|
THE DIARY AND LETTERS
OF
MADAME D'ARBLAY
(FRANCES BURNEY.)
WITH NOTES BY W. C. WARD,
AND PREFACED BY LORD MACAULAY'S ESSAY.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
(1792-1840.)
WITH A PORTRAIT OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY.
LONDON AND NEW YORK:
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.
1892.
19. (1792-3) THE FRENCH POLITICAL EMIGRANTS: MISS BURNEY MARRIES
M. D'ARBLAY--11-70
Arrival of French Emigrants at juniper Hall--The Doctor's five
Daughters--A Visit to Arthur Young--The Duke de Liancourt's
abortive Efforts at Rouen--The Duke's Escape to England: "Pot
Portere"--Madame de Genlis's hasty Retreat--A Nobleman of the
Ancien Regime--Ducal Vivacity and Sadness--Graceful offers of
Hospitality--The Emigrants at juniper Hall described--Monsieur
d'Arblay--M. de Jaucourt: Madame de Stael--Severe Decrees against
the Emigrants--Monsieur Girardin--The Phillipses at juniper
Hall--Mystery attending M. de Narbonne's Birth--Revolutionary
Societies in Norfolk: Death of Mr. Francis--Departure of Madame
de la Chatre--Arrival of M. de la Chatre--English Feeling at the
Revolutionary Excesses--Louis XVI's Execution--A Gloomy Club
Meeting--Madame de Stael at juniper Hall--Miss Burney's
Admiration of Madame de Stael--Failing Resources--The Beginning
of the End--"This Enchanting Monsieur d'Arblay"--Talleyrand is
found charming--A Proposed Visit to Madame de Stael disapproved
of--M. de Lally Tolendal and his Tragedy--Contemplated Dispersion
of the French Colony--Madame de Stael's Words of Farewell: M.
d'Arblay--Regrets respecting Madame do Stael--M. d'Arblay's Visit
to Chesington--The Matrimonial Project is Discussed--Dr. Burney's
Objections to the Match--The Marriage takes place--Announcement
of the Marriage to a Friend.
20. (1793-6) LOVE IN A COTTAGE: THE D'ARBLAYS VISIT WINDSOR--
71-121
The French Clergy Fund: The Toulon Expedition--Madame d'Arblay on
her Marriage--Mr. Canning--Talleyrand's Letters of Adieu--M.
d'Arblay's Horticultural Pursuits--Mrs. Piozzi--M. d'Arblay as a
Gardener--A Novel and a Tragedy--
page vi
Hastings's Acquittal: Dr. Burney's Metastasio--Baby d'Arblay--The
withdrawn Tragedy--"Camilla"--An Invitation to the Hermitage--
Presentation of "Camilla" at Windsor--A Conversation with the
Queen--With the Princess Royal and Princess Augusta--A Present
from the King and Queen--Curiosity regarding M. d'Arblay--The
King approves the Dedication of "Camilla"--A delicious Chat with
the Princesses--The King notices M. d'Arblay--The King and Queen
on "Camilla"--Anecdote of the Duchess of York--A Visit to Mrs.
Boscawen--The Relative Success of Madame d'Arblay's Novels--A
Contemplated Cottage--The Princess Royal's first Interview with
her Fianc`e--Opinions of the Reviews on "Camilla"--Death of
Madame d'Arblay's Stepmother--The French Emigr`es at Norbury--Dr.
Burney's depressed state--Covetous of Personal Distinction--Baby
d'Arblay again and other Matters.
21. (1797-8) "CAMILLA" COTTAGE: SUNDRY VISITS TO THE ROYAL
FAMILY--122-169
A Disagreeable journey Home--Burke's Funeral at Beaconsfield--
Death of M. d'Arblay's Brother--From Crewe Hall to Chelsea--At
Dr. Herschel's--Hospitality under Difficulties--War Taxes:
"Camilla" Cottage--Visitors arrive inopportunely-Another Visit to
the Royal Family--Interview with the Queen--The King and his
Infant Grand-daughter--Admiral Duncan's Victory--The Prince and
Princess of Orange--Some Notable Actresses--The Duke of
Clarence--Princess Sophia of Gloucester--Indignation against
Talleyrand--The d'Arblay Maisonnette--Interview with the Queen
and the Princesses--Royal Contributions towards the War--
Invitation to the Play--Mrs Schwellenberg's Successor--Madame
d'Arblay's Little Boy at Court--His Presentation to the Queen--
Mlle. Bachmeister produces a Favourable Impression.
22. (1798-1802) VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WEST HANIBLE: DEATH OF
MRS. PHILLIPS: SOJOURN IN FRANCE--170-247
A Visit to Mrs. Chapone--Mrs. Boscawen, Lady Strange, and Mr.
Seward--A Mysterious Bank-Note--The new Brother-in-law: a Cordial
Professor--Precocious Master Alex--The
Page vii
Barbaulds--Princess Amelia at juniper Hall--Death of Mr. Seward--
Dr. Burney again visits Dr. Herschel--Dr. Burney and the King--
Overwhelmed with the Royal Graciousness--War Rumours--Illness and
Death of Mrs. Phillips--A Princess's Condescension--Horticultural
Misfortunes--A Withdrawn Comedy--M. d'Arblay's French Property--
Home Matters--Contemplated journey to France--M. d'Arblay's Rough
Sea Passage--Suggested Abandonment of Camilla Cottage--M.
d'Arblay's Proposed Retirement from Military Service--M.
d'Arblay's Disappointment--On the eve of Madame d'Arblay's
journey to France--In France during the Peace and subsequently--
Arrival at Calais--"God save the King!" on French Soil--A Ramble
through the Town--Sunday on the Road to Paris--Engagements,
Occupations, and Fatigues--Aristocratic Visitors--Anxiety to see
the first Consul--At the Opera-bouffe--Difficulties respecting
Madame de Stael--Madame de Lafayette--Sight-seeing at the
Tuileries--A Good Place is Secured--M. d'Arblay's Military
Comrades--Arrival of the Troops--An Important New Acquaintance--
Madame c'est mon Mari--Advent of the first Consul--The Parade of
Troops--A Scene--With M. d'Arblay's Relatives at joigny--Some
joigny Acquaintances--The Influenza in Paris--Rumours of War--
"Our little Cell at Passy"--The Prince of Wales eulogized--Dr.
Burney at Bath--Affectionate Greetings to Dr. Burney--Dr.
Burney's Diploma.
23. (1812-14) MADAME D'ARBLAY AND HER SON IN ENGLAND--248-291
Narrative of Madame d'Arblay's journey to London--Anxiety to see
Father and Friends--A Mild Minister of Police--Embarkation
Interdicted--A Change of Plan--A New Passport obtained--
Commissions for London--Delay at Dunkirk--The MS. of "The
Wanderer"--Spanish Prisoners at Dunkirk--Surprised by an Officer
of Police--Interrogated at the Police Office--The "Mary Ann"
captured off Deal--joy on arriving in England--Young d'Arblay
secures a Scholarship--The Queen alarmed by a Mad Woman--Weather
Complaints: Proposed Meeting with Lord Lansdowne--A Young Girl's
entry to London Society: Madame de Sta`el--Rogers the Poet--
Interview with Mr. Wilberforce--Intended Publication of "The
Wanderer"--General d'Arblay's wounded Comrades
Page viii
--Death of Dr. Burney--Favourable News of M. d'Arblay--"The
Wanderer"--Madame d'Arblay's Presentation to Louis XVIII.--At
Grillon's Hotel--Grattan the Orator--A Demonstrative Irish Lady-
-Inquiries after the Duchess d'Angouleme--Preparations for the
Presentations--Arrival of Louis XVIII.--The Presentations to the
King--A Flattering Royal Reception--An important Letter Delayed--
M. d'Arblay arrives in England--A Brilliant Assemblage--M.
d'Arblay enters Louis XVIII.'s Bodyguard.
24. (1815) MADAME D'ARBLAY AGAIN IN FRANCE: BONAPARTE'S ESCAPE
FROM ELBA--292-333
An Interview with the Duchess of Angouleme--Arrival at the
Tuileries--A Mis-apprehension--A Discovery and a Rectification--
Conversation on Madame d'Arblay's Escape and M. d'Arblay's
Loyalty--The Prince Regent the Duchess's Favourite--Narrative of
Madame d'Arblay's Flight from Paris to Brussels--Prevailing
Inertia on Bonaparte's return from Elba--Bonaparte's Advance:
Contemplated Migration from Paris--General d'Arblay's Military
Preparations--Preparations for Flight:
Leave-takings--Aristocratic Irritability--The Countess d'Auch's
Composure--Rumours of Bonaparte's near approach--Departure from
Paris at Night Time--A Halt at Le Bourget--The journey Resumed--A
Supper at Amiens with the Prefect--Reception at the Prefecture at
Arras--A Cheerful D6jeuner somewhat ruffled--A Loyal Prefect--
Emblems of Loyalty at Douay--State of Uncertainty at Orchies--A
Mishap on the Road--A kindly offer of Shelter--Alarmed by Polish
Lancers--Arrival at Tournay--Futile Efforts to Communicate with
M. d'Arblay--Interviews with M. de Chateaubriand.
25. (1815) AT BRUSSELS: WATERLOO: REJOINS M. D'ARBLAY--334--383
Sojourn at Brussels--Letters from General d'Arblay--Arrival of
General d'Arblay--A Mission entrusted to General d'Arblay--"Rule
Britannia!" in the All`ee Verte--General d'Arblay leaves for
Luxembourg--An Exchange of visits--The Fete Dieu--The Eccentric
Lady Caroline Lamb--A Proposed Royal Corps--Painful Suspense--
Inquietude at Brussels--The Black
Page ix
Brunswickers--The Opening of the Campaign--News from the Field of
Battle--Project for quitting Brussels--Calmly awaiting the
Result--Flight to Antwerp determined on--A Check met with--A
Captured French General--The Dearth of News--Rumours of the
French coming--French Prisoners brought in--News of Waterloo--The
Victory declared to be complete--The Wounded and the Prisoners--
Hostilities at an end: Te Deum for the Victory--Maternal Advice--
About the Great Battle--An Accident befalls General d'Arblay--
Madame d'Arblay's Difficulties in rejoining her Husband--A
Friendly Reception at Cologne--From Cologne to Coblenz and
Treves--Meeting with General d'Arblay--Waiting for Leave to
return to France--Departure for Paris--A Chance View of the
Emperor of Russia--English Troops in Occupation--Leavetaking: M.
de Talleyrand.
26. (1815-8) AT BATH AND ILFRACOMBE: GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILLNESS
AND DEATH--384--431
Arrival in England--Alexander d'Arblay: Some old Bath Friends--
French Affairs: General d'Arblay's Health--The Escape of
Lavalette: The Streatham Portraits--Regarding Husband and Son--
Maternal Anxieties--Advantages of Bath: Young d'Arblay's Degree--
Playful Reproaches and Sober Counsel--Preparations for leaving
Bath--Installed at Ilfracombe--A Captured Spanish Ship--The
Spanish Captain's Cook--Ships in Distress--Young d'Arblay's
Tutor--General d'Arblay's Ill-health--Particulars of Ilfracombe--
Young d'Arblay's Aversion to Study--A Visit from the first Chess
Player in England--A Coast Ramble in search of Curiosities--
Caught, by the Rising Tide--Efforts to reach a place of safety--A
Signal of Distress--Little Diane--Increasing Danger--The Last
Wave of the Rising Tide--Arrival of Succour--Meeting between
Mother and Son--General d'Arblay's return to England--The
Princess Charlotte's Death--The Queen and Princesses at Bath--
News arrives of the Princess Charlotte's Death--An old
Acquaintance: Serious Illness of General d'Arblay--The General's
First Attack: Delusive Hopes--General d'Arblay presented to the
Queen--Gloomy Forebodings--Presents from the Queen and Princess
Elizabeth--The General receives the Visit of a Priest--The Last
Sacrament Administered--Farewell Words of Counsel--The End
Arrives.
Page x
27. (1818-40) YEARS OF WIDOWHOOD: DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON:
HER OWN DEATH--435--458
Mournful Reflections--Visits received and Letters penned--Removal
from Bath to London--Death of the Queen: Sketch of her Character-
-Madame d'Arblay's Son is Ordained--With some Royal Highnesses--
Queen Caroline--Gossip from an Old Friend, and the Reply--More
Gossip--Ill-health of the Rev. A. d'Arblay: Dr. Burney's MSS.--A
last Gossiping Letter--Death of Mrs. Piozzi--Mrs. Piozzi compared
with Madame de Stael--Sister Hetty--Official Duties Temporarily
Resumed--The Rev. A. d'Arblay named Lent Preacher--Madame
d'Arblay's Health and Occupation--Destroyed Correspondence--The
Princess and the Rev. A. d'Arblay--A Visit from Sir Walter
Scott--Memoirs of Dr. Burney--Deaths of Hester Burney and Mrs.
Locke--Death of the Rev. A. d'Arblay--Death of Madame d'Arblay's
sister Charlotte--Illness and Death of Madame d'Arblay.
INDEX--459-480Page 11
SECTION 19.
(1792-3)
THE FRENCH POLITICAL EMIGRANTS:
MISS BURNEY MARRIES M. D'ARBLAY.
[The following section must be pronounced, from the historical
point of view, one of the most valuable in the " Diary." It gives
us authentic glimpses of some of the actors in that great
Revolution, "the Death-Birth of a new order," which was getting
itself transacted, with such terrible accompaniments, across the
channel. The refugees with whom Fanny grew acquainted, and who
formed the little colony at juniper Hall, near Dorking, were not
the men of the first emigration--princes and nobles who fled
their country, like cowards, as soon as they found themselves in
danger, and reentered it like traitors, in the van of a foreign
invasion. Not such were the inmates of Juniper Hall. These were
constitutional monarchists, men who had taken part with the
people in the early stage of the Revolution, who had been
instrumental in making the Constitution, and who had sought
safety in flight only when the Constitution was crushed and the
monarchy abolished by the triumph of the extreme party. To the
grands seigneurs of the first emigration, these constitutional
royalists, were scarcely less detestable than the jacobins
themselves.
A few leading facts and dates will perhaps assist the reader to a
clearer understanding of the situation. September 1791, the
French Assembly, having finished its work of Constitution-making,
and the said [Constitution being accepted by the king, retires
gracefully, and the new Assembly, constitutionally elected,
meets, October 1. But the Constitution, ushered in with such
rejoicings, proves a failure. The king has the right to veto the
acts of the Assembly, and he exerts that right with a vengeance
:--vetoes their most urgent decrees: decree against the emigrant
noblesse, plotting, there at Coblenz, the downfall of their
country; decree against nonjuring priests, intriguing endlessly
against the Constitution. Patriot-Minister Roland remonstrates
with his majesty, and the patriotic ministry is forthwith
dismissed. Meanwhile distress and
Page 12
disorder are everywhere, and emigration is on the increase
Abroad, Austria and Prussia are threatening invasion, and the
emigrants at Coblenz are clamorous for war. War with Austria is
declared, April 20, 1792; war with Prussia follows three months
later; England remaining still neutral. One of our friends of
juniper Hall, Madame de Staél's friend, Count Louis de Narbonne,
has been constitutional minister of war, but had to retire in
March, when the popular ministry--Roland's--came into office. It
is evident that the king and the Assembly cannot act together;
nay, the king himself feels the impossibility of it, and is
already setting his hopes on foreign interference, secretly
corresponding with Austria and Prussia. The people of Paris,
too, feel the impossibility, and are setting their hopes on
something very different. The monarchy must go; jacobins'
club(1) and men of the Gironde, afterwards at death- grapple with
one another, are now united on this point; they, and not a
constitutional government, are the true representatives of Paris
and of France.
A year ago, July 1791, the people of Paris, demanding the
deposition of the king, were dispersed by General Lafayette with
volleys of musketry. But Lafayette's popularity and power are
now gone. "The hero of two worlds," as he was called, was little
more than a boy when he fought under Washington, in the cause of
American independence. Animated by the same love of liberty
which had carried him to America, Lafayette took part in the
early movements of the French Revolution. In 1789, after the
fall of the Bastille, he was commander of the national guard, and
one of the most popular men in France. A high-minded man, full
of sincerity, of enthusiasm: "Cromwell Grandison," Mirabeau
nicknamed him. Devoted to the Constitution, Lafayette was no
friend to the extreme party, to the jacobins, with their Danton,
their Robespierre. He had striven for liberty, but for liberty
and monarchy combined; and the two things were fast becoming
irreconcilable. And now, in July 1792, distrusted alike by the
Court and the people, Lafayette sits sad at Sedan, in the midst
of his army. War has already commenced, with a desultory and
unsuccessful attack by the French upon the Austrian Netherlands.
But the real struggle is now approaching. Heralded by an insolent
proclamation, the Duke of Brunswick is marching from Coblenz with
more than a hundred thousand Prussians, Austrians, and emigrants
; and General Lafayette, alas ! appears more bent upon denouncing
jacobinism than upon defending the frontier.
The country is indeed in danger. With open hostility advancing
from without, doubt and suspicion fermenting within, Paris at
last rises in good earnest, August 10, 1792. This is the answer
to Brunswick's insolent proclamation. Paris attacks the
Tuileries, King Louis and his family taking refuge in the
Assembly; captures the Tuileries, not without terrible loss, the
brave Swiss guard
Page 13
standing steadfast to their posts, and getting, the greater part
of them, massacred. Yielding to the demands of the people, the
Assembly passes decrees suspending the king, dismissing the
ministers, and convoking a National Convention. This was the
work of the famous 10th of August, the birthday of the French
Republic. on the 13th August the royal family is sent to the
prison of the Temple from whence the king and the queen, unhappy
Marie Antoinette, will come forth only to trial and execution. A
new patriotic ministry is formed--Rolan again minister of the
interior, Danton, the soul of the insurrection, minister of
justice; a tribunal is appointed) and the prisons of Paris are
filled with persons suspect. Executions follow; but the tribunal
makes not quick enough work. Austrians and Prussians are
advancing towards Paris; in Paris itself thousands of
aristocrats, enemies to their country, are lying hid, ready to
join the foreign foes.
In these desperate straits, Paris, at least sansculotte Paris,
frenzied and wild for vengeance, falls upon the mad expedient of
massacring the prisoners: more than a thousand suspected
royalists are slaughtered, after brief improvised Trial or
pretence of trial; or even without trial at all. This butchery
is known as the "September massacres" (Sept. 2-6, 1792), infamous
in history, heartily approved by few, perhaps, even of the more
violent Republicans; indignantly denounced by Rowland and the
less violent, powerless, nevertheless, to interfere, Paris being
"in death-panic, the enemy and gibbets at its door."(2) Sept.
22, the Legislative Assembly having
Dissolved, the National Convention holds its first meeting and
proclaims the Republic: royalty for ever abolished in France.
Among the feelings, with which the news of these events are
received in England, horror predominates. Still the Government
takes no decisive step. The English ambassador in Paris, Lord
Gower, is indeed recalled, in consequence of the events of August
10, but the French ambassador, Chauvelin, yet remains in London,
although unrecognised in an official capacity after the
deposition of Louis. War is in the wind, and, although Fox and
many members of the opposition earnestly deprecate any hostile
interference in the affairs of the Republic, a strong contingent
of the Whig party, headed by Burke, is not less earnest in their
efforts to make peace with France impossible. Pitt, indeed, is in
favour of neutrality, but Pitt is forced to give way at last.
Meanwhile, the popular feeling in favour of the royalists is
being heightened and extended by the constant influx of French
refugees. Thousands of the recalcitrant clergy, especially, with
no king's veto now to protect them, are seeking safety, in
England. Many adherents of the Constitution, too, ex-members of
the Assembly and others, are fleeing hither from a country
intolerant of monarchists, even constitutional; establishing
themselves at juniper Hall and elsewhere. Among them we note the
Duke de Liancourt, whose escape the
reader will find related in the following pages; Count de Lally-
Page 14
Tollendal and M. de jaucourt, saved, both, by - good fortune,
from the September massacres ; Vicomte de Montmorency, or call
him citoyen, who voted for the abolition of titles; ex-minister
of war Narbonne, concealed after August 10 by Madame de Stael,
and escaping disguised as a servant; and presently, too, Madame
de Stael herself; and last, but not least interesting to readers
of the Diary, General Alexandre dArblay, whom Fanny will before
long fall in love with and marry.
One person, too, there is, more noteworthy, or at least more
prominent in history, than any of these, whom Fanny meets at
Mickleham, whom she dislikes instinctively at first sight, but
whose plausible speech and ingratiating manners soon make a
convert of her.
This is citizen Talleyrand--Charles Maurice de
Talleyrand-P‚rigord, Bishop of Autun. He, too, is now an
emigrant, although he came to England in a far different
character, as secret ambassador from the Constitutional
Government of France ; citizen Chauvelin being the nominal
ambassador. On the whole, Talleyrand's diplomacy has not been
productive of much good, to himself or others. Back in Paris
before the 10th of August, he returned to London in September
with a passport from Danton. A questionable man; some think him a
jacobin, others a royalist in disguise. And now, while he is in
London, there is talk of him in the Convention : citizen
Talleyrand, it seems, has professed himself " disposed to serve
the king ;" whereupon (December 5, 1792) citizen Talleyrand is
decreed accused, and his name is inscribed on the list of
emigrants.
We must turn once again to France. At Sedan, in a white heat of
indignation on the news of that 10th of August, constitutional
(sic) Lafayette emits a proclamation : the Constitution is
destroyed, the king a prisoner: let us march for Paris and
restore them! There is hope at first, that the army will follow
Lafayette, but hope tells a flattering tale : the soldiers, it
seems, care more for their country than for the Constitution.
Lafayette sees that all is lost ; rides (August 18) for Holland
with a few friends, of whom General d'Arblay is one; intends to
take passage thence for America, but falls, instead, into the
hands of the Austrians, and spends the next few years imprisoned
in an Austrian fortress. General d'Arblay, after a few days, is
allowed to proceed to England.
Lafayette gone, the command of the army falls to General
Dumouriez. Brunswick with his Prussians and emigrants, Clairfait
with his Austrians, are now in France; advancing upon Paris. They
take Longwy and Verdun; try to take Thonville and Lille, but
cannot; and find Dumouriez and his sansculottes, there in the
passes of Argonne, the "Thermopylae of France," an unexpectedly
hard nut to crack. In fact, the nut is not to be cracked at all:
Dumouriez, " more successful than Leonidas," flings back the
invasion; compels the invaders to evacuate France; and in
November, assuming the offensive, conquers the whole Austrian
Netherlands. Meantime, in the south-east, the war in
Page 15
which the Republic is engaged with the King of Sardinia
progresses also favourably, and Savoy and Nice are added to the
French territory. Europe may arm, but a people fighting for an
ideal is not to be crushed. France has faith in her ideal of
liberty and fraternity, questionable or worse though some of the
methods are by which she endeavours to realise it. But Danton is
right: "il nous faut de l'audace, et encore de l'audace, et
toujours de l'audace;" and with superb audacity the Republic
defies the armed powers of Europe, decrees (November 19)
assistance to every nation that will strike a blow for freedom,
and cast off its tyrants. A yet more daring act of defiance
follows--tragic to all men, unspeakably horrible to Fanny Burney
and all friends of monarchy, constitutional or other. In December
1792, poor King Louis is tried before the National Convention,
found guilty of "conspiring against liberty;" condemned to death
by a majority of votes; in January, executed January 21. It is
even as Danton said in one of his all-too gigantic figures 'the
coalesced kings threaten us; we hurl at their feet, as gage of
battle, the Head of a King."' (3)
Louis's kinsman, profligate Philippe Egalit‚, ci-devant Duc
d'Orl‚ans, votes for death; before another year has passed he
himself will have perished by the guillotine. In England, war is
resolved upon; even Pitt sees not how it can be avoided. January
24, ambassador Chauvelin is ordered to quit England within eight
days; Talleyrand remaining yet another year. Spain, too, is
arming, and Holland is England's ally. War being inevitable, the
Republic determines to be first in the field; declares war on
England and Holland, February 1, 1793, and on Spain, March
7.-ED.]
ARRIVAL OF FRENCH EMIGRANTS AT JUNIPER HALL.
August 1792. Our ambassador is recalled from France
Russia has declared war against that wretched kingdom. But it may
defy all outward enemies to prove in any degree destructive in
comparison with its lawless and barbarous inmates. We shall soon
have no authentic accounts from Paris, as no English are expected
to remain after the ambassador, and no French will dare to write,
in such times of pillage, what may carry them à la lanterne.(4)
Page 16
(Mrs. Phillips to Fanny Burney.)
Mickleham, September 1792.
We shall shortly, I believe, have a little colony of unfortunate
(or rather) fortunate, since here they are safe) French noblesse
in our neighbourhood. Sunday evening Ravely informed Mr. Locke
that two or three families had joined to take Jenkinson's house,
juniper Hall, and that another family had taken a small house at
Westhamble, which the people very reluctantly let, upon the
Christian-like supposition that, being nothing but French
papishes, they would never pay. Our dear Mr. Locke, while this
was agitating, sent word to the landlord that he would be
answerable for the rent ; however, before this message arrived,
the family were admitted. The man said they had pleaded very hard
indeed, and said, if he did but know the distress they had been
in, he would not hesitate.
This house is taken by Madame de Broglie, daughter of the
mareschal, who is in the army with the French princes;(5) or,
rather, wife to his son, Victor Broglie, till very lately general
of one of the French armies, and at present disgraced, and fled
nobody knows where. This poor lady came over in an open boat,
with a son younger than my Norbury, and was fourteen hours at
sea. She has other ladies with her, and gentlemen, and two little
girls, who had been sent to England some weeks ago; they are all
to lodge in a sort of cottage, containing only a kitchen and
parlour on the ground floor.
I long to offer them my house, 'and have been much gratified by
finding Mr. Locke immediately determined to visit them; his
taking this step will secure them the civilities, at least, of
the other neighbours.
At Jenkinson's are-la Marquise de la Chƒtre, whose husband is
with the emigrants; her son; M. de Narbonne, lately ministre de
la guerre;(6) M. de Montmorency; Charles or Theodore Lameth;
Jaucourt; and one or two more, whose names I have forgotten, are
either arrived to-day, or expected. I feel infinitely interested
for all these persecuted persons. Pray tell me whatever you hear
of M. de Liancourt, etc. Heaven bless you!
Page 17
THE DOCTOR'S FIVE DAUGHTERS.
(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Halstead, October 2, '92.
My dearest padre,-I have just got your direction, in a letter
from my mother, and an account that you seem to be in health and
spirits; so now I think it high time to let you know a little
about some of your daughters, lest you should forget you have any
such incumbrances.
In the first place, two of them, Esther and F. B., had a safe and
commodious journey hither, in the midst of pattering showers and
cloudy skies, making up as well as they could for the
deficiencies of the elements by the dulcet recreation of the
concord of sweet sounds ; not from tabrets and harps, but from
the harmony of hearts with tongues.
In the second place, a third of them, Charlotte F., writes word
her caro sposo has continued very tolerably well this last
fortnight, and that she still desires to receive my visit
according to the first appointment.
In the third place, a fourth of them, Sarah, is living upon
French politics and with French fugitives, at Bradfield,(7) where
she seems perfectly satisfied with foreign forage.
In the fourth place, Susanna, another of them, sends cheering
histories of herself and her tribe, though she concludes them
with a sighing ejaculation of "I wish I did not know there was
such a country as France !"
A VISIT To ARTHUR YOUNG.(8)
Oct. 5.-I left Halstead, and set off, alone, for Bradfield Hall,
which was but one stage of nineteen miles distant. Sarah,(9) who
was staying with her aunt, Mrs. Young, expected
Page 18
me, and came running out before the chaise stopped at the door,
and Mr. Young following, with both hands full of French
newspapers. He welcomed me with all his old spirit and
impetuosity, exclaiming his house never had been so honoured
since its foundation, nor ever could be again, unless I
re-visited it in my way back, even though all England came in the
meantime!
Do you not know him well, my Susan, by this opening rodomontade?
"But where," cried he, "is Hetty? O that Hetty! Why did you not
bring her with you? That wonderful creature! I have half a mind
to mount horse, and gallop to Halstead to claim her! What is
there there to merit her? What kind of animals have you left her
with? Anything capable of understanding her?"
During this we mounted up-stairs, into the dining-room. Here all
looked cold and comfortless, and no Mrs. Young appeared. I
inquired for her, and heard that her youngest daughter, Miss
Patty, had just had a fall from her horse, which had bruised her
face, and occasioned much alarm.
The rest of the day we spoke only of French politics. Mr. Young
is a severe penitent of his democratic principles, and has lost
even all pity for the constituants r‚volutionnaires, who had
"taken him in" by their doctrines, but cured him by their
practice, and who "ought better to have known what they were
about before they presumed to enter into action."
Even the Duc de Liancourt,(11) who was then in a small house at
Bury, merited, he said, all the personal misfortunes that had
befallen him. "I have real obligations to him," he added, "and
therefore I am anxious to show him respect, and do him any
service, in his present reverse of fortune; but he has brought it
all on himself, and, what is worse; on his country."
He wrote him, however, a note to invite him to dinner the next
day. The duke wrote an answer, that lamented excessively being
engaged to meet Lord Euston, And dine with the Bury aldermen.
Page 19
THE DUKE DE LIANCOURT'S ABORTIVE EFFORTS AT ROUEN.
I must now tell you the history of this poor duke's arriving in
England, for it involves a revival of loyalty-an effort to make
some amends to his unhappy sovereign for the misery into which he
had largely contributed to plunge him; which, with me, has made
his peace for ever.
But first I should tell, he was the man who almost compelled the
every-way- deluded Louis to sanction the National Assembly by his
presence when first it resisted his orders. The queen and all her
party were strongly against the measure, and prophesied it would
be the ruin of his authority; but the duke, highly ambitious of
fame, as Mr. Young describes him,
and willing to sacrifice everything to the new systems then
pervading all France, suddenly rushed into his closet, upon the
privilege of being one of the five or seven pairs de France(12)
who have that licence, and, with a strong and forcible eloquence,
declared nothing but his concession would save the nation from a
civil war; while his entering, unarmed, into the National
Assembly, would make him regarded for ever as the father and
saviour of his people, and secure him the powerful sovereignty of
the grateful hearts of all his subjects.
