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// 20150409135627burney
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.dt Fanny Burney and Her Friends, by Fanny Burney (L.B. Seeley, ed.)
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Transcriber’s Note:
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.bn 001.png
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.ca
E. Burney.\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ A Dawson Ph.fc.\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ C. Turner
Frances Burney.
.ca-
.bn 002.png
.h1
FANNY BURNEY | AND HER FRIENDS
.sp 2
.nf c
SELECT PASSAGES FROM HER DIARY AND
OTHER WRITINGS
.nf-
.sp 6
.nf c
EDITED BY
L. B. SEELEY, M.A.
Sometime Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge
AUTHOR OF
“HORACE WALPOLE AND HIS WORLD”
.nf-
.sp 6
.ce
NEW EDITION
.sp 6
.nf c
LONDON
SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED
Essex Street, Strand
1895
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.bn 003.png
.bn 004.png
.pn iii
.sp 4
.h2
CONTENTS.
.sp 2
.ta h:60 r:10
CHAPTER I.
| PAGE
Birth—Parentage—The Macburneys—Early Life of Dr. Burney—Fulk\
Greville—Esther Sleepe—Lynn—Poland Street—Frances Burney’s\
Brothers and Sisters—Her Backwardness in Childhood—Her Mother’s\
Death—David Garrick—The Old Lady—The Wig-maker—Neglect of\
Fanny’s Education—Her Taste for Scribbling—Samuel Crisp—His\
Early Life—His Tragedy—Its Failure—His Chagrin—His Life at\
Hampton—His Retirement from the World—Crisp renews his Acquaintance\
with Burney—Becomes the Adviser of the Family—Burney’s Amiable\
Temper—Chesington Hall—Its Quaint Interior—Contrast between\
Fanny and her Elder Sister—Burney’s Second Marriage—Change of\
Plans—Mrs. Burney lectures Fanny—An Auto da Fé—Origin of\
‘Evelina’—Burney takes his Doctor’s Degree—His Essay on Comets—Preparations\
for the ‘History of Music’—Musical Tour in France and\
Italy—House in Queen Square—German Tour—Fanny’s Occupation\
during his Absence—Removal to St. Martin’s Street—Newton’s House—The\
Observatory—Fanny’s Arrival at Womanhood | #1-31:Page_1#
CHAPTER II.
Life in St. Martin’s Street—Increase of Fame and Friends—Garrick’s\
First Call—Confusion—The Hairdresser—‘Tag-rag and Bobtail’—The\
History of Histories—Imitation of Dr. Johnson—The Great Roscius—Mr.\
Crisp’s Gout—Correspondence between him and Fanny—Dr.\
Burney’s Concerts—Abyssinian Bruce—Supper in St. Martin’s Street—Italian\
Singers—A Musical Evening—Visit of Count Orloff—His Stature\
and Jewels—Condescension—A Matrimonial Duet—The Empress’s\
.bn 005.png
.pn +1
Miniature—Jemmy Twitcher—Present State of St. Martin’s Street—Mr.\
and Mrs. Thrale—Dr. Johnson—Visit of the Thrales and Johnson—Appearance\
of Dr. Johnson—His Conversation—His Contempt for\
Music—Meeting of Dr. Johnson and Mr. Greville—Mrs. Thrale Defiant—Signor\
Piozzi | #32-59:Page_32#
CHAPTER III.
‘Evelina’—Date of its Composition—Negotiations with Publishers—Dr.\
Burney’s Consent—Publication—Illness of the Author—Visit to Chesington—Her\
Father reads the Book—Mrs. Thrale and Mrs. Cholmondeley—Exciting\
News—Fanny’s Success—Nancy Dawson—The Secret told\
to Mr. Crisp—Characters in ‘Evelina’—Dinner at Streatham—Dr.\
Johnson—David Garrick—The Unclubbable Man—Curiosity as to\
Authorship of ‘Evelina’—The Bookseller in the Dark—Visits to the\
Thrales—Table Talk—Mr. Smith—Goldsmith—Johnson and the\
Scotch—Civil for Four—Sir Joshua Reynolds—Mrs. Montagu—Boswell—The\
Branghtons—Mrs. Cholmondeley—Talk with Sir Joshua—Is it\
True?—Mrs. Cholmondeley’s Whimsical Manner—Visit to her House—Mr.\
Cumberland—A Hint for a Comedy—A Charmed Circle—Sheridan—Not\
a Fair Question—Pressed to Write for the Stage—Flattered\
by Compliments | #60-99:Page_60#
CHAPTER IV.
Return to Streatham—Murphy the Dramatist—A Proposed Comedy—‘The\
Witlings’—Adverse Judgment of Mr. Crisp and Dr. Burney—Fanny\
to Mr. Crisp—Dr. Johnson on Miss Burney—A Visit to Brighton—Cumberland—An\
Eccentric Character—Sir Joshua’s Prices—Tragedies—Actors\
and Singers—Regrets for the Comedy—Crisp’s\
Reply—The Lawrence Family at Devizes—Lady Miller’s Vase—The\
Gordon Riots—Precipitate Retreat—Grub Street—Sudden Death of\
Mr. Thrale—Idleness and Work—A Sister of the Craft—The Mausoleum\
of Julia—Progress of ‘Cecilia’ through the Press—Crisp’s Judgment\
on ‘Cecilia’—Johnson and ‘Cecilia’—Publication of ‘Cecilia’—Burke—His\
Letter to Miss Burney—Assembly at Miss Monckton’s—New\
Acquaintances—Soame Jenyns—Illness and Death of Crisp—Mrs.\
Thrale’s Struggles—Ill-health of Johnson—Mr. Burney Organist of\
Chelsea Hospital—Mrs. Thrale marries Piozzi—Last Interview with\
Johnson—His Death | #100-131:Page_100#
.bn 006.png
.pn +1
CHAPTER V.
Mrs. Delany—Her Childhood—Her First Marriage—Swift—Dr. Delany—The\
Dowager Duchess of Portland—Mrs. Delany a Favourite at\
Court—Her Flower-Work—Miss Burney’s First Visit to Mrs. Delany—Meets\
the Duchess of Portland—Mrs. Sleepe—Crisp—Growth of\
Friendship with Mrs. Delany—Society at her House—Mrs. Delany’s\
Reminiscences—The Lockes of Norbury Park—Mr. Smelt—Dr. Burney\
has an Audience of the King and Queen—The King’s Bounty to Mrs.\
Delany—Miss Burney Visits Windsor—Meets the King and Queen—‘Evelina’—Invention\
Exhausted—The King’s Opinion of Voltaire,\
Rousseau, and Shakespeare—The Queen and Bookstalls—Expectation—Journey\
to Windsor—The Terrace—Dr. Burney’s Disappointment—Proposal\
of the Queen to Miss Burney—Doubts and Fears—An Interview—The\
Decision—Mistaken Criticism—Burke’s Opinion—A Misconception—Horace\
Walpole’s Regret—Miss Burney’s Journals of her\
Life at Court—Sketches of Character—The King and Queen—Mrs.\
Schwellenberg—The Queen’s Lodge—Miss Burney’s Apartments—A\
Day’s Duties—Royal Snuff—Fictitious Names in the Diary—The Princesses—A\
Royal Birthday—A Walk on the Terrace—The Infant Princess\
Amelia | #132-166:Page_132#
CHAPTER VI.
Royal Visit to Nuneham—A Present from the Queen—Official Exhortations—Embarrassments\
at Nuneham—A Laborious Sunday—Hairdressing—The\
Court visits Oxford—Journey thither—Reception by the\
University—Address and Reply—Kissing Hands—Christchurch—Fatigues\
of the Suite—Refreshment under Difficulties—A Surprise—The\
Routine of Court Life—The Equerries—Draughts in the Palace—Early\
Prayers—Barley-water—The London Season—Mrs. Siddons—Mrs.\
Schwellenberg’s Apartments—Her Tame Frogs—Her Behaviour\
to Miss Burney—Cruel Treatment—A Change for the Better—Newspaper\
Reports—Conversation with the Queen—Miss Burney as Reader—Her\
Attainments, Tastes, and Power | #167-188:Page_167#
CHAPTER VII.
The Trial of Warren Hastings—Westminster Hall—Description of it on\
the Opening Day of the Trial—Edmund Burke—The other Managers—Procession\
of the Peers—Entrance of the Defendant—The Arraignment—Speech\
of Lord Chancellor Thurlow—Reply of Warren Hastings—Opening\
.bn 007.png
.pn +1
of the Trial—Mr. Windham—His Admiration of Dr.\
Johnson—His Reflections on the Spectacle—Bearing of the Lord Chancellor—Windham\
on Hastings—William Pitt—Major Scott—Conversation\
with Windham—Partisanship—Close of the First Day’s Proceedings—Conference\
on it with the Queen—Another Day at the Trial—Burke’s\
Great Speech—Resemblance between Hastings and Windham—Fox’s\
Eloquence—Death of Mrs. Delany | #189-200:Page_189#
CHAPTER VIII.
The King’s Health—Royal Visit to Cheltenham—Excursions—Robert\
Raikes—Colonel Digby—The Duke of York—The Court attends the\
Musical Festival at Worcester—Return to Windsor—M. de Lalande,\
the Astronomer—His Compliments—His Volubility—Illness of the\
King—The King grows worse—‘The Queen is my Physician’—Alarm\
and Agitation—Grief of the Queen—The King Insane—Arrival of the\
Prince of Wales—Paroxysm of the King at Dinner—The Queen Ill—The\
Physicians—The Royal Pair separated—The Prince takes the\
Government of the Palace—Prayers for the King’s Recovery—The\
King and his Equerries—Sir Lucas Pepys—A Privy Council—Preparations\
for leaving Windsor—Departure for Kew—Mournful Spectacle—Mrs.\
Schwellenberg arrives | #201-229:Page_201#
CHAPTER IX.
State of Kew Palace—Dr. Willis and his Son called in—Progress under\
the New Doctors—Party Spirit—The Regency Question—Attacks on\
the Queen—Fluctuations in the King’s State—Violence of Burke—Extraordinary\
Scene between the King and Miss Burney in Kew Gardens—Marked\
Improvement of the King—The Regency Bill postponed—The\
King informs Miss Burney of his Recovery—The Restoration—Demonstrations\
of Joy—Return to Windsor—Old Routine resumed—Reaction | #230-250:Page_230#
CHAPTER X.
Royal Visit to Weymouth—Lyndhurst—Village Loyalty—Arrival at Weymouth—Bathing\
to Music—Mrs. Gwynn—Mrs. Siddons—The Royal\
Party at the Rooms—First Sight of Mr. Pitt—The Marquis of Salisbury—Royal\
Tour—Visit to Longleat—Mrs. Delany—Bishop Ken—Tottenham\
Park—Return to Windsor—Progress of the French Revolution—Colonel\
Digby’s Marriage—Miss Burney’s Situation—A Senator—Tax\
on Bachelors—Reading to the Queen—Miss Burney’s Melancholy—Proposal\
.bn 008.png
.pn +1
for her Retirement—Her Tedious Solitude—Her Literary Inactivity—Her\
Declining Health—A Friendly Cabal—Windham and the\
Literary Club—James Boswell—Miss Burney’s Memorial to the Queen—Leave\
of Absence proposed—The Queen and Mrs. Schwellenberg—Serious\
Illness of Miss Burney—Discussions on her Retirement—A Day\
at the Hastings Trial—The Defence—A Lively Scene—The Duke of\
Clarence—Parting with the Royal Family—Miss Burney receives a\
Pension—Her Final Retirement | #251-277:Page_251#
CHAPTER XI.
Chelsea Hospital—Tour to Devonshire—Visit to Bath—Reminiscences—The\
Duchess of Devonshire—Return Home—Literary Pursuits resumed—Attempts\
at Tragedy—Social Engagements—Death of Sir Joshua\
Reynolds—A Public Breakfast at Mrs. Montagu’s—Mrs. Hastings—Mr.\
Boswell—Visit to Mrs. Crewe—The Burke Family—Meeting with\
Edmund Burke—Burke and the French Revolution—Charles Fox—Lord\
Loughborough—Mr. Erskine—His Egotism—The French Refugees\
in England—Bury St. Edmunds—Madame de Genlis—The Duke de\
Liancourt—The Settlement at Mickleham—Count de Narbonne—The\
Chevalier d’Arblay—Visit of Miss Burney to Norfolk—Death of Mr.\
Francis—Return to London | #278-292:Page_278#
CHAPTER XII.
Miss Burney at Norbury Park—Execution of the French King—Madame\
de Staël and Talleyrand at Mickleham—Miss Burney’s Impressions of\
M. d’Arblay—Proposed Marriage—Visit to Chesington—The Marriage\
takes place—A Happy Match—The General as Gardener—Madame\
d’Arblay resumes her Pen—Birth of a Son—‘Edwy and Elgiva’—Acquittal\
of Warren Hastings—Publishing Plans—The Subscription\
List—Publication of ‘Camilla’—Visit of the Author to Windsor—Interview\
with the King and Queen—A Compliment from their Majesties—The\
Royal Family on the Terrace—Princess Elizabeth—Great Sale of\
‘Camilla’—Criticisms on the Work—Declension of Madame d’Arblay’s\
Style—Camilla Cottage—Wedded Happiness—Madame d’Arblay’s\
Comedy of ‘Love and Fashion’ withdrawn—Death of Mrs. Phillips—Straitened\
Circumstances—The d’Arblays go to France—Popularity of\
Bonaparte—Reception at the Tuileries and Review—War between\
England and France—Disappointments—Life at Passy—Difficulty of\
Correspondence—Madame d’Arblay’s Desire to return to England—Sails\
from Dunkirk | #293-314:Page_293#
.bn 009.png
.pn +1
CHAPTER XIII.
Madame d’Arblay’s Plans for her Son—Landing in England—Arrival at\
Chelsea—Saddening Change in Dr. Burney—Alexander d’Arblay at\
Cambridge—Publication of the ‘Wanderer’—Death of Dr. Burney—Madame\
d’Arblay presented to Louis XVIII.—M. d’Arblay appointed\
to the Corps de Gardes du Roi—Arrives in England and carries\
Madame back to France—Madame d’Arblay presented to the Duchesse\
d’Angoulême—The Hundred Days—Panic at Brussels—M. d’Arblay\
invalided—Settles in England—His Death—Remaining Days of\
Madame d’Arblay—Visit from Sir Walter Scott—The Memoirs of Dr.\
Burney—Tributes to their value—Death of Alexander d’Arblay—Death\
of Madame d’Arblay—Conclusion | #315-331:Page_315#
.ta-
.bn 010.png
.pn 1
.sp 4
.ce
Fanny Burney and her Friends.
.sp 2
.hr 10%
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER I.
.pm start_summary
Birth—Parentage—The Macburneys—Early Life of Dr. Burney—Fulk Greville—Esther
Sleepe—Lynn—Poland Street—Frances Burney’s Brothers and
Sisters—Her Backwardness in Childhood—Her Mother’s Death—David
Garrick—The Old Lady—The Wig-maker—Neglect of Fanny’s Education—Her
Taste for Scribbling—Samuel Crisp—His Early Life—His Tragedy—Its
Failure—His Chagrin—His Life at Hampton—His Retirement from
the World—Crisp renews his Acquaintance with Burney—Becomes the
Adviser of the Family—Burney’s Amiable Temper—Chesington Hall—Its
Quaint Interior—Contrast between Fanny and her Elder Sister—Burney’s
Second Marriage—Change of Plans—Mrs. Burney lectures Fanny—An Auto
da Fé—Origin of ‘Evelina’—Burney takes his Doctor’s Degree—His Essay
on Comets—Preparations for the ‘History of Music’—Musical Tour in
France and Italy—House in Queen Square—German Tour—Fanny’s Occupation
during his Absence—Removal to St. Martin’s Street—Newton’s
House—The Observatory—Fanny’s Arrival at Womanhood.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
Frances Burney was born at King’s Lynn on the 13th
of June, 1752. She was the second daughter, and third
child, of Dr. Charles Burney, author of the well-known
‘History of Music,’ by Esther Sleepe, his first wife.
It has been stated,[1] we know not on what authority,
that Dr. Burney was a descendant in the fifth degree of
James Macburney, a native of Scotland, who attended
King James I. when he left that country to take possession
of the English throne. The doctor himself was
certainly unacquainted with this fact, if fact it be. His
grandfather and father were each named James Macburney,
.bn 011.png
.pn +1
but they were both born at the village of Great Hanwood,
in Shropshire, where the former inherited a considerable
estate; there was no trace in their connections of Celtic
extraction; and Charles has recorded that he could never
find at what period any of his ancestors lived in Scotland
or Ireland. Doubtless it was the adventures of the two
historical James Macburneys which led Macaulay to
conclude that the family was of Irish origin. James
the younger offended his father by eloping with an actress
from the Goodman’s Fields Theater. ‘The old gentleman
could devise no more judicious mode of wreaking
vengeance on his undutiful boy than by marrying the
cook.’ He married some sort of domestic, at any rate,
who brought him a son, named Joseph, to whom he
left all his property. Joseph, however, soon ran through
his fortune, and was reduced to earn his bread as a
dancing-master in Norfolk. His elder brother James
survived the actress, and though a poor widower with a
swarm of children, gained the hand of Miss Ann Cooper,
an heiress and beauty, who had refused the addresses of
the celebrated Wycherley. After his second marriage,
James followed the profession of a portrait-painter, first
at Shrewsbury, and later at Chester. The number of his
children rose to twenty-two; the youngest being Charles,
afterwards Dr. Burney, and a twin sister, Susannah, who
were born and baptized at Shrewsbury on the 12th of
April, 1726; at which date their father still retained the
name of Macburney. When and why the Mac was
dropped we are not informed, but by the time Charles
attained to manhood, the family in all its branches—uncles
and cousins, as well as brothers and sisters—had
concurred in adopting the more compact form of Burney.
.fn 1
Owen and Blakeway’s ‘History of Shrewsbury,’ vol. ii., p. 388.
.fn-
The musical talents of Charles Burney showed themselves
at an early age. In his eighteenth year, the proficiency
.bn 012.png
.pn +1
he had acquired under his eldest half-brother,
James Burney, organist of St. Mary’s, Shrewsbury, recommended
him to the notice of Dr. Arne, the composer of
‘Rule, Britannia,’ who offered to take him as a pupil. In
1744, accordingly, Charles was articled to the most famous
English musician of that day, and went to live in London.
At the house of the no less famous Mrs. Cibber,[2] who was
sister of Dr. Arne, he had opportunities of mixing with
most of the persons then distinguished by their writings
or their performances in connection with the orchestra
and the stage. At the end of his third year with Arne,
Burney acquired a still more useful patron. Among the
leaders of ton in the middle of last century was Fulk
Greville, a descendant of the favorite of Queen Elizabeth
and friend of Sir Philip Sidney. To a passion for field
sports, horse-racing, and gaming, this fine gentleman
united an equally strong taste for more refined pleasures,
and his ample possessions enabled him to gratify every
inclination to the utmost. Greville met Burney at the
shop of Kirkman, the harpsichord-maker, and was so
captivated with his playing and lively conversation, that he
paid Arne £300 to cancel the young man’s articles, and
took him to live with himself as a sort of musical companion.
The high-bred society to which he was now
introduced prepared Burney to take rank in later years as
the most fashionable professor of music, and one of the
most polished wits of his time. In Greville’s town circle,
and at his country seat, Wilbury House, near Andover,
his dependent constantly encountered peers, statesmen,
diplomatists, macaronis, to whose various humours this
son of a provincial portrait-painter seems to have adapted
.bn 013.png
.pn +1
himself as readily as if he had been to the manner born.
So firm a hold did he gain on his protector, that neither
the marriage of the latter, nor his own, appears in any
degree to have weakened his favour. When Greville
chose to make a stolen match with Miss Frances Macartney,[3]
or, as the lady’s father expressed it, ‘to take a
wife out of the window whom he might just as well have
taken out of the door,’ Burney was employed to give the
bride away. When Burney himself became a benedict,
Mr. and Mrs. Greville cordially approved both the act and
his choice, and Mrs. Greville subsequently stood as godmother
to Frances Burney.
.fn 2
Actress and singer; married Theophilus Cibber, son of Colley Cibber.
She was a special favorite with Handel, who wrote much of his contralto
music for her. In the latter part of her career she was associated with Garrick
at Drury Lane. Born, 1714; died, 1766.
.fn-
.fn 3
This lady wrote verses, and acquired some repute by a poem entitled ‘A
Prayer for Indifference.’
.fn-
It was in 1749 that Charles Burney took to wife the
lady before mentioned, who, on her mother’s side, was
of French origin, and grandchild of a Huguenot refugee
named Dubois. Esther Sleepe herself was bred in the
City of London, and her future husband first saw her at
the house of his elder brother, Richard Burney, in Hatton
Garden. To his fashionable friends the marriage must
have seemed an imprudent one, for Miss Sleepe had no
fortune to compensate for her obscure parentage. From
the ‘Memoirs of Dr. Burney,’[4] we learn that her father
was a man of ill conduct; but Fanny everywhere speaks
with enthusiasm of her mother’s mother. Somewhat
strangely, this lady herself adhered to the Roman Catholic
creed, though she was the child of a man exiled by the
revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and though she suffered
her own daughter Esther to be brought up in the Anglican
Communion. In view of the union which Frances Burney
afterwards contracted, it is as well to bear in mind that
one of her parents was partly of French extraction. In
.bn 014.png
.pn +1
consequence of his wife’s connections, Charles Burney on
his marriage hired a house in the City. He was presently
elected organist of St. Dionis Backchurch, produced
several pieces of music, and laid himself out to obtain
pupils. These flocked to him from all sides. The
Grevilles had gone abroad shortly after he left them, but
he could still count on their influence, and that of the
friends they had procured him, while he found new supporters
daily among the merchants and bankers east of
Temple Bar. His wife bore him a first-born son, who
was baptized James, according to the immemorial usage
of the Burney race, and then a daughter, who received
her mother’s name of Esther. But when all things looked
fair and promising, the sky suddenly became overcast.
The young father’s health broke down: a violent attack
of fever was succeeded by a train of symptoms threatening
consumption; and, as a last resource, he was ordered
by his medical adviser, the poet-physician Armstrong,[5] to
throw up his employments in London and go to live in
the country.
.fn 4
‘Memoirs of Dr. Burney, by his Daughter, Madame d’Arblay,’ 1832.
.fn-
.fn 5
Author of a didactic poem, ‘The Art of Preserving Health.’
.fn-
In this emergency, Burney was offered and accepted the
place of organist at Lynn, whither he removed in 1751,
and where he spent the nine following years. His stipend
was fixed at £100 a year, a handsome sum for those days,
and he largely added to it by giving music lessons in the
town, and in many of the great houses of Norfolk. The
qualities which had stood him in good stead in London
proved equally acceptable to the country gentlemen of
East Anglia. ‘He scarcely ever entered one of their
houses upon terms of business without leaving it on terms
of intimacy.’ His journeys to Houghton, Holkham,
Kimberley, Rainham and Felbrig were performed on the
back of his mare Peggy, who leisurely padded along the
.bn 015.png
.pn +1
sandy cross-roads, while the rider studied a volume of
Italian poetry with the aid of a dictionary which he carried
in his pocket. As Burney’s income grew, his family also
increased. After his third child, Frances, came another
daughter, Susanna; next a second son, who was called
Charles, and then a fourth daughter, Charlotte. The
keen breezes from the Wash helped to brace his spare
person, and though constant riding about the country in
winter was not desirable exercise, Burney gradually reconciled
himself to his provincial lot, which he enlivened by
laying plans for his ‘History of Music,’ corresponding with
the Grevilles and other old friends, and commencing an
acquaintance by letter with Dr. Johnson. In 1759, however,
he gained some general reputation by his musical
setting of an ode for St. Cecilia’s Day, which was performed
with much applause at Ranelagh Gardens; and, stimulated
by the exhortations which reached him from various
quarters, he prepared to resume his career in the capital.
Foremost in urging the step was Samuel Crisp, whom he
had met and taken for his mentor at Wilbury House,
and of whom we shall have more to say presently. To
settle for life among the foggy aldermen of Lynn, wrote
Crisp, would be to plant his youth, genius, hopes and
fortune against a north wall. Burney took the warning,
and in 1760, having sufficiently recruited his constitution,
he returned to London with his wife and family.
He established himself in Poland Street, which, from
having been in high fashion, was then lapsing by degrees
to the professional and the less wealthy mercantile classes,
though it still boasted among its inhabitants the Duke of
Chandos, besides several lesser personages whose names
were written in the peerage. This was the very situation
for an ambitious music-master of slender means but good
connections. In a very short time, we are told, Burney
.bn 016.png
.pn +1
‘had hardly an hour that was not appropriated to some
fair disciple.’ He began his round of lessons as early as
seven o’clock in the morning, and sometimes did not
finish it till eleven at night. He often dined in a hackney
coach on the contents of a sandwich-box and a flask of
sherry and water, which he carried in his pocket. The
care of his six little ones of necessity devolved wholly on
their mother, who was well worthy of the charge. In
talents and accomplishments Mrs. Burney appears to
have been at least the equal of her husband. While she
lived, a certain touch of Huguenot decision in her added
strength to his less strenuous nature; and her French
blood undoubtedly contributed its full share to the quick
and lively parts that in different degrees distinguished
their children. These, as they grew out of infancy, composed
a group which, on every view that we get of it,
presents an extremely pleasant picture. In most cases,
their minds blossomed at an early period. The eldest
daughter, Esther, inherited her father’s musical genius;
when only eight years of age she performed with surprising
skill on the harpsichord. James, the eldest son,
appears to have been a lad of spirit and vivacity. Beginning
as ‘a nominal midshipman’ at the age of ten, he
chose the navy for his profession, sailed twice round the
world with Captain Cook, rose to the rank of rear-admiral,
and lived to have his ‘flashes of wild wit’ celebrated by
Charles Lamb in one of the essays of ‘Elia.’ Susanna, the
favorite and special friend of our Fanny, has left letters
worthy of being printed on the same page with those of
her famous sister, and her power of writing showed itself
sooner than did Fanny’s. Finally, Charles,[6] the second
son, though for some reason he quitted Cambridge without
.bn 017.png
.pn +1
taking a degree, made his mark in Greek criticism
before completing his twenty-fifth year; in that department
of study, so speedy a harvest affords sufficient proof
of a forward spring. The fame of the younger Dr.
Charles Burney is now somewhat faded: in his prime, he
was classed with Porson and Parr as one of the three
chief representatives of English scholarship; and on his
death his library was purchased by the nation and placed
in the British Museum.
.fn 6
Born at Lynn, December 4, 1756; LL.D. Aberdeen, 1792; vicar of
Deptford, prebendary of Lincoln, chaplain to the King; died 1817.
.fn-
The one marked exception to the rule of early development
in the Burney family was noted in the case of the
daughter who was destined to be its principal ornament.
We are told that the most remarkable features of Frances
Burney’s childhood were her extreme shyness and her
backwardness at learning. At eight years of age, she did
not even know her letters; and her elder brother, who
had a sailor’s love of practical jokes, used to pretend to
teach her to read, and give her the book upside down,
which, he said, she never found out. An officious acquaintance
of her mother suggested that the application
of the little dunce might be quickened by the rod, but the
wiser parent replied that ‘she had no fear about Fanny.’
Mrs. Burney, it is clear, favoured no forcing methods in
education. She was laid aside by illness shortly after the
family’s return to London, and, so long as her health
lasted, seems to have given regular teaching to the eldest
of her daughters only, whose taste for reading she very
early began to form. “I perfectly recollect,” wrote Fanny
to Esther many years later, “child as I was, and never
of the party, this part of your education. At that very
juvenile period, the difference even of months makes a
marked distinction in bestowing and receiving instruction.
I, also, was so peculiarly backward that even our Susan
stood before me; she could read when I knew not my
.bn 018.png
.pn +1
letters. But, though so sluggish to learn, I was always
observant. Do you remember Mr. Seaton denominating
me at fifteen, the silent, observant Miss Fanny? Well I
recollect your reading with our dear mother all Pope’s
works and Pitt’s ‘Æneid.’ I recollect, also, your spouting
passages from Pope, that I learned from hearing you
recite them, before—many years before—I read them
myself.”
Mrs. Burney died at the end of September, 1761. Towards
the close of her illness, Fanny and Susan, with
their brother Charles, had been sent to board with a
Mrs. Sheeles, who kept a school in Queen Square, that
they might be out of the way; and this experienced judge
of children was greatly struck by the intensity of Fanny’s
grief at a loss which girls of nine are apt to realize very
imperfectly.
The truth seems to be that Fanny’s backwardness and apparent
dulness were simply due to the numbing influence of
nervousness and extreme diffidence. Her father, the less
indulgent to shyness in others because he had experienced
it in himself, for a long time did her very imperfect
justice. Looking back in later years, he could remember
that her talent for observing and representing points of
character, her lively invention, even her turn for composition,
had shown themselves before she had learnt to spell
her way through the pages of a fairy tale. A magician
more potent than any books helped to call forth the
germs of her latent powers. Among the friends most intimate
in Poland Street during the months following Mrs.
Burney’s death were David Garrick and his engaging wife,
La Violetta. While exerting themselves to console the
widower, this brilliant and kindly couple did not neglect
his motherless family. ‘Garrick, who was passionately
fond of children, never withheld his visits on account of
.bn 019.png
.pn +1
the absence of the master of the house.’ If Mr. Burney
was not at home, the great actor, keenly alive to his own
gift of bestowing pleasure, would devote himself to entertaining
the little ones. The rapture with which his entrance
was greeted by that small audience charmed him as much
as the familiar applause of Drury Lane. The prince of
comedians and mimics was content to lavish all the resources
of his art on a handful of girls and boys. When
he left them, they spent the rest of the day in recalling the
sallies of his humour, and the irresistible gestures which
had set them off. So Fanny tells us, the least noticed,
probably, yet the most attentive and observant member
of the whole group. On many a happy night, the elder
ones, in charge of some suitable guardian, were permitted
to occupy Mrs. Garrick’s private box at the theatre.
There they beheld ‘the incomparable Roscius’ take the
stage, and followed him with eyes of such eager admiration,
that it seemed—so their amused father told his
friend—
.pm start_poem
‘They did, as was their duty,
Worship the shadow of his shoe-tie!’
.pm end_poem
Burney relates of Fanny that ‘she used, after having seen
a play in Mrs. Garrick’s box, to take the actors off, and
compose speeches for their characters, for she could not
read them.’ But, he continues, in company or before
strangers, she was silent, backward, and timid, even to
sheepishness; and, from her shyness, had such profound
gravity and composure of features, that those of Dr.
Burney’s friends who went often to his home, and entered
into the different humours of the children, never
called Fanny by any other name, from the time she had
reached her eleventh year, than ‘the old lady.’
Yet the shyest children will now and then forget their
shyness. This seems to be the moral of a story which
.bn 020.png
.pn +1
the worthy doctor goes on to tell in his rather prolix and
pompous style. “There lived next door to me, at that
time, in Poland Street, and in a private house, a capital
hair-merchant, who furnished perukes to the judges and
gentlemen of the law. The hair-merchant’s female children
and mine used to play together in the little garden
behind the house; and, unfortunately, one day, the door
of the wig-magazine being left open, they each of them
put on one of those dignified ornaments of the head, and
danced and jumped about in a thousand antics, laughing
till they screamed at their own ridiculous figures. Unfortunately,
in their vagaries, one of the flaxen wigs, said
by the proprietor to be worth upwards of ten guineas—in
those days an enormous price—fell into a tub of water,
placed for shrubs in the little garden, and lost all its
gorgon buckle,[7] and was declared by the owner to be
totally spoilt. He was extremely angry, and chid very
severely his own children, when my little daughter, ‘the
old lady,’ then ten years of age, advancing to him, as I
was informed, with great gravity and composure, sedately
said, ‘What signifies talking so much about an accident?
The wig is wet, to be sure; and the wig was a good wig,
to be sure: but ’tis of no use to speak of it any more,
because what’s done can’t be undone.’”
.fn 7
The writer seems to have had in view the lines of Pope:
.pm start_poem
‘That live-long wig, which Gorgon’s self might own,
Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.’
.pm end_poem
By the buckle of a wig was meant its stiff curl when in trim condition.
.fn-
Meanwhile, little was done on any regular plan for
Fanny’s education. She had not been suffered to remain
at the school in which she was temporarily placed during
her mother’s last illness, nor was she sent to any other.
When, after the lapse of two or three years, Burney found
himself in a position to put two of his girls to school at
.bn 021.png
.pn +1
Paris, he selected the third, Susanna, rather than Fanny,
to accompany the eldest sister, proposing to send Fanny
and Charlotte together at a future time. Two reasons
were assigned for this arrangement. One was the notion
that Susanna, who inherited her father’s consumptive
habit, required change of climate more than the second
daughter. The other was a fear lest Fanny’s deep reverence
for her Roman Catholic grandmother might incline
her to adopt the same form of faith, and thus render her
perversion easy, if, when so young, she fell within the
influence of some enterprising French chaplain. We cannot
help suspecting, however, that the true cause of Fanny
being passed over on this occasion was an impression
that Susanna was a girl of brighter parts, and better
fitted to benefit by the teaching of a Paris pension.
From whatever motive, Fanny was left behind, nor was
any instructor provided for her at home. The widower
disliked the idea of introducing a governess into his
house, though he had no time to spare even for directing
his daughter’s studies. She was thus entirely self-educated,
and had no other spur to exertion than her
unbounded affection for her father, who excused himself
for his neglect of her training by the reflection that ‘she
had a natural simplicity and probity about her which wanted
no teaching.’ In her eleventh year she had learned to
read, and began to scribble little poems and works of
invention, though in a character that was illegible to
everyone but herself. ‘Her love of reading,’ we are told,
‘did not display itself till two or three years later.’ Her
father had a good library, over which she was allowed to
range at will; and in course of time she became acquainted
with a fair portion of its lighter contents. The
solitary child kept a careful account of the authors she
studied, making extracts from them, and adding remarks
.bn 022.png
.pn +1
which, we are assured, showed that her mind was riper
than her knowledge. Yet she never developed any strong
or decided taste for literature. She never became even a
devourer of books. Indeed, it may be doubted whether
she did not always derive more pleasure from her own
compositions than from those of the greatest writers.
Plying her pen without an effort, the leisure which most
intellectual persons give to reading, Fanny devoted in
great part to producing manuscripts of her own. Childish
epics, dramas, and romances, were not the only ventures
of her youth: she began keeping a diary at the age of
fifteen, and, in addition to her published novels and sundry
plays which have perished, journals, memoirs, and letters,
of which a small proportion only have seen the light, occupied
most of the vacant hours in her active womanhood.
During this period of self-education, the person from
whom Fanny received most notice and attention appears
to have been her father’s old friend, Samuel Crisp. This
gentleman had gone abroad while the Burneys were in
Norfolk, and had taken up his abode at Rome, where he
passed several years, improving his taste in music, painting,
and sculpture, and forgetting for a while the young
English professor who had interested him under Greville’s
roof. Having at length returned to England, he, some
time after Mrs. Burney’s death, met Burney by accident
at the house of a common acquaintance. The casual
encounter immediately revived the old intimacy. Crisp at
once found his way to the house in Poland Street, and,
like Garrick, was attracted by the group of children
there. As the two eldest of these and the lively Susanna
were soon afterwards removed to a distance, the chief
share in his regard naturally fell to the lot of Fanny.
Hence, while all the children came to look upon him with
a sort of filial feeling, he was in a special manner appropriated
.bn 023.png
.pn +1
by Fanny as ‘her dearest daddy.’ And there
were points in Crisp’s temperament which harmonized well
with the girl’s shy yet aspiring character. Both, in their
turn, set their hearts on the attainment of literary renown;
both had the same tendency to shrink into themselves.
Success changed Fanny from a silent domestic drudge
into a social celebrity; failure helped to change Crisp
from a shining man of fashion into a moody recluse.
The story of this strange man has been sketched by
Macaulay, but it has so close a bearing on our heroine’s
life, that we cannot avoid shortly retracing it here. A
handsome person, dignified manners, excellent talents,
and an accomplished taste procured for Crisp, in his prime,
acceptance and favour, not only with Fulk Greville and
his set, but also with a large number of other persons
distinguished in the great world. Thus, he was admitted
to the acquaintance of the highly descended and wealthy
Margaret Cavendish Harley, then Duchess Dowager of
Portland, whom we mention here because through her
Crisp became known to Mrs. Delany, by whom Fanny
was afterwards introduced to the Royal Family. Another
of his friends was Mrs. Montagu, who then, as he used to
say, was ‘peering at fame,’ and gradually rising to the
rank of a lady patroness of letters. And among the most
intimate of his associates was the Earl of Coventry, at the
time when that ‘grave young lord,’ as Walpole calls him,
after long dangling, married the most beautiful of the beautiful
Gunnings. Now, about the date when our Fanny first
saw the light, it was buzzed abroad in the coterie of Crisp’s
admirers that their hero had finished a tragedy on the
story of Virginia. A lively expectation was at once
awakened. But Garrick, though a personal friend of the
author, hesitated and delayed to gratify the public with
the rich feast which was believed to be in store for it.
.bn 024.png
.pn +1
The utmost efforts were employed to overcome his reluctance.
The great Mr. Pitt was prevailed on to read the
play, and to pronounce in its favour. Lord Coventry
exerted all his influence with the coy manager. Yet not
until Lady Coventry herself had joined her solicitations
to those of her husband was ‘Virginia’ put in rehearsal at
Drury Lane. The piece was produced in February, 1754,
and ran several nights, buoyed up by the acting and
popularity of Garrick, who contributed a remarkably good
epilogue.[8] But no patronage or support could keep alive
a drama which, in truth, had neither poetical merit nor
the qualities of a good acting play to recommend it.
‘Virginia’ was very soon withdrawn, and, as usual, the
writer, while cruelly mortified by his failure, attributed it
to every cause but the right one. Lord Coventry advised
alterations, which Crisp hastened to execute, but Garrick,
though civil, was determined that so ineffective a muse
should not again cumber his stage. His firmness, of
course, cost him the friendship of the ungrateful Crisp,
who, conscious of considerable powers, and unable to
perceive that he had mistaken their proper application,
inveighed with equal bitterness against manager, performers,
and the public, and in sore dudgeon betook
himself across the sea to Italy. Macaulay, indeed, will
have it that his disappointment ruined his temper and
spirits, and turned him into ‘a cynic, and a hater of mankind.’
But in this, as in too many of the essayist’s
trenchant statements, something of accuracy is sacrificed
for the sake of effect. Crisp appears to have enjoyed
himself not a little in Italy, and on his return, though he
did not again settle in London, he fixed his first abode as
near to it as the courtly village of Hampton, where he
furnished a small house, filling it with pictures, statuary,
.bn 025.png
.pn +1
and musical instruments, as became a man of taste.
Far from shunning society in this luxurious retreat, he
entertained so many guests there that his hospitality in a
short time made a serious inroad on his small fortune.
Chagrin at his imprudence brought on a severe attack of
gout; and then it was that, broken alike in health and
finances, he resolved on secluding himself from the world.
Having sold his villa and its contents, he removed a few
miles off to a solitary mansion belonging to an old friend,
Christopher Hamilton, who, like himself, had lost the
battle of life, and desired to be considered as dead to
mankind.
.fn 8
Walpole to Bentley, March 6, 1754.
.fn-
Chesington Hall, which thenceforth became the joint
residence of this pair of hermits, stood on an eminence
rising from a wide and nearly desolate common, about
midway between the towns of Epsom and Kingston; the
neglected buildings were crumbling to pieces from age,
having been begun in the same year in which Wolsey laid
the first stone of Hampton Court; and the homestead
was surrounded by fields, that for a long period had
been so ploughed up as to leave no road or even regular
footpath open across them. In this hiding-place Crisp
fixed his abode for the rest of his life. So isolated was
the spot that strangers could not reach it without a guide.
But the inhabitants desired to have as few visitors as
possible. Only as the spring of each year came round
would Crisp, while his strength allowed, quit his refuge
for a few weeks, to amuse himself with the picture-shows
and concerts of the London season.
It seems to have been during one of these excursions
that Burney met Crisp again after their long separation.
The revival of their friendship gave the solitary man one
more connecting link with the outside world. Down to that
time Crisp’s only visitor in his retreat seems to have been
.bn 026.png
.pn +1
his sister, Mrs. Sophia Gast, of Burford, in Oxfordshire.
Now to Burney also was entrusted the clue for a safe
route across the wild common to Chesington Hall, while
from all others, including Mr. Greville, it was still steadfastly
withheld. There is no reason to suppose that the
acquaintances whom Crisp thus relinquished were more
faithless than a poor man’s great friends usually are. He
had been flattered with hopes of obtaining some public
appointment through their interest; but his health had
failed before the value of the promises made to him could
be fairly tested. When restored strength might have
rendered seclusion irksome, and employment acceptable,
his pride rebelled against further solicitation, and fixed
him in the solitude where his poverty and lack of energy
alike escaped reproach. Charles Burney alone, from whom
he had nothing to expect, and who had always looked up
to him, was admitted where others were excluded.
The modern village of Chesington lies about two miles
to the north-west of the railway-station at Ewell. Some
patches of heathy common still remain. Though not so
solitary a place as in the days of which we write, Chesington
has still a lonely look.[9]
.fn 9
Thorne’s ‘Environs of London.’ The name is now written Chessington,
but we retain the spelling which was always used by Fanny Burney and her
friends.
.fn-
Crisp, in his sanctuary, and his occasional secret journeys
to London, resumed his office of mentor to Burney, and
became also the confidential adviser of Burney’s daughters.
For such trust he was eminently qualified; since, to borrow
the words of Macaulay, though he was a bad poet, he was
a scholar, a thinker, and an excellent counsellor. He surpassed
his younger friend, Charles, in general knowledge
and force of mind, as much as he was surpassed by Charles
in social tact and pliability of temper. And Burney was
.bn 027.png
.pn +1
far from resenting or grudging the influence which Crisp
acquired in his family; for Burney was a sweet-natured
as well as a sensible man. No pitiful vanity or treacherous
jealousy lay hid under his genial and gracious exterior.
Conscious, apparently, that both from too great easiness
of disposition, and from his manifold engagements, he was
ill-fitted to discharge all the duties devolving on him as
sole surviving parent, he cordially welcomed the assistance
of his old and valued friend. Mrs. Thrale afterwards
complained that Dr. Burney liked to keep his hold on
his children; but the engrossing lady patroness seems to
have meant only that he objected, as well he might, to
have Fanny disposed of for months or years at a time
without regard to his wishes or convenience. He was
never disturbed by unworthy alarms lest some interloping
well-wisher should steal away the hearts of his children
from himself. He stooped to no paltry man[oe]uvres to
prevent them from becoming too much attached to this or
that friend. He certainly did not interfere to check the
warmth of his daughters’ regard for the rugged old cynic
of Chesington, nor put any restraint on the correspondence
which grew up between Fanny and her ‘dearest
daddy.’ And he reaped the full reward of his unselfishness,
or, we should rather say, of his straightforward
good sense. No son or daughter was ever estranged
from him by the feeling that his jealousy had robbed
them of a useful connection or appreciative ally. Fanny’s
fondness for her adopted father, as might have been expected,
did not in the least diminish her love for her
natural parent. ‘She had always a great affection for
me,’ wrote Dr. Burney at the close of his life. The latter
was, indeed, the standard by which she generally tried the
claims of any other person to be considered admirable or
charming. In her twenty-sixth year she expressed her
.bn 028.png
.pn +1
enthusiasm for her newly-made friend, Mrs. Thrale, by
saying: ‘I never before saw a person who so strongly
resembles my dear father.’ At forty-one, she described
her husband as being ‘so very like my beloved father in
disposition, humour, and taste, that the day never passes
in which I do not exclaim: “How you remind me of my
Crisp himself, at the time when Fanny made his acquaintance,
had no pretension to gentle manners or a
graceful address; but, like many other disappointed men
who assume the character of misanthropes, he possessed
at bottom a warm, and even tender, heart, and was particularly
fond of young persons. In his intimate intercourse
with the Burney family, all ceremony was discarded;
towards the junior members he adopted a plain,
rough style of speech, which, being unmistakably playful,
left them always quite at home with him. Very soon the
death of Crisp’s companion in retirement rendered the
society of the Burneys more indispensable to the survivor,
while it placed him in a better position for receiving
these visits. The male line of the Hamiltons ended in
Christopher, and his dilapidated estate descended to a
maiden sister, Mrs. Sarah Hamilton. Rather than sell the
property, this ancient lady, under Crisp’s advice, divided
the capacious old Hall between herself and Farmer Woodhatch,
who rented and cultivated what remained of the
lands. To assist her in keeping up the residence she still
retained, Mrs. Hamilton called in as ‘lady help’ a rustic
niece, named Kitty Cooke, and Crisp became her lodger,
securing to his own use ‘a favourite apartment, with a
light and pleasant closet at the end of a long corridor.’
In this closet a great part of Burney’s ‘History of Music’
was written. There was a larger scheme, also, at this
time, for turning the whole suite of rooms into a boarding
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
establishment, but applicants for accommodation in so
remote and obscure an abode were likely to be few in
number. Mrs. Gast, however, came thither from time to
time, and Frances Burney and her sisters were often there.
We shall see, in due course, how the animated scenes of
the famous novel, ‘Cecilia,’ or most of them, were elaborated
within those mouldering walls. To the end of her life
the author’s thoughts wandered back with delight to the
quaint old place. Her memory let nothing slip: “not a
nook or corner; nor a dark passage ‘leading to nothing’;
nor a hanging tapestry of prim demoiselles and grim
cavaliers; nor a tall canopied bed tied up to the ceiling;
nor japan cabinets of two or three hundred drawers of
different dimensions; nor an oaken corner-cupboard,
carved with heads, thrown in every direction, save such
as might let them fall on men’s shoulders; nor a window
stuck in some angle close to the ceiling of a lofty slip
of a room; nor a quarter of a staircase, leading to some
quaint unfrequented apartment; nor a wooden chimney-piece,
cut in diamonds, squares, and round knobs, surmounting
another of blue and white tiles, representing,
vis-à-vis, a dog and a cat, as symbols of married life and
harmony.”[10]
.fn 10
‘Memoirs of Dr. Burney,’ vol. ii., p. 185.
.fn-
The time arrived when, in accordance with their father’s
original design, Frances and Charlotte Burney should
have been placed at school in Paris in succession to
Esther and Susanna. Burney presently made another
journey to the French capital to bring back the pair of
sisters who had completed the term of two years assigned
for their education there, but he was not accompanied by
either of his other daughters. He was not deterred from
taking them by any misgiving as to the results of his first
experiment, which, we are assured, had fully answered
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
his expectations, but rather by some uncertainty of means
and plans, connected, perhaps, in part with his approaching
second marriage. Some lines from the pen of Susanna
have been preserved, which are said to have been written
shortly after her return, and which, if the date ascribed
to them be correct, would show that the writer, who was
then barely fourteen, was a remarkably forward girl of
her age. As this short composition sketches in contrast
Susanna’s two elder sisters, we give it entire:
“Hetty seems a good deal more lively than she used to
appear at Paris; whether it is that her spirits are better,
or that the great liveliness of the inhabitants made her
appear grave there by comparison, I know not: but she
was there remarkable for being sérieuse, and is here for
being gay and lively. She is a most sweet girl. My
sister Fanny is unlike her in almost everything, yet both
are very amiable, and love each other as sincerely as ever
sisters did. The characteristics of Hetty seem to be wit,
generosity and openness of heart: Fanny’s—sense, sensibility,
and bashfulness, and even a degree of prudery.
Her understanding is superior, but her diffidence gives
her a bashfulness before company with whom she is not
intimate, which is a disadvantage to her. My eldest sister
shines in conversation, because, though very modest, she
is totally free from any mauvaise honte: were Fanny equally
so, I am persuaded she would shine no less. I am afraid
that my eldest sister is too communicative, and that my
sister Fanny is too reserved. They are both charming
girls—des filles comme il y en a peu.”
Burney’s second marriage took place not long after the
return of Esther and Susanna from Paris. His choice on
this occasion was an intimate friend of the first Mrs.
Burney, whom she succeeded after an interval of six years.
This lady was the widow of Mr. Stephen Allen, a merchant
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
of Lynn, and by him the parent of several children. The
young Allens had been playmates of the young Burneys.
If not equal in mind or person to the adored Esther
Sleepe, Mrs. Allen was a handsome and well-instructed
woman, and proved an excellent stepmother to Fanny
and her sisters, as well as an admirable wife to their
father. For some reason or other, the nature of which
does not very clearly appear, it was judged desirable that
not only the engagement between the widow and widower
should be kept secret, but that their wedding should be
celebrated in private. They were married some time in
the spring of 1768, at St. James’s, Piccadilly, by the curate,
an old acquaintance of the bridegroom, their intention
being confided to three other friends only. Crisp, who
was one of these, had clearly no mind that Burney’s new
connection should put an end to their alliance, or deprive
himself of the relief which the visits of the widower and
his children had afforded to the monotony of his retirement.
The freshly married couple carried their secret
and their happiness ‘to the obscure skirts of the then
pathless, and nearly uninhabited Chesington Common,
where Mr. Crisp had engaged for them a rural and fragrant
retreat, at a small farm-house in a little hamlet a mile or
two from Chesington Hall.’
The secret, we are further told, as usual in matrimonial
concealments, was faithfully preserved for a time by careful
vigilance, and then escaped through accident. Betrayed
by the loss of a letter, Mrs. Burney came openly to
town to be introduced to her husband’s circle, and
presently took her place at the head of his household in
Poland Street. The young people on both sides accepted
their new relationships with pleasure. The long-deferred
scheme of sending Fanny and her youngest sister to Paris
was now finally abandoned. Susanna undertook to instruct
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
Fanny in French, and Charlotte was put to school
in Norfolk. For some years the united families spent
their summer holidays at Lynn, where Mrs. Burney had
a dower-house. But, whether in town or country, Frances
and Susanna were specially devoted to each other. Susan
alone was Fanny’s confidante in her literary attempts.
As the latter’s age increased, her passion for writing
became more confirmed. Every scrap of white paper that
could be seized upon without question or notice was at once
covered with her manuscript. She was not long in finding
out that her turn was mainly for story-telling and humorous
description. The two girls laughed and cried together
over the creations of the elder’s fancy, but the native
timidity of the young author, and still more, perhaps, her
father’s low estimate of her capacity, made her apprehend
nothing but ridicule if what she scribbled were disclosed
to others. She worked then under the rose, imposing the
strictest silence on her faithful accomplice. When in
London, she plied her pen in a closet up two pair of stairs,
that was appropriated to the younger children as a playroom.
At Lynn, she would shut herself up to write in a
summer-house, which went by the name of ‘The Cabin.’
Yet all her simple precautions could not long elude the
suspicion of her sharp-sighted stepmother. The second
Mrs. Burney was a bustling, sociable person, who did not
approve of young ladies creeping out of sight to study;
though herself fond of books, and, as we learn, a particular
admirer of Sterne’s ‘Sentimental Journey,’ then recently
published, she was a matron of the period, and could not
tolerate the idea of a young woman under her control
venturing on the disesteemed career of literature. The
culprit, therefore, was seriously and frequently admonished
to check her scribbling propensity. Some morsels of her
compositions, falling into the hands of Mrs. Burney, appear
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
to have added point to the censor’s remarks. Fanny was
warned not to waste time and thought over idle inventions;
and she was further cautioned, and not unreasonably,
according to the prevailing notions of the day, as to the
discredit she would incur if she came before the public as
a female novelist. The future author of ‘Cecilia’ was only
too ready to assent to this view, and to cry peccavi. She
bowed before her stepmother’s rebukes, and prepared
herself inwardly for a great act of sacrifice. Seizing an
opportunity when her father was at Chesington, and Mrs.
Burney was in Norfolk, ‘she made over to a bonfire, in a
paved play-court, her whole stock’ of prose manuscripts.
The fact of the auto da fé rests on the authority of the
penitent herself: her niece and biographer, Mrs. Barrett,
adds that Susanna stood by, weeping at the pathetic
spectacle; but this is perhaps only a legendary accretion
to the tale. It seems certain that Fanny fell into error,
when, long years afterwards, she wrote of the incident as
having occurred on her fifteenth birthday.[11] Fanny was
never very careful about her dates, and she was unquestionably
more than fifteen when her father’s second marriage
took place. In spite of this, we are not warranted in questioning
Mrs. Barrett’s express statement that her aunt’s
famous Diary was commenced at the age of fifteen.
Though of that portion of the Diary which belongs to
the years preceding the publication of ‘Evelina,’ only the
opening passages have been printed, and though the style
of these may seem to betoken a more advanced age than
that mentioned, the whole was before the biographer when
she wrote, and the contents must have spoken for themselves.
.fn 11
Preface to the ‘Wanderer.’
.fn-
Frances Burney had burned her papers with the full
intention of breaking off altogether the baneful habit of
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
authorship. Doubtless, however, she did not consider
that her resolution of total abstinence debarred her from
keeping a journal; and she was not long in discovering
that, however steadfastly she might resist the impulses of
her fancy, its wings were always pluming themselves for
a flight. The latest-born of her literary bantlings committed
to the flames had been a tale setting forth the
fortunes and fate of Caroline Evelyn, who was feigned to
be the daughter of a gentleman by a low-bred wife, and,
after the death of her father, to contract a clandestine
marriage with a faithless baronet, and then to survive
her husband’s desertion of her just long enough to give
birth to a female child. The closing incident of this
tragic and tragically-destroyed production left a lively
impression on the mind of the writer. Her imagination
dwelt on the singular situations to which the
infant, as she grew up, would be exposed by the lot that
placed her between the rival claims of her vulgar grandmother
and her mother’s more refined connections, and
on the social contrasts and collisions, at once unusual and
natural, which the supposed circumstances might be expected
to occasion. In this way, from the ashes of the
‘History of Caroline Evelyn’ sprang Frances Burney’s
first published work, ‘Evelina; or, A Young Lady’s Entrance
into the World.’ We do not know how long a
time expired from the burning of her manuscripts before
Fanny relapsed into the sin of fiction-scribbling; but the
flood of her invention probably rose the faster for being
pent up. Irresistibly and almost unconsciously, she tells
us, the whole story of ‘Evelina’ was laid up in her memory
before a paragraph had been committed to paper. Even
when her conscience had ceased to struggle, her opportunities
for jotting down the ideas which haunted her
were few and far between. She had to write in stolen
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
moments, for she was under the eye of her stepmother.
The demands on her time, too, became greater than they
had been when Caroline Evelyn was her heroine. Her
Diary occupied a large part of her leisure, and her hours
of regular employment were presently lengthened by the
work of transcribing for her father.
Charles Burney was now rising to eminence in his profession.
To be Master of the King’s Band was the highest
honour then within the reach of a musician, and Burney
had been promised this appointment, though the promise
was broken in favour of a candidate supported by the
Duke of York.[12] In the summer of 1769, the Duke of
Grafton was to be installed as Chancellor of the University
of Cambridge. The poet Gray wrote the Installation
Ode. Burney proposed to set it to music, and to conduct
the performance at the ceremony, intending, at the same
time, to take the degree of Doctor of Music at Cambridge.
The Chancellor Elect accepted his offer as one which
the composer’s rank well entitled him to make; but it
soon appeared that the ideas of the two men as to the
relative value of money and music were widely different.
His Grace would consent to allow for the expense of
singers and orchestra only one-half the amount which the
conductor considered due to the occasion and his own
importance. Burney in disgust threw up his commission,
and, without loss of time, repaired to the sister University
for his doctorate, which was conferred on him in June,
1769; the exercise produced by him as his qualification
was so highly thought of that it was repeated three years
successively at choral meetings in Oxford, and was afterwards
performed at Hamburg under C. P. E. Bach.
.fn 12
Edward, brother of King George III.
.fn-
Dr. Burney’s new title did not appear on his door-plate
till a facetious friend exhorted him to brazen it. But,
.bn 036.png
.pn +1
retiring as he was, the constitutional diffidence which his
second daughter inherited was now giving way in him
before the consciousness of ability and attainments, and
the irresistible desire to establish a lasting reputation.
In the latter part of the same year, he ventured anonymously
into print with his first literary production. Ten
years earlier, the return of Halley’s Comet at the time
predicted seems to have given him an interest in astronomy,
which he retained through life. There was again
a comet visible in 1769, and this drew from him an Essay
on Comets, to which he prefixed a translation from the
pen of his first wife, Esther, of a letter by Maupertuis.[13]
But this pamphlet was only an experiment, and being
obviously the work of an amateur, attracted little notice.
Having once tried his ’prentice hand at authorship, he
fixed his attention on his proper subject, and devoted
himself to his long-projected ‘History of Music.’
.fn 13
The title-page runs: ‘An Essay towards the history of the principal
Comets that have appeared since 1742; with remarks and reflections upon the
present Comet; to which is prefixed a Letter,’ etc. London, 1769. It is a
curious instance of Madame d’Arblay’s inaccuracy in the matter of dates, that
she writes in detail of this little tract, the title of which she misquotes, as having
been produced when ‘the comet of the immortal Halley’ was being awaited.
(‘Memoirs of Dr. Burney,’ vol. i., pp. 214-217.) But it was in 1759, not 1769,
that Halley’s Comet returned. For notices of the comet of 1769, see the
Gentleman’s Magazine of that year.
.fn-
He had for many years kept a commonplace book, in
which he laid up notes, extracts, abridgments, criticisms,
as the matter presented itself. So large was the collection
thus accumulated that it seemed to his family ‘as
if he had merely to methodize his manuscripts, and entrust
them to a copyist, for completing his purpose.’
The copyist was at hand in his daughter Frances, who
became his principal secretary and librarian. But, as the
enterprise proceeded, the views of the historian expanded.
Much information that would now be readily supplied by
public journals or correspondence was then only to be
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
obtained by personal investigation on the spot. Early in
1770, Dr. Burney had determined that it would be needful
for him to undertake a musical tour through France and
Italy. He started on this expedition in June of that year,
and did not return until the following January. His
absence gave Fanny a considerable increase of leisure
and opportunity for indulging her own literary dreams
and occupations. Her stepmother, as well as her father,
seems to have left her at liberty, for during part of
this interval, at least, the attention of Mrs. Burney was
engaged in providing a better habitation for her husband.
The house in Poland Street had been found too small
to accommodate the combined families. In addition to the
children of their former marriages, there had been born to
the parents a son, who was baptized Richard Thomas, and
a daughter to whom they gave the name of Sarah Harriet.
Mrs. Burney now found, and having found, proceeded to
purchase and furnish, a large house in the upper part of
Queen Square, Bloomsbury, which then enjoyed an uninterrupted
view of the Hampstead and Highgate Hills.
The new abode had once belonged to Alderman Barber,
the friend of Dean Swift; and the Burneys pleased themselves
with the thought that there the great saturnine
humourist had been wont sometimes to set the table in a
roar. The removal was effected while the Doctor was still
on the Continent. On his arrival in London, he was
welcomed to the new home by his wife and children, and
by the never-failing Mr. Crisp. We hear, however, but
little of this house in Queen Square, and even less of
Fanny’s doings there. Her father had scarcely time to
become acquainted with it before he was off to Chesington,
where he occupied himself for several weeks in preparing
the journal of his tour for the press. All his daughters
were pressed into the service of copying and recopying
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
his manuscript, but the chief share of this labour fell upon
the scribbling Fanny. The book, which was called ‘The
Present State of Music in France and Italy,’ appeared in
the season of 1771. Thenceforth his friend Crisp’s retreat
became Burney’s constant resort when he had literary
work in hand. A further production of his pen, dealing
with a matter of musical technique, came forth before the
close of the same year. At the beginning of July, 1772,
he set out on another tour, with the same object of
collecting materials for his history, his route being now
through Germany and the Netherlands. During this
second pilgrimage, his family spent their time partly at
Lynn, partly at Chesington; and Fanny, as we are told,—apparently
on the authority of her unpublished Diaries—profiting
by the opportunities which these visits
afforded, then “gradually arranged and connected the
disjointed scraps and fragments in which ‘Evelina’ had
been originally written.” But, careful to avoid offence,
“she never indulged herself with reading or writing except
in the afternoon; always scrupulously devoting her time
to needlework till after dinner.”
The traveller’s absence lasted five months: he reached
Calais on his return in a December so boisterous that for
nine days no vessel could cross the Channel; and Fanny
relates that, when at length the passage was effected, he
was too much exhausted by sea-sickness to quit his berth,
and, falling asleep, was carried back to France to encounter
another stormy voyage, and a repetition of his sea-sickness,
before he finally landed at Dover. The fatigues and
hardships of his homeward journey brought on a severe
attack of rheumatism, to which he was subject. Fanny
and her sisters nursed him, sitting by his bedside, pen in
hand, to set down the narrative of his German tour as
his sufferings allowed of his dictating it. As soon as he
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
was sufficiently recovered, he went down to Chesington
not forgetting to carry his secretaries with him.
During this illness, or a relapse which followed it, the
house in Queen Square had to be relinquished from
difficulties respecting the title; and Mrs. Burney purchased
and fitted up another in a central situation, which
was at once more convenient for her husband’s teaching
engagements, and more agreeable to him as being nearer
to the opera, the theatres, and the clubs. St. Martin’s
Street, Leicester Fields, to which the family removed, is
now among the most dingy, not to say the most squalid,
of London streets; even in 1773, ‘its unpleasant site, its
confined air, and its shabby immediate neighbourhood,’
are spoken of as drawbacks requiring compensation on
an exchange from the fair and open view of the northern
heights, crowned with Caen Woods, which had faced
the windows in Bloomsbury. But, apart from the practical
advantages before mentioned, the new home was
invested with a strong attraction for the incomers in
having been once inhabited by a personage whom our
astronomical Doctor revered, and taught his children to
revere, as ‘the pride of human nature.’ The belief that
the house in Queen Square had occasionally been visited
by Dean Swift was nothing compared with the certain
knowledge that No. 1, St. Martin’s Street, had been the
dwelling of Sir Isaac Newton.[14] The topmost story was
surmounted by an ‘observatory,’ having a leaden roof,
and sides composed entirely of small panes of glass, except
such parts as were taken up by a cupboard, fireplace and
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
chimney. This structure being much dilapidated when
Dr. Burney entered into possession, his first act was to
put what he looked on as a special relic of his great
predecessor into complete repair. The house itself was
sufficiently large for the new tenant’s family, as well as
for his books, ‘which now began to demand nearly equal
accommodation.’ Having recovered his health, and set
his affairs in order, the Doctor next resumed his daily
round of lessons, and applied himself to remedy any
injury which his professional connection had sustained
from his two prolonged absences on the Continent. His
pen was laid aside for a time, but the German Tour was
published before the end of this year, and proved very
successful. About the same time, its author was elected
a fellow of the Royal Society. The first volume of his
‘History of Music’—in which work the main part of both
his Tours was incorporated—did not appear till 1776. We
are now arrived at the time when our heroine has attained
majority. Her womanhood may be said to have commenced
with the removal to St. Martin’s Street. In our
next chapter we shall see how the first portion of it was
spent.
.fn 14
The house is now No. 35. It was occupied by Newton from the time
when he became President of the Royal Society down to his death in 1727.
He did not actually die there, as has been sometimes stated, but at Orbell’s
Buildings, Kensington, whither he used to resort for change of air. See Notes
and Queries, Third Series, i. 29. For the number of the house during Dr.
Burney’s occupation, see a letter from him to Fanny in her Diary, New
Edition, vol. i., 297.
.fn-
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER II.
.pm start_summary
Life in St. Martin’s Street—Increase of Fame and Friends—Garrick’s First
Call—Confusion—The Hairdresser—‘Tag-rag and Bobtail’—The History of
Histories—Imitation of Dr. Johnson—The Great Roscius—Mr. Crisp’s Gout—Correspondence
between him and Fanny—Dr. Burney’s Concerts—Abyssinian
Bruce—Supper in St. Martin’s Street—Italian Singers—A Musical
Evening—Visit of Count Orloff—His Stature and Jewels—Condescension—A
Matrimonial Duet—The Empress’s Miniature—Jemmy Twitcher—Present
State of St. Martin’s Street—Mr. and Mrs. Thrale—Dr. Johnson—Visit of
the Thrales and Johnson—Appearance of Dr. Johnson—His Conversation—His
Contempt for Music—Meeting of Dr. Johnson and Mr. Greville—Mrs.
Thrale Defiant—Signor Piozzi.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
Frances Burney’s Memoirs of her father, her letters
to Daddy Crisp, and her Diary, together, give us a pretty
distinct idea of her life in the little street south of Leicester
Square. From the time when Dr. Burney became
established in that quarter, the circle of his friends and
his reputation steadily widened. In no long time he
made acquaintance with his neighbours, Sir Joshua Reynolds,
Miss Reynolds, and their nieces, the Misses
Palmer; with another neighbour, the sculptor Nollekens;
with the painter Barry, Harris of Salisbury,[15] Mrs. Ord,
Sir Joseph Banks, and Abyssinian Bruce, then just returned
from his travels. All these and others were, from
time to time, to be found in the Doctor’s modest drawing-room,
together with many old friends, such as the
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
Stranges, Garrick, Colman, Mason, the Hooles, father
and son, Twining, and Baretti.
.fn 15
James Harris, author of ‘Hermes; or a Philosophical Inquiry into
Universal Grammar,’ and several other works. Entering Parliament in 1761,
he became a Lord of the Admiralty, and subsequently a Lord of the Treasury,
etc. He died in 1786.
.fn-
We have, in the ‘Memoirs,’ an account of David Garrick’s
first call at the house in St. Martin’s Street, which,
though written in the author’s later style, was no doubt
derived from contemporary notes or journals:—It was
early morning, and the doorsteps were being washed by a
new housemaid, who, not recognising the actor, demurred
to his entering unannounced. He brushed past her, ran
upstairs, and burst into the Doctor’s study. Here he
found the master of the house under the hands of his
hairdresser; while Susanna was reading a newspaper to
him, Charlotte making his tea, and Fanny arranging his
books. There was a litter of papers everywhere. Burney
would have cleared a chair, but the visitor plumped down
into one that was well cushioned with pamphlets, crying:
‘Ay, do now, Doctor, be in a little confusion! Whisk
your matters all out of their places, and don’t know
where to find a thing that you want for the rest of the
day, and that will make us all comfortable.’ The Doctor
then, laughing, returned to his place on the stool, that his
wig—or, as Madame d’Arblay calls it, the furniture of
his head—might go through its proper repairs. David,
assuming a solemn air of profound attention, fastened his
eyes upon the hairdresser, as if wonderstruck at his
amazing skill. The man, highly gratified by such notice
from the celebrated Garrick, briskly worked on, frizzing,
curling, powdering, and pasting, after the mode of the
day, with the utmost importance and self-complacency.
