THE

LIFE AND LETTERS

OF

MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

CHAPTER I.

LETTERS FOR 1823.

To SIR WILLIAM ELFORD, Bickham, Plymouth.

Three-mile Cross, Feb. 28, 1823.

MY DEAR FRIEND,—I have no frank, but I have at last the pleasure of being able to give you good news; and I think you would rather pay postage than not hear it. After a degree of contention and torment and suspense such as I can not describe, one of my plays-my last and favorite playis, I do really believe, on the point of representation, with my favorite actor for the hero. He (Mr. Macready) read it in the green-room on Wednesday, and I suppose it will be out in ten days or a fortnight. Mr. Kemble behaved very fairly and honorably-has given Macready full power in getting up the play; and, with that admirable actor (certainly the best since Garrick) and this play (certainly worth a thousand of "Foscari") we can do very well without him. Julian," or "The Melfi" (for I really don't know which they call it), is a tragedy on a fictitious story. I am afraid to tell you what the critics say of it—but not afraid to stake on it my dramatic hopes. Mr. Macready will be supported by Mr. Bennett (the new actor), Mr. Abbott, Miss Lacy, and Miss Foote. So you must write to your play-going friends; for I am sure that ardent spirit, Macready, will drive the matter on. It is odd enough that I and this zealous friend of mine have never met! He is just such another soul of fire as Haydon-highly edu

cated, and a man of great literary acquirements-consorting entirely with poets and young men of talent. Indeed it is to his knowledge of my friend Mr. Talfourd that I owe the first introduction of my plays to his notice.

Forgive this short note. I have many letters to write, and have been for the last fortnight exceedingly unwell; but this news would cure me if I were dying. I know that I shall

be quite well to-morrow.

Ever most affectionately yours,

M. R. M.

[On the second Saturday of March, 1823, "Julian" was performed, with Mr. Macready as the principal character. It was successful. Miss Mitford went to town for a few days on a visit to Mrs. Hofland, in Newman Street, to witness its first representation and to enjoy her triumph.]

Copy of a letter to WILLIAM MACREADY, ESQ.

Three-mile Cross, April, 1823.

MY DEAR SIR,-Do not fancy yourself engaged in another "Mirandola " office, when I take the great liberty-too great, perhaps of requesting you to read over the enclosed scheme of a play on the story of Garzia de Medici, and to tell me if you think it be worth attempting-in one word, Yes or No! The subject first struck me in the "Life of Benvenuto Cellini;" and on reperusing while in town the intense but terrible tragedy of " Alfieri,” I was still more caught by the contrast of character which it offers, and the dreadful truth of the catastrophe. I have somewhat injured the collision of various characters in one family, which is so striking in his play. I have omitted one of the brothers, which seemed necessary to disencumber the plot: but he could be restored, if necessary. Altogether, I do not like the subject so well as not to be very ready to abandon it if I could find a better. Procida is a better, but then-would that be quite right? Well, you will tell me what their “Procida" is; and perhaps find out the real author.* If it be by a woman—really a woman, and writing for money-Heaven forbid that I should jostle with her! If it be Mr. Milman, I should not mind taking the field-Francesca da Rimini-beginning with

we may

* Mrs. Hemans. It was produced under the name of "The Sicilian Vespers."

the scene of Phædra from Euripides, and making the brother -I forget his name, Paola-quite unconscious of his love till it bursts on him suddenly in reading with her the old romance. That would be very fine, if we had a great actress -but Miss Lacy! Oh! Rienzi? I don't think you like Rienzi; and perhaps Gibbon has done too much for the story, and it might be censured as too political. The temptation is, that there exists, or that I have fancied, some slight resemblance of character and history between him and Napoleon. Both were of obscure birth-both governing by force of mind -both driven headlong to ruin by an indomitable self-willrising by liberty and falling by ambition. Surely there is enough resemblance to justify an attempt to portray the man who, with all his faults, has possessed my imagination all my life long! But I am afraid of the attempt. It would be an over-excitement—I should get nervous and fail. Massaniello, the fisherman of Naples-is he promising? Am I likely to find any thing to the purpose in Froissart? I have not seen that delightful book for many years, but I remember a romantic story of the Count of Orthes and his son; I don't, however, think it would do for tragedy, though the old chronicler is full of high and chivalrous incident. I must read him for that. I am half afraid of attacking Greek or Roman story; because women, from mere want of learning, from the absence of real depth, are always pedantic, and spread their thin gold leaf over an immense quantity of surface. And yet history is best, for a thousand reasons. Well, if I were wise I should form a strong resolution to conquer my besetting sin of idleness-to renounce “le délicieux far niente," as Rousseau calls it, and work hard this summer, so as to produce two or three tragedies from which you might choose, if any were worthy of your choice, and throw the others into the fire.