He succeeded, and the rest is public.
This incident has set all the Coblenz(13) party utterly and for
ever against the duke. He had been some time in extreme anguish
for the unhappy king, whose ill-treatment on the 20th of June
1792,(14) reached him while commandant at Rouen. He then first
began to see, that the monarch or the jacobins must inevitably
fall, and he could scarce support the prospect of ultimate danger
threatening the former. When the news reached him of the bloody
10th of August, a plan which for some time he had been forming,
of gaining over his regiment to the service of the king, was
rendered abortive. Yet all his officers except One had promised
to join in any enterprise for their insulted master. He had
hoped to get the king to
Page 20
Rouen under this protection, as I gather, though this matter has
never wholly transpired, But the king could not be persuaded to
trust any one. How should he?--especially a revolutionnaire?
No time now was to be lost, and, in his first impetuosity of rage
and despair, he instantly summoned his officers and his troops ;
and, in the midst of them all, upon the parade or place of
assembling, he took off his hat, and called out aloud, "Vive le
roi!"
His officers echoed the sound, all but one!--yet not a soldier
joined. Again be waved his hat, and louder and louder called
out, "Vive le roi!" And then every soldier repeated it after him.
Enchanted with hope, he felt one exulting moment, when this
single dissentient officer called out aloud, as soon as the loyal
cry was over, "As an officer of the nation I forbid this!--Vive
la nation!"
The duke instantly had the man arrested, and retired to his
apartment to compose his excess agitation, and consider how to
turn this promise of loyalty to the service of his now imprisoned
king; but, in a short time, an officer strongly attached to him
entered the room hastily, and cried, "Sauvez
vous, M. de Liancourt!(15)--be speedy! the jacobin party of Rouen
have heard of your indiscretion and a price is this moment set
upon your head!"
The duke knew too well with whom he had to act for a moment's
hesitation. To serve the king was now impossible, as he had but
to appear in order to be massacred. He could only save his own
life by flight.
THE DUKE'S ESCAPE To ENGLAND: "POT PORTERE."
In what manner he effected his escape out of Rouen he has never
mentioned. I believe he was assisted by those who, remaining
behind, could only be named to be torn in pieces for their
humanity. M. Jamard, a French priest, tells me no human being
knows when or how he got away, and none suspected him to be gone
for two days. He went first to Abbeville there, for two days, he
appeared everywhere, walking about in his regimentals, and
assuming an air of having nothing to apprehend. This succeeded,
as his indiscretion had not yet spread at Abbeville; but,
meanwhile, a
Page 21
youth whom he had brought up from a child, and on whose fond
regard and respect he could rely, was employed in seeking him the
means of passing over to England. This was infinitely difficult,
as he was to leave France without any passport.
How he quitted Abbeville I know not; but he was in another town,
near the coast, three days, still waiting for a safe conveyance;
and here, finding his danger increased greatly by delay, he went
to some common house, without dress or equipage or servants that
could betray him, and spent his whole time in bed, under pretence
of indisposition, to avoid being seen.
At length his faithful young groom succeeded; and he got, at
midnight, into a small boat, with only two men. He had been taken
for the King of France by one, who had refused to convey him ;
and some friend, who assisted his escape, was forced to get him
off, at last, by holding a pistol to the head of his conductor,
and protesting he would shoot him through and through, if he made
further demur, or spoke aloud. It was dark, and midnight.
Both he and his groom planted themselves in the bottom of the
boat, and were covered with fagots, lest any pursuit should ensue
: and thus wretchedly they were suffocated till they thought
themselves at a safe distance from France. The poor youth then,
first looking up, exclaimed, "Ah! nous sommes perdus!(16) they
are carrying us back to our own country!" The duke started up; he
had the same opinion, but thought opposition vain; he charged him
to keep silent and quiet; and after about another league, they
found this, at least, a false alarm, owing merely to a thick fog
or mist.
At length they landed--at Hastings, I think. The boatman had his
money, and they walked on to the nearest public-house. The duke,
to seem English, called for "pot portere." It was brought him,
and he drank it off in two draughts, his drought being extreme ;
and he called for another instantly. That also, without any
suspicion or recollection of consequences, was as hastily
swallowed; and what ensued he knows not. He was intoxicated, and
fell into a profound sleep. His groom helped the people of the
house to carry him upstairs and put him to bed. How long he
slept he knows not, but he woke in the middle of the night
without the smallest consciousness of where he was, or what had
happened.
'
Page 22
France alone was in his head-France and its horrors, which
nothing-not even English porter and intoxication and sleep -
could drive away.
He looked round the room with amaze at first, and soon after with
consternation. It was so unfurnished, so
miserable, so lighted with only one small bit of a candle, that
it occurred to him he was in a maison de force(17) '- thither
conveyed in his sleep. The stillness of
everything confirmed this dreadful idea. He arose, slipped on his
clothes, and listened at the door. He heard no sound. He was
scarce, yet, I suppose, quite awake, for he took the candle, and
determined to make an attempt to escape.
Down-stairs he crept, neither hearing nor making any noise and he
found himself in a kitchen ' he looked round, and the brightness
of a shelf of pewter plates struck his eye under them were pots
and kettles shining and polished. "Ah! "? cried he to himself,
"je suis en Angleterre."(18) The recollection came all at once
at sight of a cleanliness which, in these articles, he says, is
never met with in France.
He did not escape too soon, for his first cousin, the good Duc de
la Rochefoucault, another of the first
r‚volutionnaires, was massacred the next month.(19) The
character he has given of this murdered relation is the most
affecting, in praise and virtues, that can possibly be
heard. k Sarah has heard him till she could not keep the tears
from her eyes. They had been ‚lŠves(20) together, and loved each
other as the tenderest brothers.
MADAME DE GENLIS'S HASTY RETREAT.
You will all be as sorry as I was myself to hear that every ill
story of la Comtesse de Genlis was confirmed by the
duke.
Page 23
She was resident at Bury, when he arrived, with Mlle.
Egalit‚, Pamela, Henrietta Circe, and several others, who
appeared in various ways, as artists, gentlemen, domestics, and
equals, on various occasions. The history of their way of life
is extraordinary, and not very comprehensible, probably owing to
the many necessary difficulties which the new 'system of equality
produces.(21)
A lady of Bury, a sister of Sir Thomas Gage, had been very much
caught by Madame Brulard,(22) who had almost
lived at the house of Sir Thomas. Upon the arrival of the duke he
was invited to Sir Thomas Gage's immediately; and Miss G, calling
upon Madame Brulard, mentioned him, and
asked if she knew him?--No, she answered; but she had seen him.
This was innocently repeated to the duke, who then, in a
transport of rage, broke out with "Elle M'a vu!(23) and is that
all?--Does she forget that she has spoke to me? that she has
heard me too? " And then he related, that when all was wearing
the menacing aspect of anarchy, before it broke out, and before
he was ordered to his regiment at Rouen, he had desired an
audience of Madame Brulard, for the first
time, having been always a friend of Madame d'Orl‚ans, and
consequently her enemy. She was unwilling to see him, but he
would not be refused. He then told her that France was upon the
point of ruin, and that the Duc d'Orl‚ans, who had been its
destruction, and "the disgrace of the Revolution," could alone
now prevent the impending havoc. He charged her
therefore, forcibly and peremptorily, to take in charge a change
of measures, and left her with an exhortation which he then
flattered himself would have some chance of averting the coming
dangers. But quickly -after she quitted France voluntarily, and
settled in England. "And can she have
forgot all this ?" cried he.
I know not if this was repeated to Madame de Brulard but
certain it is she quitted Bury with the utmost expedition, She
did not even wait to pay her debts, and left the poor Henrietta
Circe behind, as a sort of hostage, to prevent
alarm. The creditors, however, finding her actually gone,
entered the house, and poor Henrietta was terrified into
hysterics. Probably she knew not but they were jacobins, or
would act upon jacobin principles. Madame Brulard then
Page 24
sent for her, and remitted money, and proclaimed her
intention of returning to Suffolk no more.
A NOBLEMAN OF THE ANCIEN R‚GIEM.
The duke accepted the invitation for to-day, and came early, on
horseback. He had just been able to get over some two or three of
his horses from France. He has since, I hear, been forced to sell
them.
Mrs. Young was not able to appear; Mr. Young came to my room door
to beg I would waste no time; Sarah and I, therefore, proceeded
to the drawing-room. The duke was playing with a favourite
dog-the thing probably the most dear to him in
England; for it was just brought him over by his faithful groom,
whom he had sent back upon business to his son.
He is very tall, and, were his figure less, would be too
fat, but all is in proportion. His face, which is very
handsome, though not critically so, has rather a haughty
expression when left to itself, but becomes soft and
spirited in turn, according to whom he speaks, and has great play
and variety. His deportment is quite
noble, and in a style to announce conscious rank even to the most
sedulous equaliser. His carriage is peculiarly upright, and his
person uncommonly well made. His manners are such as only admit
of comparison with what We have read, not what we have seen; for
he has all the air of a man who would wish to lord over men, but
to cast himself at the feet of women.
He was in mourning for his barbarously murdered cousin the Duc de
la Rochefoucault. His first address was of the
highest style. I shall not attempt to recollect his words, but
they were most elegantly expressive of his satisfaction in a
meeting he had long, he said, desired.
With Sarah he then shook hands. She had been his
interpretess here on his arrival, and he seems to have
conceived a real kindness for her; an honour of which she is
extremely sensible, and with reason.
A little general talk ensued, and he made a point of curing Sarah
of being afraid of his dog. He made no secret of
thinking it affectation, and never rested till he had
conquered it completely. I saw here, in the midst of all that at
first so powerfully struck me of dignity,
importance, and high-breeding, a true French Polisson; for he
called the dog round her, made it jump on her shoulder, and
amused himself as,
Page 25
in England, only a schoolboy or a professed fox-hunter would have
dreamt of doing.
This, however, recovered me to a little ease, which his
compliment had rather overset. Mr. Young hung back, nearly quite
silent. Sarah was quiet when reconciled to the dog, or, rather,
subdued by the duke; and then, when I thought it completely out
of his head, he tranquilly drew a chair next mine, and began a
sort of separate conversation, which he suffered nothing to
interrupt till we were summoned to
dinner.
His subject was 'Cecilia;' and he seemed not to have the
smallest idea I could object to discussing it, any more than if
it had been the work of another person. I answered all his
demands and interrogatories with a degree of openness I have
never answered any other upon this topic; but the least hope of
beguiling the misery of an ‚migr‚ tames me.
Mr. Young listened with amaze, and all his ears, to the many
particulars and elucidations which the duke drew from me; he
repeatedly called out he had heard nothing of them before, and
rejoiced he was at least present when they were
communicated.
This proved, at length, an explanation to the duke himself, that,
the moment he understood, made him draw back, saying, "Peut-ˆtre
que je suis indiscret?"(24) However, he soon
returned to the charge - and when Mr. Young made any more
exclamations, he heeded them not: he smiled, indeed, when Sarah
also affirmed he had procured accounts she had never heard
before; but he has all the air of a man not new to any mark of
more than common favour.
At length we were called to dinner, during which he spoke of
general things.
DUCAL VIVACITY AND SADNESS.
The French of Mr. Young, at table, was very comic ; he never
hesitates for a word, but puts English wherever he is at a loss,
with a mock French pronunciation. "Monsieur Duc," as he calls
him, laughed once or twice, but clapped him on the back, called
him "un brave homme," and gave him instruction as well as
encouragement in all his blunders.
When the servants were gone, the duke asked me if anybody might
write a letter to the king? I fancy he had some per-
Page 26
sonal idea of this kind. I told him yes, but through the hands
of a lord of the bedchamber, or some state officer, or a
minister. He seemed pensive, but said no more.
He inquired, however, if I had not read to the queen and seemed
to wish to understand my office; but here he was far more
circumspect than about 'Cecilia.' He has lived so much in a
Court, that he knew exactly how far he might
inquire with the most scrupulous punctilio.
I found, however, he had imbibed the jacobin notion that our
beloved king was still disordered; for, after some talk upon his
illness, and very grave and proper expressions
concerning the affliction and terror it produced in the
kingdom, he looked at me very fixedly,, and, with an arching
brow, said, "Mais, mademoiselle--aprŠs tout--le roi--est il bien
gu‚ri?"(25)
I gave him such assurances as he could not doubt, from their
simplicity, which resulted from their truth.
Mr. Young would hardly let Sarah and me retreat; however, we
promised to meet soon to coffee. I went away full of concern for
his injuries, and fuller of amazement at the
vivacity with which he bore them.
When at last we met in the drawing-room, I found the duc all
altered. Mr. Young had been forced away by business, and was but
just returned, and he had therefore been left a few
minutes by himself; the effect was visible, and extremely
touching. Recollections and sorrow had retaken possession of his
mind; and his spirit, his vivacity, his power of
rallying were all at an end. He was strolling about the
room with an air the most gloomy, and a face that
looked enveloped in clouds of sadness and
moroseness. There was a fiert‚ almost even fierce in his air and
look, as, wrapped in himself, he continued his walk. I felt now
an increasing compassion:--what must he not suffer when he ceases
to fight with his calamities! Not to disturb him we talked with
one another; but he soon shook himself and joined us; though he
could not bear to sit down, or
stand a moment in a place.
"CETTE COQUINE DE BRULARD."
Sarah spoke of Madame Brulard, and, in a little malice, to draw
him out, said her sister knew her very well. The duc "
Page 27
with eyes of fire at the sound, came up to me: "Comment,
mademoiselle! vous avez connu cette coquine de Brulard?"(26) And
then he asked me what I had thought of her.
I frankly answered that I had thought her charming; gay,
intelligent, well-bred, well-informed, and amiable.
He instantly drew back, as if sorry he had named her so
roughly, and looked at Sally for thus surprising him; but I
immediately continued that I could now no longer think the same
of her, as I could no longer esteem her; but I
confessed my surprise had been inexpressible at her
duplicity.
'He allowed that, some years ago, she might have a better chance
than now of captivation - for the deeper she had
immersed in politics, the more she had forfeited of feminine
attraction. "Ah!" he cried, " with her talents-her
knowledge-her parts-had she been modest, reserved, gentle, what a
blessing might she have proved to her country! but she is devoted
to intrigue and cabal, and proves its curse."
He then spoke with great asperity against all the femmes de
lettres now known; he said they were commonly the most
disgusting of their sex, in France, by their arrogance,
boldness, and mauvais moeurs.
GRACEFUL OFFERS OF HOSPITALITY.
I inquired if Mr. Young had shown him a letter from the Duke of
Grafton, which he had let me read in the morning. It was to
desire Mr. Young would acquaint him if the Duc de
Liancourt was still in Bury, and, if so, to wait upon him, in the
Duke of Grafton's name, to solicit him to make Euston his abode
while in England, and to tell him that he should have his
apartments wholly unmolested, and his time wholly unbroken; that
he was sensible, in such a situation of mind, he must covet much
quiet and freedom from interruption and impertinence; and he
therefore promised that, if he would honour his house with his
residence, it should be upon the same terms as if he were in an
hotel-that he would never
know if he were at home or abroad, or even in town or in the
country - and he hoped the Duc de Liancourt would make no more
scruple of accepting such an asylum and retreat at his house than
he would himself have done of accepting a similar
Page 28
one from the duke in France, if the misfortunes of his own
country had driven him to exile.
I was quite in love with the Duke of Grafton for this
kindness. The Duc de Liancourt bowed to my question, and
seemed much gratified with the invitation; but I see he
cannot brook obligation; he would rather live in a garret, and
call it his own. He told me, however, with an air of
some little pleasure, that he had received just such another
letter from Lord Sheffield. I believe both these noblemen had
been entertained at Liancourt some years ago.
I inquired after Madame la duchesse, and I had the
satisfaction to hear she was safe in Switzerland. The duke told
me she had purchased an estate there.
He inquired very particularly after your juniper colony, and M.
de Narbonne, but said he most wished to meet with M.
d'Arblay, who was a friend and favourite of his eldest son.
THE EMIGRANTS AT JUNIPER HALL DESCRIBED.
[It is hoped that some pages from Mrs. Phillips's
journalizing letters to her sister, written at this period, may
not be unacceptable , since they give particulars
concerning several distinguished actors and sufferers in the
French Revolution, and also contain the earliest description of
M. d'Arblay.(27))
(Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.)
Mickleham, November, 1792.
It gratifies me very much that I have been able to interest you
for our amiable and charming neighbours.
Mrs. Locke had been so kind as to pave the way for my
introduction to Madame de la Chƒtre, and carried me on
Friday to juniper Hall, where we found M. de Montmorency, a
ci-devant duc,(28) and one who gave some of the first great
examples of sacrificing personal interest to what was then
considered the public good. I know not whether you will like him
the better when I tell you that from him proceeded the motion for
the abolition of titles in France; but if you do
Page 29
not, let me, in his excuse, tell you he was scarcely one-and-
twenty when an enthusiastic spirit impelled him to this, I
believe, ill-judged and mischievous act. My
curiosity was greatest to see M. de Jaucourt, because I
remembered many lively and spirited speeches made by him
during the time of the Assembl‚e L‚gislalive, and that he
was a warm defender of my favourite hero, M. Lafayette.
Of M. de Narbonne's abilities we could have no doubt from his
speeches and letters whilst ministre de la guerre, which post he
did not quit till last May.(29) By his own desire, he then joined
Lafayette's army, and acted under him; but on the 10th of August,
he was involved, with perhaps nearly all the most honourable and
worthy of the French nobility,
accused as a traitor by the jacobins, and obliged to fly
from his country M. d'Argenson was already returned to
France, and Madame de Broglie had set out the same day,
November 2nd, hoping to escape the decree against the
emigrants.(30)
Madame de la Chƒtre received us with great politeness. She is
about thirty-three; an elegant figure, not pretty, but with an
animated and expressive countenance; very well
read, pleine d'esprit, and, I think, very lively and
charming.
A gentleman was with her whom Mrs. Locke had not yet seen, M.
d'Arblay. She introduced him, and when he had quitted the room,
told us he was adjutant-general to M. Lafayette,
mar‚chal de camp, and in short the first in military rank of
those who had accompanied that general when he so
unfortunately fell into the hands of the Prussians; but, not
having been one of the Assembl‚e Constituante, he was
allowed, with four others, to proceed into Holland, and
there M. de Narbonne wrote to him. "Et comme il l'aime
infiniment," said Madame de la Chàtre, "il l'a pri‚ de venir
vivre avec lui."(31
He had arrived only two days before. He is tall, and a good
figure, with an open and manly
countenance; about forty, I imagine.
It was past twelve. However, Madame de la Chàtre owned
Page 30
she had not breakfasted--ces messieurs were not yet ready. A
little man, who looked very triste indeed, in an old-
fashioned suit of clothes, with long flaps to a waistcoat
embroidered in silks no longer very brilliant, sat in a
corner of the room. I could not imagine who he was, but when he
spoke was immediately convinced he was no
Frenchman. I afterwards heard he had been engaged by M. de
Narbonne for a year, to teach him and all the party English. He
had had a place in some college in France at the beginning of the
Revolution, but was now driven out and
destitute. His name is Clarke. He speaks English with an accent
tant soit Peu Scotch.
Madame de la Chàtre, with great franchise entered into
details of her situation and embarrassment, whether she
might venture, like Madame de Broglie, to go over to France, in
which case she was dans le cas oû elle pouvoit toucher sa
fortune(32) immediately. She said she could then settle in
England, and settle comfortably. M. de la Chàtre, it
seems, previous to his joining the king's brothers, had
settled upon her her whole fortune. She and all her family were
great favourers of the original Revolution and even at this
moment she declares herself unable to wish the
restoration of the old r‚gime, with its tyranny and
corruptions--persecuted and ruined as she and thousands more have
been by the unhappy consequences of the Revolution,
M. de Narbonne now came in. He seems forty, rather fat, but
would be handsome were it not for a slight cast of one eye. He
was this morning in great spirits. Poor man! It was the only time
I have ever seen him so. He came up very courteously to me, and
begged leave de me faire Sa Cour(33) at Mickleham, to which I
graciously assented.
Then came M. de jaucourt, whom I instantly knew by Mr.
Locke's description. He is far from handsome, but has a very
intelligent countenance, fine teeth, and expressive eyes. I
scarce heard a word from him, but liked his appearance
exceedingly, and not the less for perceiving his respectful and
affectionate manner of attending to Mr. Locke but when Mr. Locke
reminded us that Madame de la Chàtre had not
breakfasted, we took leave, after spending an hour in a
manners so pleasant and so interesting that it scarcely
appeared ten minutes.
Page 31
MONSIEUR D'ARBLAY.
NOV. 7.- --Phillips was at work in the parlour, and I had just
stepped into the next room for some papers I wanted, when I heard
a man's voice, and presently distinguished
these words: "Je ne parle pas trop bien l'Anglois,
monsieur."(34) I came forth immediately to relieve Phillips, and
then found it was M. d'Arblay.
I received him de bien bon coeur, as courteously as I could. The
adjutant of M. Lafayette, and one of those who proved faithful to
that excellent general, could not but be
interesting to me. I was extremely pleased at ]its coming, and
more and more pleased with himself every moment that passed. He
seems to me a true militaire, franc et loyal--open as the day;
warmly affectionate to his
friends; intelligent, ready, and amusing in conversation, with a
great share of gai‚t‚ de coeur, and, at the same
time, of naŒvet‚ and bonne foi. He was no less flattering to
little Fanny than M. de Narbonne had been.
We went up into the drawing-room with him, and met Willy on the
stairs, and Norbury capered before us. "Ah, madame," cried M.
d'Arblay, "la jolie petite maison que vous avez, et les jolis
petits hôtes!"(35) looking at the
children, the drawings, etc. He took Norbury on his lap and
played with -him. I asked him if he was not proud of being so
kindly noticed by the adjutant-general of M. Lafayette? "Est-ce
qu'il sait le nom de M. Lafayette?"(36) said he,
smiling. I said he was our hero, and that I was thankful to see
at least one of his faithful friends here. I asked if M.
Lafayette was allowed to write and receive letters. He said yes,
but they were always given to him open.
- Norbury now (still seated on his lap) took courage to
whisper him, "Were you, sir, put in prison with M.
Lafayette?" "Oui, mon ami," "And--was it quite dark?" I was
obliged, laughing, to translate this curious question.
M. d'Arblay laughed too: "Non, mon ami," said he, "on nous amis
abord dans une assez jolie chambre."(37)
i lamented the hard fate of M. Lafayette, and the rapid and
wonderful reverse he had met with, after having been, as he
Page 32
well merited to be, the most popular man in France. This led M.
d'Arblay to speak of M. de Narbonne, to whom I found him
passionately attached. Upon my mentioning the sacrifices made by
the French nobility, and by a great number of them voluntarily,
he said no one had made more than M. de Narbonne; that, previous
to the Revolution, he had more wealth and more power than almost
any except the princes of the blood.
For himself, he mentioned his fortune and his income from his
appointments as something immense, but 1 never remember the
number of hundred thousand livres, nor can tell what their amount
is without some consideration. . . .
The next day Madame de la Chƒtre was so kind as to send me the
French papers, by her son, who made a silent visit of about five
minutes.
M. DE JAUCOURT. MADAME DE STAEL.
Friday morning.-I sent Norbury with the French papers, desiring
him to give them to M. d'Arblay. He stayed a prodigious while,
and at last came back attended by M. de Narbonne, M. de Jaucourt,
and M. d'Arblay. M. de Jaucourt is a delightful man--as comic,
entertaining, unaffected, unpretending, and good-humoured as dear
Mr Twining, only younger, and not quite so black. He is a man
likewise of first-rate abilities--M. de Narbonne says, perhaps
superior to Vaublanc(38) and of very uncommon firmness and
integrity of character.
The account Mr. Batt gave of the National Assembly last summer
agrees perfectly with that of M. de Jaucourt, who had the
misfortune to be one of the deputies, and who, upon some great
occasion in support of the king and constitution, found only
twenty-four members who had courage to support him, though a far
more considerable number gave him secretly their good wishes and
prayers. It was on this that he regarded all hope of justice and
order as lost, and that he gave in sa d‚mission(39) from the
Assembly. In a few days he was seized, and sans forme de
proces(40) having lost his inviolability as a
Page 33
member, thrown into the prison of the Abbaye, where, had it not
been for the very extraordinary and admirable exertions of Madame
de Stael (M. Necker's daughter, and the Swedish ambassador's
wife), he would infallibly have been massacred.
I must here tell you that this lady, who was at that time seven
months gone with child, was indefatigable in her efforts to save
every one she knew from this dreadful massacre. She walked daily
(for carriages were not allowed to pass in the streets) to the
H6tel de Ville, and was frequently shut up for five hours
together with the horrible wretches that composed the Comit‚ de
Surveillance, by whom these murders were directed; and by her
eloquence, and the consideration demanded by her rank and her
talents, she obtained the deliverance of above twenty unfortunate
prisoners, some of whom she knew but slightly. . . .
Madame de la Chƒtre and M. de Jaucourt have since told me that M.
de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay had been treated with singular
ingratitude by the king, whom they nevertheless still loved as
well as forgave. They likewise say he wished to get rid of M. de
Narbonne from the ministry, because he could not trust him with
his projects of contre revolution.
M. d'Arblay was the officer on guard at the Tuileries the night
on which the king, etc., escaped to Varennes,(41) and ran great
risk of being denounced, and perhaps massacred, though he had
been kept in the most perfect ignorance of the king's intention.
SEVERE DECREES AGAINST THE EMIGRANTS.
The next Sunday, November 18th, Augusta and Amelia came to me
after church, very much grieved at the inhuman decrees just
passed in the Convention, including as emigrants, with those who
have taken arms against their country, all who have quitted it
since last July; and adjudging their estates to confiscation, and
their persons to death should they return to France.
" Ma'am," said Mr. Clarke, " it reduces this family to nothing :
all they can hope is, by the help of their parents and friends,
to get together wherewithal to purchase a cottage in America, and
live as they can."
Page 34
I was more shocked and affected by this account than I could very
easily tell you. To complete the tragedy, M. de Narbonne had
determined to write an offer--a request rather--to be allowed to
appear as a witness in behalf of the king, upon his trial ; and
M. d'Arblay had declared he would do the same, and share the fate
of his friend, whatever it might be.
MONSIEUR GIRARDIN.
On Tuesday, the 20th, I called to condole with our friends on
these new misfortunes. Madame de la Chƒtre received me with
politeness, and even cordiality: she told me she was a little
recovered from the first shock--that she should hope to gather
together a small d‚bris of her fortune, but never enough to
settle in England--that, in short, her parti ‚tait pris(42)--that
she must go to America. It went to my heart to hear her say so.
Presently came in M. Girardin. He is son to the Marquis de
Girardin d'Ermenonville, the friend of Rousseau, whose last days
were passed, and whose remains are deposited, in his domain. This
M. Girardin was a pupil of Rousseau; he was a member of the
Legislative Assembly, and an able opponent of the jacobins.
It was to him that M. Merlin, aprŠs bien de gestes mena‡ans,(43)
had held a pistol, in the midst of the Assembly. His father was a
mad republican, and never satisfied with the rational spirit of
patriotism that animated M. Girardin; who, witnessing the
distress of all the friends he most esteemed and honoured, and
being himself in personal danger from the enmity of the jacobins,
had, as soon as the Assembl‚e L‚gislative broke up, quitted
Paris, I believe, firmly determined never to re-enter it under
the present r‚gime.
I was prepossessed very much in favour of this gentleman, from
his conduct in the late Assembly and all we had heard of him. I
confess I had not represented him to myself as a great, fat,
heavy-looking man, with the manners of a somewhat hard and morose
Englishman: he is between thirty and forty, I imagine; he had
been riding as far as to the cottage Mr. Malthouse had mentioned
to him--l'asile de jean Jacques(44)--and said it was very near
this place (it is at the foot of Leith Hill, Mr. Locke has since
told me).
They then talked over the newspapers which were come
Page 35
that morning. M. de St. just,(45) who made a most fierce speech
for the trial and condemnation of the king, they said had before
only been known by little madrigals, romances, and heures
tendres, published in the 'Almanac des Muses.' "A cette heure,"
said M. de jaucourt, laughing, "c'est un fier republicain."(46)
THE PHILLIPSES AT JUNIPER HALL.
Nov. 27.-Phillips and I determined at about half-past one to walk
to "junipre" together. M. d'Arblay received us at the door, and
showed the most flattering degree of pleasure at our arrival. We
found with Madame de la Chƒtre another French gentleman, M.
Sicard, who was also an officer of M. de Lafayette's.
M. de Narbonne said he hoped we would be sociable, and dine with
them now and then. Madame de la Chƒtre made a speech to the same
effect, "Et quel jour, par exemple," said M. de Narbonne, "feroit
wieux qu'aujourd'hui?"(47) Madame de la Chƒtre took my hand
instantly, to press in the most pleasing and gratifying manner
imaginable this proposal; and before I had time to answer, M.
d'Arblay, snatching up his hat, declared he would run and fetch
the children.
I was obliged to entreat Phillips to bring him back, and
entreated him to entendre raison.(48) . . . I pleaded their late
hour of dinner, our having no carriage, and my disuse to the
night air at this time of the year; but M. de Narbonne said their
cabriolet (they have no other carriage) should take us home, and
that there was a top to it, and Madame de la Chƒtre declared she
would cover me well with shawls, etc. . . . M. d'Arblay scampered
off for the little ones, whom all insisted upon having, and
Phillips accompanied him, as it wanted I believe almost four
hours to their dinner time. . . .
Page 36
Then my dress: Oh, it was parfaite, and would give them all the
courage to remain as they were, sans toilette: in short, nothing
was omitted to render us comfortable and at our ease, and I have
seldom passed a more pleasant day--never, I may fairly say, with
such new acquaintance. I was only sorry M. de jaucourt did not
make one of the party.
MYSTERY ATTENDING M. DE NARBONNE'S BIRTH.