Garrick himself had on what he called his scratch wig,
which was so uncommonly ill-arranged and frightful that
the whole family agreed no one else could have appeared
in such a state in the public streets without risk of
being hooted He dropped now all talk with the
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
Doctor, not even answering what he said, and seemed
wholly absorbed in watching what was going on; putting
on, by degrees, with a power like transformation, a little
mean face of envy and sadness, such as he wore in representing
Abel Drugger, till at length, in the eyes of the
spectators, he passed out of himself altogether, and, with
his mouth hanging stupidly open, and his features vacant
of all expression, he became the likeness of some daubed
wooden block in a barber’s shop window. The friseur,
who at the beginning had felt flattered on seeing his operations
so curiously observed, was put out of countenance by
this incomprehensible change, became presently so embarrassed
that he hardly knew what he was about, and at last
fell into utter consternation. Scared and confounded, he
hastily rolled up the last two curls, and prepared to make
his retreat; but before he could escape, Garrick, lifting
his own miserable scratch from his head, and holding it
out on his finger and thumb, squeaked out in a whining
voice, ‘Pray now, sir, do you think, sir, you could touch
me up this here old bob a little bit, sir?’
The hairdresser dismissed, the actor, who could not
help acting, proceeded to give further proofs of his versatility.
‘And so, Doctor,’ he began, ‘you, with your tag-rag
and bobtail there——’ Here he pointed to some
shelves of shabby books and tracts, which he started up
to examine; the next moment, becoming an auctioneer,
he offered for sale these valuable works, each worth a
hundred pounds, and proclaimed that they were ‘going,
going, going, at a penny apiece.’ Then, quietly reseating
himself: ‘And so, Doctor,’ he continued, ‘you, and
tag-rag and bobtail there, shut yourselves up in this snug
little bookstall, with all your bright elves around you, to
rest your understanding!’ There were loud cries of mock
indignation from the young people at the idea of papa
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
resting his understanding. Garrick apologized in his best
stage manner, and after some further talk, inquired, ‘But
when, Doctor, shall we have out the History of Histories?
Do let me know in time, that I may prepare to
blow the trumpet of fame.’ Of course, this was a prelude
to his appearing in the character of a cheap-jack, advertising
‘the only true History.’ Invited to the parlour to
breakfast, he excused himself on the plea of being engaged
at home to Twiss[16] and Boswell, whom immediately he
took off to the life. Encouraged by the laughter of his
audience, this most reprehensible person, who set no
bounds to his levity, proceeded to offer an imitation
of Dr. Johnson himself. He sincerely honoured and
loved Dr. Johnson, he said, but that great man had
eccentricities which his most attached admirers were
irresistibly impelled to mimic. Arranging, therefore, his
dress so as to enlarge his person, in some strange way,
several inches beyond its natural size, assuming the voice
and authoritative port of the lexicographer, and giving a
thundering stamp on the carpet, the devout worshipper of
Dr. Johnson delivered, with sundry extraordinary attitudes
and gestures, a short dialogue that had passed between
them during the preceding week:
.fn 16
Author of ‘Travels in Spain.’
.fn-
“David! Will you lend me your ‘Petrarca’?”
“Y—e—s, sir!”
“David, you sigh?”
“Sir, you shall have it, certainly.”
“Accordingly,” Garrick continued, “the book—stupendously
bound—I sent to him that very evening. But
scarcely had he taken the noble quarto in his hands,
when, as Boswell tells me, he poured forth a Greek
ejaculation, and a couplet or two from Horace; and
then, in one of those fits of enthusiasm which always
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
seem to require that he should spread his arms aloft in
the air, his haste was so great to debarrass them for that
purpose, that he suddenly pounces my poor ‘Petrarca’
over his head upon the floor—Russia leather, gold border,
and all! And then, standing for several minutes erect,
lost in abstraction, he forgot, probably, that he had ever
seen it, and left my poor dislocated Beauty to the mercy
of the housemaid’s morning mop!”
This concluded the performance, and the performer
presently took his leave. After he had said good-bye, and
left the room, he hastily came back, whimsically laughing,
and said: ‘Here’s one of your maids downstairs that I
love prodigiously to talk to, because she is so cross!
She was washing, and rubbing, and scrubbing, and whitening
and brightening your steps this morning, and would
hardly let me pass. Egad, sir, she did not know the
great Roscius! But I frightened her a little just now:
“Child,” says I, “you don’t guess whom you have the
happiness to see! Do you know that I am one of the
first geniuses of the age? You would faint away upon
the spot if you could only imagine who I am!”’
One familiar face was no longer seen at Burney’s house.
Mr. Crisp had become subject to such frequent fits of
gout that his visits to London were almost given up, and
he rarely slept even a single night away from Chesington.
But his interest in musical and literary news, and in all
that concerned the Burney family, continued unabated.
What he could no more take part in himself was duly
communicated to him by letter.
How early the correspondence between Frances and
the family friend began we are not informed. But it
must have commenced long before she was old enough to
be admitted to parties such as she had now to describe to
her ‘daddy.’ In a passage written at seventy-two, she has
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
set down “a charge delivered to me by our dear vehement
Mr. Crisp at the opening of my juvenile correspondence
with him: ‘Harkee, you little monkey! dash away whatever
comes uppermost; if you stop to consider either
what you say, or what may be said of you, I would not
give one fig for your letters.’” So rough a speech could
not have been addressed, even by a professed cynic, to
any young lady very far advanced in her teens. In the
letters from which we are about to quote, Miss Fanny
prattles to the old man with perfect ease and confidence,
showing that she felt herself on terms of established
familiarity, and was quite free from the shyness and
embarrassment that would attend a timid girl’s first efforts
to entertain him.
For many years Dr. Burney had given informal evening
concerts at his house. These entertainments, to which
he had been prompted by Crisp, began in Poland Street,
were continued in Queen Square, and attained their
highest distinction in St. Martin’s Street. There was no
band, no hired singer, no programme, no admission by
ticket. A word from the courteous host was the only
invitation needed or expected. But the company, as well
as the music, was attractive even to guests accustomed
to fashionable society. Before his writings made him
famous, Burney’s extensive acquaintance brought him
visitors whom the curious were anxious to meet. Some
came to see Sir Constantine Phipps, afterwards Lord
Mulgrave, on his return from his Arctic voyage. Others
came for a view of Omai, whom Captain Cook had imported
from the South Seas. On one occasion the gentle
savage obliged the musical audience with a Tahitian love-song,
which proved to be a mere confused rumbling of
uncouth sounds. Whatever the incident of the evening,
Crisp looked for a full report of it from ‘his Fannikin.’
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
The sense of humour which we may still see brimming
over in her portrait was greatly provoked by Bruce, the
particular lion of that day. The explorer was reported to
have brought home with him drawings of a Theban harp
at least three thousand years old, and of an Abyssinian
lyre in present use, about which Fanny was evidently
more sceptical than her father, who was always ready to
welcome materials for his ‘History.’ ‘The Abyssinians have
lyres, have they?’ said George Selwyn; ‘well, they have
one less since he left their country.’ Bruce was a personage
of stupendous height and breadth, whose pompous
manners were proportioned to his size and fame. ‘He is
the tallest man you ever saw in your life—at least gratis,’
wrote the observer. Nevertheless ‘the man-mountain’
condescended to the Burneys. In the season of his
greatest glory, he figured several times at the Doctor’s
concerts, of which visits faithful accounts were duly
despatched to Chesington. On one of these evenings
Mr. Bruce even consented to stay supper, “which, you
know,” says Fanny, “with us is nothing but a permission
to sit over a table for chat, and roast potatoes or apples.
But now,” she continues, “to perfect your acquaintance
with this towering Ethiopian, where do you think
he will take you during supper? To the source, or
sources, you cry, of the Nile? to Thebes? to its temple?
to an arietta on the Theban harp? or perhaps to banqueting
on hot raw beef in Abyssinia? No such thing, my
dear Mr. Crisp—no such thing. Travellers who mean to
write their travels are fit for nothing but to represent the
gap at your whist-table at Chesington, when you have
only three players; for they are dummies. Mr. Bruce
left all his exploits, his wanderings, his vanishings, his
reappearances, his harps so celestial, and his bullocks so
terrestrial, to plant all our entertainment within a hundred
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
yards of our own coterie; namely, at the masquerades at
the Haymarket.” Then follows a story of a practical jest
not worth copying. “To have looked at Mr. Bruce in his
glee at this buffoonery, you must really have been amused;
though methinks I see, supposing you had been with us,
the picturesque rising of your brow, and all the dignity of
your Roman nose, while you would have stared at such
familiar delight in an active joke as to transport into so
merry an espiègle the seven-footed loftiness of the haughty
and impetuous tourist from the sands of Ethiopia, and the
waters of Abyssinia; whom, nevertheless, I have now the
honour to portray in his robe de chambre, that is, in private
society, to my dear Chesington daddy.”
But far greater things were to follow this stalking of
the African lion. The Continental reputation which Dr.
Burney acquired by his tours, and which was extended
by the first instalment of his ‘History,’ ‘attracted to his
house,’ as Macaulay points out, ‘the most eminent
musical performers of that age. The greatest Italian
singers who visited England regarded him as the dispenser
of fame in their art, and exerted themselves to obtain his
suffrage. Pacchierotti[17] became his intimate friend. The
rapacious Agujari,[18] who sang for nobody else under fifty
pounds an air, sang her best for Dr. Burney without a
fee; and in the company of Dr. Burney even the haughty
and eccentric Gabrielli[19] constrained herself to behave
with civility. It was thus in his power to give, with
scarcely any expense, concerts equal to those of the
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
aristocracy. On such occasions the quiet street in which
he lived was blocked up by coroneted chariots, and his
little drawing-room was crowded with peers, peeresses,
ministers, and ambassadors.’
.fn 17
‘Nothing is fit to be heard but Pacchierotti,’ was the general verdict,
according to Walpole.
.fn-
.fn 18
A celebrated Italian singer, wife of Colla, an Italian composer. She was
engaged at the Pantheon to sing two songs nightly, for which she received £100.
.fn-
.fn 19
A performer of great Continental reputation, whose merits were much controverted
in England. ‘Is, or has the Gabrielli been, a great singer?’ asks
Walpole of his Florence correspondent. ‘She has, at least, not honoured us
but with a most slender low voice.’
.fn-
The following extract from one of Fanny’s letters contains
a full description of the most memorable of these
musical evenings, though it was one on which no foreign
artist performed:
.pm start_quote
“You reproach me, my dear Mr. Crisp, for not sending
you an account of our last two concerts. But the fact is,
I have not anything new to tell you. The music has
always been the same: the matrimonial duets[20] are so
much à la mode, that no other thing in our house is now
demanded. But if I can write you nothing new about
music, you want, I well know you will say, to hear some
conversations.
.fn 20
Duets between Esther Burney, now married, and her husband, who was
also her cousin and a Burney. Esther was the beauty of the family, and
became a wife early.
.fn-
My dear Mr. Crisp, there is, at this moment, no such
thing as conversation. There is only one question asked,
meet whom you may, namely: ‘How do you like Gabrielli?’
and only two modes, contradictory, to be sure,
but very steady, of reply: either, ‘Of all things upon
earth!’ or, ‘Not the least bit in the whole world!’
Well, now I will present you with a specimen, beginning
with our last concert but one, and arranging the
persons of the drama in the order of their actual appearance.
But, imprimis, I should tell you that the motive to
this concert was a particular request to my father from
Dr. King, our old friend, and the chaplain to the British—something—at
St. Petersburg, that he would give a little
music to a certain mighty personage, who, somehow or
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
other how, must needs take, transiently at least, a front
place in future history, namely, the famed favourite of the
Empress Catherine of Russia—Prince[21] Orloff.
.fn 21
Fanny should rather have written, Count Orloff.
.fn-
There, my dear Mr. Crisp! what say you to seeing
such a doughty personage as that in a private house, at a
private party, of a private individual—fresh imported from
the Czarina of all the Russias, to sip a cup of tea in St.
Martin’s Street? I wonder whether future historians
will happen to mention this circumstance? I am thinking
of sending it to all the keepers of records. But I see
your rising eyebrows at this name—your start—your disgust—yet
big curiosity.
Well, suppose the family assembled, its honoured chief
in the midst—and Tat, tat, tat, tat, at the door.
.ce
Enter Dr. Ogle, Dean of Winchester.
Dr. Burney, after the usual ceremonies:—‘Did you
hear the Gabrielli last night, Mr. Dean?’
The Dean: ‘No, Doctor, I made the attempt, but
soon retreated, for I hate a crowd—as much as the ladies
love it! I beg pardon!’ bowing with a sort of civil sneer
at us fair sex.
My mother was entering upon a spirited defence, when—Tat,
tat, tat.
.ce
Enter Dr. King.
He brought the compliments of Prince Orloff, with
his Highness’s apologies for being so late; but he was
obliged to dine at Lord Buckingham’s, and thence to
show himself at Lady Harrington’s.
As nobody thought of inquiring into Dr. King’s
opinion of La Gabrielli, conversation was at a stand,
till—Tat, tat, tat, tat, too, and
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
.ce
Enter Lady Edgcumbe.
We were all introduced to her, and she was very
chatty, courteous, and entertaining. [Lady Edgcumbe is
asked the usual question about Gabrielli, as also are the
Honourable Mr. and Mrs. Brudenel, who appear next.
Then we are introduced in succession to the Baron Demidoff,
Harris of Salisbury, and Lord Bruce.] At length—Tat,
tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, too!
.ce
Enter his Highness Prince Orloff.
Have you heard the dreadful story of the thumb, by
which this terrible Prince is said to have throttled the
late Emperor of Russia, Peter, by suddenly pressing his
windpipe while he was drinking? I hope it is not true;
and Dr. King, of whom, while he resided in Russia,
Prince Orloff was the patron, denies the charge. Nevertheless,
it is so currently reported, that neither Susan nor
I could keep it one moment from our thoughts; and we
both shrank from him with secret horror, heartily wishing
him in his own Black Sea.
His sight, however, produced a strong sensation, both
in those who believed, and those who discredited this disgusting
barbarity; for another story, not perhaps of less
real, though of less sanguinary guilt, is not a tale of
rumour, but a crime of certainty; namely, that he is the
first favourite of the cruel, inhuman Empress—if it be
true that she connived at this horrible murder.
His Highness was immediately preceded by another
Russian nobleman, whose name I have forgot; and followed
by a noble Hessian, General Bawr.
Prince Orloff is of stupendous stature, something resembling
Mr. Bruce. He is handsome, tall, fat, upright,
magnificent. His dress was superb. Besides the blue
garter, he had a star of diamonds of prodigious brilliancy,
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
a shoulder-knot of the same lustre and value, and a
picture of the Empress hung about his neck, set round
with diamonds of such brightness and magnitude that,
when near the light, they were too dazzling for the eye.
His jewels, Dr. King says, are estimated at one hundred
thousand pounds sterling.
His air and address are showy, striking, and assiduously
courteous. He had a look that frequently seemed
to say, ‘I hope you observe that I come from a polished
Court? I hope you take note that I am no Cossack?’
Yet, with all this display of commanding affability, he
seems, from his native taste and humour, ‘agreeably
addicted to pleasantry,’ He speaks very little English,
but knows French perfectly.
His introduction to my father, in which Dr. King
pompously figured, passed in the drawing-room. The
library was so crowded that he could only show himself
at the door, which was barely high enough not to discompose
his prodigious toupee. He bowed to Mr. Chamier,[22]
then my next neighbour, whom he had somewhere met;
but I was so impressed by the shocking rumours of his
horrible actions, that involuntarily I drew back even from
a bow of vicinity; murmuring to Mr. Chamier, ‘He looks
so potent and mighty, I do not like to be near him!’
.fn 22
Anthony Chamier was member of Parliament for Tamworth, and Under-Secretary
of State from 1775 till his death in 1780. He was an original
member of the celebrated Literary Club.
.fn-
‘He has been less unfortunate,’ answered Mr. Chamier
archly, ‘elsewhere; such objection has not been made
to him by all ladies.’
Lord Bruce, who knew, immediately rose to make way
for him, and moved to another end of the room. The
Prince instantly held out his vast hand, in which, if he had
also held a cambric handkerchief, it must have looked like a
white flag on the top of a mast—so much higher than the
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
most tip-top height of every head in the room was his
spread-out arm, as he exclaimed, ‘Ah! milord me
fuit!’
His Honour,[23] then, rising also, with a profound reverence,
offered his seat to his Highness; but he positively
refused to accept it, and declared that if Mr.
Brudenel would not be seated, he would himself retire;
and seeing Mr. Brudenel demur, still begging his
Highness to take the chair, he cried, with a laugh, but
very peremptorily, ‘Non, non, monsieur! Je ne le veux
pas! Je suis opiniâtre, moi; un peu comme Messieurs les
Anglais!’
.fn 23
A name by which Mr. Brudenel, afterwards Earl of Cardigan, was known.
.fn-
Mr. Brudenel then reseated himself; and the corner
of a form appearing to be vacant, from the pains taken by
poor Susan to shrink away from Mr. Orloff, his Highness
suddenly dropped down upon it his immense weight, with
a force—notwithstanding a palpable and studied endeavour
to avoid doing mischief—that threatened his
gigantic person with plumping upon the floor, and terrified
all on the opposite side of the form with the danger of
visiting the ceiling.
Perceiving Susan strive, though vainly, from want of
space, to glide further off from him, and struck, perhaps,
by her sweet countenance, ‘Ah, ha!’ he cried, ‘je tiens ici,
je vois, une petite prisonnière!’
Charlotte, blooming like a budding little Hebe, actually
stole into a corner from affright at the whispered
history of his thumb ferocity.
Mr. Chamier, who now probably had developed what
passed in my mind, contrived, very comically, to disclose
his similar sentiment; for, making a quiet way to my ear,
he said in a low voice, ‘I wish Dr. Burney had invited
Omiah here tonight instead of Prince Orloff!’—meaning,
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
no doubt, of the two exotics, he should have preferred the
most innocent!
The grand duet of Müthel was now called for, and
played; but I can tell you nothing extra of the admiration
it excited. Your Hettina looked remarkably pretty;
and, added to the applause given to the music, everybody
had something to observe upon the singularity of the
performers being husband and wife. Prince Orloff was
witty quite to facetiousness; sarcastically marking something
beyond what he said, by a certain ogling, half-cynical,
half-amorous cast of his eyes; and declaring he
should take care to initiate all the foreign academies of
natural philosophy in the secret of the harmony that
might be produced by such nuptial concord.
The Russian nobleman who accompanied Prince Orloff,
and who knew English, they told us, so well that he was
the best interpreter for his Highness in his visits, gave us
now a specimen of his proficiency; for, clapping his fore-finger
upon a superfine snuff-box, he exclaimed, when the
duet was finished, ‘Ma foi, dis is so pretty as never I hear
in my life!’
General Bawr also, to whom Mr. Harris directed my
attention, was greatly charmed. He is tall, and of stern
and martial aspect. ‘He is a man,’ said Mr. Harris,
‘to be looked at, from his courage, conduct, and success
during the last Russian war; when, though a Hessian by
birth, he was a lieutenant-general in the service of the
Empress of Russia, and obtained the two military stars,
which you now see him wear on each side, by his
valour!’...
Then followed, to vary the entertainment, singing by
Mrs. Brudenel.
Prince Orloff inquired very particularly of Dr. King
who we four young female Burneys were; for we were all
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
dressed alike, on account of our mourning; and when
Dr. King answered, ‘Dr. Burney’s daughters,’ he was
quite astonished, for he had not thought our dear father,
he said, more than thirty years of age, if so much.
Mr. Harris, in a whisper, told me he wished some of
the ladies would desire to see the miniature of the
Empress a little nearer; the monstrous height of the
Prince putting it quite out of view to his old eyes and
short figure; and being a man, he could not, he said,
presume to ask such an indulgence as that of holding it
in his own hands. Delighted to do anything for this
excellent Mr. Harris, and quite at my ease with poor
prosing Dr. King, I told him the wish of Mr. Harris.
Dr. King whispered the desire to M. de Demidoff; M. de
Demidoff did the same to General de Bawr; and General
de Bawr dauntlessly made the petition to the Prince, in
the name of The Ladies.
The Prince laughed, rather sardonically; yet with
ready good humour complied, telling the General, pretty
much sans ceremonie, to untie the ribbon round his neck,
and give the picture into the possession of The Ladies.
He was very gallant and debonnaire upon the occasion,
entreating they would by no means hurry themselves;
yet his smile, as his eye sharply followed the progress
from hand to hand of the miniature, had a suspicious cast
of investigating whether it would be worth his while to
ask any favour of them in return! and through all the
superb magnificence of his display of courtly manners, a
little bit of the Cossack, methought, broke out, when he
desired to know whether The Ladies wished for anything
else—declaring, with a smiling bow, and rolling, languishing,
yet half-contemptuous eyes, that, if The Ladies would
issue their commands, they should strip him entirely!
You may suppose, after that, nobody asked for a closer
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
view of any more of his ornaments! The good, yet
unaffectedly humorous philosopher of Salisbury could not
help laughing, even while actually blushing at it, that his
own curiosity should have involved The Ladies in this
supercilious sort of sarcastic homage.
There was hardly any looking at the picture of the
Empress for the glare of the diamonds. One of them, I
really believe, was as big as a nutmeg; though I am
somewhat ashamed to undignify my subject by so culinary
a comparison.
When we were all satisfied, the miniature was restored
by General Bawr to the Prince, who took it with stately
complacency; condescendingly making a smiling bow to
each fair female who had had possession of it, and receiving
from her in return a lowly courtesy.
Mr. Harris, who was the most curious to see the
Empress, because his son, Sir James,[24] was, or is intended
to be, Minister at her Court, had slyly looked over every
shoulder that held her; but would not venture, he archly
whispered, to take the picture in his own hands, lest he
should be included by the Prince amongst The Ladies, as
an old woman!
.fn 24
Afterwards Lord Malmesbury.
.fn-
Have you had enough of this concert, my dear Mr.
Crisp? I have given it in detail, for the humour of
letting you see how absorbing of the public voice is La
Gabrielli; and also for describing to you Prince Orloff, a
man who, when time lets out facts, and drives in mysteries,
must necessarily make a considerable figure, good
or bad—but certainly not indifferent—in European history.
Besides, I want your opinion whether there is not an odd
and striking resemblance in general manners, as well as
in herculean strength and height, in this Siberian Prince
and his Abyssinian Majesty?”
.pm end_quote
.sp 2
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
On another musical evening, of which Fanny wrote an
account, there were present: the French Ambassador, the
Count de Guignes, at whose request the concert was
given; the Danish Ambassador, Baron Deiden, and his
wife; the Groom of the Stole, Lord Ashburnham, ‘with
his gold key dangling from his pocket;’ Lord Barrington
from the War Office, and Lord Sandwich, First Lord of
the Admiralty. Of this last, the boon-companion and
denouncer[25] of Wilkes, Miss Fanny naïvely asks, “I want
to know why he is called Jemmy Twitcher in the newspapers?
Do pray tell me that.”
.fn 25
We need scarcely remind our readers that, in 1763, Sandwich had denounced
Wilkes in the House of Lords for having composed and printed the
‘Essay on Woman,’ an indecent parody on Pope’s ‘Essay on Man.’ Society
resented the attack, placing the accuser and accused on a par in point of morals.
‘The public indignation went so far, that the Beggar’s Opera being performed
at Covent Garden Theatre soon after this event, the whole audience, when
Macheath says, “That Jemmy Twitcher should peach, I own surprises me,”
burst out into an applause of application, and the nickname of “Jemmy
Twitcher” stuck by the Earl so as almost to occasion the disuse of his title.’—Walpole’s
‘Memoirs of George III.,’ vol. i., p. 313.
.fn-
Very seldom, in these latter days, does any private
carriage, with or without a coronet on its panels, turn
into the decayed thoroughfare running down from the
bottom of Leicester Square. ‘Vulgarly-peopled,’ according
to Madame d’Arblay, even in her father’s time, St.
Martin’s Street has since fallen many degrees lower yet.
The house to which the fashionable world was drawn by
the charms of Burney’s music stands on the east side,
immediately above the chapel at the corner of Orange
Street. The glass observatory which Dr. Burney repaired,
and which he subsequently rebuilt when it was
blown away by a gale of wind, has long since disappeared.
It was replaced by a wooden[26] erection, or what Macaulay
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
calls ‘a square turret,’ which, when the essayist wrote,
distinguished the house from all the surrounding buildings.
This erection also has been removed, but the house itself
cannot be mistaken by any passer-by who cares to see it.
A tablet on the front bears the inscription: ‘Sir Isaac
Newton, philosopher, lived here.’ The house is at
present the quarters of the United Service Warrant
Officers’ Club. No great effort is required to imagine the
plain, silent Newton passing in and out of that slender
doorway. The movements of the man qui genus humanum
ingenio superavit were without noise and ostentation. We
may let half a century go by in thought, and with equal
ease picture to ourselves David Garrick tripping up the
steps before breakfast; Samuel Johnson rolling up them for
a call, on his way to dine with Mrs. Montagu; pleasant
Dr. Burney briskly setting out on his daily round of lessons;
and demure Miss Fanny sallying forth to seek an interview
incognita with her publisher. But how call up the
scene, when the lacqueys of Count Orloff—Orloff the Big,
Walpole calls him—thundered at the knocker, or when
officers of the Household, displaying the ensigns of their
rank, peers with stars and orders, and great ladies arrayed
in brocaded silks and immense head-dresses, followed one
another up a confined staircase[27] into a couple of small
and crowded reception-rooms? Standing opposite to the
club where our gallant petty officers of to-day congregate,
and noticing that to the left of it, on the other side of
Long’s Court, there is now a cheap lodging-house for
working men, and that a little further to the left, at the
entrance from the Square, the roadway narrows, as we
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
learn from the “Memoirs” that it did in Burney’s time, till
there is barely room for a single vehicle of moderate size
to pass, we recognise the limitations of the human fancy.
It is difficult to conceive of a great aristocratic crowd
assembling in such a place. We can understand the
pride with which Fanny set down the prolonged rat-tat-tat-tat-too
that announced the arrival of each titled and
decorated visitor. We may observe the pains she took
to draw and colour for her country correspondent groups
of dazzling figures such as had never been seen in the
more spacious area of Queen Square. But they are
gone, and in presence of the dirt and squalor which have
made St. Martin’s Street little better than an East-End
slum, their shadows will not revisit the glimpses of the
moon. Sic transit gloria mundi.
.fn 26
The observatory in its later form is stated to have been put up in the early
years of the present century, by a Frenchman, then tenant of the house, who
placed in it some mathematical instruments, which he exhibited as the identical
instruments with which the great Newton made his discoveries; and we are told
that this ingenious person realized a considerable sum before his imposture was
exposed. See ‘The Streets of London,’ by J. T. Smith, edited by Charles
Mackay, 1849, p. 76.
.fn-
.fn 27
There is some account both of the inside and outside of Newton’s house
in the Gentleman’s Magazine for 1814. At that date, we learn among other
things, the original chimney-piece in the observatory remained, though the room
itself had undergone a change. The house appears to have been built about
1692.
.fn-
Somewhat later, Dr. Burney formed a new connection
which had an important influence on the life of his second
daughter. He was invited to Streatham by Mr. and Mrs.
Thrale to give lessons in music to their eldest daughter,
familiarly called Queeny, who afterwards became Viscountess
Keith. There, besides winning the regard of the
Thrales, he renewed his acquaintance with Dr. Johnson,
to whom he had made himself known by letter twenty-two
years before. Johnson, who had no ear, despised music,
and was wont to speak slightingly of its professors, but he
conceived a strong liking for Burney. In bringing out
the ‘Tour to the Hebrides,’ the author confessed that
he had kept his friend’s Musical Tours in view. At this
time, Richard, the youngest son of Dr. Burney, born of
his second marriage, was preparing for Winchester
School, whither his father proposed conveying him in
person. Johnson, who was a friend of Dr. Warton, the
headmaster, volunteered to accompany them, and introduce
the new pupil. This joint expedition of Johnson and
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
Burney was followed by a similar one to Oxford, and
their intercourse became so cordial that Mrs. Thrale and
Johnson arranged to meet in St. Martin’s Street, there to
make acquaintance with Burney’s family, to look over his
library, and to see Newton’s house. Fanny, who had just
come up from Chesington, wrote an account of this visit
to her daddy:
.pm start_quote
“My dearest Mr. Crisp,
.ti 6
My father seemed well pleased at my returning to
my time; so that is no small consolation and pleasure to
me for the pain of quitting you. So now to our Thursday
morning and Dr. Johnson, according to my promise.
We were all—by we, I mean Suzette, Charlotte, and I—for
my mother had seen him before, as had my sister
Burney; but we three were all in a twitter from violent
expectation and curiosity for the sight of this monarch of
books and authors.
Mrs. and Miss Thrale, Miss Owen, and Mr. Seward,[28]
came long before Lexiphanes. Mrs. Thrale is a pretty
woman still, though she has some defect in the mouth
that looks like a cut or scar; but her nose is very handsome,
her complexion very fair; she has the embonpoint
charmant, and her eyes are blue and lustrous. She is
extremely lively and chatty, and showed none of the
supercilious or pedantic airs so freely, or rather so
scoffingly, attributed by you envious lords of the creation
to women of learning or celebrity; on the contrary, she
is full of sport, remarkably gay, and excessively agreeable.
I liked her in everything except her entrance into
the room, which was rather florid and flourishing, as who
should say, ‘It’s I!—no less a person than Mrs. Thrale!’
However, all that ostentation wore out in the course of
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
the visit, which lasted the whole morning; and you could
not have helped liking her, she is so very entertaining—though
not simple enough, I believe, for quite winning
your heart....
.fn 28
William Seward, afterwards author of ‘Anecdotes of Distinguished
Persons,’ and ‘Biographiana,’ a sequel to the same.
.fn-
The conversation was supported with a great deal of
vivacity, as usual when il Signor Padrone is at home;
but I can write you none of it, as I was still in the same
twitter, twitter, twitter, I have acknowledged, to see Dr.
Johnson. Nothing could have heightened my impatience—unless
Pope could have been brought to life again—or,
perhaps, Shakespeare!
This confab was broken up by a duet between your
Hettina and, for the first time to company-listeners,
Suzette; who, however, escaped much fright, for she soon
found she had no musical critics to encounter in Mrs.
Thrale and Mr. Seward, or Miss Owen, who know not a
flat from a sharp, nor a crotchet from a quaver. But
every knowledge is not given to everybody—except to two
gentle wights of my acquaintance: the one commonly
hight il Padre, and the other il Dadda. Do you know
any such sort of people, sir? Well, in the midst of this
performance, and before the second movement was come
to a close, Dr. Johnson was announced!
Now, my dear Mr. Crisp, if you like a description of
emotions and sensations—but I know you treat them all
as burlesque; so let’s proceed.
Everybody rose to do him honour, and he returned
the attention with the most formal courtesy. My father
then, having welcomed him with the warmest respect,
whispered to him that music was going forward, which
he would not, my father thinks, have found out; and,
placing him on the best seat vacant, told his daughters
to go on with the duet; while Dr. Johnson, intently
rolling towards them one eye—for they say he does
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
not see with the other—made a grave nod, and gave a
dignified motion with one hand, in silent approvance of
the proceeding.
But now, my dear Mr. Crisp, I am mortified to own—what
you, who always smile at my enthusiasm, will hear
without caring a straw for—that he is, indeed, very ill-favoured.
Yet he has naturally a noble figure; tall, stout,
grand, and authoritative: but he stoops horribly; his
back is quite round: his mouth is continually opening
and shutting, as if he were chewing something; he has a
singular method of twirling his fingers, and twisting his
hands: his vast body is in constant agitation, see-sawing
backwards and forwards: his feet are never a moment
quiet; and his whole person looked often as if it were going
to roll itself, quite voluntarily, from his chair to the floor.
Since such is his appearance to a person so prejudiced
in his favour as I am, how I must more than ever
reverence his abilities, when I tell you that, upon asking
my father why he had not prepared us for such uncouth,
untoward strangeness, he laughed heartily, and said he
had entirely forgotten that the same impression had been,
at first, made upon himself, but had been lost even on
the second interview—how I long to see him again, to
lose it, too!—for knowing the value of what would come
out when he spoke, he ceased to observe the defects that
were out while he was silent.
But you always charge me to write without reserve or
reservation, and so I obey, as usual. Else, I should be
ashamed to acknowledge having remarked such exterior
blemishes in so exalted a character.
His dress, considering the times, and that he had
meant to put on all his best becomes—for he was engaged
to dine with a very fine party at Mrs. Montagu’s—was as
much out of the common road as his figure. He had a
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
large, full, bushy wig, a snuff-colour coat, with gold
buttons (or, peradventure, brass), but no ruffles to his
doughty fists; and not, I suppose, to be taken for a Blue,
though going to the Blue Queen, he had on very coarse
black worsted stockings.
He is shockingly near-sighted; a thousand times more
so than either my Padre or myself. He did not even
know Mrs. Thrale, till she held out her hand to him, which
she did very engagingly. After the first few minutes, he
drew his chair close to the pianoforte, and then bent down
his nose quite over the keys, to examine them, and the
four hands at work upon them; till poor Hetty and Susan
hardly knew how to play on, for fear of touching his phiz;
or, which was harder still, how to keep their countenances;
and the less, as Mr. Seward, who seems to be very droll and
shrewd, and was much diverted, ogled them slyly, with a
provoking expression of arch enjoyment of their apprehensions.
When the duet was finished, my father introduced
your Hettina to him, as an old acquaintance, to whom,
when she was a little girl, he had presented his Idler.
His answer to this was imprinting on her pretty face—not
a half touch of a courtly salute—but a good, real, substantial,
and very loud kiss.
Everybody was obliged to stroke their chins, that they
might hide their mouths.
Beyond this chaste embrace, his attention was not to
be drawn off two minutes longer from the books, to which
he now strided his way; for we had left the drawing-room
for the library, on account of the pianoforte. He
pored over them, shelf by shelf, almost brushing them
with his eyelashes from near examination. At last, fixing
upon something that happened to hit his fancy, he took it
down; and, standing aloof from the company, which he
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
seemed clean and clear to forget, he began, without further
ceremony, and very composedly, to read to himself; and
as intently as if he had been alone in his own study.
We were all excessively provoked: for we were languishing,
fretting, expiring to hear him talk—not to see
him read! What could that do for us?
My sister then played another duet, accompanied by
my father, to which Miss Thrale seemed very attentive; and
all the rest quietly resigned. But Dr. Johnson had opened
a volume of the British Encyclopædia, and was so deeply
engaged, that the music, probably, never reached his ears.
When it was over, Mrs. Thrale, in a laughing manner,
said: ‘Pray, Dr. Burney, will you be so good as to tell me
what that song was, and whose, which Savoi sang last
night at Bach’s[29] concert, and which you did not hear?’
.fn 29
John Christian Bach, sometimes called Bach of Berlin, who for many
years was established in England.
.fn-
My father confessed himself by no means so able a
diviner, not having had time to consult the stars, though
he lived in the house of Sir Isaac Newton. But, anxious
to draw Dr. Johnson into conversation, he ventured to
interrupt him with Mrs. Thrale’s conjuring request relative
to Bach’s concert.
The Doctor, comprehending his drift, good-naturedly
put away his book, and, see-sawing, with a very humorous
smile, drolly repeated: ‘Bach, sir?—Bach’s concert?
And pray, sir, who is Bach? Is he a piper?’
You may imagine what exclamations followed such a
question.
Mrs. Thrale gave a detailed account of the nature of
the concert, and the fame of Mr. Bach, and the many
charming performances she had heard, with all their
varieties, in his rooms.
When there was a pause, ‘Pray, madam,’ said he, with
the calmest gravity, ‘what is the expense for all this?’
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
‘Oh,’ answered she, ‘the expense is much trouble and
solicitation to obtain a subscriber’s ticket—or else, half a
guinea!’
‘Trouble and solicitation,’ he replied, ‘I will have
nothing to do with; but, if it be so fine, I would be
willing to give’—he hesitated, and then finished with—‘eighteen-pence.’
Ha! ha! Chocolate being then brought, we returned
to the drawing-room; and Dr. Johnson, when drawn
away from the books, freely, and with social good-humour,
gave himself up to conversation.
The intended dinner of Mrs. Montagu being mentioned,
Dr. Johnson laughingly told us that he had
received the most flattering note that he had ever read,
or that anybody else had ever read, of invitation from
that lady.
‘So have I, too!’ cried Mrs. Thrale. ‘So, if a note
from Mrs. Montagu is to be boasted of, I beg mine may
not be forgotten.’
‘Your note, madam,’ cried Dr. Johnson, smiling, ‘can
bear no comparison with mine; for I am at the head
of all the philosophers—she says.’
‘And I,’ returned Mrs. Thrale, ‘have all the Muses in
my train.’
‘A fair battle!’ cried my father. ‘Come, compliment
for compliment, and see who will hold out longest!’
‘I am afraid for Mrs. Thrale,’ said Mr. Seward;
‘for I know that Mrs. Montagu exerts all her forces
when she sings the praises of Dr. Johnson.’
‘Oh yes,’ cried Mrs. Thrale, ‘she has often praised
him till he has been ready to faint.’
‘Well,’ said my father, ‘you two ladies must get him
fairly between you to-day, and see which can lay on the
paint the thickest—Mrs. Montagu or Mrs. Thrale.’
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
‘I had rather,’ said the Doctor very composedly, ‘go
to Bach’s concert!’”
.pm end_quote
Not long after the morning call described in our last
extract, Johnson spent an evening in St. Martin’s Street,
for the purpose of being introduced to Mr. and Mrs.
Greville. The Doctor came with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale.
Signor Piozzi was there, invited to amuse the company
by his musical skill. But the account of the second visit
reads much less pleasantly than that of the first. This is
due in great part to the different behaviour of the principal
guests. Burney’s old patron, Greville, had for years
been going steadily down hill, through indulgence in play
and other extravagances. The loss of his fortune, perhaps,
inclined him to assert more stiffly the claims of his
rank. At any rate, in presence of the Thrales and Johnson,
he thought it necessary to appear superior to the
brewer’s wealth and the author’s fame. Johnson seems
to have only half perceived his disdain; but the Doctor
was not in a mood for talking, and Greville made no attempt
to draw him out. Nor are the actors only changed
on this subsequent occasion; the narrator is changed
also. Instead of a letter by Fanny Burney, dashed off in
the hey-day of youth and spirits, we have a formal account
by her later self, Madame d’Arblay, composed in
the peculiar style which makes a great part of the ‘Memoirs’
such difficult reading. However, as this account
records Mrs. Thrale’s first meeting with the man who
was destined to exercise a fatal influence on her after-life,
we give a portion of it here:
.pm start_quote
“Mrs. Thrale, of the whole coterie, was alone at her
ease. She feared not Dr. Johnson; for fear made no part
of her composition; and with Mrs. Greville, as a fair
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
rival genius, she would have been glad, from curiosity, to
have had the honour of a little tilt, in full carelessness of
its event; for though triumphant when victorious, she
had spirits so volatile, and such utter exemption from
envy or spleen, that she was gaily free from mortification
when vanquished. But she knew the meeting to have
been fabricated for Dr. Johnson, and, therefore, though
not without difficulty, constrained herself to be passive.
“When, however, she observed the sardonic disposition
of Mr. Greville to stare around him at the whole company
in curious silence, she felt a defiance against his aristocracy
beat in every pulse; for, however grandly he might
look back to the long ancestry of the Brookes and the
Grevilles, she had a glowing consciousness that her own
blood, rapid and fluent, flowed in her veins from Adam of
Saltsburg;[30] and, at length, provoked by the dulness of a
taciturnity that, in the midst of such renowned interlocutors,
produced as narcotic a torpor as could have
been caused by a dearth the most barren of human
faculties, she grew tired of the music, and yet more
tired of remaining, what as little suited her inclinations
as her abilities, a mere cipher in the company; and,
holding such a position, and all its concomitants, to be
ridiculous, her spirits rose rebelliously above her control,
and, in a fit of utter recklessness of what might be thought
of her by her fine new acquaintance, she suddenly but
softly arose, and stealing on tip-toe behind Signor Piozzi,
who was accompanying himself on the pianoforte to an
animated aria parlante, with his back to the company,
and his face to the wall, she ludicrously began imitating
him by squaring her elbows, elevating them with ecstatic
shrugs of the shoulders, and casting up her eyes, while
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
languishingly reclining her head, as if she were not less
enthusiastically, though somewhat more suddenly, struck
with the transports of harmony than himself.
.fn 30
Hester Lynch Salusbury (Mrs. Thrale) claimed to be lineally descended
from Adam of Saltsburg, who came over to England with the Conqueror.
.fn-
“This grotesque ebullition of ungovernable gaiety was
not perceived by Dr. Johnson, who faced the fire, with
his back to the performer and the instrument. But the
amusement which such an unlooked-for exhibition caused
to the party was momentary; for Dr. Burney, shocked
lest the poor Signor should observe, and be hurt by this
mimicry, glided gently round to Mrs. Thrale, and, with
something between pleasantry and severity, whispered to
her, ‘Because, madam, you have no ear yourself for
music, will you destroy the attention of all who, in that
one point, are otherwise gifted?’
“It was now that shone the brightest attribute of Mrs.
Thrale, sweetness of temper. She took this rebuke with a
candour, and a sense of its justice the most amiable; she
nodded her approbation of the admonition; and, returning
to her chair, quietly sat down, as she afterwards said,
like a pretty little miss, for the remainder of one of the
most humdrum evenings that she had ever passed.
“Strange, indeed, strange and most strange, the event
considered, was this opening intercourse between Mrs.
Thrale and Signor Piozzi. Little could she imagine that
the person she was thus called away from holding up to
ridicule, would become, but a few years afterwards, the
idol of her fancy, and the lord of her destiny! And little
did the company present imagine, that this burlesque
scene was but the first of a drama the most extraordinary
of real life, of which these two persons were to be the
hero and heroine; though, when the catastrophe was
known, this incident, witnessed by so many, was recollected
and repeated from coterie to coterie throughout
London, with comments and sarcasms of endless variety.”
.pm end_quote
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER III.
.pm start_summary
‘Evelina’—Date of its Composition—Negotiations with Publishers—Dr.
Burney’s Consent—Publication—Illness of the Author—Visit to Chesington—Her
Father reads the Book—Mrs. Thrale and Mrs. Cholmondeley—Exciting
News—Fanny’s Success—Nancy Dawson—The Secret told to Mr.
Crisp—Characters in ‘Evelina’—Dinner at Streatham—Dr. Johnson—David
Garrick—The Unclubbable Man—Curiosity as to Authorship of ‘Evelina’—The
Bookseller in the Dark—Visits to the Thrales—Table Talk—Mr. Smith—Goldsmith—Johnson
and the Scotch—Civil for Four—Sir Joshua Reynolds—Mrs.
Montagu—Boswell—The Branghtons—Mrs. Cholmondeley—Talk
with Sir Joshua—Is it True?—Mrs. Cholmondeley’s Whimsical Manner—Visit
to her House—Mr. Cumberland—A Hint for a Comedy—A Charmed
Circle—Sheridan—Not a Fair Question—Pressed to Write for the Stage—Flattered
by Compliments.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
We now approach the time when the ‘History of Evelina’
was given to the world. There has been much futile controversy
as to the date at which this novel was composed.
As the author was unquestionably half-way between twenty-five
and twenty-six when her first book was published, it
has been inferred that she was not much below that age
when she began the story. This inference was put in sharp
contrast with a current report—which cannot be traced
to Frances Burney or her family—that she wrote
‘Evelina’ at seventeen. Her enemy Croker went so
far as to suggest that she represented herself to have
been ten years younger than she really was at the period
of the publication.[31] But if we may trust Mrs. Barrett,
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
who had not only the ‘Memoirs,’ but Fanny’s early and
still unpublished journals to guide her, the author herself
would have been puzzled to say exactly when her tale
was written. It was planned in girlhood, worked at by
snatches, and occupied long years in growing up. The
idea of seeing it in print seems to have been conceived in
1776, shortly after the appearance of the first volume of
her father’s History, and we are distinctly told by Madame
d’Arblay and her biographer, that there was already a
manuscript in existence. We gather, however, that this
manuscript was imperfect; and it would manifestly be
presuming too much to suppose that its contents remained
unaltered, and unimproved, in the transcript which the
writer proceeded to make before taking any other step.
.fn 31
‘There was no want of low minds and bad hearts in the generation which
witnessed her first appearance. There was the envious Kenrick and the savage
Wolcot, the asp George Steevens and the polecat John Williams. It did not,
however, occur to them to search the parish register of Lynn, in order that they
might be able to twit a lady with having concealed her age. That truly chivalrous
exploit was reserved for a bad writer of our own time, whose spite she
had provoked by not furnishing him with materials for a worthless edition of
Boswell’s Life of Johnson, some sheets of which our readers have doubtless
seen round parcels of better books.’—Macaulay’s Essay. This passage has
been often quoted and admired. Yet is not such writing rather too much in
the style of Mr. Bludyer, who, the reader will remember, was reproached with
mangling his victims? Compare Macaulay’s swashing blow with the deadly
thrust of a true master of sarcasm. ‘Nobody was stronger in dates than Mr.
Rigby; ... detail was Mr. Rigby’s forte; ... it was thought no one could
lash a woman like Rigby. Rigby’s statements were arranged with a formidable
array of dates—rarely accurate.’—Coningsby.
.fn-
Though stimulated by her father’s success, and encouraged
by her sisters, whom she took into her confidence,
Fanny was, nevertheless, determined that, in
bringing forward her work, she would keep its authorship
unknown. She therefore copied out her manuscript in
a feigned upright hand, in order to guard against the
possibility of her ordinary writing being recognised by
some one who had seen the numerous pages of the
paternal books which she had transcribed for the printer.
Tiring of her irksome task when she had accomplished
enough to fill two volumes, she wrote a letter, without
signature, to be sent to some bookseller, offering the
fairly-copied portion for immediate publication, and promising
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
to forward the rest in the following year. This
proposal was first directed to Dodsley, who, in answer,
declined to look at anything without being previously
informed of the author’s name. Fanny and her sisters,
“after sitting in committee on this lofty reply,” addressed
another offer, in like terms, to Lowndes, a publisher in
Fleet Street. The latter, less exacting than his brother
at the West-End, desired to see the manuscript, which—there
being no Parcels Delivery Company in those days—was
conveyed to him by young Charles Burney, muffled
up by his sisters to make him look older than he was.
Lowndes read, was pleased, and declared himself willing
to purchase and print the work when finished, but he
naturally would not hear of publishing an unfinished
novel. Disappointed at this second rebuff, the impatient
aspirant gave up hope; but, her spirits reviving, after a
time, her third volume was completed and copied before
the end of the twelvemonth. Meanwhile, a scruple had
arisen in her mind. Her correspondence with Lowndes
had been carried on without her father’s knowledge; the
publisher’s letters to her being addressed to Mr. Grafton,
and sent to the Orange Coffee House, in Orange Street.
But she now saw it to be her duty not to rush into print
without Dr. Burney’s consent. Availing herself of a propitious
moment, when he was bidding her good-bye before
setting out on a visit to Chesington, she confessed to
him, with many blushes, that she had written a little
book, and hoped that he would allow her to publish it on
condition of not disclosing her name. She assured him
that he should not be troubled in the business, which her
brother Charles would manage for her, and only begged
further that he would not himself ask to see the manuscript.
The Doctor was first amazed, then amused, and finally
bursting into a laugh, kissed her, and bade her see that
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
Charles was discreet, thus tacitly granting her petition.
The completed work was now forwarded to Lowndes,
who without much delay accepted it, and paid the author
what seemed to her the magnificent sum of twenty pounds
for the copyright.
Much censure has been thrown on Dr. Burney for his
conduct in this transaction. He ought, we are told, to
have given his daughter serious counsel as to the perils of
authorship, to have inquired into the merits of her production,
and to have seen that she made the best possible
terms with the bookseller. ‘Happily,’ says Macaulay,
‘his inexcusable neglect of duty caused her no worse evil
than the loss of twelve or fifteen hundred pounds.’ We
doubt if it cost her the twelfth part of the smaller sum.
It is most unlikely, we think, that an untried and anonymous
writer could, with the best assistance, have commanded
a hundred pounds for a first attempt at fiction.
We are not concerned to defend Dr. Burney, but to us
he seems to have failed less in carefulness than in discernment.
He could not believe his ears when Frances spoke
of having a book ready for the press. He looked on her
scheme of publication as an idle fancy, and doubtless was
convinced that nothing would come of it. Her motive
for concealing her project from him had been merely
dread of his ridicule. Until ‘Evelina’ became an assured
success, he had no faith in the ability of his second
daughter. ‘Poor Fanny’—so he used to call her—was,
in his eyes, a dutiful and affectionate child, and a useful
amanuensis, and nothing more. So little did he expect
ever to hear again of her embryo work, that he did not
even ask its title.
At length, in January, 1778, ‘Evelina’ was published.
The author was informed of the event through hearing an
advertisement announcing it read aloud by her step-mother
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
at breakfast-time. Those of the party who were in
the secret smiled, or blushed; those who were not
suspected nothing. Several weeks elapsed before the new
novel attracted much attention. Meanwhile the writer
was laid up with inflammation of the lungs. On quitting
her bedroom, she found that, in the circles known to her,
her book was being widely read, with speculations as to
its authorship. One acquaintance attributed it to Anstey,
then famous for his ‘New Bath Guide;’ most voices
agreed that it could not have proceeded from a woman’s
pen—a conclusion which, with the usual perversity of her
sex, Miss Burney regarded as a high compliment. Then
the magazines commenced to speak in its praise. The
London Review and the Monthly Review both gave favourable
notices. Thus stimulated, the sale increased, till at
the end of the fifth month two editions had been exhausted,
and a third was fast being disposed of.[32] By May, Fanny
was sufficiently recovered to leave town, and went on a long
visit to Chesington, where, as she ‘could hardly walk three
yards in a day at first,’ she amused herself with reading
‘Evelina’ to Daddy Crisp, and goading his curiosity by
allusions to dark reports about its origin. Crisp, who, of
course, suspected some mystery, was guarded in his praise,
but gratified his young favourite by betraying a most uncynical
eagerness for the third volume as soon as the first
two had been despatched. Before long, exciting letters from
home began to pour in on the convalescent at the Hall.
She gives the substance of some of them in her Diary:
.fn 32
The first edition consisted of 800 copies, the second of 500, the third of
1,000. A fourth edition, the extent of which was not divulged, followed in the
autumn. After the third edition, Lowndes paid the author a further sum of
ten pounds in full satisfaction of any claim or expectation which she or her
friends might found on the continued success of the book.
.fn-
.pm start_quote
“I received from Charlotte a letter, the most interesting
that could be written to me, for it acquainted me that my
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
dear father was at length reading my book, which has now
been published six months. How this has come to pass,
I am yet in the dark; but it seems ... he desired
Charlotte to bring him the Monthly Review; she contrived
to look over his shoulder as he opened it, which he did at
the account of ‘Evelina; or, A Young Lady’s Entrance
into the World.’ He read it with great earnestness, then
put it down; and presently after snatched it up, and read
it again. Doubtless his paternal heart felt some agitation
for his girl in reading a review of her publication!—how
he got at the name I cannot imagine. Soon after, he
turned to Charlotte, and bidding her come close to him,
he put his finger on the word ‘Evelina,’ and saying she
knew what it was, bade her write down the name, and send
the man to Lowndes’, as if for herself. This she did, and
away went William. When William returned, he took
the book from him, and the moment he was gone, opened
the first volume—and opened it upon the Ode!”
.pm end_quote
Prefixed to Evelina was an inscription in verse to the
writer’s father, much more remarkable for tenderness of
feeling than for poetical merit.
.pm start_quote
“How great must have been his astonishment at seeing
himself so addressed! Indeed, Charlotte says he looked
all amazement, read a line or two with great eagerness,
and then, stopping short, he seemed quite affected, and
the tears started into his eyes. Dear soul! I am sure
they did into mine; nay, I even sobbed as I read the
account.
I believe he was obliged to go out before he advanced
much further. But the next day I had a letter from
Susan, in which I heard that he had begun reading it with
Lady Hales and Miss Coussmaker, and that they liked it
vastly! Lady Hales spoke of it very innocently, in the
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
highest terms, declaring she was sure it was written by
somebody in high life, and that it had all the marks of real
genius! She added, ‘He must be a man of great abilities.’”
.pm end_quote
Dr. Burney’s opinion was expressed with even greater
simplicity than this. From an unbeliever he had been
suddenly changed into a worshipper, and in the first glow
of his conversion, he pronounced the new novel to be the
best he had met with, excepting Fielding’s, and in some
respects better than his! A proselyte himself, he was at
once full of schemes for spreading the knowledge of the
true faith. He would begin by telling Mrs. Thrale, as the
centre of a large literary circle. Before he could broach
the subject, he heard his daughter’s book celebrated at the
Streatham tea-table. “Madam,” cried Dr. Johnson, see-sawing
on his chair, “Mrs. Cholmondeley was talking to
me last night of a new novel, which, she says, has a very
uncommon share of merit—‘Evelina.’ She says that she
has not been so entertained this great while as in reading
it, and that she shall go all over London to discover the
author.” Mrs. Cholmondeley was a sister of Peg Woffington,
the actress, and had married Captain Cholmondeley,
second son of the Earl of Cholmondeley, and a nephew of
Horace Walpole. Her husband afterwards quitted the
army, and took orders; and at this time the salon of the
witty and eccentric Mrs. Cholmondeley was in high repute.
Besides recommending Evelina to Johnson, she had
engaged Burke and Reynolds to get it, and announced
her intention of keeping it on her table the whole summer
to make it as widely known as possible. All this made it
necessary for her friend and rival, Mrs. Thrale, not to be
left in the background. There was but one thing to be
done: the lady of Streatham lost no time in procuring
and reading this new success; fell into a rapture over it;
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
bepraised it with her usual vivacity, and passed it on to
Johnson. The great man took to it immensely. When
he had finished one volume, he was as impatient as Crisp
had been for the next, protesting that he could not get rid of
the rogue; and his judgment was that there were passages
in the book that might do honour to Richardson. The
packet of letters in which this compliment was transmitted
to Fanny reported also that Sir Joshua Reynolds had
forgotten his dinner while engrossed with her story, and
that Burke had sat up all night to finish it; and Dr.
Burney added an enclosure, in which he said: ‘Thou hast
made thy old father laugh and cry at thy pleasure.’
If Mrs. Cholmondeley could claim to have introduced
Evelina to the polite world, to Mrs. Thrale fell the
distinction of making known its author. After ratifying
the general opinion of the work, Mrs. Thrale asked, in
Burney’s presence, whether Mrs. Cholmondeley had yet
found out the writer, ‘because,’ said the speaker, ‘I long
to know him of all things.’ This inquiry produced an
avowal, which the Doctor had obtained his daughter’s
permission to make; and shortly afterwards he appeared
at Chesington to carry her to Streatham, and present her,
by appointment, to the Thrales—and to Dr. Johnson.
Many surprising successes are recorded in the annals of
literature; but there have been few quite like this. Lately
the least noticed member of her father’s household,
Frances Burney was now elevated far above its head.
Other writers before their rise have been insignificant;
the author of Evelina was despised. Proud and happy
man though he was, Dr. Burney could not at once break
off the habit of calling her poor Fanny. “Do you breathe,
my dear Fanny?” asks Susan in a letter, after recounting
part of the wonders above mentioned. “It took away my
breath,” adds the writer, “and then made me skip about
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
like a mad creature.” “My dearest Susy,” responds
Fanny, “don’t you think there must be some wager
depending among the little curled imps who hover over
us mortals, of how much flummery goes to turn the head
of an authoress? Your last communication very near did
my business, for, meeting Mr. Crisp ere I had composed
myself, I ‘tipt him such a touch of the heroics’ as he
has not seen since the time when I was so much celebrated
for dancing ‘Nancy Dawson.’[33] I absolutely longed to
treat him with one of Captain Mirvan’s[34] frolics, and to
fling his wig out of the window. I restrained myself,
however, from the apprehension that they would imagine I
had a universal spite to that harmless piece of goods, which
I have already been known to treat with no little indignity.
He would fain have discovered the reason of my skittishness;
but as I could not tell it him, I was obliged to
assure him it would be lost time to inquire further into
my flights.” Refraining from the wig, Fanny darted out
of the room, and, as she tells us elsewhere,[35] performed a
sort of jig round an old mulberry-tree that stood on the
lawn before the house. She related this incident many
years afterwards to Sir Walter Scott, who has recorded
it in his journal.[36]
.fn 33
Mr. Crisp to Miss Burney, January, 1779: “Do you remember, about a
dozen years ago, how you used to dance ‘Nancy Dawson’ on the grass-plot,
with your cap on the ground, and your long hair streaming down your back,
one shoe off, and throwing about your head like a mad thing!”
.fn-
.fn 34
The sea-captain in ‘Evelina.’
.fn-
.fn 35
Diary, i., p. 18; Memoirs, ii., p. 149.
.fn-
.fn 36
Lockhart’s ‘Life of Scott.’ vi., p. 388. There seems to be some trifling
discrepancy between the different accounts, both as to the date and the exact
occasion of this incident.
.fn-
It will be gathered from our last extract that Mr. Crisp
was not yet in possession of the great secret. Fanny
dreaded the edge of his criticism, even more than she had
dreaded the chill of her father’s contempt. Dr. Burney
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
arrived at the Hall to fetch away his daughter on the first
Saturday in August, and it was agreed between them that
a disclosure could no longer be deferred. “My dear
father,” says the Diary, “desired to take upon himself the
communication to my Daddy Crisp, and as it is now in so
many hands that it is possible accident might discover it
to him, I readily consented. Sunday evening, as I was
going into my father’s room, I heard him say, ‘The
variety of characters, the variety of scenes, and the
language—why, she has had very little education but what
she has given herself—less than any of the others!’ and
Mr. Crisp exclaimed, ‘Wonderful! it’s wonderful!’ I
now found what was going forward, and therefore deemed
it most fitting to decamp. About an hour after, as I was
passing through the hall, I met my Daddy Crisp. His
face was all animation and archness; he doubled his fist
at me, and would have stopped me, but I ran past him
into the parlour. Before supper, however, I again met
him, and he would not suffer me to escape; he caught
both my hands, and looked as if he would have looked me
through, and then exclaimed, ‘Why, you little hussy,
ain’t you ashamed to look me in the face, you ‘Evelina,’
you! Why, what a dance have you led me about it!
Young friend, indeed! Oh, you little hussy, what tricks
have you served me!’ I was obliged to allow of his
running on with these gentle appellations for I know not
how long, ere he could sufficiently compose himself, after
his great surprise, to ask or hear any particulars; and
then he broke out every three instants with exclamations
of astonishment at how I had found time to write so
much unsuspected, and how and where I had picked up
such various materials; and not a few times did he, with
me, as he had with my father, exclaim, ‘Wonderful!’
He has since made me read him all my letters upon this
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
subject. He said Lowndes would have made an estate,
had he given me £1,000 for it, and that he ought not to
have given less. ‘You have nothing to do now,’ continued
he, ‘but to take your pen in hand, for your fame
and reputation are made, and any bookseller will snap at
what you write.’”
A day or two after this conversation, Fanny and her
father left Liberty Hall, as Mr. Crisp was pleased to
designate his retreat. Arrived at the verge of our own
heroine’s entrance into the world, we shall not stop to
discuss the question how far she was entitled to the fame
she had so rapidly won, nor shall we engage in any
criticism of the work by which she had acquired it. We
may assent to the admission of an admirer that the society
depicted in Evelina is made up of unreal beings. What
else could be expected from a fiction designed in immature
youth, executed, like patchwork, at intervals, and put
together, at last, without advice from any experienced
person? Real or unreal, however, the characters in the
novel were vivid enough to interest strongly those of the
writer’s contemporaries who were most familiar with the
world and human nature.
In the conversations which we are about to extract will
be found numerous allusions to personages who, though
fictitious, are, at any rate, as substantial for us as most
of the talkers, who have long since passed into the region
of shadows. We may leave to Miss Burney the task of
introducing her friends; she mentions the creations of
her brain without a word of explanation, because she
knew that the few eyes and ears for which her Diary was
intended were as well acquainted with them as
It therefore devolves on us to indicate the chief actors in
Evelina to our readers. We have the honour to present:
Madame Duval, Evelina’s low-bred grandmother
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
from Paris, interlarding her illiterate English with an
incessant Ma foi! and other French interjections; Captain
Mirvan, a fair specimen of the coarse naval officer of that
time;[37] the Branghtons, a vulgar family living on Snow
Hill; Mr. Smith, a Holborn beau, lodging with the
Branghtons. Add to these, Lord Orville, the hero, and
Sir Clement Willoughby, the villain of the piece; Mr.
Lovel, a fop; Lady Louisa, a languishing dame of quality;
Sir John Belmont, the heroine’s father; M. Du Bois, a
Frenchman in attendance on Madame Duval; and Mr.
Macartney, a starving Scotch poet. Of the last two, the
author conferred on the former the maiden name of her
grandmother; on the latter, the maiden-name of her god-mother,
Mrs. Greville.
.fn 37
‘I have this to comfort me: that, the more I see of sea-captains, the less
reason I have to be ashamed of Captain Mirvan; for they have all so irresistible
a propensity to wanton mischief, to roasting beaux and detesting old women,
that I quite rejoice I showed the book to no one ere printed, lest I should have
been prevailed upon to soften his character.’—Diary, May 28, 1780.
.fn-
We will give Fanny’s account of her first dinner at
Streatham in the words of her Diary:
.pm start_quote
“When we were summoned to dinner, Mrs. Thrale
made my father and me sit on each side of her. I said
that I hoped I did not take Dr. Johnson’s place;—for he
had not yet appeared.
‘No,’ answered Mrs. Thrale, ‘he will sit by you, which
I am sure will give him great pleasure.’
Soon after we were seated, this great man entered. I
have so true a veneration for him, that the very sight of
him inspires me with delight and reverence, notwithstanding
the cruel infirmities to which he is subject; for he
has almost perpetual convulsive movements, either of
his hands, lips, feet, or knees, and sometimes of all
together.
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
Mrs. Thrale introduced me to him, and he took his
place. We had a noble dinner, and a most elegant
dessert. Dr. Johnson, in the middle of dinner, asked
Mrs. Thrale what was in some little pies that were near
him.
‘Mutton,’ answered she; ‘so I don’t ask you to eat
any, because I know you despise it.’
‘No, madam, no,’ cried he; ‘I despise nothing that
is good of its sort; but I am too proud now to eat of it.
Sitting by Miss Burney makes me very proud to-day!’
‘Miss Burney,’ said Mrs. Thrale, laughing, ‘you must
take great care of your heart if Dr. Johnson attacks it;
for I assure you he is not often successless.’
‘What’s that you say, madam?’ cried he; ‘are you
making mischief between the young lady and me already?’
A little while after he drank Miss Thrale’s health and
mine, and then added:
‘’Tis a terrible thing that we cannot wish young ladies
well without wishing them to become old women!’
‘But some people,’ said Mr. Seward, ‘are old and
young at the same time, for they wear so well that they
never look old.’
‘No, sir, no,’ cried the doctor, laughing; ‘that never
yet was; you might as well say they are at the same time
tall and short. I remember an epitaph to that purpose,
which is in——’
(I have quite forgot what,—and also the name it was
made upon, but the rest I recollect exactly:)
.pm start_poem
‘—— lies buried here;
So early wise, so lasting fair,
That none, unless her years you told,
Thought her a child, or thought her old.’
.pm end_poem
Mrs. Thrale then repeated some lines in French, and
Dr. Johnson some more in Latin. An epilogue of Mr.
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
Garrick’s to ‘Bonduca’ was then mentioned, and Dr.
Johnson said it was a miserable performance, and everybody
agreed it was the worst he had ever made.
‘And yet,’ said Mr. Seward, ‘it has been very much
admired: but it is in praise of English valour, and so I
suppose the subject made it popular.’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Dr. Johnson, ‘anything about
the subject, for I could not read on till I came to it;
I got through half a dozen lines, but I could observe
no other subject than eternal dulness. I don’t know what
is the matter with David; I am afraid he is grown superannuated,
for his prologues and epilogues used to be incomparable.’
‘Nothing is so fatiguing,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘as the
life of a wit; he and Wilkes are the two oldest men of
their ages I know, for they have both worn themselves
out by being eternally on the rack to give entertainment
to others.’
‘David, madam,’ said the doctor, ‘looks much older
than he is; for his face has had double the business of
any other man’s; it is never at rest; when he speaks one
minute, he has quite a different countenance to what he
assumes the next. I don’t believe he ever kept the same
look for half an hour together in the whole course of his
life; and such an eternal, restless, fatiguing play of the
muscles must certainly wear out a man’s face before its
real time.’
‘O yes,’ cried Mrs. Thrale; ‘we must certainly
make some allowance for such wear and tear of a man’s
face.’
The next name that was started was that of Sir John
Hawkins, and Mrs. Thrale said:
‘Why now, Dr. Johnson, he is another of those whom
you suffer nobody to abuse but yourself; Garrick is one,
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
too; for if any other person speaks against him, you
browbeat him in a minute!’
‘Why, madam,’ answered he, ‘they don’t know when
to abuse him, and when to praise him; I will allow no
man to speak ill of David that he does not deserve;
and as to Sir John, why really I believe him to be an
honest man at the bottom: but to be sure he is penurious,
and he is mean, and it must be owned he has a degree of
brutality, and a tendency to savageness, that cannot easily
be defended.’
We all laughed, as he meant we should, at this curious
manner of speaking in his favour, and he then related an
anecdote that he said he knew to be true in regard to his
meanness. He said that Sir John and he once belonged
to the same club, but that as he ate no supper after the
first night of his admission, he desired to be excused paying
his share.
‘And was he excused?’
‘O yes; for no man is angry at another for being
inferior to himself! we all scorned him, and admitted his
plea. For my part, I was such a fool as to pay my share
for wine, though I never tasted any. But Sir John was a
most unclubbable man!’
‘And this,’ continued he, ‘reminds me of a gentleman
and lady with whom I travelled once; I suppose I
must call them gentleman and lady, according to form,
because they travelled in their own coach and four horses.
But at the first inn where we stopped, the lady called for—a
pint of ale! and when it came, quarrelled with the
waiter for not giving full measure. Now, Madame Duval
could not have done a grosser thing.’
Oh, how everybody laughed! and to be sure I did not
glow at all, nor munch fast, nor look on my plate, nor
lose any part of my usual composure! But how grateful
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
do I feel to this dear Dr. Johnson, for never naming me
and the book as belonging one to the other, and yet
making an allusion that showed his thoughts led to it,
and, at the same time, that seemed to justify the character
as being natural! But, indeed, the delicacy I met with
from him, and from all the Thrales, was yet more flattering
to me than the praise with which I have heard they
have honoured my book.
After dinner, when Mrs. Thrale and I left the gentlemen,
we had a conversation that to me could not but be
delightful, as she was all good-humour, spirits, sense, and
agreeability. Surely I may make words, when at a loss, if
Dr. Johnson does.
