Chapter 11

Dr. J.-Why, I don't hold it to be delicate to offer marriage to ladies, even in jest, nor do I approve such sort of jocularity; yet for once I must break through the rules of decorum, and Propose a match myself for Miss Burney. I therefore nominate Sir J---- L----.[72]

Mrs. T.-I'll give you my word, sir, you are not the first to say that, for my master the other morning, when we were alone, said 'What would I give that Sir J---- L---- was married to Miss Burney; it might restore him to our family.' So spoke his Uncle and guardian.

F.B.-He, he! Ha, ha! He, he! Ha, ha!

Dr. J.-That was elegantly said of my master, and nobly said, and not in the vulgar way we have been saying it. And madam, where will you find another man in trade who will make such a speech--who will be capable of making such a speech? Well, I am glad my master takes so to Miss Burney; I would have everybody take to Miss Burney, so as they allow me to take to her most! Yet I don't know whether Sir J---- L---- should have her, neither; I should be afraid for her; I don't think I would hand her to him.

F.B.-Why, now, what a fine match is here broken off!

Some time after, when we were in the library, he asked me very gravely if I loved reading?

“Yes,” quoth I.

“Why do you doubt it, sir?” cried Mrs. Thrale.

“Because,” answered he, “I never see her with a book in her hand. I have taken notice that she never has been reading whenever I have come into the room.”

“Sir,” quoth I, courageously, “I'm always afraid of being caught reading, lest I should pass for being studious or affected, and therefore instead of making a display of books, I always try to hide them, as is the case at this very time, for I have now your 'Life of Waller' under my gloves behind me. However, since I am piqued to it, I'll boldly produce my voucher.”

And so saying, I put the book on the table, and opened it with a flourishing air. And then the laugh was on my side, for he could not help making a droll face; and if he had known Kitty Cooke, I would have called out, “There I had you, my lad!”

A STREATHAM DINNER PARTY.

Monday was the day for our great party; and the Doctor came home, at Mrs. Thrale's request, to meet them. The party consisted of Mr. C--, who was formerly a timber-merchant, but having amassed a fortune of one million of pounds, he has left off business. He is a good-natured busy sort of man.

Mrs. C--, his lady, a sort of Mrs. Nobody.

Mr. N--, another rich business leaver-off.

Mrs. N--, his lady; a pretty sort of woman, who was formerly a pupil of Dr. Hawkesworth. I had a great deal of talk with her about him, and about my favourite miss Kinnaird, whom she knew very well.

Mr. George and Mr. Thomas N--, her sons-in-law.

Mr. R---, of whom I know nothing but that he married into Mr. Thrale's family.

Lady Ladd; I ought to have begun with her. I beg her ladyship a thousand pardons--though if she knew my offence, I am sure I should not obtain one. She is own sister to Mr. Thrale. She is a tall and stout woman, has an air of mingled dignity and haughtiness, both of which wear off in conversation. She dresses very youthful and gaily, and attends to her person with no little complacency. She appears to me uncultivated in knowledge, though an adept in the manners of the world, and all that. She chooses to be much more lively than her brother; but liveliness sits as awkwardly upon her as her pink ribbons. In talking her over with Mrs. Thrale who has a very proper regard for her, but who, I am sure, cannot be blind to her faults, she gave me another proof to those I have already of the uncontrolled freedom of speech which Dr. Johnson exercised to everybody, and which everybody receives quietly from him. Lady Ladd has been very handsome, but is now, I think, quite ugly--at least she has the sort of face I like not. She was a little while ago dressed in so showy a manner as to attract the doctor's notice, and when he had looked at her some time, he broke out aloud into this quotation:

“With patches, paint, and jewels on, Sure Phillis is not twenty-one But if at night you Phillis see, The dame at least is forty-three!”

I don't recollect the verses exactly, but such was their purport.

“However,” said Mrs. Thrale, “Lady Ladd took it very good-naturedly, and only said, 'I know enough of that forty-three--I don't desire to hear any more of it.'”

Miss Moss, a pretty girl, who played and sung, to the great fatigue of Mrs. Thrale; Mr. Rose Fuller, Mr. Embry, Mr. Seward, Dr. Johnson, the three Thrales, and myself, close the party.

In the evening the company divided pretty much into parties, and almost everybody walked upon the gravel-walk before the windows. I was going to have joined some of them, when Dr. Johnson stopped me, and asked how I did.

“I was afraid, sir,” cried I “you did not intend to know me again, for you have not spoken to me before since your return from town.”

“_My_ dear,” cried he, taking both my hands, “I was not of _you_, I am so near sighted, and I apprehended making some Mistake.” Then drawing me very unexpectedly towards him, he actually kissed me!