Whilst M. d'Arblay and Phillips were gone, Madame de la Chƒtre
told me they had that morning received M. Necker's "D‚fense du
Roi," and if I liked it that M. de Narbonne would read it out to
us.(49) You may conceive my answer. It is a most eloquent
production, and was read by M. de Narbonne with beaucoup d'ƒme.
Towards the end it is excessively touching, and his emotion was
very evident, and would have struck and interested me had I felt
no respect for his character before.
I must now tell you the secret of his birth, which, however, is,
I conceive, no great secret even in London, as Phillips heard it
at Sir Joseph Banks's. Madame Victoire, daughter of Louis XV.,
was in her youth known to be attached to the Comte de Narbonne,
father of our M. de Narbonne. The consequence of this attachment
was such as to oblige her to a temporary retirement, under the
pretence of indisposition during which time la Comtesse de
Narbonne, who was one of her attendants, not only concealed her
own chagrin, but was the means of preserving her husband from a
dangerous situation, and the princess from disgrace. She
declared herself with child, and, in short, arranged all so well
as to seem the mother of her husband's son ; though the truth was
immediately suspected, and rumoured about the Court, and Madame
de la Chƒtre told me, was known and familiarly spoken of by all
her friends, except in the presence of
Page 37
Narbonne, to whom no one would certainly venture to hint it. His
father is dead, but la Comtesse de Narbonne, his reputed mother,
lives, and is still an attendant on Madame Victoire, at Rome. M.
de Narbonne's wife is likewise with her, and he himself was the
person fixed on by Mesdames to accompany them when they quitted
France for Italy. An infant daughter was left by him at Paris,
who is still there with some of his family, and whom he expressed
an earnest wish to. bring over, though the late decree may
perhaps render his doing so impossible. He has another daughter,
of six years old, who is with her mother at Rome, and whom he
told me the pope had condescended to embrace. He mentioned his
mother once (meaning la Comtesse de Narbonne) with great respect
and affection.
REVOLUTIONARY SOCIETIES IN NORFOLK. DEATH OF MR.
FRANCIS.
(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Philips.)
Aylsham, Norfolk, November 27, '92.
My dearest Susanna's details of the French colony at juniper are
truly interesting. I hope I may gather from them that M. de
Narbonne, at least, has been able to realise some property here.
I wish much to hear that poor Madame de Broglie has been
permitted to join her husband.
Who is this M. Malouet(50) who has the singular courage and
feeling to offer to plead the cause of a fallen monarch in the
midst of his ferocious accusers? And how ventures M. de Chauvelin
to transmit such a proposal? I wish your French neighbours could
give some account of this. I hear that the son for whom the Duc
de Liancourt has been trembling, has been reduced to subscribe to
all jacobin lengths, to save his life, and retain a little
property. What seasons are these for dissolving all delicacy of
internal honour!
I am truly amazed, and half alarmed, to find this county with
little revolution societies, which transmit their notions of
Page 38
things to the larger committee at Norwich, which communicates the
whole to the reformists of London. I am told there is scarce a
village in Norfolk free from these meetings. . . .
My good and brilliant champion in days of old, Mr. Windham, has
never been in Norfolk since I have entered it. He had a call to
Bulstrode, to the installation of the Duke of Portland, just as I
arrived, and he has been engaged there and at Oxford ever since.
I regret missing him at Holkham: I bad no chance of him anywhere
else, as I have been so situated, from the melancholy
circumstances of poor Mr. Francis's illness, that I have been
unable to make acquaintance where he visits.
(Miss Burney's second visit at Aylsham proved a very mournful
one. Soon after her arrival, Mr. Francis, her brother-in-law,
was seized with an apoplectic fit, which terminated in his death;
and Miss Burney remained with her widowed sister, soothing and
assisting her, till the close of the year, when she accompanied
the bereaved family to London.]
DEPARTURE OF MADAME DE LA CHATRE.
(Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.)
December 16, '92.
. . .. Everything that is most shocking may, I fear, be expected
for the unfortunate King of France, his queen, and perhaps all
that belong to him. M. d'Arblay said it would indeed scarce have
been possible to hope that M. de Narbonne could have escaped with
life, had the sauf-conduit requested been granted him, for
attending as a witness at the king's trial. . . .
M. de Narbonne had heard nothing new from France, but mentioned,
with great concern, the indiscretion of the king, in having kept
all his letters since the Revolution; that the papers lately
discovered in the Tuileries would bring ruin and death on
hundreds of his friends ; and that almost every one in that
number "s'y trouvoient compliqu‚s"(51) some way or other. A
decree of accusation had been lanc‚ against M. Talleyrand, not
for anything found from himself, but because M. de Laporte, long
since executed, and from whom, of course, no renseignemens or
explanations of any kind could
Page 39
be gained, had written to the king that l'Eveque d'Autun(52) was
well disposed to serve him. Can there be injustice more
flagrant?
M. Talleyrand, it seems, had proposed returning, and hoped to
settle his affairs in France in person, but now he must be
content with life ; and as for his property (save what he may
chance to have in other countries), he must certainly lose all.
Monday, December 17, In the morning, Mr. and Mrs. Locke called,
and with them came Madame de la Chƒtre, to take leave.
She now told us, perfectly in confidence, that Madame de Broglie
had found a friend in the Mayor of Boulogne, that she was lodged
at his house, and that she could answer for her (Madame de la
Chƒtre) being received by him as well as she could desire (all
this must be secret, as this good mayor, if accused of harbouring
or befriending des ‚migr‚s, would no doubt pay for it with his
life). Madame de la Chƒtre said, all her friends who had
ventured upon writing to her entreated her not to lose the
present moment to return, as, the three months allowed for the
return of those excepted in the decree once past, all hope would
be lost for ever. Madame de Broglie, who is her cousin, was most
excessively urgent to her to lose not an instant in returning,
and had declared there would be no danger. Madame de la Chƒtre
was put in spirits by this account, and the hope of becoming not
destitute of everything; and I tried to hope without fearing for
her, and, indeed, most sincerely offer up my petitions for her
safety.
Heaven prosper her! Her courage and spirits are wonderful. M. de
Narbonne seemed, however, full of apprehensions for her. M. de
Jaucourt seemed to have better hopes ; he, even he, has now
thoughts of returning, or rather his generosity compels him to
think of it. His father has represented to him that his sister's
fortune must suffer unless he appears in France again - and
although he had resisted every other consideration, on this he
has given way.
ARRIVAL OF M. DE LA CHATRE.
Friday, December 21st, we dined at Norbury Park, and met our
French friends: M. d'Arblay came in to coffee before the other
gentlemen. We had been talking of Madame de la
Page 40
Chattre, and conjecturing conjectures about her sposo: we were
all curious, and all inclined to imagine him old, ugly, proud,
aristocratic, -a kind of ancient and formal courtier ; so we
questioned M. d'Arblay, acknowledging our curiosity, and that we
wished to know, enfin, if M. de la Chƒtre was "digne d'etre ‚poux
d'une personne si aimable et si charmante que Madame de la
Chƒtre."(53) He looked very drolly, scarce able to meet our eyes;
but at last, as he is la franchise mˆme, he answered, "M. de la
Chƒtre est un bon homme--parfaitement bon homme: au reste, il est
brusque comme un cheval de carrosse."(54)
We were in the midst of our coffee when St. jean came forward to
M. de Narbonne, and said somebody wanted to speak to him. He went
out of the room; in two minutes he returned, followed by a
gentleman in a great-coat, whom we had never seen, and whom he
introduced immediately to Mrs. Locke by the name of M. de la
Chƒtre. The appearance of M. de la Chƒtre was something like a
coup de th‚atre; for, despite our curiosity, I had no idea we
should ever see him, thinking that nothing could detach him from
the service of the French princes.
His abord and behaviour answered extremely well the idea M.
d'Arblay had given us of him, who in the word brusque rather
meant unpolished in manners than harsh in character. He is quite
old enough to be father to Madame de la Chƒtre, and, had he been
presented to us as such, all our wonder would have been to see so
little elegance in the parent of such a woman.
After the first introduction was over, he turned his back to the
fire, and began sans fa‡on, a most confidential discourse with M.
de Narbonne. They had not met since the beginning of the
Revolution, and, having been of very different parties, it was
curious and pleasant to see them now, in their mutual
misfortunes, meet en bons amis. They rallied each other sur leurs
disgraces very good-humouredly and comically; and though poor M.
de la Chƒtre had missed his wife by only one day, and his son by
a few hours, nothing seemed to give him de phumeur.(55) He gave
the account of his disastrous journey since he had quitted. the
princes, who are themselves reduced
Page 41
to great distress, and were unable to pay him his arrears: he
said he could not get a sou from France, nor had done for two
years. All the money he had, with his papers and clothes, were
contained in a little box, with which he had embarked in a small
boat--I could not hear whence : but the weather was tempestuous,
and he, with nearly all the passengers, landed, and walked to the
nearest town, leaving his box and two faithful servants (who had
never, he said, quitted him since he had left France) in the
boat: he had scarce been an hour at the auberge (56) when news
was brought that the boat had sunk,
At this, M. de Narbonne threw himself back on his seat,
exclaiming against the hard fate which pursued all ses malheureux
amis!(57) "Mais attendez donc," cried the good humoured M. de la
Chƒtre, "Je n'ai pas encore fini: on nous a assur‚ que personne
n'a p‚ri et que mˆme tout ce qu'il y avait sur le bƒteau a ‚t‚
sauv‚!'(58) He said, however, that being now in danger of falling
into the hands of the French, he dared not stop for his box or
servants; but, leaving a note of directions behind him, he
proceeded incognito, and at length got on board a packet-boat for
England, in which though he found several of his countrymen and
old acquaintance, he dared not discover himself till they were en
pleine mer.(59) He went on gaily enough, laughing at ses amis
les constitutionnaires,(60) and M. de Narbonne, with much more
wit, and not less good humour, retorting back his raillery on the
parti de Brunswick.. . .
M. de la Chƒtre mentioned the quinzaine(61) in which the princes'
army had been paid up, as the most wretched he had ever known. Of
22,000 men who formed the army of the emigrants, 16,000 were
gentlemen,-men of family and fortune: all of whom were now, with
their families, destitute. He mentioned two of these who had
engaged themselves lately in some orchestra, where they played
first and second flute. The princes, he said, had been twice
arrested for debt in different places--that they were now so
reduced that they dined, themselves, the Comte d'Artois,
children, tutors, etc.--eight or nine persons in all--upon one
single dish.
Page 42
ENGLISH FEELING AT THE REVOLUTIONARY EXCESSES.
(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.)
Chelsea, December 20, '92.
..... God keep us all safe and quiet! All now wears a fair
aspect; but I am told Mr. Windham says we are not yet out of the
wood though we see the path through it. There must be no
relaxation. The Pretended friends of the people, pretended or
misguided, wait but the stilling of the present ferment of
loyalty to come forth. Mr. Grey has said so in the House. Mr. Fox
attended the St. George's meeting, after keeping back to the
last, and was nobody there!
The accounts from France are thrilling. Poor M. d'Arblay's speech
should be translated, and read to all English imitators of French
reformers. What a picture of the now reformed! Mr. Burke's
description of the martyred Duc de la Rochefoucault should be
read also by all the few really pure promoters of new systems.
New systems, I fear, in states, are always dangerous, if not
wicked. Grievance by grievance, wrong by wrong, must only be
assailed, and breathing time allowed to old prejudices, and old
habits, between all that is done. . . .
I had fancied the letters brought for the King of France's trial
were forgeries. One of them, certainly, to M. Bouill‚, had its
answer dated before it was written. If any have been found,
others will be added, to serve any evil purposes. Still, however,
I hope the king and his family will be saved. I cannot but
believe it, from all I can put together. If the worst of the
jacobins hear that Fox has called him an "unfortunate monarch,"-
-that Sheridan has said "his execution would be an act of
injustice,"--and Grey, "that we ought to have spared that one
blast to their glories by earlier negotiation and an
ambassador,"--surely the worst of these wretches will not risk
losing their only abettors and palliators in this kingdom? I mean
publicly; they have privately and individually their abettors and
palliators in abundance still, wonderful as that is.
I am glad M. d'Arblay has joined the set at "Junipre." What
miserable work is this duelling, which I hear of among the
emigrants, after such hair-breadth 'scapes for life and
existence!--to attack one another on the very spot they seek for
refuge from attacks! It seems a sort of profanation of safety.
Page 43
LOUIS XVI.'S EXECUTION.
(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Norbury Park, January 28, '93.
My dearest padre,-I have been wholly without spirit for writing,
reading, working, or even walking or conversing, ever since the
first day of my arrival. The dreadful tragedy(62) acted in France
has entirely absorbed me. Except the period of the illness of our
own inestimable king, 1 have never been so overcome with grief
and dismay, for any but personal and family calamities. O what a
tragedy! how implacable its villainy, and how severe its sorrows!
You know, my dearest father, how little I had believed such a
catastrophe possible: with all the guilt and all the daring
already shown, I had still thought this a height of enormity
impracticable. And, indeed, without military law throughout the
wretched city, it had still not been perpetrated. Good heaven!-
-what must have been the sufferings of the few unhardened in
crimes who inhabit that city of horrors!--if I, an English
person, have been so deeply afflicted, that even this sweet house
and society--even my Susan and her lovely children--have been
incapable to give me any species of pleasure, or keep me from a
desponding low-spiritedness, what must be the feelings of all but
the culprits in France?
M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay have been almost annihilated :
they are for ever repining that they are French, and, though two
of the most accomplished and elegant men I ever saw, they break
our hearts with the humiliation they feel for their guiltless
birth in that guilty country!
We are all here expecting war every day. This dear family has
deferred its town journey till next Wednesday. I have not been
at all at Mickleham, nor yet settled whether to return to town
with the Lockes, or to pay my promised visit there first, All has
been so dismal, so wretched, that I have scarce ceased to regret
our living at such times, and not either Sooner or later.
These immediate French sufferers here interest us, and these
alone have been able to interest me at all. We hear of a very
bad tumult in Ireland, and near Captain Phillips's property: Mr.
Brabazon writes word it is very serious.
Page 44
Heaven guard us from insurrections! What must be the feelings at
the queen's house? how acute, and how indignant!
A GLOOMY CLUB MEETING.
(-Dr. Burney to Fanny Burney and Mrs. Phillips.)
Chelsea College, January 31, 1793.
. . . At the Club,(63) on Tuesday, the fullest I ever knew,
consisting of fifteen members, fourteen seemed all of one mind,
and full of reflections on the late transaction in France ; but,
when about half the company was assembled, who should come in but
Charles Fox! There were already three or four bishops arrived,
hardly one of whom could look at him, I believe, without horror,
After the first bow and cold salutation, the conversation stood
still for several minutes. During dinner Mr Windham, and Burke,
jun., came in, who were obliged to sit at a side table. All were
boutonn‚s,(64) and not a word of the martyred king or politics of
any kind was mentioned; and though the company was chiefly
composed of the most eloquent and loquacious men in the kingdom,
the conversation was the dullest and most uninteresting I ever
remember at this or any such large meeting. Mr Windham and Fox,
civil-young Burke and he never spoke. The Bishop of Peterborough
as sulky as the d--l; the Bishop of Salisbury, more a man of the
world, very cheerful; the Bishop of Dromore(65) frightened as
much as a barn-door fowl at the sight of a fox; Bishop Marlow
preserved his usual pleasant countenance. Steevens in the chair;
the Duke of Leeds on his right, and Fox on his left, said not a
word. Lords Ossory and Lucan, formerly much attached, seemed
silent and sulky.
MADAME DE STAEL AT JUNIPER HALL.
(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Norbury Park, Monday, February 4, '93.
. . . Madame de Stael, daughter of M. Necker, is now at the head
of the colony of French noblesse, established near
Page 45
Mickleham. She is one of the first women I have ever met with for
abilities and extraordinary intellect. She has just received, by
a private letter, many particulars not yet made public, and which
the Commune and Commissaries of the Temple had ordered should be
suppressed. It has been exacted by those cautious men of blood
that nothing should be printed that could attendrir le
peuple.(66)
Among other circumstances, this letter relates that the poor
little dauphin supplicated the monsters who came with the decree
of death to his unhappy father, that they would carry him to the
Convention, and the forty-eight Sections of Paris, and suffer him
to beg his father's life. This touching request was probably
suggested to him by his miserable mother or aunt....
M. de Narbonne has been quite ill with the grief of this last
enormity: and M. d'Arblay is now indisposed. This latter is one
of the most delightful characters I have ever met, for openness,
probity, intellectual knowledge, and unhackneyed manners.
(Madame de Stael to Fanny BUrney.(67))
Written from juniper Hall, Dorking, Surrey, 1793.
When I learned to read English I begun by milton, to know all or
renounce at all in once. I follow the same system in writing my
first English letter to Miss burney; after such an enterprize
nothing can affright me. I feel for her so tender a friendship
that it melts my admiration, inspires my heart with hope of her
indulgence, and impresses me with the idea that in a tongue even
unknown I could express sentiments so deeply felt.
my servant will return for a french answer. I intreat miss
burney to correct the words but to preserve the sense of that
card.
best compliments to my dear protectress, Madame Phillipe.
(Madame de Stael to Fanny Burney.)
Your card in french, my dear, has already something of Your grace
in writing English : it is cecilia translated. my !. '
Page 46
only correction is to fill the interruptions of some sentences,
and I put in them kindnesses for me. I do not consult my master
to write to you; a fault more or less is nothing in such an
occasion. What may be the perfect grammar of Mr. Clarke, it
cannot establish any sort of equality between you and I. then I
will trust with my heart alone to supply the deficiency. let us
speak upon a grave subject: do I see you that morning? What news
from Captain phillip? when do you come spend a large week in that
house? every question requires an exact answer; a good, also. my
happiness depends on it, and I have for pledge your honour.
good morrow and farewell.
pray madame phillips, recollecting all her knowledge in french,
to explain that card to you.
(Madame de Stael to Fanny Burney.)
January, 1793.
tell me, my dear, if this day is a charming one, if it must be a
sweet epoch in my life?--do you come to dine here with your
lovely sister, and do you stay night and day till our sad
separation? I rejoice me with that hope during this week do not
deceive my heart. I hope that card very clear, mais, pour plus de
certitude, je vous dis en françois que votre chambre, la maison,
les habitants de juniper, tout est prêt á recevoir la première
femme d'angleterre.(68) Janvier.
MISS BURNEY'S ADMIRATION OF MADAME DE STAEL.
(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Mickleham, February 29, 1793
Have you not begun, dearest sir, to give me up as a lost sheep?
Susanna's temporary widowhood, however, has tempted me on, and
spelled me with a spell I know not how to break. It is long, long
since we have passed any time so completely together; her three
lovely children only knit us the closer. The widowhood, however,
we expect now quickly to expire, and I had projected my return to
my dearest father
Page 47
for Wednesday next, which would complete my fortnight here but
some circumstances are intervening that incline me to postpone it
another week. Madame de Stal, daughter of M. Necker, and wife of
the Swedish ambassador to France, is now head of the little
French colony in this neighbourhood. M. de Stael, her husband, is
at present suspended in his embassy, but not recalled and it is
yet uncertain whether the regent Duke of Sudermania will send him
to Paris, during the present horrible Convention, or order him
home. He is now in Holland, waiting for commands. Madame de
Stal, however, was unsafe in Paris, though an ambassadress, from
the resentment owed her by the commune, for having received and
protected in her house various destined victims of the 10th
August and of the 2nd September. She was even once stopped in her
carriage, which they called aristocratic, because of its arms and
ornaments, and threatened to be murdered, and only saved by one
of the worst wretches of the Convention, Tallien, who feared
provoking a war with Sweden, from such an offence to the wife of
its ambassador. She was obliged to have this same Tallien to
accompany her, to save her from massacre, for some miles from
Paris, when compelled to quit it.
She is a woman of the first abilities, I think, I have ever seen;
she is more in the style of Mrs. Thrale than of any other
celebrated character, but she has infinitely more depth, and
seems an even profound politician and metaphysician. She has
suffered us to hear some of her works in MS., which are truly
wonderful, for powers both of thinking and expression. She adores
her father, but is much alarmed at having had no news from him
since he has heard of the massacre of the martyred Louis; and who
can wonder it should have overpowered him?
Ever since her arrival she has been pressing me to spend some
time with her before I return to town. She wanted Susan and me to
pass a month with her, but, finding that impossible, she bestowed
all her entreaties upon me alone, and they are grown so urgent,
upon my preparation for departing, and acquainting her my
furlough of absence was over, that she not only insisted upon my
writing to you, and telling why I deferred my return, but
declares she will also write herself, to ask your permission for
the visit. She exactly resembles Mrs. Thrale in the ardour and
warmth of her temper and partialities. I find her impossible to
resist, and therefore, if your answer to
Page 48
her is such as I conclude it must be, I shall wait upon her for a
week. She is only a short walk from hence, at juniper Hall.
FAILING RESOURCES.
There can be nothing imagined more charming, more fascinating,
than this colony ; between their sufferings and their argr‚mens
they occupy us almost wholly. M. de Narbonne,
alas, has no thousand pounds a year! he got over only four
thousand pounds at the beginning, from a most splendid fortune;
and, little foreseeing how all has turned out, he has lived, we
fear, upon the principal ; for he says, if all remittance is
withdrawn, on account of the war, he shall soon be as ruined as
those companions of his misfortunes with whom as yet he has
shared his little all. He bears the highest character for
goodness, parts, sweetness of manners, and ready wit. You could
not keep your heart from him if you saw him only for . half an
hour. He has not yet recovered from the black blow of the king's
death, but he is better, and less jaundiced ; and he has had a
letter which, I hear, has comforted him, though at first it was
almost heart-breaking, informing him of the unabated regard for
him of the truly saint-like Louis. This is communicated in a
letter from M. de Malesherbes.(69)
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
M. d'Arblay 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 had 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, welt versed in both
Italian and German, and a very elegant
Page 49
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; and for his theme, this evening he has been writing an
English address "… Mr. Burney," (ie. M. le Docteur), joining in
Madame de Stael's request.
I hope your last club was more congenial? M. de Talleyrand
insists on conveying this letter for you. He has been on a visit
here, and returns again on Wednesday. He is a man of admirable
conversation, quick, terse, fin, and yet deep, to the extreme of
those four words. They are a marvellous set for excess of
agreeability.
"THIS ENCHANTING MONSIEUR D'ARBLAY."
(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.)
Mickleham.
Your kind letter, my beloved Fredy, was most thankfully received,
and we rejoice the house and situation promise so much local
comfort; but I quite fear with you that even the bas bleu will
not recompense the loss of the "Junipre" society. It is, indeed,
of incontestable superiority. But you must burn this confession,
or my poor effigy will blaze for it. I must tell you a little of
our proceedings, as they all relate to these people of a
thousand.
M. d'Arblay came from the melancholy sight of departing Norbury
to Mickleham, and with an air the most triste, and a sound of
voice quite dejected, as I learn from Susanna for I was in my
heroics, and could not appear till the last half hour. A headache
prevented my waiting upon Madame de Stal that day, and obliged me
to retreat soon after nine o'clock in the evening, and my douce
compagne would not let me retreat alone. We had only robed
ourselves in looser drapery, when a violent ringing at the door
startled us; we listened, and heard the voice of M. d'Arblay, and
Jerry answering, "They're gone to bed." "Comment? What?" cried
he: "C'est impossible! what you say?" Jerry then, to show his
new education in this new colony, said "All‚e couch‚e!" It rained
furiously, and we were quite grieved, but there was no help. He
left a book for "Mlle. Burnet," and word that Madame de Stael
could not come on account of the bad weather. M. Ferdinand was
with him and has bewailed the disaster
Page 50
and M. Sicard says he accompanied them till he was quite wet
through his redingote; but this enchanting M. d'Arblay will
murmur at nothing.
The next day they all came, just as we had dined, for a morning
visit,--Madame de Stael, M. Talleyrand, M. Sicard, and M.
d'Arblay; the latter then made "insistance" upon commencing my
"master of the language," and I think he will be almost as good a
one as the little don.(70)
M. de Talleyrand opened, at last, with infinite wit and capacity.
Madame de Stael whispered me, "How do you like him?" "Not very
much," I answered, "but I do not know him." "Oh, I assure you,"
cried she, "he is the best of the men."
I was happy not to agree ; but I have no time for such minute
detail till we meet. She read the noble tragedy of
"TancrŠde,"(71) till she blinded us all round. She is the most
charming person, to use her own phrase, "that never I saw." . .
We called yesterday upon Madame de Stael, and sat with her until
three o'clock, only the little don being present. She was
delightful; yet I see much uneasiness hanging over the whole
party, from the terror that the war may stop all remittances.
Heaven forbid!
TALLEYRAND IS FOUND CHARMING.
(Fanny Burney to Mrs locke.)
Thursday, Mickleham.
I have no heart not to write, and no time to write. I have been
scholaring all day, and mastering too : for our lessons are
mutual, and more entertaining than can easily be conceived. My
master of the language says he dreams of how much more solemnly
he shall write to charming Mrs. Locke after a little more
practice. Madame de Stael has written me two English notes, quite
beautiful in ideas, and not very reprehensible in idiom. But
English has nothing to do with elegance such as theirs--at least,
little and rarely. I am always exposing myself to the wrath of
John Bull, when this c“terie come in competition; It is
inconceivable what a convert M. de Talleyrand has made of me; I
think him now one of the first members, and one of the most
charming, of this exquisite set: Susanna is as completely a
proselyte,
Page 51
His powers of entertainment are astonishing, both in information
and in raillery. We know nothing of how the rest of the world
goes on. They are all coming to-night. I have yet avoided, but
with extreme difficulty, the change of abode. Madame de Stael,
however, will not easily be parried, and how I may finally
arrange I know not. Certainly I will not offend or hurt her, but
otherwise I had rather be a visitor than a guest
Pray tell Mr. Locke that " the best of the men " grows upon us at
every meeting. We dined and stayed till midnight at "junipre" on
Tuesday, and I would I could recollect but the twentieth part of
the excellent things that were said. Madame de Stael read us the
opening of her work "Sur le Bonheur:" it seems to me admirable.
M. de Talleyrand avowed he had met with nothing better thought or
more ably expressed; it contains the most touching allusions to
their country's calamities.
A PROPOSED VISIT TO MADAME DE STAEL DISAPPROVED OF.
(Doctor Burney to Fanny Burney.)
Chelsea College, February 19, 1793.
Why, Fanny, what are you about, and where are you? I shall write
at you, not knowing how to write to you, as Swift did to the
flying and romantic Lord Peterborough. I had written the above,
after a yesterday's glimmering and a feverish night as usual,
when behold! a letter of requisition for a further furlough! I
had long histories ready for narration de vive voix, but my time
is too short and my eyes and head too -weak for much writing this
morning. I am not at all surprised at your account of the
captivating powers of Madame de Stael. It corresponds with all I
had heard about her, and with the opinion I formed of her
intellectual and literary powers, in reading her charming little
"Apologie de Rousseau." But as nothing human is allowed to be
perfect, she has not escaped censure. Her house was the centre
of revolutionists Previous to the 10th of August, after her
father's departure, and she has been accused of partiality to M.
de N.(72) But Perhaps all may be jacobinical malignity. However,
unfavourable stories of her have been brought hither, and the
Page 52
Burkes and Mrs. Ord have repeated them to me. But you know that
M. Necker's administration, and the conduct of the nobles who
first joined in the violent measures that subverted the ancient
establishments by the abolition of nobility and the ruin of the
church, during the first National Assembly, are held in greater
horror by aristocrats than even the members of the present
Convention. I know this will make you feel uncomfortable, but it
seemed to me right to hint it to You. If you are not absolutely
in the house of Madame do Stael when this arrives, it would
perhaps be possible for you to waive the visit to her, by a
compromise, of having something to do for Susy, and so make the
addendum to your stay under her roof. . .
(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Mickleham, February 22, '03,
What a kind letter is my dearest father's, and how kindly speedy
! yet it is too true it has given me very uncomfortable feelings.
I am both hurt and astonished at the acrimony of malice; indeed,
I believe all this Party to merit nothing but honour, compassion,
and praise. Madame de Stael, the daughter of M. Necker--the
idolising daughter--of course, and even from the best principles,
those of filial reverence, entered into the opening of the
Revolution just as her father entered into it; but as to her
house having become the centre of revolutionists before the 10th
of August, it was so only for the constitutionalists, who, at
that period, were not only members of the then established
government, but the decided friends of the king. The aristocrats
were then already banished, or wanderers from fear, or concealed
and silent from cowardice; and the jacobins --I need not, after
what I have already related, mention how utterly abhorrent to her
must be that fiend-like set. The aristocrats, however, as you
well observe, and as she has herself told me, hold the
constitutionalists in greater horror than the Convention itself.
This, however, is a violence against justice which cannot, I
hope, be lasting ; and the malignant assertions which persecute
her, all of which she has lamented to us, she imputes equally to
the bad and virulent of both these parties. The intimation
concerning M. de N. was, however, wholly
Page 53
new to us, and I do firmly believe it a gross calumny. M. de N.
was of her society, which contained ten or twelve of the first
people in Paris, and, occasionally, almost all Paris ! she loves
him even tenderly, but so openly, so simply, so unaffectedly, and
with such utter freedom from all coquetry, that, if they were two
men, or two women, the affection could not, I think, be more
obviously undesi,gning. She is very plain, he is very handsome ;
her intellectual endowments must be with him her sole attraction.
M. de Talleyrand was another of her society, and she seems
equally attached to him. M. le Viscomte de Montmorenci she loves,
she says, as her brother: he is another of this bright
constellation, and esteemed of excellent capacity. She says, if
she continues in England he will certainly come, for he loves her
too well to stay away. In short, her whole coterie live together
as brethren. Madame la Marquise de la Chƒtre, who has lately
returned to France, to endeavour to obtain de quoi vivre en
Angleterre,(73) and who had been of this colony for two or three
months since the 10th of August, Is a bosom friend of Madame de
Stael and of all this circle : she is reckoned a very estimable
as well as fashionable woman ; and a daughter of the unhappy
Montmorin, who was killed on the 1st of September(74) is another
of this set. Indeed, I think you could not spend a day with them
and not see that their commerce is that of pure, but exalted and
most elegant, friendship.