We left Streatham at about eight o’clock, and Mr.
Seward, who handed me into the chaise, added his interest
to the rest, that my father would not fail to bring
me again next week to stay with them for some time. In
short, I was loaded with civilities from them all. And
my ride home was equally happy with the rest of the
day, for my kind and most beloved father was so happy
in my happiness, and congratulated me so sweetly, that
he could, like myself, think on no other subject.
Yet my honours stopped not here; for Hetty, who,
with her sposo, was here to receive us, told me she had
lately met Mrs. Reynolds, sister of Sir Joshua; and that
she talked very much and very highly of a new novel
called ‘Evelina;’ though without a shadow of suspicion
as to the scribbler....
Sir Joshua, it seems, vows he would give fifty pounds
to know the author! I have also heard, by the means of
Charles, that other persons have declared they will find
him out!
This intelligence determined me upon going myself
to Mr. Lowndes, and discovering what sort of answers
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
he made to such curious inquirers as I found were likely
to address him. But as I did not dare trust myself to
speak, for I felt that I should not be able to act my part
well, I asked my mother to accompany me.
We introduced ourselves by buying the book, for
which I had a commission from Mrs. G——. Fortunately
Mr. Lowndes himself was in the shop; as we found by
his air of consequence and authority, as well as his age;
for I never saw him before.
The moment he had given my mother the book, she
asked if he could tell her who wrote it.
‘No,’ he answered: ‘I don’t know myself.’
‘Pho, pho,’ said she; ‘you mayn’t choose to tell, but
you must know.’
‘I don’t, indeed, ma’am,’ answered he; ‘I have no
honour in keeping the secret, for I have never been
trusted. All I know of the matter is, that it is a gentleman
of the other end of the town.’
My mother made a thousand other inquiries, to which
his answers were to the following effect: that for a great
while, he did not know if it was a man or a woman; but
now, he knew that much, and that he was a master of
his subject, and well versed in the manners of the
times.”
.pm end_quote
A few days after this, Mrs. Thrale called in St. Martin’s
Street, and carried her new acquaintance down to
Streatham:
.pm start_quote
“At night, Mrs. Thrale asked if I would have anything?
I answered, ‘No;’ but Dr. Johnson said,—
‘Yes: she is used, madam, to suppers; she would like
an egg or two, and a few slices of ham, or a rasher—a
rasher, I believe, would please her better.’
How ridiculous! However, nothing could persuade
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
Mrs. Thrale not to have the cloth laid; and Dr. Johnson
was so facetious, that he challenged Mr. Thrale to get
drunk!
‘I wish,’ said he, ‘my master would say to me,
Johnson, if you will oblige me, you will call for a bottle of
Toulon, and then we will set to it, glass for glass, till it is
done; and after that I will say, Thrale, if you will oblige
me, you will call for another bottle of Toulon, and then
we will set to it, glass for glass, till that is done: and by
the time we should have drunk the two bottles we should
be so happy, and such good friends, that we should fly
into each other’s arms, and both together call for the
third!’
I ate nothing, that they might not again use such a
ceremony with me. Indeed, their late dinners forbid
suppers, especially as Dr. Johnson made me eat cake at
tea; for he held it till I took it, with an odd or absent
complaisance.
He was extremely comical after supper, and would not
suffer Mrs. Thrale and me to go to bed for near an hour
after we made the motion....
Now for this morning’s breakfast.
Dr. Johnson, as usual, came last into the library; he
was in high spirits, and full of mirth and sport. I had
the honour of sitting next to him: and now, all at once,
he flung aside his reserve, thinking, perhaps, that it was
time I should fling aside mine.
Mrs. Thrale told him that she intended taking me to
Mr. T——’s.
‘So you ought, madam,’ cried he; ‘’tis your business
to be cicerone to her.’
Then suddenly he snatched my hand, and kissing it,
‘Ah!’ he added, ‘they will little think what a tartar
you carry to them!’
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
‘No, that they won’t!’ cried Mrs. Thrale; ‘Miss Burney
looks so meek and so quiet, nobody would suspect what a
comical girl she is; but I believe she has a great deal of
malice at heart.’
‘Oh, she’s a toad!’ cried the doctor, laughing—‘a sly
young rogue! with her Smiths and her
‘Why, Dr. Johnson,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘I hope you
are very well this morning! If one may judge by your
spirits and good-humour, the fever you threatened us with
is gone off.’
He had complained that he was going to be ill last
night.
‘Why, no, madam, no,’ answered he, ‘I am not yet
well; I could not sleep at all; there I lay, restless and
uneasy, and thinking all the time of Miss Burney. Perhaps
I have offended her, thought I; perhaps she is angry; I
have seen her but once, and I talked to her of a rasher!—Were
you angry?’
I think I need not tell you my answer.
‘I have been endeavouring to find some excuse,’ continued
he, ‘and, as I could not sleep, I got up, and looked
for some authority for the word; and I find, madam, it is
used by Dryden: in one of his prologues he says—“And
snatch a homely rasher from the coals.” So you must not
mind me, madam; I say strange things, but I mean no
harm.’
I was almost afraid he thought I was really idiot
enough to have taken him seriously; but, a few minutes
after, he put his hand on my arm, and shaking his head,
exclaimed:
‘Oh, you are a sly little rogue!—what a Holborn beau
have you drawn!’
‘Ay, Miss Burney,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘the Holborn
beau is Dr. Johnson’s favourite; and we have all your
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
characters by heart, from Mr. Smith up to Lady
Louisa.’
‘Oh, Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith is the man!’ cried he,
laughing violently. ‘Harry Fielding never drew so good
a character!—such a fine varnish of low politeness!—such
a struggle to appear a gentleman! Madam, there is no
character better drawn anywhere—in any book, or by any
author.’
I almost poked myself under the table. Never did I
feel so delicious a confusion since I was born! But he
added a great deal more, only I cannot recollect his exact
words, and I do not choose to give him mine.
‘Come, come,’ cried Mrs. Thrale, ‘we’ll torment her
no more about her book, for I see it really plagues
her. I own I thought for awhile it was only affectation,
for I’m sure if the book were mine I should wish to hear
of nothing else. But we shall teach her in time how
proud she ought to be of such a performance.’
‘Ah, madam,’ cried the Doctor, ‘be in no haste to
teach her that; she’ll speak no more to us when she
knows her own weight.’...
Some time after the Doctor began laughing to himself,
and then, suddenly turning to me, he called out, ‘Only
think, Polly! Miss has danced with a lord!’
‘Ah, poor Evelina!’ cried Mrs. Thrale, ‘I see her
now in Kensington Gardens. What she must have
suffered! Poor girl! what fidgets she must have been in!
And I know Mr. Smith, too, very well; I always have
him before me at the Hampstead Ball, dressed in a white
coat, and a tambour waistcoat, worked in green silk.
Poor Mr. Seward! Mr. Johnson made him so mad
t’other day! “Why, Seward,” said he, “how smart you
are dressed! Why you only want a tambour waistcoat,
to look like Mr. Smith!” But I am very fond of Lady
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
Louisa. I think her as well drawn as any character in
the book—so fine, so affected, so languishing, and, at the
same time, so insolent!...
As I have always heard from my father that every
individual at Streatham spends the morning alone, I took
the first opportunity of absconding to my own room, and
amused myself in writing till I tired. About noon, when
I went into the library, book-hunting, Mrs. Thrale came
to me.
We had a very nice confab about various books, and
exchanged opinions and imitations of Baretti; she told me
many excellent tales of him, and I, in return, related my
stories.
She gave me a long and very interesting account of
Dr. Goldsmith, who was intimately known here; but in
speaking of ‘The Good-natured Man,’ when I extolled
my favourite Croaker, I found that admirable character
was a downright theft from Dr. Johnson. Look at the
‘Rambler,’ and you will find Suspirius is the man, and
that not merely the idea, but the particulars of the
character are all stolen thence![38]
.fn 38
Suspirius the Screech Owl. See ‘Rambler’ for Tuesday, October 9, 1750.
.fn-
While we were yet reading this ‘Rambler,’ Dr. Johnson
came in: we told him what we were about.
‘Ah, madam!’ cried he, ‘Goldsmith was not scrupulous;
but he would have been a great man had he known
the real value of his own internal resources.’
‘Miss Burney,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘is fond of his
“Vicar of Wakefield,” and so am I; don’t you like it,
sir?’
‘No, madam; it is very faulty. There is nothing of
real life in it, and very little of nature. It is a mere
fanciful performance.’
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
He then seated himself upon a sofa, and calling to me,
said: ‘Come, Evelina—come, and sit by me.’
I obeyed, and he took me almost in his arms—that is,
one of his arms, for one would go three times, at least,
round me—and, half-laughing, half-serious, he charged me
to ‘be a good girl.’
‘But, my dear,’ continued he with a very droll look,
‘what makes you so fond of the Scotch? I don’t like you
for that; I hate these Scotch, and so must you. I wish
Branghton had sent the dog to jail—that Scotch dog,
Macartney!’
‘Why, sir,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘don’t you remember he
says he would, but that he should get nothing by it?’
‘Why, ay, true,’ cried the Doctor, see-sawing very
solemnly, ‘that, indeed, is some palliation for his forbearance.
But I must not have you so fond of the Scotch,
my little Burney; make your hero what you will but a
Scotchman. Besides, you write Scotch—you say, “the
one.” My dear, that’s not English—never use that phrase
again.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘it may be used in
Macartney’s letter, and then it will be a propriety.’
‘No, madam, no!’ cried he; ‘you can’t make a
beauty of it; it is in the third volume; put it in Macartney’s
letter, and welcome!—that, or anything that is
nonsense.’
‘Why, surely,’ cried I, ‘the poor man is used ill
enough by the Branghtons!’
‘But Branghton,’ said he, ‘only hates him because of
his wretchedness, poor fellow! But, my dear love, how
should he ever have eaten a good dinner before he came
to England?’
And then he laughed violently at young Branghton’s
idea.
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
‘Well,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘I always liked Macartney;
he is a very pretty character, and I took to him, as the
folks say.’
‘Why, madam,’ answered he, ‘I liked Macartney myself.
Yes, poor fellow, I liked the man, but I love not the nation.’”
.pm end_quote
Miss Burney’s visit on this occasion lasted several days,
and it was speedily followed by another and another.
Mrs. Thrale, having discovered a fresh attraction for her
country house, hastened to turn it to the best account.
The friendship between her and the new authoress
developed with the rapid growth peculiar to feminine
attachments. And Fanny enjoyed her life at Streatham.
Dr. Johnson was nearly always there; she liked the
family; and the opulent establishment, with its well-kept
gardens, hot-houses, shrubberies, and paddock, had all
the charm of novelty to a young woman, whose time had
long been divided between the smoky atmosphere of
Leicester Fields and the desolation of Liberty Hall. The
great Doctor, whose affection for her increased daily, took
an early opportunity of saying to her: ‘These are as good
people as you can be with; you can go to no better house;
they are all good-nature; nothing makes them angry.’
She found no cause to complain of Mr. Thrale’s curt
speech, or the eldest daughter’s cold manner, or the
roughness of Ursa Major, though she has reported Mrs.
Thrale’s quick answer to Johnson when he asked the
motive of his hostess’s excessive complaisance: ‘Why,
I’ll tell you, sir; when I am with you, and Mr. Thrale,
and Queeny, I am obliged to be civil for four.’
If Mrs. Thrale engrossed a large share of her novice’s
time this autumn, she took pains to make her talk a little in
company, and prepared her, in some degree, for the ordeal
that awaited her during the ensuing winter in London.
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
Numerous visitors were invited to Streatham to become
acquainted with the timid young writer, who, though
accustomed to society, had never yet learned to make her
voice heard in a circle of listeners. One afternoon Sir
Joshua Reynolds and his nieces came down, and on their
arrival, the conversation being turned to the subject of
Evelina, they were informed that they should meet the
author at dinner. After a good deal of guessing, the
suspicions of the guests settled on the lady of the house,
who sportively assumed a conscious air, but before the
close of the day, the secret was allowed to transpire, and
when the party broke up, Sir Joshua, approaching Miss
Burney, with his most courtly bow, hoped that as soon as
she left Streatham he should have the honour of seeing
her in Leicester Square.
“The joke is,” writes Fanny, “the people speak as
if they were afraid of me, instead of my being afraid
of them.... Next morning, Mrs. Thrale asked me
if I did not want to see Mrs. Montagu? I truly said,
I should be the most insensible of animals not to like to
see our sex’s glory.” A note was despatched accordingly,
and the glory of her sex graciously accepted. On
hearing of this, “Dr. Johnson began to see-saw, with a
countenance strongly expressive of inward fun, and after
enjoying it some time in silence, he suddenly, and with
great animation, turned to me, and cried: ‘Down with
her, Burney!—down with her!—spare her not!—attack
her, fight her, and down with her at once! You are a
rising wit, and she is at the top; and when I was
beginning the world, and was nothing and nobody, the
joy of my life was to fire at all the established wits! and
then everybody loved to halloo me on. But there is no
game now; everybody would be glad to see me conquered:
but then, when I was new, to vanquish the great ones was
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
all the delight of my poor little dear soul! So at her,
Burney—at her, and down with her.’” The Queen of the
Blue Stockings arrived, attended by her companion, a
Miss Gregory; and the usual presentation and disclosure
took place. Fanny, of course, had not much to say for
herself, but the observant eyes were busy as usual. This
is their report of Mrs. Montagu; “She is middle-sized,
very thin, and looks infirm; she has a sensible and penetrating
countenance, and the air and manner of a woman
accustomed to being distinguished, and of great parts.
Dr. Johnson, who agrees in this, told us that Mrs.
Hervey, of his acquaintance, says she can remember Mrs.
Montagu trying for this same air and manner. Mr. Crisp
has said the same: however, nobody can now impartially
see her, and not confess that she has extremely well
succeeded.” When dinner was upon table, the observer
followed the procession, in a tragedy step, as Mr. Thrale
would have it, into the dining-room. The conversation
was not brilliant, nor is much of it recorded. When Mrs.
Montagu’s new house[39] was talked of, Dr. Johnson, in a
jocose manner, desired to know if he should be invited
to see it. ‘Ay, sure,’ cried Mrs. Montagu, looking well
pleased; ‘or else I shan’t like it: but I invite you all to a
house-warming; I shall hope for the honour of seeing all
this company at my new house next Easter-day: I fix
the day now that it may be remembered.’ “Dr. Johnson,”
adds Fanny, “who sat next to me, was determined I should
be of the party, for he suddenly clapped his hand on my
shoulder, and called out aloud: ‘Little Burney, you and I
will go together.’ ‘Yes, surely,’ cried Mrs. Montagu, ‘I
shall hope for the pleasure of seeing Evelina.’”
.fn 39
She was then building her famous house in Portman Square.
.fn-
It was at Streatham shortly afterwards that Miss
Burney made her first acquaintance with James Boswell.
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
We do not get our account of this meeting direct from
the Diary, and have to take it as it stands in the
Memoirs, dressed up by the pen of the aged Madame
d’Arblay. Boswell, we are told, had a strong Scotch
accent, though by no means strong enough to make him
unintelligible to an English ear. He had an odd mock
solemnity of tone and manner that he had acquired unconsciously
from constantly thinking of, and imitating,
Johnson. There was also something slouching in the
gait and dress of Mr. Boswell that ridiculously caricatured
the same model. His clothes were always too large for
him; his hair, or wig, was constantly in a state of negligence;
and he never for a moment sat still or upright in
his chair. Every look and movement betrayed either intentional
or involuntary imitation:
.pm start_quote
“As Mr. Boswell was at Streatham only upon a morning
visit, a collation was ordered, to which all were assembled.
Mr. Boswell was preparing to take a seat that
he seemed, by prescription, to consider as his own, next
to Dr. Johnson; but Mr. Seward, who was present,
waved his hand for Mr. Boswell to move farther on, saying
with a smile:
“‘Mr. Boswell, that seat is Miss Burney’s.’
“He stared, amazed: the asserted claimant was new
and unknown to him, and he appeared by no means
pleased to resign his prior rights. But after looking
round for a minute or two, with an important air of
demanding the meaning of the innovation, and receiving
no satisfaction, he reluctantly, almost resentfully, got
another chair, and placed it at the back of the shoulder
of Dr. Johnson; while this new and unheard-of rival
quietly seated herself as if not hearing what was passing,
for she shrank from the explanation that she feared might
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
ensue, as she saw a smile stealing over every countenance,
that of Dr. Johnson himself not excepted, at the discomfiture
and surprise of Mr. Boswell.
“Mr. Boswell, however, was so situated as not to
remark it in the Doctor; and of everyone else, when in
that presence, he was unobservant, if not contemptuous.
In truth, when he met with Dr. Johnson, he commonly
forbore even answering anything that went forward, lest
he should miss the smallest sound from that voice to
which he paid such exclusive, though merited, homage.
But the moment that voice burst forth, the attention
which it excited in Mr. Boswell amounted almost to pain.
His eyes goggled with eagerness; he leant his ear almost
on the shoulder of the Doctor; and his mouth dropped
open to catch every syllable that might be uttered: nay,
he seemed not only to dread losing a word, but to be
anxious not to miss a breathing; as if hoping from it,
latently or mystically, some information.
“But when, in a few minutes, Dr. Johnson, whose eye
did not follow him, and who had concluded him to be at
the other end of the table, said something gaily and
good-humouredly, by the appellation of Bozzy, and discovered,
by the sound of the reply, that Bozzy had planted
himself, as closely as he could, behind and between
the elbows of the new usurper and his own, the Doctor
turned angrily round upon him, and, clapping his hand
rather loudly upon his knee, said, in a tone of displeasure:
‘What do you do there, sir?—Go to the table, sir!’
“Mr. Boswell instantly, and with an air of affright,
obeyed; and there was something so unusual in such
humble submission to so imperious a command, that
another smile gleamed its way across every mouth, except
that of the Doctor and of Mr. Boswell, who now, very
unwillingly, took a distant seat.
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
“But, ever restless when not at the side of Dr. Johnson,
he presently recollected something that he wished to
exhibit; and, hastily rising, was running away in its search,
when the Doctor, calling after him, authoritatively said:
‘What are you thinking of, sir? Why do you get up before
the cloth is removed?—Come back to your place, sir!’
“Again, and with equal obsequiousness, Mr. Boswell
did as he was bid; when the Doctor, pursing his lips not
to betray rising risibility, muttered half to himself: ‘Running
about in the middle of meals! One would take you
for a Branghton!’
“‘A Branghton, sir?’ repeated Mr. Boswell, with
earnestness; ‘what is a Branghton, sir?’
“‘Where have you lived, sir?’ cried the Doctor, laughing;
‘and what company have you kept, not to know that?’
“Mr. Boswell now, doubly curious, yet always apprehensive
of falling into some disgrace with Dr. Johnson,
said, in a low tone, which he knew the Doctor could
not hear, to Mrs. Thrale: ‘Pray, ma’am, what’s a
Branghton? Do me the favour to tell me! Is it some
animal hereabouts?’
“Mrs. Thrale only heartily laughed, but without answering,
as she saw one of her guests uneasily fearful of an
explanation. But Mr. Seward cried: ‘I’ll tell you,
Boswell—I’ll tell you!—if you will walk with me into
the paddock; only let us wait till the table is cleared, or
I shall be taken for a Branghton, too!’
“They soon went off together; and Mr. Boswell, no
doubt, was fully informed of the road that had led to the
usurpation by which he had thus been annoyed. But the
Branghton fabricator took care to mount to her chamber
ere they returned, and did not come down till Mr. Boswell
was gone.”
.pm end_quote
The following December and January Miss Burney
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
spent at home. She paid her promised visit to Sir Joshua
Reynolds:
.pm start_quote
“We found the Miss Palmers alone. We were, for near
an hour, quite easy, chatty, and comfortable; no pointed
speech was made, and no starer entered.
“Just then, Mrs. and Miss Horneck were announced....
“Mrs. Horneck, as I found in the course of the evening,
is an exceeding sensible, well-bred woman.[40] Her daughter
is very beautiful; but was low-spirited and silent during
the whole visit. She was, indeed, very unhappy, as Miss
Palmer informed me, upon account of some ill news she
had lately heard of the affairs of a gentleman to whom
she is shortly to be married.
.fn 40
Mrs. Horneck was the wife of General Horneck. Her two daughters,
Mrs. Bunbury and Miss Horneck (afterwards Mrs. Gwynn), were celebrated
beauties, and their portraits rank among the best productions of Sir Joshua
Reynolds’s pencil. Mary Horneck was Goldsmith’s Jessamy Bride, and became
the wife of one of George III.’s equerries; her sister married Harry Bunbury,
‘the graceful and humorous amateur artist,’ as Thackeray calls him, ‘of those
days, when Gilray had but just begun to try his powers.’
.fn-
“Not long after came a whole troop, consisting of Mr.
Cholmondeley!—O perilous name!—Miss Cholmondeley,
and Miss Fanny Cholmondeley, his daughters, and Miss
Forrest. Mrs. Cholmondeley, I found, was engaged elsewhere,
but soon expected.
“Now here was a trick of Sir Joshua, to make me meet
all these people!
“Mr. Cholmondeley is a clergyman; nothing shining
either in person or manners, but rather somewhat grim
in the first, and glum in the last. Yet he appears to have
humour himself, and to enjoy it much in others....
“Next came my father, all gaiety and spirits. Then
Mr. William Burke. Soon after, Sir Joshua returned
home. He paid his compliments to everybody, and then
brought a chair next mine, and said:
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
“‘So you were afraid to come among us?’
“I don’t know if I wrote to you a speech to that purpose,
which I made to the Miss Palmers? and which, I
suppose, they had repeated to him. He went on, saying
I might as well fear hobgoblins, and that I had only to
hold up my head to be above them all.
“After this address, his behaviour was exactly what my
wishes would have dictated to him, for my own ease and
quietness; for he never once even alluded to my book,
but conversed rationally, gaily, and serenely: and so I
became more comfortable than I had been ever since the
first entrance of company....
“Our confab was interrupted by the entrance of Mr.
King; a gentleman who is, it seems, for ever with the
Burkes; and presently Lord Palmerston[41] was announced.
.fn 41
Henry Temple, second Viscount Palmerston, father of the Prime Minister.
.fn-
“Well, while this was going forward, a violent rapping
bespoke, I was sure, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and I ran from
the standers, and turning my back against the door, looked
over Miss Palmer’s cards; for you may well imagine I
was really in a tremor at a meeting which so long has
been in agitation, and with the person who, of all persons,
has been most warm and enthusiastic for my book.
“She had not, however, been in the room half an
instant, ere my father came up to me, and tapping me on
the shoulder, said, ‘Fanny, here’s a lady who wishes to
speak to you.’
“I curtseyed in silence; she too curtseyed, and fixed
her eyes full on my face, and then tapping me with her
fan, she cried:
“‘Come, come, you must not look grave upon me.’
“Upon this, I te-he’d; she now looked at me yet more
earnestly, and, after an odd silence, said, abruptly:
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
“‘But is it true?’
“‘What, ma’am?’
“‘It can’t be!—tell me, though, is it true?’
“I could only simper.
“‘Why don’t you tell me?—but it can’t be—I don’t
believe it!—no, you are an impostor!’
“Sir Joshua and Lord Palmerston were both at her
side—oh, how notably silly must I look! She again
repeated her question of ‘Is it true?’ and I again
affected not to understand her; and then Sir Joshua,
taking hold of her arm, attempted to pull her away,
saying:
“‘Come, come, Mrs. Cholmondeley, I won’t have her
overpowered here!’
“I love Sir Joshua much for this. But Mrs. Cholmondeley,
turning to him, said, with quickness and
vehemence:
“‘Why, I ain’t going to kill her! don’t be afraid, I
shan’t compliment her!—I can’t, indeed!’”
.pm end_quote
Then came a scene in which Mrs. Cholmondeley pursued
Fanny across the room, hunted her round the card-table,
and finally drove her to take refuge behind a sofa,
continually plying her with questions, and receiving her
confused replies with exclamations of Ma foi! pardie! and
other phrases borrowed from Madame Duval. At length:
.pm start_quote
“Mrs. Chol.: My Lord Palmerston, I was told to-night
that nobody could see your lordship for me, for that you
supped at my house every night! Dear, bless me, no!
cried I, not every night! and I looked as confused as I
was able; but I am afraid I did not blush, though I tried
hard for it!
“Then again turning to me:
“‘That Mr. What-d’ye-call-him, in Fleet Street, is a
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
mighty silly fellow;—perhaps you don’t know who I
mean?—one T. Lowndes,—but maybe you don’t know
such a person?’
“F. B.: No, indeed, I do not!—that I can safely say.
“Mrs. Chol.: I could get nothing from him: but I told
him I hoped he gave a good price: and he answered me,
that he always did things genteel. What trouble and
tagging we had! Mr. —— laid a wager the writer was
a man:—I said I was sure it was a woman: but now we
are both out; for it’s a girl!
“In this comical, queer, flighty, whimsical manner she
ran on, till we were summoned to supper....
“When we broke up to depart, which was not till near
two in the morning, Mrs. Cholmondeley went up to my
mother, and begged her permission to visit in St. Martin’s
Street. Then, as she left the room, she said to me, with
a droll sort of threatening look:
“‘You have not got rid of me yet: I have been forcing
myself into your house.’
“I must own I was not at all displeased at this, as I
had very much and very reasonably feared that she would
have been by then as sick of me from disappointment, as
she was before eager for me from curiosity.
“When we came away, Offy Palmer, laughing, said to me:
“‘I think this will be a breaking-in to you!’”
.pm end_quote
We have next a visit to the house of the persecutor:
.pm start_quote
“On Monday last, my father sent a note to Mrs. Cholmondeley,
to propose our waiting on her the Wednesday
following: she accepted the proposal, and accordingly, on
Wednesday evening, my father, mother, and self went to
Hertford Street.
“I should have told you that Mrs. Cholmondeley, when
my father some time ago called on her, sent me a message,
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
that if I would go to see her, I should not again be stared
at or worried; and she acknowledged that my visit at Sir
Joshua’s was a formidable one, and that I was watched
the whole evening; but that upon the whole, the company
behaved extremely well, for they only ogled!
“Well, we were received by Mrs. Cholmondeley with
great politeness, and in a manner that showed she intended
to entirely throw aside Madame Duval, and to
conduct herself towards me in a new style.
“Mr. and the Misses Cholmondeley and Miss Forrest
were with her; but who else think you?—why, Mrs.
Sheridan! I was absolutely charmed at the sight of her.
I think her quite as beautiful as ever, and even more
captivating; for she has now a look of ease and happiness
that animates her whole face.
“Miss Linley was with her; she is very handsome, but
nothing near her sister: the elegance of Mrs. Sheridan’s
beauty is unequalled by any I ever saw, except Mrs.
Crewe.[42] I was pleased with her in all respects. She is
much more lively and agreeable than I had any idea of
finding her: she was very gay, and very unaffected, and
totally free from airs of any kind.
.fn 42
Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Greville; afterwards Lady Crewe.
.fn-
“Miss Linley was very much out of spirits; she did not
speak three words the whole evening, and looked wholly
unmoved at all that passed. Indeed, she appeared to be
heavy and inanimate.
“Mrs. Cholmondeley sat next me. She is determined, I
believe, to make me like her: and she will, I believe, have
full success; for she is very clever, very entertaining, and
very much unlike anybody else.
“The first subject started was the Opera, and all joined
in the praise of Pacchierotti. Mrs. Sheridan declared
she could not hear him without tears, and that he was
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
the first Italian singer who ever affected her to such a
degree.
“They then talked of the intended marriage of the
Duke of Dorset with Miss Cumberland, and many ridiculous
anecdotes were related. The conversation naturally
fell upon Mr. Cumberland, and he was finely cut up!
“‘What a man is that!’ said Mrs. Cholmondeley; ‘I
cannot bear him—so querulous, so dissatisfied, so determined
to like nobody and nothing but himself!’
“‘What, Mr. Cumberland?’ exclaimed I.
“‘Yes,’ answered she; ‘I hope you don’t like him?’
“‘I don’t know him, ma’am. I have only seen him
once, at Mrs. Ord’s.’
“‘Oh, don’t like him for your life! I charge you not!
I hope you did not like his looks?’
“‘Why,’ quoth I, laughing, ‘I went prepared and
determined to like him; but perhaps, when I see him
next, I may go prepared for the contrary.’
“A rat-tat-tat-tat ensued, and the Earl of Harcourt was
announced. When he had paid his compliments to Mrs.
Cholmondeley—
“‘I knew, ma’am,’ he said, ‘that I should find you at
home.’
“‘I suppose then, my lord,’ said she, ‘that you have
seen Sir Joshua Reynolds; for he is engaged to be
here.’
“‘I have,’ answered his lordship; ‘and heard from
him that I should be sure to find you.’
“And then he added some very fine compliment, but I
have forgot it.
“‘Oh, my lord,’ cried she, ‘you have the most discernment
of anybody! His lordship (turning another
way) always says these things to me, and yet he never
flatters.’
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
“Lord Harcourt, speaking of the lady from whose
house he was just come, said:
“‘Mrs. Vesey[43] is vastly agreeable, but her fear of ceremony
is really troublesome: for her eagerness to break a
circle is such, that she insists upon everybody’s sitting
with their backs one to another; that is, the chairs are
drawn into little parties of three together, in a confused
manner, all over the room.’
.fn 43
Well known as the founder of the bas bleu meetings, and the author of the
name. Mr. Edward Stillingfleet, a writer on natural history, who was one of
her favourite guests, always wore blue stockings, and a phrase used by her,
‘Come in your blue stockings,’ or ‘We can do nothing without the blue
stockings,’ caused the bas bleu to be adopted as the symbol of her literary
parties.
.fn-
“‘Why, then,’ said my father, ‘they may have the
pleasure of caballing and cutting up one another, even in
the same room.’
“‘Oh, I like the notion of all things,’ cried Mrs.
Cholmondeley; ‘I shall certainly adopt it!’
“And then she drew her chair into the middle of our
circle. Lord Harcourt turned his round, and his back to
most of us, and my father did the same. You can’t
imagine a more absurd sight.
“Just then the door opened, and Mr. Sheridan
entered.
“Was I not in luck? Not that I believe the meeting
was accidental; but I had more wished to meet him and
his wife than any people I know not.
“I could not endure my ridiculous situation, but replaced
myself in an orderly manner immediately. Mr.
Sheridan stared at them all, and Mrs. Cholmondeley said
she intended it as a hint for a comedy.
“Mr. Sheridan has a very fine figure, and a good, though
I don’t think a handsome, face. He is tall, and very upright,
and his appearance and address are at once manly
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
and fashionable, without the smallest tincture of foppery
or modish graces. In short, I like him vastly, and think
him every way worthy his beautiful companion.
“And let me tell you what I know will give you as
much pleasure as it gave me—that, by all I could observe
in the course of the evening, and we stayed very late,
they are extremely happy in each other: he evidently
adores her, and she as evidently idolizes him. The world
has by no means done him justice.
“When he had paid his compliments to all his acquaintance,
he went behind the sofa on which Mrs. Sheridan
and Miss Cholmondeley were seated, and entered into
earnest conversation with them.
“Upon Lord Harcourt’s again paying Mrs. Cholmondeley
some compliment, she said:
“‘Well, my lord, after this I shall be quite sublime for
some days! I shan’t descend into common life till—till
Saturday, and then I shall drop into the vulgar style—I
shall be in the ma foi way.
“I do really believe she could not resist this, for she had
seemed determined to be quiet.
“When next there was a rat-tat, Mrs. Cholmondeley
and Lord Harcourt, and my father again, at the command
of the former, moved into the middle of the room, and
then Sir Joshua Reynolds and Dr. Warton entered.
“No further company came. You may imagine there
was a general roar at the breaking of the circle, and
when they got into order, Mr. Sheridan seated himself in
the place Mrs. Cholmondeley had left, between my father
and myself.
“And now I must tell you a little conversation which I
did not hear myself till I came home; it was between
Mr. Sheridan and my father.
“‘Dr. Burney,’ cried the former, ‘have you no older
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
daughters? Can this possibly be the authoress of
‘Evelina’?’
“And then he said abundance of fine things, and begged
my father to introduce him to me.
“‘Why, it will be a very formidable thing to her,’
answered he, ‘to be introduced to you.’
“‘Well, then, by-and-by,’ returned he.
“Some time after this, my eyes happening to meet his,
he waived the ceremony of introduction, and in a low
voice said:
“‘I have been telling Dr. Burney that I have long
expected to see in Miss Burney a lady of the gravest
appearance, with the quickest parts.’
“I was never much more astonished than at this unexpected
address, as among all my numerous puffers the
name of Sheridan has never reached me, and I did really
imagine he had never deigned to look at my trash.
“Of course I could make no verbal answer, and he proceeded
then to speak of ‘Evelina’ in terms of the highest
praise; but I was in such a ferment from surprise (not to
say pleasure), that I have no recollection of his expressions.
I only remember telling him that I was much
amazed he had spared time to read it, and that he repeatedly
called it a most surprising book; and some time
after he added: ‘But I hope, Miss Burney, you don’t
intend to throw away your pen?’
“‘You should take care, sir,’ said I, ‘what you say: for
you know not what weight it may have.’
“He wished it might have any, he said; and soon after
turned again to my father.
“I protest, since the approbation of the Streathamites,
I have met with none so flattering to me as this of Mr.
Sheridan, and so very unexpected....
“Some time after, Sir Joshua returning to his standing-place,
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
entered into confab with Miss Linley and your
slave, upon various matters, during which Mr. Sheridan,
joining us, said:
“‘Sir Joshua, I have been telling Miss Burney that
she must not suffer her pen to lie idle—ought she?’
“Sir Joshua: No, indeed, ought she not.
“Mr. Sheridan: Do you then, Sir Joshua, persuade her.
But perhaps you have begun something? May we ask?
Will you answer a question candidly?
“F. B.: I don’t know, but as candidly as Mrs. Candour
I think I certainly shall.
“Mr. Sheridan: What then are you about now?
“F. B.: Why, twirling my fan, I think!
“Mr. Sheridan: No, no; but what are you about at
home? However, it is not a fair question, so I won’t
press it.
“Yet he looked very inquisitive; but I was glad to get
off without any downright answer.
“Sir Joshua: Anything in the dialogue way, I think,
she must succeed in; and I am sure invention will not be
wanting.
“Mr. Sheridan: No, indeed; I think, and say, she
should write a comedy.
“Sir Joshua: I am sure I think so; and hope she will.
“I could only answer by incredulous exclamations.
“‘Consider,’ continued Sir Joshua, ‘you have already
had all the applause and fame you can have given you in
the closet; but the acclamation of a theatre will be new
to you.’
“And then he put down his trumpet, and began a
violent clapping of his hands.
“I actually shook from head to foot! I felt myself
already in Drury Lane, amidst the hubbub of a first
night.
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
“‘Oh no!’ cried I; ‘there may be a noise, but it
will be just the reverse.’ And I returned his salute with
a hissing.
“Mr. Sheridan joined Sir Joshua very warmly.
sir!’ cried I; ‘you should not run on so—you
don’t know what mischief you may do!’
“Mr. Sheridan: I wish I may—I shall be very glad to
be accessory.”
.pm end_quote
We gather from the remarks made by Mrs. Cholmondeley
and Sheridan in the preceding extracts that
Miss Burney at this time looked much younger than she
really was. With her low stature, slight figure, and timid
air, she did not seem quite the woman. Probably this
youthful appearance may have helped to set afloat the
rumour which confounded the age of her heroine with her
own. An unmarried lady of six-and-twenty could hardly
be expected to enter a formal plea of not guilty to the
charge of being only a girl; yet we shall see presently that
Mrs. Thrale was pretty well informed as to the number of
Fanny’s years.
Some readers may be tempted to think that, with all
her coyness, she was enraptured by the pursuit of her
admirers. This is only to say that she was a woman.
We must remember, moreover, that the Diary which
betrays her feelings was not written with any design of
publication, but consisted of private letters, addressed
chiefly to her sister Susan, and intended to be shown to
no one out of her own family, save her attached Daddy
Crisp. ‘If,’ says Macaulay very fairly, ‘she recorded
with minute diligence all the compliments, delicate and
coarse, which she heard wherever she turned, she recorded
them for the eyes of two or three persons who had loved
her from infancy, who had loved her in obscurity, and to
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
whom her fame gave the purest and most exquisite delight.
Nothing can be more unjust than to confound these
of a kind heart, sure of perfect sympathy, with
the egotism of a blue stocking, who prates to all who
come near her about her own novel or her own volume
of sonnets.’
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV.
.pm start_summary
Return to Streatham—Murphy the Dramatist—A Proposed Comedy—‘The
Witlings’—Adverse Judgment of Mr. Crisp and Dr. Burney—Fanny to
Mr. Crisp—Dr. Johnson on Miss Burney—A Visit to Brighton—Cumberland—An
Eccentric Character—Sir Joshua’s Prices—Tragedies—Actors and
Singers—Regrets for the Comedy—Crisp’s Reply—The Lawrence Family
at Devizes—Lady Miller’s Vase—The Gordon Riots—Precipitate Retreat—Grub
Street—Sudden Death of Mr. Thrale—Idleness and Work—A Sister
of the Craft—The Mausoleum of Julia—Progress of ‘Cecilia’ through the
Press—Crisp’s Judgment on ‘Cecilia’—Johnson and ‘Cecilia’—Publication
of ‘Cecilia’—Burke—His Letter to Miss Burney—Assembly at Miss
Monckton’s—New Acquaintances—Soame Jenyns—Illness and Death of
Crisp—Mrs. Thrale’s Struggles—Ill-health of Johnson—Mr. Burney Organist
of Chelsea Hospital—Mrs. Thrale marries Piozzi—Last Interview with
Johnson—His Death.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
In February, 1779, Miss Burney returned to Streatham.
A bedroom was set apart for her exclusive use. She
became almost as much a recognised member of the
family as Dr. Johnson had for many years been. Nearly
all the remainder of 1779 was spent with her new friends,
either at Streatham, Tunbridge Wells, or Brighton. Her
father could scarcely regain possession of her, even for a
few days, without a friendly battle. Johnson always took
the side of the resisting party. In one of these contests,
when Burney urged that she had been away from home
too long: ‘Sir,’ cried Johnson, seizing both her hands to
detain her, ‘I do not think it long; I would have her always
come! and never go!’ In February, the first new face she
saw at Mrs. Thrale’s was that of Arthur Murphy,[44] playwright
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
and translator of Tacitus. Mrs. Thrale charged
her to make herself agreeable to this gentleman, whose
knowledge of the stage might be of service to her in relation
to the comedy which her friends were urging her to
write. The exhortation was unneeded, for almost the
first words uttered by Murphy in her presence won
Fanny’s heart. Mrs. Thrale, missing Dr. Burney, who
after his weekly lesson had returned to town without
taking leave, inveighed against him as a male coquet: he
only, she said, gave enough of his company to excite a
desire for more. Murphy was ready with his compliment.
.fn 44
1730-1805. A native of Elphin, in Ireland; was educated at St. Omer’s;
gave up the trade on which he had entered for literature; published the Gray’s
Inn Journal from 1752 to 1754; went on the stage, wrote dramas, and engaged
in politics; at last became a barrister, and died a Commissioner of Bankrupts.
He produced twenty-three plays, of which the ‘Grecian Daughter’ was the
most popular. His translation of Tacitus had great repute in its day.
.fn-
‘Dr. Burney,’ he replied, ‘is indeed a most extraordinary
man; I think I don’t know such another: he is at home
upon all subjects, and upon all so agreeable! he is a wonderful
man.’
Noting down this pretty speech led the diarist to record
some words which had passed between Johnson and herself
on the same theme:
.pm start_quote
“‘I love Burney,’ said the Doctor; ‘my heart goes out
to meet him.’
“‘He is not ungrateful, sir,’ cried I: ‘for most heartily
does he love you.’
“‘Does he, madam? I am surprised at that.’
“‘Why, sir? Why should you have doubted it?’
“‘Because, madam, Dr. Burney is a man for all the
world to love; it is but natural to love him.’
“I could almost have cried with delight at this cordial,
unlaboured éloge.”
.pm end_quote
An admirer of her father was a man whom Fanny could
trust at once, and she soon had confidences with Murphy,
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
as well as with Johnson, on the subject of her projected
play. In May, the first draft was submitted to the former,
who bestowed on it abundance of flattery. Mrs. Thrale
also was warm in its praise. But the piece, when finished,
had to be submitted to critics who felt a deeper interest,
and a stronger sense of responsibility. The manuscript
was carried by Dr. Burney to Crisp at Chesington, and the
two old friends sat in council on it. “I should like,” wrote
Fanny to Crisp, “that your first reading should have
nothing to do with me—that you should go quick through
it, or let my father read it to you—forgetting all the time,
as much as you can, that Fannikin is the writer, or even
that it is a play in manuscript, and capable of alterations;—and,
then, when you have done, I should like to have three
lines, telling me, as nearly as you can trust my candour,
its general effect. After that take it to your own desk, and
lash it at your leisure. Adieu, my dear daddy! I shall
hope to hear from you very soon, and pray believe me
yours ever and ever.”
The comedy was intended to be called ‘The Witlings,’
and seems to have borne a strong resemblance to the
Femmes Savantes. We have not the letter containing
Crisp’s judgment, but he told his disciple plainly that
her production would be condemned as a pale copy of
Molière’s piece. We gather also from subsequent correspondence
that both he and Dr. Burney felt ‘The Witlings,’
to be a failure, even when considered on its own merits.
It was some consolation to Fanny that she had never
read Molière, but she sought no saving for her self-love.
Here is her answer to her daddy:
.pm start_quote
“Well! ‘there are plays that are to be saved, and
plays that are not to be saved!’ so good-night, Mr.
Dabbler!—good-night, Lady Smatter,—Mrs. Sapient,—Mrs.
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
Voluble,—Mrs. Wheedle,—Censor,—Cecilia,—Beaufort,—and
you, you great oaf, Bobby!—good-night! good-night!
And good-morning, Miss Fanny Burney!—I hope now
you have opened your eyes for some time, and will not
close them in so drowsy a fit again—at least till the full
of the moon.
I won’t tell you I have been absolutely ravie with
delight at the fall of the curtain; but I intend to take the
affair in the tant mieux manner, and to console myself for
your censure by this greatest proof I have ever received
of the sincerity, candour, and, let me add, esteem, of my
dear daddy. And as I happen to love myself rather more
than my play, this consolation is not a very trifling one.
As to all you say of my reputation and so forth, I
perceive the kindness of your endeavours to put me in
humour with myself, and prevent my taking huff, which
if I did, I should deserve to receive, upon any future trial,
hollow praise from you—and the rest from the public.
As to the MS., I am in no hurry for it. Besides, it
ought not to come till I have prepared an ovation, and
the honours of conquest for it.
The only bad thing in this affair is, that I cannot take
the comfort of my poor friend Dabbler, by calling you a
crabbed fellow, because you write with almost more kindness
than ever; neither can I (though I try hard) persuade
myself that you have not a grain of taste in your whole
composition.
This, however, seriously I do believe,—that when my
two daddies put their heads together to concert for me
that hissing, groaning, catcalling epistle they sent me
they felt as sorry for poor little Miss Bayes as she could
possibly do for herself.
You see I do not attempt to repay your frankness with
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
the art of pretended carelessness. But though somewhat
disconcerted just now, I will promise not to let my vexation
live out another day. I shall not browse upon it, but,
on the contrary, drive it out of my thoughts, by filling
them up with things almost as good of other people’s.
Our Hettina is much better; but pray don’t keep
Mr. B. beyond Wednesday, for Mrs. Thrale makes a
point of my returning to Streatham on Tuesday, unless,
which God forbid, poor Hetty should be worse again.
Adieu, my dear daddy, I won’t be mortified, and I
won’t be downed,—but I will be proud to find I have, out
of my own family, as well as in it, a friend who loves me
well enough to speak plain truth to me.
Always do thus, and always you shall be tried by,
.nf r
Your much obliged
And most affectionate,
Frances Burney.”
.nf-
.pm end_quote
The manuscript comedy does not appear to have been
shown to Dr. Johnson. This was not for want of encouragement.
He was extremely willing to read it, or
have it read to him, but desired that his opinion should
be taken before that of Murphy, who was to judge of the
stage effect, and as the latter had already offered his
services, the scrupulous author felt that this could not be.
Fanny continued to grow in favour with Johnson. His
expressions of affection became stronger, his eulogy of her
novel more unmeasured.
“I know,” he said on one occasion, “none like her, nor
do I believe there is, or there ever was, a man who could
write such a book so young.”
“I suppose,” said Mrs. Thrale, “Pope was no older
than Miss Burney when he wrote ‘Windsor Forest;’[45] and
I suppose ‘Windsor Forest’ is equal to ‘Evelina!’”
.fn 45
In January, 1779, Mrs. Thrale wrote to Fanny: “You are twenty odd
years old, and I am past thirty-six.”
.fn-
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
‘Windsor Forest,’ though, according to Pope himself,
it was in part written at the age of sixteen, was finished
and published when the poet was twenty-five. But
Johnson would by no means allow that ‘Windsor Forest’
was so remarkable a work as ‘Evelina.’ The latter, he
said, seemed a work that should result from long experience
and deep and intimate knowledge of the world; yet
it had been written without either.
“Miss Burney,” added the sage, “is a real wonder.
What she is, she is intuitively. Dr. Burney told me she
had had the fewest advantages of any of his daughters,
from some peculiar circumstances. And such has been
her timidity, that he himself had not any suspicion of
her powers.”
About this time, Johnson began teaching his favourite
Latin, an attention with which she would gladly have
dispensed, thinking it an injury to be considered a learned
lady.
In the autumn of this year, Miss Burney accompanied
the Thrales to Tunbridge Wells, and thence to Brighton.
Her Diary contains some lively sketches of incidents
on the Pantiles and the Steyne, for which we cannot
find space. At Brighton she encountered Sir Fretful
Plagiary:
.pm start_quote
“‘It has been,’ said Mrs. Thrale warmly, ‘all I could
do not to affront Mr. Cumberland to-night!’
“‘Oh, I hope not!’ cried I; ‘I would not have you for
the world!’
“‘Why, I have refrained; but with great difficulty!’
“And then she told me the conversation she had just
had with him. As soon as I made off, he said, with a
spiteful tone of voice:
“‘Oh, that young lady is an author, I hear!’
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
“‘Yes,’ answered Mrs. Thrale, ‘author of Evelina!’
“‘Humph—I am told it has some humour!’
“‘Ay, indeed! Johnson says nothing like it has appeared
for years!’
“‘So,’ cried he, biting his lips, and waving uneasily in
his chair, ‘so, so!’
“‘Yes,’ continued she; ‘and Sir Joshua Reynolds
told Mr. Thrale he would give fifty pounds to know the
author!’
“‘So, so—oh, vastly well!’ cried he, putting his hand
on his forehead.
“‘Nay,’ added she, ‘Burke himself sat up all night to
finish it!’
“This seemed quite too much for him; he put both his
hands to his face, and waving backwards and forwards,
said:
“‘Oh, vastly well!—this will do for anything!’ with a
tone as much as to say, Pray, no more! Then Mrs.
Thrale bid him good-night, longing, she said, to call Miss
Thrale first, and say, ‘So you won’t speak to my daughter?—why,
she is no author!’”
.pm end_quote
At another time, Mrs. Thrale said:
him be tormented, if such things can torment
him. For my part I’d have a starling taught to halloo
At Brighton, also, Miss Burney met with one of those
humorous characters which her pen loved to describe:
.pm start_quote
“I must now have the honour to present to you a new
acquaintance, who this day dined here-Mr. B——-y, an
Irish gentleman, late a commissary in Germany. He is
between sixty and seventy, but means to pass for about
thirty; gallant, complaisant, obsequious, and humble to
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
the fair sex, for whom he has an awful reverence; but
when not immediately addressing them, swaggering,
blustering, puffing, and domineering. These are his two
apparent characters; but the real man is worthy, moral,
religious, though conceited and parading.
“He is as fond of quotations as my poor ‘Lady Smatter,’
and, like her, knows little beyond a song, and always
blunders about the author of that.... His whole conversation
consists in little French phrases, picked up
during his residence abroad, and in anecdotes and storytelling,
which are sure to be re-told daily and daily in the
same words....
“Speaking of the ball in the evening, to which we were
all going, ‘Ah, madam!’ said he to Mrs. Thrale, ‘there
was a time when—tol-de-rol, tol-de-rol [rising, and dancing
and singing], tol-de-rol!—I could dance with the best of
them; but, now a man, forty and upwards, as my Lord
Ligonier used to say—but—tol-de-rol!—there was a
time!’
“‘Ay, so there was, Mr. B——y,’ said Mrs. Thrale,
‘and I think you and I together made a very venerable
appearance!’
“‘Ah! madam, I remember once, at Bath, I was called
out to dance with one of the finest young ladies I ever
saw. I was just preparing to do my best, when a gentleman
of my acquaintance was so cruel as to whisper me—’B——y!
the eyes of all Europe are upon you!‘—for that
was the phrase of the times. ‘B——y!’ says he, ’the
eyes of all Europe are upon you!‘—I vow, ma’am, enough
to make a man tremble!—tol-de-rol, tol-de-rol! [dancing]—the
eyes of all Europe are upon you!—I declare, ma’am,
enough to put a man out of countenance!”
“Dr. Delap, who came here some time after, was speaking
of Horace.
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
“‘Ah! madam,’ cried Mr. B——y, ‘this Latin—things
of that kind—we waste our youth, ma’am, in these vain
studies. For my part, I wish I had spent mine in studying
French and Spanish—more useful, ma’am. But, bless
me, ma’am, what time have I had for that kind of thing?
Travelling here, over the ocean, hills and dales, ma’am—reading
the great book of the world—poor ignorant
mortals, ma’am—no time to do anything.’
“‘Ay, Mr. B——y,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘I remember how
you downed Beauclerk and Hamilton, the wits, once at
our house, when they talked of ghosts!’
“‘Ah! ma’am, give me a brace of pistols, and I warrant
I’ll manage a ghost for you! Not but Providence may
please to send little spirits—guardian angels, ma’am—to
watch us: that I can’t speak about. It would be
presumptuous, ma’am—for what can a poor, ignorant mortal
know?’
“‘Ay, so you told Beauclerk and Hamilton.’
“‘Oh yes, ma’am. Poor human beings can’t account
for anything—and call themselves esprits forts. I vow ’tis
presumptuous, ma’am! Esprits forts, indeed! they can
see no farther than their noses, poor, ignorant mortals!
Here’s an admiral, and here’s a prince, and here’s a general,
and here’s a dipper—and poor Smoker, the bather, ma’am!
What’s all this strutting about, and that kind of thing?
and then they can’t account for a blade of grass!’
“After this, Dr. Johnson being mentioned,
“‘Ay,’ said he, ‘I’m sorry he did not come down with
you. I liked him better than those others: not much of
a fine gentleman, indeed, but a clever fellow—a deal of
knowledge—got a deuced good understanding!’...
“I am absolutely almost ill with laughing. This Mr.
B——y half convulses me; yet I cannot make you laugh
by writing his speeches, because it is the manner which
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
accompanies them that, more than the matter, renders
them so peculiarly ridiculous. His extreme pomposity,
the solemn stiffness of his person, the conceited twinkling
of his little old eyes, and the quaint importance of his
delivery, are so much more like some pragmatical old
coxcomb represented on the stage, than like anything in
real and common life, that I think, were I a man, I should
sometimes be betrayed into clapping him for acting so
well. As it is, I am sure no character in any comedy I
ever saw has made me laugh more extravagantly.
“He dines and spends the evening here constantly, to
my great satisfaction.
“At dinner, when Mrs. Thrale offers him a seat next
her, he regularly says:
“‘But where are les charmantes?’ meaning Miss T. and
me. ‘I can do nothing till they are accommodated!’
“And, whenever he drinks a glass of wine, he never
fails to touch either Mrs. Thrale’s or my glass, with
‘est-il-permis?’
“But at the same time that he is so courteous, he is
proud to a most sublime excess, and thinks every person
to whom he speaks honoured beyond measure by his
notice,—nay, he does not even look at anybody without
evidently displaying that such notice is more the effect of
his benign condescension, than of any pretension on their
part to deserve such a mark of his perceiving their existence.
But you will think me mad about this man....
“As he is notorious for his contempt of all artists, whom
he looks upon with little more respect than upon day-labourers,
the other day, when painting was discussed, he
spoke of Sir Joshua Reynolds as if he had been upon a
level with a carpenter or farrier.
“‘Did you ever,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘see his Nativity?’
“‘No, madam,—but I know his pictures very well; I
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
knew him many years ago, in Minorca; he drew my
picture there, and then he knew how to take a moderate
price; but now, I vow, ma’am, ’tis scandalous—scandalous
indeed! to pay a fellow here seventy guineas for
scratching out a head!’
“‘Sir!’ cried Dr. Delap,[46] ‘you must not run down Sir
Joshua Reynolds, because he is Miss Burney’s friend.’
.fn 46
John Delap, D.D. (1725-1812), poet and dramatist. After being curate
to Mason, the poet, he held livings in Sussex, and wrote numerous poems and
tragedies, all of which have long been forgotten.
.fn-
“‘Sir,’ answered he, ‘I don’t want to run the man
down; I like him well enough in his proper place; he is
as decent as any man of that sort I ever knew; but for all
that, sir, his prices are shameful. Why, he would not
[looking at the poor Doctor with an enraged contempt]—he
would not do your head under seventy guineas!’
“‘Well,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘he had one portrait at the
last Exhibition, that I think hardly could be paid enough
for; it was of a Mr. Stuart; I had never done admiring
it.’
“‘What stuff is this, ma’am!’ cried Mr. B——y; ‘how
can two or three dabs of paint ever be worth such a sum
as that?’
“‘Sir,’ said Mr. Selwyn (always willing to draw him
out), ‘you know not how much he is improved since you
knew him in Minorca; he is now the finest painter, perhaps,
in the world.’
“‘Pho, pho, sir!’ cried he, ‘how can you talk so? you,
Mr. Selwyn, who have seen so many capital pictures
abroad?’
“‘Come, come, sir,’ said the ever odd Dr. Delap, ‘you
must not go on so undervaluing him, for, I tell you, he is
a friend of Miss Burney’s.’
“‘Sir,’ said Mr. B——y, ‘I tell you again I have no
objection to the man; I have dined in his company two
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
or three times; a very decent man he is, fit to keep company
with gentlemen; but, ma’am, what are all your
modern dabblers put together to one ancient? Nothing!—a
set of—not a Rubens among them! I vow, ma’am,
not a Rubens among them!’...
“Whenever plays are mentioned, we have also a regular
speech about them.
“‘I never,’ he says, ‘go to a tragedy,—it’s too affecting;
tragedy enough in real life: tragedies are only fit for
fair females; for my part, I cannot bear to see Othello
tearing about in that violent manner;—and fair little
Desdemona—ma’am, ’tis too affecting! to see your kings
and your princes tearing their pretty locks,—oh, there’s
no standing it! ‘A straw-crown’d monarch,’—what is
that, Mrs. Thrale?
.pm start_poem
‘A straw-crown’d monarch in mock majesty.’
.pm end_poem
I can’t recollect now where that is; but for my part, I
really cannot bear to see such sights. And then out come
the white handkerchiefs, and all their pretty eyes are
wiping, and then come poison and daggers, and all that
kind of thing,—Oh, ma’am, ’tis too much; but yet the fair
tender hearts, the pretty little females, all like it!’
“This speech, word for word, I have already heard from
him literally four times.
“When Mr. Garrick was mentioned, he honoured him
with much the same style of compliment as he had done
Sir Joshua Reynolds.
“‘Ay, ay,’ said he, ‘that Garrick is another of those
fellows that people run mad about. Ma’am, ’tis a shame
to think of such things! an actor living like a person of
quality! scandalous! I vow, scandalous!’
“‘Well,—commend me to Mr. B——y!’ cried Mrs.
Thrale, ‘for he is your only man to put down all the
people that everybody else sets up.’
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
“‘Why, ma’am,’ answered he, ‘I like all these people
very well in their proper places; but to see such a set of
poor beings living like persons of quality,—’tis preposterous!
common sense, madam, common sense is against
that kind of thing. As to Garrick, he is a very good
mimic, an entertaining fellow enough, and all that kind of
thing; but for an actor to live like a person of quality—oh,
scandalous!’
“Some time after, the musical tribe was mentioned.
He was at cards at the time with Mr. Selwyn, Dr. Delap,
and Mr. Thrale, while we ‘fair females,’ as he always
calls us, were speaking of Agujari. He constrained himself
from flying out as long as he was able; but upon our
mentioning her having fifty pounds a song, he suddenly,
in a great rage, called out, ‘Catgut and rosin!—ma’am,
’tis scandalous!’
“We all laughed, and Mr. Selwyn, to provoke him on,
said:
“‘Why, sir, how shall we part with our money better?’
“‘Oh fie! fie!’ cried he, ‘I have not patience to hear
of such folly; common sense, sir, common sense is against
it. Why, now, there was one of these fellows at Bath last
season, a Mr. Rauzzini,[47]—I vow I longed to cane him
every day! such a work made with him! all the fair
females sighing for him! enough to make a man sick!’”
.pm end_quote
.fn 47
An Italian composer and singer. Born at Rome in 1747; came to
England in 1774; adopted the profession of singing-master in 1777; settled
permanently at Bath in 1787, and died there in 1810. He was the author of
several Operas, and counted Braham among his pupils.
.fn-
At the beginning of 1780, Miss Burney was troubled
about her suppressed comedy. She wrote to Mr. Crisp:
.pm start_quote
“As my play was settled, I entreated my father to
call on Mr. Sheridan, in order to prevent his expecting
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
anything from me, as he had had a good right to do,
from my having sent him a positive message that I
should, in compliance with his exhortations at Mrs.
Cholmondeley’s, try my fortune in the theatrical line,
and send him a piece for this winter. My father did call,
but found him not at home, neither did he happen to see
him till about Christmas. He then acquainted him that
what I had written had entirely dissatisfied me, and that
I desired to decline for the present all attempts of that
sort.
“Mr. Sheridan was pleased to express great concern,—nay,
more, to protest he would not accept my refusal. He
begged my father to tell me that he could take no denial
to seeing what I had done—that I could be no fair judge
for myself—that he doubted not but what it would please,
but was glad I was not satisfied, as he had much rather
see pieces before their authors were contented with them
than afterwards, on account of sundry small changes
always necessary to be made by the managers, for theatrical
purposes, and to which they were loth to submit when
their writings were finished to their own approbation. In
short, he said so much, that my father, ever easy to be
worked upon, began to waver, and told me he wished I
would show the play to Sheridan at once.”
.pm end_quote
As the result of this, Fanny conceived a plan for revising
and altering her piece, which she submitted to her
daddy. Crisp answered:
“The play has wit enough and enough—but the story
and the incidents don’t appear to me interesting enough to
seize and keep hold of the attention and eager expectations
of the generality of audiences. This, to me, is its capital
defect.” He went on to suggest that this fault, being
fundamental, admitted of no remedy. And then in
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
reference to a proposed trip to Italy, he added: “They
tell me of a delightful tour you are to make this autumn
on the other side of the water, with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale,
Dr. Johnson, Mr. Murphy, etc. Where will you find such
another set? Oh, Fanny, set this down as the happiest
period of your life; and when you come to be old and sick,
and health and spirits are fled (for the time may come),
then live upon remembrance, and think that you have
had your share of the good things of this world, and say:
For what I have received, the Lord make me thankful!”
The autumnal trip to the Continent did not take place,
but in April the Thrales and Miss Burney went by easy
stages to Bath:
.pm start_quote
“The third day we reached Devizes.
“And here, Mrs. Thrale and I were much pleased with
our hostess, Mrs. Lawrence, who seemed something above
her station in her inn. While we were at cards before
supper, we were much surprised by the sound of a piano-forte.
I jumped up, and ran to listen whence it proceeded.
I found it came from the next room, where the
overture to the ‘Buona Figliuola’ was performing. The
playing was very decent, but as the music was not quite
new to me, my curiosity was not whole ages in satisfying
itself, and therefore I returned to finish the rubber.
“Don’t I begin to talk in an old-cattish manner of
cards?
“Well, another deal was hardly played, ere we heard
the sound of a voice, and out I ran again. The singing,
however, detained me not long, and so back I whisked:
but the performance, however indifferent in itself, yet
surprised us at the Bear at Devizes, and, therefore, Mrs.
Thrale determined to know from whom it came. Accordingly,
she tapped at the door. A very handsome girl,
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
about thirteen years old, with fine dark hair upon a finely-formed
forehead, opened it. Mrs. Thrale made an apology
for her intrusion, but the poor girl blushed and retreated
into a corner of the room: another girl, however, advanced,
and obligingly and gracefully invited us in, and gave us all
chairs. She was just sixteen, extremely pretty, and with
a countenance better than her features, though those were
also very good. Mrs. Thrale made her many compliments,
which she received with a mingled modesty and
pleasure, both becoming and interesting. She was, indeed,
a sweetly-pleasing girl.
“We found they were both daughters of our hostess, and
born and bred at Devizes. We were extremely pleased
with them, and made them a long visit, which I wished to
have been longer. But though those pretty girls struck
us so much, the wonder of the family was yet to be produced.
This was their brother, a most lovely boy of ten
years of age, who seems to be not merely the wonder of
their family, but of the times, for his astonishing skill in
drawing.[48] They protest he has never had any instruction,
yet showed us some of his productions that were
really beautiful. Those that were copies were delightful—those
of his own composition amazing, though far
I was equally struck with the boy and his
works.
.fn 48
This boy was afterwards the celebrated painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence,
President of the Royal Academy.
.fn-
“We found that he had been taken to town, and that
all the painters had been very kind to him, and Sir Joshua
Reynolds had pronounced him, the mother said, the most
promising genius he had ever met with. Mr. Hoare[49]
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
has been so charmed with this sweet boy’s drawings
that he intends sending him to Italy with his own
son.
.fn 49
Mr. C. Prince Hoare. The intended patronage did not take place. The
Lawrences left Devizes almost immediately after the date of the above notice,
and thenceforth the whole family were supported by the extraordinary talents of
the boy artist.
.fn-
“This house was full of books, as well as paintings,
drawings, and music; and all the family seem not only
ingenious and industrious, but amiable; added to which,
they are strikingly handsome.”
.pm end_quote
A chief topic of conversation at this time in Bath was
Lady Miller’s vase at Batheaston. Horace Walpole
mentions this vase, and the use to which it was put:
‘They hold a Parnassus-fair every Thursday, give out
rhymes and themes, and all the flux at Bath contend for
the prizes. A Roman vase, dressed with pink ribbons
and myrtles, receives the poetry, which is drawn out
every festival. Six judges of these Olympic games retire,
and select the brightest composition.’ Fanny met Lady
Miller, whom she describes with her usual candour:
‘Lady Miller is a round, plump, coarse-looking dame of
about forty, and while all her aim is to appear an elegant
woman of fashion, all her success is to seem an ordinary
woman in very common life, with fine clothes on. Her
habits are bustling, her air is mock-important, and her
manners very inelegant.’ In the midst of a round of
gaieties, the Thrale party attended a reception at Batheaston.
The rooms were crowded; but it being now June,
the business of the vase was over for that season, and the
sacred vessel itself had been removed. On returning to their
lodging, they received the news of the Gordon Riots. Next
morning Mrs. Thrale had letters acquainting her that
her town-house had been three times attacked, but saved
by the Guards, with the children, plate, and valuables,
which were removed. Streatham had also been threatened
and emptied of all its furniture. The same day a
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
Bath newspaper denounced Mr. Thrale as a papist. The
brewer was now in a critical state of health, and it became
necessary to remove him without exciting his alarm.
Miss Burney was employed to break the matter to him,
and obtained his consent to an immediate departure.
Arriving at Salisbury on the 11th of June, they were
reassured by information that order had been restored in
London, and Lord George Gordon sent to the Tower.
In London the friends parted, and Fanny returned to her
father’s house. Johnson met her at Sir Joshua’s a few
days after, and mention being made of a house in Grub
Street that had been destroyed by the mob, proposed that
they should go there together, and visit the seats of their
progenitors.
The latter part of this year, and part of 1781, were
spent by Miss Burney chiefly in writing ‘Cecilia.’
While thus occupied she passed most of her time at
Chesington. In February, 1781, she writes from that
place to Mrs. Thrale: “I think I shall always hate this
book, which has kept me so long away from you, as much
as I shall always love ‘Evelina,’ which first comfortably
introduced me to you.” Shortly after the date of this
letter, the writer returned home, apparently for the purpose
of meeting the Thrales, who were fixed for the
winter in Grosvenor Square. She found them engaged
in giving parties to half London. In the midst of their
entertainments Mr. Thrale died suddenly from a stroke
of apoplexy. Fanny could not desert her friend in such
trouble. So soon as the widow could bear any society,
she summoned her young companion to Streatham, and
kept her there, with hardly an interval, till the summer
was over. It does not appear that Fanny was at all
averse to be detained, but so long a stay was not to her
advantage. Her hostess, of course, was much engrossed
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
by the late brewer’s affairs. Dr. Johnson, as one of the
executors, was similarly employed; and though Miss
Burney, from time to time, saw something of him, as
well as of his co-executors, Mr. Cator[50] and Mr. Crutchley,[51]
she met with little in the narrowed and secluded household
to compensate her for her loss of time. If she
busied herself at all with ‘Cecilia’ during this period,
she seems to have accomplished very little. At any rate,
both her fathers became impatient of her inaction.
Prompted from Chesington, Dr. Burney would have
recalled his daughter, but found himself powerless
against the self-willed little lady of Thrale Hall. The
more resolute Crisp then took the field in person,[52]
and in spite of his infirmities, repaired to Streatham,
whence he carried off the captive authoress, and straightway
consigned her to what he called the Doctor’s
Conjuring Closet, at his own abode. There Fanny
was held to her task till the beginning of 1782, when
she was called home to be present at the marriage of
her sister Susan to Captain Phillips; after which Dr.
Burney kept her stationary in St. Martin’s Street till she
had written the word ‘Finis’ on the last proof-sheet of
‘Cecilia.’
.fn 50
M.P. for Ipswich in 1784. Described by Dr. Johnson as having “much
good in his character, and much usefulness in his knowledge.” Johnson used
to visit Mr. Cator at his seat at Beckenham.
.fn-
.fn 51
M.P. for Horsham in 1784.
.fn-
.fn 52
“Memoirs,” vol. ii., p. 218.
.fn-
However, when the new novel was fairly in the printer’s
hands, the author was again seen in London society. At
a party, given by a Mrs. Paradise, she was introduced to
a sister of her craft:
.pm start_quote
“Mrs. Paradise, leaning over the Kirwans and Charlotte,
who hardly got a seat all night for the crowd, said
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
she begged to speak to me. I squeezed my great person
out, and she then said:
“‘Miss Burney, Lady Say and Sele desires the honour
of being introduced to you.’