To be sure, I was a little surprised, having no idea of such facetiousness from him, However, I was glad nobody was in the room but Mrs. Thrale, who stood close to us, and Mr. Embry, who was lounging on a sofa at the furthest end of the room. Mrs. Thrale laughed heartily, and said she hoped I was contented with his amends for not knowing me sooner.

A little after she said she would go and walk with the rest, if she did not fear for my reputation in being “left with the doctor.”

“However, as Mr. Embry is yonder, I think he'll take some care of you,” she added.

“Ay, madam,” said the doctor, “we shall do very well; but I assure you I sha'n't part with Miss Burney!”

And he held me by both hands; and when Mrs. Thrale went, he drew me a chair himself facing the window, close to his own; and thus tete-a-tete we continued almost all the evening. I say tete-a-tete, because Mr, Embry kept at an humble distance, and offered us no interruption And though Mr. Seward soon after came in, he also seated himself at a distant corner, not presuming, he said, to break in upon us! Everybody, he added, gave way to the doctor.

Our conversation chiefly was upon the Hebrides, for he always talks to me of Scotland, out of sport; and he wished I had been of that tour--quite gravely, I assure you!

The P-- family came in to tea. When they were gone Mrs. Thrale complained that she was quite worn out with that tiresome silly woman Mrs. P--, who had talked of her family and affairs till she was sick to death of hearing her.

“Madam,” said Dr. Johnson, “why do you blame the woman for the only sensible thing she could do--talking of her family and her affairs? For how should a woman who is as empty as a drum, talk upon any other subject? If you speak to her of the sun, she does not know it rises in the east;--if you speak to her of the moon, she does not know it changes at the full;--if you speak to her of the queen, she does not know she is the king's wife.--how, then, can you blame her for talking of her family and affairs?”

SECT. 2 (1779)

THE AUTHOR OF “EVELINA” IN SOCIETY:

SHE VISITS BRIGHTON AND TUNBRIDGE WELLS.

[Fanny's circle of acquaintance was largely extended in 1779, in which year she was introduced to Mrs. Horneck and her daughter Mary (Goldsmith's “Jessamy Bride”), to Mr. and Mrs. Cholmondeley, to Arthur Murphy, the dramatist, and best of all, Richard Brinsley Sheridan and his beautiful wife. The Hornecks and the Cholmondeleys she met at one of those delightful parties at Sir Joshua Reynolds's house in Leicester Square,--parties composed of the wisest and wittiest in English society of the day, though nowhere among the guests could there be found a man of more genuine worth or more brilliant genius than the mild-mannered host. Mrs. Horneck had been a noted beauty in her younger days, and she, as well as her two lovely daughters, had been painted by Sir Joshua. The elder daughter, Catherine (Goldsmith's “Little Comedy”), was now (1779) Mrs. Bunbury, wife of Henry Bunbury the caricaturist. Mary, the younger, was at this time about twenty-six years of age, and was subsequently married to Colonel Gwynn, whom we shall meet with in Fanny's Diary of her Life at Court. Goldsmith, it is said, had loved Mary Horneck, though the ugly little man never ventured to tell his love; but when he died, five years before her meeting with Fanny, the Jessamy Bride caused his coffin to be reopened, and a lock of hair to be cut from the dead poet's head. This lock she treasured until her own death, nearly seventy years afterwards.

Mrs. Sheridan's maiden name was Eliza Anne Linley. There is an interesting notice of her in Fanny's “Early Diary” for the month of April, 1773. “Can I speak of music, and not mention Miss Linley? The town has rung of no other name this month. Miss Linley is daughter to a musician of Bath, a very sour, ill-bred, severe, and selfish man. She is believed to be very romantic; she has long been very celebrated for her singing, though never, till within this month, has she been in London.

“She has long been attached to a Mr. Sheridan, a young man of great talents, and very well spoken of, whom it is expected she will speedily marry. She has performed this Lent at the Oratorio of Drury-lane, under Mr. Stanley's direction. The applause and admiration she has met with, can only be compared to what is given Mr. Garrick. The whole town seems distracted about her. Every other diversion is forsaken. Miss Linley alone engrosses all eyes, ears, hearts.”

The “young man of great talents” was, when Fanny first met him, already renowned as the author of “The Rivals” and “The School for Scandal.” His wife's extraordinary beauty has been perpetuated in one of Reynolds's masterpieces, in which she is represented as St. Cecilia, sitting at an organ. Her father seems to have fully deserved the character which Fanny gives him. In 1772 Eliza, then only nineteen, ran away to France with young Sheridan, who was just of age, and, it is reported, was privately married to him at the time. They were pursued, however, by old Linley, and Eliza was brought back, to become the rage of the town as a singer. Her lover married her openly in April, 1773, and thenceforward she sang no more in public.

