Chapter 19

This morning two more servants came after us from Bath, and brought us word that the precautions taken by the magistrates last night had good success, for no attempt of any sort had been renewed towards a riot. But the happiest tidings to me were contained in a letter which they brought, which had arrived after our departure, by the diligence, from Mr. Perkins,[132] with an account that all was quiet in London, and that Lord G. Gordon was sent to the Tower. I am now again tolerably easy, but I shall not be really comfortable, or free from some fears, till I hear from St. Martin's Street.

The Borough house has been quite preserved. I know not how long we may be on the road, but nowhere long enough for receiving a letter till we come to Brighthelmstone.

We stopped in our way at Wilton, and spent half the day at that beautiful place.

Just before we arrived there, Lord Arundel had sent to the officers in the place, to entreat a party of guards immediately, for the safety of his house, as he had intelligence that a mob was on the road from London to attack it:--he is a catholic. His request was immediately complied with.

We intended to have gone to a private town, but find all quiet here, and therefore prefer it as much more commodious. There is no Romish chapel in the town; mass has always been performed for the catholics of the place at a Mrs. Arundel's in the Close--a relation of his lordship's, whose house is fifteen miles off. I have inquired about the Harris's;[133] I find they are here and all well.

THE GORDON RIOTS.

CHARLOTTE BURNEY[134] TO FANNY BURNEY.

I am very sorry, my dear Fanny, to hear how much you have suffered from your apprehension about us. Susan will tell you why none of us wrote before Friday; and she says, she has told you what dreadful havoc and devastation--the mob have made here in all parts of the town. However, we are pretty quiet and tranquil again now. Papa goes on with his business pretty much as usual, and so far from the military keeping people within doors (as you say in your letter to my father, you suppose to be the case), the streets were never more crowded--everybody is wandering about in order to see the ruins of the places that the mob have destroyed.

There are two camps, one in St. James's, and the other in Hyde Park, which together with the military law, makes almost every one here think he is safe again. I expect we shall all have “a passion for a scarlet coat” now.

I hardly know what to tell you that won't be stale news. They say that duplicates of the handbill that I have enclosed were distributed all over the town on Wednesday and Thursday last; however, thank heaven, everybody says now that Mr. Thrale's house and brewery are as safe as we can wish them. There was a brewer in Turnstile that had his house gutted and burnt, because, the mob said, “he was a papish, and sold popish beer.” Did you ever hear of such diabolical ruffians?

To add to the pleasantness of our situation, there have been gangs of women going about to rob and plunder. Miss Kirwans went on Friday afternoon to walk in the Museum gardens, and were stopped by a set of women, and robbed of all the money they had. The mob had proscribed the mews, for they said, “the king should not have a horse to ride upon!” They besieged the new Somerset House, with intention to destroy it, but were repulsed by some soldiers placed there for that purpose.

Mr. Sleepe has been here a day or two, and says the folks at Watford, where he comes from, “approve very much Of having the Catholic chapels destroyed, for they say it's a shame the Pope should come here!” There is a house hereabouts that they had chalked upon last week, “Empty, and No Popery!”

I am heartily rejoiced, my dearest Fanny, that you have got away from Bath, and hope and trust that at Brighthelmstone you will be as safe as we are here.

It sounds almost incredible, but they say, that on Wednesday night last, when the mob were more powerful, more numerous, and outrageous than ever, there was, nevertheless, a number of exceeding genteel people at Ranelagh, though they knew not but their houses might be on fire at the time!

A SUGGESTED VISIT To GRUB-STREET.

FANNY BURNEY TO MRS. THRALE.

Since I wrote last I have drunk tea with Dr. Johnson. My father took me to Bolt-court, and we found him, most fortunately, with only one brass-headed cane gentleman. Since that I have had the pleasure to meet him again at Mrs. Reynolds's, when he offered to take me with him to Grub-street, to see the ruins of the house demolished there in the late riots, by a mob that, as he observed, could be no friend to the Muses! He inquired if I had ever yet visited Grub-street? but was obliged to restrain his anger when I answered “No,” because he acknowledged he had never paid his respects to it himself. “However,” says he, “you and I, Burney, will go together; we have a very good right to go, so we'll visit the mansions of our progenitors, and take up our own freedom, together.” There's for you, madam! What can be grander?