“Her ladyship stood by her side. She seems pretty
near fifty—at least turned forty; her head was full of
feathers, flowers, jewels, and gew-gaws, and as high as
Lady Archer’s; her dress was trimmed with beads, silver,
Persian sashes, and all sort of fine fancies; her face is
thin and fiery, and her whole manner spoke a lady all
alive.
“‘Miss Burney,’ cried she, with great quickness, and
a look all curiosity, ‘I am very happy to see you; I have
longed to see you a great while; I have read your performance,
and I am quite delighted with it. I think it’s
the most elegant novel I ever read in my life. Such a
style! I am quite surprised at it. I can’t think where
you got so much invention!’
“‘You may believe this was a reception not to make
me very loquacious. I did not know which way to turn
my head.
“‘I must introduce you,’ continued her ladyship, ‘to
my sister; she’ll be quite delighted to see you. She has
written a novel herself; so you are sister authoresses. A
most elegant thing it is, I assure you; almost as pretty
as yours, only not quite so elegant. She has written two
novels, only one is not so pretty as the other. But
I shall insist upon your seeing them. One is in letters,
like yours, only yours is prettiest; it’s called the “Mausoleum
of Julia!”’
“What unfeeling things, thought I, are my sisters! I’m
sure I never heard them go about thus praising me!
“Mrs. Paradise then again came forward, and, taking
my hand, led me up to her ladyship’s sister, Lady Hawke,
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
saying aloud, and with a courteous smirk, ‘Miss Burney,
ma’am, authoress of “Evelina.”’...
“Lady Hawke arose and curtseyed. She is much
younger than her sister, and rather pretty; extremely
languishing, delicate, and pathetic; apparently accustomed
to be reckoned the genius of her family, and well
contented to be looked upon as a creature dropped from
the clouds....
“‘My sister intends,’ said Lady Say and Sele, ‘to
print her “Mausoleum,” just for her own friends and
acquaintances.’
“‘Yes,’ said Lady Hawke: ‘I have never printed
yet.’...
“‘Well,’ cried Lady Say, ‘but do repeat that sweet
part that I am so fond of—you know what I mean;
Miss Burney must hear it—out of your novel, you know!’
“Lady H.: No, I can’t; I have forgot it.
“Lady S.: Oh, no! I am sure you have not; I insist
upon it.
“Lady H.: But I know you can repeat it yourself; you
have so fine a memory; I am sure you can repeat it.
“Lady S.: Oh, but I should not do it justice! that’s
all—I should not do it justice!
“Lady Hawke then bent forward, and repeated: ‘If,
when he made the declaration of his love, the sensibility
that beamed in his eyes was felt in his heart, what pleasing
sensations and soft alarms might not that tender avowal
awaken!’
“‘And from what, ma’am,’ cried I, astonished, and
imagining I had mistaken them, ‘is this taken?’
“‘From my sister’s novel!’ answered the delighted
Lady Say and Sele, expecting my raptures to be equal to
her own; ‘it’s in the “Mausoleum,”—did not you know
that? Well, I can’t think how you can write these sweet
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
novels! And it’s all just like that part. Lord Hawke
himself says it’s all poetry. For my part, I’m sure I
never could write so. I suppose, Miss Burney, you are
producing another—a’n’t you?’
“‘No, ma’am.’
“‘Oh, I dare say you are. I dare say you are writing
one at this very minute!’”
Years afterwards, when Miss Burney had entered the
royal household, Queen Charlotte lent her a presentation
copy of a novel which her Majesty had received from
Lady Hawke. The book proved to be the “Mausoleum
of Julia,” then at length given to the public. “It is all
of a piece,” laughed Fanny, on reading it—“all love, love,
love, unmixed and unadulterated with any more worldly
materials.”
.pm end_quote
‘Cecilia’ was now passing slowly through the press,
amidst the comments and flattering predictions of the
few friends who were permitted to see the manuscript.
Mrs. Thrale and Queeny reddened their eyes over the
pages; Dr. Burney found them more engrossing even
than ‘Evelina;’ but the author’s only real adviser was
her ‘other daddy.’ Crisp was a close, but not an overbearing
critic; he had great faith in his Fannikin, and
he was restrained, besides, by rankling memories of his
unfortunate ‘Virginia.’ ‘Whomever you think fit to consult,’
he wrote, ‘let their talents and taste be ever so
great, hear what they say, but never give up, or alter
a tittle, merely on their authority, nor unless it perfectly
accords with your own inward feelings. I can say this to
my sorrow and to my cost. But mum!’ And if Crisp
was somewhat dogmatic, he was also a sanguine admirer,
declaring that he would insure the rapid and complete
success of the novel for half a crown. Miss Burney,
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
too, though bashful in a drawing-room, had plenty of self-reliance
in her study, and was by no means disposed to be
often seeking counsel. Macaulay, always confident in his
conjectures, will have it that she received assistance from
Johnson. But he had before him, in the Diary, a distinct
assertion to the contrary, stated to have been made by
the Doctor himself some time after the publication. If
we may trust Fanny, Johnson said: ‘Ay, some people
want to make out some credit to me from the little rogue’s
book. I was told by a gentleman this morning that it
was a very fine book if it was all her own. “It is all her
own,” said I, “for me, I am sure; for I never saw one
word of it before it was printed.”’[53] Macaulay did not
mean to emulate Croker; he was betrayed by fancied
resemblances of style, than which nothing can be more
deceptive. The probability is that the manuscript was
not submitted to Johnson, lest he should be held to have
written what he only corrected.
.fn 53
Diary, November 4, 1782. The story, which was repeated and believed by
Lord Byron, that Johnson superintended ‘Cecilia,’ was corrected by Moore in
his life of the poet, published in 1830. ‘Lord Byron is here mistaken. Dr.
Johnson never saw “Cecilia” till it was in print. A day or two before publication
the young authoress, as I understand, sent three copies to the three
persons who had most claim to them—her father, Mrs. Thrale, and Dr.
Johnson.’
.fn-
‘Cecilia; or, The Memoirs of an heiress,’ was published
in July, 1782. “We have been informed,” says
Macaulay, “by persons who remember those days, that
no romance of Sir Walter Scott was more impatiently
awaited, or more eagerly snatched from the counters of
the booksellers.” The first edition, which was exhausted
in the following October, consisted of two
thousand copies; and Macaulay was told by someone,
not named, that an equal number of pounds was
received by the author for her work. There is no producible
authority for the latter statement, and we cannot
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
but think that it is an exaggeration, arising out of some
confusion between the amount paid for the copyright,
and the number of copies first printed. At any rate, the
sum mentioned does not seem to square with some expressions
used by Burke, who about this time began to
take a personal interest in Miss Burney.
The great statesman was introduced to her, a few days
before her second novel appeared, at a dinner given by Sir
Joshua in his house on Richmond Hill. At the end of
July he addressed her in a letter of congratulation: ‘You
have crowded,’ he wrote, ‘into a few small volumes an incredible
variety of characters; most of them well planned,
well supported, and well contrasted with each other. If
there be any fault in this respect, it is one in which you
are in no great danger of being imitated. Justly as your
characters are drawn, perhaps they are too numerous.
But I beg pardon; I fear it is quite in vain to preach
economy to those who are come young to excessive and
sudden opulence. I might trespass on your delicacy if I
should fill my letter to you with what I fill my conversation
to others. I should be troublesome to you alone if I
should tell you all I feel and think on the natural vein of
humour, the tender pathetic, the comprehensive and noble
moral, and the sagacious observation, that appear quite
throughout that extraordinary performance.’ To be
addressed in such terms by such a man was enough to
turn the head of any young writer; and this letter may
be regarded as marking the topmost point in Fanny’s
career.
Four months afterwards she encountered Mr. Burke
again at Miss Monckton’s[54] assembly. The gathering was
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
a brilliant one: most of the ladies present were going to
the Duchess of Cumberland’s, and were in full dress,
oppressed by the weight of their sacques and ruffles;
but as soon as Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds entered,
Frances Burney had no eyes for anyone else. When
the knight had paid his compliments, Burke sat down
beside her, and a conversation ensued, in which the great
man used the words to which we have referred. He began
by repeating and amplifying the praises of his letter; and
then, not to appear fulsome, proceeded to find fault:
the famous masquerade he thought too long, and that
something might be spared from Harrel’s grand assembly;
he did not like Morrice’s part at the Pantheon, and he
wished the conclusion either more happy or more miserable;
‘for in a work of imagination,’ said he, ‘there is no
medium.’ But, he added, there was one further fault more
serious than any he had mentioned, and that was the
disposal of the book: why had not Mr. Briggs, the city
gentleman of the novel, been sent for? he would have
taken care that it should not be parted with so much
below par. Had two thousand pounds, or any sum approaching
that, been given for the copyright, the price
could not have been considered insufficient. We are
obliged, therefore, to conclude that the story told to the
Edinburgh Reviewer was apocryphal.[55]
.fn 54
The Honourable Mary Monckton, daughter of the first Viscount Galway,
and wife of the seventh Earl of Cork and Ossory, well known to the readers of
Boswell as ‘the lively Miss Monckton, who used always to have the finest
bit of blue at her parties.’ She was born in April, 1746, and died on the
30th of May
.fn-
.fn 55
There is also a letter of Crisp’s in which he mentions a promise of Dr.
Burney to make up his daughter’s gains to even money. A few years later,
when her reputation was enhanced by ‘Cecilia,’ Miss Burney asked for her
third novel, ‘Camilla,’ no more than eleven hundred guineas. On the whole,
we are inclined to believe that the sum she received for ‘Cecilia’ was less than
£1,000.
.fn-
The list of Miss Burney’s friends continued to enlarge
itself. In the winter of 1782-3, besides being made free
of certain fashionable houses, such as Miss Monckton’s and
Mrs. Walsingham’s,[56] she became known to the two ‘old
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
wits,’ Owen Cambridge and Soame Jenyns,[57] to Erskine,
the Wartons, Benjamin West, Jackson of Exeter, William
Windham, Dr. Parr, Mrs. Delany, and a host of others,
till she began ‘to grow most heartily sick of this continual
round of visiting, and these eternal new acquaintances.’
Soame Jenyns came to meet her at a reception
arranged by his special request, and, at seventy-eight,
arrayed himself for the occasion in a Court suit of
apricot-coloured silk, lined with white satin, making all
the slow speed in his power to address her, as she entered,
in a studied harangue on the honour, and the pleasure,
and the what not, of seeing so celebrated an authoress;
while the whole of a large company rose, and stood to
listen to his compliments.
.fn 56
Daughter of Sir Charles Hanbury Williams.
.fn-
.fn 57
Contributors to “The World.” Soame Jenyns was chiefly known by
his work “On the Evidences of the Christian Religion.” He died in 1877;
Cambridge in 1802.
.fn-
But the time was coming when Frances was to learn
that life has its trials even for the most favoured children
of fortune. In the spring of 1783, Mr. Crisp’s old enemy
the gout fixed upon his head and chest; and, after an
illness of some duration, he sank under the attack. His
fits of gout had latterly become so constant that at first
the fatal seizure caused little apprehension. In the early
part of his sufferings Fanny sent frequent letters to
cheer him. ‘God bless,’ she writes, ‘and restore you,
my most dear daddy! You know not how kindly I
take your thinking of me, and inquiring about me, in
an illness that might so well make you forget us all;
but Susan assures me your heart is as affectionate as
ever to your ever and ever faithful and loving child.’ As
soon as danger was declared, she hastened to Chesington.
She attended the old man throughout his last few days;
he called her, at parting, ‘the dearest thing to him on
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
earth;’ and her passionate sorrow for his death excited
the alarm, though not the jealousy, of her natural
father.[58]
.fn 58
Crisp died April 24, 1783, aged seventy-six. A monument to his memory
was put up in the little church at Chesington, with an inscription from the pen
of Dr. Burney. His library was sold in the following year.
.fn-
And this loss was not the only trouble of that year.
Mrs. Thrale had for some time been meditating her foolish
second marriage. As soon as ‘Cecilia’ was off her mind,
Miss Burney had resumed her visits to Streatham. She
at once found that her friend was changed. Mrs. Thrale
had become absent, restless, moody. The secret of her
attachment to Piozzi was not long in being disclosed to
Fanny, who could give her comfort, though not sympathy.
The latter remained long enough at Streatham to witness
the gradual estrangement of her hostess from Dr. Johnson.
One morning the Doctor accompanied his little Burney in
the carriage to London: as they turned into Streatham
Common, he exclaimed, pointing backwards: ‘That house
is lost to me for ever!’ A few weeks later, the house was
let to Lord Shelburne. Mrs. Thrale retired to Brighton,
and afterwards coming to town, passed the winter in
Argyle Street. Frances spent much time with her there.
But in the beginning of April the uneasy widow went
with her three eldest daughters to take up her abode at
Bath, till she could make up her mind to complete the
match which all her friends disapproved. Crisp’s illness
becoming serious shortly afterwards, left Fanny no time
at first to grieve over this separation. She felt it all the
more on her return to St. Martin’s Street after her daddy’s
death. And in the summer, Dr. Johnson’s health, which
for some time had been steadily declining, was broken
down by a stroke of paralysis. She visited him frequently
at his house in Bolt Court. One evening, when she with
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
her father and some others were sitting with him, he
turned aside to her, and, grasping her hand, said: ‘The
blister I have tried for my breath has betrayed some very
bad tokens; but I will not terrify myself by talking of
them. Ah, priez Dieu pour moi!’
One ray of comfort the close of 1783 brought with it.
On the day on which the Ministry to which he belonged
was dissolved, Mr. Burke appointed Dr. Burney organist
of Chelsea Hospital, at the insignificant, though augmented
salary of £50 a year, regretting that while he had been
Paymaster-General, nothing more worthy of the Doctor’s
acceptance had fallen to his disposal. About this incident
Miss Burney writes: ‘You have heard the whole story of
Mr. Burke, the Chelsea Hospital, and his most charming
letter? To-day he called, and, as my father was out,
inquired for me. He made a thousand apologies for
breaking in upon me, but said the business was finally
settled at the Treasury. Nothing could be more delicate,
more elegant than his manner of doing this kindness. I
don’t know whether he was most polite, or most friendly,
in his whole behaviour to me. I could almost have cried
when he said, “This is my last act in office.” He said it
with so manly a cheerfulness, in the midst of undisguised
regret. What a man he is!’
The record of 1784 in the Diary is very short. The
chief incidents are the marriage of Mrs. Thrale to Piozzi,
and the death of Dr. Johnson. Enough, and more than
enough, has been written on the subject of the marriage.
Most of the lady’s contemporaries spoke of it as if it had
been some disgraceful offence. Many in later times have
adopted the same tone. Dr. Burney had introduced
Piozzi to the Thrales, and for this and other reasons, the
Doctor and his family were disposed to be more lenient in
their judgment. Dr. Burney said: ‘No one could blame
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
Piozzi for accepting a gay rich widow. What could a
man do better?’ And the singing-master was a quiet,
inoffensive person. Still, as to the lady, it could not be
forgotten that she had young daughters, whose prospects
she had no right to prejudice by a match so unequal and
so generally condemned. It is, therefore, not surprising
that when the wedding took place about the middle of
this year, and Mrs. Piozzi wrote, demanding cordial
congratulations, Miss Burney was unable to reply with
warmth enough to satisfy her. The intimate friendship
and correspondence of six years, therefore, came to an
end. Fanny, who was the last to write, attributed the
rupture, at one time, to the cause just mentioned, and, at
another, to the resentment of Piozzi, when informed of
her constant opposition to the union.
Some months later, Miss Burney had her final interview
with Dr. Johnson:
.pm start_quote
“Last Thursday, Nov. 25th, my father set me down at
Bolt Court, while he went on upon business. I was
anxious to again see poor Dr. Johnson, who has had
terrible health since his return from Lichfield. He let me
in, though very ill. He was alone, which I much rejoiced
at: for I had a longer and more satisfactory conversation
with him than I have had for many months. He was in
rather better spirits, too, than I have lately seen him;
but he told me he was going to try what sleeping out of
town might do for him.
“‘I remember,’ said he, ‘that my wife, when she was
near her end, poor woman, was also advised to sleep out
of town; and when she was carried to the lodgings that
had been prepared for her, she complained that the staircase
was in very bad condition—for the plaster was beaten
off the walls in many places. ‘Oh,’ said the man of the
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
house, ‘that’s nothing but by the knocks against it of
the coffins of the poor souls that have died in the
lodgings!’
“He laughed, though not without apparent secret
anguish, in telling me this. I felt extremely shocked, but,
willing to confine my words at least to the literal story, I
only exclaimed against the unfeeling absurdity of such a
confession.
“‘Such a confession,’ cried he, ‘to a person then
coming to try his lodging for her health, contains, indeed,
more absurdity than we can well lay our account for.’
“I had seen Miss T. the day before.
“‘So,’ said he, ‘did I.’
“I then said: ‘Do you ever, sir, hear from her
mother?’
“‘No,’ cried he, ‘nor write to her. I drive her quite
from my mind. If I meet with one of her letters, I burn
it instantly. I have burnt all I can find. I never speak
of her, and I desire never to hear of her more. I drive
her, as I said, wholly from my mind.’
“Yet, wholly to change this discourse, I gave him a
history of the Bristol [59] and told him the
tales I had heard of her writing so wonderfully, though
she had read nothing but Young and Milton; ‘though
those,’ I continued, ‘could never possibly, I should think,
be the first authors with anybody. Would children
understand them? and grown people who have not read
are children in literature.’
.fn 59
Ann Yearsley.
.fn-
“‘Doubtless,’ said he; ‘but there is nothing so little
comprehended among mankind as what is genius. They
give to it all, when it can be but a part. Genius is
nothing more than knowing the use of tools; but there
must be tools for it to use: a man who has spent all his
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
life in this room will give a very poor account of what is
contained in the next.’
“‘Certainly, sir; yet there is such a thing as invention;
Shakespeare could never have seen a Caliban.’
“‘No; but he had seen a man, and knew, therefore,
how to vary him to a monster. A man who would draw
a monstrous cow, must first know what a cow commonly
is; or how can he tell that to give her an ass’s head or an
elephant’s tusk will make her monstrous? Suppose you
show me a man who is a very expert carpenter; another
will say he was born to be a carpenter—but what if he
had never seen any wood? Let two men, one with
genius, the other with none, look at an overturned
waggon:—he who has no genius, will think of the waggon
only as he sees it, overturned, and walk on; he who has
genius, will paint it to himself before it was overturned,—standing
still, and moving on, and heavy loaded, and
empty; but both must see the waggon, to think of it
at all.’
“How just and true all this, my dear Susy! He then
grew animated, and talked on, upon this milk-woman,
upon a once as famous shoemaker, and upon our immortal
Shakespeare, with as much fire, spirit, wit, and truth of
criticism and judgment, as ever yet I have heard him.
How delightfully bright are his faculties, though the poor
and infirm machine that contains them seems alarmingly
giving way.
“Yet, all brilliant as he was, I saw him growing worse,
and offered to go, which, for the first time I ever remember,
he did not oppose; but, most kindly pressing both my
hands:
“‘Be not,’ he said, in a voice of even tenderness, ‘be
not longer in coming again for my letting you go now.’
“I assured him I would be the sooner, and was running
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
off, but he called me back, in a solemn voice, and, in a
manner the most energetic, said:
“‘Remember me in your prayers!’
“I longed to ask him to remember me, but did not dare.
I gave him my promise, and, very heavily indeed, I left
him. Great, good, and excellent that he is, how short a
time will he be our boast! Ah, my dear Susy, I see he is
going! This winter will never conduct him to a more
genial season here! Elsewhere, who shall hope a fairer?
I wish I had bid him pray for me; but it seemed to me
presumptuous, though this repetition of so kind a condescension
might, I think, have encouraged
.pm end_quote
‘He wished to look on her once more; and on the day
before his death she long remained in tears on the stairs
leading to his bedroom, in the hope that she might be
called in to receive his blessing. He was then sinking
fast, and though he sent her an affectionate message, was
unable to see her.’[60]
.fn 60
Macaulay.
.fn-
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V.
.pm start_summary
Mrs. Delany—Her Childhood—Her First Marriage—Swift—Dr. Delany—The
Dowager Duchess of Portland—Mrs. Delany a Favourite at Court—Her
Flower-Work—Miss Burney’s First Visit to Mrs. Delany—Meets the
Duchess of Portland—Mrs. Sleepe—Crisp—Growth of Friendship with Mrs.
Delany—Society at her House—Mrs. Delany’s Reminiscences—The Lockes
of Norbury Park—Mr. Smelt—Dr. Burney has an Audience of the King and
Queen—The King’s Bounty to Mrs. Delany—Miss Burney Visits Windsor—Meets
the King and Queen—‘Evelina’—Invention Exhausted—The King’s
Opinion of Voltaire, Rousseau, and Shakespeare—The Queen and Bookstalls—Expectation—Journey
to Windsor—The Terrace—Dr. Burney’s Disappointment—Proposal
of the Queen to Miss Burney—Doubts and Fears—An
Interview—The Decision—Mistaken Criticism—Burke’s Opinion—A
Misconception—Horace Walpole’s Regret—Miss Burney’s Journals of her
Life at Court—Sketches of Character—The King and Queen—Mrs. Schwellenberg—The
Queen’s Lodge—Miss Burney’s Apartments—A Day’s Duties—Royal
Snuff—Fictitious Names in the Diary—The Princesses—A Royal
Birthday—A Walk on the Terrace—The Infant Princess Amelia.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
We have mentioned Mrs. Delany in our list of the more
remarkable friends made by Miss Burney during the
winter succeeding the publication of ‘Cecilia.’ Burke
followed a fashion then prevalent when he pronounced
this venerable lady the fairest model of female excellence
in the previous age. Mrs. Delany owed her distinction
in a great measure to the favour which she enjoyed with
the royal family. Born in 1700, she was early instructed
in the ways of a Court, having been brought up by an
aunt who had been maid-of-honour to Queen Mary, and
had received for her charge the promise of a similar employment
in the household of Queen Anne. Having missed
this promotion, the girl next fell into the hands of her
uncle, George Granville, Lord Lansdowne, who, though
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
celebrated by Pope as ‘the friend of every Muse,’ was
not gentleman enough to treat his brother’s child with
decent consideration. He forced Mary Granville, at
seventeen, into a marriage with Alexander Pendarves, a
Cornish squire near sixty, of drunken habits and morose
manners, who sought the match chiefly to disappoint his
expectant heir. After a few years, this worthy died of a
fit, to the great relief of all belonging to him, but, unfortunately
for his wife, without having made the provision
for her which, to do him justice, he appears to have
intended. Some time later the widow paid a visit to
Ireland, where she became acquainted with Dean Swift,
and his intimate associate, Dr. Patrick Delany, who was
famed as a scholar and preacher. After her return, Swift
exchanged occasional letters with her so long as he
retained his reason. In 1743, Dr. Delany, then himself a
widower, came over to England to offer himself to her in
marriage. She accepted him, in spite of her family,
whose high stomach rose against a mésalliance with an
Irish parson. Their influence, however, was subsequently
used to procure for Delany the deanery of Down. On
his death, which occurred in 1768, Mrs. Delany settled in
London, and, at the time when Miss Burney was introduced
to her, had a house in St. James’s Place. Her
most intimate friend was the old Duchess of Portland,
with whom she regularly spent the summer at her Grace’s
dower house of Bulstrode. There she was presented to
George III. and his Queen, both of whom conceived a
strong regard for her. The King called her his dearest
Mrs. Delany, and in 1782 commissioned Opie to paint
her portrait, which was placed at Hampton Court.[61]
.fn 61
‘It is pronounced like Rembrandt, but, as I told her, it does not look
older than she is, but older than she does.’—Walpole to Mason, February 14,
1782.
.fn-
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
While Frances Burney was having her first interview
with Mrs. Delany, the Dowager Duchess of Portland
condescended to appear upon the scene. This exalted
personage, we are given to understand, had a natural
aversion to female novel-writers, but, at her friend’s
request, consented to receive homage from the author of
‘Cecilia.’ Her curiosity, in fact, got the better of her
pride. Before her arrival, the conversation turned on the
flower-work for which Mrs. Delany was famous among
her acquaintances. This was a kind of paper mosaic,
invented by the old lady, and practised by her until her
eyesight failed. Some specimens of it were thought
worthy of being offered, as a tribute of humble duty, to
Queen Charlotte. The admiration freely bestowed on
this trumpery, and the doubtful reception accorded to
literary merit in a woman, illustrate the tone which prevailed
in the highest society a hundred years ago. To
cut out bits of coloured paper, and paste them together
on the leaf of an album so as to resemble flowers, was
considered a wonderful achievement even for a paragon
of her sex. To have written the best work of imagination
that had proceeded from a female pen was held to
confer only an equivocal title to eminence. The Duchess,
however, exerted herself to be civil. ‘She was a simple
woman,’ says Walpole; but she did her best. She joined
Mrs. Delany in recalling the characters that had pleased
them most in ‘Cecilia;’ she dwelt on the spirit of the
writing, the fire in the composition, and, ‘with a solemn
sort of voice,’ declared herself gratified by the morality
of the book, ‘so striking, so pure, so genuine, so instructive.’
Fanny, always impressed by grandeur, eager after
praise, thankful for notice, was charmed with these compliments.
She found her Grace’s manner not merely
free from arrogance, but ‘free also from its mortifying
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
deputy, affability.’ Yet the worship of rank, which
belonged to that age, was, in little Miss Burney, always
subordinate to better feelings. In her eyes the dignified
visitor appeared by no means so interesting as her
hostess.[62] Nor was it any air of courtliness that attracted
her in Mrs. Delany, but a simple domestic association.
Though not a person of genius, or, it should seem, of any
extraordinary cultivation, this veteran of English and
Irish society had preserved an unsullied, gentle, kindly
spirit which showed itself in her face and carriage.
Fanny could not remember to have seen so much sweetness
of countenance in anyone except her own grandmother,
Mrs. Sleepe. She at once began to trace, or to
imagine, a resemblance between ‘that saint-like woman’
and her new friend, and gave herself up to the tenderness
which the current of her thoughts excited.
.fn 62
The editor of Mrs. Delany’s ‘Correspondence,’ having a grudge against
Madame d’Arblay, labours to prove that the Duchess of Portland cannot have
been present at this interview. The supposed proof consists in showing from
some old letters that the Duchess did not read ‘Evelina’ for nearly twelve
months after the date spoken of. But this is nothing to the purpose. ‘Evelina’
does not appear to have been mentioned when its author was introduced to
Miss Delany. The conversation recorded to have passed related wholly to
‘Cecilia.’
.fn-
Besides this similarity, she bethought her of another
recollection which she could with propriety impart to the
ladies before her. She had often heard Mr. Crisp speak
of his former intercourse with the Duchess and Mrs.
Delany. The latter, she learned on inquiry, had been
chiefly intimate with Crisp’s sisters; but the Duchess
had known Crisp himself well, and was curious to learn
what had become of so agreeable and accomplished a
man. Her questions gave the shy, silent Fanny a theme
on which she could enlarge with animation. ‘I spared
not,’ she writes, ‘for boasting of my dear daddy’s kindness
to me.’ The accounts she had received from the
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
Crisp family, she told Mrs. Delany, had first made her
desire the acquaintance that day commenced. She ran
on to relate the story of Crisp’s disappearance, painted
his way of life in his retreat, and entertained the company
with a description of Chesington Hall, its isolated and
lonely position, its ruinous condition, its nearly inaccessible
roads, its quaint old pictures, and straight long
garden paths.[63] Her flow of spirits banished all reserve,
and that evening laid the foundations of a friendship
that partly consoled her for the death of Crisp and the
desertion of Mrs. Thrale.
.fn 63
Memoirs, vol. ii., p. 313.
.fn-
The attachment between Mrs. Delany and the favourite
of Chesington and Streatham grew up rapidly. The
entries in Fanny’s Diary show that she very soon became
a constant visitor in St. James’s Place. She is flattered at
being so much in favour there as to find its mistress
always eager to fix a time for their next and next meeting.
Yet, while profuse in praise of her venerable friend, she
dwells more on the qualities of the old lady’s heart than
on any accomplishments of mind or manner; she loves
even more than she admires her; possibly some touches
of high-breeding were lost on the music-master’s daughter;
at any rate, the first impression abides with her, and in
the noted pattern of antique polish and taste[64] she sees
always the image of the departed Mrs. Sleepe.
.fn 64
The courtier-bishop Hurd described Mrs. Delany as a lady ‘of great
politeness and ingenuity, and of an unaffected piety.’
.fn-
Except in the presence of her young grand-niece Mary
Port,[65] Mrs. Delany’s house had little charm of liveliness.
The chief persons that frequented it belonged to the
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
same generation as the Duchess of Portland, who spent
most of her evenings there. A sombre figure in that
peculiar assembly was Lady Wallingford, the impoverished
widow of a gaming peer, and a daughter of the speculator
Law. This lady, who never opened her lips, invariably
appeared in full mourning dress, wearing a black silk
robe, a hoop, long ruffles, a winged cap, and other appendages
of an attire that even then was obsolete.
Another visitor was the Countess of Bute, wife of
George III.’s early favourite, and daughter of Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu. The elderly wit Horace Walpole often
joined a circle in which his old-fashioned pleasantry was
still received with the old applause. Fanny, who had
met him elsewhere, thought that he never showed to
such advantage as when surrounded by those stately
dowagers. And while Horace, and most of the other
callers, had, more or less, the air of having outlived their
age, the lady to whom they paid their respects had passed
the better portion of her life in a still more remote period.
She encouraged Miss Burney to turn over Swift’s letters
to her; and her most interesting anecdotes related to the
days of the Dean, and Pope, and Young.
.fn 65
Georgina Mary Ann Port (called ‘Mary’ by her great-aunt) was born on
September 16, 1771. Her father having outrun his means, she was taken by
Mrs. Delany, who brought her up to the age of sixteen. Not long after the
death of her protectress, she married Mr. Benjamin Waddington, of Llanover.
She died on January 19, 1850.
.fn-
Perhaps it was, in part, some memory of the time
when she herself had shared the talk of men of letters,
that made her take to the young writer who had done
more to raise the literary credit of women than Mrs.
Montagu, or Hannah More, or the whole tribe of blue-stockings
united. The admired of Johnson, Burke and
Reynolds was both a more entertaining guest, and a
greater ornament to her drawing-room, than the respectable
Mrs. Chapone, the learned Mrs. Carter, or even ‘the
high-bred, elegant’ Mrs. Boscawen. And, whatever may
have been said at a later date by distant connections of
Mrs. Delany, soured by a peevish family pride which she
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
disdained, her own published letters prove that she not
merely appreciated Fanny’s talents, but understood and
valued her character. At one time she declares that
‘Evelina’ and ‘Cecilia,’ excellent as she finds them, are
their author’s meanest praise, and goes on to extol ‘her
admirable understanding, tender affection and sweetness
of manners;’ after three years’ experience she writes of
her companion: ‘Her extreme diffidence of herself, notwithstanding
her great genius, and the applause she has
met with, adds lustre to all her excellences, and all
improve on acquaintance.’ It is scarcely too much to
say that the correspondence in which these lines occur
would never have been printed but for Miss Burney. The
love and esteem expressed in her Diary have almost alone
saved Mrs. Delany’s name from utter oblivion; it would
be strange indeed had such regard gone unrequited by
its object.
Frances Burney had certainly a remarkable capacity
for friendship. Not long after her introduction in St.
James’s Place, she formed another acquaintance, which
ripened steadily, and became, on Mrs. Delany’s death, the
chief intimacy of her life outside her own family. It
seems to have been in the summer of 1783 that Dr.
Burney and his now celebrated daughter first met with
Mr. and Mrs. Locke, of Norbury Park. From some
cause or other, we do not get so vivid a picture of these
worthy persons as we do of most of Fanny’s other
friends. This is perhaps partly explained by the fact that
Mr. Locke was a man of reserved and retiring temperament.
But though silent in general society, he had a
benevolent heart and a cultivated taste; was a great lover
of the picturesque, and a collector of works of art. Dr.
Burney paid his first visit to Norbury in company with
Sir Joshua Reynolds; and many years afterwards Sir
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
Thomas Lawrence told Madame d’Arblay that in all his
experience he had never seen a second Mr. Locke. The
eldest son of the house, William Locke, was an amateur
artist of some skill. Miss Burney’s particular friend was,
naturally, Mrs. Locke. The sketch transmitted to us of
this lady is even more faint than that of her husband,
whom, we are told, she strongly resembled. She was
lovely, of course, and amiable: Fanny sometimes calls
her bewitching; but we search in vain for anything more
distinctive. After the summer of 1784, Miss Burney,
except during her employment at Court, was often at
Norbury. It pleased her to think that when there she
was only six miles from And while the
place was still new to her, her sister Susan, who had been
abroad for her health, returned, and settled with her
husband, Captain Phillips, in the village of Mickleham,
hard by the gates of Norbury Park. Thenceforth the
Park banished all regrets for Streatham. The Thrales
themselves were never more hospitable or kinder than the
excellent Lockes proved to be. If we cannot get to know
the latter as we know the former, it is a satisfaction, at
least, to learn that Mr. Smelt, who had been sub-governor
to the Prince of Wales, spoke of them to Fanny as ‘that
divine family.’
Mr. Smelt, previously a slight acquaintance of the
Burneys, had lately shown a disposition to cultivate their
society. Such attention on the part of a confidential
royal servant, though easily accounted for by the fame of
‘Cecilia,’ was among the omens which befell about this
time of what the fates had in store for the author.
Another premonitory incident occurred at the beginning of
1785, when Dr. Burney was admitted to a private audience
of the King and Queen, in order that he might
present to them copies of his narrative of the Handel
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
Commemoration, which had taken place in the preceding
year. The good-natured monarch, according to his wont
on such occasions, entered into a familiar and discursive
conversation with the Doctor. The last topic discussed
was the story of the publication of Evelina. ‘And is it
true,’ asked the King eagerly, ‘that you never saw
Evelina before it was printed?’ ‘Nor even till long after
it was published,’ was the reply. The King then drew
from the gratified father a detailed account of Evelina’s
first introduction to the world, which, as the Doctor
reported, afforded the greatest amusement to the Queen,
as well as to his inquiring Majesty.
The old Duchess of Portland died in July, 1785. Her
will made no provision for her older friend, whom no
doubt she had expected to survive; and this accident
indirectly determined the great mistake of Miss Burney’s
life. The loss of her summer quarters at Bulstrode,
which for the half of every year had been her constant
home, was a serious inconvenience for Mrs. Delany, whose
income barely sufficed for the maintenance of her London
establishment during the winter. Informed of this, the
King caused a house belonging to the Crown at Windsor,
near the Castle, to be fitted up for the use of his aged
favourite, and settled a pension of three hundred pounds
a year upon her for the rest of her days, that she might
be enabled to enjoy a country life without giving up her
accustomed residence in St. James’s Place. The royal
bounty was so complete that Mrs. Delany’s maid was
commanded to see that her mistress brought nothing
with her but her clothes: everything else was to be provided;
and when supplies were exhausted, the abigail
was to make a requisition for more. The King himself
superintended the workmen: when his new neighbour
arrived, he was on the spot to welcome her; and she
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
found that her benefactor had not only caused the house
to be furnished with plate, china, glass, and linen, but
the cellars to be stocked with wine, and the cupboards
stored with sweetmeats and pickles.[66] Such was the
plainness, and such the generosity, of George III.
Miss Burney was on a visit to her friend while these
arrangements were in progress; when the latter left
London for Windsor, she herself went to her father at
Chesington Hall, in which old haunt Dr. Burney was
then employed on his still unfinished History. In the
following December, Fanny rejoined Mrs. Delany at
Windsor, and during her stay there was introduced to
the King and Queen. It seems that etiquette forbade
her being formally presented to them, except at a
drawing-room; but they were desirous of making her
acquaintance, and it was at length arranged that when
next their Majesties called on her hostess, as they were in
the habit of doing, she should remain in the room. On
the first occasion that occurred, her courage failed her at
the critical moment, and she fled. A few days later, Mrs.
Delany returned from her afternoon nap to find her
nephew, Mr. Bernard Dewes, his little daughter, and Miss
Port, engaged in the drawing-room with Miss Burney,
who was teaching the child some Christmas games, in
which her father and cousin joined. The Diary proceeds:
.fn 66
Miss Burney’s account is confirmed in every important particular by
Walpole, who states that he had his information from Mrs. Delany’s own
mouth: Walpole to Lady Ossory, September 17, 1785. Lady Llanover, who
edited the ‘Delany Correspondence,’ is wroth that the thankful recipient of all
this minute bounty should be accused of having been helped in her housekeeping
by the Duchess of Portland. In the ‘Memoirs of Dr. Burney’
(vol. iii., p. 50), it is stated that the Duchess, who visited at Mrs. Delany’s
nearly every evening, contrived to assist the ménage, without offending her
hostess by the offer of money. If Madame d’Arblay erred in this statement—and
Lady Llanover by no means satisfies us that she did err—surely the mistake
was a most venial one. But Lady Llanover’s outraged dignity fumes through
hundreds of pages in feeble sneers at Fanny’s low origin, and still more feeble
attempts to convict her of inaccuracy. Noblesse oblige.
.fn-
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
.pm start_quote
“We were all in the middle of the room, and in some
confusion;—but she had but just come up to us to inquire
what was going forwards, and I was disentangling myself
from Miss Dewes, to be ready to fly off if anyone knocked
at the street-door, when the door of the drawing-room
was again opened, and a large man, in deep mourning,
appeared at it, entering and shutting it himself without
speaking.
“A ghost could not more have scared me, when I discovered
by its glitter on the black, a star! The general
disorder had prevented his being seen, except by myself,
who was always on the watch, till Miss Port, turning
round, exclaimed, ‘The King!—Aunt, the King!’
“Oh, mercy! thought I, that I were but out of the
room! which way shall I escape? and how pass him
unnoticed? There is but the single door at which he
entered, in the room! Everyone scampered out of the
way: Miss Port, to stand next the door; Mr. Bernard
Dewes to a corner opposite it; his little girl clung to me;
and Mrs. Delany advanced to meet his Majesty, who,
after quietly looking on till she saw him, approached, and,
inquired how she did.
“He then spoke to Mr. Bernard, whom he had already
met two or three times here.
“I had now retreated to the wall, and purposed gliding
softly, though speedily, out of the room; but before I had
taken a single step, the King, in a loud whisper to Mrs.
Delany, said, ‘Is that Miss Burney?’—and on her
answering, ‘Yes, sir,’ he bowed, and with a countenance
of the most perfect good humour, came close up to me.”
.pm end_quote
Having put a question to her, and received an inaudible
reply, he went back to Mrs. Delany, and spoke of the
Princess Elizabeth, who, incredible as it sounds, was then
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
recovering from an illness after having been blooded
twelve times in a fortnight:
.pm start_quote
“A good deal of talk then followed about his own health,
and the extreme temperance by which he preserved it.
The fault of his constitution, he said, was a tendency to
excessive fat, which he kept, however, in order by the
most vigorous exercise, and the strictest attention to a
simple diet.
“When Mrs. Delany was beginning to praise his forbearance,
he stopped her.
“‘No, no,’ he cried, ‘’tis no virtue; I only prefer
eating plain and little, to growing diseased and infirm.’
“During this discourse, I stood quietly in the place
where he had first spoken to me. His quitting me so
soon, and conversing freely and easily with Mrs. Delany,
proved so delightful a relief to me, that I no longer wished
myself away; and the moment my first panic from the
surprise was over, I diverted myself with a thousand
ridiculous notions of my own situation.
“The Christmas games we had been showing Miss
Dewes, it seemed as if we were still performing, as none
of us thought it proper to move, though our manner of
standing reminded one of Puss in the corner. Close to
the door was posted Miss Port; opposite her, close to the
wainscot, stood Mr. Dewes; at just an equal distance
from him, close to a window, stood myself; Mrs. Delany,
though seated, was at the opposite side to Miss Port;
and his Majesty kept pretty much in the middle of the
room. The little girl, who kept close to me, did not
break the order, and I could hardly help expecting to be
beckoned, with a puss! puss! puss! to change places
with one of my neighbours.
“This idea, afterwards, gave way to another more
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
pompous. It seemed to me we were acting a play.
There is something so little like common and real life, in
everybody’s standing, while talking, in a room full of
chairs, and standing, too, so aloof from each other, that
I almost thought myself upon a stage, assisting in the
representation of a tragedy—in which the King played
his own part of the king; Mrs. Delany that of a venerable
confidante; Mr. Dewes, his respectful attendant; Miss
Port, a suppliant virgin, waiting encouragement to bring
forward some petition; Miss Dewes, a young orphan,
intended to move the royal compassion; and myself, a
very solemn, sober, and decent mute.
“These fancies, however, only regaled me while I continued
a quiet spectator, and without expectation of being
called into play. But the King, I have reason to think,
meant only to give me time to recover from my first
embarrassment; and I feel myself infinitely obliged to
his good breeding and consideration, which perfectly
answered, for before he returned to me I was entirely
recruited....
“The King went up to the table, and looked at a book
of prints, from Claude Lorraine, which had been brought
down for Miss Dewes; but Mrs. Delany, by mistake, told
him they were for me. He turned over a leaf or two, and
then said:
“‘Pray, does Miss Burney draw too?’
“The too was pronounced very civilly.
“‘I believe not, sir,’ answered Mrs. Delany; ‘at least,
she does not tell.’
“‘Oh!’ cried he, laughing, ‘that’s nothing! She is
not apt to tell; she never does tell, you know! Her
father told me that himself. He told me the whole history
of her Evelina. And I shall never forget his face when
he spoke of his feelings at first taking up the book!—he
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
looked quite frightened, just as if he was doing it that
moment! I never can forget his face while I live!’
“Then coming up close to me, he said:
“‘But what?—what?—how was it?’
“‘Sir,’ cried I, not well understanding him.
“‘How came you—how happened it?—what?—what?
“‘I—I only wrote, sir, for my own amusement—only
in some odd, idle hours.’
“‘But your publishing—your printing—how was that?’
“‘That was only, sir—only because——’
“I hesitated most abominably, not knowing how to tell
him a long story, and growing terribly confused at these
questions—besides, to say the truth, his own “what?
what?” so reminded me of those vile Probationary Odes,[67]
that, in the midst of all my flutter, I was really hardly
able to keep my countenance.
.fn 67
The Probationary Odes for the Laureateship appeared in 1785, after the
appointment of Thomas Warton to that office, on the vacancy occasioned by
the death of William Whitehead.
.fn-
“The What! was then repeated with so earnest a look,
that, forced to say something, I stammeringly answered:
“‘I thought—sir—it would look very well in print!’
“I do really flatter myself this is the silliest speech I
ever made! I am quite provoked with myself for it; but
a fear of laughing made me eager to utter anything, and
by no means conscious, till I had spoken, of what I was
saying.
“He laughed very heartily himself—well he might—and
walked away to enjoy it, crying out:
“‘Very fair indeed! that’s being very fair and honest!’
“Then, returning to me again, he said:
“‘But your father—how came you not to show him
what you wrote?’
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
“‘I was too much ashamed of it, sir, seriously.’
“Literal truth that, I am sure.
“‘And how did he find it out?’
“‘I don’t know myself, sir. He never would tell
me.’...
“‘What entertainment you must have had from hearing
people’s conjectures before you were known! Do you
remember any of them?’...
“‘I heard that Mr. Baretti laid a wager it was written
by a man; for no woman, he said, could have kept her
own counsel.’
“This diverted him extremely.
“‘But how was it,’ he continued, ‘you thought most
likely for your father to discover you?’
“‘Sometimes, sir, I have supposed I must have dropped
some of the manuscript: sometimes, that one of my
sisters betrayed me.’
“‘Oh! your sister?—what, not your brother?’
“‘No, sir; he could not, for——’
“I was going on, but he laughed so much I could not
be heard, exclaiming:
“‘Vastly well! I see you are of Mr. Baretti’s mind,
and think your brother could keep your secret, and not
your sister.... But you have not kept your pen unemployed
all this time?’
“‘Indeed I have, sir.’
“‘But why?’
“‘I—I believe I have exhausted myself, sir.’
“He laughed aloud at this, and went and told it to
Mrs. Delany, civilly treating a plain fact as a mere bon
mot.”
.pm end_quote
The King asked several other questions about Evelina,
and the prospect of anything further appearing from the
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
author’s pen. A change of subject led to the mention of
hunting, when, looking round on the party, he said: ‘Did
you know that Mrs. Delany once hunted herself, and in a
long gown and a great hoop?’ As he spoke, a violent
thunder was heard at the door. Fanny again felt herself
sinking into the carpet. Miss Port slid out of the room
backwards, and lights shone in the hall. Enter the Queen.
Her Majesty drops a profound reverence to the King,
holds out both hands to her dear Mrs. Delany, and then
turns her face on the short-sighted stranger, who, uncertain
whether she has received a salute or not, is
bewildered what to do. The King comes to her relief,
repeats to his consort all that Miss Burney has already
told him, and proceeds with a further catechism. The
Queen, more curious about the future than the past, has
questions of her own to put. ‘Shall we have no more?—nothing
more?’ she asks. Fanny can only shake her
head in reply, and when gracious phrases of regret and
encouragement are uttered, is unable to find a word of
acknowledgment. Presently the conversation, becoming
general, ranges over a variety of topics, from the exemplary
behaviour of the Princess Sophia, aged nearly
nine, in guarding her music-master’s great nose from
ridicule, to Bishop Porteous’s sermons, which the King
thought that admired preacher would do wrong to publish,
because every discourse printed would diminish his stock
for the pulpit.
Three days later the King made an evening visit.
The Diary describes the mode of his reception on these
occasions. ‘The etiquette always observed on his
entrance is, first of all, to fly off to distant quarters; and
next, Miss Port goes out, walking backwards, for more
candles, which she brings in, two at a time, and places
upon the tables and pianoforte. Next she goes out for
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
tea, which she then carries to his Majesty, upon a large
salver, containing sugar, cream, and bread and butter
and cake, while she hangs a napkin over her arm for his
fingers. This, it seems, is a ceremony performed, in other
places, always by the mistress of the house; but here
neither of their Majesties will permit Mrs. Delany to
attempt it.’ While drinking his tea, the King ran on, in
his usual discursive vein, about authors, actors, books,
and plays. Concerning the tendency of Voltaire’s works,
and the personal character of Rousseau, he expressed the
current opinions of English society; calling the former a
monster, and telling anecdotes to illustrate ‘the savage
pride and insolent ingratitude’ of the latter. He vexed
Miss Burney by pronouncing Mrs. Siddons the most
excellent player of his time, not even excepting the
divine Garrick. From players he went to plays, and
having deplored the immorality of the old English
comedies, and the poverty of the new ones, he came at
length to Shakspeare.
“‘Was there ever,’ cried he, ‘such stuff as great part
of Shakspeare? only one must not say so! But what
think you? What? Is there not sad stuff? What?
What?’
“‘Yes, indeed, I think so, sir, though mixed with such
excellences, that——’
“‘Oh!’ cried he, laughing good-humouredly; ‘I know
it is not to be said! but it’s true. Only it’s Shakspeare,
and nobody dares abuse him.’
“Then he enumerated many of the characters and parts
of plays that he objected to; and, when he had run them
over, finished with again laughing, and exclaiming: ‘But
one should be stoned for saying so!’”
The following afternoon, the Queen came, and was
also in a mood for literary criticism. She talked of the
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
‘Sorrows of Werter,’ and Klopstock’s ‘Messiah,’ and
mentioned, with praise, another book, saying:
‘I picked it up on a stall. Oh, it is amazing what good
books there are on stalls!’
‘It is amazing to me,’ said Mrs. Delany, ‘to hear
that.’
‘Why, I don’t pick them up myself; but I have a
servant very clever; and if they are not to be had at the
bookseller’s, they are not for me any more than for
another.’
In May, 1786, the Mastership of the King’s Band,
which had formerly been promised to Dr. Burney, once
more became vacant. The Doctor was again a candidate
for the appointment. We gather from his having accepted
so small a post as that of Organist to Chelsea
Hospital, and from some other indications, that his circumstances
had not improved as he grew older. He was
now sixty years of age: he must have found the work of
tuition at once less easy to be met with, and more
laborious to discharge, than it had been in his younger
days; we cannot be mistaken in supposing that he was
eager to obtain, not merely promotion, but also some
permanent and lighter occupation. In his anxiety he
had recourse to Mr. Smelt, who counselled him to go to
Windsor, not to address the King, but to be seen by him.
‘Take your daughter in your hand,’ said the experienced
courtier, ‘and walk upon the Terrace. Your appearing
there at this time the King will understand, and he is
more likely to be touched by such a hint than by any
direct application.’ Burney lost no time in acting on the
advice thus given. When he and Fanny reached the
Terrace in the evening, they found the Royal Family
already there. The King and Queen, the Queen’s mother,
and the Prince of Mecklenburg, her Majesty’s brother,
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
all walked together. Behind them followed six lovely
young princesses,[68] with their ladies and some of the
young princes, making, in the eyes of loyal subjects, ‘a
very gay and pleasing procession of one of the finest
families in the world.’ “Every way they moved,” continues
the narrator, “the crowd retired to stand up
against the wall as they passed, and then closed in to
follow. When they approached, and we were retreating,
Lady Louisa Clayton placed me next herself, making her
daughters stand below—without which I had certainly
not been seen; for the moment their Majesties advanced,
I involuntarily looked down, and drew my hat over my
face. I could not endure to stare at them; and, full of
our real errand, I felt ashamed even of being seen by
them. Consequently, I should have stood in the herd,
and unregarded; but Lady Louisa’s kindness and good
breeding put me in a place too conspicuous to pass unnoticed.
The moment the Queen had spoken to her,
which she stopped to do as soon as she came up to her,
she inquired, in a whisper, who was with her. The
Queen then instantly stepped near me, and asked me
how I did; and then the King came forward, and, as
soon as he had repeated the same question, said:
.fn 68
Charlotte, b. 1766, d. 1828, m. King of Wurtemberg; Augusta, b. 1768,
d. 1840 (unm.); Elizabeth, b. 1770, d. 1840, m. Landgrave of Hesse Homburg;
Mary, b. 1776, d. 1840, m. her cousin, the Duke of Gloucester; Sophia, b. 1777,
d. 1848 (unm.); Amelia, b. 1783, d. 1810 (unm.).
.fn-
“‘Are you come to stay?’
“‘No, sir; not now.’
“‘I was sure,’ cried the Queen, ‘she was not come
to stay, by seeing her father!’
“I was glad by this to know my father had been
observed.
“‘And when,’ asked the King, ‘do you return again
to Windsor?’
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
“‘Very soon, I hope, sir.’
“‘And—and—and,’ cried he, half laughing and hesitating
significantly, ‘pray, how goes on the Muse?’
“At first I only laughed too; but he repeated the inquiry,
and then I answered:
“‘Not at all, sir.’
“‘No? But why?—why not?’
“‘I—I—I am afraid, sir,’ stammered I.
“‘And why?’ repeated he;—‘of what?’
“I spoke something—I hardly know what myself—so
indistinctly that he could not hear me, though he had
put his head quite under my hat from the beginning of
the little conference; and after another such question or
two, and no greater satisfaction in the answer, he smiled
very good-humouredly, and walked on, his Queen by his
side.
“We stayed some time longer on the Terrace, and my
poor father occasionally joined me; but he looked so
conscious and depressed that it pained me to see him.
He was not spoken to, though he had a bow every time
the King passed him, and a curtsey from the Queen. But
it hurt him, and he thought it a very bad prognostic; and
all there was at all to build upon was the graciousness
shown to me.” Much dejected, the Doctor posted back
to town with his daughter; and, on reaching home, heard
that the place he sought had been disposed of by the
Lord Chamberlain, in whose gift it was.
Miss Burney was persuaded that the King was displeased
with the action of his official, but we venture to
doubt the correctness of her belief. Beyond question,
Mr. Smelt had had good reason for implying that the
daughter, rather than the father, was the object of favour
at Windsor. Dr. Burney was by no means a sound
enough Handelian to satisfy George III. And, to say the
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
truth, the account of the Handel Centenary Festival was
but a poor performance. On the other hand, Fanny’s
literary success, and her manner of carrying it, had
pleased and interested the royal pair. It is probable,
if not absolutely certain, that the design of finding her
some employment at Court had already been entertained,
and that this was considered to render her father’s suit
for himself inopportune.
The first thought was to settle her with one of the
princesses, in preference to the numerous candidates of
high birth and station, but small fortune, who were waiting
and supplicating for places about the persons of the
King’s daughters. But in the month following Dr.
Burney’s disappointment, a vacancy occurred in the
Queen’s own Household. The office of Keeper of the
Robes was jointly held by two Germans, Mrs. Schwellenberg
and Mrs. Haggerdorn, who had accompanied
Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, when she came to
England. The health of Mrs. Haggerdorn broke down
about this time, and in June, 1786, it was arranged that
she should retire, and return to her own country. Who
should succeed her was a matter of eager speculation and
fierce competition in Court circles; but without consulting
anyone, the Queen commissioned Mr. Smelt to make
an offer to Frances Burney. This trusted agent was
instructed to express her Majesty’s wish to attach the
young lady permanently to herself and her family: he was
to propose to her to undertake certain duties, which were
in fact those of Mrs. Haggerdorn; and he was to intimate
that in case of her accepting the situation designed for
her, she would have apartments in the palace, would
belong to the table of Mrs. Schwellenberg, with whom
the Queen’s own visitors—bishops, lords, or commons—always
dined; would be allowed a separate footman, and
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
the use of a carriage in common with her senior colleague;
and would receive a salary of two hundred pounds a year.
Fanny listened, and was struck with consternation.
“The attendance,” she wrote to her dear Miss Cambridge,
“was to be incessant, the confinement to the Court continual;
I was scarce ever to be spared for a single visit from
the palaces, nor to receive anybody but with permission;
and what a life for me, who have friends so dear to me, and
to whom friendship is the balm, the comfort, the very
support of existence!’ It was not the sacrifice of literary
prospects that alarmed her. She did not even think of
‘those distinguished men and women, the flower of all
political parties, with whom she had been in the habit of
mixing on terms of equal intercourse,’[69] and from whose
society she would be exiled. Her mind dwelt only on the
pain of being separated from her family and intimate
friends: from Susan and the Lockes; from the old
familiar faces at Chesington; from her sister Charlotte,
now married and settled in Norfolk; from her correspondent
at Twickenham. ‘I have no heart,’ she says,
‘to write to Mickleham or Norbury. I know how they
will grieve: they have expected me to spend the whole
summer with them.’ Good Mr. Smelt, who, in the words
of Macaulay, seems to have thought that going to Court
was like going to heaven, was equally surprised and mortified
at the mournful reception accorded to his flattering
proposals. Mrs. Delany, in whose town house they were
delivered, was not less astounded. The recipient, however,
had but one thought, that, which ever way her own
feelings inclined, the matter must be referred to her
father, as the only person entitled to decide it. Dr.
Burney, as might have been anticipated, was enraptured
by the honour done to his family, and the vista which, in
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
his sanguine view, was opened before his daughter.
Meanwhile, Mr. Smelt had gone down to Windsor, and
brought back word that the Queen desired a personal
interview with Miss Burney. Fanny had her audience,
and it ended, as she foresaw must be the case, in her
submission. When her Majesty said, with the most
condescending softness, ‘I am sure, Miss Burney, we
shall suit one another very well,’ there was nothing to be
done, but to make a humble reverence, and accept. The
Queen told Mrs. Delany: ‘I was led to think of Miss
Burney, first by her books, then by seeing her; then by
always hearing how she was loved by her friends; but
chiefly by your friendship for her.’
.fn 69
Macaulay.
.fn-
Of course, the proposition and the acceptance were
alike mistaken. The service required was unworthy of
the servant, nor was she competent for the service. On
the one hand, the talents of a brilliant writer were thrown
away in a situation where writing was neither expected
nor desired. On the other, a novice of puny figure, imperfect
sight, extreme nervousness, and small aptitude for
ordinary feminine duties, was most unlikely to become
distinguished in the profession of a lady-in-attendance.
Under the most favourable circumstances, the gains and
advantages attached to her constrained life at Court were
not to be compared with those which might be looked for
from the diligent use of her pen in the freedom of home.
Yet allowing all this, we cannot disguise from ourselves
that much heedless rhetoric has been expended by several
critics on the folly of Miss Burney’s choice, and the
infatuation of her parent. These critics, we conceive,
have been led astray, partly by those more extreme trials
of her servitude which no prudence could have foreseen,
but principally by an erroneous estimate of her position
at the time when she closed with the Queen’s offer.
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
The picture which has been imagined of Frances
Burney sending forth, at short intervals, a series of
‘Cecilias,’ and receiving for each a cheque of two thousand
guineas, is attractive, but purely visionary. It would, we
venture to say, have tickled her fine sense of humour
amazingly. We are not to think of her as of a favourite
novelist of to-day, whom the booksellers and the editors
of magazines conspire to keep constantly employed. Her
longing to see herself in print seems to have been satiated
by the appearance of ‘Evelina.’ Her second work was a
much less spontaneous production. Indeed, it is not
clear that ‘Cecilia’ would have been written but for the
urgency of Crisp, seconded by other friends. Her two
fathers were agreed that she ought to exert herself while her
powers and her fame were fresh; but how much stimulus
was applied after Crisp’s death, we are not informed.
Hers was not a very energetic nature, and she had some
misgiving that her invention was exhausted. At any rate,
she had now let four years go by without attempting
anything new. Her third book was not published for the
space of a lustrum after her release from Court, and then
only under strong pressure of the res angusta domi. There
had been some talk of laying out the amount paid for
‘Cecilia’ in the purchase of an annuity. But we do not
find that this saving plan was executed. What has been
contemptuously called ‘board, lodging, and two hundred
a year,’ was no bad provision for a single lady of thirty-four,
who was producing nothing, and had no income of
her own. Boswell, it is true, declared that he would farm
her out himself for double or treble the money; but then
Boswell did not know a great deal of female authors.
Burney was much better aware what to expect from his
daughter’s enterprise and resolution; and we are by no
means sure that, in accepting for her the offered place, he
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
proved himself a less practical man than the ‘irresponsible
reviewers’ who have derided him as a moon-struck
worshipper of royalty. Burke, who certainly did not
undervalue Miss Burney, and who knew something of her
family circumstances, was delighted at the news, and
thought that the Queen had never shown more good
sense than in appointing Miss Burney to her service;
though he afterwards owned to having miscalculated,
when the service turned out to mean confinement to such
a companion as Mrs. Schwellenberg.
But neither the irksomeness of the duty, nor the
character of Mrs. Schwellenberg, was known to the outer
world. Both required experience to make them understood.
How by degrees they disclosed themselves to
Miss Burney, we shall learn presently. For the feud
which sprang up between the two ladies, it must, in fairness,
be owned that the elder was not wholly answerable.
Miss Burney—we ought now properly to call her Mrs.
Burney—had been appointed second Keeper of the Robes.
She seems to have supposed that this put her on a level
with Mrs. Schwellenberg, giving the latter the advantage
of formal precedence only. But whatever had been the
relation of Mrs. Haggerdorn to her colleague, it appears
clear that Fanny, a much younger, and quite inexperienced person,
was intended to be subordinate. Thus,
when she expresses a fear that, by want of spirit to assert
it, she had lost a right to invite guests to table, we cannot
but remember that, in the terms proposed to her, the
table had been described as Mrs. Schwellenberg’s. The
chief Keeper, as we shall see, was coarse and offensive in
speech, domineering and tyrannical in action, but her
junior sometimes resented a tone of superiority and
command which their royal mistress evidently thought
natural and reasonable.
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
Whatever injury Miss Burney may have sustained by
entering the palace, her readers at least have no cause to
complain. ‘I am glad for her interest,’ wrote Walpole,
‘though sorry for my own, that Evelina and Cecilia
are to be transformed into a Madame de Motteville, as
I shall certainly not live to read her Memoirs, though
I might another novel.’ But what was to Horace a
source of regret, may be to us matter for congratulation.
Fanny’s Diaries are now much more studied than her
novels. Few of us would wish to exchange the journal of
her life at Court for another fiction from her pen. The
Harrels, the Delvilles, the Briggses, about whom Burke
and Reynolds and Mrs. Delany talked as if they were
real personages, are for most of us names that call up no
association. Queen Charlotte and stout King George are
better known to us than any other royal pair mentioned
in English history. And for this we are in great measure
indebted to the little lady who joined their household
in July, 1786. The likeness of the Queen, which we
remember as well as we do the features of our mothers, is
entirely of her drawing; while she contributes not a few
of the sketches which are combined in our impression of
the monarch who loved music, and backgammon, and
homely chat, and Ogden’s sermons, as much as he
detested popery, and whiggery, and freethinking, and
Wilkes. Nor are characters of another kind wanting in
this journal. Mrs. Schwellenberg’s arrogance, her insolence,
her peevishness, her ferocious selfishness, her
broken English, are more familiar to the present generation
than the humours, the affectations, the piebald
dialect of Madame Duval, or than the traits of any of the
other figures in Evelina. The Senior Robe-keeper was no
doubt as indifferent to posthumous reputation as she was
to the contemporary opinion of all who could not displace
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
her. That she ran any risk from the satire of her
timorous assistant was a thought which never occurred to
her illiterate mind. She hardly knew what satire meant.
She flattered herself that Harry Bunbury could not
caricature her because she had no hump. For writers
of imagination she had an unbounded contempt. ‘I
won’t have nothing what you call novels,’ she once cried
in Fanny’s presence, ‘what you call romances, what you
call histories—I might not read such what you call stuff—not
I!’ Had she been one degree less callous, or one
degree less ignorant, she might have been slower to provoke
the hostility of Johnson’s ‘little character-monger.’
Well! we have her portrait, most carefully executed.
And we have also, by the same cunning hand, vivid
delineations of many other persons, more or less notable,
and of several interesting scenes that fell under the
artist’s view during her connection with the Queen. We
do not go to Miss Burney’s record of those five years for
secrets of state, or politics, or even Court scandal—with
which last, indeed, she seems to have busied herself as
little as with the first two—but for a picture of the
domestic life and manners of the Sovereign and his
consort. It is no small proof of the journalist’s tact and
discretion that she was able to produce so candid a
narrative of what she experienced and witnessed without
giving offence to the family concerned. The Duke of
Sussex is reported to have said, that he and the other
surviving children of George III. had been alarmed when
the Diaries of Madame d’Arblay were announced for
publication, but pleased with the book when it appeared;
‘though I think,’ added his Royal Highness, ‘that she is
rather hard on poor old Schwellenberg.’ The Duke, of
course, had seen the Schwellenberg only in her part of an
abject toad-eater. Yet there may be something in his
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
observation. Fanny had a light touch, but, like other
women, was unforgiving towards an enemy of her own
sex.
Our readers must not suppose that Miss Burney, on
her appointment, went to live in Windsor Castle. Some
years before that time, the Castle had been forsaken by
the royal family as uninhabitable. A sort of makeshift
palace, known as the Upper Lodge, or the Queen’s
Lodge,[70] was erected hard by, opposite the South Terrace;
a long narrow building, with battlements fronting northward
towards the old towers, and southward towards a
walled garden, at the further end of which was placed the
Lower Lodge, a smaller building of similar character,
appropriated to the use of the Princesses. Fanny, as an
attendant on the person of the Queen, was quartered in the
Upper Lodge. “My Windsor apartment,” she wrote, “is
extremely comfortable. I have a large drawing-room, as
they call it, which is on the ground-floor, as are all the
Queen’s rooms, and which faces the Castle and the
venerable Round Tower, and opens at the further side,
from the windows, to the Little Park. It is airy, pleasant,
clean, and healthy. My bedroom is small, but neat and
comfortable; its entrance is only from the drawing-room,
and it looks to the garden. These two rooms are delightfully
independent of all the rest of the house, and contain
everything I can desire for my convenience and comfort.”
The sitting-room had a view of the walk leading to the
Terrace, access to which was obtained by a flight of steps
and an iron gate. Mrs. Delany’s door was at a distance of
less than fifty yards from the Queen’s Lodge. The paltry
and uncomfortable barracks erected under George III.
no longer discredit the Crown of England. The restoration
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
of Windsor Castle was commenced in 1800, and
occupied a good many years. ‘In 1823 the Queen’s
House was pulled down, and the present royal stables,
built in 1839, occupy part of the site. It is, indeed, very
difficult to identify any of the landmarks now; everything
has been so completely changed. The steps and the
iron gate, the railings and the Princesses’ garden, have
all disappeared as completely as the Upper and Lower
Lodges.’[71]
.fn 70
It was sometimes called the ‘Queen’s Lodge,’ because it stood on the site
of the older Queen Anne’s Lodge.
.fn-
.fn 71
Loftie’s ‘Windsor Castle.’
.fn-
In the following passage we have a summary of the
new Robe-keeper’s usual round of daily duties:
“I rise at six o’clock, dress in a morning gown and cap,
and wait my first summons, which is at all times from
seven to near eight, but commonly in the exact half-hour
between them. The Queen never sends for me till her
hair is dressed. This, in a morning, is always done by
her wardrobe-woman, Mrs. Thielky, a German, but who
speaks English perfectly well. Mrs. Schwellenberg, since
the first week, has never come down in a morning at all.
The Queen’s dress is finished by Mrs. Thielky and myself.
No maid ever enters the room while the Queen is in it.
Mrs. Thielky hands the things to me, and I put them on.
’Tis fortunate for me I have not the handing them! I
should never know which to take first, embarrassed as I
am, and should run a prodigious risk of giving the gown
before the hoop, and the fan before the neckerchief. By
eight o’clock, or a little after, for she is extremely
expeditious, she is dressed. She then goes out to join
the King, and be joined by the Princesses, and they all
proceed to the King’s chapel in the Castle, to prayers,
attended by the governesses of the Princesses, and the
King’s equerry. Various others at times attend; but
.bn 170.png
.pn +1
only these indispensably. I then return to my own room
to breakfast. I make this meal the most pleasant part of
the day; I have a book for my companion, and I allow
myself an hour for it.... At nine o’clock I send off my
breakfast-things, and relinquish my book, to make a
serious and steady examination of everything I have upon
my hands in the way of business—in which, preparations
for dress are always included, not for the present day
alone, but for the Court-days, which require a particular
dress; for the next arriving birthday of any of the Royal
Family, every one of which requires new apparel; for
Kew, where the dress is plainest; and for going on here,
where the dress is very pleasant to me, requiring no
show nor finery, but merely to be neat, not inelegant, and
moderately fashionable. That over, I have my time at
my own disposal till a quarter before twelve, except on
Wednesdays and Saturdays, when I have it only to a
quarter before eleven.... These times mentioned call
me to the irksome and quick-returning labours of the
toilette. The hour advanced on the Wednesdays and
Saturdays is for curling and craping the hair, which it
now requires twice a week. A quarter before one is the
usual time for the Queen to begin dressing for the day.