Fanny's account of her visits to Tunbridge Wells and Brighton will recall, to readers of her novels, the delightfully humorous descriptions of the society at those fashionable resorts, in “Camilla” and “The Wanderer.” Mount Ephraim, at Tunbridge Wells, where Sophy Streatfield resided, will be recognized as the scene of the accident in which Camilla's life is saved by Sir Sedley Clarendel.--ED.]

A QUEER ADVENTURE.

St. Martin's Street, January.

On Thursday, I had another adventure, and one that has made me grin ever since. A gentleman inquiring for my father, was asked into the parlour. The then inhabitants were only my mother and me. In entered a square old gentleman, well-wigged, formal, grave and important. He seated himself. My mother asked if he had any message for my father? “No, none.”

Then he regarded me with a certain dry kind of attention for some time; after which, turning suddenly to my mother, he demanded,

“Pray, ma'am, is this your daughter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“O! this is Evelina, is it?”

“No, sir,” cried I, staring at him, and glad none of you were in the way to say “Yes.”

“No?” repeated he, incredulous; “is not your name Evelina, ma'am?”

“Dear, no, sir,” again quoth I, staring harder.

“Ma'am,” cried he, drily; “I beg your pardon! I had understood your name was Evelina.”

Soon: after, he went away.

And when he put down his card, who should it prove but Dr. Franklin.[73] Was it not queer?

AN EVENING AT SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S

A DEMONSTRATIVE “EVELINA” ENTHUSIAST.

Now to this grand visit, which was become more tremendous than ever because of the pamphlet [74] business, and I felt almost ashamed to see Sir Joshua, and could not but conclude he would think of it too.

My mother, who changed her mind, came with me. My father promised to come before the Opera was half over.

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. But when I asked the elder Miss Palmer if she would allow me to look at some of her drawings, she said,

“Not unless you will let me see something of yours.”

“Of mine?” quoth I. “Oh! I have nothing to show.”

“I am sure you have; you must have.”

“No, indeed; I don't draw at all.”

“Draw? No, but I mean some of your writing.”

“Oh, I never write--except letters.”

“Letters? those are the very things I want to see.”

“Oh, not such as you mean.”

“Oh now, don't say so; I am sure you are about something and if you would but show me--”

“No, no, I am about nothing--I am quite out of conceit with writing.” I had my thoughts full of the vile Warley.

“You out of conceit?” exclaimed she; “nay, then, if you are, who should be otherwise!”

Just then, Mrs. and Miss Horneck were announced. You may suppose I thought directly of the one hundred and sixty miles[75]--and may take it for granted I looked them very boldly in the face! Mrs. Horneck seated herself by my mother. Miss Palmer introduced me to her and her daughter, who seated herself next me; but not one word passed between us!

Mrs. Horneck, as I found in the course of the evening, is an exceedingly sensible, well-bred woman. 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.

Not long after came a whole troop, consisting of Mr. Cholmondeley!--perilous name!--Miss Cholmondeley, and Miss Fanny Cholmondeley, his daughters, and Miss Forrest. Mrs. Cholmondeley, I found, was engaged elsewhere, but soon expected.[76] 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.

Miss Cholmondeley I saw too little of to mention.

Miss Fanny Cholmondeley is a rather pretty, pale girl; very young and inartificial, and though tall and grown up, treated by her family as a child, and seemingly well content to really think herself such. She followed me whichever way I turned, and though she was too modest to stare, never ceased watching me the whole evening.

Miss Forrest is an immensely tall and not handsome young woman. Further I know not.

Next came my father, all gaiety and spirits. Then Mr. William Burke.[77]

Soon after, Sir Joshua returned home. He paid his compliments to everybody, and then brought a chair next mine, and said,

“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[78] was announced.

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 curtsied in silence, she too curtsied, 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--

“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 on 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 a'n't going to kill her! don't be afraid, I sha'n't compliment her!--I can't, indeed!”

Then, taking my hand, she led me through them all, to another part of the room, where again she examined my phiz, and viewed and reviewed my whole person.

“Now,” said she, “do tell me; is it true?”

“What, ma'am?--I don't-I don't know what--”

“Pho! what,--why you know what: in short, can you read? and can you write?”

“No, ma'am!”

“I thought so,” cried she, “I have suspected it was a trick, some time, and now I am sure of it. You are too young by half!--it can't be!”

I laughed, and would have got away, but she would not let me.