FANNY BURNEY'S BROTHER IS PROMOTED.

FANNY BURNEY to MRS. THRALE.

Chesington, Nov. 4.

I had no other adventure in London, but a most delightful incident has happened since I came hither. We had just done tea on Friday, and Mrs. Hamilton, Kitty, Jem, and Mr. Crisp, were sitting down to cards, when we were surprised by an express from London, and it brought a “Whereas we think fit” from the Admiralty, to appoint Captain Burney to the command of the “Latona,” during the absence of the Honourable Captain Conway. This is one of the best frigates in the navy, of thirty-eight guns, and immediately, I believe, ready for service. Jem was almost frantic with ecstacy of joy: he sang, laughed, drank to his own success, and danced about the room with Miss Kitty till He put her quite out of breath. His hope is to get out immediately, and have a brush with some of the Dons, Monsieurs, or Mynheers, while he is in possession of a ship of sufficient force to attack any frigate he may meet.

(Mrs. Thrale wrote to Fanny from Streatham, Dec. 22:--)

I have picked up something to please you; Dr. Johnson pronounced an actual eulogium upon Captain Burney, to his yesterday's listeners--how amiable he was, and how gentle in his manner, etc., tho' he had lived so many years with sailors and savages.

THE DEATH OF MR. THRALE.

FANNY BURNEY to MRS. THRALE[135]

Wednesday Evening, April 4, 1781

You bid me write to you, and so I will; you bid me pray for you, and so, indeed, I do, for the restoration of your sweet peace of mind. I pray for your resignation to this hard blow, for the continued union and exertion of your virtues with your talents, and for the happiest reward their exertion can meet with, in the gratitude and prosperity of your children. These are my prayers for my beloved Mrs. Thrale; but these are not my only ones; no, the unfailing warmth of her kindness for myself I have rarely, for a long time past, slept without first petitioning.

I ran away without seeing you again when I found you repented that sweet compliance with my request which I had won from you. For the world would I not have pursued you, had I first seen your prohibition, nor could I endure to owe that consent to teasing which I only solicited from tenderness. Still, however, I think you had better have suffered me to follow you; I might have been of some use; I hardly could have been in your way. But I grieve now to have forced you to an interview which I would have spared myself as well as you, had I foreseen how little it would have answered my purpose.

Yet though I cannot help feeling disappointed, I am not surprised; for in any case at all similar, I am sure I should have the same eagerness for solitude.

I tell you nothing of how sincerely I sympathise in your affliction; yet I believe that Mr. Crutchley and Dr. Johnson alone do so more earnestly; and I have some melancholy comfort in flattering myself that, allowing for the difference of our characters, that true regard which I felt was as truly returned. Nothing but kindness did I ever meet with; he ever loved to have me, not merely with his family, but with himself; and gratefully shall I ever remember a thousand kind expressions of esteem and good opinion, which are now crowding upon my memory.

SECT. 4 (1781-2.)

MISS BURNEY EXTENDS THE CIRCLE OF HER ACQUAINTANCE.

[During the years 1781 and 1782 Fanny was engaged upon her second novel, “Cecilia,” which was published in July, 1782. It is not necessary here to discuss the merits of a work with which everyone ought to be acquainted. We may safely leave the task of criticising “Cecilia” to an unimpeachable authority, Edmund Burke, whose magnificent, but just eulogy of the book will be found on page 232 Of the present volume. In the following section of “The Diary” Fanny records one of the most memorable events of her life,--her introduction to Burke, in June, 1782, at Sir Joshua Reynolds's house on Richmond Hill. Her letter to Mr. Crisp, printed in the “Memoirs of Dr. Burney,” gives a more detailed account than that in the “Diary,” of the conversation which passed on this occasion. Other men of genius were present, among them Gibbon the historian, whom she then met for the first time; but Fanny had eyes and ears for none but Burke. Nor was she singular in yielding thus completely to the fascination of the great Irishman's manner and conversation. Wherever he appeared, in what society soever he mingled, Burke was still the man of distinction. As Johnson said, you could not stand under a shed with Burke for a few minutes, during a shower of rain, without feeling that you were in the company of an extraordinary man.