I would, nevertheless, give the world to avoid being a guest
under their roof, now I have heard even the shadow of such a
rumour; and I will, if it be possible without hurting or
of-fending them. I have waived and waived acceptance almost from
the moment of Madame de Stael's arrival. I prevailed with her to
let my letter go alone to you, and I have told her, with regard
to your answer, that you were sensible of the honour her kindness
did me, and could not refuse to her request the week's furlough ;
and then followed reasons for the Compromise you pointed out, too
diffuse for writing. As Yet they have succeeded, though she is
surprised and disappointed. She wants us to study French and
English together, and nothing could to me be more desirable, but
for this invidious report.
M. d'Arblay as well as M. de Narbonne, sent over a declaration in
favour of the poor king. M. d'A. had been the
Page 54
commandant at Longwy, and had been named to that post by the king
himself In the accusation of the infernals, as Mr. Young justly
calls them, the king is accused of leaving Longwy undefended, and
a prey to the Prussians. M. d'Arblay, who before that period had
been promoted into the regiment of M. de Narbonne, and thence
summoned to be adjutant-general of Lafayette, wrote therefore, on
this charge, to M. de Malesherbes, and told him that the charge
was utterly false . that the king had taken every precaution for
the proper preservation of Longwy, and that M. d'Arblay, the
king's commandant, had himself received a letter of thanks and
approbation from Duniouriez, who said, nothing would have been
lost had every commandant taken equal pains, and exerted equal
bravery. This original letter M. d'Arblay sent to M. Malesherbes,
not as a vindication of himself, for he had been summoned from
Longwy before the Prussians assailed it, but as a vindication of
the officer appointed by the king, while he had yet the command.
M. de Malesherbes wrote an answer of thanks, and said he should
certainly make use of this information in the defence, However,
the fear of Dumouriez, I suppose, prevented his being named. M.
d'Arblay, in quitting France with Lafayette, upon the deposition
of the king, had only a little ready money in his pocket, and he
has been d‚cr‚(75) I since, and all he was worth in the world is
sold and seized by the Convention. M. de Narbonne loves him as
the tenderest of brothers, and, while one has a guinea in the
world, the other will have half. "Ah!" cried M. d'Arblay, upon
the murder of the king, which almost annihilated him, "I know not
how those can exist who have any feelings of remorse, when I
scarce can endure my life, from the simple feeling of regret that
ever I pronounced the word liberty in France!"
M. DE LALLY TOLENDAL AND HIS TRAGEDY.
(Mrs. Phillips to Mrs. Locke.)
Mickleham, April 2, 1793.
....I must, however, say something of juniper, whence I had an
irresistible invitation to dine, etc., yesterday, and
Page 55
M. de Lally Tolendal(76) read his "Mort de Strafford," which he
had already recited once, and which Madame do Stael requested him
to repeat for my sake.
I had a great curiosity to see M. de Lally. I cannot say that
feeling was gratified by the sight of him, though it was
satisfied, insomuch that it has left me without any great anxiety
to see him again. He is the very reverse of all that my
imagination had led me to expect in him: large, fat, with a great
head, small nose, immense cheeks, nothing distingu‚ in his manner
and en fait d'esprit, and of talents in conversation, so far, so
very far, distant from our juniperians, and from M. de
Talleyrand, who was there, as I could not have conceived, his
abilities as a writer and his general reputation considered. He
seems un bon gar‡on, un trŠs honnˆte gar‡on, as M. Talleyrand
says of him, et non de plus.(77)
He is extremely absorbed by his tragedy, which he recites by
heart, acting as well as declaiming with great energy, though
seated, as Le Texier is. He seemed, previous to the performance,
occupied completely by It, except while the dinner lasted, which
he did not neglect; but he was continually reciting to himself
till we sat down to table, and afterwards between the courses.
M. Talleyrand seemed much struck with his piece, which appears to
me to have very fine lines and passages in it, but which,
altogether, interested me but little. I confess, indeed, the
violence of ses gestes, and the alternate howling and thundering
of his voice in declaiming, fatigued me excessively. If our Fanny
had been present, I am afraid I should many times have been
affected as one does not expect to be at a tragedy. We sat down
at seven to dinner, and had half finished before M. d'Arblay
appeared, though repeatedly sent for; he was profoundly grave and
silent, and disappeared after the dinner, which was very gay. He
was sent for, after coffee and Norbury were gone, several times,
that the tragedy might be begun; and . at last Madame de S.
impatiently proposed beginning without him. "Mais cela lui fera
de la peine,"(78) said M. d'Autun (Talleyrand), good-naturedly;
and, as she
Page 56
persisted, he rose up and limped out of the room to fetch him he
succeeded in bringing him.
M Malouet has left them. La Princesse d'Henin is a very pleasing,
well-bred woman: she left juniper the next morning with M. de
Lally.
CONTEMPLATED DisPERSION OF THE FRENCH COLONY.
(Mrs. Phillips to Fanny Burney)
Mickleham, April 3.
After I had sent off my letter to you on Monday I walked on to
juniper, and entered at the same moment with Mr. jenkinson(79)
and his attorney--a man whose figure strongly resembles some of
Hogarth's most ill-looking, personages, and who appeared to me to
be brought as a kind of spy, or witness of all that was passing.
I would have retreated, fearing to interrupt business, but I was
surrounded, and pressed to stay, by Madame de Stael with great
empressement, and with much kindness by M. d'Arblay and all the
rest. Mr. Clarke was the spokesman, and acquitted himself with
great dignity and moderation; Madame de S. now and then came
forth with a little coquetterie pour adoucir ce sauvage
jenkinson.(80) "What will you, Mr. jenkinson? tell to me, what
will you?" M. de Narbonne, somewhat indign‚ de la mauvaise foi,
and exc‚d‚ des longueurs de son adversaire, (81) was not quite so
gentle with him, and I was glad to perceive that he meant to
resist, in some degree at least, the exorbitant demands of his
landlord.
Madame de Stael was very gay, and M. de Talleyrand very comique,
this evening ; he criticised, amongst other things, her reading
of prose, with great sang froid. . . . They talked over a number
of their friends and acquaintances with the utmost unreserve, and
sometimes with the most comic humour imaginable,--M. de Lally, M.
de Lafayette, la Princesse d'Henin, la Princesse de Poix, a M.
Guibert, an author. and one who was, Madame de Stael told me,
passionately in love with her before she married; and innumerable
others.
M. d'Arblay had been employed almost night and day since
Page 57
he came from London in Writing a m‚moire, which Mr Villiers had
wished to have, upon the 'Artillerie … Cheval,' and he had not
concluded it till this morning.
(Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.)
Tuesday, May 14.
Trusting to the kindness of chance, I begin in at the top of my
paper. Our Juniperians went to see Paine's hill yesterday, and
had the good-nature to take my little happy Norbury. In the
evening came Miss F- to show me a circular letter, sent by the
Archbishop of Canterbury to all the parishes in England,
authorising the ministers of those parishes to raise a
subscription for the unfortunate French clergy. She talked of
our neighbours, and very shortly and abruptly said, "So, Mrs.
Phillips, we hear you are to have Mr. Norbone and the other
French company to live with you--Pray is it so?"
I was, I confess, a little startled at this plain inquiry, but
answered as composedly as I could, setting out with informing
this bˆte personnage that Madame de Stael was going to
Switzerland to join her husband and family in a few days, and
that of all the French company none would remain but M. de
Narbonne and M. d'Arblay, for whom the captain and myself
entertained a real friendship and esteem, and whom he had begged
to make our house their own for a short time, as the impositions
they had had to support from their servants, etc., and the
failure of their remittances from abroad, had obliged them to
resolve on breaking up housekeeping.
I had scarcely said thus much when our party arrived from Paine's
hill; the young lady, though she had drunk tea, was so obliging
as to give us her company for near two hours, and made a curious
attack on M. de N., upon the first pause, in wretched French,
though we had before, all of us, talked no other language than
English:--"Je vous prie, M. Gnawbone, comment se porte la
reine?"(82)
Her pronunciation was such that I thought his understanding her
miraculous : however, he did guess her meaning, and answered,
with all his accustomed douceur and politeness, that he hoped
well, but had no means but general ones of information.
"I believe," said she afterwards, "nobody was so hurt at
Page 58
the king's death as my papa! he couldn't ride on horseback next
day!"
She then told M. de Narbonne some anecdotes (very new to him, no
doubt), which she had read in the newspapers, of the Convention;
and then spoke of M. Egalit‚. "I hope," said she, flinging her
arms out with great violence, "he'll come to be gullytined. He
showed the king how he liked to be gullytined, so now I hope
he'll be gullytined himself!--So shocking! to give his vote
against his own nephew!"
If the subject of her vehemence and blunders had been less just
or less melancholy, I know not how I should have kept my face in
order.
Our evening was very pleasant when she was gone, Madame de Stael
is, with all her wildness and blemishes, a delightful companion,
and M. de N. rises upon me in esteem and affection every time I
see him: their minds in some points ought to be exchanged, for he
is as delicate as a really feminine woman, and evidently suffers
when he sees her setting les biens‚ances(83) aside, as it often
enough befalls her to do.
Poor Madame de Stael has been greatly disappointed and hurt by
the failure of the friendship and intercourse she had wished to
maintain with you,--of that I am sure; I fear, too, she is on the
point of being offended. I am not likely to be her confidant if
she is so, and only judge from the nature of things, and from her
character, and a kind of d‚pit(84) in her manner once or twice in
speaking of you. She asked me If you would accompany Mrs. Locke
back into the country? I answered that my father would not wish
to lose you for so long a time at once, as you had been absent
from him as a nurse so many days.
After a little pause, "Mais est-ce qu'une femme est en tutelle
pour la vie dans ce pays?" she said. "Il me paroit que votre
soeur est comme une demoiselle de quatorze ans."(85) I did not
oppose this idea, but enlarged rather on the constraints laid
upon females, some very unnecessarily, in England,--hoping to
lessen her d‚pit; it continued, however, visible in her
countenance, though she did not express it in words.
Page 59
[The frequency and intimacy with which Miss Burney and
M. d'Arblay now met, ripened into attachment the high esteem
which each felt for the other; and, after many struggles and
scruples, occasioned by his reduced circumstances and clouded
prospects, M. d'Arblay wrote her an offer of his hand ; candidly
acknowledging, however, the slight hope he entertained of ever
recovering the fortune he had lost by the Revolution.
At this time Miss Burney went to Chesington for a short period;
probably hoping that the extreme quiet of that place would assist
her deliberations, and tranquillise her mind during her present
perplexities.]
MADAME DE STAEL'S WORDS OF FAREWELL. M. D'ARBLAY.
(Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney at Chesington.)
Sunday, after church, I walked up to Norbury; there unexpectedly
I met all our juniperians, and listened to one of the best
conversations I ever heard : it was on literary topics, and the
chief speakers Madame de Stael, M. de Talleyrand, Mr. Locke, and
M. Dumont, a gentleman on a visit of two days at juniper, a
Genevois, homme d'esprit et de lettres. I had not a word beyond
the first " how d'yes " with any one, being obliged to run home
to my abominable dinner in the midst of the discourse.
On Monday I went, by invitation, to juniper to dine, and before I
came away at night a letter arrived express to Madame de Stael.
On reading it, the change in her countenance made me guess the
contents, It was from the Swedish gentleman who had been
appointed by her husband to meet her at Ostend; he wrote from
that place that he was awaiting her arrival. She had designed
walking home with us by moonlight, but her spirits were too much
oppressed to enable her to keep this intention. M. d'Arblay
walked home with Phillips and me. Every moment of his time has
been given of late to transcribing a MS. work of Madame de Stael,
on 'L'Influence des Passions.' It is a work of considerable
length, and written in a hand the most difficult possible to
decipher.
On Tuesday we all met again at Norbury, where we spent the day.
Madame de Stael could not rally her spirits at all,
Page 60
and seemed like one torn from all that was dear to her. I was
truly concerned. After giving me a variety of charges, or rather
entreaties, to watch and attend to the health, spirits, and
affairs of the friends she was leaving, she said to me, "Et dŒtes
… Mlle. Burney que je ne lui en veux pas du tout--que je quitte
le pays l'aimant bien sincŠrement et sans rancune."(86)
I assured her earnestly, and with more words than I have room to
insert, not only of your admiration, but affection, and
sensibility of her worth and chagrin at seeing no more of her. I
hope I exceeded not your wishes; mais il n'y avoit pas moyen de
resister.(87)
She seemed pleased, and said, "Vous ˆtes bien bonne de me dire
cela,"(88) but in a low and faint voice, and dropped the subject.
Before we took leave, M. d'Arblay was already gone, meaning to
finish transcribing her MS. I came home with Madame de Stael and
M. de Narbonne. The former actually sobbed in saying farewell to
Mrs. Locke, and half way down the hill; her parting from me was
likewise very tender and flattering.
I determined, however, to see her again, and met her near the
school, on Wednesday morning with a short note and a little
offering which I was irresistibly tempted to make her. She could
not speak to me, but kissed her hand with a very speaking and
touching expression of countenance.
it was this morning, and just as I was setting out to meet her,
that Skilton arrived from Chesington. I wrote a little, walked
out, and returned to finish as I could.
At dinner came our Tio--(89) very bad indeed. After it we walked
together with the children to Norbury; but little Fanny was so
well pleased with his society that it was impossible to get a
word on any particular subject. I, however, upon his venturing
to question me whereabouts was the
Page 61
campagne o– se trouvoit Mlle. Burney,(90) ventured de mon
c“t‚(91) to speak the name of Chesington, and give a little
account of its inhabitants, the early love we had for the spot,
our excellent Mr. Crisp, and your good and kind hostesses. He
listened with much interest and pleasure, and said,
"Mais, ne pourroit-on pas faire ce petit voyage-l…?"(92)
I ventured to say nothing encouraging, at least, decisively, in a
great measure upon the children's account, lest they should
repeat; and, moreover, your little namesake seemed to me
surprisingly attentive and ‚veill‚e, as if elle se doutoit de
quelque chose.(93)
When we came home I gave our Tio so paper to write to you; it was
not possible for me to add more than the address, much as I
wished it.
REGRETS RESPECTING MADAME DE STAEL.
(Fanny Burney to Mrs. -Locke.)
Chesington, 1793.
I have been quite enchanted to-day by my dear Susan's
intelligence that my three convalescents walked to the wood.
Would I had been there to meet and receive them. I have regretted
excessively the finishing so miserably an acquaintance begun with
so much spirit and pleasure, and the d‚pit I fear Madame de Stael
must have experienced. I wish the world would take more care of
itself, and less of its neighbours. I should have heen very
safe, I trust, without such flights, and distances, and breaches.
But there seemed an absolute resolution formed to crush this
acquaintance, and compel me to appear its wilful renouncer. All I
did also to clear the matter, and soften to Madame de Stael any
pique or displeasure, unfortunately served only to increase them.
Had I understood her disposition better, I should certainly have
attempted no palliation, for I rather offended her pride than
mollified her wrath. Yet I followed the golden rule, for how much
should I prefer any acknowledgment of regret at such an apparent
change, from any one I esteemed, to a seeming
Page 62
unconscious complacency in an unexplained caprice! I am vexed,
however, very much vexed, at the whole business. I hope she left
Norbury Park with full satisfaction in its steady and more
comfortable connection. I fear mine will pass for only a
fashionable one.
Miss Kitty Cooke still amuses me very much by her incomparable
dialect; and by her kindness and friendliness. I am taken the
best care of imaginable. My poor brother, who will carry this to
Mickleham, is grievously altered by the loss of his little girl.
It has affected his spirits and his health, and he is grown so
thin and meagre, that he looks ten years older than when I saw
him last. I hope he will now revive, since the blow is over; but
it has been a very, very hard one, after such earnest pains to
escape it. ..
Did the wood look very beautiful? I have figured it to myself
with the three dear convalescents wandering in its winding paths,
and inhaling its freshness and salubrity, ever since I heard of
this walk. I wanted prodigiously to have issued forth from some
little green recess, to have hailed your return. I hope Mr. Locke
had the pleasure of this sight. Is jenny capable of such a
mounting journey?
Do you know anything of a certain young lady, who eludes all my
inquiries, famous for having eight sisters, all of uncommon
talents? I had formerly some intercourse with her, and she used
to promise she would renew it whenever I pleased but whether she
is offended that I have slighted her offers so long, or whether
she is fickle, or only whimsical, I know not all that is quite
undoubted is that she has concealed herself so effectually from
my researches, that I might as well look for justice and clemency
in the French Convention, as for this former friend in the plains
and lanes of Chesington where, erst, she met me whether I would
or no.
M. D'ARBLAY'S VISIT TO CHESINGTON.
(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.)
Chesington, 1793.
How sweet to me was my dearest Fredy's assurance that my
gratification and prudence went at last hand in hand! I had
longed for the sight of her writing, and not dared wish it.
Page 63
I shall now long Impatiently till I can have the pleasure of
saying "Ma'am, I desire no more of your letters."
I have heard to-day all I can most covet of all my dear late
malades. I take it for granted this little visit was made known
to my dearest sister confidant. I had prepared for it from the
time of my own expectation, and I have had much amusement in what
the preparation produced. Mrs Hamilton ordered half a ham to be
boiled ready; and Miss Kitty trimmed up her best cap, and tried
it on, on Saturday, to get it in shape to her face. She made
chocolate also, which we drank up on Monday and Tuesday, because
it was spoiling. "I have never seen none of the French quality,"
she says, "and I have a purdigious curosity; though as to dukes
and dukes' sons, and these high top captains, I know they'll
think me a mere country bumpkin. Howsever, they can't call me
worse than 'Fat Kit Square,' and that's the worst name I ever got
from any of our English petite bears, which I suppose these
petite French quality never heard the like of."
Unfortunately, however, when all was prepared above, the French
top captain entered while poor Miss Kitty was in dishabill, and
Mrs. Hamilton finishing washing up her china from breakfast. A
maid who was out at the pump, and first saw the arrival, ran in
to give Miss Kitty time to escape, for she was in her round dress
night-cap, and without her roll and curls. However, he followed
too quick, and Mrs. Hamilton was seen in her linen gown and mob,
though she had put on a silk one in expectation for every noon
these four or five days past; and Miss Kitty was in such
confusion, she hurried out of the room. She soon, however,
returned with the roll and curls, and the forehead and throat
fashionably lost, in a silk gown. And though she had not intended
to speak a word, the gentle quietness of her guest so surprised
and pleased her, that she never quitted his side while he stayed,
and has sung his praises ever since.
Mrs. Hamilton, good soul ! in talking and inquiring since of his
history and conduct, shed tears at the recital. She says now
she, has really seen one of the French gentry that has been drove
out of their country by the villains she has heard Of, she shall
begin to believe there really has been a Revolution! and Miss
Kitty says, "I purtest I did not know before but it was all a
sham."
Page 64
THE MATRIMONIAL PROJECT IS DISCUSSED.
(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Phillips.)
Friday, May 31, Chesington.
My heart so smites me this morning with making no answer to all I
have been requested to weigh and decide, that I feel I cannot
with any ease return to town without at least complying with one
demand, which first, at parting yesterday, brought me to write
fully to you, my Susan, if I could not elsewhere to my
satisfaction.
in the course of last night and this morning Much indeed has
occurred to me, that now renders my longer silence as to
prospects and proceedings unjustifiable to myself. I will
therefore now address myself to both my beloved confidants, and
open to them all my thoughts, and entreat their own with equal
plainness in return.
M. d'Arblay's last three letters convince me he is desperately
dejected when alone, and when perfectly natural. It is not that
he wants patience, but he wants rational expectation of better
times, expectation founded on something more than mere aerial
hope, that builds one day upon what the next blasts; and then has
to build again, and again to be blasted.
What affects me the most in this situation is, that his time may
as completely be lost as another's peace, by waiting for the
effects of distant events, vague, bewildering, and remote, and
quite as likely to lead to ill as to good. The very waiting,
indeed, with the mind in such a state, is in itself an evil
scarce to be recompensed. . . .
My dearest Fredy, in the beginning of her knowledge of this
transaction, told me that Mr. Locke was of opinion that one
hundred pounds per annum(94) might do, as it does for many a
curate. M. d'A. also most solemnly and affectingly declares that
le simple n‚cessaire is all he requires and here, In your
vicinity, would unhesitatingly be preferred by him to the most
brilliant fortune in another s‚jour. If he can say that, what
must I be not to echo it? I, who in the bosom of my own most
chosen, most darling friends---
I need not enter more upon this; you all must know
to me a crust of bread, with a little roof for shelter, and a
fire
Page 65
for warmth, near you, would bring me to peace, to happiness, to
all that My heart holds dear, or even in any situation could
prize. I cannot picture such a fate with dry eyes ; all else but
kindness and society has to me so always been nothing.
With regard to my dear father, he has always left me to myself; I
will not therefore speak to him while thus uncertain what to
decide.
it is certain, however, that, with peace of mind and retirement,
I have resources that I could bring forward to amend the little
situation ; as well as that, once thus undoubtedly established
and naturalised, M. d'A. would have claims for employment.
These reflections, with a mutual freedom from ambition might lead
to a quiet road, unbroken by the tortures of applications,
expectations, attendance, disappointment, and time-wasting hopes
and fears; if there were not apprehensions the one hundred pounds
might be withdrawn. I do not think it likely, but it is a risk
too serious in its consequences to be run. M. d'A. protests he
could not answer to himself the hazard.
How to ascertain this, to clear the doubt, or to know the fatal
certainty before it should be too late, exceeds my powers of
suggestion. His own idea, to write to the queen, much as it has
startled me, and wild as it seemed to me, is certainly less wild
than to take the chance of such a blow in the dark. Yet such a
letter could not even reach her. His very name is
probably only known to her through myself. In short, my dearest
friends, you will think for me, and let me know what occurs to
you, and I will defer any answer till I hear your opinions.
Heaven ever bless you! And pray for me at this moment.
DR. BURNEY'S OBJECTIONS TO THE MATCH.
(Dr. Burney to Fanny Burney.)
May, 1793,
Dear Fanny,-I have for some time seen very plainly that you are
‚prise, and have been extremely uneasy at the discovery. YOU must
have observed my silent gravity, surpassing that of mere illness
and its consequent low spirits. I had some thoughts of writing
to Susan about it, and intended begging her to do what I must now
do for myself--that is, beg and admonish you not to entangle
yourself in a wild and
Page 66
romantic attachment, which offers nothing in prospect but poverty
and distress, with future inconvenience and unhappiness. M.
d'Arblay is certainly a very amiable and accomplished man, and of
great military abilities I take for granted ; but what employment
has he for them of which the success is not extremely hazardous?
His property, whatever it was, has been confiscated--d‚cr‚--by
the Convention - and if a counter-revolution takes place, unless
it be exactly such a one as suits the particular political sect
in which he enlisted, it does not seem likely to secure to him an
establishment in France. And as to an establishment in England, I
know the difficulty which very deserving natives find in
procuring one, with every appearance of interest, friends, and
probability; and, to a foreigner, I fear the difficulty will be
more than doubled.
As M. d'Arblay is at present circumstanced, an alliance with
anything but a fortune sufficient for the support of himself and
partner would be very imprudent. He is a mere soldier of fortune,
under great disadvantages. Your income, if it was as certain as a
freehold estate, is insufficient for the purpose ; and if the
queen should be displeased and withdraw her allowance, what could
you do?
I own that, if M. d'Arblay had an establishment in France
sufficient for him to marry a wife with little or no fortune,
much as I am inclined to honour and esteem him, I should wish to
prevent you from fixing your residence there; not merely from
selfishness, but for your own sake, I know your love for your
family, and know that it is reciprocal; I therefore cannot help
thinking that you would mutually be lost to each other. The
friends, too, which you have here, are of the highest and most
desirable class. To quit them, in order to make new friendships
in a strange land, in which the generality of its inhabitants at
present seem incapable of such virtues as friendship is built
upon, seems wild and visionary.
If M. d'Arblay had a sufficient establishment here for the
purposes of credit and comfort, and determined to settle here for
life, I should certainly think ourselves honoured by his alliance
; but his situation is at present so very remote from all that
can satisfy prudence, or reconcile to an affectionate father the
idea of a serious attachment, that I tremble for your heart and
future happiness. M. d'Arblay must have lived too long in the
great world to accommodate himself
Page 67
contentedly to the little. his fate seems so intimately connected
with that of his miserable country, and that country seems at a
greater distance from peace, order, and tranquillity now than it
has done at any time since the Revolution.
These considerations, and the uncertainty Of what party will
finally prevail, make me tremble for you both. You see, by what I
have said, that my objections are not personal, but wholly
prudential. For heaven's sake, my dear Fanny, do not part with
your heart too rapidly, or involve yourself in deep engagements
which it will be difficult to dissolve; and to the last degree
imprudent, as things are at present circumstanced, to fulfil.
As far as character, merit, and misfortune demand esteem and
regard, you may be sure that M. d'Arblay will be always received
by me with the utmost attention and respect - but, in the present
situation of things, I can by no means think I ought to encourage
(blind and ignorant as I am of all but his misfortunes) a serious
and solemn union with one whose unhappiness would be a reproach
to the facility and inconsiderateness of a most affectionate
father.
THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE.
Memorandum, this 7th May, 1825.
In answer to these apparently most just, and, undoubtedly, most
parental and tender apprehensions, Susanna, the darling child of
Dr. Burney, as well as first chosen friend of M, d'Arblay, wrote
a statement of the plans, and means, and purposes of M. d'A. and
F. B.--so clearly demonstrating their power of happiness, with
willing economy, congenial tastes, and mutual love of the
country, that Dr. B. gave way, and sent, though reluctantly, a
consent - by which the union took place the 31st Of July, 1793,
in Mickleham church, In presence of Mr. and Mrs. Locke, Captain
and Mrs. Phillips, M. de Narbonne, and Captain Burney, who was
father to his sister, as Mr. Locke was to M. d'A. ; and on the
1st of August the ceremony was re-performed in the Sardinian
chapel, according to the rites of the Romish Church; and never,
never was union more blessed and felicitous; though after the
first eight years of unmingled happiness, it was assailed by many
calamities, chiefly of separation or illness, yet still mentally
unbroken. F. D'ARBLAY.
Page 68
ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE MARRIAGE TO A FRIEND.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.----.)
August 2, 1793.
How in the world shall I begin this letter to my dearest M--! how
save her from a surprise almost too strong for her weak nerves
and tender heart!
After such an opening, perhaps any communication may be a relief
but it is surprise only I would guard against; my present
communication has nothing else to fear; it has nothing in it sad,
melancholy, unhappy, but it has everything that is marvellous and
unexpected.
Do you recollect at all, when you were last in town, my warm
interest for the loyal part of the French exiles?-=do you
remember my ‚loge of a French officer, in particular, a certain
M. d'Arblay?
Ah, my dear M--, you are quick as lightning; your sensitive
apprehension will tell my tale for me now, without more aid than
some details of circumstance.
The ‚loge I then made, was with design to prepare you for an
event I had reason to expect: such, however, was the uncertainty
of my situation, from prudential obstacles, that I dared venture
at no confidence, though my heart prompted it strongly, to a
friend so sweetly sympathising in all my feelings and all my
affairs--so constantly affectionate- so tenderly alive to all
that interests and concerns me.
My dearest M-, you will give me, I am sure, your heart-felt
wishes--your most fervent prayers. The choice I have made appears
to me all you could yourself wish to fall to my lot--all you
could yourself have formed to have accorded best with your kind
partiality.
I had some hope you would have seen him that evening when we went
together from Mrs. M. Montagu to Mrs. Locke's, for he was then a
guest in Portland Place; but some miserable circumstances, of
which I knew nothing till after had just fallen out, and he had
shut himself up in his room. He did not know we were there.
Many, indeed, have been the miserable circumstances that have,
from time to time, alarmed and afflicted in turn, and seemed to
render a renunciation indispensable. The difficulties, however,
have been conquered; and last Sunday
Page 69
Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister and Captain Phillips, and my
brother Captain Burney, accompanied us to the altar, in Mickleham
church ; since which the ceremony has been repeated in the chapel
of the Sardinian ambassador, that if, by a counter-revolution in
France, M. d'Arblay recovers any f his rights, his wife may not
be excluded from their participation.
You may be amazed not to see the name of my dear father upon this
solemn occasion - but his apprehensions from the smallness of our
income have made him cold and averse and though he granted his
consent, I could not even solicit his presence. I feel
satisfied, however, that time will convince him I have not been
so imprudent as he now thinks me. Happiness is the great end of
all our worldly views and proceedings, and no one can judge for
another in what will produce it, To me, wealth and ambition would
always be unavailing ; I have lived in their most centrical
possessions, and I have always seen that the happiness of the
richest and the greatest has been the moment of retiring from
riches and from power. Domestic comfort and social affection
have invariably been the sole as well as ultimate objects of my
choice, and I have always been a stranger to any other species of
felicity.
M. d'Arblay has a taste for literature, and a passion for reading
and writing, as marked as my own ; this is a sympathy to rob
retirement of all superfluous leisure, and insure to us both
occupation constantly edifying or entertaining. He has seen so
much of life, and has suffered so severely from its
disappointments, that retreat, with a chosen companion, is become
his final desire.
Mr. Locke has given M. d'Arblay a piece of ground in his
beautiful park-, upon which we shall build a little neat and
plain habitation. We shall continue, meanwhile, in his
neighbourhood, to superintend the little edifice, and enjoy the
Society of his exquisite house, and that of my beloved sister
Phillips. We are now within two miles of both, at a farm-house,
where we have what apartments we require, and no more, in a most
beautiful and healthy situation, a mile and a half from any town.
The nearest is Bookham; but I beg that MY letters may be directed
to me at Captain Phillips's, Mickleham, as the post does not come
this way, and I may else miss them for a week. AS I do not
correspond with Mrs Montagu, and it would
Page 70
be awkward to begin upon such a theme, I beg that when you write
you will say something for me.