“No,” cried she, “one thing you must, at least, tell me;--are you very conceited? Come, answer me,” continued she. “You won't? Mrs. Burney, Dr. Burney,--come here,--tell me if she is not very conceited?--if she is not eat up with conceit by this time?”

They were both pleased to answer “Not half enough.”

“Well,” exclaimed she, “that is the most wonderful part of all! Why, that is yet more extraordinary than writing the book.”

I then got away from her, and again looked over Miss Palmer's cards: but she was after me in a minute,

“Pray, Miss Burney,” cried she, aloud, “do you know any thing of this game?”

“No, ma'am.”

“No?” repeated she, “ma foi, that's pity!”[79]

This raised such a laugh, I was forced to move on; yet everybody seemed to be afraid to laugh, too, and studying to be delicate, as if they had been cautioned; which, I have since found, was really the case, and by Sir Joshua himself.

Again, however, she was at my side.

“What game do you like, Miss Burney?” cried she.

“I play at none, ma'am.”

“No? Pardie, I wonder at that! Did you ever know such a toad?”

Again I moved on, and got behind Mr. W. Burke, who, turning round to me, said,--

“This is not very politic in us, Miss Burney, to play at cards, and have you listen to our follies.”

There's for you! I am to pass for a censoress now.

Mrs. Cholmondeley hunted me quite round the card-table, from chair to chair, repeating various speeches of Madame Duval; and when, at last, I got behind a sofa, out of her reach, she called out aloud, “Polly, Polly! only think! Miss has danced with a Lord.”

Some time after, contriving to again get near me, she began flirting her fan, and exclaiming, “Well, miss, I have had a beau, I assure you! ay, and a very pretty beau too, though I don't know if his lodgings were so prettily furnished, and everything, as Mr. Smith's.”[80]

Then, applying to Mr. Cholmondeley, she said, “Pray, sir, what is become of my lottery ticket?”

“I don't know,” answered he.

“Pardie” cried she, “you don't know nothing.”

I had now again made off, and, after much rambling, I at last seated myself near the card-table: but Mrs. Cholmondeley was after me in a minute, and drew a chair next mine. I now found it impossible to escape, and therefore forced myself to sit still. Lord Palmerston and Sir Joshua, in a few moments, seated themselves by us.

I must now write dialogue-fashion, to avoid the enormous length of Mrs. C.'s name.

Mrs. C.-I have been very ill; monstrous ill indeed or else I should have been at your house long ago. Sir Joshua, pray how do you do? you know, I suppose, that I don't come, to see you?

Sir Joshua could only laugh, though this was her first address to him.

Mrs. C.-Pray, miss, what's your name?

F.B.-Frances, ma'am.

Mrs. C.-Fanny? Well, all the Fanny's are excellent and yet, my name is Mary! Pray, Miss Palmers, how are you?--though I hardly know if I shall speak to you to-night, I thought I should have never got here! I have been so out of humour with the people for keeping me. If you but knew, cried I, to whom I am going to-night, and who I shall see to-night, you would not dare keep me muzzing here!

During all these pointed speeches, her penetrating eyes were fixed upon me; and what could I do?--what, indeed, could anybody do, but colour and simper?--all the company watching us, though all, very delicately, avoided joining the confab.

Mrs. C.-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 mighty silly fellow;--perhaps you don't know who I mean?--one T. Lowndes,--but maybe you don't know such a person?

FB.-No, indeed, I do not!--that I can safely say.

Mrs. C.-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. [I cannot recollect the name she mentioned] 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; for we were not allowed to break up before: and then, when Sir Joshua and almost everybody was gone down stairs, she changed her tone, and, with a face and voice both grave, said:

“Well, Miss Burney, you must give me leave to say one thing to you; yet, perhaps you won't, neither, will you?”

“What is it, ma'am?”

“Why it is, that I admire you more than any human being and that I can't help!”

Then suddenly rising, she hurried down stairs.

While we were upon the stairs, I heard Miss Palmer say to Miss Fanny Cholmondeley, “Well, you don't find Miss Burney quite so tremendous as you expected?”

Sir Joshua made me sit next him at supper; Mr. William Burke was at my other side; though, afterwards, I lost the knight of Plimton,[81] who, as he eats no suppers, made way for Mr. Gwatkin,[82] and, as the table was crowded, himself stood at the fire. He was extremely polite and flattering in his manners to me, and entirely avoided all mention or hint at “Evelina” the whole evening: indeed, I think I have met more scrupulous delicacy from Sir Joshua than from anybody, although I have heard more of his approbation than of almost any other person's.

Mr. W. Burke was immensely attentive at table; but, lest he should be thought a Mr. Smith for his pains, he took care, whoever he helped, to add, “You know I am all for the ladies!”