Mr. Thrale's death produced no immediate change in the situation of affairs at Streatham. Dr. Johnson's visits were as frequent and as protracted as before; Fanny continued to be numbered among the dearest friends of the widow. Not yet had arisen that infatuation which eventually alienated from Mrs. Thrale the sympathy of her former friends, and subjected her, justly or unjustly, to such severe and general condemnation. But to this topic we shall revert at a later period.

The great brewer had left his wife and family in affluent circumstances. The executors to his Will were Dr. Johnson, Mr. Henry Smith, Mr. Cator and Mr. Crutchley, together with Mrs. Thrale. Of the last-named gentleman we shall hear a good deal in the following pages. He and Mr. Cator were both chosen members of parliament In the same year--1784: Mr. Cator for Ipswich, Mr. Crutchley for Horsham. Early in the summer following Thrale's decease the brewery was sold for the handsome sum of 135,000 pounds, to David Barclay, the Quaker, who took Thrale's old manager, Perkins into Partnership. Thus was founded the famous house Of Barclay and Perkins.-ED-]

YOUNG MR. CRUTCHLEY RUFFLES MISS BURNEY.

Streatham, May.

Miss Owen and I arrived here without incident, which, in a journey of six or seven miles, was really marvellous. Mrs. Thrale came from the Borough with two of the executors, Dr. Johnson and Mr Crutchley soon after us. She had been sadly worried, and in the evening frightened us all by again fainting away. Dear creature! she is all agitation of mind and of body: but she is now wonderfully recovered though in continual fevers about her affairs, which are mighty difficult and complicate indeed. Yet the behaviour of all the executors is exactly to her wish. Mr. Crutchley, in particular, was he a darling son or only brother could not possibly be more truly devoted to her. Indeed., I am very happy in the revolution in my own mind in favour of this young man, whom formerly I so little liked; for I now see so much of him, business and inclination uniting to bring him hither continually, that if he were disagreeable to me, I should spend my time in a most comfortless manner. On the contrary, I both respect and esteem him very highly; for his whole conduct manifests so much goodness of heart and excellence of principle, that he is Un homme comme ill y en a peu; and that first appearance of coldness, pride, reserve, and sneering, all wears off upon further acquaintance, and leaves behind nothing but good-humour and good-will. And this you must allow to be very candid, when I tell you that, but yesterday, he affronted me so much by a piece Of impertinence that I had a very serious quarrel with im.

Sunday morning nobody went to church but Mr. Crutchley, Miss Thrale, and myself; and some time after, when I was sauntering upon the lawn before the house, Mr. Crutchley joined me. We were returning together into the house, when, Mrs. Thrale, popping her head out of her dressing-room window, called out,

“How nicely these men domesticate among us, Miss Burney! Why, they take to us as natural as life!”

“Well, well,” cried Mr. Crutchley, “I have sent for my horse, and I shall release you early to-morrow morning, I think yonder comes Sir Philip.”[136]

“Oh! you'll have enough to do with him,” cried she, laughing; “he is well prepared to plague you, I assure you.”

“Is he?--and what about?”

“Why, about Miss Burney. He asked me the other day what was my present establishment. 'Mr. Crutchley and Miss Burney,' I answered. 'How well those two names go together,' cried he; 'I think they can't do better than make a match of it: I will consent, I am sure,' he added; and to-day, I dare say, you will hear enough of it.”

I leave you to judge if I was pleased at this stuff thus communicated; but Mrs. Thrale, with all her excellence, can give up no occasion of making sport, however unseasonable, or even painful.

“I am very much obliged to him, indeed,” cried I, dryly; and Mr. Crutchley called out, “Thank him!--thank him!” in a voice of pride and of pique that spoke him mortally angry.

I instantly came into the house, leaving him to talk it out with Mrs. Thrale, to whom I heard him add, “So this is Sir Philip's kindness!” and her answer, “I wish you no worse luck!”