One of my first pleasures, in our little intended home, will be,
finding a place of honour for the legacy of Mrs. Delany. Whatever
may be the general wonder, and perhaps blame, of general people,
at this connexion, equally indiscreet in pecuniary points for us
both, I feel sure that the truly liberal and truly intellectual
judgment of that most venerated character would have accorded its
sanction, when acquainted with the worthiness of the object who
would wish it.
Adieu, my sweet friend. Give my best compliments to Mr. ---, and
give me your kind wishes, your kind prayers, my ever dear M--.
(1) So called from the convent where their meetings were held.
(2) Carlyle.
(3) Carlyle.
(4 "To the lamp;" the street lamp-irons being found, by the -
French sansculottes, a handy substitute for the gallows.-ED.
(5) The old Marshal Duke de Broglie was one of the early
emigrants. He quitted France in July 1789, after the fall of the
Bastille.-ED.
(6) "Minister of War."
(7) Bradfield Hall, near Bury St. Edmund's, Suffolk, the house of
Arthur Young, See infra.-ED.
(8) " Arthur Young, the well-known writer of works on
agriculture, still in high repute. He was a very old friend of
the Burneys ; connected with them also, by marriage, Mrs. Young
being a sister of Dr. Burney's second wife. His " Travels in
France " (from 1769 to 1790), published in 1794, gives a most
valuable and interesting account of the state of that country
just before the Revolution. Arthur Young was appointed Secretary
to the Board of Agriculture, established by Act of Parliament in
1793. He died in 1820, in his seventy-ninth year, having been
blind for some years previous to his death.-ED.
(9) Fanny's half-sister, Sarah Harriet Burney, -ED.
(10) " Minister of war."
(11) One memorable saying is recorded of the Duke de Liancourt.
He brought the news to the king of the capture of the Bastille by
the people of Paris, July 14, 1789. "Late at night, the Duke de
Liancourt, having official right of entrance, gains access to the
royal apartments unfolds, with earnest clearness, in his
constitutional way, the Job's- news. 'Mais,' said poor Louis,
'c'est une r‚volte, Why, that is a revolt!'—'Sire,' answered
Liancourt, 'it is not a revolt,--it is a
revolution.'"-(Carlyle.)-ED.
(12) "Peers of France."
(13) Coblenz was the rallying-place of the emigrant noblesse.-ED.
(14) On the 20th of June 1792, sansculotte Paris, assembling in
its thousands, broke into the Tuileries, and called upon the king
to remove his veto upon the decree against the priests, and to
recall the ministry--Roland's--which he had just dismissed. For
three hours the king stood face to face with the angry crowd,
refusing to comply. In the evening, the Mayor of Paris, P‚tion,
arrived, with other popular leaders from the Assembly, and
persuaded the people to disperse.-ED.
(15) "Save Yourself, M. de Liancourt!"
(16) "Ah! we are lost!"
(17) "prison."
(18) " I am in England.
(19) The Duke de la Rochefoucault, "journeying, by quick stages,
with his mother and wife, towards the Waters of
Forges, or some quieter country, was arrested at Gisors;
conducted along the streets, amid effervescing multitudes, and
killed dead ' by the stroke of a paving-stone hurled
through the coach-window.' Killed as a once Liberal, now
Aristocrat; Protector of Priests, Suspender of virtuous P‚tions,
and most unfortunate Hot-grown-cold, detestable to Patriotism.
He dies lamented of Europe; his blood
spattering the cheeks of his old mother, ninety-three years old."
-(Carlyle, Erench Aevolulion, Part III., Book I., ch. vi.)- ED.
(20) School-boys.
(21) See note 361 ante, vol. ii.
p. 449.-ED.
(22) The name under which Madame de Genlis was now passing.
(23) " She has seen me!"
(24) "Perhaps I am indiscreet?"
(25) "But, mademoiselle--after all--the king--is he quite cured?
"
(26) "What, mademoiselle! you knew that infamous woman?"
(27) These "journalizing letters " of Mrs. Phillips
continue without interruption from the present page to page
37.-ED.
(28) Not yet duke, but viscount. He was created duke by Louis
XVIII., in 1822.-ED.
(29) It should be March. "The portfolio of war was
withdrawn from him, by a very laconic letter from the king, March
10, 1792; he had held it three months and three
days." (Nouvelle Biographie G‚n‚rale: art. Narbonne.)-ED.
(30) Severe decrees against the emigrants were passed in the
Convention shortly afterwards. See infra, P. 33.-ED.
(31) "And as he is extremely attached to him, he has begged him
to come and live with him."
(32) In a position to realise her fortune."
(33) "To pay his respects to me."
(34) "I do not speak English very well."
(35) "*What a pretty little house you have, and what pretty
little hosts. "
(36) "Does he know the name of M. Lafayette ?"
(37) "They put us at first into a pretty enough room."
(38) A constitutionalist and member of the Legislative Assembly,
who narrowly escaped with his life on the 10th of August. He
lived thenceforward in retirement until after the fall of
Robespierre and the jacobins, and came again to the fore under
Napoleon.-ED.
(39) "His resignation."
(40) "Without form of law."
(41) The night of June 20-21, 1791, King Louis fled disguised
from Paris, with his family; got safely as far as Varennes, but
was there discovered, and obliged to return.-ED.
(42) "Resolution was taken."
(43) "After many threatening gestures."
(44) The asylum of Jean jacques (Rousseau).
(45) St. just was one of the most notable members of the National
Convention. "Young Saint-just is coming, deputed by Aisne in the
North; more like a Student than a Senator; not four-and-twenty
yet (Sept. 1792); who has written Books; a youth of slight
stature, with mild mellow voice, enthusiast olive-complexion and
long black hair." (Carlyle.)
He held with Robespierre, and was guillotined with him, July 28,
1794.-ED.
(46) ' "And now he is a proud republican."
(47) "What day better than the present?"
(48) "Listen to reason."
(49) M. de Necker was father of Madame de Stael, and at one time
the most popular minister of France. Controller-general of
finances from 1776 to 1781, and again in 1788. In July 1789, he
was dismissed, to the anger of indignant Paris; had to he
recalled before many days, and returned in triumph, to be, it was
hoped, "Saviour of France." But his popularity gradually
declined, and at last "'Adored Minister' Necker sees good on the
3rd of September, 1790, to withdraw softly, almost privily--with
an eye to the 'recovery of his health.' Home to native
Switzerland; not as he last came; lucky to reach it alive!"
(Carlyle)-ED.
(50) Malouet was a member of the Assembly, and one of the
constitutional royalists who took refuge in England in September,
1792. Hearing of the intended trial of the king, 'Malouet wrote
to the Convention, requesting a passport, that he might go to
Paris to defend him. He got no passport, however ; only his name
put on the list of emigrants for an answer. ED.
(51) "Were mixed up in it."
(52) The Bishop of Autun:--Talleyrand.-ED.
(53) "Worthy to be the husband of so amiable and charming a
person as Madame de la Chƒtre."
(54) "M. de la Chƒtre is a capital fellow; but as rough as a
cart-horse."
(55) The spleen.
(56) Inn.
(57) "His unfortunate friends."
(58) "But wait a bit ; I have not yet finished : we were assured
that no one was lost, and even that everything on the vessel was
saved."
(59) "Out at sea."
(60) "His friends the constitutionalists."
(61) Fortnight.
(62) The execution of Louis XVI.
(63) The Literary Club.
(64) Guarded: circumspect.
(65) Dr. Percy, editor of the "Reliques of Ancient English
Poetry."-ED.
(66) "Move the people to compassion."
(67) As literary curiosities, the subjoined notes from Madame de
Stael , have been printed verbatim et literatim: they are
probably her earliest attempts at English writing.
(68) "But, to make more sure, I tell you in French that your
room, the house, the inmates of Juniper, everything is ready to
receive the first woman in England."
(69) Malesherbes was one of the counsel who defended Louis at
his trial. The Convention, after debate, has granted him Legal
Counsel, of his own choosing. Advocate Target feels himself 'too
old,' being turned of fifty-four - and declines. . . . Advocate
Tronchet, some ten years older, does not decline. Nay behold,
good old Malesherbes steps forward voluntarily; to the last of
his fields , the good old hero! He is gray with seventy years; he
says, 'I was twice called to the Council of him who was my
Master, When all the world coveted that honour; and I owe him the
same service now, when it has become one which many reckon
dangerous!"--(Carlyle). Malesherbes was guillotined in 1794,
during "the Reign of Terror."-ED.
(70) Mr. Clarke.
(71) Voltaire's.--ED.
(72) Narbonne.-ED.
(73) "Something to live on in England."
(74) September 2, it should be.-ED.
(75) i.e., D‚cr‚t‚ d'accusation, accused.-ED.
(76) Lally Tolendal was the son of the brave Lally, Governor of
Pondicherry, whose great services in India were rewarded by the
French government with four years' imprisonment, repeated
torture, and finally ignominious death, in 1760. The infliction
of torture on criminals was not put a stop to in France until the
Revolution.-ED.
(77) "A very good fellow, and nothing more."
(78) "But he will be hurt at that."
(79) The owner of Juniper Hall.-ED.
(80) "Coquetry to soften that barbarous jenkinson."
(81) "Indignant at the bad faith, and tired with the tediousness
of his opponent."
(82) "Pray, Mr. Gnawbone, how is the queen?"
(83) Punctiliousness: propriety.
(84) Pet: Vexation.
(85) "Is a woman in leading strings all her life in this country?
It seems to me that your sister is like a child of fourteen."
(86) "And tell Miss Burney that I don't desire it of her-that I
leave the Country loving her sincerely, and bearing her no
grudge."
(87) "There was no way out of it."
(88) "You are very good to say SO."
(89) M. d'Arblay. "When Lieutenant [James] Burney accompanied
captain Cook to otaheite, each of the English sailors was adopted
as a brother by some one of the natives. The ceremony consisted
in rubbing noses together, and exchanging the appellation Tyo or
Toio, which signified 'chosen friend.' This title was sometimes
playfully given to Miss Burney by Mrs. Thrale." note to the
original edition of the "Diary", vol. ii. page 38.-ED.
(90) "Country place where Miss Burney was."
(91) "On my part."
(92) "Could not one make that little journey?"
(93) "Wide awake, as if she suspected something."
(94) The amount of Fanny's pension from the queen.-ED.
SECTION 20.
(1793-6)
LOVE IN A COTTAGE: THE D'ARBLAYS VISIT WINDSOR.
[Never, probably, did Fanny enjoy greater happiness than during
the first few years of her married life, "Love in a cottage" on
an income Of One hundred pounds a year, was exactly suited to her
retiring and affectionate nature. The cottage, too, was within
easy walking distance of Mickleham, where resided her favourite
sister, Susanna, and of Norbury Park, the home of her dearest
friends, the Lockes. Here, then, in this beautiful part of
Surrey, with a devoted husband by her side, and, in due time, a
little son (her only child) to share with him her tenderness and
care ' did Fanny lead, for some.time, a tranquil and, in
the main, a happy life. Her chief excursions were occasional
visits to the queen and princesses-delightful visits now that she
was out of harness. Towards the end, however, of the period of
which the following 'Section contains the history, two melancholy
events, happening in quick succession, brought sorrow to the
little household at Book'ham. The departure for Ireland of Susan
Phillips left a grievous gap in the circle of Fanny's best-loved
friends. We gather from the "Diary" that Captain (now Major)
Phillips had gone to Ireland, with his little son, Norbury, to
superintend the management of his estate at Belcotton, some
months before his wife left Mickleham. In the autumn of 1796 he
returned to fetch his wife and the rest of his family. An absence
of three years was intended, The parting was rendered doubly
distressing by the evidently declining state of Susan's health.
Shortly afterwards, in October 1796, died Fanny's step-mother,
who had been, for many years, more Or less an invalid. Fanny
hastened to Chelsea on receiving the news, and spent some time
there with her father and his Youngest daughter. The
following extract from a memorandum of Dr. Burney's will be read,
we think, not without Interest.
"On the 26th of October, she [his second wife) was interred in
the burying-ground of Chelsea College. On the 27th, I returned to
my melancholy home, disconsolate and stupified, Though long
Page 72
expected, this calamity was very severely felt; I missed her
counsel, converse, and family regulations; and a companion of
thirty years, whose mind was cultivated, whose intellects were
above the general level of her sex, and whose curiosity after
knowledge was insatiable to the last. These were losses that
caused a vacuum in my habitation and in my mind, that has never
been filled up.
"My four eldest daughters, all dutiful, intelligent, and
affectionate, were married, and had families of their own to
superintend, or they might have administered comfort. My youngest
daughter ' Sarah Harriet, by my second marriage, had quick
intellects, and distinguished talents ; but she had no experience
in household affairs. However, though she had native spirits of
the highest gaiety, she became a steady and prudent character,
and a kind and good girl. There is, I think, considerable merit
in her novel, 'Geraldine,' particularly in the conversations; and
I think the scene at the emigrant cottage really touching. At
least it drew tears from me, when I was not so prone to shed them
as I am at present."(95)
During these years Fanny did not suffer her pen to lie idle. Her
tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," was produced, though without success,
at Drury Lane. On the other hand, the success of her third novel,
"Camilla, or a Picture of Youth, " published by subscription in
1796, was, at least from a financial point of view, conspicuous
and immediate. Out of an edition of four thousand, three thousand
five hundred copies were sold within three months.
Were we to attempt to rank Madame d'Arblay's novels in order of
merit, we should perhaps feel compelled to place "Camilla" at the
bottom of the list, yet without intending to imply any
considerable inferiority. But it is full of charm and animation
the characters--the female characters especially-are drawn with a
sure hand, the humour is as diverting, the satire as spirited as
ever. Fanny"s fops and men of the ton are always excellent in
their kind, and "Camilla" contains, perhaps, her greatest triumph
in this direction, in the character of Sir Sedley Clarendal.
Lovel. in "Evelina," and Meadows, in "Cecilia," are mere
blockheads, whose distinction is wholly due to the ludicrousness
of their affectations; but in Sir Sedley she has attempted, and
succeeded in the much more difficult task of portraying a man of
naturally good parts and feelings, who, through idleness and
vanity, has allowed himself to sink into the position of a mere
leader of the ton, whose better nature rises at times, in spite
of himself, above the flood of affectation and folly beneath
which he endeavours to drown it. Camilla herself, the
light-hearted, unsuspicious Camilla, however she may differ, in
some points of character, from Fanny's other heroines, possesses
one quality which is common to them all, the power of fascinating
the reader. Perhaps the least satisfactory character in the book
is that of the hero, Edgar Mandlebert, whose extreme caution in
the choice of a wife betrays him into ungenerous suspicions, as
irritating to the impatient reader as they are dis-
Page 73
tressing to pool- Camilla. In fine, whatever faults, as
occasionally of style, the book may have the interest never for
One moment flags from the first page to the last of the entire
five volumes.
The subscriPtion-price of " Camilla " was fixed at one guinea.
Fanny's friends, Mrs. Crewe, Mrs. Boscawen, and Mrs. Locke,
exerted themselves with the utmost zeal and success in procuring
subscribers, and the printed lists prefixed to the first volume
contains nearly eleven hundred names. Among wthem we notice the
name of Edmund Burke, whose great career was closing in a cloud
of domestic trouble'. Early in 1794 he lost his brother, Richard,
and in August of the same year a far heavier blow fell upon him
in the death, at the age of thirty-six, of his only and promising
son, "the pride and ornament of my existence," as he called him
in a touching letter to Mrs. Crewe. The desolate father, already
worn with the thankless toils of statesmanship, in which his very
errors had been the outcome of a noble and enthusiastic
temperament, never recovered from this blow. But when Mrs. Crewe
sent him, in 1795, the proposals for publishing "Camilla," Burke
roused himself to do a new kindness to an old friend. He
forwarded to Mrs. Crewe a note for twenty pounds, desiring in
return one copy of the book, and justified his generous donation
in a letter of the most delicate Courtesy. "As to Miss Burney,"
he wrote, "the subscription ought to be, for certain persons,
five guineas; and to take but a single copy each. The rest as
it is. I am sure that it is a disgrace to the age and nation, if
this be not a great thing for her. if every person in England
who has received pleasure'and instruction from 'Cecilia,' were to
rate its value at the hundredth part of their satisfaction,
Madame d'Arblay would be one of the richest women in the kingdom.
"Her scheme was known before she lost two of her most respectful
admirers from this house; and this, with Mrs. BUrke's'
subscription and mine, make the paper I send you. One book is as
good as a thousand: one of hers is certainly as good as a
thousand others."
The book, on its Publication 'was sent to Bath, where Burke
was lying ill-too ill to read it. To Mrs. Crewe, who visited him
at the time, he said : "How ill I am you will easily believe,
when a new work of Madame d'Arblay's lies on my table,
unread!"(96)
Meanwhile the retirement of the "hermits" at Bookham was now and
again disturbed by echoes of the tumult without. The war was
progressing, and the Republic was holding its own against the
combined powers of Europe. Dr. Burney refers to the "sad news"
from Dunkirk. In August, 1793, an English army, commanded by the
Duke of York, had invested that important stronghold: on the
night of September 8, thanks to the exertions of the garrison and
the advance of General Houchard to its relief, the siege was
urriedly abandoned and his royal highness had to beat a retreat,
leaving behind him' his siege-artillery and a large quantity of
aggage and ammunition. Another siege--that of
Page 74
Toulon-seemed likely to prove a matter of nearer concern to
Fanny. The inhabitants of Toulon, having royalist, or at least
anti-jacobin, sympathies, and stirred by the fate of Marseilles,
had determined, in an unhappy hour, to defy the Convention and to
proclaim the dauphin by the title of Louis XVII. They invoked the
protection of the English fleet under Admiral Hood, who
accordingly took possession of the harbour and of the French
ships of war stationed therein, while a force of English and
Spanish soldiers was sent on shore to garrison the forts. In the
course of these proceedings the admiral issued to the townspeople
two proclamations, by the second of which, dated August 28, 1793,
after noticing the declaration of the inhabitants in favour of
monarchy, and Their desire to re-establish the constitution as it
was accepted by the late king, he explicitly declared that he
took possession of Toulon and should keep it solely as a deposit
for Louis XXIII., and that only until the restoration of peace.
This hopeful intelligence did not escape General d'Arblay, busied
among his cabbages at Bookham. A blow to be struck for Louis
XVII. and the constitution! The general straightway flung aside
the "Gardener's Dictionary," and wrote an offer to Mr. Pitt of
his services as volunteer at Toulon, in the sacred cause of the
Bourbons. Happily for Fanny, his offer was not accepted, for some
reason unexplained.(97) In the meantime, General Dugommier and
the republicans, a young artillery-officer named Napoleon
Buonaparte among them, were using their best endeavours to reduce
Toulon, with what result we shall presently see.-ED.]
THE FRENCH CLERGY FUND. THE TOULON ExPEDITION.
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
September 12, 1793.
Dear Fanny--In this season of leisure I am as fully occupied as
ever your friend Mr. DelVile(98) was. So many people to
attend, so many complaints to hear, and so many grievances to
redress, that it has been impossible for me to write to
you sooner. I have been out of town but one Single day, I
believe, since you were here: that was spent at Richmond with my
sisters. But every day
Page 75
produces business for other people, which occupies me as much as
ever I found myself in days of hurry about my own affairs.
I have had a negotiation and correspondence to carry on
for and with Charlotte Smith,(99) of which I believe I told you
the beginning, and I do not see the end myself. Her second
son had his foot shot off before Dunkirk, and has undergone a
very dangerous amputation, which, it is much feared, will be
fatal.
Mrs. Crewe, having seen at Eastbourne a great number of venerable
and amiable French clergy suffering all the evils of banishment
and beggary with silent resignation, has for some time had in
meditation a plan for procuring some addition to the small
allowance the committee at Freemasons' hall is able to allow,
from the residue of the subscriptions and briefs in their favour.
Susan will show you the plan. . . .
You say that M. d'Arblay is not only his own architect, but
intends being his own gardener. I suppose the ground allotted to
the garden of your maisonnette is marked out, and probably will
be enclosed and broken up before the foundation of your mansion
is laid ; therefore, to encourage M. d'Arblay in the study of
horticulture, I have the honour to send him Miller's 'Gardeners'
Dictionary,'--an excellent book, at least for the rudiments of
the art. I send you, my dear Fanny, an edition of Milton, which
I can well spare, and which you ought not to live without ; and I
send you both our dear friend Dr. Johnson's 'Rasselas.'
This is sad news from Dunkirk, at which our own jacobins will
insolently triumph. Everything in France seems to move in a
regular progression from bad to worse. After near five years'
struggle and anarchy, no man alive, with a grain of modesty,
would venture to predict how or when the evils of that country
will be terminated. In the meantime the peace and comfort of
every civilised part of the globe is threatened with similar
calamities.
(Madame dArblay to Dr. Burney)
Bookham, September 29, 1793.
When I received the last letter of my dearest father, and for
some hours after, I was the happiest of all human beings. I make
no exception, for I think none possible : not a wish remained to
me; not a thought of forming one.
Page 76
This was just the period--is it not always so?--for a blow of
sorrow to reverse the whole scene : accordingly, that evening M.
d'Arblay communicated to me his desire of going to Toulon. He had
intended retiring from public life; his services and his
sufferings in his severe and long career, repaid by exile and
confiscation, and for ever embittered to his memory by the murder
of his sovereign, had justly satisfied the claims of his
conscience and honour; and led him, without a single
self-reproach, to seek a quiet retreat in domestic society : but
the second declaration of Lord Hood no sooner reached this little
obscure dwelling,-no sooner had he read the words Louis XVII. and
the constitution to which he had sworn united, than his military
ardour rekindled, his loyalty was all up in arms, and every sense
of duty carried him back to wars and dangers.
I dare not speak of myself, except to say that I have forborne to
oppose him with a single solicitation; all the felicity of this
our chosen and loved retirement would effectually be annulled by
the smallest suspicion that it was enjoyed at the expense of any
duty - and therefore, since he is persuaded it is right to go, I
acquiesce. He is now writing an offer of his services, which I am
to convey to Windsor, and which he means to convey himself to Mr.
Pitt. As I am sure it will interest my dear father, I will copy
it for him. . . .
My dearest father, before this tremendous project broke into our
domestic economy, M, d'Arblay had been employed in a little
composition, which, being all in his power, he destined to lay at
your feet, as a mark of his pleasure in your attention to his
horticultural pursuit. He has just finished copying it for you,
and to-morrow it goes by the stage.
Your hint of a book from time to time enchanted him: it seems to
me the only present he accepts entirely without pain. He has just
requested me to return to Mrs. Locke herself a cadeau she had
brought us. If it had been an old Courtcalendar, or an almanac,
or anything in the shape of a brochure, he would have received it
with his best bow and smile.
This Toulon business finally determines our deferring the
maisonnette till the spring. Heaven grant it may be deferred no
longer!(100) Mr Locke says it will be nearly as soon ready as if
begun in the autumn, for it will be better to have it
Page 77
aired and inhabited before the winter seizes it,
If the memoire which M. d'Arblay is now writing is finished in
time, it shall accompany the little packet; if not, we will send
it by the first opportunity.
Meanwhile, M. d'Arblay makes a point of our indulging ourselves
with the gratification of subscribing one guinea to your
fund,(101) and Mrs. Locke begs you will trust her and insert her
subscription in your list, and Miss Locke and Miss Amelia Locke.
Mr. Locke is charmed with your plan. M. d'Arblay means to obtain
you Lady Burrel and Mrs. Berm. If you think I can write to any
purpose, tell me a little hint how and of what, dearest sir; for
I am in the dark as to what may remain yet unsaid. Otherwise,
heavy as is my heart just now, I could work for them and Your
plan.(102)
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
October 4, 1793.
Dear Fanny,--This is a terrible coup, so soon after your union;
but I honour M, d'Arblay for offering his service on so great an
occasion, and you for giving way to what seems an indispensable
duty. Common-place reflections on the vicissitudes of human
affairs would afford you little consolation. The stroke is new to
your situation, and so will be the fortitude necessary on the
occasion. However, to military men, who, like M. d'Arblay, have
been but just united to the object of their choice, and begun to
domesticate, it is no uncommon tbing for their tranquillity to be
disturbed by " the trumpet's loud clangor." Whether the offer is
accepted or not, the having made it will endear him to those
embarked in the same cause among his countrymen, and elevate him
in the general opinion of the English public. This consideration
I am sure will afford you a satisfaction the most likely to
enable you to support the anxiety and pain of absence.
I have no doubt of the offer being taken well at Windsor, and of
its conciliating effects. If his majesty and the ministry
Page 78
have any settled plan for accepting or rejecting similar offers I
know not; but it seems very likely that Toulon will be regarded
as the rallying point for French royalists of all sects and
denominations. . . .
I shall be very anxious to know how the proposition of M.
d'Arblay has been received; and, if accepted, on what conditions,
and when and how the voyage is to be performed , I should hope in
a stout man of war ; and that M. de Narbonne will be of the
party, being so united in friendship and political principles.
Has M. d'Arblay ever been at Toulon ? It is supposed to be so
well fortified, both by art and nature, on the land side, that;
if not impregnable, the taking it by the regicides will require
so much time that it is hoped an army of counterrevolutionists
will be assembled from the side of Savoy, sufficient to raise the
siege, if unity of measures and action prevail between the
Toulonnais and their external friends. But even if the assailants
should make such approaches as to render it necessary to retreat,
with such a powerful fleet as that of England and Spain united,
it will not only be easy to carry off the garrison and
inhabitants in time, but to destroy such ships as cannot be
brought away, and ruin the harbour and arsenal for many years to
come.'
I have written to Mrs. Crewe all you have said on the subject of
writing something to stimulate benevolence and commiseration in
favour of the poor French ecclesiastics, amounting to six
thousand now in England, besides four hundred laity here and
eight hundred at Jersey, in utter want. The fund for the laity
was totally exhausted the 27th of last month, and the beginning
of the next that raised by former subscriptions and briefs will
be wholly expended!
The expense, in only allowing the clergy 8 shillings a-week,
amounts
Page 79
to about 7500 pounds a-month, which cannot be supported long by
private subscriptions, and must at last be taken up by
Parliament; but to save the national disgrace of suffering these
excellent people to die of hunger, before the Parliament meets
and agrees to do something for them, the ladies must work hard.
You and M. d'Arblay are very good in wishing to contribute your
mite ; but I did not intend leading you into this scrape. If you
subscribe your pen, and he his sword, it will best answer Mr.
Burke's idea, who says, "There are two ways by which people may
be charitable-the one by their money, the other by their
exertions."
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Sunday noon, October 21, 1793.
My dearest father will think I have been very long in doing
the little I have done; but my mind is so anxiously discom-fited
by the continued suspense with regard to M. d'Arblay's
proposition and wish, that it has not been easy to me to weigh
completely all I could say, and the fear of repeating what had
already been offered upon the subject has much restrained me, for
I have seen none of the tracts that may have appeared. However,
it is a matter truly near my heart ; and though I have not done
it rapidly, I have done it with my whole mind, and, to own the
truth, with a species of emotion that has greatly affected me,
for I could not deeply consider the situation of these venerable
men without feeling for them to the quick. If what I have written
should have power to procure them one more guinea, I shall be
paid.
If you think what I have drawn up worth printing, I should
suppose it might make a little sixpenny paper, and be sold for
the same purpose it is written. Or will it only do to be printed
at the expense of the acting ladies, and given gratis? You must
judge of this.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, October 27, 1793.
My most dear father,--The terrible confirmation of this last act
of savage hardness of heart(104) has wholly overset us again. M.
d'Arblay had entirely discredited its probability,
Page 80
and, to the last moment, disbelieved the report not from milder
thoughts of the barbarous rulers of his unhappy country, but from
seeing that the death of the queen could answer no purpose,
helpless as she was to injure them, while her life might answer
some as a hostage with the emperor. Cruelty, however, such as
theirs, seems to require no incitement whatever; its own horrible
exercise appears sufficient both to prompt and to repay it. Good
heaven! that that wretched princess should so finish sufferings
so unexampled!
With difficulties almost incredible, Madame de Stael has
contrived, a second time, to save the lives of M. de Jaucourt and
M, de Montmorenci, who are just arrived in Switzerland. We know
as yet none of the particulars; simply that they are saved is
all: but they write in a style the most melancholy to M. de
Narbonne, of the dreadful fanaticism of licence, which they dare
call liberty, that still reigns unsubdued in France, And they
have preserved nothing but their persons ! of their vast
properties they could secure no more than pocket-money, for
travelling in the most penurious manner. They are therefore in a
state the most deplorable. Switzerland is filled with gentlemen
and ladies of the very first families and rank, who are all
starving, but those who have had the good fortune to procure, by
disguising their quality, some menial office!
No answer comes from Mr. Pitt ; and we now expect none till Sir
Gilbert Elliot makes his report of the state of Toulon and of the
Toulonnese till which, probably, no decision will be formed
whether the constitutionals in England will be employed or not.
[M. d'Arblay's offer of serving in the expedition to Toulon was
not accepted, and the reasons for which it was declined do not
appear.]
MADAME D'ARBLAY ON HER MARRIAGE.
(Madame d'Arblay to mrs.----.)
The account of your surprise, my sweet friend, was the last thing
to create mine: I was well aware of the general astonishment, and
of yours in particular. My own, however, at my very extraordinary
fate, is singly greater than that of all my friends united. I had
never made any vow against marriage, but I had long, long been
firmly persuaded it was for me a state of too much hazard and too
little promise to draw me from my
Page 81
individual plans and purposes. I remember, in playing -at
questions and commands, when I was thirteen, being asked when I
intended to marry? and surprising my playmates by solemnly
replying) "When I think I shall be happier than I am in being
single." It is true, I imagined that time would never arrive -
and I have pertinaciously adhered to trying no experiment upon
any other hope - for, many and mixed as are the ingredients which
form what is generally considered as happiness, I was always
fully convinced [hat social sympathy of character and taste could
alone have any chance with me; all else I always thought, and now
know, to be immaterial. I have only this peculiar,--that what
many contentedly assert or adopt in theory, I have had the
courage to be guided by in practice.