Mrs. Schwellenberg then constantly attends; so do I;
Mrs. Thielky, of course, at all times. We help her off
with her gown, and on with her powdering things, and
then the hairdresser is admitted. She generally reads
the newspapers during that operation. When she observes
that I have run to her but half dressed, she constantly
gives me leave to return and finish as soon as she is
seated. If she is grave, and reads steadily on, she dismisses
me, whether I am dressed or not; but at all times
she never forgets to send me away while she is powdering,
with a consideration not to spoil my clothes, that one
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
would not expect belonged to her high station. Neither
does she ever detain me without making a point of reading
here and there some little paragraph aloud.... Few
minutes elapse ere I am again summoned. I find her
then always removed to her state dressing-room, if any
room in this private mansion can have the epithet of
state. There, in a very short time, her dress is finished.
She then says she won’t detain me, and I hear and see no
more of her till bedtime....
“At five, we have dinner. Mrs. Schwellenberg and I
meet in the eating-room. We are commonly tête-à-tête....
When we have dined, we go upstairs to her apartment,
which is directly over mine. Here we have coffee
till the terracing is over: this is at about eight o’clock. Our
tête-à-tête then finishes, and we come down again to the
eating-room. There the equerry, whoever he is, comes to
tea constantly, and with him any gentleman that the
King or Queen may have invited for the evening; and
when tea is over, he conducts them, and goes himself, to
the concert-room. This is commonly about nine o’clock.
From that time, if Mrs. Schwellenberg is alone, I never
quit her for a minute, till I come to my little supper at
near eleven. Between eleven and twelve my last summons
usually takes place, earlier and later occasionally. Twenty
minutes is the customary time then spent with the Queen:
half an hour, I believe, is seldom exceeded. I then come
back, and after doing whatever I can to forward my dress
for the next morning, I go to bed—and to sleep, too,
believe me: the early rising, and a long day’s attention to
new affairs and occupations, cause a fatigue so bodily,
that nothing mental stands against it, and to sleep I fall
the moment I have put out my candle and laid down my
head.”
The best-known writer of that day was wounded at
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
first by having to ‘answer the bell,’ like any chambermaid;
and she had cast on her another burden, which
even her loyalty could not consider dignified. She had
to mix the Queen’s snuff. To perform this task belonged
to her place, and it was an inflexible rule with her Majesty
that discipline must be preserved. We cannot help
thinking that there was a touch of regret in the King’s
voice when he said:
‘Miss Burney, I hear you cook snuff very well.’
‘Miss Burney,’ exclaimed the Princess Elizabeth, ‘I
hope you hate snuff; for I hate it of all things in the
world.’
Thus we see that disaffection lurked even in members
of the Royal House.
We pause here for a moment to notice that a precaution
adopted by Mrs. Phillips, in her replies to her sister’s
Court Journal, of giving fictitious names to some of the
persons mentioned, was imitated, when the Diary was
printed, by substituting the names invented by Susan for
the real ones which occurred in the original. Thus, in
the published volumes from which our extracts are taken,
Mr. Turbulent stands for M. de Guiffardière,[72] a clergyman
who held the office of French reader to the Queen
and the Princesses; Colonel Welbred is Colonel Greville;
and Colonel Fairly is the Honourable Stephen Digby,
who lost his first wife, a daughter of Lord Ilchester, in
1787, and married Miss Gunning, called in the Diary
Miss Fuzilier, in 1790.
.fn 72
Commonly known as the Rev. Charles Giffardier. He had a prebendal
stall at Salisbury, and was vicar of Newington, and rector of Berkhampstead.—Croker
in the Quarterly Review.
.fn-
Next to the King and Queen, the most important
figures in Fanny’s new life are their fair daughters, the
Princesses who inhabited the Lower Lodge. ‘The history
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
of the daughters,’ says Thackeray, ‘as little Miss Burney
has painted them, is delightful. They were handsome—she
calls them beautiful; they were most kind, loving,
and ladylike; they were gracious to every person, high
and low, who served them. They had many little accomplishments
of their own. This one drew: that one played
the piano: they all worked most prodigiously, and fitted
up whole suites of rooms—pretty smiling Penelopes—with
their busy little needles.... The prettiest of all, I
think, is the father’s darling, the Princess Amelia, pathetic
for her beauty, her sweetness, her early death, and for
the extreme passionate tenderness with which the King
loved her.’ Three weeks after Miss Burney entered on
her post, occurred the birthday of this favourite child.
On such festivals, when the weather was fine, the Royal
Family never failed to walk on the Terrace, which was
crowded with persons of distinction, who, by this mode
of showing respect, escaped the necessity of attending
the next Drawing-room. On the present occasion, Mrs.
Delany was carried in her sedan—the gift of the King—to
the foot of the stairs, and appeared on the promenade
with the new Keeper of the Robes by her side. “It was
really a mighty pretty procession,” writes Fanny. “The
little Princess, just turned of three years old, in a robe-coat
covered with fine muslin, a dressed close cap, white
gloves, and a fan, walked on alone and first, highly
delighted in the parade, and turning from side to side to
see everybody as she passed: for all the terracers stand
up against the walls, to make a clear passage for the
Royal Family, the moment they come in sight. Then
followed the King and Queen, no less delighted themselves
with the joy of their little darling. The Princess
Royal, leaning on Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave, followed
at a little distance; next the Princess Augusta, holding
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
by the Duchess of Ancaster; and next the Princess
Elizabeth, holding by Lady Charlotte Bertie. Office
here takes place of rank, which occasioned Lady Elizabeth
Waldegrave, as lady of her bedchamber, to walk with the
Princess Royal. Then followed the Princess Mary with
Miss Goldsworthy,[73] and the Princess Sophia with Mademoiselle
Montmoulin and Miss Planta;[74] then General
Budé and the Duke of Montague;[75] and, lastly, Major
Price, who, as equerry, always brings up the rear, walks
at a distance from the group, and keeps off all crowd
from the Royal Family.”
.fn 73
Sub-governess of the Princesses.
.fn-
.fn 74
English teacher to the two eldest Princesses.
.fn-
.fn 75
Master of the Horse.
.fn-
‘One sees it,’ adds Thackeray: ‘the band playing its
old music; the sun shining on the happy loyal crowd, and
lighting the ancient battlements, the rich elms, and purple
landscape, and bright green sward: the royal standard
drooping from the great tower yonder; as old George
passes, followed by his race, preceded by the charming
infant, who caresses the crowd with her innocent
smiles.’
The Diary proceeds: ‘On sight of Mrs. Delany, the
King instantly stopped to speak to her. The Queen, of
course, and the little Princess, and all the rest, stood
still, in their ranks. They talked a good while with the
sweet old lady; during which time the King once or
twice addressed himself to me. I caught the Queen’s
eye, and saw in it a little surprise, but by no means any
displeasure, to see me of the party.
“The little Princess went up to Mrs. Delany, of whom
she is very fond, and behaved like a little angel to her:
she then, with a look of inquiry and recollection, slowly,
of her own accord, came behind Mrs. Delany to look at
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
me. ‘I am afraid,’ said I, in a whisper, and stooping
down, ‘your Royal Highness does not remember me?’
“What think you was her answer? An arch little
smile, and a nearer approach, with her lips pouted out to
kiss me. I could not resist so innocent an invitation;
but the moment I had accepted it, I was half afraid it
might seem, in so public a place, an improper liberty:
however, there was no help for it. She then took my
fan, and having looked at it on both sides, gravely returned
it me, saying, ‘O! a brown fan!’”
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI.
.pm start_summary
Royal Visit to Nuneham—A Present from the Queen—Official Exhortations—Embarrassments
at Nuneham—A Laborious Sunday—Hairdressing—The
Court visits Oxford—Journey thither—Reception by the University—Address
and Reply—Kissing Hands—Christchurch—Fatigues of the Suite—Refreshment
under Difficulties—A Surprise—The Routine of Court Life—The
Equerries—Draughts in the Palace—Early Prayers—Barley-water—The
London Season—Mrs. Siddons—Mrs. Schwellenberg’s Apartments—Her
Tame Frogs—Her Behaviour to Miss Burney—Cruel Treatment—A Change
for the Better—Newspaper Reports—Conversation with the Queen—Miss
Burney as Reader—Her Attainments, Tastes, and Powers.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
A few days after the scene described at the end of our
last chapter, the Court set out on a visit to Lord and
Lady Harcourt at Nuneham. The arrangement was that
the royal party should pass the first day with their host
and hostess; spend the second and third in excursions to
Oxford and Blenheim respectively, sleeping each night at
Nuneham; and return the fourth day to Windsor. Miss
Burney was informed that she was to be one of her
Majesty’s suite. In making this communication to her,
Mrs. Schwellenberg took occasion to say: ‘I tell you
once, I shall do for you what I can; you are to have a
gown!’ Seeing Fanny draw back in surprise at this
abrupt speech, the important old lady added: ‘The
Queen will give you a gown; the Queen says you are not
rich.’ Offended at the grossness with which the intended
gracious present was offered, our inexperienced Court
servant declared a wish to decline it. Her superior
instantly flew into a passion. ‘Miss Bernar,’ cried she,
quite angrily, ‘I tell you once, when the Queen will give
.bn 177.png
.pn +1
you a gown,[76] you must be humble, thankful, when you are
Duchess of Ancaster!’ Before the journey to Nuneham
took place, Fanny, rather unwisely, expressed her regret
that she had some time previously neglected an opportunity
of being introduced to the lady whose house she was about
to visit; she had met Lord Harcourt, she said, and
thought it might have smoothed her way to know something
of his Countess also. She was promptly told that
she was utterly insignificant—that, going with the Queen,
she was sure of civil treatment; but that whether or not
she had a servant, or any change of dress, was of no consequence.
is no need,’ said the senior Robe-Keeper,
‘that you should be seen. I shall do everything
that I can to assist you to appear for nobody.’
.fn 76
Macaulay says that this promise of a gown was never performed; but he
is mistaken. Miss Burney did get the gown after some delay. It was ‘a lilac
tabby,’ whatever that may be, or may have been. (Diary, ii. 189.)
.fn-
In fact, the whole expedition might have seemed to be
planned for the purpose of convincing her that any importance
she had once enjoyed was now absolutely gone.
Their Majesties went to Nuneham to breakfast. Miss
Burney followed in the afternoon, with Miss Planta,
English teacher of the Princesses, Mrs. Thielky, the
Queen’s wardrobe-woman, and one or two more of the
royal attendants. On their arrival, they found the house
to be ‘one of those straggling, half-new, half-old, half-comfortable,
and half-forlorn mansions, that are begun in
one generation and finished in another.’ We have a
graphic and amusing description of accidents encountered
and discomforts endured, before the hapless and helpless
diarist was settled for the night: the being handed from
her carriage by a common postilion; the deserted hall,
where not even a porter was to be seen; the entire
absence of a welcome, the whole family being in the
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
Park, with the King and Queen and Princesses, and the
mistress of the house having deputed no one to act for
her; the want of assistance in searching for her apartment;
the wanderings through unknown mazy passages;
the ‘superfine men in yellow-laced liveries’ occasionally
met sauntering along, who disdained to waste a word in
answer to inquiries; the sitting down at length in despair
in a room destined for one of the Princesses; the alarm
at being surprised there by its owner and her sisters; the
subsequent promises, only made to be broken, of guidance
to the wished-for haven; and finally, when that haven
had at last been reached, the humiliation of being summoned
to supper by a gentleman-footman haughtily calling
out from the foot of the stairs, ‘The equerries want the
ladies!’ It is impossible to read the account of these
‘difficulties and disgraces’ without seeing that the shy,
sensitive, flattered novel-writer had indeed mistaken her
vocation when she accepted service in a royal household.
The next day was Sunday, and was appointed to be
observed, after due attendance at Church, by a visit to
the University of Oxford. Late on Saturday night, Miss
Burney received the Queen’s commands to belong to the
suite on the morrow, and rejoiced exceedingly that she
had brought with her a new Chambéry gauze, instead of
only the dress she wore, according to her Cerbera’s
advice. We abridge Fanny’s narrative of her laborious
Sabbath:
.pm start_quote
“August 13th.—At six o’clock my hairdresser, to my
great satisfaction, arrived. Full two hours was he at
work, yet was I not finished, when Swarthy, the Queen’s
hairdresser, came rapping at my door, to tell me her
Majesty’s hair was done, and she was waiting for me. I
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
hurried as fast as I could, and ran down without any cap.
She smiled at sight of my hasty attire, and said I should
not be distressed about a hairdresser the next day, but
employ Swarthy’s assistant, as soon as he had done with
the Princesses: ‘You should have had him,’ she added,
‘to-day, if I had known you wanted him.’
“When her Majesty was dressed, all but the hat, she
sent for the three Princesses; and the King came also.
I felt very foolish with my uncovered head; but it was
somewhat the less awkward, from its being very much a
custom, in the Royal Family, to go without caps; though
none that appear before them use such a freedom.
“As soon as the hat was on—‘Now, Miss Burney,’
said the Queen, ‘I won’t keep you; you had better go
and dress too.’”
.pm end_quote
Breakfast and morning service followed, and then came
the Oxford expedition:
.pm start_quote
“How many carriages there were, and how they were
arranged, I observed not sufficiently to recollect; but the
party consisted of their Majesties, the Princesses Royal,
Augusta, and Elizabeth, the Duchess of Ancaster, Lord and
Lady Harcourt, Lady Charlotte Bertie, and the two
Miss Vernons. These last ladies are daughters of the
late Lord Vernon, and sisters of Lady Harcourt. General
Harcourt, Colonel Fairly, and Major Price, and Mr.
Hagget, with Miss Planta and myself, completed the
group. Miss Planta and I, of course, as the only undignified
persons, brought up the rear.... The city of
Oxford afforded us a very noble view on the road, and its
spires, towers, and domes soon made me forget all the
little objects of minor spleen that had been crossing me
as I journeyed towards them; and, indeed, by the time I
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
arrived in the midst of them, their grandeur, nobility,
antiquity, and elevation impressed my mind so forcibly,
that I felt, for the first time since my new situation had
taken place, a rushing in of ideas that had no connection
with it whatever. The roads were lined with decently-dressed
people, and the high street was so crowded we
were obliged to drive gently and carefully, to avoid
trampling the people to death. Yet their behaviour was
perfectly respectful and proper. Nothing could possibly
be better conducted than the whole of this expedition.‘
.pm end_quote
The royal party were received by the Vice-Chancellor,
and all the heads of colleges and professors then in
residence, who conducted them in state to the Theatre,
which was crowded with spectators. The King took his
seat, with his head covered, on the Chancellor’s chair,
the Queen and Princesses sitting below him to the left.
An address, which was read by the Vice-Chancellor, contained,
among other expressions of loyalty, the congratulations
of the University to the King on his recent escape
from the knife of Margaret Nicholson; at the same time
touching on the distress which the attempt had occasioned
the Queen, and paying a tribute to her amiable and
virtuous character.
.pm start_quote
“The Queen could scarcely bear it, though she had
already, I doubt not, heard it at Nuneham, as these
addresses must be first read in private, to have the
answers prepared. Nevertheless, this public tribute of
loyalty to the King, and of respect to herself, went gratefully
to her heart, and filled her eyes with tears—which
she would not, however, encourage, but, smiling through
them, dispersed them with her fan, with which she was
repeatedly obliged to stop their course down her cheeks.
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
The Princesses, less guarded, the moment their father’s
danger was mentioned, wept with but little control....
“When the address was ended, the King took a paper
from Lord Harcourt, and read his answer.... When he
had done, he took off his hat, and bowed to the Chancellor
and Professors, and delivered the answer to Lord
Harcourt, who, walking backwards, descended the stairs,
and presented it to the Vice-Chancellor....
“After this, the Vice-Chancellor and Professors begged
for the honour of kissing the King’s hand. Lord Harcourt
was again the backward messenger; and here
followed a great mark of goodness in the King: he saw
that nothing less than a thoroughbred old courtier, such
as Lord Harcourt, could walk backwards down these
steps, before himself, and in sight of so full a hall of
spectators; and he therefore dispensed with being approached
to his seat, and walked down himself into the
area, where the Vice-Chancellor kissed his hand, and was
imitated by every Professor and Doctor in the room.
“Notwithstanding this considerate good-nature in his
Majesty, the sight, at times, was very ridiculous. Some
of the worthy collegiates, unused to such ceremonies, and
unaccustomed to such a presence, the moment they had
kissed the King’s hand, turned their backs to him, and
walked away as in any common room; others, attempting
to do better, did still worse, by tottering and stumbling,
and falling foul of those behind them; some, ashamed to
kneel, took the King’s hand straight up to their mouths;
others, equally off their guard, plumped down on both
knees, and could hardly get up again; and many, in their
confusion, fairly arose by pulling his Majesty’s hand to
raise them....
“It was vacation time; there were therefore none of the
students present....
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
“At Christ Church, where we arrived at about three
o’clock, in a large hall there was a cold collation prepared
for their Majesties and the Princesses. It was at the
upper end of the hall. I could not see of what it consisted,
though it would have been very agreeable, after so
much standing and sauntering, to have given my opinion
of it in an experimental way. Their Majesties and the
Princesses sat down to this table; as well satisfied, I
believe, as any of their subjects so to do. The Duchess
of Ancaster and Lady Harcourt stood behind the chairs
of the Queen and the Princess Royal. There were no
other ladies of sufficient rank to officiate for Princesses
Augusta and Elizabeth. Lord Harcourt stood behind
the King’s chair; and the Vice-Chancellor, and the Head
of Christ Church, with salvers in their hands, stood near
the table, and ready to hand to the three noble waiters
whatever was wanted: while the other Reverend Doctors
and Learned Professors stood aloof, equally ready to
present to the Chancellor and the Master whatever they
were to forward.
“We, meanwhile, untitled attendants, stood at the
other end of the room, forming a semicircle, and all
strictly facing the Royal collationers.... A whisper was
soon buzzed through the semicircle of the deplorable
state of our appetite; and presently it reached the ears
of some of the worthy Doctors. Immediately a new
whisper was circulated, which made its progress with
great vivacity, to offer us whatever we would wish, and to
beg us to name what we chose. Tea, coffee, and chocolate,
were whispered back. The method of producing,
and the means of swallowing them, were much more
difficult to settle than the choice of what was acceptable.
Major Price and Colonel Fairly, however, seeing a very
large table close to the wainscot behind us, desired our
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
refreshments might be privately conveyed there, behind
the semicircle, and that, while all the group backed very
near it, one at a time might feed, screened by all the rest
from observation. I suppose I need not inform you, my
dear Susan, that to eat in presence of any of the Royal
Family, is as much hors d’usage as to be seated. This
plan had speedy success, and the very good Doctors soon,
by sly degrees and with watchful caution, covered the
whole table with tea, coffee, chocolate, cakes, and bread
and butter....
“The Duchess of Ancaster and Lady Harcourt, as soon
as the first serving attendance was over, were dismissed
from the royal chairs, and most happy to join our group,
and partake of our repast. The Duchess, extremely
fatigued with standing, drew a small body of troops before
her, that she might take a few minutes’ rest on a form by
one of the doors; and Lady Charlotte Bertie did the
same, to relieve an ankle which she had unfortunately
sprained. ‘Poor Miss Burney!’ cried the good-natured
Duchess, ‘I wish she could sit down, for she is unused
to this work. She does not know yet what it is to stand
for five hours following, as we do....’
“In one of the colleges I stayed so long in an old
chapel, lingering over antique monuments, that all the
party were vanished before I missed them, except Doctors
and Professors; for we had a train of those everywhere;
and I was then a little surprised by the approach of one
of them, saying, ‘You seem inclined to abide with us,
Miss Burney?’—and then another, in an accent of
facetious gallantry, cried, ‘No, no; don’t let us shut up
Miss Burney among old tombs!—No, no!’”
.pm end_quote
At Magdalene College, Miss Burney and two or three
other members of the suite, having slipped away to a
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
small parlour, sat down to rest, and enjoy some apricots
which Mr. Fairly had brought in his pockets. Suddenly
the door opened; the Queen entered; the truants started
up, and tried to look as if sitting was a posture unknown
to them; while desperate exertions were made to hide
the forbidden fruit. ‘I discovered,’ says Fanny, ‘that
our appetites were to be supposed annihilated, at the
same time that our strength was to be invincible.’ However,
her fatigues ended at last, and she was permitted to
spend the Monday in peace among the pictures and
gardens of Nuneham, not being commanded to join in
the excursion to Blenheim.
After this expedition, the year wore on slowly and
tediously. There were more royal birthdays to be kept,
with the usual terracings and concerts. In alternate
weeks, the Court removed from Windsor to Kew for two
or three days, and again returned to Windsor. There
were journeys from Kew to St. James’s, and back, on the
days appointed for Drawing-rooms. But the ordinary
routine of Windsor and Kew was monotony itself. ‘The
household always rose, rode, dined at stated intervals.
Day after day was the same. At the same hour at night
the King kissed his daughters’ jolly cheeks; the Princesses
kissed their mother’s hand; and Madame Thielky brought
the royal nightcap. At the same hour the equerries and
women-in-waiting had their little dinner, and cackled
over their tea. The King had his backgammon or his
evening concert; the equerries yawned themselves to
death in the anteroom.’[77] And it must be remembered
that poor Miss Burney had only a partial share even in
this unvaried round of existence. Her views of the
Court proper were confined to glimpses through half-opened
doors, and down the vistas of long corridors.
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
She was not even permitted to stand at the entrance of
the room where ‘nothing but Handel was played;’ and
when Mrs. Siddons once came to the Lodge to read a
play, the Keepers of the Robes were only allowed access
to ‘a convenient adjoining room.’ She was licensed to
receive hardly anyone from the outer world, except her
father and sisters, Mrs. Delany, and the Lockes; beyond
these, she had to use the utmost caution in admitting
visitors; while her associates within the palace were
restricted to the King’s equerries, Mr. Turbulent, Mrs.
Schwellenberg, Miss Planta, and a few other persons in
positions resembling her own. She saw no other company
but the strangers who from time to time were sent
to dine at Mrs. Schwellenberg’s table.
.fn 77
Thackeray.
.fn-
His Majesty’s equerries were certainly not selected for
their brilliant attainments, or their powers of conversation,
or even for their polished manners. One of these
gentlemen, a Colonel Goldsworthy, whom Miss Burney
had not before seen, arrived for his turn of duty at the
end of September. ‘He seems to me,’ says the Diary,
‘a man of but little cultivation or literature, but delighting
in a species of dry humour, in which he shines most
successfully, by giving himself up for its favourite butt.’
He soon began to warn Fanny of the discomforts of
winter service in the ill-built and ill-contrived Queen’s
Lodge. ‘Wait till November and December, and then
you’ll get a pretty taste of them.... Let’s see, how
many blasts must you have every time you go to the
Queen? First, one upon opening your door; then
another, as you get down the three steps from it, which
are exposed to the wind from the garden-door downstairs;
then a third, as you turn the corner to enter the passage;
then you come plump upon another from the hall door;
then comes another, fit to knock you down, as you turn
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
to the upper passage; then, just as you turn towards the
Queen’s room comes another; and last, a whiff from the
King’s stairs, enough to blow you half a mile off. One
thing,’ he added, ‘pray let me caution you about—don’t
go to early prayers in November; if you do, that will
completely kill you!... When the Princesses, used to
it as they are, get regularly knocked up before this business
is over, off they drop one by one:—first the Queen
deserts us; then Princess Elizabeth is done for; then
Princess Royal begins coughing; then Princess Augusta
gets the snuffles; and all the poor attendants, my poor
sister[78] at their head, drop off, one after another, like so
many snuffs of candles: till at last, dwindle, dwindle,
dwindle—not a soul goes to the Chapel but the King, the
parson, and myself; and there we three freeze it out
together!’
.fn 78
Miss Goldsworthy, sub-governess of the Princesses.
.fn-
That the King was considerate to his attendants, the
following story by the same elegant wit will testify. It
was told after a hard day’s hunting: “‘After all our
labours,’ said he, ‘home we come, with not a dry thread
about us, sore to the very bone, and forced to smile all
the time, and then:
“‘Here, Goldsworthy!’ cries his Majesty; so up I
comes to him, bowing profoundly, and my hair dripping
down to my shoes. ‘Goldsworthy, I say,’ he cries, ‘will
you have a little barley-water?’
“‘And, pray, did you drink it?’
“‘I drink it?—drink barley-water? No, no; not come
to that But there it was, sure enough!—in a jug
fit for a sick-room; just such a thing as you put upon a
hob in a chimney, for some poor miserable soul that keeps
his bed! And: ‘Here, Goldsworthy,’ says his Majesty,
‘here’s the barley-water!’
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
“‘And did the King drink it himself?’
“‘Yes, God bless his Majesty! but I was too humble a
subject to do the same as the King!’”
In January, 1787, the Court removed to London for
the winter. During their residence in the capital, the
Royal Family occupied Buckingham House, then called
the Queen’s House. But the season in town was interrupted
by short weekly visits to Windsor. The only
Sundays of the year which George III. spent in London
were the six Sundays of Lent. Miss Burney went to the
play once or twice, and also attended ‘the Tottenham
Street oratorios.’ She had more than one illness in the
early part of this year; but her custodians courteously
entreated their prisoner, and gave her liberty to go to her
friends to refresh herself. Under this permission, she had
opportunities of meeting Mrs. Cholmondeley, Sir Joshua,
Mrs. Montagu, Mrs. Vesey, Horace Walpole,[79] and sundry
other old acquaintances. But at the beginning of June
the relaxations of this pleasant time, as well as the
fatiguing journeys backwards and forwards to Windsor,
came to an end, and the household were again settled in
the Upper Lodge. The rest of the year passed in much
the same way as the summer and autumn of 1786 had
done, but with fewer noticeable incidents.
.fn 79
‘The last time I saw her (Mrs. Vesey) before I left London,’ writes Walpole,
‘Miss Burney passed the evening there, looking quite recovered and well;
and so cheerful and agreeable that the Court seems only to have improved the
ease of her manner, instead of stamping more reserve on it, as I feared. But
what slight graces it can give will not compensate to us and the world for the
loss of her company and her writings.’—Walpole to Hannah More, June 15,
1787.
.fn-
In August occurred the commanded visit of Mrs.
Siddons, to which we have before referred:
.pm start_quote
“In the afternoon ... her Majesty came into the
room, and, after a little German discourse with Mrs.
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
Schwellenberg, told me Mrs. Siddons had been ordered to
the Lodge, to read a play, and desired I would receive her
in my room.
“I felt a little queer in the office; I had only seen her
twice or thrice, in large assemblies, at Miss Monckton’s,
and at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, and never had been introduced
to her, nor spoken with her. However, in this
dead and tame life I now lead, such an interview was by
no means undesirable.
“I had just got to the bottom of the stairs, when she
entered the passage gallery. I took her into the tea-room,
and endeavoured to make amends for former
distance and taciturnity, by an open and cheerful reception.
I had heard from sundry people (in old days) that
she wished to make the acquaintance; but ... now that
we came so near, I was much disappointed in my expectations....
I found her the Heroine of a Tragedy—sublime,
elevated, and solemn. In face and person, truly noble
and commanding; in manners, quiet and stiff; in voice,
deep and dragging; and in conversation, formal, sententious,
calm, and dry. I expected her to have been all
that is interesting; the delicacy and sweetness with which
she seizes every opportunity to strike and to captivate
upon the stage had persuaded me that her mind was
formed with that peculiar susceptibility which, in different
modes, must give equal powers to attract and to delight
in common life. But I was very much mistaken. As a
stranger, I must have admired her noble appearance and
beautiful countenance, and have regretted that nothing in
her conversation kept pace with their promise; and, as a
celebrated actress, I had still only to do the same.
Whether fame and success have spoiled her, or whether
she only possesses the skill of representing and embellishing
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
materials with which she is furnished by others, I
know not; but still I remain disappointed.
“She was scarcely seated, and a little general discourse
begun, before she told me—all at once—that ‘there was
no part she had ever so much wished to act as that
of Cecilia.’ I made some little acknowledgment, and
hurried to ask when she had seen Sir Joshua Reynolds,
Miss Palmer, and others with whom I knew her acquainted.
The play she was to read was ‘The Provoked
Husband.’ She appeared neither alarmed nor elated by
her summons, but calmly to look upon it as a thing of
course, from her celebrity.”
.pm end_quote
The company that assembled in Mrs. Schwellenberg’s
apartments occupied their leisure hours with small-talk,
mild flirtations, and trifling amusements, varied by occasional
misunderstandings. The first Keeper of the Robes
domineered over them all, and her rule was a savage
tyranny, tempered by ill-health. Her infirmities sometimes
detained her in London for weeks together. During
her absence, her junior presided at the dinner-table, and
made tea for the equerries. Great was the joy whenever
the old lady went up to town to consult her physician.
Then Mr. Turbulent,[80] more gay and flighty than beseemed
a married clergyman,[81] would practise on the patent prudery
of Fanny’s character by broaching strange theories of
morality, and breaking out in wild rhapsodies of half-amatory
admiration. Then the colonels-in-waiting, relieved
from the watchful eyes of Cerbera, exerted themselves for
the entertainment of the fair tea-maker. They were not
always successful. Miss Burney cared but little for
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
Colonel Goldsworthy’s rough humour, and still less for
the vocal performances of a certain Colonel Manners,
who, in love with his own voice, and with what he called
the songs that he heard at church, insisted on regaling
his friends with snatches from Tate and Brady, married to
the immortal notes of the National Anthem. Fanny
once or twice caused some unpleasantness by endeavouring
to escape from the duty of receiving the equerries in
the evening. As soon as the Schwellenberg returned,
she was again thrown into the background. Destitute of
every attraction, yet constantly demanding notice, the
principal could not bear to see the least attention
bestowed on anyone else. ‘Apparently,’ says the Diary,
‘she never wishes to hear my voice but when we are tête-à-tête,
and then never is in good-humour when it is at
rest.’ When in company, she would sometimes talk
about a pair of tame frogs which she kept, and fall into
an ecstasy while describing ‘their ladder, their table, and
their amiable ways of snapping live flies.’ ‘And I can
make them croak when I will,’ she would say, ‘when I
only go so to my snuff-box—knock, knock, knock—they
croak all what I please.’ Rather to our surprise, we hear
of this lady being once engaged in reading: the author
was Josephus, ‘which is the only book in favour at
present, and serves for all occasions, and is quoted to
solve all difficulties.’ But the sole effectual mode of
amusing her, after the gentlemen had retired, was to join
her in a game at cards. Fanny disliked cards, and knew
little of trumps or honours; but to avert threatened
attacks of spasms, she was at length fain to waive her
objections, and learn piquet. When in the least crossed,
Mrs. Schwellenberg put no restraint on her temper,
language, or demeanour. If her servants kept her waiting
for her coach, she would talk of having them transported;
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
if Miss Burney spoke of taking tea with Mrs.
Delany, she would leave her unhelped at the dinner-table.
.fn 80
What induced Macaulay to describe this gentleman as ‘half-witted,’ we
are at a loss to conjecture. He possessed, as Miss Burney bears witness,
remarkable cleverness, extraordinary attainments and great powers of conversation.
.fn-
.fn 81
He had a wife to whom he was strongly attached.
.fn-
Such was la Présidente. More than once, Miss Burney
felt her ill-usage so intolerable that she was only held
back from resigning her appointment by reluctance to
mortify her father. The most violent dispute between
them occurred towards the end of November, 1787, when,
during a journey to town for a Drawing-Room, Mrs.
Schwellenberg had insisted upon keeping the window of
the carriage on her companion’s side open, though a sharp
wind was blowing, which before their arrival in London
set up an inflammation in poor Fanny’s eyes. The scene
on the journey back is thus described:
.pm start_quote
“The next day, when we assembled to return to
Windsor, Mr. de Luc was in real consternation at sight
of my eyes; and I saw an indignant glance at my coadjutrix,
that could scarce content itself without being
understood....
“Some business of Mrs. Schwellenberg’s occasioned a
delay of the journey, and we all retreated back; and
when I returned to my room, Miller, the old head housemaid,
came to me, with a little neat tin saucepan in her
hand, saying, ‘Pray, ma’am, use this for your eyes: ’tis
milk and butter, such as I used to make for Madame Haggerdorn
when she travelled in the winter with Mrs. Schwellenberg.’
“I really shuddered when she added, that all that poor
woman’s misfortunes with her eyes, which, from inflammation
after inflammation, grew nearly blind, were attributed
by herself to these journeys, in which she was
forced to have the glass down at her side in all weathers,
and frequently the glasses behind her also!
“Upon my word this account of my predecessor was
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
the least exhilarating intelligence I could receive! Goter
told me, afterwards, that all the servants in the house
had remarked I was going just the same way!
“Miss Planta presently ran into my room, to say she
had hopes we should travel without this amiable being;
and she had left me but a moment when Mrs. Stainforth
succeeded her, exclaiming, ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake, don’t
leave her behind; for Heaven’s sake, Miss Burney, take
her with you!’
“’Twas impossible not to laugh at these opposite
interests; both, from agony of fear, breaking through all
restraint.
“Soon after, however, we all assembled again, and got
into the coach. Mr. de Luc, who was my vis-à-vis,
instantly pulled up the glass.
“‘Put down that glass!’ was the immediate order.
“He affected not to hear her, and began conversing.
“She enraged quite tremendously, calling aloud to be
obeyed without delay. He looked compassionately at
me, and shrugged his shoulders, and said, ‘But,
ma’am——”
“‘Do it, Mr. de Luc, when I tell you! I will have it!
When you been too cold, you might bear it!’
“‘It is not for me, ma’am, but poor Miss Burney.’
“‘O, poor Miss Burney might bear it the same! put
it down, Mr. de Luc! without, I will get out! put it
down, when I tell you! It is my coach! I will have it
selfs! I might go alone in it, or with one, or with what
you call nobody, when I please!’
“Frightened for good Mr. de Luc, and the more for
being much obliged to him, I now interfered, and begged
him to let down the glass. Very reluctantly he complied,
and I leant back in the coach, and held up my muff to
my eyes.
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
“What a journey ensued! To see that face when
lighted up with fury is a sight for horror! I was glad to
exclude it by my muff.
“Miss Planta alone attempted to speak. I did not
think it incumbent on me to ‘make the agreeable,’ thus
used; I was therefore wholly dumb: for not a word, not
an apology, not one expression of being sorry for what I
suffered, was uttered. The most horrible ill-humour,
violence, and rudeness, were all that were shown. Mr.
de Luc was too much provoked to take his usual method
of passing all off by constant talk: and as I had never
seen him venture to appear provoked before, I felt a great
obligation to his kindness.
“When we were about half-way, we stopped to water
the horses. He then again pulled up the glass, as if
from absence. A voice of fury exclaimed, ‘Let it down!
without, I won’t go!’
“‘I am sure,’ cried he, ‘all Mrs. de Luc’s plants will
be killed by this frost!’
“For the frost was very severe indeed.
“Then he proposed my changing places with Miss
Planta, who sat opposite Mrs. Schwellenberg, and consequently
on the sheltered side.
“‘Yes!’ cried Mrs. Schwellenberg, ‘Miss Burney
might sit there, and so she ought!’
“I told her briefly I was always sick in riding backwards.
“‘Oh, ver well! when you don’t like it, don’t do it.
You might bear it when you like it! What did the poor
Haggerdorn bear it! when the blood was all running
down from her eyes!’
“This was too much! ‘I must take, then,’ I cried,
‘the more warning!’”
.pm end_quote
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
Even this quarrel blew over. Mrs. Schwellenberg[82] continued
to look black, and hurl thunderbolts, as long as
the peccant eyes remained inflamed, but as these gradually
grew well, her brows cleared and her incivility wore
off, till the sufferer became far more in favour than she had
ever presumed to think herself till that time. She was$1‘$2’$3at every other word; no one else was
listened to if she would speak, and no one else was
accepted for a partner at piquet if she would play.
Fanny found no cause to which she could attribute this
change, and believed the whole mere matter of caprice.
.fn 82
Croker was told by the Right Hon. Joseph Planta, on the authority of
Miss Planta, that Mrs. Schwellenberg was so despotic that she was better
served, and more attended to than the Queen herself. Her servant always
waited at the step of her door that she might not have to ring a bell; and a
very constant expression of hers was, that if such and such a thing was good
enough for her Majesty, it was not good enough for her.’—Jesse’s ‘George III.,’
vol. ii., App., p. 539.
.fn-
In the autumn of 1787, the newspapers began to make
frequent mention of Miss Burney’s name. Paragraphs
appeared regretting her long silence, and the employment
to which it was supposed to be attributable.[83] Fanny had
many regrets connected with her situation: she lamented
her dependence on her odious colleague; she lamented
the inferiority of most of her associates; she lamented
her separation from her old friends; but we have no
reason to think that she repined at the want of liberty to
print and publish. At least we cannot discover any
passage in her Diary indicating such a feeling. Presently
the paragraphs proceeded to mingle rumours
with regrets. The ‘World’ was informed that Miss
Burney ‘had resigned her place about the Queen, and
had been promoted to attend the Princesses, an office far
more suited to her character and abilities.’ Then followed
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
a contradiction. ‘The rumour of resignation was premature,
and only arose from thoughts of the benefit the
education of the Princesses might reap from Miss Burney’s
virtues and accomplishments.’ Such speculations made
it needful for their subject to explain herself to the Queen.
Fanny hastened to repudiate all participation in the idea
that it could be promotion to her to be transferred from
the service of her Majesty to that of the Princesses; she
disclaimed, with equal warmth, having the slightest wish
for such a transference. There can be no doubt that she
was perfectly sincere. The Queen, she felt, had some
regard for her, and she had a decided attachment to the
Queen. ‘Oh,’ she sighed, ‘were there no Mrs. Schwellenberg!’
.fn 83
‘I flatter myself you will never be royally gagged and promoted to fold
muslins, as has been lately wittily said on Miss Burney, in the List of five
hundred living authors.’—Walpole to Hannah More, July 12, 1788.
.fn-
One cannot help wondering if the question whether
some more worthy position at Court might not be found
for Miss Burney occurred to the Queen, or to herself, at
this interview. If such a thought did present itself, it
does not seem to have been mentioned by either. Fanny
had early conceived the notion that the Queen intended
to employ her as an English reader. She was not
altogether wrong. She had been occasionally called on
to read, but the result did not prove very satisfactory.
At the first trial her voice was quite unmanageable; when
she had concluded, the Queen talked of the Spectator she
had read, but forebore saying anything of any sort about
the reader. Of a subsequent attempt we have this record:
‘Again I read a little to the Queen—two Tatlers; both
happened to be very stupid; neither of them Addison’s,
and therefore reader and reading were much on a par:
for I cannot arrive at ease in this exhibition to her
Majesty; and where there is fear or constraint, how deficient,
if not faulty, is every performance!’ For the office
of preceptress to the Princesses she was even less fitted
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
than for that of reader to their mother. Probably Mrs.
Goldsworthy and Miss Planta were much better qualified
to instruct their young charges than Miss Burney would
have been. This may be confessed without the slightest
reflection on her extraordinary talents. She could afford
to have it known that her education had been neglected.
It was nothing that she had withdrawn rather ungraciously
from Johnson’s Latin lessons. It was little that
she did not understand a word of the German which the
Royal Family commonly spoke among themselves. Hardly
any Englishwomen in those days read Latin, or were
acquainted with the language of Goethe and Wieland.
But Miss Burney had not even a strong taste for reading.
At the height of her fame, her knowledge of ordinary
English authors was surprisingly limited. Queen Charlotte,
who read a good deal in French and English, as well as in
German, was disappointed by the scanty furniture of her
attendant’s book-shelves. And whenever her Majesty or
anyone else at Court mentioned any standard or current
work in her presence, it almost invariably happened that
she had not read it. One evening, Cowper’s ‘Task’ was
referred to, and she was asked if she knew the poem;
‘Only by character,’ was her answer. She had not even
that amount of acquaintance with Churchill’s Satires, the
very existence of which seems to have been unknown to
her. Akenside’s works she knew of only by some quotations
which she had heard from Mr. Locke. It may, perhaps,
be urged that Cowper was then quite a new writer,
and that the fame of Mark Akenside and Charles
Churchill, though bright when she was a child, had
become dim before she grew up. Well, then, take Goldsmith.
No poems were more popular than Oliver’s when
Fanny began to see the world in Martin’s Street; yet we
have her confession that she never read the ‘Traveller,’
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
or ‘The Deserted Village,’ till a friend made her a present
of them in 1790.[84] This being so, we cannot wonder that
she had never heard of Falconer’s ‘Shipwreck’ when
Colonel Digby produced a copy of that work. She appears
to have been barely aware of Cumberland’s ‘Observer,’ a
production in which she herself and most of her friends
were referred to, until the Queen read some passages to
her, and afterwards lent her the volumes. She had not
seen Hawkins’s ‘Life of Johnson’ when the King first
mentioned it to her, and ‘talked it over with great
candour and openness.’ Nor did she take much interest
in literary questions. The Scotch ballad of ‘The
Gaberlunzie Man,’ then lately printed in Germany, she
threw aside almost contemptuously, though it had been
lent her by the Queen. About Shakspeare her views
were those of a most loyal subject. She reads Hamlet
to Mrs. Delany, and this is her comment: ‘How noble
a play it is, considered in parts! how wild and how
improbable, taken as a whole! But there are speeches,
from time to time, of such exquisite beauty of language,
sentiment, and pathos, that I could wade through the
most thorny of roads to arrive at them.’ The Queen, as
Thackeray has observed, could give shrewd opinions
about books, and we suspect she presently learned to value
her second Robe-Keeper for her brightness of intelligence,
her powers of description, and her lively humour, rather
than for the solidity or the variety of her attainments.
.fn 84
‘Diary,’ vol. iii., p. 245.
.fn-
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII.
.pm start_summary
The Trial of Warren Hastings—Westminster Hall—Description of it on the
Opening Day of the Trial—Edmund Burke—The other Managers—Procession
of the Peers—Entrance of the Defendant—The Arraignment—Speech
of Lord Chancellor Thurlow—Reply of Warren Hastings—Opening of the
Trial—Mr. Windham—His Admiration of Dr. Johnson—His Reflections
on the Spectacle—Bearing of the Lord Chancellor—Windham on Hastings—William
Pitt—Major Scott—Conversation with Windham—Partisanship—Close
of the First Day’s Proceedings—Conference on it with the Queen—Another
Day at the Trial—Burke’s Great Speech—Resemblance between
Hastings and Windham—Fox’s Eloquence—Death of Mrs. Delany.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
On the 13th of February, 1788, began the trial of Warren
Hastings. Miss Burney was furnished by the Queen with
two tickets for the opening ceremony. She went accordingly,
accompanied by her brother Charles, and also by a
Miss Gomme, of whom she was commanded to undertake
the charge. We abridge her description of this great
spectacle. It should be premised that the zeal with
which she espoused the side of the defence was due not
solely to the favour shown to Mr. and Mrs. Hastings by
the Court, but in an equal degree, at least, to her own
personal friendship for the accused statesman and his
wife, with whom she had become acquainted before she
joined the royal service:
.pm start_quote
“We got to Westminster Hall between nine and ten
o’clock....
“The Grand Chamberlain’s Box is in the centre of the
upper end of the Hall: there we sat, Miss Gomme and
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
myself, immediately behind the chair placed for Sir Peter
Burrell. To the left, on the same level, were the green
benches for the House of Commons, which occupied a
third of the upper end of the Hall, and the whole of the
left side: to the right of us, on the same level, was the
Grand Chamberlain’s Gallery....
“The bottom of the Hall contained the Royal Family’s
Box and the Lord High Steward’s....
“A gallery also was run along the left side of the Hall,
above the green benches, which is called the Duke of
Newcastle’s Box, the centre of which was railed off into
a separate apartment for the reception of the Queen and
four eldest Princesses, who were then incog., not choosing
to appear in state, and in their own Box.
“In the middle of the floor was placed a large table,
and at the head of it the seat for the Chancellor, and
round it seats for the Judges, the Masters in Chancery,
the Clerks, and all who belonged to the Law; the upper
end, and the right side of the room, was allotted to the
Peers in their robes; the left side to the Bishops and
Archbishops.
“Immediately below the Great Box was
the place allotted for the Prisoner. On his right side was
a box for his own Counsel, on his left the Box for the
Managers, or Committee, for the Prosecution; and these
three most important of all the divisions in the Hall were
all directly adjoining to where I was seated....
“The business did not begin till near twelve o’clock.
The opening to the whole then took place, by the entrance
of the Managers of the Prosecution; all the company were
already long in their boxes or galleries.
“I shuddered, and drew involuntarily back, when, as
the doors were flung open, I saw Mr. Burke, as Head of
the Committee, make his solemn entry. He held a scroll
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
in his hand, and walked alone, his brow knit with corroding
care and deep labouring thought—a brow how different
to that which had proved so alluring to my warmest
admiration when first I met him! so highly as he had
been my favourite, so captivating as I had found his
manners and conversation in our first acquaintance, and
so much as I owed to his zeal and kindness to me and
my affairs in its progress! How did I grieve to behold
him now the cruel Prosecutor (such to me he appeared)
of an injured and innocent man!
“Mr. Fox followed next, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Windham,
Messrs. Anstruther, Grey, Adam, Michael Angelo Taylor,
Pelham, Colonel North, Mr. Frederick Montagu, Sir
Gilbert Elliot, General Burgoyne, Dudley Long, etc....
“When the Committee Box was filled, the House of
Commons at large took their seats on their green
benches....
“Then began the procession, the Clerks entering first,
then the Lawyers according to their rank, and the Peers,
Bishops, and Officers, all in their coronation robes; concluding
with the Princes of the Blood,—Prince William,
son to the Duke of Gloucester, coming first, then the
Dukes of Cumberland, Gloucester, and York, then the
Prince of Wales; and the whole ending by the Chancellor,
with his train borne.
“They then all took their seats.
“A Serjeant-at-Arms arose, and commanded silence....
“Then some other officer, in a loud voice, called out, as
well as I can recollect, words to this purpose:—‘Warren
Hastings, Esquire, come forth! Answer to the charges
brought against you; save your bail, or forfeit your
recognizance!’
“Indeed I trembled at these words, and hardly could
keep my place when I found Mr. Hastings was being
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
brought to the bar. He came forth from some place
immediately under the Great Chamberlain’s Box, and
was preceded by Sir Francis Molyneux, Usher of the
Black Rod; and at each side of him walked his Bails,
Messrs. Sullivan and Sumner.
“The moment he came in sight, which was not for full
ten minutes after his awful summons, he made a low bow
to the Chancellor and Court facing him. I saw not his
face, as he was directly under me. He moved on slowly,
and, I think, supported between his two Bails, to the
opening of his own Box; there, lower still, he bowed
again; and then, advancing to the bar, he leant his hands
upon it, and dropped on his knees; but a voice in the
same moment proclaiming he had leave to rise, he stood
up almost instantaneously, and a third time profoundly
bowed to the Court.
“What an awful moment this for such a man!—a man
fallen from such a height of power to a situation so humiliating—from
the almost unlimited command of so large a
part of the Eastern World to be cast at the feet of his
enemies, of the great tribunal of his country, and of the
nation at large, assembled thus in a body to try and to
judge him! Could even his prosecutors at that moment
look on—and not shudder at least, if they did not blush?
“The crier, I think it was, made, in a loud and hollow
voice, a public proclamation, ‘That Warren Hastings,
Esquire, late Governor-General of Bengal, was now on
his trial for high crimes and misdemeanours, with which
he was charged by the Commons of Great Britain; and
that all persons whatsoever who had aught to allege
against him were now to stand forth.’
“A general silence followed, and the Chancellor, Lord
Thurlow, now made his speech....
“Again Mr. Hastings made the lowest reverence to the
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
Court, and, leaning over the bar, answered, with much
agitation, through evident efforts to suppress it, ‘My
Lords—impressed—deeply impressed—I come before
your Lordships, equally confident in my own integrity,
and in the justice of the Court before which I am to
clear it.’...
“A general silence again ensued, and then one of the
lawyers opened the cause. He began by reading from
an immense roll of parchment the general charges against
Mr. Hastings, but he read in so monotonous a chant that
nothing else could I hear or understand than now and
then the name of Warren Hastings.
“During this reading, to which I vainly lent all my
attention, Mr. Hastings, finding it, I presume, equally
impossible to hear a word, began to cast his eyes around
the House, and having taken a survey of all in front and
at the sides, he turned about and looked up; pale looked
his face—pale, ill, and altered. I was much affected by
the sight of that dreadful harass which was written on
his countenance. Had I looked at him without restraint,
it could not have been without tears. I felt shocked, too,
shocked and ashamed, to be seen by him in that place.
I had wished to be present from an earnest interest in the
business, joined to firm confidence in his powers of
defence; but his eyes were not those I wished to meet in
Westminster Hall....
“Another lawyer now arose, and read so exactly in the
same manner, that it was utterly impossible to discover
even whether it was a charge or an answer.
“Such reading as this, you may well suppose, set everybody
pretty much at their ease; and but for the interest
I took in looking from time to time at Mr. Hastings, and
watching his countenance, I might as well have been
away. He seemed composed after the first half-hour, and
.bn 203.png
.pn +1
calm; but he looked with a species of indignant contempt
towards his accusers, that could not, I think, have been
worn had his defence been doubtful. Many there are
who fear for him; for me, I own myself wholly confident
in his acquittal....
“At length I was called by a ‘How d’ye do, Miss
Burney?’ from the Committee Box! And then I saw
young Mr. Burke, who had jumped up on the nearest
form to speak to me. Pleasant enough! I checked my
vexation as well as I was able, since the least shyness on
my part to those with whom formerly I had been social
must instantly have been attributed to Court influence;
and therefore, since I could not avoid the notice, I did
what I could to talk with him as heretofore. He is,
besides, so amiable a young man, that I could not be
sorry to see him again, though I regretted it should be
just in that place, and at this time....
“The moment I was able to withdraw from young Mr.
Burke, Charles, who sat behind me, leant down and told
me a gentleman had just desired to be presented to me.
“‘Who?’ quoth I.
“‘Mr. Windham,’ he answered.
“‘I really thought he was laughing, and answered accordingly;
but he assured me he was in earnest, and that Mr.
Windham had begged him to make the proposition.
What could I do? There was no refusing: yet a planned
meeting with another of the Committee, and one deep in
the prosecution, and from whom one of the hardest
charges has come—could anything be less pleasant as I
was then situated?
“The Great Chamberlain’s Box is the only part of the
hall that has any communication with either the Committee
Box or the House of Commons, and it is also the
very nearest to the prisoner. Mr. Windham I had seen
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
twice before—both times at Miss Monckton’s; and anywhere
else I should have been much gratified by his
desire of a third meeting, as he is one of the most agreeable,
spirited, well-bred, and brilliant conversers I have
ever spoken with. He is a neighbour, too, now, of
Charlotte’s. He is member for Norwich, and a man of
family and fortune, with a very pleasing, though not
handsome face, a very elegant figure, and an air of fashion
and vivacity....
“I was sorry to see him make one of a set that appeared
so inveterate against a man I believe so injuriously
treated; and my concern was founded upon the good
thoughts I had conceived of him, not merely from his
social talents, which are yet very uncommon, but from a
reason dearer to my remembrance. He loved Dr. Johnson—and
Dr. Johnson returned his affection. Their
political principles and connexions were opposite, but
Mr. Windham respected his venerable friend too highly
to discuss any points that could offend him; and showed
for him so true a regard, that, during all his late illnesses,
for the latter part of his life, his carriage and himself were
alike at his service, to air, visit, or go out, whenever he
was disposed to accept them.
“Nor was this all; one tender proof he gave of warm
and generous regard, that I can never forget, and that
rose instantly to my mind when I heard his name, and
gave him a welcome in my eyes when they met his face.
It is this: Dr. Johnson, in his last visit to Lichfield, was
taken ill, and waited to recover strength for travelling
back to town in his usual vehicle, a stage-coach. As soon
as this reached the ears of Mr. Windham, he set off for
Lichfield in his own carriage, to offer to bring him back
to town in it, and at his own time....
“Charles soon told me he was at my elbow....
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
“After the first compliments he looked around him,
and exclaimed, ‘What an assembly is this! How striking
a spectacle! I had not seen half its splendour down
there. You have it here to great advantage; you lose
some of the Lords, but you gain all the Ladies. You
have a very good place here.’
“‘Yes; and I may safely say I make a very impartial
use of it: for since here I have sat, I have never discovered
to which side I have been listening!’
“He laughed, but told me they were then running
through the charges.
“‘And is it essential,’ cried I, ‘that they should so
run them through that nobody can understand them? Is
that a form of law?’
“He agreed to the absurdity; and then, looking still at
the spectacle, which indeed is the most splendid I ever
saw, arrested his eyes upon the Chancellor. ‘He looks
very well from hence,’ cried he; ‘and how well he acquits
himself on these solemn occasions! With what dignity,
what loftiness, what high propriety, he comports himself!’...
“Suddenly, his eye dropped down upon poor Mr. Hastings:
the expression of his face instantly lost the gaiety
and ease with which it had addressed me; he stopped
short in his remarks; he fixed his eyes steadfastly on this
new, and but too interesting object, and after viewing
him some time in a sort of earnest silence, he suddenly
exclaimed, as if speaking to himself, and from an impulse
irresistible—‘What a sight is that! to see that man, that
small portion of human clay, that poor feeble machine of
earth, enclosed now in that little space, brought to that
Bar, a prisoner in a spot six foot square—and to reflect on
his late power! Nations at his command! Princes
prostrate at his feet!—What a change! how must he feel
it!——’
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
“He stopped, and I said not a word. I was glad to see
him thus impressed; I hoped it might soften his enmity.
I found, by his manner, that he had never, from the
Committee Box, looked at him....
“Recovering, now, from the strong emotion with which
the sight of Mr. Hastings had filled him, he looked again
around the Court, and pointed out several of the principal
characters present, with arch and striking remarks upon
each of them, all uttered with high spirit, but none with
ill-nature.
“‘Pitt,’ cried he, ‘is not here!—a noble stroke that
for the annals of his administration! A trial is brought
on by the whole House of Commons in a body, and he is
absent at the very opening! However,’ added he, with
a very meaning laugh, ‘I’m glad of it, for ’tis to his
eternal disgrace!’
“Mercy! thought I, what a friend to kindness is
party!
“‘Do you see Scott?’ cried he.
“‘No, I never saw him; pray show him me.’
“‘There he is, in green; just now by the Speaker, now
moved by the Committee; in two minutes more he will
be somewhere else, skipping backwards and forwards;
what a grasshopper it is!’
“‘I cannot look at him,’ cried I, ‘without recollecting
a very extraordinary letter from him, that I read last
summer in the newspaper, where he answers some attack
that he says has been made upon him, because the term
is used of “a very insignificant fellow;” and he printed
two or three letters in the Public Advertiser, in following
days, to prove, with great care and pains, that he knew it
was all meant as an abuse of himself, from those words!’
“‘And what,’ cried he, laughing, ‘do you say to that
notion now you see him?’
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
“‘That no one,’ cried I, examining him with my glass,
‘can possibly dispute his claim!’
“What pity that Mr. Hastings should have trusted his
cause to so frivolous an agent! I believe, and indeed it
is the general belief, both of foes and friends, that to his
officious and injudicious zeal the present prosecution is
wholly owing.”
.pm end_quote
A long conversation—or rather several conversations,
for the talk was interrupted more than once—ensued, in
the course of which Miss Burney, much to the astonishment
of Windham, who knew her friendship for Burke,
declared herself a partisan of Hastings, while at the same
time she admitted that she knew nothing of the merits of
the case—had not even read the charges against the late
Governor-General. “I had afterwards,” she writes, “to
relate a great part of this to the Queen herself. She saw
me engaged in such close discourse, and with such
apparent interest on both sides, with Mr. Windham, that
I knew she must else form conjectures innumerable. So
candid, so liberal is the mind of the Queen, that she not
only heard me with the most favourable attention towards
Mr. Windham, but was herself touched even to tears by
the relation. We stayed but a short time after this last
conference; for nothing more was attempted than reading
over the charges and answers, in the same useless manner.”
Miss Burney went again to Westminster Hall on the
second day of Burke’s opening speech:
.pm start_quote
“All I had heard of his eloquence, and all I had conceived
of his great abilities, was more than answered by
his performance. Nervous, clear, and striking was almost
all that he uttered: the main business, indeed, of his
coming forth was frequently neglected, and not seldom
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
wholly lost; but his excursions were so fanciful, so entertaining,
and so ingenious, that no miscellaneous hearer,
like myself, could blame them. It is true he was unequal,
but his inequality produced an effect which, in so long a
speech, was perhaps preferable to greater consistency,
since, though it lost attention in its falling off, it recovered
it with additional energy by some ascent unexpected and
wonderful. When he narrated, he was easy, flowing, and
natural; when he declaimed, energetic, warm, and brilliant.
The sentiments he interspersed were as nobly conceived
as they were highly coloured; his satire had a poignancy
of wit that made it as entertaining as it was penetrating;
his allusions and quotations, as far as they were English
and within my reach, were apt and ingenious; and the
wild and sudden flights of his fancy, bursting forth from
his creative imagination in language fluent, forcible, and
varied, had a charm for my ear and my attention wholly
new and perfectly irresistible.”
.pm end_quote
She was again visited in her box by Windham, who, on
Hastings happening to look up, remarked that he did not
like his countenance. “I could have told him,” says
Fanny, “that he is reckoned extremely like himself; but
after such an observation I would not venture, and only
said: ‘Indeed, he is extremely altered: it was not so he
looked when I conceived for him that prepossession I
have owned to you.’” The Queen’s reporter, for such
she was, attended a third time on the day after the
Lords had enraged the Managers by deciding that
they must complete their case upon all the charges
before the accused was called on for any defence. She
heard Mr. Fox speak for five hours with a violence
that did not make her forget what she was told of his
being in a fury. His eloquence was not nearly so much
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
to her taste as Burke’s. Fox’s countenance struck her as
hard and callous; his violence, she thought, had that sort
of monotony that seemed to result from its being factitious,
and she felt less pardon for that than for any extravagance
in Mr. Burke, whose excesses seemed at least to be unaffected
and sincere. Mr. Fox appeared to her to have no
such excuse; ‘he looked all good-humour and negligent
ease the instant before he began a speech of uninterrupted
passion and vehemence, and he wore the same careless
and disengaged air the very instant he had finished.’
After other attendances at the trial, Miss Burney’s mind
was withdrawn from the subject in which she took so
much interest by the last illness and death of Mrs.
Delany. The old lady, who died on the 15th of April,
1788, left some small remembrances to the friend whose
companionship had soothed her latter days.
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII.
.pm start_summary
The King’s Health—Royal Visit to Cheltenham—Excursions—Robert Raikes—Colonel
Digby—The Duke of York—The Court attends the Musical
Festival at Worcester—Return to Windsor—M. de Lalande, the Astronomer—His
Compliments—His Volubility—Illness of the King—The King grows
worse—‘The Queen is my Physician’—Alarm and Agitation—Grief of the
Queen—The King Insane—Arrival of the Prince of Wales—Paroxysm of the
King at Dinner—The Queen Ill—The Physicians—The Royal Pair separated—The
Prince takes the Government at the Palace—Prayers for the King’s
Recovery—The King and his Equerries—Sir Lucas Pepys—A Privy Council—Preparations
for leaving Windsor—Departure for Kew—Mournful Spectacle—Mrs.
Schwellenberg arrives.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
For many years George III. had enjoyed unbroken good
health. ‘The King,’ wrote a well-informed gossipper[85]
in January, 1788, ‘walks twelve miles on his way from
Windsor to London, which is more than the Prince of
Wales can do.’ Early in June, however, his Majesty was
disturbed by passing symptoms, which proved to be fore-runners
of an illness famous in English history. The
complaint, in its first stage, was called a bilious attack;
and when the patient appeared to have thrown it off, he
was advised by his physician to drink the waters at
Cheltenham for a month, in order to complete his recovery.
On June 8, the King sent his old friend Dr.
Hurd, Bishop of Worcester, a letter, in which he announced
his intended journey into Gloucestershire; and,
at the same time, proposed to enlarge his excursion by
paying a visit to Hartlebury, and afterwards attending the
Festival of the Three Choirs, which that year was to be
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
held at Worcester. His Majesty went on to say that, as
feeding the hungry was a Christian duty, he should expect
his correspondent, while welcoming the sovereign to his
cathedral city, to provide some cold meat for his refreshment.
.fn 85
Mr. Storer, the friend of George Selwyn.
.fn-
The hearty old English gentleman, in fact, was minded
to enjoy his holiday in the homely way that pleased him
best. On July 12, the Court travelled from Windsor to
Cheltenham, where Bays Hill Lodge, a seat of the Earl
of Fauconberg, situated just outside the town, had been
engaged for the royal party. The Lodge was so small
that their Majesties, with the three eldest Princesses
who accompanied them, could only be housed there at a
considerable sacrifice of state and ceremony. No bed
could be provided within its walls for any male person
but the King. The female attendants on the Queen and
her daughters were limited to one lady-in-waiting, Miss
Burney, Miss Planta, and the wardrobe women.
‘Is this little room for your Majesty?’ exclaimed Fanny,
in astonishment.
‘Stay till you see your own,’ retorted the Queen, laughing,
‘before you call this little.’
Colonel Gwynn, the King’s equerry, and Colonel Digby,
the Queen’s vice-chamberlain, slept in a house at some
distance. The Queen consented to dine with these
officers, though until then the German etiquette in which
she was trained had prevented her from sitting at table
with men of much higher rank.
During his stay at Cheltenham, the King drank the
waters at six o’clock every morning, and afterwards took
exercise in the ‘Walks.’ This parade was conducted in
the same manner as the terracing at Windsor. The King
led the way, with the Queen leaning on his arm; the
Princesses followed them; and the equerry brought up
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
the rear. The unaccustomed spectacle drew crowds from
the town and the country round, causing at first a good
deal of inconvenience, which the King bore with his
usual good-nature. In the course of July, he made excursions
with his family to several places of interest in
the neighbourhood: to Oakley Grove, the seat of Lord
Bathurst, patron of Pope and Prior, and friend of Bolingbroke
and Atterbury; to the Abbey Church of Tewkesbury;
to Gloucester Cathedral; to Croome Court, the
abode of Lord Coventry and his beautiful Countess.
Miss Burney and Miss Planta were not of the suite on
these expeditions, and altogether enjoyed much more
liberty than fell to their lot at Windsor or Kew. Sometimes
they amused themselves by making little excursions
on their own account. On the day of the royal visit to
Oakley Grove, they went over to Gloucester, where Miss
Planta had an acquaintance in the person of the philanthropic
printer, Robert Raikes, still remembered as the
originator of Sunday-schools. Mr. Raikes felt himself a
man of importance; he had been invited to Windsor,
and had had the honour of a long conversation with the
Queen. Apparently the notice taken of him had left
traces on his manner. ‘He is somewhat too flourishing,’
Fanny whispered to her Diary, ‘somewhat too forward,
somewhat too voluble; but he is worthy, benevolent,
good-natured, and good-hearted, and therefore the over-flowings
of successful spirits and delighted vanity must
meet with some allowance.’ Bating this little self-complacency,
the good man proved himself a capital host and
guide, entertaining the royal attendants in a handsome
and painstaking manner, which obtained their warm
acknowledgments.
But Miss Burney beguiled her leisure principally in
improving her acquaintance with Colonel Digby, who
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
paid her marked attention during their attendance at
the Gloucestershire watering-place. This courteous, insinuating
colonel suited her taste far better than the
more soldier-like equerries whom she met at Court. She
had conceived a decided inclination for him from the
moment of his first introduction to her. ‘He is a man,’
she then wrote, ‘of the most scrupulous good-breeding;
diffident, gentle, and sentimental in his conversation, and
assiduously attentive in his manners.’ He had now the
additional recommendation that belongs to a widower
grieving over joys departed, yet not despairing of consolation.
In this state of mind, he neglected no opportunity
of making himself agreeable to a lady whose
disposition was so congenial to his own. Even a fit of
the gout, which detained him from his official duties,
could not prevent him from limping over to the Lodge to
sit with Miss Burney. They talked of many things, but
chiefly of books, of the affections, of happiness, and of
religion. The famous authoress astonished her admirer
not a little by the discovery she was fain to make of
the many books she had never yet read. Her candour
encouraged him to produce his own stores of literature,
which were much more extensive than hers. This pensive
gentleman, we need scarcely say, was addicted to reciting
poetry and passages of pious sentiment. One line
especially, which was often in his mouth, about ‘the
chastity of silent woe,’ Fanny found peculiarly beautiful,
though it might have reminded her of the Irish Commissary
whom she had met at Brighton. Very soon quotations
were succeeded by readings. The pair studied
together Akenside’s poems, Falconer’s ‘Shipwreck,’ Carr’s
Sermons, and a work[86] entitled ‘Original Love-Letters,’
with which we own ourselves unacquainted. Presently,
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
however, as the air of Cheltenham did not appear to suit
the Colonel’s gout, he began to think of taking leave of
absence.
.fn 86
By William Combe [1741-1823
.fn-, author of ‘Doctor Syntax.’]
A visit from the Duke of York was expected while the
Court was at Cheltenham. So eager was the King for
the society of this his favourite son, that he caused a
portable wooden house to be moved from the further end
of the town, and joined on to Bays Hill Lodge, for the
reception of the Prince and his attendants. The work
consumed much time and money, but the fond father was
bent on lodging his Frederick close to himself. All this
care and affection met with the too familiar return. The
Duke arrived on August 1, according to his appointment;
and Miss Burney describes the King’s joy as only
less extreme than the transport he had shown when, a year
before, she had seen the darling appear at Windsor after
long absence in Germany. But the Prince, so much
looked for, would remain no more than a single night.
Military business, he declared, required him to be in
London by the next day but one, which was Sunday;
however, he would travel all Saturday night that he might
be able to spend a second evening with his parents. ‘I
wonder,’ cried Colonel Digby, with the sententious propriety
which charmed our Fanny, ‘how these Princes,
who are thus forced to steal even their travelling from
their sleep, find time to say their prayers!’
On August 5 the Court visited Worcester for the purpose
of attending the Musical Festival. When the royal
cortége stopped at the Bishop’s palace, “the King had an
huzza that seemed to vibrate through the whole town,
the Princess Royal’s carriage had a second, and the
equerries a third. The mob then,” proceeds the Diary,
“as ours drew on in succession, seemed to deliberate
whether or not we also should have a cheer; but one of
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
them soon decided the matter by calling out, ‘These are
the maids of honour!’ and immediately gave us an huzza
that made us quite ashamed.” The opening performance
of the Festival next morning did not much gratify the
historian. ‘It was very long and intolerably tedious,
consisting of Handel’s gravest pieces and fullest choruses,
and concluding with a sermon, concerning the institution
of the charity, preached by Dr. Langhorne.’[87] A second
morning performance to which she went did not strike
her more favourably. One of the evening concerts she
liked better. Of another she observes that it ‘was very
Handelian, though not exclusively so.’