Now, what think you of this? was it not highly insolent?--and from a man who has behaved to me hitherto with the utmost deference, good-nature, and civility, and given me a thousand reasons, by every possible opportunity, to think myself very high indeed in his good opinion and good graces? But these rich men think themselves the constant prey of all portionless girls, and are always upon their guard, and suspicious of some design to take them in. This sort of disposition I had very early observed in Mr. Crutchley, and therefore I had been more distant and cold with him than with anybody I ever met with; but latterly his character had risen so much in my mind, and his behaviour was so much improved, that I had let things take their own course, and no more shunned than I sought him; for I evidently saw his doubts concerning me and my plots were all at an end, and his civility and attentions were daily increasing, so that I had become very comfortable with him, and well pleased with his society.

I need not, I think, add that I determined to see as little of this most fearful and haughty gentleman in future as was in my power, since no good qualities can compensate for such arrogance of suspicion; and, therefore, as I had reason enough to suppose he would, in haste, resume his own reserve, I resolved, without much effort, to be beforehand with him in resuming mine.

MISS BURNEY SULKS ON.

At dinner we had a large and most disagreeable party of Irish ladies, whom Mrs. Thrale was necessitated to invite from motives of business and various connections.

I was obliged to be seated between Miss O'Riley and Mr. Crutchley, to whom you may believe I was not very courteous, especially as I had some apprehension of Sir Philip. Mr. Crutchley, however, to my great surprise, was quite as civil as ever, and endeavoured to be as chatty; but there I begged to be excused, only answering upon the reply, and that very dryly, for I was indeed horribly provoked with him.

I was much diverted during dinner by this Miss O'Riley, who took it in her humour to attack Mr. Crutchley repeatedly, though so discouraging a beau never did I see! Her forwardness, and his excessive and inordinate coldness, made a contrast that, added to her brogue, which was broad, kept me in a grin irrepressible.

In the afternoon we had also Mr. Wallace, the attorney general, a most squat and squab looking man. In the evening, when the Irish ladies, the Perkinses, Lambarts, and Sir Philip, had gone, Mrs. Thrale walked out with Mr. Wallace, whom she had some business to talk over with; and then, when only Miss Owen, Miss T., and I remained, Mr. Crutchley, after repeatedly addressing me, and gaining pretty dry answers, called out suddenly,

“Why, Miss Burney! why, what's the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Why, are you stricken, or smitten, or ill?”

“None of the three.”

“Oh, then, you are setting down all these Irish folks.”

“No, indeed; I don't think them worth the trouble.”

“Oh, but I am sure you are; only I interrupted you.”

I went on no further with the argument, and Miss Thrale proposed our walking out to meet her mother. We all agreed and Mr. Crutchley would not be satisfied without walking near me, though I really had no patience to talk with him, and wished him at Jericho.

“What's the matter?” said he; “have you had a quarrel?”

“_No_.”

“Are you affronted?”

Not a word. Then again he called to Miss Thrale--

“Why, Queeny--why, she's quite in a rage! What have you done to her?”

I still sulked on, vexed to be teased; but, though with a gaiety that showed he had no suspicion of the cause, he grew more and more urgent, trying every means to make me tell him what was the matter, till at last, much provoked, I said--

“I must be strangely in want of a confidant, indeed, to take you for one!”

“Why, what an insolent speech!” cried he, half serious and half laughing, but casting up his eyes and hands with astonishment. He then let me be quiet some time,--but in a few minutes renewed his inquiries, with added eagerness, begging me to tell him if nobody else.

A likely matter! thought I; nor did I scruple to tell him, when forced to answer, that no one had such little chance of success in such a request.

“Why so?” cried he; “for I am the best person in the world to trust with a secret, as I always forget it.”

He continued working at me till we joined Mrs. Thrale and the attorney-general. And then Miss Thrale, stimulated by him, came to inquire if I had really taken anything amiss of her. “No,” I assured her.

“Is it of me, then?” cried Mr. Crutchley, as if sure I should say no; but I made no other answer than to desire him to desist questioning me....