We are now removed to a very small house in the suburbs of a very
small village called Bookham. We found it rather inconvenient to
reside in another person's dwelling, though our own apartments
were to ourselves. Our views are not so beautiful as from
Phenice farm, but our situation is totally free from neighbours
and intrusion. We are about a mile and a half from Norbury Park,
and two miles from Mickleham. I am become already so stout a
walker, by use, and with the help of a very able supporter, that
I go to those places and return home on foot without fatigue,
when the weather is kind. At other times I condescend to accept
a carriage from Mr. Locke ; but it is always reluctantly, I so
much prefer walking where, as here, the country and prospects are
inviting.
I thank you for your caution about building: we shall certainly
undertake nothing but by contract - however, it would be truly
mortifying to give up a house in Norbury Park we defer the
structure till the spring, as it is to be so very slight, that
Mr. Locke says it will be best to have it hardened in its first
stage by the summer's sun. It will be very small,
merely an habitation for three people, but in a situation truly
beautiful, and within five minutes of either Mr. Locke or my
sister Phillips: it is to be placed just between those two loved
houses.
My dearest father, whose fears and drawbacks have been my Sole
subject of regret, begins now to see I have not judged rashly, or
with romance, in seeing my own road to my own felicity. And his
restored cheerful concurrence in my constant principles, though
new station, leaves me, for myself,
Page 82
without a wish. L'ennui, which could alone infest our retreat, I
have ever been a stranger to, except in tiresome company, and my
companion has every possible resource against either feeling or
inspiring it.
As my partner is a Frenchman, I conclude the wonder raised by the
connexion may spread beyond my own private circle; but no wonder
upon earth can ever arrive near my own in having found such a
character from that nation. This is a prejudice certainly,
impertinent and very John Bullish, and very arrogant but I only
share it with all my countrymen, and therefore must needs forgive
both them and myself. I am convinced, however, from your tender
solicitude for me in all ways, that you will be glad to hear that
the queen and all the royal family have deigned to send me wishes
for my happiness through Mrs. Schwellenberg, who has written me
what you call a very kind congratulation.
[In the year 1794, the happiness of the "Hermitage" was increased
by the birth of a son,(105) who was christened Alexander Charles
Louis Piochard d'Arblay; receiving the names of his father, with
those of his two godfathers, the Comte de Narbonne and Dr.
Charles Burney.]
MR. CANNING.
(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney)
Bookham, February 8, 1794.
The times are indeed, as my dearest father says, tremendous, and
reconcile this retirement daily more and more to my chevalier-
-chevalier every way, by birth, by his order, and by his
character; for to-day he has been making his first use of a
restoration to his garden in gathering snowdrops for his fair
Dulcinea--you know I must say fair to finish the phrase with any
effect.
I am very sorry for the sorrow I am sure Mr. Burke will feel for
the loss of his brother, announced in Mr. Coolie's paper
yesterday. Besides, he was a comic, good-humoured, entertaining
man, though not bashful.(106)
Page 83
What an excellent opening Mr. Canning has made at last!
Entre nous soit dit, I remember, when at Windsor, that I Was told
Mr. Fox came to Eton purposely to engage to himself that young
man, from the already great promise of his rising abilities - and
he made dinners for him and his nephew, Lord Holland, to teach
them political lessons. It must have had an odd effect upon him,
I think, to hear such a speech from his disciple.(107)
Mr. Locke now sends us the papers for the debates every two or
three days ; he cannot quicker, as his own household readers are
so numerous. I see almost nothing of Mr. Windham in them ; which
vexes me: but I see Mr. Windham in Mr. Canning.
TALLEYRAND's LETTERS OF ADIEU.(108)
(M. de Talleyrand to Mrs. Philips.)
Londres, 1794.
Madame,--Il faut qu'il y ait eu de l'impossibilit‚ pour que ce
matin je n'aie pas eu l'honneur de vous voir; mais l'im-
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possibilit‚ la plus forte m'a priv‚ du dernier plaisir que je
pouvois avoir en Europe. Permettez moi, madame, de vous remercier
encore une fois do toutes vos bont‚s, de vous demander un peu de
part dans votre souvenir, et laissez moi vous dire que mes voeux
se porteront dans tous les terns de ma vie vers vous, vers le
capitaine, vers vos enfans. Vous allez avoir en Am‚rique un
serviteur bien zˆl‚; je ne reviendrai pas en Europe sans arriver
dans le Surrey: tout ce qui, pour mon esprit et pour mon coeur, a
quelque valeur, est l….
Voulez-vous bien pr‚senter tous mes complimens au capitaine?(109)
(M. de Talleyrand to M. and Madame d'Arblay.)
Londres, 2 Mars, 1794.
Adieu, mon cher D'Arblay: je quitte votre pays jusqu'au moment o–
il n'appartiendra plus aux petites passions des hommes. Alors j'y
reviendrai; non, en v‚rit‚, pour m'occuper d'affaires, car il y a
long tems que je les ai abandonn‚es pour jamais; mais pour voir
les excellens habitans du Surrey, J'espŠre savoir assez d'Anglais
pour entendre Madame d'Arblay; d'ici … quatre mois je ne vais
faire autre chose que l'‚tudier: et pour apprendre le beau et bon
langage, c'est "Evelina" et "Cecilia" qui sont mes livres d'‚tude
et de plaisir. Je vous souhaite, mon cher ami, toute espŠce de
bonheur, et vous ˆtes on position de remplir tous mes souhaits.
je ne sais combien de tems je resterai en Am‚rique: s'il se
r‚f‚roit quelque chose de raisonnable et de stable pour notre
malheureux pays, je reviendrois; si l'Europe s'abŒme dans la
campagne prochaine, je pr‚parerai en Am‚rique des asyles … tous
nos amis.
Page 85
Adieu: mes hommages … Madame d'Arblay et … Madame
phillips, je vous en prie: je vous demande et vous promets amiti‚
pour la vie.(110)
M. D'ARBLAY's HORTICULTURAL PURSUITS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
Bookham, March 22, 1794.
My dear father.--I am this Moment returned from reading your most
welcome and kind letter at our Susanna's. The account of your
better health gives me a pleasure beyond all words; and it is the
more essential to my perfect contentment on account of your
opinion of our retreat. I doubt not, my dearest father, but you
judge completely right, and I may nearly say we are both equally
disposed to pay the most implicit respect to your counsel. We
give up, therefore, all thoughts of our London excursion for the
present, and I shall write to that effect to our good intended
hostess very speedily. I can easily conceive far more than you
enlarge upon in this counsel: and, indeed, I have not myself been
wholly free from apprehension of possible embarras, should we, at
this period, visit London; for though M. d'Arblay not only could
stand, but would court, all personal scrutiny, whether
retrospective or actual, I see daily the extreme susceptibility
which attends his very nice notions of honour, and how quickly
and deeply his spirit is wounded by whatever he regards as
injustice. Incapable, too, of the least trimming or
Page 86
disguise, he could not, at a time such as this, be in London
without suffering or risking perhaps hourly, something
unpleasant. Here we are tranquil, undisturbed and undisturbing.
Can life, he often says, he more innocent than ours, or happiness
more inoffensive? He works in his garden, or studies English and
mathematics, while I write. When I work at my needle, he reads
to me; and we enjoy the beautiful country around us in long and
romantic strolls, during which he carries under his arm a
portable garden chair, lent us by Mrs. Locke, that I may rest as
I proceed. He is extremely fond, too, of writing, and makes, from
time to time, memorandums of such memoirs, poems, and anecdotes
as he recollects, and I wish to have preserved. These resources
for sedentary life are certainly the first blessings that can be
given to man, for they enable him to be happy in the extremest
obscurity, even after tasting the dangerous draughts of glory and
ambition.
The business of M. de Lafayette(111) has been indeed extremely
bitter to him. It required the utmost force he could put upon
himself not to take some public part in it. He drew up a short
but most energetic defence of that unfortunate general, in a
letter, which he meant to print and send to the editors of a
newspaper which had traduced him, with his name at full length.
But after two nights' sleepless deliberation, the hopelessness of
serving his friend, with a horror and disdain of being mistaken
as one who would lend any arms to weaken government at this
crisis, made him consent to repress it. I was dreadfully uneasy
during the conflict, knowing, far better than I can make him
conceive, the mischiefs that might follow any interference at
this moment, in matters brought before the nation, from a
foreigner. But, conscious of his own integrity, I plainly see he
must either wholly retire, or come forward to encounter whatever
he thinks wrong. Ah--better let him accept your motto, and
cultiver son jardin! He is now in it, notwithstanding our long
walk to Mickleham, and working hard and fast to finish some
selfset task that to-morrow, Sunday, must else impede.
page 87
M. d'Arblay, to my infinite satisfaction, gives up all thoughts
of building, in the present awful state of public affairs. To
show you, however, how much he is " of your advice " as to son
jardin, he has been drawing a plan for it, which I intend to beg,
borrow, or steal (all one), to give you some idea how seriously
he studies to make his manual labours of some real utility.
This sort of work, however, is so totally new to him, that he
receives every now and then some of poor Merlin's "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.
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! 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! O, you have no idea how sweet they tasted! We agreed they
had a freshness and a go–t 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. . .
April. Think of our horticultural shock last week, when Mrs.
Bailey, our landlady, "entreated M. d'Arblay not to Spoil
Page 88
her fruit-trees!"--trees he had been pruning with his utmost
skill and strength. However, he has consulted your "Millar"
thereupon, and finds out she is very ignorant, which he has
gently intimated to her.
MRS. PIOZZI.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, April, 1794.
What a charming letter was your last, my dearest father How full
of interesting anecdote and enlivening detail! The meeting with
Mrs. Thrale, so surrounded by her family, made me breathless; and
while you were conversing with the Signor, and left me in doubt
whether you advanced to her or not, I almost gasped with
impatience and revived old feelings, which, presently, you
reanimated to almost all their original energy How like my
dearest father to find all his kindness rekindled when her ready
hand once more invited it! I heard her voice in, "Why here's Dr.
Burney, as young as ever!" and my dear father in his parrying
answers.(112) No scene could have been related to me more
interesting or more welcome. My heart and hand, I am sure, would
have met her in the same manner. The friendship was too pleasant
in its first stage, and too strong in its texture, to be ever
obliterated, though it has been tarnished and clouded. I wish few
things more earnestly than again to meet her.
M. D'ARDLAY AS A GARDENER.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)(113)
Bookham, August, '94.
It is just a week since I had the greatest gratification of its
kind I ever, I think, experienced :---so kind a thought, so
Page 89
sweet a surprise as was my dearest father's visit! How softly
and soothingly it has rested upon my mind ever since!
"Abdolomine"(114) has no regret but that his garden was not in
better order; he was a little piqu‚, he confesses, that you said
it was not very neat--and, to be shor!-0-but his passion is
to do great works: he undertakes with pleasure, pursues with
energy, and finishes with spirit; but, then, all is over! He
thinks the business once done always done; and to repair, and
amend, and weed, and cleanse--O, these are drudgeries
insupportable to him!
However, you should have seen the place before he began his
operations, to do him justice ; there was then nothing else but
mauvaises herbes; now, you must at least allow there is a mixture
of flowers and grain! I wish you had seen him yesterday, mowing
down our hedge--with his sabre, and with an air and attitudes so
military, that, if he had been hewing down other legions than
those he encountered--ie., of spiders--he could scarcely have had
a mien more tremendous, or have demanded an arm more mighty.
Heaven knows, I am "the most contente personne in the world" to
see his sabre so employed!
A NOVEL AND A TRAGEDY.
You spirited me on in all ways; for this week past I have taken
tightly to the grand ouvrage.(115) If I go on so a little longer,
I doubt not but M. d'Arblay will begin settling where to have a
new shelf for arranging it! which is already in his rumination
for Metastasio;(116) I imagine you now .,Seriously resuming that
work; I hope to see further sample ere long.
We think with very great pleasure of accepting my mother's and
your kind invitation for a few days. I hope and mean, if
possible, to bring with me also a little sample of something less
in the dolorous style than what always causes your poor shoulders
a little Shrug.(117) . . .
How truly grieved was I to hear from Mr. Locke of the death of
young Mr. Burke!(118) What a dreadful blow upon his
Page 90
father and mother ! to come at the instant of the son's highest
and most honourable advancement, and of the father's retreat to
the bosom of his family from public life ! His brother, too,
gone so lately! I am most sincerely sorry, indeed, and quite
shocked, as there seemed so little suspicion of such an event's
approach, by your account of the joy caused by Lord Fitzwilliam's
kindness. Pray tell me if you hear how poor Mr. Burke and his
most amiable wife endure this calamity, and how they are. . . .
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.----.)
Bookham, April 15, 1795.
So dry a reproof from so dear a friend! And do you, then, measure
my regard of heart by my remissness of hand? Let me give you the
short history of my tragedy,(119) fairly and frankly. I wrote it
not, as your acquaintance imagined, for the stage, nor yet for
the press. I began it at Kew palace, and, at odd moments, I
finished it at Windsor; without the least idea of any species of
publication.
Since I left the royal household, I ventured to let it be read by
my father, Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister Phillips, and, of
course, M. d'Arblay, and not another human being. Their opinions
led to what followed, and my brother, Dr. Charles, showed it to
Mr. Kemble while I was on my visit to my father last October. He
instantly and warmly pronounced for its acceptance, but I knew
not when Mr. Sheridan would see it, and had not the smallest
expectation of its appearing this year. However, just three days
before my beloved little infant came into the world, an express
arrived from my brother, that Mr. Kemble wanted the tragedy
immediately, in order to show it to Mr. Sheridan, who had just
heard of it, and had spoken in the most flattering terms of his
good will for its reception.
Still, however, I was in doubt of its actual acceptance till
three weeks after my confinement, when I had a visit from my
brother, who told me he was, the next morning, to read the piece
in the green-room. This was a precipitance for which I was every
way unprepared, as I had never made but one copy of the play, and
had intended divers corrections and alterations. Absorbed,
however, by my new charge and then
Page 91
growing ill, I had a sort of indifference about the matter,
which, in fact, has lasted ever since.
The moment I was then able to hold a pen I wrote two short
letters, to acknowledge the state of the affair to my sisters -
and to one of these epistles I had an immediate laughing answer,
informing me my confidence was somewhat of the latest, as the
subject of it was already in all the newspapers! I was extremely
chagrined at this intelligence; but, from that time, thought it
all too late to be the herald of my own designs. And this, added
to my natural and incurable dislike to enter upon these
egotistical details unasked, has caused my silence to my dear M-
-, and to every friend I possess. Indeed, speedily after, I had
an illness so severe and so dangerous, that for full seven weeks
the tragedy was neither named nor thought of by M. d'Arblay or
myself.
The piece was represented to the utmost disadvantage, save only
Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Kemble - for it was not written with any
idea of the stage, and my illness and weakness, and constant
absorbment, at the time of its preparation, occasioned it to
appear with so many undramatic effects, from my inexperience of
theatrical requisites and demands, that, when I saw it, I myself
perceived a thousand things I wished to change. The performers,
too, were cruelly imperfect, and made blunders I blush to have
pass for mine,-added to what belong to me. The most important
character after the hero and heroine had but two lines of his
part by heart ! He made all the rest at random, and such
nonsense as put all the other actors out as much as himself; so
that a more wretched Performance, except Mrs. Siddons, Mr.
Kemble, and Mr. Bensley, could not be exhibited in a barn. All
this concurred to make it very desirable to withdraw the piece
for alterations, which I have done.
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
May 7, 1795.
One of my dinners, since my going out, was at Charlotte's, with
the good Hooles. After dinner Mr. Cumberland came in, and was
extremely courteous, and seemingly friendly, about you and your
piece. He took me aside from Mrs. Paradise, who had fastened on
me and held me tight by an account of her own and Mr. paradise's
complaints, so
Page 92
circumstantially narrated, that not a stop so short as a comma
occurred in more than an hour, while I was civilly waiting for a
full period. Mr. Cumberland expressed his sorrow at what had
happened at Drury-lane, and said that, if he had had the honour
of knowing you sufficiently, he would have told you d'avance what
would happen, by what he had heard behind the scenes. The players
seem to have given the play an ill name. But, he says, if you
would go to work again, by reforming this, or work with your best
powers at a new plan, and would submit it to his inspection, he
would, from the experience he has had, risk his life on its
success. This conversation I thought too curious not to be
mentioned. . . .
HASTINGs' ACQUITTAL. DR. BURNEY'S METASTASIO.
Well, but how does your Petit and pretty monsieur do? 'Tis pity
you and M. d'Arblay don't like him, poor thing! And how does
horticulture thrive ? This is a delightful time of the year for
your Floras and your Linnaei: I envy the life of a gardener in
spring, particularly in fine weather.
And so dear Mr. Hastings is honourably acquitted!(120) and I
visited him the next morning, and we cordially shook hands. I had
luckily left my name at his door as soon as I was able to go out,
and before it was generally expected that he would be acquitted.
. . .
The young Lady Spencer and I are become very thick , I have dined
with her at Lady Lucan's, and met her at the blue parties there.
She has invited me to her box at the opera, to her house in St
James's Place, and at the Admiralty, whither the family removed
last Saturday, and she says I must come to her the 15th, 22nd,
and 29th of this month, when I shall see a huge assembly. Mrs.
Crewe says all London will be there. She is a pleasant, lively,
and comical creature, with more talents and discernment than are
expected from a character si folƒtre. My lord is not only the
handsomest and the best intentioned man in the kingdom, but at
present the most useful and truly patriotic. And then, he has
written to Vienna for Metastasio's three inedited volumes, which
I so much want ere I advance too far in the press for them to be
of any use.
I am halooed on prodigiously in my Metastasio mania. All the
critics--Warton, Twining, Nares, and Dr. Charles--say that his
"Estratto dell' Arte Poetica d'Aristotile," which I am
Page 93
now translating, is the best piece of dramatic criticism that has
ever been written. "Bless my heart!" says Warton, "I, that have
been all my life defending the three unities, am overset." "Ay,"
quoth I, "has not he made you all ashamed of 'em? You learned
folks are only theorists in theatrical matters, but Metastasio
had sixty years' successful practice. There!--Go to." My dear
Fanny, before you write another play, you must read Aristotle and
Horace, as expounded by my dear Metastasio. But, basta. You know
when I take up a favourite author, as a Johnson, a Haydn, or a
Metastasio, I do not soon lay him down or let him be run down. .
. .
Here it strikes three o'clock: the post knell, not bell, tolls
here, and I must send off my scrib: but I will tell you, though I
need not, that, now I have taken up Metastasio again, I work at
him in every uninterrupted moment. I have this morning attempted
his charming pastoral, in "il Re Pastore." I'll give you the
translation, because the last stanza is a portrait:--
To meadows, woods, and fountains
Our tender flocks I'll lead;
In meads beneath the mountains
My love shall see them feed.
Our simple narrow mansion
Will suit our station well;
There's room for heart expansion
And peace and joy to dwell.
BABY D'ARBLAY. THE WITHDRAWN TRAGEDY.
(From Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney)
Hermitage, Bookham, May 13, 1795.
As you say, 'tis pity M. d'A. and his rib should have conceived
such an antipathy to the petit monsieur! O if you could see him
now! My mother would be satisfied, for his little cheeks are
beginning to favour of the trumpeter's, and Esther would be
satisfied, for he eats like an embryo alderman. He enters into
all we think, say, mean, and wish ! His eyes are sure to
sympathise in all our affairs and all our feelings. We find some
kind reason for every smile he bestows upon us, and some generous
and disinterested Motive for every grave look.
Page 94
If he wants to be danced, we see he has discovered that his
gaiety is exhilarating to us ; if he refuses to be moved, we take
notice that he fears to fatigue us. If he will not be quieted
without singing, we delight in his early go–t for les beaux arts.
If he is immovable to all we can devise to divert him, we are
edified by the grand sirieux of his dignity and philosophy: if he
makes the house ring with loud acclaim because his food, at first
call, does not come ready warm into his mouth, we hold up our
hands with admiration at his vivacity.
Your conversation with Mr. Cumberland astonished me. I certainly
think his experience of stage effect, and his interest with
players, so important, as almost instantly to wish putting his
sincerity to the proof. How has he got these two characters-
-one, of Sir Fretful Plagiary, detesting all works but those he
owns, and all authors but himself--the other, of a man too
perfect even to know or conceive the vices of the world, such as
he is painted by Goldsmith in "Retaliation?" And which of these
characters is true?(121)
I am not at all without thoughts of a future revise of "Edwy and
Elgiva," for which I formed a plan on the first night, from what
occurred by the representation. And let me own to you, when you
commend my "bearing so well a theatrical drubbing," I am by no
means enabled to boast I bear it with conviction of my utter
failure. The piece was certainly not
Page 95
heard, and therefore not really judged. The audience finished
with an unmixed applause on hearing it was withdrawn for
alterations, and I have considered myself in the publicly
accepted situation of having at my own option to let the piece
die, or attempt its resuscitation,-its reform, as Mr. Cumberland
calls it. However, I have not given one moment to the matter
since my return to the Hermitage. F. D'A.
PS-I should he very glad to hear good news of the revival of Mr.
Burke. Have you ever seen him since this fatality in his family?
I am glad, nevertheless with all my heart, of Mr. Hastings's
honourable acquittal.
"CAMILLA."
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.--.)
Bookham, June 15, '95,
Let me hasten to tell you something of myself that I shall be
very sorry you should hear from any other, as your too
susceptible mind would be hurt again, and that would grieve me
quite to the heart.
I have a long work, which a long time has been in hand, that I
mean to publish soon--in about a year. Should it succeed, like
'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' it may be a little portion to our
Bambino. We wish, therefore, to print it for ourselves in this
hope; but the expenses of the press are so enormous, so raised by
these late Acts, that it is out of all question for us to afford
it. We have, therefore, been led by degrees to listen to counsel
of some friends, and to print it by subscription. This is in
many--many ways unpleasant and unpalatable to us both; but the
real chance of real use and benefit to Our little darling
overcomes all scruples, and therefore, to work we go!
You will feel, I dare believe, all I could write on this Subject;
I once rejected such a plan, formed for me by Mr. Burke, where
books were to be kept by ladies, not booksellers,--the Duchess of
Devonshire, Mrs. Boscawen, and Mrs. Crewe; but I was an
individual then, and had no cares of times to come: now, thank
heaven! this is not the case;--and when I look at my little boy's
dear, innocent, yet intelligent face, I defy any pursuit to be
painful that may lead to his good.
Page 96
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, June 18, '95.
All our deliberations made, even after your discouraging
calculations, we still mean to hazard the publishing by
subscription. And, indeed, I had previously determined, 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. . . .
I like well the idea of giving no name at all,-why should not I
have my mystery as well as "Udolpho?"(122)--but, " now, don't
fly, Dr. Burney! I own I do not like calling it a novel; it gives
so simply the notion of a mere love-story, that I recoil a little
from it. I mean this work to be sketches of characters and
morals put in action,-not a romance. I remember the word " novel
" was long in the way of 'Cecilia,' as I was told at the queen's
house; and it was not permitted to be read by the princesses till
sanctioned by a bishop's recommendation,--the late Dr. Ross of
Exeter.
Will you then suffer mon amour Propre to be saved by the
proposals running thus?--Proposals for printing by subscription,
in six volumes duodecimo, a new work by the author of "Evelina"
and "Cecilia."
How grieved I am you do not like my heroine's name!(123) the
prettiest in nature! I remember how many people did not like that
of "Evelina," and called it "affected" and "missish," till they
read the book, and then they got accustomed in a few pages, and
afterwards it was much approved. I must leave this for the
present untouched ; for the force of the name attached by the
idea of the character, in the author's mind, is such, that I
should not know how to sustain it by any other for a long while.
In "Cecilia" and "Evelina" 'twas the same: the names of all the
personages annexed, with me, all the ideas I put in motion with
them. The work is so far advanced, that the personages are all,
to me, as so many actual acquaintances, whose memoirs and
Page 97
opinions I am committing to paper. I will make it the best I
can, my dearest father. I will neither be indolent, nor
negligent, nor avaricious. I can never half answer the
expectations that seem excited. I must try to forget them, or I
shall be in a continual quivering.
Mrs. Cooke, my excellent neighbour, came in Just now to read me a
paragraph of a letter from Mrs. Leigh, of Oxfordshire, her
sister. . . . After much of civility about the new work and its
author, it finishes thus:--"Mr. Hastings I saw just now: I told
him what was going forward; 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!'" F. D'A.
P.S.-The Bambino is half a year old this day.
N.B.-I have not heard the Park or Tower guns. I imagine the
wind did not set right.
AN INVITATION TO THE HERMITAGE.
(Madame d"Arblay to the Comte de Narbonne.(124)]
Bookham, 26th December, 1795.
What a letter, to terminate so long and painful a silence! It has
penetrated us with sorrowing and indignant feelings. Unknown to
M. d'Arblay whose grief and horror are upon point of making him
quite ill, I venture this address to his most beloved friend; and
before I seal it I will give him the option to burn or underwrite
it. I shall be brief in what I have to propose: sincerity need
not be loquacious, and M. de Narbonne is too kind to demand
phrases for ceremony.
Should your present laudable but melancholy plan fail, and should
nothing better offer, or till something can be arranged, will you
dear Sir, condescend to share the poverty of our hermitage? Will
you take a little cell under our rustic roof, and fare as we
fare? What to us two hermits is cheerful and happy, will to you,
indeed, be miserable but it will be some solace to the goodness
of your heart to witness our contentment;--to dig with M. d'A. in
the garden will be of service to
Page 98
your health; to muse sometimes with me in the parlour will be a
relaxation to your mind. You will not blush to own your little
godson. Come, then, and give him your blessing; relieve the
wounded feelings of his father--oblige his mother--and turn
hermit at Bookham, till brighter suns invite you elsewhere. F.
D'ARPLAY.
You will have terrible dinners, alas !--but your godson comes in
for the dessert.(125)
PRESENTATION OF "CAMILLA" AT WINDSOR.
[During the years 1794 and 1795, Madame d'Arblay finished and
prepared for the press her third novel, "Camilla," which was
published partly by subscription in 1796 the dowager Duchess of
Leinster, the Hon. Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Crewe, and Mrs. Locke,
kindly keeping lists, and receiving the names of subscribers.
This work having been dedicated by permission to the queen, the
authoress was desirous of presenting the first copy to her
majesty, and made a journey to Windsor for that honour.)
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, July 10, 1796.
If I had as much of time as of matter, my dear father, what an
immense letter should I write you ! But I have still so many
book oddments of accounts, examinations, directions, and little
household affairs to arrange, that, with baby-kissing, included,
I expect I can give you to-day only part the first of an
excursion which I mean to comprise in four parts: so here begins.
The books were ready at eleven or twelve, but not so the tailor!
The three Miss Thrales came to a short but cordial hand-shaking
at the last minute, by appointment; and at about half-past three
we set forward. I had written the day before to my worthy old
friend Mrs. Agnew, the housekeeper, erst, of my revered Mrs.
Delany, to secure us rooms for one
page 99, day and night, and to Miss Planta to make known I could
not set out till late.
When we came into Windsor at seven o'clock, the way to Mrs.
Agnew's was so intricate that we could not find it, till one of
the king's footmen recollecting me, I imagined, came forward, a
volunteer, and walked by the side of the chaise to show the
postilion the house.--N.B. No bad omen to worldly augurers.
Arrived, Mrs. Agnew came forth with faithful attachment, to
conduct us to our destined lodgings. I wrote hastily to Miss
Planta, to announce to the queen that I was waiting the honour of
her majesty's commands ; and then began preparing for my
appearance the next morning, when I expected a summons - but Miss
Planta came instantly herself from the queen, with orders of
immediate attendance, as her majesty would see me directly! The
king was just gone upon the Terrace, but her majesty did not walk
that evening.
Mrs. Agnew was my maid, Miss Planta my arranger; my
landlord, who was a hairdresser, came to my head, and M. d'Arblay
was general superintendent. The haste and the joy went hand in
hand, and I was soon equipped, though shocked at my own
precipitance in sending before I was already visible. Who,
however, could have expected such prompt admission? and in an
evening?
M. d'Arblay helped to carry the books as far as to the gates. My
lodgings were as near to them as possible. At our first entry
towards the Queen's lodge we encountered Dr. Fisher and his lady:
the sight of me there, in a dress announcing indisputably whither
I was hieing, was such an Astonishment, that they looked at me
rather as a recollected spectre than a renewed acquaintance. When
we came to the iron rails poor Miss Planta, in much fidget,
begged to take the books from M. d'Arblay, terrified, I imagine,
lest French feet should contaminate the gravel within!--while he,
innocent of her fears, was insisting upon carrying them as far as
to the house, till he saw I took part with Miss Planta, and he
was then compelled to let us lug in ten volumes as we could.
The king was already returned from the Terrace, the page told
us." O, then," said Miss Planta, "you are too late!" However, I
went into my old dining-parlour; while she said she would see if
any one could obtain the queen's
commands for another time. I did not stay five minutes
Page 100
ruminating upon the dinners, "gone where the chickens," etc.,
when Miss Planta return and told me the queen would see me
instantly.
The queen was In her dressing-room, and with only the Princess
Elizabeth. Her reception was the Most gracious. yet, when she
saw my emotion in thus meeting her again; she herself was by no
means quite unmoved. I presented my little--yet not small--
offering, upon one knee placing them, as she directed, upon a
table by her side, and expressing, as well as I could, my devoted
gratitude for her invariable goodness to me. She then began a
conversation, in her old style, upon various things and people,
with all her former graciousness of manner, which soon, as she
perceived my strong sense of her indulgence, grew into even all
its former kindness. Particulars I have now no room for ; but
when in about half an hour, she said, "How long do you intend to
stay here, Madame d'Arblay?" and I answered, "We have no
intentions, ma'am," she repeated, laughing, "You have no
intentions!--Well, then, if you can come again to-morrow Morning,
you shall see the princesses."