My father, who would go to town, tells me, as your dear sister does, that "Julian" went splendidly on Wednesday, and not amiss, considering the wet night, on Friday, and that you think it rising. But you must not perform that fatiguing part again when you are not well-no, not for all the Julians in the world. I have implored your sister not to let you. Are you amenable to this sort of management? By the way, if the play do reach the ninth night, it will be a very complete refutation of Mr. Kemble's axiom that no single per

former can fill the theatre; for, except our pretty Alphonso,* there is in "Julian" one, and only one. Let him imagine how deeply we feel his exertions and his kindness! Have you seen the attack upon us in the "London ?" Can you guess the author? It is evidently one who does not understand, who has never felt, the pleasure of gratitude-the delight of being thankful; but I hope that it is not-that it can not be I will not suspect that a man of genius could write that sneering and heartless article. To make amends, Mr. Haydon writes me word that Mr. Hazlitt has applied to Mr. Jeffrey for his sanction to review "Julian" in the "Edinburgh." This is a great compliment, and will be, if the request be granted, a great advantage; he will do it so well. Of course this is quite in confidence.

-no,

I am frightened to look at the length of this letter. I may say, with Anacreon's dove, "I have chattered like a jay." Pray forgive it, and believe me always, my dear sir, most sincerely yours, M. R. MITFORD.

To SIR WILLIAM ELFORD, Bickham, Plymouth.

Three-mile Cross, April 25, 1823. MY DEAR FRIEND,-I am but just returned from town, whither I have been led by one of the evil consequences of dramatic authorship-that is to say, a false report-and lose not a moment in writing to thank you for your zealous kindness.

I have no time to tell you the story of the strange mistake which led me to London, and really my soul sickens within me when I think of the turmoil and tumult which I have undergone, and am to undergo, for Charles Kemble will not suffer me to withdraw my tragedy of "The Foscari," and threatens me with a lawsuit if I do. In the mean time I am tossed about between him and Macready like a cricket-ball -affronting both parties and suspected by both, because I will not come to a deadly rupture with either. Only imagine what a state this is, for one who values peace and quietness beyond every other blessing of life! In the mean time, they have stopped "Julian" at the end of the eighth night, though it was going brilliantly to brilliant houses, and (but this is quite between ourselves) have not paid me for the

*Miss Foote.

third and sixth nights.* To be sure, I have Charles Kemble's personal word, and I believe him to be an honest man; but to undergo all this misery, and not get my money, would be terrible indeed! To crown all, Mr. Hamilton, of the "Lady's Magazine," has absconded above forty pounds in my debt. Oh! who would be an authoress! The only comfort is, that the Magazine can't go on without me; and that the very fuss they make in quarreling over me at the theatre proves my importance there; so that, if I survive these vexations, I may in time make something of my poor, poor brains. But I would rather serve in a shop-rather scour floors—rather nurse children, than undergo these tremendous and interminable disputes, and this unwomanly publicity.

Pray forgive this sad no-letter. Alas! the free and happy hours, when I could read and think and prattle for you, are past away. Oh! will they ever return? I am now chained to a desk, eight, ten, twelve hours a day, at mere drudgery. All my thoughts of writing are for hard money. All my correspondence is on hard business. Oh! pity me, pity me! My very mind is sinking under the fatigue and the anxiety. God bless you, my dear friend! Forgive this sad letter. Ever most faithfully yours, M. R. MITFORD.

TO SIR WILLIAM ELFORD, Bickham, Plymouth.

Three-mile Cross, May 13, 1823. The kind interest which you are so good as to take in me, my dear and true friend, is a great consolation. That Macready likes me I know; but I have perhaps suffered even more from his injustice and prejudice and jealousy than from the angry attacks of the Kembles. Do not misunderstand me: our connection is merely that of actor and author; but his literary jealousy, his suspicion and mistrust have really the character of passion. And yet he is a most ardent and devoted friend; and it seems ungrateful in me to say so much, even to you, with whom, I know, it will remain sacred. I intend, if Macready remains in Covent Garden (remember that this is most strictly confidential), to write a tragedy on a very grand historical subject (Rienzi, vide Gib

Miss Mitford received £200 for "Julian" from Covent Garden-£100 cash on the 9th of May, and £100 by bill payable on the 12th of October.