He then grew quite violent, and at last went on with his questions till, by being quite silent, he could no longer doubt who it was. He seemed then wholly amazed, and entreated to know what he had done; but I tried only to avoid him.

Soon after the attorney-general took his leave, during which ceremony Mr. Crutchley, coming behind me, exclaimed,--

“Who'd think of this creature's having any venom in her.”

“Oh, yes,” answered I, “when she's provoked.”

“But have I provoked you?”

Again I got off. Taking Miss Thrale by the arm, we hurried away, leaving him with Mrs. Thrale and Miss Owen.

He was presently, however, with us again; and when he came to my side and found me really trying to talk of other matters with Miss Thrale, and avoid him, he called out,

“Upon my life, this is too bad! Do tell me, Miss Burney, what is the matter? If you won't, I protest I'll call Mrs. Thrale, and make her work at you herself.”

“I assure you,” answered I, “that it will be to no purpose for I must offend myself by telling it, and therefore I shall mention it to nobody.”

“But what in the world have I done?”

“Nothing; you have done nothing.”

“What have I said, then? Only let me beg your pardon, only let me know what it is, that I may beg your pardon.”

I then took up the teasing myself, and quite insisted upon his leaving us, and joining Mrs. Thrale. He begged me to tell Miss Thrale, and let her mediate, and entreated her to be his agent; which, in order to get rid of him, she promised; and he then slackened his pace, though very reluctantly, while we quickened ours. He was, however, which I very little expected, too uneasy to stay long away; and when we had walked on quite out of hearing of Mrs. Thrale and Miss Owen, he suddenly galloped after us.

“How odd it is of you,” said Miss Thrale, “to come and intrude yourself in this manner upon anybody that tries so to avoid you!”

“Have you done anything for me?” cried he. “I don't believe you have said a word.”

“Not I, truly!” answered she; “if I can keep my own self, out of scrapes, it's all I can pretend to.”

“Well, but do tell me, Miss Burney,--pray tell me! indeed, this is quite too bad; I sha'n't have a wink of sleep all night! If I have offended you, I am very sorry indeed; but I am sure I did not mean--”

“No, sir!” interrupted I, “I don't suppose you did mean to offend me, nor do I know why you should. I expect from you neither good nor ill,--civility I think myself entitled to, and that is all I have any desire for.”

“Good heaven!” exclaimed he. “Tell me, however, but what it is, and if I have said any thing unguardedly, I am extremely sorry, and I most sincerely beg your pardon. If you would tell me, I am sure I could explain it off, because I am sure it has been done undesignedly.”

“No, it does not admit of any explanation; so pray don't mention it any more.”

“Only tell me what part of the day it was.”

Whether this unconsciousness was real, or only to draw me in so that he might come to the point, and make his apology with greater ease, I know not; but I assured him it was in vain he asked, and again desired him to puzzle himself with no further recollections.

“Oh,” cried he, “but I shall think of every thing I have ever said to you for this half year. I am sure, whatever it was, it must have been unmeant and unguarded.”

“That, Sir, I never doubted; and probably you thought me hard enough to hear any thing without minding it.”

“Good heaven, Miss Burney! why, there is nobody I would not sooner offend,--nobody in the world! Queeny knows it. If Queeny would speak, she could tell you so. Is it not true, Miss Thrale?”

“I shall say nothing about it; if I can keep my own neck out of the collar, it's enough for me.”

“But won't it plead something for me that you are sure, and must be sure, it was by blunder, and not design?... I beg you will think no more of it. I--I believe I know what it is; and, indeed, I was far from meaning to give you the smallest offence, and I most earnestly beg your pardon. There is nothing I would not do to assure you how sorry I am. But I hope it will be all over by the time the candles come. I shall look to see, and I hope--I beg--you will have the same countenance again.”

I now felt really appeased, and so I told him.

We then talked of other matters till we reached home, though it was not without difficulty I could even yet keep him quiet. I see that Mr. Crutchley, though of a cold and proud disposition, is generous, amiable, and delicate, and, when not touched upon the tender string of gallantry, concerning which he piques himself upon invariable hardness and immoveability, his sentiments are not merely just, but refined.

TOO MUCH OF MANY THINGS.