingly.
May 18. — The freshness of the air, the singing of the birds, the beautiful aspect of nature, the size of the venerable trees, all gave me a delightful feeling this morning. It seemed there was pleasure even in living and breathing, without anything else. We (i.e. Rogers and I) wandered into a green lane bordered with fine trees, which might have been twenty miles from a town. It will be a great pity when this ancient house must come down and give way to brick works and brick-houses. It is not that Holland House is fine as a building; on the contrary, it has a tumble-down look; and, although decorated with the bastard Gothic of James I.‘s time, the front is heavy. But it resembles many respectable matrons, who, having been absolutely ugly during youth, acquire by age an air of dignity; — though one is chiefly affected by the air of deep seclusion which is spread around the domain. I called on Mr. Peel as I returned home, and after that on Lord Melville. The latter undertook for Allan Cunningham’s son’s cadetship, for which I am right glad.
Dined at Mr. and Lady Sarah Ponsonby’s, who called on us last year at Abbotsford. The party was very pleasant, having Lord and Lady Gower, whom I like, Mr. and Lady Georgiana Ellis, and other persons of distinction. Saw Wordsworth too, and learned that Tom Moore was come to town.
May 19. — A morning of business. Breakfasted with Dumergue and one or two friends. Dined by command with the Duchess of Kent. I was very kindly recognised by Prince Leopold. I was presented to the little Princess Victoria, — I hope they will change her name, — the heir apparent to the Crown as things now stand. How strange that so large and fine a family as that of his late Majesty should have died off and decayed into old age with so few descendants! Prince George of Cumberland is, they say, a fine boy about nine years old — a bit of a pickle, swears and romps like a brat that has been bred in a barrack yard. This little lady is educated with much care, and watched so closely by the Duchess and the principal governess, that no busy maid has a moment to whisper, “You are heir of England.” I suspect if we could dissect the little head, we should find that some pigeon or other bird of the air had carried the matter. She is fair, like the Royal Family, but does not look as if she would be pretty. The Duchess herself is very pleasing and affable in her manners. I sat by Mr. Spring Rice, a very agreeable man. He is a great leader among the Pro-Catholics. I saw also Charles Wynn and his lady — and the evening, for a Court evening, went agreeably off. I am commanded for two days by Prince Leopold, but will send excuses.
May 20. — I set out for Brighton this morning in a light coach, which performed the distance in six hours — otherwise the journey was uncomfortable. Three women, the very specimens of womankind, — I mean trumpery, — a child who was sick, but afterwards looked and smiled, and was the only thing like company. The road is pleasant enough till it gets into the Wealds of Sussex, a huge succession of green downs which sweep along the seacoast for many miles. Brighton seems grown twice as large since 1815. It is a city of loiterers and invalids — a Vanity Pair for pipers, dancing of bears, and for the feats of Mr. Punch. I found all my family well excepting the poor pale Johnnie; and he is really a thing to break one’s heart by looking at — yet he is better. The rest are in high kelter.
My old friend Will Rose dined with us, also a Doctor Yates and his wife — the Esculapius of Brighton, who seems a sensible man. I was entertained with the empire he exerted over him as protector of his health. I was very happy to find myself at Sophia’s quiet table, and am only sorry that I must quit her so soon.
May 21. — This being a fine day, we made some visits in the morning, in the course of which I waited on Mrs. Davies, sister of Mrs. Charlotte Smith, and herself the author of the Peacock at Home, one of the prettiest and liveliest jeux d’esprit in our language. She is a fine stately old lady — not a bit of a literary person, — I mean having none of the affectation of it, but like a lady of considerable rank. I am glad I have seen her. Renewed my acquaintance with Lady Charlotte Hamilton, née Lady Charlotte Hume, and talked over some stories thirty years old at least. We then took a fly, as they call the light carriages, and