She then said she would not detain me at present; encouraged by
all that had passed, I asked if I might presume to put at the
door of the king's apartment a copy of MY little work. She
hesitated, but with smiles the most propitious;. then told me to
fetch the books - and whispered something to the Princess
Elizabeth, who left the room by another door at the same moment
that I retired for the other set. Almost immediately upon my
return to the queen and the Princess Elizabeth, the king entered
the apartment, and entered it to receive himself my little
offering.
"Madame d'Arblay," said her majesty, "tells me that Mrs. Boscawen
is to have the third set; but the first--Your majesty will excuse
me--is mine."
This was not, you will believe, thrown away upon me. The king,
smiling, said, "Mrs Boscawen, I hear, has been very zealous."
I confirmed this. and the Princess Elizabeth eagerly called out,
"Yes, sir! and while Mrs. Boscawen kept a copy for Madame
d'Arblay, the Duchess of Beaufort kept one for Mrs. Boscawen."
This led to a little discourse upon the business, in which the
king's countenance seemed to speak a benign interest; and the
queen then said,
Page 101
"This book was begun here, sir." Which already I had mentioned.
"And what did you write Of it here?" cried he. "How far did You
go?--Did You finish any part? or only form the skeleton?"
"Just that, sir," I answered; "the skeleton
was formed here, but nothing was completed. I worked it up in my
little cottage."
"And about what time did You give to it?"
"All my time, sir; from the Period I planned publishing it, I
devoted myself to it wholly. I had no episode but a little baby.
My subject grew Upon me, and increased my materials to a bulk
that I am afraid will be more laborious to wade through for the
reader than for the writer."
"Are you much frightened cried he, smiling,
"as much frightened as you were before?"
"I have hardly had time to know yet, sir. I received the fair
sheets Of the last volume only last night. I have, therefore, had
no leisure for fear. And sure I am, happen what May to the book
from the critics, it can never cause me pain in any proportion
with the pleasure and happiness I owe to it." I /am sure I spoke
most sincerely and he looked kindly to believe me.
He asked if Mr. Locke had seen it; and when I said no, he seemed
comically pleased, as if desirous to have it in its first state.
He asked next if Dr. Burney had overlooked it; and, upon the same
answer, looked with the same satisfaction. He did not imagine how
it would have passed Current with my dearest father: he appeared
Only to be glad it would be a genuine work: but, laughingly,
said, "So you kept it quite snug?"
"Not intentionally, sir, but from my situation and my haste; I
should else have been very happy to have consulted my father and
Mr. Locke; but I had so much, to the last moment, to write, that
I literally had not a moment to hear what could be said. The work
is longer by the whole fifth Volume than I had first planned; and
I am almost ashamed to look at its size, and afraid my readers
would have been more obliged to me if I had left so much out than
for putting So much in."
He laughed and inquired who corrected my proofs? 'Only myself," I
answered.
"Why, some authors have told me," cried he, "that they
Page 102
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 it should be trusted to."
I must not go on thus minutely, or my four parts will be forty.
But a full half-hour of graciousness, I could almost call
kindness, was accorded me, though the king came from the concert
to grant it ; and it broke up by the queen saying, "I have told
Madame d'Arblay that, if she can come again to-morrow, she shall
see the princesses."
The king bowed gently to my grateful obeisance for this offer,
and told me I should not know the Princess Amelia, she was so
much grown, adding, "She is taller than you!"
I expressed warmly my delight in the permission of Seeing their
royal highnesses, and their majesties returned to the
concert-room. The Princess Elizabeth stayed, -and flew up to me,
crying, "How glad I am to see you here again, my dear Miss
Burney!--I beg your pardon,--Madame d'Arblay I mean -but I always
call all my friends by their maiden names when I first see them
after they are married."
I warmly now opened upon my happiness in this return to all their
sights, and the condescension and sweetness with which it was
granted me - and confessed I could hardly behave prettily and
properly at my first entrance after so long an absence. "O, I
assure you I felt for you!" cried she; "I thought you must be
agitated ; it was so natural to you to come here-to mamma!"
You will believe, my dearest father, how light-hearted and full
of glee I went back to my expecting companion: Miss Planta
accompanied me, and stayed the greatest part of the little
remaining evening, promising to let me know at what hour I should
wait upon their royal highnesses.
A CONVERSATION WITH THE QUEEN.
The next morning, at eight or nine o'clock, my old footman, Moss,
came with Mlle, Jacobi's compliments to M. and Madame d'Arblay,
and an invitation to dine at the Queen's lodge.
Miss Planta arrived at ten, with her majesty's commands that I
should be at the Queen's lodge at twelve. I stayed meanwhile,
with good Mrs. Agnew, and M. d'Arblay made
Page 103
acquaintance with her worthy husband, who is a skilful and famous
botanist, and lately made gardener to the queen for Frogmore - so
M. d'Arblay consulted him about our cabbages! and so, if they
have not now a high flavour, we are hopeless.
At eleven M. d'Arblay again ventured to esquire me to the rails
round the lodge, whence I showed him my ci-devant apartment,
which he languished to view nearer. I made a visit to Mlle.
Jacobi, who is a very good creature, and with whom I remained
very comfortably till her majesty and the princesses returned
from Frogmore, where they had passed two or three hours. Almost
immediately I was summoned to the queen by one of the pages.
She was just seated to her hair-dresser. She conversed upon
various public and general topics till the friseur was dismissed,
and then I was honoured with an audience, quite alone, for a full
hour and a half. During this, nothing could be more gracious
than her whole manner, and The particulars, as there was no
pause, would fill a duodecimo volume at least. Among them was Mr.
Windham, whom she named with great favour; and gave me the
opportunity of expressing my delight upon his belonging to the
government. We had so often conversed about him during the
accounts I had related of Mr. Hastings's trial, that there was
much to say upon the acquisition to the administration, and my
former round assertions of his goodness of heart and honour. She
inquired how you did, my dearest father, with an air of great
kindness and, when I said well, looked pleased, as she answered,
"I was afraid he was ill, for I saw him but twice last year at
our music."
She then gave me an account of the removal of the concert to the
Haymarket since the time I was admitted to it. She then talked of
some books and authors, but found me wholly in the Clouds as to
all that is new. She then said, "What a very pretty book Dr.
Burney has brought out upon Metastasio! I am very much pleased
with it. Pray (smiling) what will he bring out next?"
"As yet, madam, I don't know of any new plan."
"But he will bring out something else?"
"Most probably, but he will rest a little first, I fancy."
"Has he nothing in hand?"
"Not that I now know of, madam."
"O but he soon will!" cried she, again smiling.
Page 104
"He has so active a mind, ma'am, that I believe it quite
impossible to him to be utterly idle , but, indeed, I know of no
present design being positively formed."
We had then some discourse upon the new connexion at Norbury
park--the Fitzgeralds, etc.; and from this she led to various
topics of our former conferences, both in persons and things, and
gave me a full description of her new house at Frogmore, its
fitting up, and the share of each princess in its decoration.
She spoke with delight of its quiet and ease, and her enjoyment
of its complete retirement. "I spend," she cried, "there almost
constantly all my mornings. I rarely come home but just before
dinner, merely to dress, but to-day I came sooner."
This was said in a manner so flattering, I could scarce forbear
the air of thanking her , however, I checked the expression,
though I could not the inference which urged it.
WITH THE PRINCESs ROYAL AND PRINCESS AUGUSTA.
At two o'clock the Princess Elizabeth appeared. "Is the princess
royal ready?" said the queen. She answered, "Yes:" and her
majesty then told me I might go to her, adding, "You
know the way, Madame d'Arblay." And, thus licensed, I went to the
apartment of her royal highness up stairs. She was just quitting
it, She received me most graciously, and told me she was going to
sit for her picture, if I would come and stay with her while she
sat. Miss Bab Planta was in attendance, to read during this
period. The princess royal ordered me a chair facing her; and
another for Miss Bab and her book, which, however, was never
opened. The painter was Mr. Dupont.(1266) She was very gay and
very charming, full of lively discourse and amiable
condescension.
In about an hour the Princess Augusta came in : she addressed me
with her usual sweetness, and, when she had looked at her
sister's portrait, said, "Madame d'Arblay, when the princess
royal can spare you, I hope you will come to me," as she left the
room. I did not flout her; and when I had been an hour with the
princess royal, she told me she would
Page 105
keep me no longer from Augusta, and Miss Planta came to conduct
me to the latter. This lovely princess received me quite alone ;
Miss Planta only shut me in - and she then made me sit by her,
and kept me in most bewitching discourse more than an hour. She
has a gaiety, a charm about her, that is quite resistless: and
much of true, genuine, and very original humour. She related to
me the history of all the feats, and exploits, and dangers, and
escapes of her brothers during last year; rejoicing in their
safety, yet softly adding, "Though these trials and difficulties
did them a great deal of good."
We talked a little of France, and she inquired of me what I knew
of the late unhappy queen, through M. d'Arblay ; and spoke of her
with the most virtuous discrimination between her foibles and her
really great qualities, with her most barbarous end. .She then
dwelt upon Madame Royale, saying, in her unaffected manner, "
It's very odd one never hears what sort of girl she is." I told
her all I had gathered from M. d'Arblay. She next spoke of my
Bambino, indulging me in recounting his faits et gestes; and
never moved till the princess royal came to summon her. They were
all to return to Frogmore to dinner. "We have detained Madame
d'Arblay between us the whole morning," said the princess royal,
with a gracious smile. "Yes," cried Princess Augusta, "and I am
afraid I have bored her to death; but when once I begin upon my
poor brothers, I can never stop without telling all my little
bits of glory." She then outstayed the princess royal to tell me
that, when she was at Plymouth, at church, she saw so many
officers' wives, and sisters, and mothers, helping their maimed
husbands, or brothers, or sons, that she could not forbear
whispering to the queen, "Mamma, how lucky it is Ernest is just
come so seasonably with that wound in his face! I should have
been quite shocked, else, not to have had one little bit of glory
among ourselves!"
When forced away from this sweet creature, I went to Mlle.
Jacobi, who said, "But where is M. d'Arblay?" Finding it too late
for me to go to my lodging to dress before dinner I wrote him a
word, which immediately brought him to the Queen's lodge : and
there I shall leave my dear father the pleasure of seeing us,
mentally, at dinner, at my ancient table,-both invited by the
queen's commands. Miss Gomme was asked to meet me, and the repast
was extremely pleasant.
page 106
A PRESENT FROM THE KING AND QUEEN.
just before we assembled to dinner Mlle. Jacobi desired to speak
with me alone, and, taking me to another room, presented me with
a folded little packet, saying, "The queen ordered me to put this
into your hands, and said, 'Tell Madame d'Arblay it is from us
both."' It was a hundred guineas. I was confounded, and nearly
sorry, so little was such a mark of their goodness in my
thoughts. She added that the king, as soon as he came from the
chapel in the morning, went to the queen's dressing-room just
before he set out for the levee, and put into her hands fifty
guineas, saying, "This is for my set!" The queen answered, "I
shall do exactly the same for mine," and made up the packet
herself. "'Tis only,' she said, 'for the paper, tell Madame
d'Arblay, nothing for the trouble!'" meaning she accepted that.
The manner of this was so more than gracious, so kind, in the
words us both, that indeed the money at the time was quite
nothing in the scale of my gratification ; it was even less, for
it almost pained me. However, a delightful thought that in a few
minutes occurred made all light and blithesome. "We will come,
then," I cried, "once a year to Windsor, to walk the Terrace, and
see the king, queen, and sweet princesses. This will enable us,
and I shall never again look forward to so long a deprivation of
their sight." This, with my gratitude for their great goodness,
was what I could not refrain commissioning her to report.
CURIOSITY REGARDING M. D'ARBLAY.
Our dinner was extremely cheerful; all my old friends were highly
curious to see M. d'Arblay, who was in spirits, and, as he could
address them in French, and at his ease, did not seem much
disapproved of by them. I went to my lodging afterwards to dress,
where I told my monsieur this last and unexpected stroke, which
gave him exactly my sensations, and we returned to tea. We had
hopes of the Terrace, as my monsieur was quite eager to see all
this beloved royal House. The weather, however, was very
unpromising. The king came from the lodge during our absence; but
soon after we were in the levee three royal coaches arrived from
Frogmore: in the first was the queen, the Princesses Royal and
Augusta, and some lady in waiting. M. d'Arblay stood beside me
Page 107
at a window to see them; her majesty looked up and bowed to me,
and, upon her alighting, she looked up again. This, I am sure,
was to see M. d'Arblay, who could not be doubted, as he wore his
croix the whole time he was at Windsor. The princesses bowed
also, and the four younger, who followed, all severally kissed
their hands to me, and fixed their eyes on my companion with an
equal expression of kindness and curiosity ; he therefore saw
them perfectly.
THE KING APPROVES THE DEDICATION OF "CAMILLA."
In a few minutes a page came to say, "The princesses desire to
see Madame d'Arblay," and he conducted me to the apartment of the
Princess Elizabeth, which is the most elegantly and fancifully
ornamented of any in the lodge, as she has most delight and most
taste in producing good effects.
Here the fair owner of the chamber received me, encircled with
the Princesses Mary and Amelia, and no attendant. They were
exactly as I had left them--kind, condescending, open,
and delightful; and the goodness of the queen, in sparing them
all to me thus, without any allay of ceremony, or gˆne of
listening Mutes, I felt most deeply.
They were all very gay, and I not very sad, so we enjoyed A
perfectly easy and even merry half-hour in divers discourses, in
which they recounted to me who had been most anxious about "the
book," and doubted not its great success, as everybody was so
eager about it. "And I must tell you one thing," Cried the
Princess Elizabeth; "the king is very much pleased with the
dedication."
This was, you will be sure, a very touching hearing to me; And
Princess Mary exclaimed, "And he is very difficult!"
"O, yes, he's hardly ever pleased with a dedication," cried one
of the princesses. "He almost always thinks them so fulsome."
"I was resolved I would tell it you," cried Princess Elizabeth.
Can you imagine anything more amiable than this pleasure in
giving pleasure?
A DELICIOUS CHAT WITH THE PRINCESSES.
Soon after the Princess Augusta came in, smiling and lovely.
Princess royal next appeared Princess Augusta sat down, and
charged me to take a chair next her. Princess
Page 108
royal did not stay long, and soon returned to summon her sister
Augusta downstairs, as the concert was begun : but she replied
she could not come yet : and the princess royal went alone. We
had really a most delicious chat then.
They made a thousand inquiries about my book, and when and where
it was written, etc., and how I stood as to fright and fidget. I
answered all with openness, and frankly related my motives for
the publication. Everything of housekeeping, I told them, was
nearly doubled in price at the end of the first year and half of
our marriage, and we found it impossible to continue so near our
friends and the capital with our limited income, though M. d'A.
had accommodated himself completely, and even happily, to every
species of economy, and though my dearest father had capitally
assisted us ; I then, therefore, determined upon adopting a plan
I had formerly rejected, of publishing by subscription. I told
them the former history of that plan, as Mr. Burke's, and many
particulars that seemed extremely to interest them. My garden,
our way of life, our house, our Bambino,-all were inquired after
and related. I repeatedly told them the strong desire M.
d'Arblay had to be regaled with a sight of all their House -a
House to which I stood so every way indebted,-,and they looked
kindly concerned that the weather admitted no prospect of the
Terrace.
I mentioned to the Princess Augusta my recent new obligation to
their majesties, and my amaze and even shame at their goodness.
"O, I am sure," cried she, "they were very happy to have it in
their power."
"Yes, and we were so glad!"
"So glad!" echoed each of the others.
"How enchanted should I have been," cried I, "to have presented
my little book to each of your royal highnesses if I had dared!
or if, after her majesty has looked it over, I might hope for
such a permission, how proud and how happy it would make me!"
"O, I daresay you may," cried the Princess Augusta, eagerly. I
then intimated how deeply I should feel such an honour, if it
might be asked, after her majesty had read it - and the Princess
Elizabeth gracefully undertook the office. She related to me, in
a most pleasant manner, the whole of her own recent transaction,
its rise and cause and progress, in "The
Page 109
Birth of Love:"(127) but I must here abridge, or never have done.
I told them all my scheme for coming again next July, which they
sweetly seconded. Princess Amelia assured me she had not
forgotten me ; and when another summons came for the concert,
Princess Augusta, comically sitting still and holding me by her
side, called out, "Do you little ones go!"
But they loitered also, and we went on, on, on, with our chat,-
-they as unwilling as myself to break it up,-till staying longer
was impossible ; and then, in parting, they all expressed the
kindest pleasure in our newly-adopted plan of a yearly visit.
"And pray," cried Princess Elizabeth, "write again immediately!"
"O, no," cried Princess Augusta, "wait half a year--to rest; and
then--increase your family--all ways!"
"The queen," said Princess Elizabeth, "consulted me which way she
should read 'Camilla-' whether quick, at once, or comfortably at
Weymouth: so I answered, 'Why, mamma, I think, as you will be so
much interested in the book, Madame d'Arblay would be most
pleased you should read it now at once, quick, that nobody may be
mentioning the events before You come to them - and then again at
Weymouth, slow and comfortably.'"
In going, the sweet Princess Augusta loitered last but her
youngest sister, Amelia, who came to take my hand when the rest
were departed, and assure me she should never forget Me.
We spent the remnant of Wednesday evening with my old friends,
determining to quit Windsor the next day, if the weather did not
promise a view of the royal family upon the Terrace for M.
d'Arblay.
THE KING NOTICES M. D'ARBLAY.
Thursday morning was lowering, and we determined upon departing,
after only visiting some of my former acquaintances. 'We met Miss
Planta in our way to the lodge, and took leave; but when we
arrived at Mlle. Jacobi's we found that the queen expected we
should stay for the chance of the Terrace, and had told Mlle.
Jacobi to again invite us to dinner. . . .
We left the friendly Miss Goldsworthy for other visits;--first to
good old Mrs. Planta; next to the very respectable
Page 110
Dr. Fisher and his wife. The former insisted upon doing the
honours himself of St. George's cathedral to M. d'Arblay which
occasioned his seeing that beautiful antique building to the
utmost advantage. Dr. Fisher then accompanied us to a spot to
show M. d'Arblay Eton in the best view.
Dinner passed as before, but the evening lowered, and hopes of
the Terrace were weak, when the Duke and Duchess of York arrived.
This seemed to determine against us, as they told us the duchess
never went upon the Terrace but in the finest weather, and the
royal family did not choose to leave her. We were hesitating
therefore whether to set off for Rose Dale, when Mlle. Jacobi
gave an intimation to me that the king, herself, and the Princess
Amelia, would walk on the Terrace. Thither instantly we hastened,
and were joined by Dr. and Mrs. Fisher. 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.
I have never yet seen M. d'Arblay agitated as at this moment ; he
could scarce keep his steadiness, or even his ground. The
recollections, he has since told me, that rushed upon his mind of
his own king and royal House were so violent and so painful as
almost to disorder him. His majesty was accompanied by the duke,
and Lord Beaulieu, Lord Walsingham, and General Manners; the
princesses were attended by Lady Charlotte Bruce, some other
lady, and Miss Goldsworthy: The king stopped to speak to the
Bishop of Norwich 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, loud enough to be heard by
Mrs. Fisher, "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., and with a sweetness, an air of wishing us well,
that will never, never be erased from our hearts.
Page 111
M. d'Arblay recovered himself immediately Upon this address, and
answered with as much firmness as respect.
Upon the king's bowing and leaving US, the commander-in-
chief(128) most courteously bowed also to M. d'Arblay, and the
princesses all came up to speak to me, and to curtsy to him ; and
the Princess Elizabeth cried, "I've got leave! and mamma says she
won't wait to read it first!"
After this the king and duke never passed without taking off
their hats, and the princesses gave me a smile and a curtsy at
every turn: Lord Walsingbam came to speak to me, and Mr. Fairly,
and General Manners, who regretted that more of our old tea-party
were not there to meet me once more.
THE KING AND QUEEN ON "CAMILLA."
As soon as they all re-entered the lodge we followed to take
leave of Mlle. Jacobi; but, Upon moving towards the passage, the
princess royal appeared, saying, "Madame d'Arblay, I come to
waylay you!" and made me follow her to the dressing-room, whence
the voice of the queen, as the door opened, called out, in mild
accents, "Come in, Madame d'Arblay!"
Her majesty was seated at the upper end of the room, with the
Duchess of York (129) on her right, and the Princesses Sophia and
Amelia on her left. She made me advance, and said, "I have just
been telling the Duchess of York that I find her royal highness's
name the first Upon this list,"--producing "Camilla."
"Indeed," said the duchess, bowing to me, "I was so very
impatient to read it, I could not but try to get it as early as
possible. I am very eager for it, indeed!"
"I have read," said the queen, "but fifty pages yet; but I am in
great uneasiness for that Poor little girl that I am afraid will
get the small-pox! and I am sadly afraid that sweet little other
girl will not keep her fortune! but I won't Peep! I read quite
fair. But I must tell Madame d'Arblay I know a country gentleman,
in Mecklenburg, exactly the very character of that good old man
the Uncle!" She seemed to speak as if delighted to meet him upon
paper.
The king now came in, and I could not forbear making up
Page 112
to him, to pour forth some part of my full heart for his
goodness! He tried to turn away, but it was smilingly; and I had
courage to pursue him, for I could not help it. He then slightly
bowed it off, and asked the queen to repeat what she had said
upon the book.
"O, your majesty," she cried, "I must not anticipate!" yet told
him of her pleasure in finding an old acquaintance.
"Well!" cried the king archly, " and what other characters have
you seized?"
"None," I protested, "from life."
"O!" cried he, shaking his head, "you must have some!"
"Indeed your majesty will find none!" I cried.
"But they may be a little better, or a little worse," he
answered, "but still, if they are not like somebody, how can they
play their parts?"
"O, yes, sir," I cried, "as far as general nature goes, or as
characters belong to classes, I have certainly tried to take
them. But no individuals!"
My account must be endless if I do not now curtail. The Duke of
York, the other princesses, General Manners, and all the rest of
the group, made way to the room soon after, upon hearing the
cheerfulness of the voice of the king, whose .graciousness raised
me into spirits that set me quite at my ease. He talked much upon
the book, and then of Mrs. Delany, and then of various others
that my sight brought to his recollection, and all with a freedom
and goodness that enabled me to answer without difficulty or
embarrassment, and that produced two or three hearty laughs from
the Duke of York.
ANECDOTE OF THE DUCHESS OF YORK.
After various other topics, the queen said, "Duchess, Madame
d'Arblay is aunt of the pretty little boy (130) you were so good
to."
The duchess understood her so immediately that I fancy this was
not new to her. She bowed to me again, very smilingly, upon the
acknowledgments this encouraged me to offer; and the king asked
an explanation.
"Sir," said the duchess, "I was upon the road near Dorking, and I
saw a little gig overturned, and a little boy was taken out, and
sat down upon the road. I told them to
Page 113
stop and ask if the little boy was hurt, and they said yes .- and
I asked where he was to go, and they said to a village just a few
miles off; so I took him into my coach, Sir, and carried him
home."
"And the benedictions, madam," cried I, "of all his family have
followed you ever since!"
"And he said your royal highness called him a very pretty boy,"
cried the queen, laughing, to whom I had related it.
"Indeed, what he said is very true," answered she, nodding.
"Yes; he said," quoth I, again to the queen, "that he saw the
duchess liked him."
This again the queen repeated and the duchess again nodded, and
pointedly repeated, "It is very true."
"He was a very fine boy-a very fine boy indeed!" cried the king;
"what is become of him?"
I was a little distressed in answering, "He is in Ireland, sir."
"In Ireland ! What does he do in Ireland? what does he go there
for?"
"His father took him, Sir," I was forced to answer.
"And what does his father take him to Ireland for?"
"Because-he is an Irishman, Sir!" I answered, half laughing.
When at length, every one deigning me a bow of leavetaking, their
majesties, and sons and daughters, retired to the adjoining room,
the Princess Amelia loitered to shake hands, and the Princess
Augusta returned for the same condescension, reminding me of my
purpose for next year. While this was passing, the princess royal
had repaired to the apartment of Mlle. Jacobi, where she had held
a little Conversation with M. d'Arblay.
A VISIT TO MRS. BOSCAWEN.
We finished the evening very cheerfully with Mlle. Jacobi and
Mlle. Montmoulin, whom she invited to meet us, and the next
morning left Windsor and visited Rose Dale.(131) Mrs. Boscawen
received us very sweetly, and the little offering as if not at
all her due, Mrs. Levison Gower was with her, and showed us
Thomson's temple. Mrs. Boscawen spoke of my
Page 114
dearest father with her Usual true sense Of how to Speak of him.
She invited us to dinner, but we were anxious to return to our
Bambino, and M. d'Arblay had, all this time, only fought off
being ill with his remnant of cold. Nevertheless, when we came to
Twickenham, my good old friend Mr. Cambridge was so cordial and
so earnest that we could not resist him, and were pressed in to
staying dinner. . . .
At a little before eleven we arrived at our dear cottage, and to
our sleeping Bambino.
THE RELATIVE SUCCESS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S NOVELS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, Friday, October, 1796.
I meant to have begun with our thanks for my dear kind father's
indulgence of our extreme curiosity and interest in the sight of
the reviews. I am quite happy in what I have escaped of greater
severity, though my mate cannot bear that the palm should be
contested by "Evelina" and "Cecilia;" his partiality rates the
last as so much the highest; so does the newspaper I have
mentioned, of which I long to send you a copy. But those immense
men, whose single praise was fame and security--who established,
by a word, the two elder sisters-are now silent, Johnson and Sir
Joshua are no more, and Mr. Burke is ill, or otherwise engrossed;
yet, even without their powerful influence, to which I owe such
unspeakable obligation, the essential success of "Camilla"
exceeds that of the elders. The sale is truly astonishing.
Charles has just sent to me that five hundred only remain of four
thousand, and it has appeared scarcely three months.
The first edition of "Evelina" was of eight hundred, the second
of five hundred, and the third of a thousand. What the following
have been I have never heard, The sale from that period became
more flourishing than the publisher cared to announce. Of
"Cecilia" the first edition was reckoned enormous at two thousand
and as a part of payment Was reserved for it, I remember our dear
Daddy Crisp thought it very unfair. It was printed, like this, in
July, and sold in October, to every one's wonder. Here, however,
the sale's increased in rapidity more than a third. Charles
says,--
"Now heed no more what critics thought 'em,
Since this you know, all people bought 'em."
Page 115
A CONTEMPLATED COTTAGE.
We have resumed our original plan, and are going immediately to
build a little cottage for ourselves. We shall make it as small
and as cheap as will accord with its being warm and comfortable.
We have relinquished, however, the very kind offer of Mr. Locke,
which he has renewed, for his park. We mean to make this a
property saleable or letable for our Alex, and in Mr. Locke's
park we could not encroach any tenant, if the Youth's
circumstances, profession, or inclination .should make him not
choose the spot for his own residence. M. dArblay, therefore, has
fixed upon a field of Mr. Locke's, which he will rent, and of
which Mr. Locke will grant him a lease of ninety years. By this
means, we shall leave the little Alex a little property, besides
what will be in the funds, and a property likely to rise in
value, as the situation of the field is remarkably beautiful. It
is in the valley, between Mr. Locke's park and Dorking, and where
land is so scarce, that there is not another possessor within
many miles who would part, upon any terms, with half-an-acre. My
kindest father will come and give it, I trust, his benediction. I
am now almost jealous of Bookham for having received it.
Imagine but the ecstasy of M. d'Arblay in training, all his own
way, an entire new garden. He dreams now of cabbage-walks,
potato-beds, bean-perfumes, and peas-blossoms. My mother should
send him a little sketch to help his flower-garden, which will be
his second favourite object.
THE PRINCESS ROYAL'S FIRST INTERVIEW WITH HER FIANCE.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
1796.
A private letter from Windsor tells me the Prince of Wurtemberg
has much pleased in the royal House, by his manner and address
upon his interview, but that the poor Princess royal was almost
dead with terror, and agitation, and affright, at the first
meeting.(132) She could not utter a word, The queen was obliged
to speak her answers. The prince said he hoped this first would
be the last disturbance his
page 116
presence would ever occasion her. She then tried to recover, and
so far conquered her tumult as to attempt joining In a general
discourse from time to time. He paid his court successfully, I
am told, to the sisters, who all determine to like him; and the
princess royal is quite revived in her spirits again, now this
tremendous opening sight is over.
You will be pleased, and my dearest Mr. Locke, at the style of my
summons: 'tis so openly from the queen herself, Indeed, she has
behaved like an angel to me, from the trying time to her of my
marriage with a Frenchman. "So odd, you know," as Lady Inchiquin
said.
OPINIONS OF THE REVIEWS ON "CAMILLA."
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
November, 1796.
. . .The "Monthly Review" has come in to-day, and it does not
satisfy me, or raise my spirits, or anything but my indignation.
James has read the remarks in it on "Camilla," and we are all
dissatisfied. Perhaps a few of the verbal criticisms may be worth
your attention in the second edition; but these have been picked
out and displayed with no friendly view, and without necessity,
in a work of such length and intrinsic sterling worth. J'enrage!
Morbleu!
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, November, 1796.
I had intended writing to my dearest father by a return of goods,
but I find it impossible to defer the overflowings of my heart at
his most kind and generous indignation with the reviewer. What
censure can ever so much hurt as such compensation can heal? And,
in fact, the praise is so strong that, were it neatly put
together, the writer might challenge my best enthusiasts to find
it insufficient. The truth, however, is, that the criticisms come
forward, and the panegyric is entangled, and so blended with
blame as to lose almost all effect, The reviews, however, as they
have not made, will not, I trust, mar me. "Evelina" made its way
all by itself; it was well spoken of, indeed, in all the reviews,
compared with general novels, but it was undistinguished by any
quotation, and only put in the Monthly Catalogue, and only
allowed
Page 117
short single paragraph. It was
circulated only by the general public till it reached, through
that unbiassed medium, Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke, and thence it
wanted no patron.