.fn 87
The writer and translator, 1735-1799.
.fn-
At the close of the Festival the royal party and their
suite returned to Cheltenham. On the same evening
Colonel Digby took his departure, ‘leaving me,’ says
Fanny, ‘firmly impressed with a belief that I shall find
in him a true, an honourable, and even an affectionate
friend for life.’ Next day an express came from him with
a letter for Miss Burney, begging her to inform the Queen
that the Mastership of St. Katharine’s Hospital, which
was in her Majesty’s gift, had just become void by the
death of the occupant. In a few more days it was announced
that the vacant appointment had been conferred
on Mr. Digby.
By August 16, the Court was again established at
Windsor, and a rumour began to circulate of the Colonel’s
gallantry at Cheltenham, mingled with a second rumour
of his being then confined by gout at a house where lived
Miss Gunning, for whom he had been supposed to have
an admiration. Both reports were disregarded by Mrs.
Schwellenberg’s assistant, who could think of nothing but
the change from the pleasant society which she had lately
enjoyed to the arrogance, the contentiousness, the presuming
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
ignorance, that assailed her in the hated dining-room
at the Queen’s Lodge. ‘What scales,’ she wrote,
‘could have held and weighed the heart of F. B. as she
drove past the door of her revered lost comforter, to enter
the apartment inhabited by such qualities!’
One strange visitor, however, she had at starting,
who provided her with some little amusement:
.pm start_quote
“August 18th.—Well, now I have a new personage to
introduce to you, and no small one; ask else the stars,
moon and planets! While I was surrounded with band-boxes,
and unpacking, Dr. Shepherd[88] was announced.
Eager to make his compliments on the safe return, he
forced a passage through the back avenues and stairs, for
he told me he did not like being seen coming to me at the
front door, as it might create some jealousies amongst the
other Canons! A very commendable circumspection! but
whether for my sake or his own he did not particularize.
.fn 88
One of the Canons of Windsor.
.fn-
“M. de Lalande, he said, the famous astronomer, was
just arrived in England, and now at Windsor, and he had
expressed a desire to be introduced to me....
“His business was to settle bringing M. de Lalande to
see me in the evening. I told him I was much honoured,
and so forth, but that I received no evening company, as
I was officially engaged. He had made the appointment,
he said, and could not break it, without affronting him;
besides, he gave me to understand it would be an honour to
me for ever to be visited by so great an astronomer....
“In the midst of tea, with a room full of people, I was
called out to Dr. Shepherd!... I hurried into the next
room, where I found him with his friend, M. de Lalande.
What a reception awaited me! how unexpected a one
from a famed and great astronomer! M. de Lalande
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
advanced to meet me—I will not be quite positive it was
on tiptoe, but certainly with a mixture of jerk and strut
that could not be quite flat-footed. He kissed his hand
with the air of a petit maître, and then broke forth into
such an harangue of Eloges, so solemn with regard to its
own weight and importance, and so fade with respect to
the little personage addressed, that I could not help
thinking it lucky for the planets, stars, and sun, they
were not bound to hear his comments, though obliged
to undergo his calculations.
“On my part sundry profound reverences with now and
then an ‘Oh, monsieur!’ or ‘c’est trop d’honneur,’ acquitted
me so well, that the first harangue being finished, on the
score of general and grand reputation, Eloge the second
began, on the excellence with which ‘cette célèbre demoiselle’
spoke French!
“This may surprise you, my dear friends; but you must
consider M. de Lalande is a great discoverer.
“Well, but had you seen Dr. Shepherd! he looked lost
in sleek delight and wonder, that a person to whom he
had introduced M. de Lalande should be an object for
such fine speeches.
“This gentleman’s figure, meanwhile, corresponds no
better with his discourse than his scientific profession, for
he is an ugly little wrinkled old man, with a fine showy
waistcoat, rich lace ruffles, and the grimaces of a dentist.
I believe he chose to display that a Frenchman of science
could be also a man of gallantry.
“I was seated between them, but the good doctor made
no greater interruption to the florid professor than I did
myself: he only grinned applause, with placid, but ineffable
satisfaction.
“Nothing therefore intervening, Eloge the third followed,
after a pause no longer than might be necessary for due
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
admiration of Eloge the second. This had for sujet the
fair female sex; how the ladies were now all improved;
how they could write, and read, and spell; how a man
nowadays might talk with them and be understood, and
how delightful it was to see such pretty creatures turned
rational!
“And all this, of course, interspersed with particular observations
and most pointed applications; nor was there
in the whole string of compliments which made up the
three bouquets, one single one amongst them that might
have disgraced any petit maître to utter, or any petite
maîtresse to hear.
“The third being ended, a rather longer pause ensued.
I believe he was dry, but I offered him no tea. I would
not voluntarily be accessory to detaining such great
personages from higher avocations. I wished him next
to go and study the stars; from the moon he seemed so
lately arrived there was little occasion for another journey.
“I flatter myself he was of the same opinion, for the
fourth Eloge was all upon his unhappiness in tearing himself
away from so much merit, and ended in as many
bows as had accompanied his entrance.
“I suppose, in going, he said, with a shrug, to the
Canon, ‘M. le Docteur, c’est bien gênant, mais il faut dire des
jolies choses aux dames!’
“He was going the next day to see Dr. Maskelyne’s[89]
Observatory. Well! I have had him first in mine!”
.pm end_quote
.fn 89
Dr. Maskelyne (1732-1811) was Astronomer Royal at the time.
.fn-
The King, at his return to Windsor, appeared to be restored
to his usual health. In less than two months, however,
he was again out of order. We give the most
noteworthy passage in Miss Burney’s account of his
subsequent illness as it fell under her observation. She
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
was doing double duty at this time, in the absence of
Mrs. Schwellenberg, who had gone to Weymouth for her
health. The Court was at Kew when the first apprehensions
arose:
.pm start_quote
“October 17th.—Our return to Windsor is postponed
till to-morrow. The King is not well; he has not been
quite well some time, yet nothing I hope alarming,
though there is an uncertainty as to his complaint not
very satisfactory.
“19TH.—The Windsor journey is again postponed, and
the King is but very indifferent. Heaven preserve him!
there is something unspeakably alarming in his smallest
indisposition. I am very much with the Queen, who, I
see, is very uneasy, but she talks not of it.
“20TH.—The King was taken very ill in the night, and
we have all been cruelly frightened; but it went off, and,
thank Heaven! he is now better.
“25TH.—The King was so much better, that our
Windsor journey at length took place, with permission of
Sir George Baker,[90] the only physician his Majesty will
admit.
.fn 90
Physician in Ordinary to the King: born 1722; died 1809.
.fn-
“I had a sort of conference with his Majesty, or rather
I was the object to whom he spoke, with a manner so uncommon,
that a high fever alone could account for it; a
rapidity, a hoarseness of voice, a volubility, an earnestness—a
vehemence, rather—it startled me inexpressibly,
yet with a graciousness exceeding all I ever met with
before—it was almost kindness! Heaven—Heaven preserve
him! The Queen grows more and more uneasy.
She alarms me sometimes for herself; at other times she
has a sedateness that wonders me still more.
“Sunday, Oct. 26th.—The King was prevailed upon
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
not to go to chapel this morning. I met him in the
passage from the Queen’s room; he stopped me, and
conversed upon his health near half an hour, still with
that extreme quickness of speech and manner that belongs
to fever; and he hardly sleeps, he tells me, one minute all
night; indeed, if he recovers not his rest, a most delirious
fever seems to threaten him. He is all agitation, all
emotion, yet all benevolence and goodness, even to a
degree that makes it touching to hear him speak. He
assures everybody of his health; he seems only fearful to
give uneasiness to others, yet certainly he is better than
last night. Nobody speaks of his illness, nor what they
think of it.
“November 1st.—Our King does not advance in amendment;
he grows so weak that he walks like a gouty man,
yet has such spirits that he has talked away his voice,
and is so hoarse it is painful to hear him. The Queen
is evidently in great uneasiness. God send him
better!...
“During the reading this morning, twice, at pathetic
passages, my poor Queen shed tears. ‘How nervous I
am!’ she cried; ‘I am quite a fool! Don’t you think
so?’
ma’am!’ was all I dared answer.
“The King was hunting. Her anxiety for his return
was greater than ever. The moment he arrived he sent
a page to desire to have coffee and take his bark in the
Queen’s dressing-room. She said she would pour it out
herself, and sent to inquire how he drank it.
“The King is very sensible of the great change there is
in himself, and of her disturbance at it. It seems, but
Heaven avert it! a threat of a total breaking up of the
constitution. This, too, seems his own idea. I was
present at his first seeing Lady Effingham on his return
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
to Windsor this last time. ‘My dear Effy,’ he cried,
‘you see me, all at once, an old man.’
“I was so much affected by this exclamation, that I
wished to run out of the room. Yet I could not but
recover when Lady Effingham, in her well-meaning but
literal way, composedly answered, ‘We must all grow
old, sir; I am sure I do.’
“He then produced a walking-stick which he had just
ordered. ‘He could not,’ he said, ‘get on without it;
his strength seemed diminishing hourly.’
“He took the bark, he said; ‘but the Queen’ he cried,
‘is my physician, and no man need have a better; she is
my Friend, and no man can have a better.’
“How the Queen commanded herself I cannot conceive....
Nor can I ever forget him in what passed this
night. When I came to the Queen’s dressing-room he
was still with her. He constantly conducts her to it
before he retires to his own. He was begging her not to
speak to him when he got to his room, that he might fall
asleep, as he felt great want of that refreshment. He repeated
this desire, I believe, at least a hundred times,
though, far enough from needing it, the poor Queen never
uttered one syllable; He then applied to me, saying he
was really very well, except in that one particular, that
he could not sleep....
“3RD.—We are all here in a most uneasy state. The
King is better and worse so frequently, and changes so,
daily, backwards and forwards, that everything is to be
apprehended, if his nerves are not some way quieted. I
dreadfully fear he is on the eve of some severe fever.
The Queen is almost overpowered with some secret
terror. I am affected beyond all expression in her
presence, to see what struggles she makes to support
serenity. To-day she gave up the conflict when I was
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
alone with her, and burst into a violent fit of tears. It
was very, very terrible to see!...
“5TH.—I found my poor Royal Mistress, in the morning,
sad and sadder still; something horrible seemed impending....
“I was still wholly unsuspicious of the greatness of the
cause she had for dread. Illness, a breaking up of the
constitution, the payment of sudden infirmity and premature
old age for the waste of unguarded health and strength—these
seemed to me the threats awaiting her; and great
and grievous enough, yet how short of the fact!...
“At noon the King went out in his chaise, with the
Princess Royal, for an airing. I looked from my window
to see him; he was all smiling benignity, but gave so
many orders to the postilions, and got in and out of the
carriage twice, with such agitation, that again my fear of
a great fever hanging over him grew more and more
powerful. Alas! how little did I imagine I should see
him no more for so long—so black a period!
“When I went to my poor Queen, still worse and worse
I found her spirits....
“The Princess Royal soon returned. She came in
cheerfully, and gave, in German, a history of the airing,
and one that seemed comforting.
“Soon after, suddenly arrived the Prince of Wales. He
came into the room. He had just quitted Brighthelmstone.
Something passing within seemed to render this
meeting awfully distant on both sides. She asked if he
should not return to Brighthelmstone? He answered
yes, the next day. He desired to speak with her; they
retired together....
“Only Miss Planta dined with me. We were both
nearly silent: I was shocked at I scarcely knew what,
and she seemed to know too much for speech. She
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
stayed with me till six o’clock, but nothing passed,
beyond general solicitude that the King might get better.
“Meanwhile, a stillness the most uncommon reigned
over the whole house. Nobody stirred; not a voice was
heard; not a motion. I could do nothing but watch,
without knowing for what: there seemed a strangeness in
the house most extraordinary.
“At seven o’clock Columb came to tell me that the
music was all forbid, and the musicians ordered away!
“This was the last step to be expected, so fond as his
Majesty is of his concert, and I thought it might have
rather soothed him: I could not understand the prohibition;
all seemed stranger and stranger.”
.pm end_quote
One after another, the usual evening visitors made
their appearance. First the equerries, and then Colonel
Digby, who had reached the palace that afternoon, came
in to tea. “Various small speeches now dropped, by
which I found the house was all in disturbance, and the
King in some strange way worse, and the Queen taken
ill!” Presently the whole truth was divulged. “The
King, at dinner, had broken forth into positive delirium,
which long had been menacing all who saw him most
closely; and the Queen was so overpowered as to fall
into violent hysterics. All the Princesses were in misery,
and the Prince of Wales had burst into tears. No one
knew what was to follow—no one could conjecture the
event.”
At ten o’clock, Miss Burney went to her own room to
be in readiness for her usual summons to the Queen:
.pm start_quote
“Two long hours I waited—alone, in silence, in ignorance,
in dread! I thought they would never be over; at
twelve o’clock I seemed to have spent two whole days in
waiting.... I then opened my door, to listen, in the passage,
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
if anything seemed stirring. Not a sound could I hear.
My apartment seemed wholly separated from life and
motion. Whoever was in the house kept at the other
end, and not even a servant crossed the stairs or passage
by my rooms.
“I would fain have crept on myself, anywhere in the
world, for some inquiry, or to see but a face, and hear a
voice, but I did not dare risk losing a sudden summons.
“I re-entered my room, and there passed another endless
hour, in conjectures too horrible to relate.
“A little after one, I heard a step—my door opened—and
a page said I must come to the Queen.
“I could hardly get along—hardly force myself into the
room; dizzy I felt, almost to falling. But the first shock
passed, I became more collected. Useful, indeed, proved
the previous lesson of the evening: it had stilled, if not
mortified my mind, which had else, in a scene such as
this, been all tumult and emotion.
“My poor Royal Mistress! never can I forget her
countenance—pale, ghastly pale she looked; she was
seated to be undressed, and attended by Lady Elizabeth
Waldegrave and Miss Goldsworthy; her whole frame was
disordered, yet she was still and quiet.
“These two ladies assisted me to undress her, or rather
I assisted them, for they were firmer, from being longer
present; my shaking hands and blinded eyes could scarce
be of any use.
“I gave her some camphor julep, which had been
ordered her by Sir George Baker. ‘How cold I am!’
she cried, and put her hand on mine; marble it felt! and
went to my heart’s core!
“The King, at the instance of Sir George Baker, had
consented to sleep in the next apartment, as the Queen
was ill. For himself, he would listen to nothing. Accordingly,
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
a bed was put up for him, by his own order, in
the Queen’s second dressing-room, immediately adjoining
to the bedroom. He would not be further removed. Miss
Goldsworthy was to sit up with her, by the King’s
direction.
“I would fain have remained in the little dressing-room,
on the other side the bedroom, but she would not permit
it.... I went to bed, determined to preserve my
strength to the utmost of my ability, for the service of
my unhappy mistress. I could not, however, sleep. I do
not suppose an eye was closed in the house all night.
“6TH.—I rose at six, dressed in haste by candle-light,
and unable to wait for my summons in a suspense so
awful, I stole along the passage in the dark, a thick fog
intercepting all faint light, to see if I could meet with
Sandys,[91] or anyone, to tell me how the night had passed.
“When I came to the little dressing-room, I stopped,
irresolute what to do. I heard men’s voices; I was
seized with the most cruel alarm at such a sound in her
Majesty’s dressing-room. I waited some time, and then
the door opened, and I saw Colonel Goldsworthy and Mr.
Batterscomb. I was relieved from my first apprehension,
yet shocked enough to see them there at this early hour.
They had both sat up there all night, as well as Sandys.
Every page, both of the King and Queen, had also sat up,
dispersed in the passages and ante-rooms; and oh, what
horror in every face I met!
“I waited here, amongst them, till Sandys was ordered
by the Queen to carry her a pair of gloves. I could not
resist the opportunity to venture myself before her. I
glided into the room, but stopped at the door: she was
in bed, sitting up; Miss Goldsworthy was on a stool by
her side!
.fn 91
Wardrobe-woman to the Queen.
.fn-
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
“I feared approaching without permission, yet could
not prevail with myself to retreat. She was looking
down, and did not see me. Miss Goldsworthy, turning
round, said, ‘’Tis Miss Burney, ma’am.’
“She leaned her head forward, and in a most soft
manner, said, ‘Miss Burney, how are you?’
“Deeply affected, I hastened up to her; but, in trying
to speak, burst into an irresistible torrent of tears.
“My dearest friends, I do it at this moment again, and
can hardly write for them; yet I wish you to know all
this piercing history right.
“She looked like death—colourless and wan; but nature
is infectious; the tears gushed from her own eyes, and a
perfect agony of weeping ensued, which, once begun, she
could not stop; she did not, indeed, try; for when it
subsided, and she wiped her eyes, she said, ‘I thank you,
Miss Burney—you have made me cry; it is a great relief to
me—I had not been able to cry before, all this night long.’
“Oh, what a scene followed! what a scene was related!
The King, in the middle of the night, had insisted upon
seeing if his Queen was not removed from the house;
and he had come into her room, with a candle in his
hand, opened the bed-curtains, and satisfied himself she
was there, and Miss Goldsworthy by her side. This
observance of his directions had much soothed him; but
he stayed a full half-hour, and the depth of terror during
that time no words can paint. The fear of such another
entrance was now so strongly upon the nerves of the poor
Queen that she could hardly support herself.
“The King—the royal sufferer—was still in the next
room, attended by Sir George Baker and Dr. Heberden,[92]
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
and his pages, with Colonel Goldsworthy occasionally,
and as he called for him. He kept talking unceasingly;
his voice was so lost in hoarseness and weakness, it was
rendered almost inarticulate; but its tone was still all
benevolence—all kindness—all touching graciousness.
.fn 92
William Heberden. Born in 1710; Fellow of St. John’s College, Cambridge;
practised medicine at Cambridge; removed to London in 1748; wrote
‘Medical Commentaries;’ passed the later years of his life at Windsor, where
he died in 1801.
.fn-
“It was thought advisable the Queen should not rise,
lest the King should be offended that she did not go to
him; at present he was content, because he conceived
her to be nursing for her illness.
“But what a situation for her! She would not let me
leave her now; she ... frequently bid me listen, to hear
what the King was saying or doing. I did, and carried
the best accounts I could manage, without deviating from
truth, except by some omissions. Nothing could be so
afflicting as this task; even now, it brings fresh to my
ear his poor exhausted voice. ‘I am nervous,’ he cried;
‘I am not ill, but I am nervous: if you would know what
is the matter with me, I am nervous. But I love you
both very well; if you would tell me truth: I love Dr.
Heberden best, for he has not told me a lie: Sir George
has told me a lie—a white lie, he says, but I hate a white
lie! If you will tell me a lie, let it be a black lie!’
“This was what he kept saying almost constantly, mixed
in with other matter, but always returning, and in a voice
that truly will never cease vibrating in my recollection.”
.pm end_quote
In the course of the morning, a third physician—Dr.
Warren[93]—arrived. His opinion was eagerly awaited by
the Queen; but he did not come to her, though repeatedly
summoned. At length, Lady Elizabeth brought news
that he and the other two physicians were gone over to
the Castle to the Prince of Wales.
.fn 93
Richard Warren. Born about 1732; Fellow of the Royal and Antiquarian
Societies; Physician in Ordinary to George III. and the Prince of Wales;
died in 1797.
.fn-
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
.pm start_quote
“I think a deeper blow I had never witnessed. Already
to become but second, even for the King! The tears
were now wiped: indignation arose, with pain, the severest
pain, of every species.
“In about a quarter of an hour Colonel Goldsworthy
sent in to beg an audience. It was granted, a long cloak
only being thrown over the Queen.
“He now brought the opinion of all the physicians in
consultation, ‘That her Majesty would remove to a more
distant apartment, since the King would undoubtedly be
worse from the agitation of seeing her, and there could
be no possibility to prevent it while she remained so
near.’
“She instantly agreed, but with what bitter anguish!
Lady Elizabeth, Miss Goldsworthy, and myself attended
her; she went to an apartment in the same row, but to
which there was no entrance except by its own door. It
consisted of only two rooms, a bedchamber, and a dressing-room.
They are appropriated to the lady-in-waiting
when she is here.
“At the entrance into this new habitation the poor
wretched Queen once more gave way to a perfect agony
of grief and affliction; while the words, ‘What will
become of me! What will become of me!’ uttered
with the most piercing lamentation, struck deep and hard
into all our hearts. Never can I forget their desponding
sound; they implied such complicated apprehension.”
.pm end_quote
Of the scene in the King’s rooms that night, Miss
Burney had only a momentary glimpse. Being sent on
some commission for the Queen, “When I gently opened,”
she writes, “the door of the apartment to which I was
directed, I found it quite filled with gentlemen and
attendants, arranged round it on chairs and sofas, in dead
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
silence. It was a dreadful start with which I retreated;
for anything more alarming and shocking could not be
conceived—the poor King within another door, unconscious
anyone was near him, and thus watched, by dread
necessity, at such an hour of the night!” How the hours
passed she heard the next day.
.pm start_quote
“7TH.—While I was yet with my poor royal sufferer
this morning the Prince of Wales came hastily into the
room. He apologized for his intrusion, and then gave a
very energetic history of the preceding night. It had
been indeed most affectingly dreadful! The King had
risen in the middle of the night, and would take no denial
to walking into the next room. There he saw the large
congress I have mentioned: amazed and in consternation,
he demanded what they did there? Much followed
that I have heard since, particularly the warmest eloge
on his dear son Frederick, his favourite, his friend.
‘Yes,’ he cried, ‘Frederick is my friend!’—and this son
was then present amongst the rest, but not seen!
“Sir George Baker was there, and was privately exhorted
by the gentlemen to lead the King back to his
room; but he had not courage: he attempted only to
speak, and the King penned him in a corner, told him he
was a mere old woman—that he wondered he had ever
followed his advice, for he knew nothing of his complaint,
which was only nervous!
“The Prince of Wales, by signs and whispers, would
have urged others to have drawn him away, but no one
dared approach him, and he remained there a considerable
time, ‘Nor do I know when he would have been
got back,’ continued the Prince, ‘if at last Mr. Digby[94]
had not undertaken him. I am extremely obliged to Mr.
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
Digby He came boldly up to him, and took him
by the arm, and begged him to go to bed, and then drew
him along, and said he must go. Then he said he would
not, and cried, ‘Who are you?’ ‘I am Mr. Digby, sir,’
he answered, ‘and your Majesty has been very good to
me often, and now I am going to be very good to you, for
you must come to bed, sir: it is necessary to your life.
And then he was so surprised that he let himself be
drawn along just like a child; and so they got him to
bed. I believe else he would have stayed all night!’”
.pm end_quote
.fn 94
We have substituted the real name here for the ‘Mr. Fairly’ of the printed
Diary.
.fn-
On the following morning, an incident occurred which
showed the revolution that had taken place in the palace.
Mr. Smelt had travelled post from York on hearing of the
King’s illness, but had not yet been able to see either him
or the Queen. Accidentally meeting with the Prince of
Wales, he was received by his old pupil with much
apparent kindness of manner, and invited to remain at
Windsor till he could be admitted to the Queen’s
presence. Not small, then, was his surprise when, on
returning shortly afterwards to the Upper Lodge, the
porter handed him his great-coat, saying that he had
express orders from the Prince to refuse him re-admission.[95]
‘From this time,’ continues Miss Burney, ‘as
the poor King grew worse, general hope seemed universally
to abate; and the Prince of Wales now took the government
of the house into his own hands. Nothing was
done but by his orders, and he was applied to in every
difficulty. The Queen interfered not in anything; she
lived entirely in her two new rooms, and spent the
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
whole day in patient sorrow and retirement with her
daughters.’
.fn 95
It is fair to mention that the Prince afterwards apologized to his old sub-governor
on meeting him at Kew.—Diary, iii. 117. Even Walpole, chary as
he usually is of praise, has done justice to the “singular virtues and character,”
the “ignorance of the world as well as its depravity,” of this estimable person.
“Happy for the Prince,” adds Walpole, “had he had no other governor; at
least no other director of his morals and opinions of government.”—See
Walpole’s ‘Reign of George III.,’ vol. iv., pp. 312, 313.
.fn-
The next news which reached the suite was that the
Prince had issued commands to the porter to admit only
four persons into the house on any pretence whatever;
and these were ordered to repair immediately to the
equerry-room below stairs, while no one whatsoever was
to be allowed to go to any other apartment. ‘From this
time,’ adds the Diary, ‘commenced a total banishment
from all intercourse out of the house, and an unremitting
confinement within its walls.’ The situation was rendered
even more intolerable by the sudden return of Mrs.
Schwellenberg from Weymouth. On the 10th, Miss
Burney writes: ‘This was a most dismal day. The dear
and most suffering King was extremely ill, the Queen very
wretched, poor Mrs. Schwellenberg all spasm and horror,
Miss Planta all restlessness, the house all mystery, and my
only informant and comforter [Colonel Digby] distanced.’
Then began a series of tantalizing fluctuations. From
November 12 to the 15th, the King showed some signs of
amendment; but on Sunday, the 16th, all was dark again
in the Upper Lodge. ‘The King was worse. His night
had been very bad; all the fair promise of amendment
was shaken; he had now some symptoms even dangerous
to his life. Oh, good heaven! what a day did this prove!
I saw not a human face, save at dinner; and then what
faces! gloom and despair in all, and silence to every
species of intelligence.’ The special prayer for the King’s
recovery was used this day for the first time in St.
George’s Chapel. Evidences of the general distress were
apparent on all sides. ‘Every prayer in the service in
which he was mentioned brought torrents of tears from
all the suppliants that joined in them.’ Fanny ran away
after the service to avoid inquiries.
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
Of the afternoon she writes: ‘It was melancholy to
see the crowds of former welcome visitors who were
now denied access. The Prince reiterated his former
orders; and I perceived from my window those who had
ventured to the door returning back in tears.’ She
received letters of inquiry, but was not at liberty to write
a word. The night of the 19th was no better than that
of the 16th. ‘Mr. Charles Hawkins came,’ proceeds the
Diary. ‘He had sat up. Oh, how terrible a narrative
did he drily give of the night!—short, abrupt, peremptorily
bad, and indubitably hopeless. I did not dare alter, but
I greatly softened this relation, in giving it to my poor
Queen.’ On this day Dr. Warren told Mr. Pitt that there
was now every reason to believe that the King’s disorder
was no other than actual lunacy.
All the equerries, except one who was ill, were now on
duty. The King, in his rambling talk, reproached them
with want of attention. They lost their whole time at
table, he said, by sitting so long over their bottle; ‘and
Mr. Digby,’ he added on one occasion, ‘is as bad as any
of them; not that he stays so long at table, or is so fond
of wine, but yet he’s just as late as the rest; for he’s so
fond of the company of learned ladies, that he gets to
the tea-table with Miss Burney, and there he stays and
spends his whole time.’ Colonel Digby, in repeating this
speech to the lady interested, was good enough to explain
to her that what the King had in his head was—Miss
Gunning. The Colonel went on to mention Miss
Gunning’s learning and accomplishments with great
praise, yet ‘with that sort of general commendation that
disclaims all peculiar interest;’ touched, in a tone of
displeasure, on the report that had been spread concerning
him and her; lightly added something about its utter
falsehood; and concluded by saying that this, in the then
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
confused state of the King’s mind, was what his Majesty
meant by ‘learned ladies.’ More puzzled than enlightened
by this explanation, Fanny, with some hesitation, assented
to the insinuating Chamberlain’s suggestion that she should
think no more of what the King had said, but allow the
Colonel ‘to come and drink tea with her very often.’
From the 20th to the 28th there was no improvement
in the condition of the sick monarch. Nearly all who
saw him, whether physicians or members of the suite,
began to abandon hope of his recovery; only Sir Lucas
Pepys, an old friend of the Burneys, who was now added
to the medical attendants, inclined to a more encouraging
view. The proceedings of the 28th are entered in the
Diary, as follows:
.pm start_quote
“Sir Lucas made me a visit, and informed me of all the
medical proceedings; and told me, in confidence, we were
to go to Kew to-morrow, though the Queen herself had
not yet concurred in the measure; but the physicians
joined to desire it, and they were supported by the
Princes. The difficulty how to get the King away from
his favourite abode was all that rested. If they even
attempted force, they had not a doubt but his smallest
resistance would call up the whole country to his fancied
rescue! Yet how, at such a time, prevail by persuasion?
“He moved me even to tears, by telling me that none of
their own lives would be safe if the King did not recover,
so prodigiously high ran the tide of affection and loyalty.
All the physicians received threatening letters daily, to
answer for the safety of their monarch with their lives!
Sir George Baker had already been stopped in his
carriage by the mob, to give an account of the King; and
when he said it was a bad one, they had furiously exclaimed,
‘The more shame for you!’
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
“After he left me, a Privy Council was held at the
Castle, with the Prince of Wales; the Chancellor, Mr.
Pitt, and all the officers of state were summoned, to sign
a permission for the King’s removal. The poor Queen
gave an audience to the Chancellor—it was necessary to
sanctify their proceedings. The Princess Royal and Lady
Courtown attended her. It was a tragedy the most
dismal!
“The Queen’s knowledge of the King’s aversion to Kew
made her consent to this measure with the extremest reluctance;
yet it was not to be opposed: it was stated as
much the best for him, on account of the garden: as here
there is none but what is public to spectators from the
terrace, or tops of houses. I believe they were perfectly
right, though the removal was so tremendous.
“The physicians were summoned to the Privy Council,
to give their opinions, upon oath, that this step was
necessary.
“Inexpressible was the alarm of everyone, lest the
King, if he recovered, should bear a lasting resentment
against the authors and promoters of this journey. To
give it, therefore, every possible sanction, it was decreed
that he should be seen both by the Chancellor and Mr.
Pitt.
“The Chancellor went into his presence with a tremor
such as, before, he had been only accustomed to inspire;
and when he came out, he was so extremely affected by
the state in which he saw his Royal master and patron
that the tears ran down his cheeks, and his feet had
difficulty to support him.
“Mr. Pitt was more composed, but expressed his grief
with so much respect and attachment, that it added new
weight to the universal admiration with which he is here
beheld.
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
“All these circumstances, with various others of equal
sadness which I must not relate, came to my knowledge
through Sir Lucas, Mr. de Luc, and my noon attendance
upon her Majesty, who was compelled to dress for her
audience of the Chancellor.
“Saturday, November 29th.—Shall I ever forget the
varied emotions of this dreadful day!
“I rose with the heaviest of hearts, and found my poor
Royal Mistress in the deepest dejection: she told me now
of our intended expedition to Kew. Lady Elizabeth
hastened away to dress, and I was alone with her for
some time.
“Her mind, she said, quite misgave her about Kew: the
King’s dislike was terrible to think of, and she could not
foresee in what it might end. She would have resisted
the measure herself, but that she had determined not to
have upon her own mind any opposition to the opinion
of the physicians.
“The account of the night was still more and more discouraging:
it was related to me by one of the pages, Mr.
Brawan; and though a little I softened or omitted
particulars, I yet most sorrowfully conveyed it to the
Queen.
“Terrible was the morning!—uninterruptedly terrible!
all spent in hasty packing up, preparing for we knew not
what, nor for how long, nor with what circumstances,
nor scarcely with what view! We seemed preparing for
captivity, without having committed any offence; and for
banishment, without the least conjecture when we might
be recalled from it.
“The poor Queen was to get off in private: the plan
settled between the Princes and the physicians was that
her Majesty and the Princesses should go away quietly,
and then that the King should be told that they were
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
gone, which was the sole method they could devise to
prevail with him to follow. He was then to be allured by
a promise of seeing them at Kew; and, as they knew he
would doubt their assertion, he was to go through the
rooms and examine the house himself.
“I believe it was about ten o’clock when her Majesty
departed: drowned in tears, she glided along the passage,
and got softly into her carriage, with two weeping
Princesses, and Lady Courtown, who was to be her Lady-in-waiting
during this dreadful residence.
“Then followed the third Princess, with Lady Charlotte
Finch. They went off without any state or parade,
and a more melancholy scene cannot be imagined. There
was not a dry eye in the house. The footmen, the
housemaids, the porter, the sentinels—all cried even
bitterly as they looked on....
“It was settled the King was to be attended by three of
his gentlemen in the carriage, and to be followed by the
physicians, and preceded by his pages. But all were to
depart on his arrival at Kew, except his own Equerry-in-waiting....
“Miss Planta and I were to go as soon as the packages
could be ready, with some of the Queen’s things. Mrs.
Schwellenberg was to remain behind, for one day, in
order to make arrangements about the jewels....
“In what confusion was the house! Princes, Equerries,
physicians, pages—all conferring, whispering, plotting,
and caballing, how to induce the King to set off!
“At length we found an opportunity to glide through
the passage to the coach; Miss Planta and myself, with
her maid and Goter....
“We were almost wholly silent all the way.
“When we arrived at Kew, we found the suspense with
which the King was awaited truly terrible. Her Majesty
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
had determined to return to Windsor at night, if he
came not. We were all to forbear unpacking in the
meanwhile....
“Dinner went on, and still no King. We now began to
grow very anxious, when Miss Planta exclaimed that she
thought she heard a carriage. We all listened. ‘I
hope!’ I cried.... The sound came nearer, and presently
a carriage drove into the front court. I could see
nothing, it was so dark; but I presently heard the much-respected
voice of the dear unhappy King, speaking
rapidly to the porter, as he alighted from the coach....
“The poor King had been prevailed upon to quit
Windsor with the utmost difficulty: he was accompanied
by General Harcourt, his aide-de-camp, and Colonels
Goldsworthy and Welbred—no one else! He had passed
all the rest with apparent composure, to come to his
carriage, for they lined the passage, eager to see him once
more! and almost all Windsor was collected round the
rails, etc., to witness the mournful spectacle of his
departure, which left them in the deepest despondence,
with scarce a ray of hope ever to see him again.
“The bribery, however, which brought, was denied him!—he
was by no means to see the Queen!...
“I could not sleep all night—I thought I heard the poor
King. He was under the same range of apartments,
though far distant, but his indignant disappointment
haunted me. The Queen, too, was very angry at having
promises made in her name which could not be kept.
What a day altogether was this!
“Sunday, November 30th.—Here, in all its dread
colours, dark as its darkest prognostics, began the Kew
campaign. I went to my poor Queen at seven o’clock:
the Princess Augusta arose and went away to dress, and
I received her Majesty’s commands to go down for inquiries.
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
She had herself passed a wretched night, and
already lamented leaving Windsor.
“I waited very long in the cold dark passages below,
before I could find anyone of whom to ask intelligence.
The parlours were without fires, and washing. I gave
directions afterwards to have a fire in one of them by
seven o’clock every morning.
“At length I procured the speech of one of the pages,
and heard that the night had been the most violently bad
of any yet passed!—and no wonder!
“I hardly knew how to creep upstairs, frozen both
within and without, to tell such news; but it was not received
as if unexpected, and I omitted whatever was not
essential to be known.
“Afterwards arrived Mrs. Schwellenberg, so oppressed
between her spasms and the house’s horrors, that the
oppression she inflicted ought perhaps to be pardoned.
It was, however, difficult enough to bear! Harshness,
tyranny, dissension, and even insult, seemed personified.
I cut short details upon this subject—they would but
make you sick.”
.pm end_quote
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX.
.pm start_summary
State of Kew Palace—Dr. Willis and his Son called in—Progress under the
New Doctors—Party Spirit—The Regency Question—Attacks on the Queen—Fluctuations
in the King’s State—Violence of Burke—Extraordinary Scene
between the King and Miss Burney in Kew Gardens—Marked Improvement
of the King—The Regency Bill postponed—The King informs Miss Burney
of his Recovery—The Restoration—Demonstrations of Joy—Return to
Windsor—Old Routine resumed—Reaction.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
The beginning of December saw the diminished and
imprisoned household suffering under an increase of
apprehensions. The condition of the King became even
more alarming; the Queen began to sink as she had
not done before. From the outer world came sinister
rumours, the duration of the malady threatening a
Regency—‘a word,’ says Fanny, ‘which I have not yet
been able to articulate.’ Inside, the palace at Kew was
‘in a state of cold and discomfort past all imagination.’
It had never been a winter residence, and there was
nothing prepared to fit it for becoming one. Not only
were the bedrooms of the Princesses without carpets, but
so out of repair was the building, that a plentiful supply of
sandbags had to be provided to moderate the gales that
blew through the doors and windows. The parlour in
which Miss Burney had to sit with the Schwellenberg
was carpetless, chilly, and miserable; and even this was
locked in the morning on Fanny’s admission of having
used it before breakfast; Cerbera barking out that,
‘when everybody went to her room, she might keep an
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
inn—what you call hotel.’ These domestic inconveniences
endured for some time. By degrees, however,
the worst of them were obviated. The bare boards were
wholly or partially covered; the apartments allotted to
the family were refurnished and redistributed; and Miss
Burney was no longer exposed to the cold damps of a
dark passage while awaiting the page who brought her
for the Queen the first news of how the night had been
passed by the patient.
Hitherto no progress had been made towards a
successful treatment of the King’s malady. In the early
days of December, however, even the Queen felt it useless
to disguise any longer the nature of the attack, and experts
in mental disease were accordingly added to the
staff of physicians. Fortunately, a right choice was made
at the first trial. The new advisers selected were Dr.
Francis Willis, a clergyman who for twenty-eight years had
devoted himself to the cure of lunacy, and his son, Dr.
John Willis, who was associated with him in practice.
The arrival of these two country practitioners—they
came from Lincolnshire—revived the hopes which the
Court physicians, by their dissensions and general
despondency, had well-nigh destroyed. Though decried
by the regular faculty as interlopers, if not charlatans, the
Doctors Willis took the hearts of all at Kew Palace by
storm. Mr. Digby pronounced them ‘fine, lively, natural,
independent Miss Burney, on making their
acquaintance, heartily re-echoed this praise:
.pm start_quote
“I am extremely struck with both these physicians.
Dr. Willis is a man of ten thousand; open, honest,
dauntless, light-hearted, innocent, and high-minded: I
see him impressed with the most animated reverence and
affection for his royal patient; but it is wholly for his
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
character—not a whit for his rank. Dr. John, his eldest
son, is extremely handsome, and inherits, in a milder
degree, all the qualities of his father; but living more in
the general world, and having his fame and fortune still
to settle, he has not yet acquired the same courage, nor is
he, by nature, quite so sanguine in his opinions. The
manners of both are extremely pleasing, and they both
proceed completely their own way, not merely unacquainted
with Court etiquette, but wholly, and most
artlessly, unambitious to form any such acquaintance.”
.pm end_quote
The new doctors at once modified the treatment to
which the King had been subject, and the effects of the
change were speedily apparent:
.pm start_quote
“December 11th.—To-day we have had the fairest
hopes; the King took his first walk in Kew garden!
There have been impediments to this trial hitherto, that
have been thought insurmountable, though, in fact, they
were most frivolous. The walk seemed to do him good,
and we are all in better spirits about him than for this
many and many a long day past.”
.pm end_quote
It was not to be expected that the advance to restoration
would proceed without break or check. On the 17th
we have the entry: ‘My account this morning was quite
afflictive once more;’ but under date of the 22nd we
read: ‘With what joy did I carry this morning an exceeding
good account of the King to my royal mistress!
It was trebly welcome, as much might depend upon it in
the resolutions of the House concerning the Regency,
which was of to-day’s discussion;’ and in some notes
summing up the remaining days of the year, we have:
‘The King went on, now better, now worse, in a most
fearful manner; but Sir Lucas Pepys never lost sight of
hope, and the management of Dr. Willis and his two
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
sons[96] was most wonderfully acute and successful. Yet, so
much were they perplexed and tormented by the interruptions
given to their plans and methods, that they
were frequently almost tempted to resign the undertaking
from anger and confusion.’
.fn 96
Dr. Willis was now assisted by a younger son, named Thomas, who, like
himself, was in holy orders, as well as by his eldest son John.
.fn-
The new year opened amid the same alternations of
progress and relapse. In society, the war of politics took
a new departure from the King’s derangement. Supporters
of the Administration were confident of his speedy
recovery; the Opposition were indefatigable in spreading
the belief that his disorder was incurable. The animosity
on both sides rose to a height which had not been
equalled even at Pitt’s first entrance into office. ‘It is
a strange subject,’ wrote the Archbishop of Canterbury,
‘for party to insist upon, and disgraceful to the country
that it should be so; but so it is.’ Uneasiness and uncertainty
prevailed everywhere. Some of Miss Burney’s
best friends began to be dismayed at her position, and at
the prospect before her. Her sister Charlotte, now Mrs.
Francis, wrote from Norfolk, urging that Dr. Burney’s
consent should be obtained to her resignation, and offering
her, on behalf of Mr. Francis and herself, a permanent
residence in their house. Evidently, Fanny’s family
regarded her as a helpless person, requiring to be looked
after and taken care of. Her faith, however, in the comforting
predictions of the Willises and Sir Lucas Pepys
remained unshaken, and she would not hear of quitting
her post.
A fresh trouble had by this time arisen. The Queen
could not escape becoming involved in the strife of parties.
The Prince of Wales and the Duke of York were naturally
impatient to push their afflicted father from his seat.
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
What they wanted in brains was amply supplied by the
combined genius of the Whig leaders—by Fox, and
Burke, and Sheridan—all embittered at having been so
often checkmated by the young statesman whom they
had flouted as a mere boy. What the Princes lacked in
tenacity of purpose was driven into them by the incessant
cry of myriad place-hunters, yelling like famished wolves.
The first thought of the faction was how to clutch power
as soon as might be; their second, how to engross it as
exclusively as possible. No scruple was made of declaring
that all places would be vacated and refilled, even if the
Regency were to last only a single day.[97] That there
would be a complete change of Administration was a
matter of course. But beyond this, changes were meditated
in the army, and other departments of the State,
which it was known must grievously offend the King,
should they come to his knowledge. Among other promotions,
every colonel in favour with the Prince or the Duke
was to be raised to the rank of Major-General. Mrs.
Fitzherbert, it was said, was to be created a Duchess.[98]
.fn 97
‘Cornwallis Papers,’ vol. i., p. 406.
.fn-
.fn 98
‘Buckingham Papers,’ vol. ii., p. 104; ‘Auckland Correspondence,’ vol. ii.,
pp. 251, 289.
.fn-
Next to Pitt and his colleagues, the chief obstacle
to the speedy execution of these notable projects was
Queen Charlotte. It was not to be expected that a wife
would be as ready as the heir-apparent to believe in the
confirmed insanity of the head of the house. It was
excusable, to say the least, that one who for more than
twenty-eight years had filled, without reproach, the
station of Queen Consort, should object to be effaced with
her lord, until the necessity for his seclusion was unmistakably
demonstrated. And when discord raged in the
medical council, when Dr. Warren pronounced the King
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
to be ‘rather worse’ than he had been at Windsor, while
to Sir Lucas and the specialists, as well as to ordinary
observers, his condition appeared most hopeful, she might
surely be pardoned for leaning to the favourable view.
Partisans, however, were too excited to listen to reason.
The clergyman from Lincolnshire was denounced in the
Opposition newspapers as a mere empiric and creature of
Pitt. The most scurrilous abuse was heaped upon the
Queen. Both in the press, and in the House of Commons,
she was accused of being in league with Willis to misrepresent
the state of the King’s health, in order to prevent
the Prince, her son, from being invested with the
authority of Regent. Pitt, having no option but to propose
a Regency, was proceeding with the utmost caution,
and seeking to lay on the expectant Viceroy several
restrictions, which his character seemed to call for, and
which assuredly have not been disapproved by the judgment
of posterity. Besides limiting the Prince’s power
to confer peerages and pensions, and to alienate royal
property, the Premier recommended that the care and
management of the King’s person, as well as the appointments
in the household, should be entrusted to the
Queen. Perhaps no part of the Government’s plan
aroused more angry hostility than this. ‘How would the
King on his recovery,’ demanded Burke in Parliament,
‘be pleased at seeing the patronage of the Household
taken from the Prince of Wales, his representative, and
given to the Queen? He must be shocked at the idea.’
Allusions to these attacks on one who so little deserved
them occur in Miss Burney’s Diary about this time:
.pm start_quote
“January 10th.—The King again is not so well; and
new evidences are called for in the House, relative to his
state. My poor Royal Mistress now droops. I grieve—grieve
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
to see her!—but her own name and conduct called
in question! Who can wonder she is shocked and
shaken? Was there not enough before, firmly as she
supported it?
“11TH.—This morning Dr. John gave me but a bad
account of the poor King. His amendment is not progressive;
it fails, and goes back, and disappoints most
grievously; yet it would be nothing were the case and its
circumstances less discussed, and were expectation more
reasonable.
“12TH.—A melancholy day: news bad both at home
and abroad. At home, the dear, unhappy King still worse;
abroad, new examinations voted of the physicians! Good
Heaven! what an insult does this seem from Parliamentary
power, to investigate and bring forth to the world every
circumstance of such a malady as is ever held sacred to
secrecy in the most private families! How indignant we
all feel here no words can say.”
.pm end_quote
Macaulay is very severe on poor Miss Burney for the
want of correct constitutional principles shown in this
last entry. He cites the passage to prove that the second
Robe-Keeper’s ‘way of life was rapidly impairing her
powers of reasoning and her sense of justice;’ that, as
he elsewhere says, this existence was as incompatible
with health ‘of mind as the air of the Pomptine Marshes
with health of body.’ The critic is perfectly right in
stating that the motion which roused indignation at
Kew was made by Mr. Pitt, who was regarded as the
King’s champion, though he should have added that it
was brought forward in response to a challenge from the
Opposition. But Miss Burney felt as a woman, and
wrote as a woman, not as a politician. Had she been a
politician, she would still have been entitled to the indulgence
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
which was being claimed and abused by every
speaker and journalist on the side opposed to the Court.
Consider the debates and the scandalous charges that she
read daily in the newspapers. And if she erred, she erred
in company with a large number of other heretics who
should have been far better fortified in sound doctrine
than herself. If the atmosphere of the palace was unwholesome,
it was much less contaminating than the
malaria of Carlton House. If the novelist was wrong in
thinking that the House of Commons ought not to concern
itself with the details of the King’s illness, what is
to be said of the eminent Whigs who maintained that the
Legislature had nothing to do with any question relating
to the disposition of the regal authority? What shall be
said for Alexander Wedderburn, then Chief Justice of
the Common Pleas, and afterwards Lord Chancellor,
who advised the Prince of Wales to seize on the Regency
without consulting either House of Parliament? Or
what can be urged for Fox himself, who asserted his
patron’s right to take this course, in the very face of the
assembled Commons? ‘It is melancholy,’ says Macaulay,
‘to see genius sinking into such debasement.’ What
words, then, shall we apply to Edmund Burke, who
scandalized both sides of the House by declaring that
‘the Almighty had hurled the monarch from his throne,
and plunged him into a condition which drew down upon
him the pity of the meanest peasant in his kingdom’?
Miss Burney, still feeling and writing as a woman, could
not accuse her old friend Burke of being debased, though
she sadly laments over him as ‘that most misguided of
vehement and wild orators.’[99] Such was the virulence
engendered in a spectator of the misery at Court by
associating with Leonard Smelt and Colonel Digby.
.fn 99
Diary, vol. iii., p. 163.
.fn-
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
.pm start_quote
“Kew Palace, Monday, February 2nd.—What an
adventure had I this morning! one that has occasioned
me the severest personal terror I ever experienced in my
life.
“Sir Lucas Pepys still persisting that exercise and air
were absolutely necessary to save me from illness, I have
continued my walks, varying my gardens from Richmond
to Kew, according to the accounts I received of the
movements of the King. For this I had her Majesty’s
permission, on the representation of Sir Lucas.
“This morning, when I received my intelligence of the
King from Dr. John Willis, I begged to know where I
might walk in safety. ‘In Kew Gardens,’ he said, ‘as
the King would be in Richmond.’
“‘Should any unfortunate circumstance,’ I cried, ‘at
any time, occasion my being seen by his Majesty, do not
mention my name, but let me run off without call or
notice.’
“This he promised. Everybody, indeed, is ordered to
keep out of sight.
“Taking, therefore, the time I had most at command,
I strolled into the gardens. I had proceeded, in my
quick way, nearly half the round, when I suddenly perceived,
through some trees, two or three figures. Relying
on the instructions of Dr. John, I concluded them to be
workmen and gardeners; yet tried to look sharp, and in
so doing, as they were less shaded, I thought I saw the
person of his Majesty!
“Alarmed past all possible expression, I waited not to
know more, but turning back, ran off with all my might.
But what was my terror to hear myself pursued!—to
hear the voice of the King himself loudly and hoarsely
calling after me, ‘Miss Burney! Miss Burney!’
“I protest I was ready to die. I knew not in what
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
state he might be at the time; I only knew the orders to
keep out of his way were universal; that the Queen
would highly disapprove any unauthorised meeting, and
that the very action of my running away might deeply, in
his present irritable state, offend him. Nevertheless, on
I ran, too terrified to stop, and in search of some short
passage, for the garden is full of little labyrinths, by
which I might escape.
“The steps still pursued me, and still the poor hoarse
and altered voice rang in my ears:—more and more footsteps
resounded frightfully behind me,—the attendants
all running, to catch their eager master, and the voices of
the two Doctor Willises loudly exhorting him not to heat
himself so unmercifully.
“Heavens, how I ran! I do not think I should have
felt the hot lava from Vesuvius—at least, not the hot
cinders—had I so run during its eruption. My feet were
not sensible that they even touched the ground.
“Soon after, I heard other voices, shriller, though less
nervous, call out, ‘Stop! stop! stop!’
“I could by no means consent: I knew not what was
purposed, but I recollected fully my agreement with Dr.
John that very morning, that I should decamp if surprised,
and not be named.
“My own fears and repugnance, also, after a flight and
disobedience like this, were doubled in the thought of not
escaping: I knew not to what I might be exposed, should
the malady be then high, and take the turn of resentment.
Still, therefore, on I flew; and such was my speed, so
almost incredible to relate or recollect, that I fairly believe
no one of the whole party could have overtaken me, if
these words, from one of the attendants, had not reached
me, ‘Doctor Willis begs you to stop!’
“‘I cannot! I cannot!’ I answered, still flying on,
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
when he called out, ‘You must, ma’am; it hurts the
King to run.’
“Then, indeed, I stopped—in a state of fear really
amounting to agony. I turned round, I saw the two
Doctors had got the King between them, and three
attendants of Dr. Willis’s were hovering about. They
all slackened their pace, as they saw me stand still; but
such was the excess of my alarm, that I was wholly
insensible to the effects of a race which, at any other
time, would have required an hour’s recruit.
“As they approached, some little presence of mind
happily came to my command: it occurred to me that,
to appease the wrath of my flight, I must now show some
confidence: I therefore faced them as undauntedly as I
was able, only charging the nearest of the attendants to
stand by my side.
“When they were within a few yards of me, the King
called out, ‘Why did you run away?’
“Shocked at a question impossible to answer, yet a
little assured by the mild tone of his voice, I instantly
forced myself forward to meet him, though the internal
sensation, which satisfied me this was a step the most
proper to appease his suspicions and displeasure, was so
violently combated by the tremor of my nerves, that I
fairly think I may reckon it the greatest effort of personal
courage I have ever made.
“The effort answered: I looked up, and met all his
wonted benignity of countenance, though something still
of wildness in his eyes. Think, however, of my surprise,
to feel him put both his hands round my two shoulders,
and then kiss my cheek!
“I wonder I did not really sink, so exquisite was my
affright when I saw him spread out his arms! Involuntarily,
I concluded he meant to crush me: but the Willises,
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
who have never seen him till this fatal illness, not knowing
how very extraordinary an action this was from him,
simply smiled and looked pleased, supposing, perhaps, it
was his customary salutation!
“I believe, however, it was but the joy of a heart unbridled,
now, by the forms and proprieties of established
custom and sober reason. To see any of his household
thus by accident, seemed such a near approach to liberty
and recovery, that who can wonder it should serve rather
to elate than lessen what yet remains of his disorder!
“He now spoke in such terms of his pleasure in seeing
me, that I soon lost the whole of my terror; astonishment
to find him so nearly well, and gratification to see
him so pleased, removed every uneasy feeling, and the
joy that succeeded, in my conviction of his recovery,
made me ready to throw myself at his feet to express it.
“What a conversation followed! When he saw me
fearless, he grew more and more alive, and made me walk
close by his side, away from the attendants, and even the
Willises themselves, who, to indulge him, retreated. I
own myself not completely composed, but alarm I could
entertain no more.
“Everything that came uppermost in his mind he
mentioned; he seemed to have just such remains of his
flightiness as heated his imagination without deranging
his reason, and robbed him of all control over his speech,
though nearly in his perfect state of mind as to his opinions.
“What did he not say!—He opened his whole heart to
me,—expounded all his sentiments, and acquainted me
with all his intentions.
“The heads of his discourse I must give you briefly, as
I am sure you will be highly curious to hear them, and as
no accident can render of much consequence what a man
says in such a state of physical intoxication.
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
“He assured me he was quite well—as well as he had
ever been in his life; and then inquired how I did, and
how I went on? and whether I was more comfortable?
“If these questions, in their implication, surprised me,
imagine how that surprise must increase when he proceeded
to explain them! He asked after the coadjutrix,
laughing, and saying, ‘Never mind her!—don’t be oppressed—I
am your friend! don’t let her cast you down!—I
know you have a hard time of it—but don’t mind
her!’
“Almost thunderstruck with astonishment, I merely
curtseyed to his kind ‘I am your friend,’ and said
nothing.
“Then presently he added, ‘Stick to your father—stick
to your own family—let them be your objects.’
“How readily I assented!
“Again he repeated all I have just written, nearly in
the same words, but ended it more seriously: he suddenly
stopped, and held me to stop too, and putting his hand
on his breast, in the most solemn manner, he gravely and
slowly said, ‘I will protect you!—I promise you that—and
therefore depend upon me!’
him; and the Willises, thinking him rather
too elevated, came to propose my walking on. ‘No, no,
no!’ he cried, a hundred times in a breath; and their
good humour prevailed, and they let him again walk on
with his new companion.
“He then gave me a history of his pages, animating
almost into a rage, as he related his subjects of displeasure
with them, particularly with Mr. Ernst,[100] who,
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
he told me, had been brought up by himself. I hope his
ideas upon these men are the result of the mistakes of
his malady.
.fn 100
Many stories have been told of the deranged King having been brutally
treated by this man Ernst, who is said on one occasion to have thrown the
patient violently down, exclaiming to the attendants, ‘There is your King for
you!’ But Ernst, who was a Page of the Back Stairs, received a pension on
his retirement. It seems probable, therefore, that Ernst’s supposed brutality
was, as Miss Burney suggests, an illusion of the King’s malady.
.fn-
“Then he asked me some questions that very greatly
distressed me, relating to information given him in his
illness, from various motives, but which he suspected to
be false, and which I knew he had reason to suspect: yet
was it most dangerous to set anything right, as I was not
aware what might be the views of their having been
stated wrong. I was as discreet as I knew how to be,
and I hope I did no mischief; but this was the worst
part of the dialogue.
“He next talked to me a great deal of my dear father,
and made a thousand inquiries concerning his ‘History
of Music.’ This brought him to his favourite theme,
Handel; and he told me innumerable anecdotes of him,
and particularly that celebrated tale of Handel’s saying
of himself, ‘While that boy lives, my music will never
want a protector.’ And this, he said, I might relate to
my father.
“Then he ran over most of his oratorios, attempting to
sing the subjects of several airs and choruses, but so
dreadfully hoarse that the sound was terrible.
“Dr. Willis, quite alarmed at this exertion, feared he
would do himself harm, and again proposed a separation.
‘No, no, no!’ he exclaimed, ‘not yet; I have something
I must just mention first.’
“Dr. Willis, delighted to comply, even when uneasy at
compliance, again gave way.
“The good King then greatly affected me. He began
upon my revered old friend, Mrs. Delany; and he spoke of
her with such warmth—such kindness! ‘She was my
friend!’ he cried, ‘and I loved her as a friend! I have
made a memorandum when I lost her—I will show it you.’
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
“He pulled out a pocket-book, and rummaged some
time, but to no purpose.
“The tears stood in his eyes—he wiped them, and Dr.
Willis again became very anxious. ‘Come, sir,’ he
cried, ‘now do you come in and let the lady go on her
walk,—come, now, you have talked a long while,—so
we’ll go in—if your Majesty pleases.’
“‘No, no!’ he cried, ‘I want to ask her a few
questions;—I have lived so long out of the world, I know
nothing!’
“This touched me to the heart. We walked on together,
and he inquired after various persons, particularly Mrs.
Boscawen, because she was Mrs. Delany’s friend! Then,
for the same reason, after Mr. Frederick Montagu, of
whom he kindly said, ‘I know he has a great regard for
me, for all he joined the Opposition.’ Lord Grey de
Wilton, Sir Watkin Wynn, the Duke of Beaufort, and
various others, followed.
“He then told me he was very much dissatisfied with
several of his State officers, and meant to form an entire
new establishment. He took a paper out of his pocket-book,
and showed me his new list.
“This was the wildest thing that passed; and Dr. John
Willis now seriously urged our separating; but he would
not consent; he had only three more words to say, he
declared, and again he conquered.
“He now spoke of my father, with still more kindness,
and told me he ought to have had the post of Master of
the Band, and not that little poor musician Parsons, who
was not fit for it: ‘But Lord Salisbury,’ he cried, ‘used
your father very ill in that business, and so he did me!
However, I have dashed out his name, and I shall put
your father’s in,—as soon as I get loose again!’
“This again—how affecting was this!
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
“‘And what,’ cried he, ‘has your father got, at last?
nothing but that poor thing at Chelsea? O fie! fie! fie!
But never mind! I will take care of him! I will do it
myself!’
“Then presently he added, ‘As to Lord Salisbury, he
is out already, as this memorandum will show you, and
so are many more. I shall be much better served; and
when once I get away, I shall rule with a rod of iron!’
“This was very unlike himself, and startled the two
good doctors, who could not bear to cross him, and were
exulting at my seeing his great amendment, but yet grew
quite uneasy at his earnestness and volubility.
“Finding we now must part, he stopped to take leave,
and renewed again his charges about the coadjutrix.
‘Never mind her!’ he cried, ‘depend upon me! I will
be your friend as long as I live!—I here pledge myself to
be your friend!’ And then he saluted me again just as
at the meeting, and suffered me to go on.
“What a scene! how variously was I affected by it!
but, upon the whole, how inexpressibly thankful to see
him so nearly himself—so little removed from recovery!
“I went very soon after to the Queen, to whom I was
most eager to avow the meeting, and how little I could
help it. Her astonishment, and her earnestness to hear
every particular, were very great. I told her almost all.
Some few things relating to the distressing questions I
could not repeat; nor many things said of Mrs. Schwellenberg,
which would much, and very needlessly, have hurt
her.”
.pm end_quote
About February 6, a further improvement in the King’s
state took place, which proved to be decisive. From this
time, not only were his equerries allowed to attend him
again in the evening, but the Queen was once more
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
admitted to his chamber. Singularly enough, the progress
of his recovery coincided exactly with the progress of the
Regency Bill. The latter was brought into the House of
Commons on the 5th, and on the following day a printed
copy was shown to Fanny. “I shuddered,” she writes,
“to hear it named.” On the 10th she reports: “The
amendment of the King is progressive, and without any
reasonable fear, though not without some few drawbacks.
The Willis family were surely sent by Heaven to restore
peace, and health, and prosperity to this miserable house!”
On the 12th the Regency Bill passed the Commons, and
was carried up to the House of Lords; it was there
subsequently read a second time, went through Committee,
and was ordered for a third reading. But that
stage was not to arrive. Miss Burney writes on the 13th:
“Oh, how dreadful will be the day when that unhappy
Bill takes place! I cannot approve the plan of it; the
King is too well to make such a step right. It will break
his spirits, if not his heart, when he hears and understands
such a deposition.
“Saturday, 14th.—The King is infinitely better. Oh
that there were patience in the land, and this Regency
Bill postponed!”
Macaulay, quoting part of the entry for the 13th, leaves
it to be inferred that the writer disapproved of ‘Pitt’s
own Bill’ under any circumstances; he carefully omits
the words which show that her objection was to the plan
being proceeded with when the King’s recovery was so
far advanced as to render it inapplicable. The Ministry
speedily made it plain that they were of the same mind
as Miss Burney. On the 17th, the Peers, on the motion
of the Lord Chancellor, adjourned the further consideration
of the Regency Bill; and a week later the measure
was finally abandoned.
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
“What a different house,” says the Diary of the
19th, “is this house become!—sadness and terror, that
wholly occupied it so lately, are now flown away, or
rather are now driven out; and though anxiety still
forcibly prevails, ’tis in so small a proportion to joy and
thankfulness, that it is borne as if scarce an ill!” Before
the month ended, Miss Burney had an assurance of the
King’s entire restoration from his own mouth. “The
King I have seen again—in the Queen’s dressing-room.
On opening the door, there he stood! He smiled at
my start; and, saying he had waited on purpose to see
me, added, ‘I am quite well now—I was nearly so
when I saw you before; but I could overtake you better
now.’”
All England had been intent on the little palace at
Kew, where distress was now turned into rejoicing. To
none of his subjects was the recovery of the royal patient
a matter of indifference. To a limited party it was a
source of bitter disappointment and chagrin. To the
immense majority it brought unbounded satisfaction. It
was the engrossing topic of the day. ‘Nobody,’ said an
observer, ‘talks, writes, thinks, or dreams of anything
else.’ On the 1st of March thanksgivings for the happy
event were offered in all the churches of the capital. On
the 10th the physicians took their departure from Kew.
On the same day Parliament was opened by Commission
under the sign manual. At sunset began a spectacle
worthy of the occasion. ‘London,’ wrote Wraxall, ‘displayed
a blaze of light from one extremity to the other;
the illuminations extending, without any metaphor, from
Hampstead and Highgate to Clapham, and even as far as
Tooting; whilst the vast distance between Greenwich
and Kensington presented the same dazzling appearance.
The poorest mechanics contributed their proportion, and
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
instances were exhibited of cobblers’ stalls decorated with
one or two farthing candles.[101]
.fn 101
Wraxall’s Posthumous Memoirs, vol. iii., pp. 369, 370.
.fn-
The Queen carried all the Princesses, except the
youngest, up to town, to feast their eyes on streets as
brilliant and crowded as Vauxhall on a gala night. It
may cool our historic fervour to remember that the blaze
of light which astonished our ancestors was produced by
nothing more luminous than oil-lamps, and that the
crowds of 1789 would pass for a sorry muster in the huge
Babylon of to-day; but, after all, the scene exhibited in
London, when even the cobblers’ stalls were illuminated,
was not without its significance on the eve of the meeting
of the States General at Versailles. Cowper, usurping
the functions of Thomas Warton, then poet-laureate, sang
of Queen Charlotte’s private expedition:
.pm start_poem
‘Glad she came that night to prove,
A witness undescried,
How much the object of HER love
Was loved by ALL beside.’
.pm end_poem
Miss Burney describes how the festive evening was
spent at Kew. The Queen, at her own expense, had
arranged for an illumination of the palace and courtyard
as a surprise to her consort. Biagio Rebecca, by her
order, had painted a grand transparency, displaying representations
of “the King, Providence, Health, and
Britannia, with elegant devices. When this was lighted
and prepared, the Princess Amelia went to lead her papa
to the front window; but first she dropped on her knees,
and presented him a paper,” containing some congratulatory
verses which, at the Queen’s desire, the narrator
“had scribbled in her name for the happy occasion,” and
which concluded with a postscript:
.pm start_poem
‘The little bearer begs a kiss
From dear papa for bringing this.’
.pm end_poem
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
“I need not, I think, tell you,” continues Fanny, “that
the little bearer begged not in vain. The King was extremely
pleased. He came into a room belonging to the
Princesses, in which we had a party to look at the
illuminations, and there he stayed above an hour: cheerful,
composed, and gracious; all that could merit the
great national testimony to his worth this day paid him.”
When at one o’clock in the morning the Queen returned
to Kew, she found the King standing bare-headed at the
porch, ready to hand her from the coach, and eager to
assure himself of her safety. So far from being dissatisfied
with anything that she had done during his illness,
his affection for her was confirmed by the zeal with which
she had watched over his interests.
On the 14th of March the Court left Kew for Windsor.
“All Windsor,” says the Diary, “came out to meet the
King. It was a joy amounting to ecstasy. I could not
keep my eyes dry all day long. A scene so reversed!
Sadness so sweetly exchanged for thankfulness and
delight!” But the period of excitement was now over.
The old routine of duty recommenced, with few incidents
to relieve its monotony: there was an entertainment or
two for the suite in the royal borough to celebrate the
restoration; then one by one the friends and acquaintances
who were assembled round the household in the
early days of March dispersed to their homes; no society
remained at the Upper Lodge but Cerbera and the
gentlemen-in-waiting—who did not include Colonel
Digby; hardly any change marked the succession of days,
save an occasional visit to Kew, and now and then a
journey to town for a drawing-room. In the Public
Thanksgiving, held at St. Paul’s on the 23rd of April,
Fanny appears to have had no part, though she received
as mementoes of the occasion a medal of green and gold,
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
and a fan ornamented with the words: Health restored to
one, and happiness to millions. Once, when in London, she
had a visit from Miss Gunning, who called to inquire after
the Queen’s health, and who ‘looked serious, sensible,
interesting,’ though she said but little, and in that little
managed to introduce the name of Mr. Digby. Degree
by degree, Fanny’s spirits sank to the point of actual despondency,
till she writes, ‘A lassitude of existence creeps
sensibly upon me.’ A fit of illness did not assist to
restore her cheerfulness. Thus ended March, and thus
passed April, May, and the greater part of June. The
King had raised some alarm by declaring his intention of
going to Germany in the summer, but, to the satisfaction
of the suite in general, and of one of the Queen’s Robe-Keepers
in particular, when the time came, the physicians
advised a stay at an English watering-place in preference.
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X.
