Biographical Study of A. W. Kinglake [36]
came in, like the prince in "The Sleeping Beauty," though not by the same process, to break the charm. He gave up calling at a house where he was warmly appreciated, because father, mother, daughter, bombarded him with questions. "I never came away without feeling sure that I had in some way perjured myself."
On his shyness waited swiftly ensuing boredom; if his neighbour at table were garrulous or BANALE, his face at once betrayed conversational prostration; a lady who often watched him used to say that his pulse ought to be felt after the first course; and that if it showed languor he should be moved to the side of some other partner. "He had great charm," writes to me another old friend, "in a quiet winning way, but was 'dark' with rough and noisy people." So it came to pass that his manner was threefold; icy and repellent with those who set his nerves on edge; good- humoured, receptive, intermittently responsive in general and congenial company; while, at ease with friends trusted and beloved, the lines of the face became gracious, indulgent, affectionate, the SOURIRE DES YEUX often inexpressibly winning and tender. "Kinglake," says Eliot Warburton in his unpublished diary, "talked to us to-day about his travels; pessimistic and cynical to the rest of the world, he is always gentle and kind to us." To this dear friend he was ever faithful, wearing to the day of his death an octagonal gold ring engraved "Eliot. Jan: 1852." He would never play the RACONTEUR in general company, for he had a great horror of repeating himself, and, latterly, of being looked upon as a bore by younger men; but he loved to pour out reminiscences of the past to an audience of one or two at most: "Let an old man gather his recollections and glance at them under the right angle, and his life is full of pantomime transformation scenes." The chief characteristic of his wit was its unexpectedness; sometimes acrid, sometimes humorous, his sayings came forth, like Topham Beauclerk's in Dr. Johnson's day, like Talleyrand's in our own, poignant without effort. His calm, gentle voice, contrasted with his startling caustic utterance, reminded people of Prosper Merimee: terse epigram, felicitous APROPOS, whimsical presentment of the topic under discussion, emitted in a low tone, and without the slightest change of muscle:
"All the charm of all the Muses Often flowering in a lonely word." (25)
Questions he would suavely and often wittily parry or repel: to an unhistorical lady asking if he remembered Madame Du Barry, he said, "my memory is very imperfect as to the particulars of my life during the reign of Lous XV. and the Regency; but I know a lady who has a teapot which belonged, she says, to Madame Du Barry." Madame Novikoff, however, records his discomfiture at the query of a certain Lady E-, who, when all London was ringing with his first Crimean volumes, asked him if he were not an admirer of Louis Napoleon. "LE PAUVRE KINGLAKE, DECONTENANCE, REPONDIT TOUT BAS INTIMIDE COMME UN ENFANT QU'ON MET DATES LE COIN: OUI - NON - PAS PRECISEMENT."
He had no knowledge of or liking for music. Present once by some mischance at a MATINEE MUSICALE, he was asked by the hostess what kind of music he preferred. His preference, he owned, was for the drum. One thinks of the "Bourgeois Gentilhomme," "LA TROMPETTE MARINE EST UN INSTRUMENT QUI ME PLAIT, EL QUI EST HARMONIEUX"; we are reminded, too, of Dean Stanley, who, absolutely tone-deaf, and hurrying away whenever music was performed, once from an adjoining room in his father's house heard Jenny Lind sing "I know that my Redeemer liveth." He went to her shyly, and told her that she had given him an idea of what people mean by music. Once before, he said in all seriousness, the same feeling had come over him, when before the palace at Vienna he had heard a tattoo rendered by four hundred drummers.
Kinglake used to regret the disuse of duelling, as having impaired the higher tone of good breeding current in his younger days, and
On his shyness waited swiftly ensuing boredom; if his neighbour at table were garrulous or BANALE, his face at once betrayed conversational prostration; a lady who often watched him used to say that his pulse ought to be felt after the first course; and that if it showed languor he should be moved to the side of some other partner. "He had great charm," writes to me another old friend, "in a quiet winning way, but was 'dark' with rough and noisy people." So it came to pass that his manner was threefold; icy and repellent with those who set his nerves on edge; good- humoured, receptive, intermittently responsive in general and congenial company; while, at ease with friends trusted and beloved, the lines of the face became gracious, indulgent, affectionate, the SOURIRE DES YEUX often inexpressibly winning and tender. "Kinglake," says Eliot Warburton in his unpublished diary, "talked to us to-day about his travels; pessimistic and cynical to the rest of the world, he is always gentle and kind to us." To this dear friend he was ever faithful, wearing to the day of his death an octagonal gold ring engraved "Eliot. Jan: 1852." He would never play the RACONTEUR in general company, for he had a great horror of repeating himself, and, latterly, of being looked upon as a bore by younger men; but he loved to pour out reminiscences of the past to an audience of one or two at most: "Let an old man gather his recollections and glance at them under the right angle, and his life is full of pantomime transformation scenes." The chief characteristic of his wit was its unexpectedness; sometimes acrid, sometimes humorous, his sayings came forth, like Topham Beauclerk's in Dr. Johnson's day, like Talleyrand's in our own, poignant without effort. His calm, gentle voice, contrasted with his startling caustic utterance, reminded people of Prosper Merimee: terse epigram, felicitous APROPOS, whimsical presentment of the topic under discussion, emitted in a low tone, and without the slightest change of muscle:
"All the charm of all the Muses Often flowering in a lonely word." (25)
Questions he would suavely and often wittily parry or repel: to an unhistorical lady asking if he remembered Madame Du Barry, he said, "my memory is very imperfect as to the particulars of my life during the reign of Lous XV. and the Regency; but I know a lady who has a teapot which belonged, she says, to Madame Du Barry." Madame Novikoff, however, records his discomfiture at the query of a certain Lady E-, who, when all London was ringing with his first Crimean volumes, asked him if he were not an admirer of Louis Napoleon. "LE PAUVRE KINGLAKE, DECONTENANCE, REPONDIT TOUT BAS INTIMIDE COMME UN ENFANT QU'ON MET DATES LE COIN: OUI - NON - PAS PRECISEMENT."
He had no knowledge of or liking for music. Present once by some mischance at a MATINEE MUSICALE, he was asked by the hostess what kind of music he preferred. His preference, he owned, was for the drum. One thinks of the "Bourgeois Gentilhomme," "LA TROMPETTE MARINE EST UN INSTRUMENT QUI ME PLAIT, EL QUI EST HARMONIEUX"; we are reminded, too, of Dean Stanley, who, absolutely tone-deaf, and hurrying away whenever music was performed, once from an adjoining room in his father's house heard Jenny Lind sing "I know that my Redeemer liveth." He went to her shyly, and told her that she had given him an idea of what people mean by music. Once before, he said in all seriousness, the same feeling had come over him, when before the palace at Vienna he had heard a tattoo rendered by four hundred drummers.
Kinglake used to regret the disuse of duelling, as having impaired the higher tone of good breeding current in his younger days, and