If I
could not be a Lind, I would not be a singer.
'Brief as my visit to London was, it must for me be memorable. I
sometimes fancied myself in a dream--I could scarcely credit the
reality of what passed. For instance, when I walked into the room
and put my hand into Miss Martineau's, the action of saluting her and
the fact of her presence seemed visionary. Again, when Mr. Thackeray
was announced, and I saw him enter, looked up at his tall figure,
heard his voice, the whole incident was truly dream-like, I was only
certain it was true because I became miserably destitute of
self-possession. Amour propre suffers terribly under such
circumstances: woe to him that thinks of himself in the presence of
intellectual greatness! Had I not been obliged to speak, I could
have managed well, but it behoved me to answer when addressed, and
the effort was torture--I spoke stupidly.
'As to the band of critics, I cannot say they overawed me much; I
enjoyed the spectacle of them greatly. The two contrasts, Forster
and Chorley, have each a certain edifying carriage and conversation
good to contemplate. I by no means dislike Mr. Forster--quite the
contrary, but the distance from his loud swagger to Thackeray's
simple port is as the distance from Shakespeare's writing to
Macready's acting.
Pages:
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637