.pm start_summary
Royal Visit to Weymouth—Lyndhurst—Village Loyalty—Arrival at Weymouth—Bathing
to Music—Mrs. Gwynn—Mrs. Siddons—The Royal Party
at the Rooms—First Sight of Mr. Pitt—The Marquis of Salisbury—Royal
Tour—Visit to Longleat—Mrs. Delany—Bishop Ken—Tottenham Park—Return
to Windsor—Progress of the French Revolution—Colonel Digby’s
Marriage—Miss Burney’s Situation—A Senator—Tax on Bachelors—Reading
to the Queen—Miss Burney’s Melancholy—Proposal for her Retirement—Her
Tedious Solitude—Her Literary Inactivity—Her Declining Health—A
Friendly Cabal—Windham and the Literary Club—James Boswell—Miss
Burney’s Memorial to the Queen—Leave of Absence Proposed—The Queen
and Mrs. Schwellenberg—Serious Illness of Miss Burney—Discussions on
her Retirement—A Day at the Hastings Trial—The Defence—A Lively
Scene—The Duke of Clarence—Parting with the Royal Family—Miss Burney
receives a Pension—Her Final Retirement.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
On the 25th of June the Court set out on a progress from
Windsor to Weymouth. Miss Burney and Miss Planta, as
was usual on these occasions, were of the suite; the
Schwellenberg, as usual, remained behind. ‘The crowds
increased as we advanced, and at Winchester the town
was one head.’ At Romsey, on the steps of the Town
Hall, a band of musicians, some in coarse brown coats
and red neckcloths, some even in smock-frocks, made a
chorus of ‘God save the King,’ in which a throng of
spectators joined with shouts that rent the air. ‘Carriages
of all sorts lined the roadside—chariots, chaises, landaus,
carts, waggons, whiskies, gigs, phaetons—mixed and intermixed,
filled within and surrounded without by faces all
glee and delight.’ On the verge of the New Forest the
King was met by a party of foresters, habited in green,
with bows and bugles, who, according to ancient custom,
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
presented him with a pair of milk-white greyhounds,
wearing silver collars, and led by silken cords.
Arrived at Lyndhurst, he drove to the old hunting-seat
of Charles II., then tenanted by the Duke of Gloucester.
“It is a straggling, inconvenient old house,” writes Fanny,
“but delightfully situated in a village—looking, indeed, at
present, like a populous town, from the amazing concourse
of people that have crowded into it.... During
the King’s dinner, which was in a parlour looking into the
garden, he permitted the people to come to the window;
and their delight and rapture in seeing their monarch at
table, with the evident hungry feeling it occasioned, made
a contrast of admiration and deprivation truly comic.
They crowded, however, so excessively, that this can be
permitted no more. They broke down all the paling, and
much of the hedges, and some of the windows, and all by
eagerness and multitude, for they were perfectly civil and
well-behaved.... We continued at Lyndhurst five days....
On the Sunday we all went to the parish church; and
after the service, instead of a psalm, imagine our surprise
to hear the whole congregation join in ‘God save the
King!’ Misplaced as this was in a church, its intent was
so kind, loyal, and affectionate, that I believe there was
not a dry eye amongst either singers or hearers.”
On the 30th of June the royal party quitted Lyndhurst,
and arrived at Weymouth in the course of the evening.
‘The journey was one scene of festivity and rejoicing.’
The change of air, the bustle of travelling, the beauty of
the summer landscapes, the loyalty of the population, had
restored Fanny’s tone, and brought back the glow she had
experienced at the time of the King’s convalescence. Her
enthusiasm lent a touch of enchantment to everything
she saw. Salisbury and Blandford welcomed their
sovereign with displays and acclamations that fairly carried
her away. At Dorchester the windows and roofs of the
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
quaint old houses seemed packed with eager faces.
‘Girls, with chaplets, beautiful young creatures, strewed
the entrance of various villages with flowers.’
Nor were the good people of Weymouth and Melcomb
Regis a whit behind in loyalty, though greatly at a
loss how to vary the expression of their feelings. “Not
a child could we meet that had not a bandeau round
its head, cap or hat, of ‘God save the King’; all the
bargemen wore it in cockades; and even the bathing-women
had it in large coarse girdles round their waists.
It is printed in golden letters upon most of the bathing-machines,
and in various scrolls and devices it adorns
every shop, and almost every house, in the two towns....
Nor is this all. Think but of the surprise of his
Majesty when, the first time of his bathing, he had no
sooner popped his royal head under water than a band
of music, concealed in a neighbouring machine, struck
up, ‘God save great George our King’! One thing,
however, was a little unlucky:—When the mayor and
burgesses came with the address, they requested leave
to kiss hands. This was graciously accorded; but the
mayor advancing in a common way, to take the Queen’s
hand, as he might that of any lady mayoress, Colonel
Gwynn, who stood by, whispered:
“‘You must kneel, sir.’
“He found, however, that he took no notice of this
hint, but kissed the Queen’s hand erect. As he passed
him, in his way back, the Colonel said:
“‘You should have knelt, sir!’
“‘Sir,’ answered the poor Mayor, ‘I cannot.’
“‘Everybody does, sir.’
“‘Sir,—I have a wooden leg!’
“But the absurdity of the matter followed—all the rest
did the same; taking the same privilege, by the example,
without the same or any cause!”
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
Miss Burney’s way of life at Weymouth seems to have
been much the same as if she had belonged to a private
party. “I have here a very good parlour, but dull from its
aspect. Nothing but the sea at Weymouth affords any
life or spirit. My bedroom is in the attics. Nothing like
living at a Court for exaltation. Yet even with this gratification,
which extends to Miss Planta, the house will
only hold the females of the party.... It is my intention
to cast away all superfluous complaints into the main
ocean, which I think quite sufficiently capacious to hold
them; and really my little frame will find enough to carry
and manage without them.... His Majesty is in delightful
health, and much improved in spirits. All agree he
never looked better.... The Queen is reading Mrs.
Piozzi’s ‘Tour’ to me, instead of my reading it to her.
She loves reading aloud, and in this work finds me an
able commentator. How like herself, how characteristic
is every line!—Wild, entertaining, flighty, inconsistent,
and clever!” As at Cheltenham, much of the stiffness of
Windsor etiquette was thrown aside. The King and his
family spent most of their time in walking or riding, and
the Queen required but little attendance. Now and again
the royal party varied the usual amusements of a watering-place
by a visit to the Magnificent line-of-battle ship,
stationed at the entrance of the bay, by a cruise in the
Southampton frigate, which lay further in, or by an excursion
to Dorchester, Lulworth Castle, or Sherborne Castle.
During these intervals, the Robe-Keeper was left to her
own occupations. She passed much of her leisure with
the wife of the equerry, Mrs. Gwynn, Goldsmith’s
‘Jessamy Bride,’ who had many stories to tell of her old
admirer,[102] and could exchange anecdotes with Fanny of
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
Johnson, Baretti, the Thrales, Sir Joshua and his nieces.
Strolling with this acquaintance one morning on the
sands, Miss Burney “overtook a lady of very majestic
port and demeanour, who solemnly returned Mrs. Gwynn’s
salutation, and then addressed herself to me with similar
gravity. I saw a face I knew, and of very uncommon
beauty, but did not immediately recollect it was Mrs.
Siddons. Her husband was with her, and a sweet child.
I wished to have tried if her solemnity would have worn
away by length of conversation: but I was obliged to
hasten home.”
.fn 102
“His coffin was re-opened at the request of the Jessamy Bride, that a lock
might be cut from his hair. It was in Mrs. Gwynn’s possession when she died,
after nearly seventy years.”—Forster’s “Goldsmith.”
.fn-
The great actress, as she told Fanny, had come to
Weymouth solely for her health; but she could not resist
the royal command to appear at the little theatre, where
Mrs. Wells and Quick were already performing. “The
King,” says the Diary, “has taken the centre front box
for himself, and family, and attendants. The side boxes
are too small. The Queen ordered places for Miss
Planta and me, which are in the front row of a box next
but one to the royals. Thus, in this case, our want of
rank to be in their public suite gives us better seats than
those high enough to stand behind them!
“July 29th.—We went to the play, and saw Mrs.
Siddons in Rosalind. She looked beautifully, but too
large for that shepherd’s dress; and her gaiety sits not
naturally upon her—it seems more like disguised gravity.
I must own my admiration for her confined to her tragic
powers; and there it is raised so high that I feel mortified,
in a degree, to see her so much fainter attempts and
success in comedy.”
A few days later we read that Mrs. Siddons, as Lady
Townly, in her looks and the tragic part was exquisite;
and again: “Mrs. Siddons performed Mrs. Oakley.
What pity thus to throw away her talents! But the
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
Queen dislikes tragedy; and the honour to play before
the Royal Family binds her to the little credit acquired
by playing comedy.
“Sunday, August 9th.—The King had a council
yesterday, which brought most of the great officers of State
to Weymouth. This evening her Majesty desired Miss
Planta and me to go to the rooms, whither they commonly
go themselves on Sunday evenings; and after
looking round them, and speaking where they choose,
they retire to tea in an inner apartment with their own
party, but leave the door open, both to see and be seen.
The rooms are convenient and spacious: we found them
very full. As soon as the royal party came, a circle was
formed, and they moved round it, just as before the ball
at St. James’s, the King one way, with his Chamberlain,
the new-made Marquis of Salisbury,[103] and the Queen
the other, with the Princesses, Lady Courtown, etc. The
rest of the attendants planted themselves round in the
circle. I had now the pleasure, for the first time, to see
Mr. Pitt; but his appearance is his least recommendation;
it is neither noble nor expressive.”
.fn 103
James, seventh Earl of Salisbury, was advanced in August, 1789, to the
title of Marquis.
.fn-
Three days later occurs a significant entry:
“Wednesday, August 12th.—This is the Prince of
Wales’s birthday; but it has not been kept.”
On the 13th the royal party left Weymouth for Exeter,
where they arrived to a late dinner. Two days afterwards
they proceeded through a fertile and varied country to
Saltram, the seat of Earl Morley, a minor. All along the
route, the enthusiasm of loyalty which had accompanied
the King from Windsor continued undiminished. Arches
of flowers were erected at every town, with such devices
as rustic ingenuity could imagine, to express the welcome
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
of the inhabitants. Everywhere there were crowds, cheers,
singing, peals of bells, rejoicings, garlands, and decorations.
The view from Saltram commanded Plymouth Sound,
Mount Edgecombe, and a wide stretch of the fine adjacent
country. Visits were made from this noble house to
the great naval port, to the beauties of the famous
Mount, to the woods and steeps of Maristow, and the
antique curiosities of Cothele on the banks of the Tamar.
On the 27th the Court quitted Saltram for Weymouth,
and in the middle of September finally departed from
Weymouth on its return to Windsor. Two nights and
the intervening day were spent at Longleat, the seat of
the Marquis of Bath. “Longleat,” writes Miss Burney,
“was formerly the dwelling of Lord Lansdowne, uncle to
Mrs. Delany; and here, at this seat, that heartless uncle,
to promote some political views, sacrificed his incomparable
niece, at the age of seventeen, marrying her to an
unwieldy, uncultivated country esquire, near sixty years
of age, and scarce ever sober—his name Pendarves.
With how sad an awe, in recollecting her submissive
unhappiness, did I enter these doors!—and with what
indignant hatred did I look at the portrait of the unfeeling
Earl, to whom her gentle repugnance, shown by almost
incessant tears, was thrown away, as if she, her person,
and her existence, were nothing in the scale, where the
disposition of a few boroughs opposed them! Yet was
this the famous Granville—the poet, the fine gentleman,
the statesman, the friend and patron of Pope, of whom
he wrote:
.pm start_poem
‘What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing?’
.pm end_poem
Mine, I am sure, for one.”
The house, at the time of this visit, though magnificent,
and of an immense magnitude, was very much out
of repair, and by no means cheerful or comfortable.
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
Gloomy grandeur, Fanny thought, was the character of
the building and its fitting-up. “My bedroom,” she says,
“was furnished with crimson velvet, bed included, yet so
high, though only the second story, that it made me
giddy to look into the park, and tired to wind up the
flight of stairs. It was formerly the favourite room, the
housekeeper told me, of Bishop Ken, who put on his
shroud in it before he died. Had I fancied I had seen
his ghost, I might have screamed my voice away, unheard
by any assistant to lay it; for so far was I from the
rest of the mansion, that not the lungs of Mr. Bruce
could have availed me.” The last place at which the
King stopped on his homeward journey was Tottenham
Park, the seat of the Earl of Ailesbury. Here occurred
an instance of the enormous expense to which the great
nobles sometimes went in entertaining their sovereign.
‘The good lord of the mansion put up a new bed for the
King and Queen that cost him £900.’
On September 18 the Court arrived at Windsor.
‘Deadly dead sank my heart’ is our traveller’s record of
her sensation on re-entering the detested dining-room.
Nothing happened during the remainder of the year to
raise her spirits. In October, the days began to remind
her of the terrible miseries of the preceding autumn.
She found ‘a sort of recollective melancholy always
ready to mix’ with her thankfulness for the King’s
continued good health. And about the same time disquieting
news came from over the water of the march to
Versailles, the return to Paris, and the shouts of the
hungry and furious poissardes proclaiming the arrival of
‘the baker, his wife, and the little apprentice.’ Events
of this kind could not but excite uneasiness at any Court,
however popular for the time. These shadows were
presently succeeded by another, equally undefined, but of
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
a more personal character. In the middle of November,
Fanny was told by Miss Planta, in confidence, that Mr.
Digby had written to acquaint his royal patrons with his
approaching marriage. ‘I believed not a syllable of the
matter,’ says the Diary; ‘but I would not tell her that.’
Only a few days later, however, the same kind friend
informed Miss Burney that ‘it was all declared, and that
the Princesses had wished Miss Gunning joy at the
Drawing-Room.’ ‘Now first,’ says Fanny, ‘my belief
followed assertion;—but it was only because it was
inevitable, since the Princesses could not have proceeded
so far without certainty.’ The wedding took place early
in January; and from this time the bridegroom appeared
no more at Court, which became to one of the attendants
an abode of unrelieved gloom.
Some of her friends were frank enough in their comments
on her situation. There was something, no doubt,
in Miss Burney’s aspect which drew such remarks as
these from the wife of an Irish bishop: “Well; the
Queen, to be sure, is a great deal better dressed than she
used to be; but for all that, I really think it is but an odd
thing for you!—Dear, I think it’s something so out of the
way for you!—I can’t think how you set about it. It
must have been very droll to you at first. A great deal
of honour, to be sure, to serve a Queen, and all that; but,
I dare say a lady’s-maid could do it better.... It must
be a mighty hurry-scurry life! You don’t look at all
fit for it, to judge by appearances, for all its great honour,
and all that.” Colonel Digby had previously accused her
of being absent in her official occupation, and she had
owned that she had at first found attention unattainable.
“She had even,” she added, “and not seldom, handed
the Queen her fan before her gown, and her gloves before
her cap!” The Vice-Chamberlain thought this very likely,
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
and observed that such matters did not seem trifles to
her Majesty.
The Diary for the earlier months of 1790 contains little
more than what the writer calls ‘loose scraps of anecdotes,’
of which we can find room for only one or two
specimens. Here is an account of a conversation with
Colonel Manners, who, besides being an equerry, was
also a Member of Parliament:
.pm start_quote
“I had been informed he had once made an attempt to
speak, during the Regency business, last winter; I begged
to know how the matter stood, and he made a most frank
display of its whole circumstances.
“‘Why, they were speaking away,’ he cried, ‘upon
the Regency, and so—and they were saying the King
could not reign, and recover; and Burke was making
some of his eloquence, and talking; and, says he, ‘hurled
from his throne’—and so I put out my finger in this
manner, as if I was in a great passion, for I felt myself
very red, and I was in a monstrous passion I suppose,
but I was only going to say ‘Hear! Hear!’ but I
happened to lean one hand down upon my knee, in this
way, just as Mr. Pitt does when he wants to speak; and
I stooped forward, just as if I was going to rise up and
begin; but just then I caught Mr. Pitt’s eye, looking at
me so pitifully; he thought I was going to speak, and he
was frightened to death, for he thought—for the thing
was, he got up himself, and he said over all I wanted to
say; and the thing is, he almost always does; for just as
I have something particular to say, Mr. Pitt begins, and
goes through it all, so that he don’t leave anything more
to be said about it; and so I suppose, as he looked at me
so pitifully, he thought I should say it first, or else that I
should get into some scrape, because I was so warm and
looking so red.’
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
“Any comment would disgrace this; I will therefore
only tell you his opinion, in his own words, of one of our
late taxes.[104]
.fn 104
In 1785, Mr. Pitt introduced an increase in the tax paid on men-servants,
when they were kept by bachelors.
.fn-
“‘There’s only one tax, ma’am, that ever I voted for
against my conscience, for I’ve always been very particular
about that; but that is the bacheldor’s tax, and that I hold
to be very unconstitutional, and I am very sorry I voted
for it, because it’s very unfair; for how can a man help
being a bacheldor, if nobody will have him? and, besides,
it’s not any fault to be taxed for, because we did not
make ourselves bacheldors, for we were made so by God,
for nobody was born married, and so I think it’s a very
unconstitutional tax.’”
.pm end_quote
Miss Burney’s desultory journals for this year contain
few notices of her life at Court. We hear, indeed, in the
spring, of her being summoned to a new employment,
and called upon four or five times to read a play before
the Queen and Princesses. But this proved a very occasional
break in the routine of drudgery which she could
no longer support with cheerfulness. Henceforth she
seems to avoid all mention of other engagements and
incidents at Windsor or Kew as matters too wearisome
to think of or write about. We have, instead, accounts
of days spent at the Hastings trial, where, as before, she
spent much time in conversing with Windham. The
charges were now being investigated in detail, and it was
often difficult to make up an interesting report for her
mistress. Sometimes, however, when evidence weighed
the proceedings down, Burke would speak from time to
time, and lift them up; or Windham himself, much to
Fanny’s satisfaction, would take part in the arguments.
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
But Westminster Hall was attractive mainly by contrast
to the palace; in the Great Chamberlain’s Box there was
no danger of receiving a summons to the Queen, no fear
of being late for an attendance in the royal dressing-room.
During the recess, when there was no trial to
attend, Miss Burney’s thoughts were a good deal occupied
by the illness and death of a faithful man-servant, and
with the subsequent disposal of his savings, which caused
her some trouble.
Once, at the end of May, she had an opportunity of
unburdening her mind to her father. They met in
Westminster Abbey at one of the many commemorations
of Handel which occurred about this time; and, neither
of them caring very much for the great master’s music,
they spent three hours chiefly in conversation. For four
years they had not been so long alone together. Dr.
Burney happened to mention that some of the French
exiles wished him to make them acquainted with the
author of ‘Cecilia,’ and repeated the astonished speech
of the Comtesse de Boufflers on learning that this was out
of his power: ‘Mais, monsieur, est-ce possible! Mademoiselle
votre fille n’a-t-elle point de vacances?’ Such an
opening was just what Fanny wanted, and she availed
herself of it to pour out her whole heart. With many
expressions of gratitude for the Queen’s goodness, she
owned that her way of life was distasteful to her; she
was lost to all private comfort, dead to all domestic
endearment, worn with want of rest and laborious
attendance. Separated from her relations, her friends,
and the society she loved, she brooded over the past with
hopeless regret, and lived like one who had no natural
connections. “Melancholy was the existence, where
happiness was excluded, though not a complaint could
be made! where the illustrious personages who were
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
served possessed almost all human excellence—yet where
those who were their servants, though treated with the
most benevolent condescension, could never in any part
of the live-long day, command liberty, or social intercourse,
or repose!” “The silence of my dearest father,”
she adds, “now silencing myself, I turned to look at him;
but how was I struck to see his honoured head bowed
down almost into his bosom with dejection and discomfort!
We were both perfectly still a few moments;
but when he raised his head I could hardly keep my seat
to see his eyes filled with tears! ‘I have long,’ he cried,
‘been uneasy, though I have not spoken; ... but ...
if you wish to resign—my house, my purse, my arms,
shall be open to receive you back!’”
It cannot fairly be said that, during the preceding four
years, Miss Burney had been debarred from literary work.
The conditions of her lot were hard, and it may have
been one of them that she should publish nothing while
in the Queen’s service; but she certainly had enjoyed
considerable leisure for composition. Witness the full
and carefully-written journal which she had kept during
the greater part of her tenure of office. Perhaps the
frequent interruptions to which she was liable hindered
her from concentrating her thoughts on the production of
a regular narrative. Indefatigable as she was with her
pen, we can see that she was far less strenuous when
much intellectual exertion was required. When she was
offered her post, her Muse was at a standstill, as she told
the King; and since she entered the household, she had
written nothing capable of being printed, except two or
three small copies of verses not worth printing, and the
rough draft of a tragedy. She had begun this tragedy
during the King’s illness, in order to distract her attention;
and after laying it aside for sixteen months, she
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
resumed her task in the spring of 1790, and completed
the play in August. Well or ill done, she
was pleased, she told her sisters, to have done something
‘at last—she who had so long lived in all ways
as nothing.’ In the early part of this year the newspapers
announced, as they had done several times before,
that the distinguished novelist, who had so long been
silent, had at length finished a new tale ready for the
press. As often as this rumour appeared, a flutter of
apprehension ran through the ante-rooms of the Upper
and Lower Lodges. Fanny’s genius for seizing the points
of a character, and presenting them in a ludicrous light,
could not fail to be recognised wherever she went. Years
before, the fiery Baretti had warned her that if she dared
to put him in a book, she should feel the effects of an
Italian’s vengeance.[105] Joseph Baretti, who had stilettoed
his man, and who lived to libel Mrs. Piozzi, was the very
person to fulfil a promise of this kind. But for his threat,
his tempting eccentricities might have exposed him to
considerable peril. But the carpet-knights and waiting-women
of Windsor stood in no immediate danger.
‘There is a new book coming out, and we shall all be in
it!’ exclaimed the conscience-stricken Mr. Turbulent.
The colonels frowned, bit their lips, and tried not to look
uncomfortable. ‘Well, anybody’s welcome to me and
my character!’ cried poor Miss Planta, whom Fanny used
to patronize. ‘Never mind! she’s very humane!’ observed
one of the Willises, well aware that, whoever else
might suffer, he and his family were exempt from ridicule.
Miss Burney smiled demurely at the tributes paid to her
power. Full well she knew that, so far as the characters
of her colleagues were worth preserving, she had them all
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
safe, under lock and key, in her Diary. But not a line of
the dreaded novel had been written. The passion, which
possessed her in her early days, for planning a story, and
contriving situations for the actors in it, had faded away
as the freshness of youth departed.
.fn 105
Diary, vol. ii., p. 581.
.fn-
The months rolled on, and her spirits did not improve,
while her health steadily declined. Some of her female
friends—Mrs. Gwynn, Miss Cambridge, Mrs. Ord—saw
her at Windsor or Kew after the close of the London
season, and were painfully impressed with the alteration
which they noted in her. The reports which these ladies
carried up to town were speedily known throughout her
father’s circle of acquaintances. The discontent that
had been felt at her seclusion increased tenfold when it
was suspected that there was danger of the prisoner’s
constitution giving way. A sort of cabal was formed to
bring influence to bear upon Dr. Burney. The lead in
this seems to have been taken by Sir Joshua Reynolds,
who, despite his failing eyesight and his Academic
troubles, was zealous as ever in the cause of his old
favourite. Dr. Burney had yielded to Fanny’s wish of
retiring; but he was not in affluent circumstances, he
had expected great things from the Court appointment,
his daughter had not much worldly wisdom, and in
dread of the censure that awaited him in high quarters,
if he suffered her to throw away a competency without
visible necessity, he was for putting off the evil day of
resignation as long as possible. It was therefore important
that friends whose approbation he valued should
unite to make him understand that the case, in their
judgment, called for prompt determination. He was
much worked upon in the autumn by a letter from Horace
Walpole to Frances, in which the writer, with a touch of
heartiness quite unusual to him, lamented her confinement
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
to a closet at Court, and asked whether her talents
were given to be buried in obscurity? About the same
time, he was warned by his daughter, Mrs. Francis, that
Windham, her neighbour in Norfolk, who had observed
for himself the change in Fanny’s appearance, was
meditating an attack on him as soon as they should meet
in town. The politician had already sounded Burney to
little purpose; ‘it is resolution,’ he told Charlotte, ‘not
inclination, the Doctor wants.’ ‘I will set the Literary
Club upon him!’ he cried. ‘Miss Burney has some very
true friends there, and I am sure they will all eagerly
assist. We will present him an address.’
The general feeling infected James Boswell, though not
very intimate with the Burney family. In this same
autumn, Boswell was on a visit to the Dean of Windsor,
who was also Bishop of Carlisle. Miss Burney met him
one morning at the choir-gate of St. George’s Chapel:
.pm start_quote
“We saluted with mutual glee: his comic-serious face
and manner have lost nothing of their wonted singularity;
nor yet have his mind and language, as you will soon
confess.
“‘I am extremely glad to see you indeed,’ he cried,
‘but very sorry to see you here. My dear ma’am, why
do you stay?—it won’t do, ma’am! you must resign!—we
can put up with it no longer. I told my good host
the Bishop so last night; we are all grown quite outrageous!’
Whether I laughed the most, or stared the
most, I am at a loss to say; but I hurried away, not to
have such treasonable declarations overheard, for we were
surrounded by a multitude. He accompanied me, however,
not losing one moment in continuing his exhortations:
‘If you do not quit, ma’am, very soon, some
violent measures, I assure you, will be taken. We shall
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
address Dr. Burney in a body; I am ready to make the
harangue myself. We shall fall upon him all at once.’
“I stopped him to inquire about Sir Joshua; he said
he saw him very often, and that his spirits were very
good. I asked about Mr. Burke’s book. ‘Oh,’ cried
he, ‘it will come out next week: ’tis the first book in
the world, except my own, and that’s coming out also
very soon; only I want your help.’ ‘My help?’ ‘Yes,
madam; you must give me some of your choice little
notes of the Doctor’s; we have seen him long enough
upon stilts; I want to show him in a new light. Grave
Sam, and great Sam, and solemn Sam, and learned Sam—all
these he has appeared over and over. Now I want
to entwine a wreath of the graces across his brow; I
want to show him as gay Sam, agreeable Sam, pleasant
Sam: so you must help me with some of his beautiful
billets to yourself.’”
.pm end_quote
Fanny evaded this request by declaring that she had
not any stores at hand; she could not, she afterwards
said, consent to print private letters addressed to herself.
The self-satisfied biographer followed her to the Queen’s
Lodge, continuing his importunity, and repeating his
exhortations to her to resign at once. At the entrance,
he pulled out a proof-sheet of the First Book in the
world, and began to read from it a letter of Dr. Johnson
to himself. ‘He read it,’ says the Diary, ‘in strong
imitation of the Doctor’s manner, very well, and not
caricature. But Mrs. Schwellenberg was at her window,
a crowd was gathering to stand round the rails, and the
King and Queen and Royal Family now approached from
the Terrace. I made rather a quick apology, and with a
step as quick as my now weakened limbs have left in my
power, I hurried to my apartment.’
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
By what representations Dr. Burney was brought to
view his daughter’s condition in its true light we are
not distinctly informed. We find, however, that, before
October ended, a memorial to the Queen, written by
Fanny in her father’s name and her own, requesting permission
for the Robe-Keeper to resign, had been approved
by the Doctor, who expressed his desire that it should be
presented at the first favourable opportunity. Then came
a pause: the invalid was taking bark, which for a short
time recruited her strength; and she cherished the hope
of obtaining a ship for her brother James before she left
the Court. But her hopes both for her brother and herself
proved illusory. In December, her loss of health
became so notorious that no part of the house could
wholly avoid acknowledging it. ‘Yet,’ she writes, ‘was
the terrible piquet the catastrophe of every evening,
though frequent pains in my side forced me, three and
four times in a game, to creep to my own room for
hartshorn and for rest.’ The remaining members of the
household were more considerate than the mistress of the
card-table. The ladies had the fellow-feeling of fellow-sufferers;
even Mr. Turbulent frankly counselled Miss
Burney to retreat before it was too late. A general
opinion prevailed that she was falling into a decline, and
that, at best, she was reduced to a choice between her
place and her life. “There seemed now,” she says, “no
time to be lost; when I saw my dear father he recommended
to me to be speedy, and my mother was very
kind in urgency for immediate measures. I could not,
however, summon courage to present my memorial; my
heart always failed me, from seeing the Queen’s entire
freedom from such an expectation; for though I was
frequently so ill in her presence that I could hardly stand,
I saw she concluded me, while life remained, inevitably
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
hers.” Fanny’s nervousness, in fact, had made her less
anxious to deliver her letter than her father was to have
it delivered, and some further persuasion from him was
required before the paper reached her Majesty’s hands.
At length it was presented, and the result was exactly
what the writer had anticipated. The Schwellenberg
stormed, of course: to resign was to return to nothingness;
to forfeit the protection of the Court was to become
an outcast; to lose the beatific vision of the Sovereign
and his consort was hardly less than to be excluded from
heaven. The Queen thought the memorial very modest
and proper, but was surprised at its contents. Indomitable
herself, she could not understand how anyone else
could suffer from more than passing illness. She therefore
proposed that her sick attendant should have six
weeks’ leave of absence, which, with change of air and
scene, and the society of her family, the Locks and the
Cambridges, would ensure a perfect cure. This proposal
was duly communicated to Dr. Burney. The good man’s
answer arrived by return of post. With much gratitude
for the royal goodness, he declared, on medical authority,
that nothing short of an absolute retirement gave any
prospect of recovery. “A scene almost horrible ensued,”
says Miss Burney, “when I told Cerbera the offer was
declined. She was too much enraged for disguise, and
uttered the most furious expressions of indignant contempt
at our proceedings. I am sure she would gladly
have confined us both in the Bastille, had England such
a misery, as a fit place to bring us to ourselves, from a
daring so outrageous against imperial wishes.”
The Queen herself betrayed a blank disappointment at
Dr. Burney’s inflexibility, but neither exhibited displeasure
nor raised any further obstacle. Yet the prisoner’s liberation
was still at a distance. In January, 1791, she was
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
prostrated by an attack of some acute illness which lasted
through the two following months. On returning to her
duty, she found that search was being made for a suitable
person to succeed her. But the selection proved difficult,
and her Majesty, of course, could not be pressed. It was
at length arranged that Miss Burney should be set free
soon after the celebration of the King’s birthday in June.
This matter settled, her position grew easier. Her
colleague not only laid aside asperity of manner, but
became even ‘invariable in kindness.’ And Fanny now
began to do the old lady more justice than she had ever
done before. She acknowledged, in short, that Cerbera’s
bark was worse than her bite; that though selfish, harsh,
and overbearing, she was not unfriendly; that she was
even extremely fond of her junior’s society, when the
latter could force herself to appear gay and chatty. On
such occasions the morose German would melt, and tell
the Queen: ‘The Bernar bin reely agribble.’ ‘Mrs.
Schwellenberg, too,’ adds the Diary, ‘with all her faults,
is heart and soul devoted to her royal mistress, with the
truest faith and loyalty.’ As for this mistress, she treated
her retiring servant with all her former confidence, clouded
only by a visible, though unavowed, regret at the prospect
of their separation. Thus the closing weeks of this life at
Court were spent in comparative tranquillity, though there
were intervals of great weakness and depression.
“On the opening of this month,” says the Diary for
June, “her Majesty told me that the next day Mr. Hastings
was to make his defence, and warmly added, ‘I would
give the world you could go to it!’” There was no
resisting such an appeal, and accordingly, under date of
June 2nd, we read: “I went once more to Westminster
Hall, which was more crowded than on any day since the
trial commenced, except the first. Peers, commoners,
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
and counsel, peeresses, commoneresses, and the numerous
indefinites, crowded every part, with a just and fair curiosity
to hear one day’s defence, after seventy-three of
Miss Burney heard the accused read his vindication,
and listened with an interest which she knew would be
shared by the King and Queen; she heard something also
about herself, which she did not communicate to their
Majesties. She attended to the story of Hastings when
told by himself as she had never attended to it before;
her sympathy followed him when he expressed disdain of
his persecutors, when he arraigned the late Minister, Lord
North, of double-dealing, and the then Minister, Mr. Pitt,
of cowardly desertion. She shared his indignation when
the Managers interrupted him; she exulted when the
Lords quelled the interruption by cheering the speaker,
and when Lord Kenyon, who presided in the place of the
Chancellor, said, ‘Mr. Hastings, proceed.’ She contrasted
the fortitude of the defendant, who for so many days had
been silent under virulent abuse, with the intemperate
eagerness of his assailants, who could not exercise the
like self-control even for three brief hours. In short, she
felt as warm-hearted women always have felt, and as it is
suspected that even icy politicians, men of light and leading
on their respective sides, occasionally do feel in the
present enlightened age. “The conclusion of the defence,”
continues this excited partisan, “I heard better, as Mr.
Hastings spoke considerably louder from this time: the
spirit of indignation animated his manner, and gave
strength to his voice. You will have seen the chief parts
of his discourse in the newspapers; and you cannot, I
think, but grow more and more his friend as you peruse
it. He called pathetically and solemnly for instant judgement;
but the Lords, after an adjournment, decided to
hear his defence by evidence, and in order, the next
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
Session. How grievous such continued delay to a man
past sixty, and sighing for such a length of time for
redress from a prosecution as yet unparalleled in our
annals!”
When it was over, Windham approached her, and ‘in
a tone of very deep concern, and with a look that
fully concurred in it,’ said, ‘Do I see Miss Burney?
Indeed,’ he went on, ‘I was going to make a speech not
very gallant.’ ‘But it is what I should like better,’ cried
the lady; it is kind, if you were going to say I look
miserably ill, as that is but a necessary consequence of
feeling so, and miserably ill I have felt this long time
past.’ She prevented more by going on to say how happy
she was that he had been absent from the Managers’ Box,
and had not joined in the attempt made by his fellow-managers
to disconcert Mr. Hastings. ‘Indeed, I was
kept in alarm to the very last moment; for at every
figure I saw start up just now—Mr. Fox, Mr. Burke, Mr.
Grey—I concluded yours would be the next.’ ‘You were
prepared, then,’ cried he with no little malice, ‘for a
“voice issuing from a distant pew.”’ This unexpected
quotation from Cecilia “put me quite out,” says Fanny,
“whereupon he seized his opportunity to put himself in.
For, after a little laugh at his victory, he very gravely,
and even almost solemnly, said, ‘But there is another
subject—always uppermost with me—which I have not
ventured to speak of to you; though to others you know
not how I have raved and raged! But I believe, I am
sure, you know what I allude to.’ ’Twas impossible,
thus challenged, to dissemble. ‘Yes,’ I answered; ‘I
own, I believe I understand you; and, indeed, I should be
tempted to say further—if you would forget it when heard,
and make no implications—that, from what has come
round to me from different quarters, I hold myself to be
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
very much obliged to you....’ When we came home
I was immediately summoned to her Majesty, to whom I
gave a full and fair account of all I had heard of the
defence; and it drew tears from her expressive eyes, as I
repeated Mr. Hastings’ own words, upon the hardship
and injustice of the treatment he had sustained.” At
night, the reporter was called upon to repeat her narrative
to the King, to whom she was equally faithful, “sparing
nothing of what had dropped from the persecuted defendant
relative to the Ministers of the Crown.”
Two days afterwards came the King’s birthday, and
Miss Burney was well enough to enjoy a lively scene—the
last that she was to witness at Court:
.pm start_quote
“At dinner Mrs. Schwellenberg presided, attired magnificently.
Miss Goldsworthy, Mrs. Stainforth, Messrs.
de Luc and Stanhope dined with us; and, while we were
still eating fruit, the Duke of Clarence entered. He was
just risen from the King’s table, and waiting for his
equipage to go home and prepare for the ball. To give
you an idea of the energy of his Royal Highness’s language,
I ought to set apart a general objection to writing,
or rather intimating, certain forcible words, and beg leave
to show you, in genuine colours, a royal sailor. We all
rose, of course, upon his entrance, and the two gentlemen
placed themselves behind their chairs, while the
footmen left the room; but he ordered us all to sit down,
and called the men back to hand about some wine. He
was in exceeding high spirits, and in the utmost good
humour. He placed himself at the head of the table,
next Mrs. Schwellenberg, and looked remarkably well,
gay, and full of sport and mischief, yet clever withal as
well as comical. ‘Well, this is the first day I have ever
dined with the King at St. James’s on his birthday.
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
Pray, have you all drunk his Majesty’s health?’ ‘No,
your Roy’l Highness: your Roy’l Highness might make
dem do dat,’ said Mrs. Schwellenberg. ‘O, by —— will
I! Here, you (to the footman); bring champagne! I’ll
drink the King’s health again, if I die for it! Yet, I have
done pretty well already: so has the King, I promise you!
I believe his Majesty was never taken such good care of
before. We have kept his spirits up, I promise you; we
have enabled him to go through his fatigues: and I should
have done more still, but for the ball and Mary—I have
promised to dance with Mary!’ Princess Mary made
her first appearance at Court to-day: she looked most
interesting and unaffectedly lovely: she is a sweet
creature, and perhaps, in point of beauty, the first of this
truly beautiful race, of which Princess Mary may be
called pendant to the Prince of Wales. Champagne being
now brought for the Duke, he ordered it all round.
When it came to me, I whispered to Westerhaults to
carry it on: the Duke slapped his hands violently on the
table, and called out, ‘O, by ——, you shall drink it!’
There was no resisting this. We all stood up, and the
Duke sonorously gave the royal toast.”
.pm end_quote
The indefatigable diarist, says Thackeray, continues
for pages reporting H.R.H.’s conversation, and indicating,
with a humour not unworthy of the clever little author of
‘Evelina,’ the increasing excitement of the young Sailor
Prince, who drank more and more champagne, stopped
old Mrs. Schwellenberg’s remonstrances by kissing her
hand, and telling her to shut her potato-trap, and who
did not keep ‘sober for Mary.’ Mary had to find another
partner that night, for the royal William Henry could not
keep his legs. When the Princess afterwards told Miss
Burney of her brother’s condition at the ball, and Fanny
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
accounted for it by relating what had passed at the
attendants’ dinner-table, she found that she had been
anticipated by the Duke himself. ‘Oh!’ cried the
Princess; ‘he told me of it himself the next morning,
and said: “You may think how far I was gone, for I
kissed the Schwellenberg’s hand!”’ The lady saluted
was duly sensible of the honour paid her. ‘Dat Prince
Villiam,’ she observed to her junior—‘oders de Duke of
Clarence—bin raelly ver merry—oders vat you call
tipsy.’
Mademoiselle Jacobi,[106] Fanny’s destined successor,
arrived in the first days of July, and the prison door was
now thrown open. Miss Burney imagined that, as the
day of her discharge approached, the Queen’s manner
to her became rather less cordial, and betokened an
inward feeling that the invalided servant ought, at
every hazard, to have remained with her employer.
This, we believe, is a common opinion among mistresses
in all ranks of life, when called upon to surrender
a trusted dependent. The King, with that
weakness which the better-half always despises, was
disposed to be much more indulgent. As if to compensate
for his consort’s vexation, he showed himself
increasingly courteous and kind at every meeting, making
opportunities to talk over Boswell’s book, which had
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
recently appeared, and listening to Fanny’s anecdotes of
Johnson with the utmost complacency and interest. The
Princesses did not conceal their sorrow at the impending
change. ‘Indeed,’ says the Diary, ‘the most flattering
marks of attention meet me from all quarters. Mrs.
Schwellenberg has been forced to town by ill-health; she
was very friendly, even affectionate, in going!’ And
before the hour of parting arrived, the light cloud passed
away from her Majesty’s face. It has been asked, Why
should she have grieved at losing an attendant, who, as
the Queen used to complain, could never tie the bow of
her royal necklace without tying her royal hair in with
it? But, in Miss Burney, Queen Charlotte was losing
much more than an unskilful tire-woman, or a nervous
reader, who, as we know on the same unimpeachable
authority, ‘had the misfortune of reading rather low.’ She
was losing one whom she declared to be ‘true as gold,’ and
who had a much larger share of mind than commonly fell to
the official lot; a familiar friend who was as far as possible
from being a learned lady, and yet capable of entertaining
her mistress with clever and stimulating talk such as her
Majesty loved. No retiring pension had been asked for
in the petition for leave to resign, and when the subject
was mentioned by the Queen, the petitioner hastened to
disavow all claim and expectation of that kind. She
found, however, that the question of what the occasion
demanded had been already considered and decided.
Though the term of service had been short, the character
of the servant, and the notorious failure of her health,
made it imperative that she should receive some provision.
The Queen therefore announced her intention of
continuing to her second Robe-Keeper in retirement one-half
of the annual salary which had been paid to her in
office. ‘It is but her due,’ said the King. ‘She has
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
given up five years of her pen.’[107] Two days after this
matter was settled, Miss Burney took leave of the Royal
Family. Emotional as one of her own heroines, she
could not control her feelings in bidding farewell to the
Queen, and was unable even to look at the King when
he came to say ‘Good-bye.’ She quitted the Court on
July 7, 1791, having been a member of the royal house-hold
for five years all but ten days. Burke recalled the
satisfaction with which he had hailed her appointment;
and, owning that he had never been more mistaken in his
life, observed that the story of those five years would
have furnished Johnson with another vivid illustration for
his ‘Vanity of Human Wishes.’
.fn 106
Macaulay asserts that, shortly after her release, Miss Burney “visited her old
dungeon, and found her successor already far on the way to the grave, and kept
to strict duty, from morning till midnight, with a sprained ankle, and a nervous
fever.” This is a strange misstatement. Mademoiselle Jacobi had leave of
absence to nurse her sprain: it was not “in the old dungeon” that Miss Burney
saw her on the occasion referred to, but in a small room at Brompton, where
she was sitting with her leg on bolsters, and unable to put her foot to the
ground. Fanny, in January, 1792, took a turn of duty at St. James’s, by the
Queen’s request, because “Mademoiselle Jacobi was still lame.” Diary, vol. iii.,
pp. 385-87. However, we read afterwards that, towards the end of 1797,
Mademoiselle Jacobi “retired to Germany, ill and dissatisfied with everything
in England.” She, as well as Miss Burney, received a pension.
.fn-
.fn 107
Memoirs, iii. 118 n.
.fn-
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 287.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI.
.pm start_summary
Chelsea Hospital—Tour to Devonshire—Visit to Bath—Reminiscences—The
Duchess of Devonshire—Return Home—Literary Pursuits resumed—Attempts
at Tragedy—Social Engagements—Death of Sir Joshua Reynolds—A
Public Breakfast at Mrs. Montagu’s—Mrs. Hastings—Mr. Boswell—Visit
to Mrs. Crewe—The Burke Family—Meeting with Edmund Burke—Burke
and the French Revolution—Charles Fox—Lord Loughborough—Mr.
Erskine—His Egotism—The French Refugees in England—Bury St.
Edmunds—Madame de Genlis—The Duke de Liancourt—The Settlement
at Mickleham—Count de Narbonne—The Chevalier d’Arblay—Visit of Miss
Burney to Norfolk—Death of Mr. Francis—Return to London.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
Miss Burney returned to her father, who, with his wife
and his youngest daughter Sarah, was then living in
Chelsea Hospital. The family at this time occupied
rooms on the ground-floor, which not long afterwards
were exchanged for others in the top story. After resting
three weeks at home, she set out on a tour to the southwest
of England, under the care of her friend Mrs. Ord.
The travellers journeyed by easy stages to Sidmouth,
taking Stonehenge on their way, and stopping at the
principal places which had been visited by the Court in
the summer of 1789. Having spent eight or nine days
on the coast of South Devon, they turned northwards,
and proceeded by the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey to
Bath. That most famous of English watering-places was
greatly altered from what it had been when Fanny passed
the season there with the Thrales eleven years before.
The circumference, she tells us, had trebled, though the
new buildings were scattered, and most of them unfinished.
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
“The hills are built up and down, and the
vales so stocked with streets and houses, that, in some
places, from the ground-floor on one side a street, you
cross over to the attic of your opposite neighbour. It
looks a town of hills, and a hill of towns.” But the
palaces of white stone rising up on every hand interested
her less than the old haunts with which she was familiar—the
North Parade, where she had lived with Mrs.
Thrale; the houses in the Circus, where she had visited
Mrs. Montagu and Mrs. Cholmley; the Belvedere, where
she had talked with Mrs. Byron and Lord Mulgrave.
Nearly a month slipped away in reviving old recollections,
and in making some new acquaintances to replace
the many that had disappeared. The retired official was
much flattered by an introduction to the celebrated
Duchess of Devonshire, and amused herself with the
thought that her first visit after leaving the Queen
should be paid to the greatest lady of the Opposition.
Another month was divided between Mickleham and
Norbury Park, and by the middle of October Miss Burney
was again at Chelsea.
‘We shall expect you here to dinner by four,’ wrote
her father. ‘The great grubbery will be in nice order for
you, as well as the little; both have lately had many
accessions of new books. The ink is good, good pens in
plenty, and the most pleasant and smooth paper in the
world!
.pm start_poem
‘“Come, Rosalind, oh, come and see
What quires are in store for thee!”’
.pm end_poem
Are we wrong in thinking that these words express Dr.
Burney’s anxiety to see his daughter once more working
as she had not worked since the last sheet of ‘Cecilia’
was corrected for the press? In the succeeding pages of
the Diary we find more than one passage where the good
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
man’s eagerness for some new fruit of her talents is
plainly confessed. Friends had united to persuade him
that he had but to recall her from the royal dressing-room
to her study, and fresh laurels, with abundant
riches, would surely and speedily be hers. He was
naturally impatient for some fulfilment of these prophecies.
Rosalind appeared: she wore out the quills, and covered
the quires; but nothing came of her activity. Her health
was now fairly restored, and, in the first ardour of composition,
she felt that she could employ two pens almost
incessantly. Unhappily, her industry was devoted to a
mistaken purpose. She had brought with her from
Windsor the rough drafts of two tragedies, and without
pausing to correct these, she occupied herself in writing
a third. A less hopeful enterprise could not have been
conceived. She had before her eyes the warning example
of Mr. Crisp’s failure. Had this old friend been living,
he would doubtless have been wiser for his pupil than he
was for himself. It is certain that Nature had not designed
the Siddons for tragedy more distinctly than she
intended Frances Burney for comedy. With the exception
of one or two powerful scenes, such as the death of
Harrel, Fanny’s chief successes had been won in the
department of humorous writing. It was her misfortune
that she had at this moment no literary adviser on whose
judgment she could rely. Her acquaintance with Arthur
Murphy seems to have ceased; the Hastings trial, and
the debates on the Regency, had cooled her relations
with Sheridan and Burke. ‘Mr. Sheridan,’ she wrote,
‘I have no longer any ambition to be noticed by.’ Her
regard for Burke continued; but she had not yet met
him since her deliverance from captivity. Dr. Burney
was told only that she was engaged upon a play, and was
made to understand that he must wait until it was
.bn 290.png
.pn +1
finished before he was indulged with a sight of the manuscript.
Towards the end of 1791 she writes: ‘I go on
with various writings, at different times, and just as the
humour strikes. I have promised my dear father a
Christmas-box and a New Year’s gift; and therefore he
now kindly leaves me to my own devices.’ We do not
find that the anxious parent received either of the
promised presents. The daughter’s fit of application
seems to have soon died away: in the early part of 1792,
her father was ill and occupied with his ailments; and by
the time he was able to think of other things, Fanny had
ceased to prepare for coming before the public. Her
tragedies slept in her desk for three years: when, at the
end of that period, the earliest of them, which had been
begun at Kew and finished at Windsor, was put on the
stage, it was produced without revision, and failed—as,
no doubt, it would have done under any circumstances.
As Miss Burney’s strength returned, she seems to have
fallen back into the indolent life of visiting and party-going
which she was leading when she joined the Royal Household.
She saw once more the failing Sir Joshua, who
had worked at her deliverance as if she had been his own
daughter; though he passed from the scene before she
found an opportunity of thanking him for his exertions.
She attended a great public breakfast given by Mrs.
Montagu, whose famous Feather Room and dining-room
were thronged by hundreds of guests, and looked like a
full Ranelagh by daylight. At this entertainment she
met Mrs. Hastings, whose splendid dress, loaded with
ornaments, gave her the appearance of an Indian
princess. At another breakfast Fanny encountered Boswell,
who had excited her displeasure by his revelation of
Johnson’s infirmities, and who provoked her again by
.bn 291.png
.pn +1
telling anecdotes of the great Samuel, and acting them
with open buffoonery. During the Session, she spent
much of her time at the Hastings trial, listening to the
defence conducted by Law, Dallas, and Plomer, and
rallying Windham on the sarcasms aimed by Law at the
heated rhetoric of Burke. The great orator himself she
rarely encountered on these occasions. In June, 1792,
however, she spent a day with him at Mrs. Crewe’s house
on Hampstead Hill.
.pm start_quote
“The villa at Hampstead is small, but commodious.
We were received by Mrs. Crewe with much kindness.
The room was rather dark, and she had a veil to her
bonnet, half down, and with this aid she looked still in a
full blaze of beauty.... She is certainly, in my eyes, the
most completely a beauty of any woman I ever saw. I
know not, even now, any female in her first youth who
could bear the comparison. She uglifies everything near
her. Her son was with her. He is just of age, and
looks like her elder brother! he is a heavy, old-looking
young man. He is going to China with Lord Macartney.[108]
.fn 108
1737-1806. Lord Macartney’s mission to China was narrated in two interesting
works, Macartney’s Journal, and Staunton’s ‘Account of the Embassy.’
.fn-
“My former friend, young Burke, was also there. I
was glad to renew acquaintance with him; though I
could see some little strangeness in him: this, however,
completely wore off before the day was over. Soon after
entered Mrs. Burke, Miss French, a niece, and Mr.
Richard Burke, the comic, humorous, bold, queer brother
of the Mr. Burke.... Mrs. Burke was just what I have
always seen her, soft, gentle, reasonable, and obliging;
and we met, I think, upon as good terms as if so many
years had not parted us.
“At length Mr. Burke appeared, accompanied by Mr.
Elliot. He shook hands with my father as soon as he
.bn 292.png
.pn +1
had paid his devoirs to Mrs. Crewe, but he returned my
curtsey with so distant a bow, that I concluded myself
quite lost with him, from my evident solicitude in poor
Mr. Hastings’s cause. I could not wish that less obvious,
thinking as I think of it; but I felt infinitely grieved to
lose the favour of a man whom, in all other articles, I so
much venerate, and whom, indeed, I esteem and admire
as the very first man of true genius now living in this
country.
“Mrs. Crewe introduced me to Mr. Elliot: I am sure
we were already personally known to each other, for I
have seen him perpetually in the Managers’ Box, whence,
as often, he must have seen me in the Great Chamberlain’s.
He is a tall, thin young man, plain in face, dress,
and manner, but sensible, and possibly much besides; he
was reserved, however, and little else appeared.
“The moment I was named, to my great joy I found
Mr. Burke had not recollected me. He is more near-sighted
considerably than myself. ‘Miss Burney!’ he
now exclaimed, coming forward, and quite kindly taking
my hand, ‘I did not see you;’ and then he spoke very
sweet words of the meeting, and of my looking far better
than ‘while I was a courtier,’ and of how he rejoiced
to see that I so little suited that station. ‘You look,’
cried he, ‘quite renewed, revived, disengaged; you
seemed, when I conversed with you last at the trial,
quite altered; I never saw such a change for the better
as quitting a Court has brought about!’
“Ah! thought I, this is simply a mistake from reasoning
according to your own feelings. I only seemed
altered for the worse at the trial, because I there looked
coldly and distantly, from distaste and disaffection to your
proceedings; and I here look changed for the better, only
because I here meet you without the chill of disapprobation,
.bn 293.png
.pn +1
and with the glow of my first admiration of you and
your talents!
“Mrs. Crewe gave him her place, and he sat by me,
and entered into a most animated conversation upon
Lord Macartney and his Chinese expedition, and the two
Chinese youths who were to accompany it. These last
he described minutely, and spoke of the extent of the
undertaking in high, and perhaps fanciful, terms, but
with allusions and anecdotes intermixed, so full of general
information and brilliant ideas, that I soon felt the whole
of my first enthusiasm return, and with it a sensation of
pleasure that made the day delicious to me.
“After this my father joined us, and politics took the
lead. He spoke then with an eagerness and a vehemence
that instantly banished the graces, though it redoubled
the energies, of his discourse. ‘The French Revolution,’
he said, ‘which began by authorizing and legalizing injustice,
and which by rapid steps had proceeded to every
species of despotism except owning a despot, was now
menacing all the universe and all mankind with the most
violent concussion of principle and order.’ My father
heartily joined, and I tacitly assented to his doctrines,
though I feared not with his fears.
“One speech I must repeat, for it is explanatory of his
conduct, and nobly explanatory. When he had expatiated
upon the present dangers, even to English liberty and
property, from the contagion of havoc and novelty, he
earnestly exclaimed, ‘This it is that has made ME an
abettor and supporter of Kings! Kings are necessary,
and, if we would preserve peace and prosperity, we must
preserve THEM. We must all put our shoulders to the
work! Ay, and stoutly, too!’...
“At dinner Mr. Burke sat next Mrs. Crewe, and I had
the happiness to be seated next Mr. Burke; and my other
neighbour was his amiable son.
.bn 294.png
.pn +1
“The dinner, and the dessert when the servants were
removed, were delightful. How I wish my dear Susanna
and Fredy[109] could meet this wonderful man when he is
easy, happy, and with people he cordially likes! But
politics, even on his own side, must always be excluded;
his irritability is so terrible on that theme that it gives
immediately to his face the expression of a man who is
going to defend himself from murderers....
.fn 109
Mrs. Locke.
.fn-
“Charles Fox being mentioned, Mrs. Crewe told us
that he had lately said, upon being shown some passage
in Mr. Burke’s book which he had warmly opposed, but
which had, in the event, made its own justification, very
candidly, ‘Well! Burke is right—but Burke is often
right, only he is right too soon.’
“‘Had Fox seen some things in that book,’ answered
Mr. Burke, ‘as soon, he would at this moment, in all
probability, be first minister of this country.’
“‘What!’ cried Mrs. Crewe, ‘with Pitt?—No!—no!—Pitt
won’t go out, and Charles Fox will never make a
coalition with Pitt.’
“‘And why not?’ said Mr. Burke dryly! ‘why not
this coalition as well as other coalitions?’
“Nobody tried to answer this.
“‘Charles Fox, however,’ said Mr. Burke, afterwards,
‘can never internally like the French Revolution. He is
entangled; but, in himself, if he should find no other
objection to it, he has at least too much taste for such a
revolution.’...
“Mr. Richard Burke related, very comically, various
censures cast upon his brother, accusing him of being the
friend of despots, and the abettor of slavery, because he
had been shocked at the imprisonment of the King of
France, and was anxious to preserve our own limited
.bn 295.png
.pn +1
monarchy in the same state in which it so long had
flourished.
“Mr. Burke looked half alarmed at his brother’s opening,
but, when he had finished, he very good-humouredly
poured out a glass of wine, and, turning to me, said,
‘Come, then—here’s slavery for ever!’ This was well
understood, and echoed round the table with hearty
laughter.
“‘This would do for you completely, Mr. Burke,’ said
Mrs. Crewe, ‘if it could get into a newspaper! Mr.
Burke, they would say, has now spoken out; the truth
has come to light unguardedly, and his real defection
from the cause of true liberty is acknowledged. I should
like to draw up the paragraph!’
“‘And add,’ said Mr. Burke, ‘the toast was addressed
to Miss Burney, in order to pay court to the
Queen!’”... After a stroll:
“The party returned with two very singular additions
to its number—Lord Loughborough, and Mr. and Mrs.
Erskine. They have villas at Hampstead, and were met
in the walk; Mr. Erskine else would not, probably, have
desired to meet Mr. Burke, who openly in the House of
Commons asked him if he knew what friendship meant,
when he pretended to call him, Mr. Burke, his friend?
“There was an evident disunion of the cordiality of the
party from this time. My father, Mr. Richard Burke,
his nephew, and Mr. Elliot entered into some general
discourse; Mr. Burke took up a volume of Boileau, and
read aloud, though to himself, and with a pleasure that
soon made him seem to forget all intruders: Lord Loughborough
joined Mrs. Burke, and Mr. Erskine, seating
himself next to Mrs. Crewe, engrossed her entirely, yet
talked loud enough for all to hear who were not engaged
themselves.
.bn 296.png
.pn +1
“For me, I sat next Mrs. Erskine, who seems much a
woman of the world, for she spoke with me just as freely,
and readily, and easily as if we had been old friends.
“Mr. Erskine enumerated all his avocations to Mrs.
Crewe, and, amongst others, mentioned, very calmly,
having to plead against Mr. Crewe upon a manor business
in Cheshire. Mrs. Crewe hastily and alarmed, interrupted
him, to inquire what he meant, and what might ensue to
Mr. Crewe? ‘Oh, nothing but the loss of the lordship
upon that spot,’ he coolly answered; ‘but I don’t know
that it will be given against him: I only know I shall
have three hundred pounds for it.’
“Mrs. Crewe looked thoughtful; and Mr. Erskine then
began to speak of the new Association for Reform, by
the friends of the people, headed by Messrs. Grey and
Sheridan, and sustained by Mr. Fox, and openly opposed
by Mr. Windham, as well as Mr. Burke. He said much
of the use they had made of his name, though he had
never yet been to the society; and I began to understand
that he meant to disavow it; but presently he added, ‘I
don’t know whether I shall ever attend—I have so much
to do—so little time; however, the people must be
supported.’
“‘Pray, will you tell me,’ said Mrs. Crewe dryly,
‘what you mean by the people? I never knew.’
“He looked surprised, but evaded any answer, and soon
after took his leave, with his wife, who seems by no means
to admire him as much as he admires himself, if I may
judge by short odd speeches which dropped from her.
The eminence of Mr. Erskine seems all for public life; in
private, his excessive egotisms undo him.
“Lord Loughborough instantly took his seat next to
Mrs. Crewe; and presently related a speech which Mr.
Erskine has lately made at some public meeting, and
.bn 297.png
.pn +1
which he opened to this effect:—‘As to me, gentlemen,
I have some title to give my opinions freely. Would you
know what my title is derived from? I challenge any
man to inquire! If he ask my birth,—its genealogy may
dispute with kings! If my wealth, it is all for which I
have time to hold out my hand! If my talents,—No! of
those, gentlemen, I leave you to judge for yourselves!’
“But I have now time for no more upon this day,
except that Mr. and Mrs. Burke, in making their exit,
gave my father and me the most cordial invitation to
Beaconsfield in the course of the summer or autumn.
And, indeed, I should delight to accept it.”
.pm end_quote
The second half of this year was consumed by a round
of visits, commencing in town, and ending in Norfolk.
On leaving London, Miss Burney accompanied her eldest
sister into Essex, where they spent some time together at
Halstead Vicarage. From this place, Fanny went alone
to stay at Bradfield Hall, near Bury St. Edmunds, with
the family of the agriculturist, Arthur Young,[110] who had
married a sister of the second Mrs. Burney.
.fn 110
Born in 1741, died in 1821; author of many works on agricultural and
economical subjects. His “Travels in France” were published in this very
year—1792.
.fn-
All over the country, in the autumn of 1792, two subjects
only were talked of, the Revolution in France, and the
adventures of the emigrants to England. Little settlements
of refugees had been, or were being, formed in
various districts. One coterie had established themselves
at Richmond, where they received much attention from
Horace Walpole. Other unfortunates found their way to
Bury. A third colony, and not the least important, sought
retirement in the Vale of Mickleham. The fugitives, of
course, were not only of different ranks, but of different
political complexions. The Revolution had begun to
.bn 298.png
.pn +1
devour its children; and some of the exiles had helped
to raise the passion which swept them away. Suffolk had
been visited in the spring by the celebrated Countess of
Genlis, governess to the children of Philip Egalité, Duke
of Orleans. This lady, who was now called Madame de
Sillery, or Brulard, hired a house at Bury for herself and
her party, which included an authentic Mademoiselle
d’Orléans, besides the Pamela who afterwards married
Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and another young girl. Her
establishment also comprised a number of men, who were
treated by the ladies sometimes as servants, sometimes as
equals. The vagaries of this curious household and its
mistress provoked comments which drove them from the
county before Miss Burney entered it. It was rumoured
that Madame Brulard’s departure was hastened by the
arrival of the Duke de Liancourt, who warmly denounced
her influence over her infamous protector as a principal
cause of the French anarchy. Yet the nobleman just
named was himself known as a friend of the people. He
it was who, bursting into the King’s closet to report the
fall of the Bastille, had been the first to utter the word
Revolution. Arthur Young, who, like most other well-to-do
Englishmen at that moment, was ready to forswear every
popular principle he had formerly professed, inveighed
against the Duke’s folly, while he pitied the misfortunes of
a man to whom his travels had laid him under obligation.
Fanny met the new-comer at her host’s table, and heard
from his own lips the story of his escape from France.
Being in command at Rouen when news of the bloody
Tenth of August reached that city, and finding a price set
on his head by the Jacobins, De Liancourt, with some
difficulty, made his way to the sea, where he embarked in
an open boat, and set sail, covered with faggots, for the
opposite coast. He entertained his friends at Bradfield
.bn 299.png
.pn +1
Hall with an account of his landing at Hastings, describing
how he had walked to the nearest public-house, and, to
seem English, had called for ‘pot portère,’ and then, being
extremely thirsty, for another; how, overcome by the
strange liquor, he had been carried upstairs in a helpless
state, and put to bed; how he had woke up before day-break
in a miserable room, and fancied himself in a French
maison de force; how, on creeping cautiously below, the
sight of the kitchen, with its array of bright pewter plates
and polished saucepans, had convinced him that he must
be in a more cleanly country than his native land. What
had brought the Duke to Bury we are not informed: he
certainly would not have been at home with Walpole’s
friends, who seem to have been staunch adherents of the
ancien régime.
Some, though not all, of the strangers at Mickleham
had advanced several degrees beyond the timid constitutionalism
of the Duke de Liancourt. The origin and
early history of this settlement were communicated to
Fanny by the journalizing letters of her sister, Mrs.
Phillips. Two or three families had united to take a
house near the village, called Juniper Hall, while another
family hired a cottage at West Humble, which the owner
let with great reluctance, ‘upon the Christian-like supposition
that, being nothing but French papishes, they would
never pay.’ The party at the cottage were presided over
by Madame de Broglie, daughter-in-law of the Maréchal
who had commanded the Royalist troops near Paris.
Among the first occupants of Juniper Hall were Narbonne,
recently Constitutionalist Minister of War, and Montmorency,
ci-devant duc, from whom had proceeded the
motion for suppressing titles of nobility in France. When
Mrs. Phillips made the acquaintance of her new neighbours,
they had been reinforced by fresh arrivals, including
.bn 300.png
.pn +1
an officer of whom she had not yet heard. This
was M. d’Arblay,[111] who, Susan was told, had been Adjutant-General
to her favourite hero, Lafayette, when that leader
surrendered himself to the Allies. On the chief being sent
prisoner to Olmutz, the subordinate was permitted to
withdraw into Holland, whence he was now come to join
his intimate friend and patron, Count Louis de Narbonne.
‘He is tall,’ wrote Mrs. Phillips to her sister, ‘and a good
figure, with an open and manly countenance; about forty,
I imagine.’
.fn 111
Alexander d’Arblay was born at Joigny, near Paris. He entered the
French artillery at thirteen years of age. He was commandant at Longwy,
promoted into Narbonne’s regiment, and in 1792 made maréchal de camp, or, as
we should say, brigadier general.
.fn-
The letters from Mickleham were soon full of this
General d’Arblay, who won the heart of good Mrs. Phillips
by his amiable manners, and his attention to her children,
while he fortified her in her French politics, which, to
say the truth, were too advanced for Fanny’s acceptance.
Both the General and Narbonne were attached to their
unfortunate master, but considered that they had been
very badly treated by Louis, and that it was impossible
to serve him, because he could not trust himself, and in
consequence distrusted everybody else. D’Arblay had
been the officer on guard at the Tuileries on the night of
the famous Flight to Varennes. He had not been let
into the secret of the plan, but was left, without warning,
to run the risk of being denounced and murdered for
having assisted the King’s escape.
Miss Burney was now in Norfolk with her sister
Charlotte. But this visit to her native county proved the
reverse of joyful. Soon after her arrival at Aylsham, Mr.
Francis, her brother-in-law, was seized with an attack of
apoplexy, which ended in his death. During his illness,
she interested herself in the accounts of Juniper Hall—she
.bn 301.png
.pn +1
had already heard something of M. d’Arblay from the
Duke de Liancourt—but her attention was mainly engrossed
by the distress of those around her. When all
was over, she remained to assist the widow in settling
her affairs, and at the close of the year accompanied her
and the children to London.
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 302.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII.
.pm start_summary
Miss Burney at Norbury Park—Execution of the French King—Madame de
Staël and Talleyrand at Mickleham—Miss Burney’s Impressions of M.
d’Arblay—Proposed Marriage—Visit to Chesington—The Marriage takes
place—A Happy Match—The General as Gardener—Madame d’Arblay
resumes her Pen—Birth of a Son—‘Edwy and Elgiva’—Acquittal of Warren
Hastings—Publishing Plans—The Subscription List—Publication of
‘Camilla’—Visit of the Author to Windsor—Interview with the King and
Queen—A Compliment from their Majesties—The Royal Family on the
Terrace—Princess Elizabeth—Great Sale of ‘Camilla’—Criticisms on the
Work—Declension of Madame d’Arblay’s Style—Camilla Cottage—Wedded
Happiness—Madame d’Arblay’s Comedy of ‘Love and Fashion’ withdrawn—Death
of Mrs. Phillips—Straitened Circumstances—The d’Arblays
go to France—Popularity of Bonaparte—Reception at the Tuileries and
Review—War between England and France—Disappointments—Life at
Passy—Difficulty of Correspondence—Madame d’Arblay’s Desire to return
to England—Sails from Dunkirk.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
On the opening of 1793, the French Constitutionalists
were at the lowest point of depression and disgrace.
They were reviled on all hands for having given weight
and impetus to a movement which they were impotent to
control. Norbury Park and Mickleham were eager that
Miss Burney should see their new friends and judge them
for herself. “Your French colonies,” she wrote in reply
to Mrs. Locke’s pressing invitation, “are truly attractive:
I am sure they must be so to have caught me—so substantially,
fundamentally the foe of all their proceedings
while in power.” Having tarried long enough to pay her
birthday duty to the Queen, she left London at the commencement
of the season, and went down to Surrey. A
day or two after her arrival came the news of the French
King’s execution. The excitement caused by this intelligence
.bn 303.png
.pn +1
quickened the already frequent intercourse between
the Lockes and Juniper Hall, and Fanny soon found herself
on familiar terms with the refugees. Before the end
of January, Madame de Staël appeared on the scene, and
placed herself at the head of the little colony. Necker’s
daughter had earned the rage of the Commune by her
exertions to save life during the massacres of August and
September; nor was it at all clear that the privilege
which she enjoyed as wife of the Swedish Ambassador
would avail for her protection. She had, therefore, crossed
the Channel, and now joined her Constitutionalist friends
at Juniper Hall, whither she was soon followed by Talleyrand,
who had come to England in her company. No
other party of refugees could boast two names of equal
distinction, though French titles had become plentiful
as blackberries in several parts of England. Madame de
Staël paid the most flattering attention to the author of
‘Cecilia,’ whose second novel had procured her considerable
reputation in Paris. A warm but short-lived intimacy
between the two ladies ensued. No two persons could be
less suited to one another than our timid, prudish little
Burney and the brilliant and audacious French femme de
lettres. The public acts of the Bishop of Autun—‘the
viper that had cast his skin,’ as Walpole called him—had
not inclined Fanny in his favour; but his extraordinary
powers conquered her admiration, and as she listened to
the exchanges of wit, criticism, and raillery between him
and Madame de Staël, she could see for the moment no
blemishes in either, and looked on the little band of
exiles, some of whom could almost vie with these leaders,
as rare spirits from some brighter world. The group,
consisting at different times of some dozen persons,[112]
.bn 304.png
.pn +1
were all most agreeable; but one, perhaps the least
dazzling of the whole constellation, proved more attractive
than the rest:
.fn 112
Among other names, we find, besides those already mentioned, the
Marquise de la Châtre, M. de Jaucourt, M. Sicard, the Princesse d’Hénin, De
Lally Tollendal, Dumont.
.fn-
“M. d’Arblay,” wrote Fanny, “is one of the most singularly
interesting characters that can ever have been
formed. He has a sincerity, a frankness, an ingenuous
openness of nature, that I have been unjust enough to
think could not belong to a Frenchman. With all this,
which is his military portion, he is passionately fond of
literature, a most delicate critic in his own language, well
versed in both Italian and German, and a very elegant
poet. He has just undertaken to become my French
master for pronunciation, and he gives me long daily
lessons in reading. Pray expect wonderful improvements!
In return, I hear him in English.”
The natural consequences followed. In a few days we
read: “I have been scholaring all day, and mastering too;
for our lessons are mutual, and more entertaining than
can easily be conceived.” Our novelist, in short, was
more romantic than any of her own creations: Evelina,
Cecilia, and Camilla were prosaic women compared with
Frances. On the verge of forty-one, she gave away her
heart to an admirer, suitable to her in age, indeed, but
possessing neither fortune, occupation, nor prospects of
any kind. Whatever property d’Arblay could claim, the
Convention had confiscated. Fanny herself had nothing
but the small annuity which she enjoyed during the
Queen’s pleasure, and which might be discontinued if she
married this Roman Catholic alien. Such a match, in
any case, implied seclusion almost as complete as that
from which she had recently escaped. This was anything
but the issue that her father had been promised when he
was pressed to sanction her resignation. It is not surprising,
therefore, that he wrote her a remonstrance
.bn 305.png
.pn +1
stronger and more decided than he had been in the habit
of addressing to any of his children. But Dr. Burney
stood alone. The Lockes and Phillipses were as much
fascinated by their French neighbours as his enamoured
daughter. Susanna was in avowed league with the enemy.
Mr. Locke gave it as his opinion that two persons, with
one or more babies, might very well subsist on a hundred
a year. Thus assailed by opposing influences, Fanny went
to deliberate in solitude at Chesington, and sauntered
about the lanes where she had planned ‘Cecilia,’ wondering
if the Muse would ever visit her again. The General’s
pursuing letters convinced her that his grief at her hesitation
was sincere and profound. He made a pilgrimage to
see her, which vouched his devotion, and gained him the
support of her simple hostesses, Mrs. Hamilton and
Kitty Cooke, who wept at his tale of misfortunes, and
learned for the first time what was meant by the French
Revolution. Finally, through the mediation of his favourite
Susanna, Dr. Burney was persuaded to give way and send
a reluctant consent. The wedding took place on the
31st of July, 1793, in Mickleham Church, in the presence
of Mr. and Mrs. Locke, Captain and Mrs. Phillips, M. de
Narbonne, and Captain Burney, who acted as proxy for
his father. On the following day, the ceremony was
repeated at the Sardinian Chapel in Lincoln’s Inn Fields,
according to the rites of the Romish Church.
The marriage proved eminently happy. Dr. Burney,
though he shrank from giving away the bride, was a
respecter of accomplished facts, and soon became on
excellent terms with his new son-in-law. The late impetuous
lovers proceeded to translate their romance into
the most sober prose. Love in a cottage had been the
goal of their ambition. Mr. Locke had promised a site
for the cottage; but as funds for building it were not
.bn 306.png
.pn +1
immediately forthcoming, the pair went first into farm
lodgings, afterwards into a hired house of two or three
rooms at Bookham, within two miles of Mickleham and
Norbury Park. D’Arblay, a man of real honour, would
have left his wife, almost in their honeymoon, to fight for
Louis XVII. at Toulon; but his offer of service was
declined by the English Government, and thenceforth the
General resigned himself to wait for better times. Like a
sensible man, il cultivait son jardin. Like a man of sense,
but not like a good husbandman. His wife, who, notwithstanding
her happiness, seems to have lost her sense
of humour very soon after matrimony, enjoyed one of
her last hearty laughs at the expense of her lord:
.pm start_quote
“This sort of work is so totally new to him, that he
receives every now and then some of poor Merlin’s[113]
‘disagreeable compliments’; for when Mr. Locke’s or
the Captain’s gardeners favour our grounds with a visit,
they commonly make known that all has been done
wrong. Seeds are sowing in some parts when plants
ought to be reaping, and plants are running to seed while
they are thought not yet at maturity. Our garden, therefore,
is not yet quite the most profitable thing in the
world; but M. d’A. assures me it is to be the staff of our
table and existence.
.fn 113
A French inventor whom Fanny had met at Streatham.
.fn-
“A little, too, he has been unfortunate; for, after immense
toil in planting and transplanting strawberries
round our hedge here at Bookham, he has just been
informed they will bear no fruit the first year, and the
second we may be ‘over the hills and far away.’
“Another time, too, with great labour, he cleared a
considerable compartment of weeds; and when it looked
clean and well, and he showed his work to the gardener,
the man said he had demolished an asparagus bed!
.bn 307.png
.pn +1
M. d’A. protested, however, nothing could look more like
des mauvaises herbes.
“His greatest passion is for transplanting. Everything
we possess he moves from one end of the garden to
another to produce better effects. Roses take place of
jessamines, jessamines of honeysuckles, and honeysuckles
of lilacs, till they have all danced round as far as the
space allows; but whether the effect may not be a
general mortality, summer only can determine.
“Such is our horticultural history. But I must not
omit that we have had for one week cabbages from our
own cultivation every day! Oh, you have no idea how
sweet they tasted! We agreed they had a freshness and
a goût we had never met with before. We had them for
too short a time to grow tired of them, because, as I
have already hinted, they were beginning to run to seed
before we knew they were eatable.”
.pm end_quote
While the General was gardening, Madame plied her
pen, using it once more, after the lapse of a dozen years,
with a definite purpose of publication. Her first composition
was for a charitable object. It was an address
to the ladies of England on behalf of the emigrant
French clergy, who, to the number of 6,000, were suffering
terrible distress all over the country. This short
paper is an early example of the stilted rhetoric which
gradually ruined its author’s style. Some months later
we hear of a more important work being in progress.
This tale, eventually published under the title of ‘Camilla,’
was commenced in the summer of 1794, though it did
not see the light till July, 1796.
A son, their only child, was born on December 18, 1794,
and was baptized Alexander Charles Louis Piochard, receiving
the name of his father, with those of his two god-fathers,
Dr. Charles Burney the younger, and the Count
de Narbonne.
.bn 308.png
.pn +1
An illness, which retarded the mother’s recovery, interrupted
the progress of her novel, and perhaps counted
for something in the failure of the tragedy with which, as
we mentioned before, she tempted fortune on the stage.
‘Edwy and Elgiva’—so this drama was called—was produced
at Drury Lane on March 21, 1795. It says much
for the author’s repute that John Kemble warmly recommended
her work to Sheridan, who seems to have accepted
it without hesitation or criticism. The principal
characters were undertaken by Kemble and Mrs. Siddons.
At the close of the performance, it was announced that
the piece was withdrawn for alterations. There was a
little complaint that several of the actors were careless
and unprepared; but, on the whole, Madame d’Arblay
bore her defeat with excellent temper. She consoled
herself with the thought that her play had not been
written for the theatre, nor even revised for the press;
that the manuscript had been obtained from her during
her confinement; and that she had been prevented by ill-health
from attending rehearsals, and making the changes
which, on the night of representation, even her unprofessional
judgment perceived to be essential. Yet it is
difficult to imagine that a tragedy by the author of
‘Evelina’ could, under any circumstances, have been
successful; and we are more surprised that Sheridan was
so complaisant than that Dr. Burney had always shrugged
his shoulders when the Saxon drama was mentioned in
his hearing.
Three years sooner the dramatist would have felt her
personal mishap more keenly, as she would have welcomed
with far livelier pleasure an event of a public nature which
occurred shortly afterwards. On April 23, 1795, Warren
Hastings was triumphantly acquitted. The incident
hardly stirred her at all. She was now experiencing that
.bn 309.png
.pn +1
detachment which is the portion of ladies even of social
and literary tastes, when they have accomplished the
great function of womanhood. Her father writes her a
pleasant account of his London life, relating some characteristic
condolences which he had received from Cumberland
on the fate of her play, mentioning his own visit of
congratulation to Hastings, and chatting about the doings
at the Literary Club. The blissful mother replies in a
letter, dated from the ‘Hermitage, Bookham,’ which is
principally occupied with praises of rural retirement and
the intelligent infant, though it ends with some words
about the tragedy, and a postscript expressing satisfaction
at the acquittal. Not long before, Frances Burney had
repined at living in what she rather inaptly called a
monastery: Frances d’Arblay is more than content with
the company of her gardener and their little ‘perennial
plant.’ At her marriage, she had counted on having the
constant society of Susanna and her Captain, as well as
the Lockes; but in June, 1795, the Phillipses remove to
town, and are not missed. The Bambino not only supplied
all gaps, but made his willing slave work as hard at
‘Camilla’ as, long years before, she had worked at
‘Cecilia’ under the jealous eye of her Chesington
daddy.
She was now as keen as Crisp would have had her be
in calculating how she could make most money by her
pen. ‘I determined,’ she says, ‘when I changed my
state, to set aside all my innate and original abhorrences,
and to regard and use as resources myself what had
always been considered as such by others. Without this
idea and this resolution, our hermitage must have been
madness.’ She had formerly objected to a plan, suggested
for her by Burke, of publishing by subscription, with the
aid of ladies, instead of booksellers, to keep lists and
.bn 310.png
.pn +1
receive names of subscribers. She determined to adopt
this plan in bringing out ‘Camilla.’ The Dowager
Duchess of Leinster, Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Crewe, and
Mrs. Locke, gave her the required assistance. In issuing
her proposals, she was careful not to excite the prejudice
which still prevailed against works of fiction.[114] She remembered
that the word novel had long stood in the way
of ‘Cecilia’ at Windsor, and that the Princesses had
not been allowed to read it until it had been declared
innocent by a bishop. ‘Camilla,’ she warned her friends,
was ‘not to be a romance, but sketches of characters
and morals put in action.’ It was, therefore, announced
simply as ‘a new work by the author of Evelina and
Cecilia.’ The manuscript was completed by the end
of 1795; but, as in the case of ‘Cecilia,’ six months
more elapsed before the day of publication arrived.
.fn 114
How strong this prejudice continued to be was shown not long afterwards
in a notable instance. Jane Austen’s father offered her ‘Pride and Prejudice’
to Cadell on November 1, 1797; the proposal was rejected by return of post,
without an inspection of the manuscript, though Mr. Austen was willing to
bear the risk of the publication.
.fn-
Meanwhile, the subscription-list filled up nobly. When
Warren Hastings heard what was going forward, we are
told that “he gave a great jump, and exclaimed, ‘Well,
then, now I can serve her, thank Heaven, and I will! I
will write to Anderson to engage Scotland, and I will
attack the East Indies myself!’” Nor was Edmund
Burke less zealous than his old enemy. Protesting that
for personal friends the subscription ought to be five
guineas instead of one, he asked for but one copy of
‘Camilla’ in return for twenty guineas which he sent on
behalf of himself, his wife, his dead brother Richard, and
the son for whom he was in mourning. In the same
spirit, three Misses Thrale order ten sets of the book.
As we glance down the pages of the list, we meet with
.bn 311.png
.pn +1
most of the survivors of the old Blue Stockings, with
Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Chapone, Mrs. Montagu, and Hannah
Moore. There, too, are many literary women of other
types: Anna Barbauld, Amelia Alderson, afterwards Mrs.
Opie, Mary Berry, Maria Edgeworth, Sophia and
Harriet Lee.[115] There the incomparable Jane Austen,
then a girl of twenty, pays tribute to a passed mistress of
her future art. There also figure the names of many of
the writer’s former colleagues in the royal household.
Even Mrs. Schwellenberg is on the list. Perhaps, as the
book was to be dedicated by permission to the Queen,
this was almost a matter of course. But the subscription
was, in fact, a testimonial to a general favourite from
hundreds of attached friends, some of whom cared little
for literature; as well as from a crowd of distant admirers,
who regarded her as the most eminent female writer of
her time.
.fn 115
Author of the ‘Canterbury Tales.’
.fn-
The first parcel of ‘Camilla; or, A Picture of Youth,’
reached Bookham on an early day in July, 1796; and
Madame d’Arblay at once set off for Windsor to present
copies to the King and Queen. Immediately on her
arrival, she was admitted to an audience of the Queen,
during which the King entered to receive his share of the
offering. The excellent monarch was in one of his most
interrogative moods, and particularly curious to learn
who had corrected the proofs of the volumes before him.
His flattered subject confessed that she was her own
reader. ‘Why, some authors have told me,’ cried he,
‘that they are the last to do that work for themselves!
They know so well by heart what ought to be, that they
run on without seeing what is. They have told me,
besides, that a mere plodding head is best and surest for
that work, and that the livelier the imagination, the less
.bn 312.png
.pn +1
it should be trusted to.’ Madame had carried her
husband with her to Windsor. They were detained
there three days; and, as Walpole remarks with some
emphasis, even M. d’Arblay was allowed to dine. Horace
means, of course, that the General, who had the Cross of
St. Louis, was invited to a place at Mdlle. Jacobi’s table.
Just before dinner, Madame d’Arblay was called aside by
her entertainer, and presented, in the name of their
Majesties, with a packet containing a hundred guineas,
as a ‘compliment’ in acknowledgment of her dedication.
On the following day, the Chevalier and his wife
repaired to the Terrace. “The evening was so raw and
cold that there was very little company, and scarce any
expectation of the Royal Family; and when we had
been there about half an hour the musicians retreated,
and everybody was preparing to follow, when a messenger
suddenly came forward, helter-skelter, running after the
horns and clarionets, and hallooing to them to return.
This brought back the straggling parties, and the King,
Duke of York, and six Princesses soon appeared....
The King stopped to speak to the Bishop of Norwich[116]
and some others at the entrance, and then walked on
towards us, who were at the further end. As he approached,
the Princess Royal said, ‘Madame d’Arblay,
sir;’ and instantly he came on a step, and then stopped
and addressed me, and after a word or two of the
weather, he said, ‘Is that M. d’Arblay?’ and most
graciously bowed to him, and entered into a little conversation,
demanding how long he had been in England,
how long in the country, etc. Upon the King’s bowing
and leaving us, the Commander-in-Chief most courteously
bowed also to M. d’Arblay; and the Princesses all came
.bn 313.png
.pn +1
up to speak to me, and to curtsey to him, and the
Princess Elizabeth cried, ‘I’ve got leave! and mamma
says she won’t wait to read it first!’”
.fn 116
Dr. Manners Sutton, then also Dean of Windsor, and afterwards Archbishop
of Canterbury.
.fn-
The lively Princess, who was then twenty-six years of
age, and had been concerned in bringing out a poem
entitled the ‘Birth of Love,’ with engravings from
designs by herself, intended to communicate that she had
obtained permission to read ‘Camilla,’ though it had not
yet been examined by her mother.
The subscribers to the new novel exceeded eleven
hundred; but the number of copies printed was four
thousand. Out of these only five hundred remained at
the end of three months—a rate of sale considerably
more rapid than that of ‘Cecilia’ had been. Macaulay
mentions a rumour that the author cleared more than
three thousand guineas by her work. This is not an
improbable account; for Dr. Burney told Lord Orford
within the first six weeks that about two thousand pounds
had already been realized.[117] The material results were
astonishing; yet ‘Camilla’ could not be considered a
success. The ‘Picture of Youth’ had neither the freshness
of ‘Evelina,’ nor the mature power of ‘Cecilia.’ It
was wanting alike in simplicity and polish. By disuse of
her art, the writer had lost touch with the public; by
neglect of reading, she had gone back in literary culture.
Hence it was generally felt that the charm which she had
exercised was gone. The reviews were severe; new
admirers appeared not; old friends found their faith a
good deal tried. When the first demand was satisfied,
there seems to have been no call for a fresh edition,
though some years afterwards Miss Austen boldly coupled[118]
.bn 314.png
.pn +1
‘Camilla’ with ‘Cecilia’ as a ‘work in which most
thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest
delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit
and humour are conveyed to the world.’ When its five
volumes were most sharply handled, brother Charles
could console the chagrined author with the distich:
.pm start_poem
‘Now heed no more what critics thought ’em,
Since this you know, all people bought ’em.’
.pm end_poem
.fn 117
Lord Orford to Miss Berry, Aug. 16, 1796.
.fn-
.fn 118
In ‘Northanger Abbey,’ which, though written in 1798, was not prepared
for the press till 1803.
.fn-
The composition of ‘Camilla’ has been blamed for
the opposite faults of affectation and slovenliness. ‘Every
passage,’ says Macaulay, ‘which the author meant to be
fine is detestable; and the book has been saved from
condemnation only by the admirable spirit and force of
those scenes in which she was content to be familiar.’
Other censors have observed that, while the rhetoric is
inflated, the grammar is occasionally doubtful, and the
diction sometimes barbarous. Now, it must be owned
that the ordinary vocabulary of the Burneys was not
remarkable for purity or elegance. In their talk and
intimate letters, both the father and the daughters expressed
themselves in the most colloquial forms, not
seldom lapsing into downright slang. To give one instance
only, the atrocious vulgarism of ‘an invite’ for
‘an invitation’ occurs in several parts of the Diary.
When writing for the press, Dr. Burney guarded himself
by the adoption of a wholly artificial style, that swelled,
from time to time, into tedious magniloquence. Fanny
was schooled for writing ‘Cecilia’ by the critical discussions
of the Streatham circle, by much intercourse with
Johnson, and by some study of style—chiefly the style of
the ‘Ramblers’ and ‘Lives of the Poets.’ Having
despatched her second novel, she ceased to be careful
about literary questions. This indifference increased after
her marriage. When describing the reception of ‘Camilla’
.bn 315.png
.pn +1
at Windsor, ‘the Queen,’ she writes, ‘talked of some
books and authors, but found me wholly in the clouds as
to all that is new.’ Her husband, insensible, of course,
to the niceties of a foreign idiom, but apparently admiring
pompous phraseology, conceived a relish for Dr. Burney’s
style; and Madame, delighting to think her ‘dear father’
perfect, was pleased to place his English in the very first
class.[119] The eloquence of ‘Camilla’ seems to mingle
faint Johnsonian echoes with the stilted movement of
the music-master’s prose; while too often the choice of
words is left to chance. A recent editor of the two
earlier novels has called attention to the numerous
vulgarities of expression, not put into vulgar mouths,
which occur in ‘Camilla.’ ‘People “stroam the fields,”
or have “a depressing feel.”’ This editor suggests that
Miss Burney’s five years at Court may have done much
to spoil her English, remarking that ‘she lived at
Windsor among hybrids.’ By ‘hybrids’ we suppose we
are to understand equerries. But the equerries, if not
possessing great culture, were, at any rate, gentlemen of
good position. If they used the incriminated phrases
why not also the personages of the novel? We take it,
however, that ‘to stroam the fields’ is not a low phrase
acquired by Fanny at Court, but a provincialism which
she learned in her native county, where the verb to
‘stroam,’ or to ‘strome,’ was certainly in use a hundred
years ago,[120] and is, we are assured, familiarly employed at
the present day. We believe that Madame d’Arblay’s
English was ruined, not by associating with Colonel
Digby, or even Colonel Manners, but by neglect of
reading, by retirement from lettered society, by fading
recollections of Johnson, by untoward family influences,
and by a strong hereditary tendency to run into fustian.
.fn 119
Diary, iv. 3.
.fn-
.fn 120
Forby’s ‘Vocabulary of East Anglia,’ p. 330.
.fn-
.bn 316.png
.pn +1
In October, 1796, Dr. Burney lost his second wife, who,
after a prolonged period of ill-health, died at Chelsea
Hospital. To prevent him from brooding over his
bereavement, Madame d’Arblay induced her father to
resume a poetical history of astronomy which he had
begun some time before. This occupation amused him
for some time, though in the end the poem, which ran to
a great length, was destroyed unfinished.
Out of the profits made by his wife’s publication, M.
d’Arblay built a small house on land leased to him by Mr.
Locke at West Humble, near Dorking, and called it
Camilla Cottage. If a family, as well as a nation, is
happy that has no history, we must conclude that the
d’Arblays lived very much at ease for some years after
their removal to their new abode. When the excitement
of planning, building, and taking possession is exhausted,
Madame’s pen finds little to record, beyond the details of
occasional interviews with the Queen and Princesses at
Buckingham House. She wisely declines a proposal of
Mrs. Crewe to make her directress of a weekly paper,
which was to have been started, under the name of The
Breakfast-Table, to combat the progress of Jacobinical
ideas. Later on she abandons unwillingly a venture of a
different kind. Still thirsting for dramatic success, she
had written a comedy called ‘Love and Fashion;’ and
towards the close of 1799 was congratulating herself on
having it accepted by the manager of Covent Garden
Theatre.[121] The piece was put into rehearsal early in the
following spring; but Dr. Burney was seized with such
dread of another failure, that, to appease him, his
daughter and her husband consented to its being withdrawn.
The compliance cost some effort: Fanny complained
.bn 317.png
.pn +1
that she was treated as if she ‘had been guilty
of a crime, in doing what she had all her life been urged
to, and all her life intended—writing a comedy.’ ‘The
combinations,’ she added, ‘for another long work did
not occur to me: incidents and effects for a drama
did.’
.fn 121
According to her biographer, the manager had promised her £400 for the
right of representation.
.fn-
This was only a transient disappointment. In the first
days of 1800 came a lasting sorrow, in the loss of Mrs.
Phillips, who, since the autumn of 1796, had been living
with her husband in Ireland, and who died immediately
after landing in England on her way to visit her father.[122]
But, except by this grief, the peace of Camilla Cottage
was never interrupted so long as the husband and wife
remained together. In her old age, Madame d’Arblay
looked back to the first eight years of her married life as
to a period of unruffled happiness.
.fn 122
Her death took place on January 6, 1800; she was buried in Neston
churchyard, where Dr. Burney placed an epitaph to her memory.
.fn-
Then occurred a crisis. The d’Arblays had borne
poverty cheerfully, even joyfully, so long as any stretch
of economy would enable them to keep within their
income. The cost of living and the burden of taxation
had begun to increase almost from the day of their
marriage. One of the motives for bringing out ‘Camilla’
was the rise of prices, which had doubled within the
preceding eighteen months. Hardly was Camilla Cottage
occupied, when an addition to the window-tax compelled
the owners to block up four of their new windows. The
expense of building so much exceeded calculation that,
after all bills were settled, the balance remaining from the
foundress’s three thousand guineas produced only a few
pounds of annual interest. In the spring of 1800, we read
that the gardener has planted potatoes on every spot where
they can grow, on account of the dreadful price of provisions.
.bn 318.png
.pn +1
Towards the close of 1801, it is admitted that for
some time previously they had been encroaching on their
little capital, which was then nearly exhausted. As soon,
therefore, as the preliminaries of peace were signed,
M. d’Arblay determined to remove his family to France,
hoping to recover something from the wreck of his
fortune, and to obtain from the First Consul some allowance
for half-pay as a retired officer. Crossing the Channel
alone, in the first instance, the General involved himself
in a double difficulty: he failed with the French Government
by stipulating that he should not be required to
serve against his wife’s country, while he had cut off his
retreat by pledging himself at the English Alien Office
not to return within a year. In this dilemma, he wrote
to his wife to join him in Paris with their child. Madame
d’Arblay obeyed the summons, amidst the anxious forebodings
of her father, but with the full approval of the
Queen, who granted her a farewell audience, admitting
that she was bound to follow her husband.
Dr. Burney’s fears were more than justified by the
event. His daughter left Dover a few days after the
treaty was signed at Amiens. When she reached Paris,
she found the city rejoicing at the conclusion of the war,
yet worshipping Bonaparte, whose temper and attitude
showed that the peace could not last. A reception by
the First Consul, followed by a review, both of which
Madame d’Arblay witnessed from an ante-chamber in the
Tuileries, afforded striking evidence of the military spirit
which animated everything:
.pm start_quote
“The scene, with regard to all that was present, was
splendidly gay and highly animating. The room was
full, but not crowded, with officers of rank in sumptuous
rather than rich uniforms, and exhibiting a martial air
.bn 319.png
.pn +1
that became their attire, which, however, generally speaking,
was too gorgeous to be noble.
“Our window was that next to the consular apartment,
in which Bonaparte was holding a levée, and it was close
to the steps ascending to it; by which means we saw all
the forms of the various exits and entrances, and had
opportunity to examine every dress and every countenance
that passed and repassed. This was highly amusing, I
might say historic, where the past history and the present
office were known.
“Sundry footmen of the First Consul, in very fine
liveries, were attending to bring or arrange chairs for
whoever required them; various peace-officers, superbly
begilt, paraded occasionally up and down the chamber, to
keep the ladies to their windows and the gentlemen to
their ranks, so as to preserve the passage or lane, through
which the First Consul was to walk upon his entrance,
clear and open; and several gentlemanlike-looking persons,
whom in former times I should have supposed pages of
the back-stairs, dressed in black, with gold chains hanging
round their necks, and medallions pending from them,
seemed to have the charge of the door itself, leading
immediately to the audience chamber of the First Consul.
“But what was most prominent in commanding notice,
was the array of the aides-de-camp of Bonaparte, which
was so almost furiously striking, that all other vestments,
even the most gaudy, appeared suddenly under a gloomy
cloud when contrasted with its brightness....
.pm end_quote
.pm start_quote
“The last object for whom the way was cleared was the
Second Consul, Cambacérès, who advanced with a stately
and solemn pace, slow, regular, and consequential; dressed
richly in scarlet and gold, and never looking to the right
or left, but wearing a mien of fixed gravity and importance.
.bn 320.png
.pn +1
He had several persons in his suite, who, I think,
but am not sure, were ministers of state.
“At length the two human hedges were finally formed,
the door of the audience chamber was thrown wide open
with a commanding crash, and a vivacious officer—sentinel—or
I know not what, nimbly descended the
three steps into our apartment, and placing himself at
the side of the door, with one hand spread as high as
possible above his head, and the other extended horizontally,
called out in a loud and authoritative voice,
‘Le Premier Consul!’
“You will easily believe nothing more was necessary to
obtain attention; not a soul either spoke or stirred as he
and his suite passed along, which was so quickly that, had
I not been placed so near the door, and had not all about
me facilitated my standing foremost, and being least
crowd-obstructed, I could hardly have seen him. As it
was, I had a view so near, though so brief, of his face, as
to be very much struck by it. It is of a deeply impressive
cast, pale even to sallowness, while not only in the eye,
but in every feature—care, thought, melancholy, and
meditation are strongly marked, with so much of character,
nay, genius, and so penetrating a seriousness, or
rather sadness, as powerfully to sink into an observer’s
mind....
“The review I shall attempt no description of. I have
no knowledge of the subject, and no fondness for its
object. It was far more superb than anything I had ever
beheld; but while all the pomp and circumstance of war
animated others, it only saddened me; and all of past
reflection, all of future dread, made the whole grandeur
of the martial scene, and all the delusive seduction of
martial music, fill my eyes frequently with tears, but not
regale my poor muscles with one single smile.
.bn 321.png
.pn +1
“Bonaparte, mounting a beautiful and spirited white
horse, closely encircled by his glittering aides-de-camp,
and accompanied by his generals, rode round the ranks,
holding his bridle indifferently in either hand, and seeming
utterly careless of the prancing, rearing, or other
freaks of his horse, insomuch as to strike some who were
near me with a notion of his being a bad horseman.”
.pm end_quote
Having introduced his wife to old friends in Paris, and
paid a visit with her to his relations at Joigny, the General
settled his family in a small house at Passy. Instead of
being seen at Chelsea again within eighteen months, as
her father had been led to expect, she was detained in
France more than ten years. From the moment when
Lord Whitworth quitted Paris in May, 1803, her opportunities
of communicating with England were few and far
between. All remittances thence, including her annuity,
ended with the peace. The claims to property on which
her husband had built proved delusive. Apparently they
would have been without means of any kind, but that,
just as war was declared, the influence of General Lauriston
procured for his old comrade the retraite, or retiring
allowance, for which the latter had been petitioning. Yet
this only amounted to £62 10s. yearly, so that the luckless
pair would have been far better off in their cottage at
West Humble. Moreover, the receipt of half-pay made
it impossible for them to risk any attempt at escape while
the war continued. At length, in 1805, M. d’Arblay obtained
employment in the Civil Department of the Office
of Public Buildings. He became, in fact, a Government
clerk, plodding daily between his desk and a poorly-furnished
home at suburban Passy. He seems to have
been eventually promoted to the rank of sous-chef in his
department.
.bn 322.png
.pn +1
We learn, however, from the scanty notices belonging
to this period, that the Chevalier was treated with consideration
by the heads of his office, and that he and
Madame kept their footing in Parisian society. ‘The
society in which I mix,’ writes the lady, ‘when I can
prevail with myself to quit my yet dearer fireside, is all
that can be wished, whether for wit, wisdom, intelligence,
gaiety, or politeness.’ She would resume, she adds, her
old descriptions if she could only write more frequently,
or with more security that she was not writing to the
winds and the waves. Her worst distress was the rarity
with which letters could be despatched, or travel either
way, with anything like safety. At another time she tells
her father: ‘I have never heard whether the last six letters
I have written have as yet been received. Two of them
were antiques that had waited three or four years some
opportunity ... the two last were to reach you through
a voyage by America.’ The very letter in which this is said
lost its chance of being sent, and was not finished till a
year later. Dr. Burney, in his fear of a miscarriage,
finally gave up writing, and charged his family and friends
to follow his example. Fanny had nothing to regret in
her husband, except his being overworked and in poor
health: her heart shrank from leaving him; yet her
longing for England increased from year to year. Her
visionary castles, she said, were not in the air, but on the
sea.
In 1810 she had prepared everything for flight, when
fresh rigours of the police obliged her to relinquish her
design. In 1811 she had a dangerous illness, and was
operated upon by the famous surgeon, Baron de Larrey,
for a supposed cancer. In the summer of 1812, when
Napoleon had set out on his Russian campaign, she
obtained a passport for America, took ship with her
.bn 323.png
.pn +1
son at Dunkirk, and landed at Deal. During the interval
between her first and second attempts at crossing, all
correspondence with England was prohibited on pain of
death. One letter alone reached her, announcing in brief
terms the death of the Princess Amelia, the renewed and
hopeless derangement of the King, and the death of Mr.
Locke.
.fm rend=th lz=th
.fm rend=th
.bn 324.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII.
.pm start_summary
Madame d’Arblay’s Plans for her Son—Landing in England—Arrival at
Chelsea—Saddening Change in Dr. Burney—Alexander d’Arblay at Cambridge—Publication
of the ‘Wanderer’—Death of Dr. Burney—Madame
d’Arblay presented to Louis XVIII.—M. d’Arblay appointed to the Corps
de Gardes du Roi—Arrives in England and Carries Madame back to France—Madame
d’Arblay presented to the Duchess d’Angoulême—The Hundred
Days—Panic at Brussels—M. d’Arblay invalided—Settles in England—His
Death—Remaining Days of Madame d’Arblay—Visit from Sir Walter Scott—The
Memoirs of Dr. Burney—Tributes to their Value—Death of Alexander
d’Arblay—Death of Madame d’Arblay—Conclusion.
.pm end_summary
.sp 2
Madame d’Arblay had other reasons for wishing to
return to England besides the mere desire to see her
father and kindred. The longer her only child remained
in France, the greater risk he ran of being caught by the
conscription, which continually increased its demands.
The young Alexander was now of an age to be prepared
for a profession, and it cannot be doubted that his mother
was anxious to make provision for this purpose. Before
leaving Paris, she had begun a treaty in London for the
publication of her fourth story. Through what channel
this was done we do not learn, but as early as December,
1811, Lord Byron[123] had heard that a thousand guineas
were being asked for a new novel by Madame d’Arblay.
She brought the manuscript over with her in a half-finished
state.
.fn 123
Moore’s ‘Life of Byron,’ Letters 78, 80.
.fn-
The travellers did not escape the perils of the time,
though happily they were taken prisoners by their own
.bn 325.png
.pn +1
countrymen. They and several others had engaged berths
on board an American vessel, the astute captain of which
delayed his departure so long, in order to obtain more
passengers, that when at length he entered British waters,
he found himself a prize to the coastguard, news having
just arrived that the United States had declared war
against England.
It was the middle of August when mother and son
found themselves again on English ground. ‘I can hardly
believe it,’ writes the former to her sister Charlotte, now
Mrs. Broome; ‘I look around me in constant inquiry
and doubt; I speak French to every soul, and I whisper
still if I utter a word that breathes private opinion.’ She
goes on to describe her meeting with her father: ‘I found
him in his library by himself—but, oh! my dearest, very
much altered indeed—weak, weak and changed—his head
almost always hanging down, and his hearing most cruelly
impaired. I was terribly affected, but most grateful to
God for my arrival.’ During the separation, Dr. Burney
had not been unfortunate until the infirmities of age
overcame him: the pension which he ought to have
received from Mr. Pitt had been procured for him by Mr.
Fox. He had been happily employed in writing for Rees’s
Encyclopædia; had received flattering notice from the
Prince of Wales; had heard his Royal Highness quote
Homer in Greek and imitate Dr. Parr’s lisp, and talked
familiarly with him at the opera; had been a courted guest
in many great houses; and had enjoyed the meetings of the
Club till his sight and hearing both began to fail. When
he could no longer go abroad, he spent most of his time
in reading in his bedroom. Madame d’Arblay employed
herself during this visit to England in nursing her father
in his last days, in settling her son at Cambridge, and in
bringing out her new book.
.bn 326.png
.pn +1
Having obtained the Tancred scholarship, Alexander
d’Arblay commenced residence at Christ’s College, Cambridge,
in October, 1813. He eventually graduated as
tenth Wrangler, and became Fellow of his college.
‘But,’ says Macaulay, who had mixed with his fellow-students,
‘his reputation at the University was higher
than might be inferred from his success in academical
contests. His French education had not fitted him for
the examinations of the Senate House;[124] but in pure
mathematics we have been assured by some of his competitors
that he had very few equals.’
.fn 124
He had studied mathematics in Paris according to the analytical method
instead of the geometrical, which was at that time exclusively taught at
Cambridge.
.fn-
‘The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties’ appeared in
the beginning of 1814. Notwithstanding the falling-off
which had been observed in ‘Camilla,’ the whole edition of
the new work was bespoken before it was published. In
six months, 3,600 copies were sold at two guineas a copy.
But it may be doubted whether the most conscientious
reader persevered to the end of the fifth volume. Ten
years of exile had destroyed all trace of the qualities
which made ‘Evelina’ popular.
Dr. Burney lived to his eighty-eighth birthday, and died
at Chelsea on the 12th of April, 1814, in the presence of
his recovered daughter, who had tended his last hours.
A tablet to his memory, bearing an inscription from
her pen, was placed in Westminster Abbey.
A few days after his death, Madame d’Arblay was presented
to Louis XVIII. By desire of Queen Charlotte,
she attended a reception held by the restored King in
London on the day preceding his departure for France.
Her sovereign—for it must be remembered that she was
now a French subject—paid her the most courteous
.bn 327.png
.pn +1
attention. Addressing her ‘in very pretty English,’ he
told her that he had known her long, for he had been
charmed with her books, and ‘read them very often.’ He
bade her farewell in French, with the words ‘Bonjour,
Madame la Comtesse.’
M. d’Arblay had no further reason to complain of
Bourbon ingratitude. Within a few weeks he received a
commission in the King’s Corps de Gardes, and soon
afterwards he was restored to his former rank of Maréchal
de Camp. He obtained leave of absence towards the
close of the year, and came to England for a few weeks;
after which Madame d’Arblay returned with him to Paris,
leaving their son to pursue his studies at Cambridge.
In the early weeks of 1815, Madame d’Arblay was
admitted to an audience of the Duchesse d’Angoulême,
the King’s niece; close on which followed the return of
Bonaparte from Elba, and the Hundred Days. Neither the
General nor his wife seems to have felt any alarm till the
Corsican reached Lyons. Then a passport was obtained
for Madame, that she might be able to leave France in
case of need, while her husband remained fixed to his
post in the capital. In the night between the 19th and
20th of March, after the King had left Paris, and not
many hours before Napoleon entered it, Madame d’Arblay
took her departure, accompanied by the Princesse d’Hénin.
After many difficulties and misadventures, the fugitives
reached Brussels. In that city Madame d’Arblay was
presently joined by her husband, who had followed
Louis XVIII. to Ghent with the rest of the royal bodyguard.
She remained in Brussels till the close of the
campaign, and for some weeks longer. At a later date
she wrote from memory a narrative of what befell her
during this period. It includes a description of the scenes
that occurred in the Belgian capital while the armies were
.bn 328.png
.pn +1
facing each other within cannon-sound of its streets. The
account is graphic, though too diffuse to be quoted at
length; evidently it furnished Thackeray with much of the
material for the famous chapters in ‘Vanity Fair.’ We
give some abridged extracts:
.pm start_quote
“What a day of confusion and alarm did we all spend
on the 17th!... That day, and June 18th, I passed in
hearing the cannon! Good Heaven! what indescribable
horror to be so near the field of slaughter! such I call it,
for the preparation to the ear by the tremendous sound
was soon followed by its fullest effect, in the view of the
wounded.... And hardly more afflicting was this disabled
return from the battle, than the sight of the continually
pouring forth victims that marched past my
windows to meet similar destruction....
“Accounts from the field of battle arrived hourly;
sometimes directly from the Duke of Wellington to Lady
Charlotte Greville, and to some other ladies who had
near relations in the combat, and which, by their means,
were circulated in Brussels; and in other times from
such as conveyed those amongst the wounded Belgians,
whose misfortunes were inflicted near enough to the
skirts of the spots of action, to allow of their being
dragged away by their hovering countrymen to the city....
“During this period, I spent my whole time in seeking
intelligence....
“Ten times, at least, I crossed over to Madame
d’Hénin, discussing plans and probabilities, and interchanging
hopes and fears....
“Madame d’Hénin and Madame de la Tour du Pin
projected retreating to Gand, should the approach of the
enemy be unchecked; to avail themselves of such protection
as might be obtained from seeking it under the wing
.bn 329.png
.pn +1
of Louis XVIII. M. de la Tour du Pin had, I believe,
remained there with his Majesty.
“M. de Lally and the Boyds inclined to Antwerp,
where they might safely await the fate of Brussels, near
enough for returning, should it weather the storm, yet
within reach of vessels to waft them to the British shores
should it be lost.
“Should this last be the fatal termination, I, of course
had agreed to join the party of the voyage, and resolved
to secure my passport, that, while I waited to the last
moment, I might yet be prepared for a hasty retreat.
“I applied for a passport to Colonel Jones, to whom
the Duke of Wellington had deputed the military command
of Brussels in his absence; but he was unwilling
to sanction an evacuation of Brussels, which he deemed
premature. It was not, he said, for us, the English, to
spread alarm, or prepare for an overthrow: he had not
sent away his own wife or children, and he had no doubt
but victory would repay his confidence....
“I found upon again going my rounds for information,
that though news was arriving incessantly from the scene
of action, and with details always varying, Bonaparte
was always advancing. All the people of Brussels lived
in the streets. Doors seemed of no use, for they were
never shut. The individuals, when they re-entered their
houses, only resided at the windows: so that the whole
population of the city seemed constantly in public view.
Not only business as well as society was annihilated, but
even every species of occupation. All of which we
seemed capable was, to inquire or to relate, to speak or
to hear. Yet no clamour, no wrangling, nor even debate
was intermixed with either question or answer; curiosity,
though incessant, was serene; the faces were all monotony,
though the tidings were all variety. I could attribute
.bn 330.png
.pn +1
this only to the length of time during which the
inhabitants had been habituated to change both of
masters and measures, and to their finding that, upon an
average, they neither lost nor gained by such successive
revolutions....
“But what a day was the next—June 18th—the greatest,
perhaps, in its results, in the annals of Great Britain!...
“I was calmly reposing, when I was awakened by the
sound of feet abruptly entering my drawing-room. I
started, and had but just time to see by my watch that
it was only six o’clock, when a rapping at my bedroom
door ... made me slip on a long kind of domino, ... and
demand what was the matter. “Open your door! there
is not a moment to lose!” was the answer, in the voice of
Miss Ann Boyd. I obeyed, in great alarm, and saw that
pretty and pleasing young woman, with her mother, Mrs.
Boyd.... They both eagerly told me that all their new
hopes had been overthrown by better authenticated news,
and that I must be with them by eight o’clock, to proceed
to the wharf, and set sail for Antwerp, whence we must
sail on for England, should the taking of Brussels by
Bonaparte endanger Antwerp also....
“My host and my maid carried my small package, and
I arrived before eight in the Rue d’Assault. We set off
for the wharf on foot, not a fiacre or chaise being procurable.
Mr. and Mrs. Boyd, five or six of their family,
a governess, and I believe some servants, with bearers of
our baggage, made our party.... When we had got about
a third part of the way, a heavy rumbling sound made us
stop to listen. It was approaching nearer and nearer,
and we soon found that we were followed by innumerable
carriages, and a multitude of persons....
“Arrived at the wharf, Mr. Boyd pointed out to us our
barge, which seemed fully ready for departure; but the
.bn 331.png
.pn +1
crowd, already come and still coming, so incommoded us,
that Mr. Boyd desired we would enter a large inn, and
wait till he could speak with the master, and arrange our
luggage and places. We went, therefore, into a spacious
room and ordered breakfast, when the room was entered
by a body of military men of all sorts; but we were
suffered to keep our ground till Mr. Boyd came to inform
us that we must all decamp!...
“He conducted us not to the barge, not to the wharf,
but to the road back to Brussels; telling us, in an accent
of depression, that he feared all was lost—that Bonaparte
was advancing—that his point was decidedly Brussels—and
that the Duke of Wellington had sent orders that all
the magazines, the artillery, and the warlike stores of
every description, and all the wounded, the maimed, and
the sick, should be immediately removed to Antwerp.
For this purpose he had issued directions that every
barge, every boat, should be seized for the use of the
army; and that everything of value should be conveyed
away, the hospitals emptied, and Brussels evacuated.
“If this intelligence filled us with the most fearful
alarm, how much more affrighting still was the sound of
cannon which next assailed our ears! The dread reverberation
became louder and louder as we proceeded....
“Yet, strange to relate! on re-entering the city, all
seemed quiet and tranquil as usual! and though it was in
this imminent and immediate danger of being invested,
and perhaps pillaged, I saw no outward mark of distress
or disturbance, or even of hurry or curiosity.
“Having re-lodged us in the Rue d’Assault, Mr. Boyd
tried to find some land carriage for our removal. But
not only every chaise had been taken, and every diligence
secured; the cabriolets, the calèches, nay, the waggons
and the carts, and every species of caravan, had been
.bn 332.png
.pn +1
seized for military service. And, after the utmost efforts
he could make, in every kind of way, he told us we must
wait the chances of the day, for that there was no possibility
of escape from Brussels, either by land or
water....
“I was seated at my bureau and writing, when a loud
‘hurrah!’ reached my ears from some distance, while the
daughter of my host, a girl of about eighteen, gently
opening my door, said the fortune of the day had
suddenly turned, and that Bonaparte was taken prisoner.
“At the same time the ‘hurrah!’ came nearer. I flew
to the window; my host and hostess came also, crying,
‘Bonaparte est pris! le voilà! le voilà!’
“I then saw, on a noble war-horse in full equipment, a
general in the splendid uniform of France; but visibly
disarmed, and, to all appearance, tied to his horse, or, at
least, held on, so as to disable him from making any
effort to gallop it off, and surrounded, preceded, and
followed by a crew of roaring wretches, who seemed
eager for the moment when he should be lodged where
they had orders to conduct him, that they might unhorse,
strip, pillage him, and divide the spoil.
“His high, feathered, glittering helmet he had pressed
down as low as he could on his forehead, and I could not
discern his face; but I was instantly certain he was not
Bonaparte, on finding the whole commotion produced by
the rifling crew above-mentioned, which, though it might
be guided, probably, by some subaltern officer, who might
have the captive in charge, had left the field of battle at
a moment when none other could be spared, as all the
attendant throng were evidently amongst the refuse of
the army followers.
“I was afterwards informed that this unfortunate
general was the Count Lobau....
.bn 333.png
.pn +1
“The delusion of victory vanished into a merely passing
advantage, as I gathered from the earnest researches into
which it led me; and evil only met all ensuing investigation;
retreat and defeat were the words in every mouth
around me! The Prussians, it was asserted, were completely
vanquished on the 15th, and the English on the
16th, while on the day just passed, the 17th, a day of
continual fighting and bloodshed, drawn battles on both
sides left each party proclaiming what neither party could
prove—success.
“It was Sunday; but Church service was out of the
question, though never were prayers more frequent,
more fervent. Form, indeed, they could not have, nor
union, while constantly expecting the enemy with fire
and sword at the gates. Who could enter a place of
worship, at the risk of making it a scene of slaughter?
But who, also, in circumstances so awful, could require
the exhortation of a priest, or the example of a congregation,
to stimulate devotion? No! in those fearful
exigencies, where, in the full vigour of health, strength,
and life’s freshest resources, we seem destined to abruptly
quit this mortal coil, we need no spur—all is spontaneous;
and the soul is unshackled.
“Not above a quarter of an hour had I been restored
to my sole occupation of solace, before I was again
interrupted and startled; but not as on the preceding
occasion by riotous shouts; the sound was a howl, violent,
loud, affrighting, and issuing from many voices. I ran to
the window, and saw the Marché aux Bois suddenly filling
with a populace, pouring in from all its avenues, and
hurrying on rapidly, and yet as if unconscious in what
direction; while women with children in their arms, or
clinging to their clothes, ran screaming out of doors;
and cries, though not a word was ejaculated, filled the
.bn 334.png
.pn +1
air, and from every house, I saw windows closing, and
shutters fastening; all this, though long in writing, was
presented to my eyes in a single moment, and was followed
in another by a burst into my apartment, to announce
that the French were come!
“I know not even who made this declaration; my head
was out of the window, and the person who made it
scarcely entered the room and was gone.
“How terrific was this moment! My perilous situation
urged me to instant flight; and, without waiting to speak
to the people of the house, I crammed my papers and
money into a basket, and throwing on a shawl and
bonnet, I flew downstairs and out of doors.
“My intention was to go to the Boyds, to partake, as I
had engaged, their fate; but the crowd were all issuing
from the way I must have turned to have gained the Rue
d’Assault, and I thought, therefore, I might be safer with
Madame de Maurville, who, also, not being English,
might be less obnoxious to the Bonapartists....
“What a dreadful day did I pass! dreadful in the
midst of its glory! for it was not during those operations
that sent details partially to our ears that we could judge
of the positive state of affairs, or build upon any permanency
of success. Yet here I soon recovered from all
alarm for personal safety, and lost the horrible apprehension
of being in the midst of a city that was taken, sword
in hand, by an enemy....
“The alerte which had produced this effect, I afterwards
learnt, though not till the next day, was utterly false; but
whether it had been produced by mistake or by deceit I
never knew. The French, indeed, were coming; but not
triumphantly; they were prisoners, surprised and taken
suddenly, and brought in, being disarmed, by an escort;
and, as they were numerous, and their French uniform
.bn 335.png
.pn +1
was discernible from afar, the almost universal belief at
Brussels that Bonaparte was invincible, might perhaps,
without any intended deception, have raised the report
that they were advancing as conquerors.
“I attempt no description of this day, the grandeur
of which was unknown, or unbelieved, in Brussels till it
had taken its flight, and could only be named as time
past.”
.pm end_quote
The writer’s pleasure at the success of the Allies was
saddened by an accident which happened to General
d’Arblay, who, while employed in raising a force of refugees
at Trèves, had received a severe wound in the calf of his
leg from the kick of a restive horse. This misfortune
impaired still further a constitution already weakened.
Being for the time disabled for service, and having
passed his sixtieth year, the General found himself placed
on the retired list, and obtained leave to settle with his
wife in England. When sent on a mission to Blucher, he
had been honoured by his master with the title of Comte,
which, as being conferred only par une sorte d’usage de
l’ancien régime, and being neither established by patent,
nor connected with the ownership of an estate, he never
used after the occasion on which it was given. He died
at Bath on May 3, 1818.
Little remains to be told of the life of Madame
d’Arblay. During her residence at Bath she renewed
her acquaintance with Mrs. Piozzi. We have a long and
entertaining account from her pen of an escape from
drowning which she met with while staying at Ilfracombe.
But with this exception, her last diaries and letters contain
little of interest. Soon after the death of her
husband she removed to No. 11, Bolton Street, Piccadilly.
Her latter days she spent chiefly in retirement, seeing
.bn 336.png
.pn +1
few persons but her own relations, and a small circle of
established friends. Among the latter were Mrs. Locke
and the poet Rogers, with the latter of whom she
had made acquaintance on her first return from France.
She was delighted, however, by a visit from Sir Walter
Scott, who was brought to her by Rogers. Sir Walter,
in his Diary for November 18, 1826, thus records the
interview: “Introduced to Madame d’Arblay, the celebrated
authoress of ‘Evelina’ and ‘Cecilia,’ an elderly
lady with no remains of personal beauty, but with a
simple and gentle manner, and pleasing expression of
countenance, and apparently quick feelings. She told me
she had wished to see two persons—myself, of course,
being one, the other George Canning. This was really a
compliment to be pleased with—a nice little handsome
pat of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a dairy-maid,
instead of the grease fit only for cart-wheels which
one is dosed with by the pound. I trust I shall see this
lady again.”
From the year 1828 to 1832, she occupied herself in compiling
the Memoirs of Dr. Burney. This book, published
in her eightieth year, has all the faults of her later style,
in their most aggravated form. But her friend Bishop
Jebb, while gently hinting at these defects, could honestly
congratulate her on the merit of her work. “Much as
we already know of the last age, you have brought many
scenes of it, not less animated than new, graphically
before our eyes; whilst I now seem familiar with many
departed worthies, who were not before known to me,
even so much as by name.” Southey also wrote to her
son: “‘Evelina’ did not give me more pleasure, when I
was a schoolboy, than these Memoirs have given me now;
and this is saying a great deal. Except Boswell’s, there
is no other work in our language which carries us into
.bn 337.png
.pn +1
such society, and makes us fancy that we are acquainted
with the persons to whom we are there introduced.”
In January, 1837, she lost the last prop of her old age.
Alexander d’Arblay, having taken Orders soon after his
degree, became minister of Ely Chapel in 1836, and was
about to marry, when he was carried off by an attack of
influenza. His mother survived him nearly three years:
she had a severe illness, attended by spectral illusions, in
November, 1839; and died in London on January 6,
1840—a day which she had observed from the beginning
of the century in memory of the death of her sister
Susanna. She was buried at Walcot, near Bath, by the
side of her husband and their only child.
Except for the production of the “Memoirs,” the last
quarter of a century in Madame d’Arblay’s life was barren
both of incident and employment. The details of her
experience during the preceding fifteen years could not
fail to interest us, if we had them related as she would
have told them in her prime. Especially, we should
like to know something more about that long detention
in France, when chafing under police restrictions, and
fretting for news from home, her heart vibrated to the
continual echoes of cannon announcing Napoleon’s
victories. But Fanny married, and growing elderly, was
quite a different person from the Fanny of St. Martin’s
Street and Chesington, of Streatham and Bath, of
Windsor and Kew. Her Diary proper came to a final
stop with the death of Mrs. Phillips in 1800. She will
always be remembered as Frances Burney of the
eighteenth century. Deriving her inspiration in part from
Richardson, she heads the roll of those female novelists
whose works form a considerable part of English
literature. The purity of her writings first made the
circulating library respectable. “We owe to her,” says
.bn 338.png
.pn +1
Macaulay very justly, “not only ‘Evelina,’ ‘Cecilia,’
and ‘Camilla,’ but ‘Mansfield Park,’ and the ‘Absentee.’
Yet great as was her influence on her successors,[125] it was
exhausted before the present century began. Indeed, it
has been suggested, with some reason, that the excessive
sensibility of her heroines is answerable for a reaction in
Miss Edgeworth and Miss Austen; for the too great
amount of bright and cold good sense of the first; for the
over-sobriety of feeling of the second.[126] Fanny’s genius
for expressing character in dialogue, aided by touches of
description, placed her among the first memoir-writers of
that journalizing age. A little more power of compression
would have made her diaries equal to the best of
Boswell’s sketches.
.fn 125
Miss Austen took the title of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ from some words on
the last page of ‘Cecilia.’
.fn-
.fn 126
Introduction to ‘Evelina’ by Annie Raine Ellis.
.fn-
“The author herself,” says Mr. Leslie Stephen, “with
her insatiable delight in compliments—certainly such as
might well turn her head—her quick observation and
lively garrulity, her effusion of sentiment rather lively
than deep, but never insincere, her vehement prejudices
corrected by flashes of humour, is always amusing.” We
may assent to every word of this sentence, and yet feel
that it does its subject something less than justice. We
trust that our readers have found Fanny amusing; we
trust also that they have recognised in her the possession
of some higher qualities. If she was vain, her egotism
was of the most innocent kind. It was more harmless
than Goldsmith’s, for we cannot recall in her utterances a
single envious or jealous remark. Of how many self-conscious
authors can the like be said? The simple love
of praise which led her to entertain her acquaintance with
what was said about herself, has assisted to render her
.bn 339.png
.pn +1
interesting to a wider circle. “Vain glory,” says Bacon
quaintly, “helpeth to perpetuate a man’s memory: like
unto varnish that makes ceilings not only shine, but last.”
If she had strong prejudices, they were free from every
taint of personal malevolence. Her dislike of the Opposition
resembled Johnson’s professed hatred of the Scotch,
at which the doctor himself used to laugh. She goes to
the trial of Hastings, full of zeal for his cause, and spends
her time there chiefly in conversing with his prosecutors.
And however prejudiced on some points, she was far
from narrow-minded on many matters of controversy.
Though brought up a strict Protestant, she married a
Roman Catholic. Though to the end of her days an
attached daughter of the English Church, she expresses
unqualified esteem for the piety of those very pronounced
dissenters, Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld. The sympathy
between herself and her own family was at all times perfect.
There were no rivalries among them. “I am sure,”
she wrote modestly in 1800, “my dear father will not
think I mean to parallel our works.” She was extremely
pleased when Queen Charlotte declared a tale published
by her half-sister Sarah to be “very pretty.” Her
faithfulness to duty and her friends was celebrated by her
royal mistress in the saying that Miss Burney was “true
as gold.” When she had cast in her lot with her Chevalier,
no isolation, no privation, no anxiety for the future could
make her repine. “I never forget,” she wrote in her
poverty, “Dr. Johnson’s words. When somebody said
that a certain person had no turn for economy, he
answered, ‘Sir, you might as well say that he has no
turn for honesty.’“ Whatever cavils have been raised
by Croker and one or two like-minded detractors, no
artifice or indirect dealing can be laid to her charge, even
in literary matters, in regard to which such man[oe]uvres
.bn 340.png
.pn +1
are too often deemed excusable. We are not holding her
up as a pattern of elevated or extraordinary virtue. She
was simply the best representative of a worthy and
amiable family who had been trained in the school of
Samuel Johnson. That type of character has passed
away. The rugged old dictator’s political creed is unintelligible
to the present age; his devotion is taken for
superstition or formalism; his canons of criticism are
obsolete. His disciples felt nothing of what was stirring
in the air. They were but little accessible to fresh ideas.
The cause of popular freedom, the Evangelical movement
in religion, the romantic spirit in poetry appealed to them
with the smallest effect. They were zealous for authority;
they were not in the least introspective; when they
wanted a line or two of verse, they nearly always went to
Pope for it. The speculations, the problems of the
modern world were all unknown to them. They were far
less inclined to embrace new dogmas of faith or agnosticism
than to observe old rules of action. Yet when we read
the annals of the Burneys—the accomplished, the genial,
self-respecting, conscientious, pious Burneys—may we
not be pardoned for thinking that there was a good deal,
after all, in those antiquated Johnsonian principles?
.ce
THE END.
.hr 40%
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BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
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Popular Science.
.hr 25%
.in 4
.ti -2
THE GREAT WORLD’S FARM; some Account
of Nature’s Crops and How they are Grown. By Selina Gaye,
Author of ‘The Great World’s Lumber Room.’ With a Preface
by Professor Boulger. With Sixteen Illustrations. Cloth.
Price 5s.
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SUN, MOON, AND STARS. A Book on Astronomy
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8vo., cloth. Price 5s.
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RADIANT SUNS. A Sequel to ‘Sun, Moon, and
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the nature of the stellar universe. We know no examples of the art of
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.ti +2
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much solid information in a pleasant form.’—Natural Science.
.bn 343.png
.pn +1
.ce
BOOKS BY PROFESSOR CHURCH.
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.dv class='column-container'
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NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION OF MRS. MARSHALL’S
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Price 3s. 6d., cloth.
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.it Millicent Legh.
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LONDON: SEELEY AND CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND.
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The Eighteenth Century.
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DEAN SWIFT: HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. By
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Portraits, 7s. 6d.; large-paper copies (150 only), 21s.
‘Mr. Moriarty is to be heartily congratulated upon having produced an
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.sp 1
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HORACE WALPOLE AND HIS WORLD. Select
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Sir Joshua Reynolds and Thomas Lawrence. Second
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‘A compact representative selection with just enough connecting text to
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FANNY BURNEY AND HER FRIENDS. Select
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West. Third Edition. 7s. 6d., cloth.
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MRS. THRALE, AFTERWARDS MRS. PIOZZI.
By L. B. Seeley, M.A., late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.
With Nine Portraits on Copper, after Hogarth,
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.sp 1
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LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. By Arthur
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With Nine Portraits, after Sir Godfrey Kneller,
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SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. By Claude Phillips.
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‘A whole library has been written about Sir Joshua, but this is the best digest
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.in
//LONDON: SEELEY AND CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND.
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.pn +1
.sp 4
.nf c
THE PORTFOLIO
ARTISTIC MONOGRAPHS.\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ Price 2s. 6d. nett.
.nf-
Each number has about 80 pp. of letterpress, and is complete
in itself. The illustrations generally consist of four
copper-plates and twenty illustrations in the text.
.sp 2
.ce
1895.
.nf l
THE EARLY WORK OF RAPHAEL. By Julia Cartwright.
W. Q. ORCHARDSON. By Walter Armstrong.
CLAUDE LORRAIN. By George Grahame.
WHITEHALL. By W. J. Loftie.
JAPANESE WOOD ENGRAVINGS. By William Anderson.
ANTOINE WATTEAU. By Claude Phillips.
THE ISLE OF WIGHT. By C. J. Cornish.
RAPHAEL IN ROME. By Julia Cartwright.
DUTCH ETCHERS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. By Laurence Binyon.
WILLIAM BLAKE. By Richard Garnett.
MODERN SPANISH PAINTERS. By R. Cortissoz.
THE DULWICH GALLERY. By Humphry Ward.
.nf-
//LONDON: SEELEY AND CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND.
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.ce
THE PORTFOLIO
.ce
ARTISTIC MONOGRAPHS. Price 2s. 6d. nett.
.sp 2
.ce
1894.
.in 4
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REMBRANDT’S ETCHINGS. By P. G. Hamerton.
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MALTA AND THE KNIGHTS HOSPITALLERS. By W. K. R. Bedford.
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JOSIAH WEDGWOOD, MASTER POTTER. By A. H. Church.
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BASTIEN LEPAGE. By Julia Cartwright.
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D. G. ROSSETTI. By F. G. Stephens.
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FREDERICK WALKER. By Claude Phillips.
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BOOKBINDING IN FRANCE. By W. Y. Fletcher.
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ALBERT DÜRER. By Lionel Cust.
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ITALIAN BOOK ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE
FIFTEENTH AND SIXTEENTH CENTURIES.
By Alfred W. Pollard.
.in
.hr 25%
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By the Author of ‘Life at the Zoo.’
.nf c
WILD ENGLAND OF TO-DAY
AND THE WILD LIFE IN IT.
By C. J. CORNISH.
With Sixteen Illustrations, demy 8vo., 12s. 6d.
.nf-
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‘The scenes by sea or land, on the rivers of the south or the moors
of the north, are vividly drawn by one who knows them.’—Manchester
Guardian.
.hr 25%
.nf c
Uniform with this Volume.
LIFE AT THE ZOO
NOTES AND TRADITIONS OF THE REGENT’S
PARK GARDENS.
By C. J. CORNISH.
Illustrated from Photographs by Gambier Bolton.
Opinions of the Press.
.nf-
‘In its graver, as in its lighter, portions, this absorbing work
is without a single dull or superfluous line, and its value is not a little
enhanced by the several beautiful reproductions of photographs of Mr.
Gambier Bolton.’—World.
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description, and with frequent touches of quiet humour.’—Times.
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THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH: a Tale of the
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SWITZERLAND AND THE SWISS. Sketches of the
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CHURCH ECHOES. First Series. A Tale Illustrative
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CHANGES AND CHANCES. A Tale. Crown
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SEELEY’S
FIRST LESSON BOOKS.
CLOTH, PRICE 2s. 6d. PER VOLUME.
.nf-
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A Series of Elementary Books for Home
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and fully illustrated with cuts and
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THIS GREAT GLOBE. First Lessons in Geography.
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.in
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.pn +1
.nf c
Issued in large crown 8vo., with Portraits on Copper,
Price 7s. 6d.
.nf-
.ce
STUDIES IN MODERN MUSIC
.nf c
HECTOR BERLIOZ, ROBERT SCHUMAN, RICHARD WAGNER.
SECOND EDITION.
By W. H. HADOW, M.A., Fellow of Worcester College, Oxon.
.nf-
‘We have seldom read a book on musical subjects which has given us so
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essays may be read with much interest by musicians. It is a remarkable
book, because, unlike the majority of musical treatises by amateurs, it is full
of truth and common-sense.’—Athenæum.
‘The essay on musical criticism is well worth anybody’s reading; its
general tendency is to extend the basis of modern criticism, commensurably
with the larger and wider scope of modern music, to establish standards of
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the pedantic misapplication of once valid rules. In his whole discourse on
the subject Mr. Hadow gives evidence of immense common-sense, backed
up by innate and cultivated artistic perception.’—Atlantic Monthly.
.sp 2
.nf c
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
STUDIES IN MODERN MUSIC
SECOND SERIES.
FREDERICK CHOPIN, ANTONIN DVORÁK, JOHANNES BRAHMS.
Preceded by an Essay on Musical Form.
.nf-
.ce
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
‘The three biographies are charming: and in each case the author has
something both true and new to say.’—National Observer.
‘The development of form is described with many brilliant touches and
with complete grasp of the subject, and the book, which will probably be
considered to be even better than the former work, is most heartily to be
recommended to all who wish to attain the highest kind of enjoyment of
the best music.’—Times.
‘Highly finished portraits are presented of the three modern masters
named, and the articles are distinguished by the same musicianly knowledge
and felicity of expression as those in the earlier book.’—Athenæum.
‘The amount of labour and research condensed into these pages is really
remarkable.’—Musical Times.
‘There is not a word either in the historical or exegetical portions of
Mr. Hadow’s work which will not furnish agreeable suggestion to the
casual reader, and satisfaction to the student’—St. James’s Gazette.
//LONDON: SEELEY AND CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND.
.bn 353.png
.pn +1
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PICTURESQUE PLACES.
A SERIES of beautifully illustrated books published by Seeley & Co.
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LANCASHIRE. Brief Historical and Descriptive
Notes. By Leo Grindon. With many Illustrations by
A. Brunet-Debaines, H. Toussaint, R. Kent Thomas,
and others. New Edition. 6s., cloth.
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PARIS. In Past and Present Times. By P. G.
Hamerton. With many Illustrations by A. Brunet-Debaines,
H. Toussaint, Jacomb Hood, and others.
New Edition. 6s., cloth.
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THE RUINED ABBEYS OF YORKSHIRE. By
W. Chambers Lefroy. With many Illustrations by A.
Brunet-Debaines and H. Toussaint. New Edition.
6s., cloth.
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OXFORD. Chapters by A. Lang. With many
Illustrations by A. Brunet-Debaines, H. Toussaint
and R. Kent Thomas. 6s., cloth.
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CAMBRIDGE. By J. W. Clark, M.A. With
many Illustrations by A. Brunet-Debaines and H.
Toussaint. 6s., cloth.
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WINDSOR. By W. J. Loftie, dedicated by permission
to Her Majesty the Queen. With many Illustrations.
6s.
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STRATFORD-ON-AVON. In the Middle Ages and
the Time of the Shakespeares. By S. L. Lee. With many
Illustrations. 6s., cloth.
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EDINBURGH. Picturesque Notes. By Robert
Louis Stevenson. With many Illustrations. 3s. 6d.,
cloth; 5s., roxburgh.
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CHARING CROSS TO ST. PAUL’S. Mr. Justin
McCarthy. With Illustrations by Joseph Pennell.
6s., cloth.
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A few copies of the Guinea Edition of some of these volumes,\
containing the original etchings, can still be had.
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LONDON: SEELEY AND CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND.
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Transcriber’s Note
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original,
or, if in a footnote, to the original page, the resequenced note number
and the line with it.
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| “How you remind me of my father![’”/”’] | Transposed.
| being hooted at[.] | Added.
| as well acquainted with them as herself[.] | Added.
| her Smiths and her Branghtons![”/’] | Replaced.
| “[‘]Oh, sir!’ cried I; | Inserted.
| to confound these outpouring[s] | Added.
| [‘/“]Let him be tormented, | Replaced.
| ‘Evelina’![”] | Added.
| though far inferior[.] | Added.
| in Fanny’s [l]iterary career. | Restored.
| died on the 30th of May 1840[.] | Added.
| a history of the Bristol milk-woman,[’] | Removed.
| have encouraged me.[’/”] | Replaced.
| was only six miles from Chesington[,/.] | Replaced.
| [‘]There is no need,’ | Added.
| No, no; not come to that neither.[’] | Added.
| Immediately below the Great Chambe[r]lain’s Box | Inserted.
| I am extremely obliged to Mr. Digby indeed.[’] | Added.
| “[‘]No, ma’am!’ was all I dared answer. | Inserted.
| ‘fine, lively, natural, independent characters.[’] | Added.
| [‘/“]I thanked him; | Replaced.
| after seventy-three of accusation.[’/”] | Replaced.
| [‘]for it is kind, | Added.
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