Nov. 14.-Upon a second reading of the Monthly Review upon
"Camilla," I am in far better humour with it, and willing to
confess to the criticisms, if I may claim by that concession any
right to the eulogies. They are stronger and more important,
upon re-perusal, than I had imagined, in the panic of a first
survey and an unprepared-for disappointment in anything like
severity from so friendly an editor. The recommendation, at the
conclusion, of the book as a warning guide to youth, would
recompense me, upon the least reflection, for whatever strictures
Might precede it. I hope my kind father has not suffered his
generous--and to me most cordial--indignation against the
reviewer to interfere with his intended answer to the
affectionate letter of Dr. Griffiths.(133
DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S STEPMOTHER.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Bookham, November 7, 1796.
Yes, -my beloved Susan safe landed at Dublin was indeed
all-sufficient for some time; nor, indeed, could I even read any
more for many minutes. That, and the single sentence at the end,
"My Norbury is with me"--completely overset ne, though only with
joy. After your actual safety, nothing could so much touch me as
the picture I Instantly viewed of Norbury in Your arms. Yet I
shall hope for more detail hereafter.
The last letter I had from you addressed to myself shows me your
own sentiment of the fatal event(134) which so speedily followed
your departure, and which my dear father has himself announced to
you, though probably the newspapers will anticipate his letter. I
am very sorry, now, I did not write sooner; but while you were
still in England, and travelling so slowly, I had always lurking
ideas that disqualified me from writing to Ireland.
The minute I received, from Sally, by our dearest father's desire
the last tidings I set out for Chelsea. I was much Shocked by
the news, long as it has been but natural to look
Page 118
forward to it. My better part spoke even before myself upon the
propriety of my instant journey, and promised me a faithful
nursing attendance during my absence.
I went in a chaise, to lose no time - but the uncertainty how I
might find my poor father made me arrive with a nervous seizure
upon my voice that rendered it as husky as Mr. Rishton's.
While I settled with the postilion, Sally, James, Charlotte, and
Marianne, came to me. Esther and Charles had been there the
preceding day ; they were sent to as soon as the event had
happened. My dearest father received me with extreme kindness,
but though far, far more calm and quiet than I could expect, he
was much shaken, and often very faint. However, in the course of
the evening, he suffered me to read to him various passages from
various books, such as conversation introduced; and as his nature
is as pure from affectation as from falsehood, encouraged in
himself, as well as permitted in us, whatever could lead to
cheerfulness.
Let me not forget to record one thing that was truly generous in
my poor mother's last voluntary exertions. She charged Sally and
her maid both not to call my father when she appeared to be
dying; and not disturb him if her death should happen in the
night, nor to let him hear it till he arose at his usual time. I
feel sensibly the kindness of this sparing consideration.
Yet not so would I be used! O never should I forgive the
misjudged prudence that should rob me of one little instant of
remaining life in one who was truly dear to me'; Nevertheless, I
shall not be surprised to have his first shock succeeded by a
sorrow it did not excite, and I fear he will require much
watching and vigilance to be kept as well as I have quitted him.
THE FRENCH EMIGRES AT NORBURY.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Bookham, December 25, 1796.
You will have heard that the Princesse d'Henin and M. de Lally
have spent a few days at Norbury Park. We went every evening
regularly to meet them, and they yet contrive to grow higher and
higher in our best opinions and affections; they force that last
word; none other is adequate to such regard as they excite.
Page 119
M. de Lally read us a pleading for ‚migr‚s of all descriptions,
to the people and government of France, for their re-instalment
in their native land, that exceeds in eloquence, argument, taste,
feeling, and every power of oratory and truth united, anything I
ever remember to have read. It is so affecting in many places,
that I was almost ill from restraining My nearly convulsive
emotions. My dear and honoured partner gives me, perhaps, an
interest in such a subject beyond what is mere natural due and
effect, therefore I cannot be sure such will be its universal
success; yet I shall be nothing less than Surprised to live to
see his statue erected in his own country, at the expense of his
own restored exiles. 'Tis, indeed, a wonderful performance. And
he was so easy, So gay, so unassuming, yet free from
condescension, that I almost worshipped him. M. d'Arblay cut me
off a bit of the coat in which he read his pleading, and I shall
preserve it, labelled!
The princess was all that was amiable and attractive, and she
loves my Susanna so tenderly, that her voice was always caressing
when she named her. She would go to Ireland, she repeatedly said,
on purpose to see you, were her fortune less miserably cramped.
The journey, voyage, time, difficulties, and ,sea-sickness, would
be nothing for obstacles. You have made, there, that rare and
exquisite acquisition-an ardent friend for life.
DR. BURNEY'S DEPRESSED STATE.
I have not heard very lately of my dearest father; all accounts
speak of his being very much lower in spirits than When I left
him. I sometimes am ready to return to him, for my whole heart
yearns to devote itself to him - but the babe, and the babe's
father--and there is no going en famille uninvited--and my dear
father does not feel equal to making the invitation.
One of the Tichfield dear girls seems to be constantly with
Sally, to aid the passing hours, but Our poor father wants
something more than cheerfulness and affection, though nothing
without them could do; he wants some one to find out pursuits--to
entice him into reading, by bringing books, or starting subjects;
some one to lead him to talk of what he thinks, or to forget what
he thinks of, by adroitly talking of what may catch other
attention. Even where deep sorrow is impossible, a gloomy void
must rest in the total breaking up such a long and such a fast
connexion.
Page 120
I must always grieve at your absence at such a period. our Esther
has SO much to do in her own family, and fears so much the cold
of Chelsea, that she can be only of day and occasional use, and
it is nights and mornings that call for the confidential
companion that might best revive him, He is more amiable, more
himself, if possible, than ever. God long preserve him to bless
us all!
COVETOUS OF PERSONAL DISTINCTION.
Your old acquaintance, Miss --, has been passing ten days in this
neighbourhood. She is become very pleasingly formed in manners,
wherever she wishes to oblige, and all her roughnesses and
ruggednesses are worn off. I believe the mischief done by her
education, and its wants, not cured, if curable au fond; but much
amended to all, and apparently done away completely to many. What
really rests is a habit of exclusively consulting just what she
likes best, not what would be or prove best for others. She
thinks, indeed, but little of anything except with reference to
herself, and what gives her an air, and will give her a
character, for inconstancy, that is in fact the mere result of
seeking her own gratification alike in meeting or avoiding her
connexions. If she saw this, she has understanding sufficient to
work it out of her; but she weighs nothing sufficiently to dive
into her own self. She knows she is a very clever girl, and she
is neither well contented with others, nor happy in herself, but
where this is evidently acknowledged.
We spent an evening together at Norbury Park ; she was shown all
Mr. William's pictures and drawings. I knew her expectations of
an attention she had no chance of exciting and therefore devoted
myself to looking them over with her yet, though Mr. Locke
himself led the way to see them, and explained several, and
though Amelia addressed her with the utmost sweetness, and Mrs.
Locke with perfect good breeding, I could not draw from her one
word relative to the evening, or the family, except that she did
not think she had heard Mr. William's voice once. A person so
young, and with such good parts, that can take no pleasure but in
personal distinction, which is all her visit can have wanted,
will soon cut all real improvement short, by confining herself to
such society alone as elevates herself. There she will always
make a capital figure, for her conversation is sprightly and
enter-
Page 121
taining, and her heart and principles are both good : she has
many excellent qualities, and various resources in herself; but
she is good enough to make me lament that she is not modest
enough to be yet better.
BABY D'ARBLAY AGAIN ; AND OTHER MATTERS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, NOV. 29, 1796.
My little man waits for your lessons to get on in elocution: he
has made no further advance but that of calling out, as he saw
our two watches hung on two opposite hooks over the chamber
chimney-piece, "Watch, papa,--watch, mamma;" so, though his first
speech is English, the idiom is French. We agree this is to avoid
any heartburning in his parents. He is at this moment so
exquisitely enchanted with a little penny trumpet, and finding he
can produce such harmony his own self, that he is blowing and
laughing till he can hardly stand. If you could see his little
swelling cheeks you would not accuse yourself of a misnomer in
calling him cherub. I try to impress him with an idea of pleasure
in going to see grandpapa, but the short visit to Bookham is
forgotten, and the permanent engraving remains, and all his
concurrence consists in pointing up to the print over the
chimney-piece, and giving it one of his concise little bows.
Are not people a little revived in the political world by this
unexampled honour paid to Mr. Pitt?(135) Mr. Locke has
subscribed 3000 pounds.
How you rejoiced me by what you say of poor Mr. Burke for I had
seen the paragraph of his death with most exceeding great
concern.
The Irish reports, are, I trust, exaggerated; few things come
quite plainly from Hibernia: yet what a time, in all respects, to
transport thither, as you too well term it, our beloved Susan!
She writes serenely, and Norbury seems to
Page 122
repay a world of sufferings : it is delightful to see her SO
satisfied there, at least; but they have all, she says, got the
brogue.
Our building is to be resumed the 1st of March; it will then soon
be done, as it is only of lath and plaster, and the roof and
wood-work are already prepared.' My indefatigable superintendent
goes every morning for two, three, or four hours to his field, to
work at a sunk fence that 'IS to protect his garden from our cow.
I have sent Mrs. Boscawen, through Miss Cambridge, a history of
our plan. The dwelling is destined by M. d'Arblay to be called
the Camilla cottage.
(95) "Memoires of Dr. Burney," vol. iii. pp. 224-5.
(96) "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," vol. iii., pp. 210-11.
(97) In the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney" Madame d'Arblay writes that
"Before the answer of Mr. Pitt to the memorial could be returned,
the attempt upon Toulon proved abortive." Mr, Pitt must certainly
have been in no hurry to reply; for the memorial was sent to him
about the commencement of October, and Toulon was not evacuated
by the English until the 18th of December.-ED.
(98) A character in "Cecilia."-ED.
(99) The well-known novelist.-ED.
(100) The cottage which Fanny and her husband contemplated
building, was not actually commenced until after the publication
of "Camilla," in 1796.-ED.
(101) The fund which Mrs. Crewe was exerting herself to raise for
the benefit of the French emigrant clergy.-ED.
(102) Mrs. Crewe had been urging Dr. Burney to engage his
daughter to contribute, by her pen, to the relief of the emigrant
clergy. Fanny accordingly wrote an "Address to the Ladies of
Great Britain," in the form of a short pamphlet, which was
published by Cadell, and which appears to have had the desired
effect.-ED.
(103) Alas for Dr. Burney's hopes! Toulon was successfully
defended until the middle of December, when the vigorous measures
of the besiegers, inspired by the genius Of Young Buonaparte,
resulted in the complete triumph of the Republicans. On the 17th
of December they carried by storm Fort Eguillette and the heights
of Faron. From these positions their artillery commanded the
harbour, and, further defence of the town being thereby rendered
impracticable, its instant evacuation was resolved upon by the
allies. An attempt to burn the French war-ships in the harbour,
before abandoning the place, was only partially successful. On
the 18th and 19th the troops embarked. Vast numbers of fugitives
were taken on board the retreating fleet, but a large proportion
of the unfortunate Toulonnais remained, to experience the cruel
vengeance of the Republicans-ED.
(104) The execution of Marie Antoinette, October 16, 1793.-ED.
(105) He was born on the 18th of December 1794.-ED.
(106) Goldsmith has drawn the character of Richard Burke in
"Retaliation," as follows:--
"Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must Sigh at;
Alaq, that such frolic should now be so quiet!
What spirits were his! what wit and what whim!
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb;
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball;
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all.
In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old Nick,
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish'd to have Dick back again."-ED.
(107) George Canning, who was not yet twenty-four years of age,
had just entered Parliament as member for Newport. He had
formerly been a Whig and an associate of Fox and Sheridan, but
the excesses of the French ,Revolution appear to have driven him,
as they had driven Burke and Windham, over to the opposite camp.
He took his seat as a Tory and a supporter of Mr. Pitt, and a
Tory he remained to the end of his days. Canning's maiden speech,
to which Fanny refers, was delivered January 31, in a debate on
the treaty between Great Britain and the King of Sardinia. By
this treaty, which was signed April 25, 1793, it was agreed that
the two contracting parties should make common cause in the war
against the French Republic; that England should pay to the King
of Sardinia an annual subsidy of 200,000 pounds, to enable him to
maintain the war; and that England should not conclude peace
without providing for the restoration to Sardinia of the
territories which had been torn from it by the Republic. In the
debate of January 31, 1794, Fox vigorously attacked the treaty,
while Canning, who spoke later, defended it in an able and
well-received maiden speech.-ED.
(108) Talleyrand's intrigues had made him an object of suspicion
to both parties. He was detested by the royalists of the first
emigration, had been d‚cr‚t‚ d'accusation by the Convention, and
was regarded by the English government as a dangerous person. In
January 1794, he received an order from the government to quit
England within five days, and he embarked in consequence, for the
United States, February 3.-ED.
(109) "London, 1794.-Madame,--Had it been possible I would have
had the honour of seeing you this morning , but the utter
impossibility of doing so has deprived me of the last pleasure
that I might have had in Europe. Permit me, madame, to thank you
again for all your kindness, and to ask a little place in your
memory, and let me tell you, I shall never cease, while I live,
to offer my vows for your welfare, and for that of the captain
and your children. You will have a very zealous servant in
America; I shall not return to Europe without coming to Surrey:
everything of value to my intellect or my heart is there.
"Kindly present my compliments to the captain."
(110) "London, March 2, 1794. Farewell, my dear d'Arblay: I leave
your country till the time when it will no longer be governed by
the petty passions of men. Then I will return; not, indeed, to
busy myself with public affairs, for I have long since abandoned
them for ever; but to see the excellent inhabitants of Surrey. I
hope to know enough English to understand Madame d'Arblay; for
the next four months, I shall do nothing but study it: and, to
acquaint myself with the beauties of the language, I take
'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' both for study and pleasure. I wish
You, my dear friend, all kinds of happiness, and you are in the
way to fulfil all my wishes.
"I do not know how long I shall remain in America. If there were
a prospect of the re-establishment of reason and stability in our
unhappy country, I should return; if Europe goes to pieces in the
coming campaign, I will prepare a refuge in America for all our
friends.
"Farewell. My respects to Madame d'Arblay and Mrs. Phillips.
I ask of you and I promise you a lifelong friendship."
(The date at the head Of this letter Is evidently incorrect--
probably a slip of the writer's. Talleyrand embarked February
3.-ED.
(111) Lafayette's brilliant services in the cause of liberty had
not secured him from the usual fate of moderate revolutionists at
this period. In the early days of the Revolution, he was the hero
of the French people; in 1792, denounced by RobespiŠrre and the
jacobins, he was compelled to seek safety in flying from France.
He escaped the guillotine, indeed, but fell into the hands of the
Austrians, was cast into prison, and did not gain his liberty
till September, 1797.-ED.
(112) This was Dr. Burney's first meeting with Mrs. Piozzi since
her marriage. It occurred at one of Salomon's celebrated
concerts, where the doctor, with surprise, perceived Piozzi among
the audience, not knowing that he had returned from Italy. He
entered into a cordial conversation with the Signor, and inquired
after his wife. "Piozzi, turning round, pointed to a sofa, on
which, to his infinite joy, Dr. Burney beheld Mrs. Thrale Piozzi,
seated in the midst of her daughters, the four Miss Thrales,"
those young ladies (at least, the three elder, for Cecilia had
been abroad with Mr. and Mrs. Piozzi) having made up their minds
by this time to accept the inevitable, and to be reconciled to
their mother." See "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," vol. iii. p. 198.-ED.
(113) Written after the Doctor's first visit to Bookham.
(114) Name of a gardener in a drama of Fontenelle's.
(115) The novel of "Camilla," then lately begun.
(116) "Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Metastasio," a work
which Dr. Burney was then engaged upon, and which was published
in three Volumes, 8vo in 1796.-ED.
(117) "Edwy and Elgiva," a tragedy by Madame d'Arblay.
(118) Edmund Burke's only son, Richard, died August 2, 1794.-ED
(119) "Edwy and Elgiva," produced by Sheridan at Drury-lane,
March 21, 1795; it was acted but once, and never printed.-ED.
(120) Warren Hastings was acquitted of all the charges, April 23,
1795.
(121) Both characters, to some extent, were true. Goldsmith's
portrait of Cumberland, though flattering, is not, we fancy,
without a slight undercurrent of irony. Here are the lines from
"Retaliation."
"Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And Comedy wonders at being so fine:
Like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, that Folly grows proud
And coxcombs, alike in their failings atone:
Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own,
Say, where has our poet this malady caught?
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?
Say, was it that, mainly directing his view
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?"-ED.
(122) The novels of Mrs. Radcliffe were now at the height of
their popularity. "The Mysteries of Udolpho," perhaps the most
powerful of her works, had recently been published, to the
intense delight of all lovers of the thrilling and romantic.-ED.
(123) The name was then "Ariella," changed afterwards to
"Camilla."
(124) Written during his embarrassments from the French
Revolution, and answer to a letter expressing bitter
disappointment from repeated losses.
(125) M. de Narbonne, in reply, expressed, in lively terms, his
gratitude for Madame d'Arblay's invitation, and his pleasure in
receiving it. But he declined the proposal. He was not, he said,
wholly without resources, or without hopes for the future, and
circumstances made it desirable that he should reside at present
near the French frontier.-ED.
(126) Gainsborough Dupont, a nephew of the great Gainsborough.
He was a portrait-painter of some merit, and an excellent mezzo-
tint engraver. some of his best plates were engraved after
paintings by Gainsborough. Mr Dupont died in 1797.-ED.
(127) " The Birth of Love;" a poem: with engravings, from designs
by her royal highness the Princess Elizabeth.
(128) i.e., the Duke of York, second son of the king. He had been
appointed field-marshal and commander-in-chief early in 1795.-ED.
(129) The Duchess of York was daughter to the King of Prussia.-
ED.
(130) Susan's little son, Norbury Phillips.-ED.
(131) Rose Dale, Richmond, Surrey. This place was formerly the
residence of the poet Thomson, and afterwards became the property
of the Honourable Mrs. Boscawen.
(132) The princess royal was married, May 18, 1797, to Frederick
William, hereditary prince of Wurtemberg.-ED.
(133) Editor and proprietor of the "Monthly Review."
(134) The death of Dr. Burney's second wife.
(135) Fanny alludes to the so-called "loyalty loan," proposed and
carried by Mr Pitt, to meet the expenses of the war. "Pitt
evinced his own Public spirit, when he relied on and appealed to
the public spirit of the People. He announced a loan of
18,000,000 pounds, at five per cent., to be taken at 112 pounds ,
10 shillings, for every 100 pounds stock, and with an option to
the proprietors to he paid off at par within two years after a
treaty of peace."-(Stanhope's "Life of Pitt," vol. ii., P. 389.)
The loan was taken up by the Public with extraordinary eagerness,
5,000,000 pounds being subscribed on the first day of issue
(December 1, 1796).-ED. .'
(136) They had commenced building the cottage in October. Fanny
writes, November 29: "Our cottage building stops now, from the
shortness of the days, till the beginning of March. The
foundation is laid, and it will then be run up with great speed.
The well, at length, is finished, and it is a hundred and odd
feet deep. The water is said to be excellent, but M. d'Arblay
has had it now stopped to prevent accidents from hazardous boys,
who, when the field is empty of owners, will be amusing
themselves there. He has just completed his grand plantations;
part of which are in evergreens, part in firewood for future
time, and part in an orchard."-ED.
Page 123
SECTION 21.
(1797-8)
"CAMILLA" COTTAGE. SUNDRY VISITS TO THE ROYAL FAMILY.
[Fanny's pen portraits of the princesses are as fascinating as
Gainsborough's paintings of them. Their truly amiable characters
and sweet dispositions are nowhere more pleasantly illustrated
than in the following section of the "Diary." A list of their
names, with the dates of their births and deaths, may be useful
to the reader.
1. Charlotte, princess royal. born 1767: Queen of Wirtemburg:
died 1828.
2. Augusta, Fanny's favourite, as she well deserved to be. Born
1768 : never married : died 1840.
3. Elizabeth, the artist of the family. Born 1770 : married the
hereditary prince (afterwards, in 1820, Landgrave) of Hesse-
Homburg in 18 18, and settled in Germany: died 1840.
4. Mary. Born 1776 : married her cousin, William Frederick, Duke
of Gloucester, in 1816: died 1857.
5. Sophia, born 1777: died 1848.
6. Amelia, born 1783. Her health first gave way in 1798 (see p.
180): she died, unmarried, at Windsor, in 1810. A few days before
her death she gave her poor blind, old father, a ring containing
a scrap of her hair ; saying only, as she pressed it into his
hand, "Remember me!" The poor king's anguish brought on a fresh
attack of insanity, from which he never recovered.-ED.]
A DISAGREEABLE JOURNEY HoME.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, January 3, '97.
WAS extremely vexed at missing our uncertain post yesterday, and
losing, unavoidably, another to-day, before I return my dearest
father our united thanks for the kind and sweet fortnight passed
under his roof. Our adventures in coming back were better adapted
to our departure than our
Page 124
arrival, for they were rather rueful. One of the horses did not
like his business, and wanted to be off, and we were stopped by
his gambols continually , and, if I had not been a soldier's
wife, I should have been terribly alarmed; but my soldier does
not like to see himself disgraced in his other half, and so I was
fain to keep up my courage, till, at length, after we had passed
Fetcham, the frisky animal plunged till he fastened the shaft
against a hedge, and then, little Betty beginning to scream, I
inquired of the postilion if we had not better alight. If it
were not, he said, for the dirt, yes. The dirt then was defied,
and I prevailed, though with difficulty, upon my chieftain to
consent to a general dismounting. And he then found it was not
too soon, for the horse became inexorable to all menace, caress,
chastisement, or harangue, and was obliged to be loosened.
Meanwhile, Betty, Bab, and I trudged on, vainly looking back for
our vehicle, till we reached our little home--a mile and a half.
Here we found good fires, though not a morsel
of food; this however, was soon procured, and our walking apparel
changed for drier raiment; and I sent forth our nearest cottager,
and a young butcher, and a boy, towards Fetcham, to aid the
vehicle, or its contents, for my chevalier had stayed on account
of our chattels: and about two hours after the chaise arrived,
with one horse, and pushed by its hirer, while it was half
dragged by its driver. But all came safe; and we drank a dish of
tea, and ate a mutton chop, and kissed our little darling, and
forgot all else of our journey hut the pleasure we had had at
Chelsea with my dearest father and dear Sally.
And just now I received a letter from our Susanna, which tells me
the invasion(137) has been made in a part of Ireland
Page 125 .
where all is so loyal there can be no apprehension from any such
attempt ; but she adds, that if it had happened in the north
everything might have been feared. Heaven send the invaders far
from all the points of the Irish compass! and that's an Irish
wish for expression, though not for meaning. All the intelligence
she gathers is encouraging, with regard to the spirit and loyalty
of all that surround her. But Mr. Brabazon is in much uneasiness
for his wife, whose situation is critical, and he hesitates
whether or not to convey her to Dublin, as a place of more
security than her own habitation. What a period this for the
usual journey of our invaluable Susan!
BURKE's FUNERAL AT BEACONSFIELD.
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Saturday Night, July 22, 1797.
I was invited to poor Mr. Burke's funeral,(138) by Mrs. Crewe and
two notes from Beaconsfield. Malone and I went to Bulstrode
together in my car, this day sevennight, with two horses added to
mine. Mrs. Crewe had invited me thither when she went down
first. We found the Duke of Portland there; and the Duke of
Devonshire and Windham came to dinner. The chancellor and speaker
of the House of Commons could not leave London till four o'clock,
but arrived a little after seven. We all set off together for
Beaconsfield, where we found the rest of the pall-bearers--Lord
Fitzwilliam, Lord Inchiquin, and Sir Gilbert Eliot, with Drs.
King and Lawrence, Lord North, Dudley North, and many of the
deceased's private friends, though by his repeated injunction the
funeral was to be very private. We had all hatbands, scarfs, and
gloves; and he left a list to whom rings of remembrance are to be
sent, among whom my name occurred, and a jeweller has been here
for my measure. I went back to Bulstrode, by invitation, with
the two dukes, the chancellor, and speaker, Windham, Malone, and
Secretary King. I ,stayed there till Sunday evening, and got home
just before the dreadful storm. The duke was extremely civil and
hospitable,--
Page 126
pressed me much to stay longer and go with them, the chancellor,
speaker, Windham, and Mrs. Crewe, to Pinn, to see the school,
founded by Mr. Burke, for the male children of French emigrant
nobles; but I could not with prudence stay, having a couple of
ladies waiting for me in London, and two extra horses with me.
So much for poor Mr. Burke, certainly one of the greatest men of
the present century; and I think I might say the best orator and
statesman of modern times. He had his passions and prejudices to
which I did not subscribe - but I always admired his great
abilities, friendship, and urbanity - and it would be ungrateful
in you and me, to whom he was certainly partial, not to feel and
lament his loss.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, July 27, '97.
I was surprised, and almost frightened, though at the same time
gratified, to find you assisted in paying the last honours to Mr.
Burke. How sincerely I sympathise in all you say of that truly
great man! That his enemies say he was not perfect is nothing
compared with his immense superiority over almost all those who
are merely exempted from his peculiar defects. That he was
upright in heart, even where he acted wrong, I do truly believe;
and that he asserted nothing he had not persuaded himself to be
true, from Mr. Hastings's being the most rapacious of villains,
to the king's being incurably insane. He was as generous as kind,
and as liberal in his sentiments as he was luminous in intellect
and extraordinary in abilities and eloquence. Though free from
all little vanity, high above envy, and glowing with zeal to
exalt talents and merit in others, he had, I believe a
consciousness of his own greatness, that shut out those
occasional and useful self-doubts which keep our judgment in
order, by calling our motives and our passions to account.
DEATH OF M. D'ARBLAY'S BROTHER.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, August 10, '97.
You know, I believe, with what cruel impatience and uncertainty
my dear companion has waited for some news Of his family ; no
tidings, however, could be procure, nor has
Page 127
ever heard from any part of it till last Saturday morning, when
two letters arrived by the same post, with information of the
death of his only brother.
impossible as it has long been to look back to France without
fears amounting even to expectation of horrors, he had never
ceased cherishing hopes some favourable turn would, in the end,
unite him with this last branch of his house; the shock,
therefore, has been terribly severe, and has cast a gloom upon
his mind and spirits which nothing but his kind anxiety to avoid
involving mine can at present suppress. He is now the last of a
family of seventeen, and not one relation of his own name now
remains but his own little English son. His father was the only
son of an only son, which drives all affinity on the paternal
side into fourth and fifth kinsmen.
On the maternal side, however, he has the happiness to hear that
an uncle, who is inexpressibly dear to him, who was his guardian
and best friend through life, still lives, and has been permitted
to remain unmolested in his own house, at Joigny, where he is now
in perfect health, save from rheumatic .attacks, which though
painful are not dangerous. A son, too, of this gentleman, who
was placed as a commissaire-de-guerre by M. d'Arblay during the
period of his belonging to the war committee, still holds the
same situation, which is very lucrative, and which M. d'A. had
concluded would have been withdrawn as soon as his own flight
from France was known.
The little property of which the late Chevalier d'Arblay died
possessed, this same letter says, has been "vendu pour la
nation,"(139) because his next heir was an ‚migr‚; though there
is a little niece, Mlle. Girardin, daughter of an only sister,
who is in France, and upon whom the succession was settled, if
her uncles died without immediate heirs.
Some little matter, however, what we know not, has been reserved
by being bought in by this respectable uncle, who sends M.
d'Arblay word he has saved him what he may yet live upon, if he
can find means to return without personal risk, and who solicits
to again see him with urgent fondness, in which he is joined by
his aunt with as much warmth as if she, also, was his relation by
blood, not alliance.
The late chevalier, my M. d'A. says, was a man of the softest
manners and most exalted honour ; and he was so tall and so thin,
he was often nicknamed Don Quixote, but he was so completely
aristocratic with regard to the Revolution,
Page 128
at its very commencement, that M. d'A. has heard nothing yet with
such unspeakable astonishment as the news that he died, near
Spain, of his wounds from a battle in which he had fought for the
Republic. "How strange," says M. d'A., "is our destiny! that that
Republic which I quitted, determined to be rather an hewer of
wood and drawer of water all my life than serve, he should die
for." The secret history of this may some day come out, but it is
now inexplicable, for the mere fact, without the smallest
comment, is all that has reached us, In the period, indeed, in
which M. d'A. left France, there were but three steps possible
for those who had been bred to arms-flight, the guillotine, or
fighting for the Republic, "The former this brother," M. d'A.
says, "had not energy of character to undertake in the desperate
manner in which he risked it himself, friendless and fortuneless,
to live in exile as he could. The guillotine no one could elect;
and the continuing in the service, though in a cause he detested,
was, probably, his hard compulsion." . . .
Our new habitation will very considerably indeed exceed our first
intentions and expectations. I suppose it has ever been so, and
so ever must be ; for we sought as well as determined to keep
within bounds, and M. d'A. still thinks he has done it - however,
I am more aware of our tricks upon travellers than to enter into
the same delusion.
The pleasure, however, he has taken in this edifice is my first
joy, for it has constantly shown me his heart has invariably held
to those first feelings which, before our union, determined him
upon settling in England. O! if you knew how he has been
assailed, by temptations of every sort that either ambition, or
interest, or friendship could dictate, to change his plan,-and
how his heart sometimes yearns towards those he yet can love in
his native soil, while his firmness still remains unshaken,-- you
would not wonder I make light of even extravagance in a point
that shows him thus fixed to make this object a part of the whole
system of his future life.
FROM CREWE HALL TO CHELSEA.
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Friday Night, September 13, 1797.
My dear Fanny,-Where did I leave off?--hang me if I know!--I
believe I told you, or all when with YOU, Of the Chester and
Liverpool journey and voyage. On Saturday
Page 129
26th August, the day month from leaving London, M. le pr‚sident
de Frondeville and I left Crewe Hall on our way back. The dear
Mrs. Crewe kindly set us in our way as far as Etruria. We visited
Trentham Hall, in Staffordshire, the famous seat of the Marquis
of Stafford,--a very fine place--fine piece of water--fine
hanging woods,--the valley of Tempe--and the river Trent running
through the garden. Mrs C. introduced us to the marchioness, who
did us the honour of showing us the house herself; it has lately
been improved and enlarged by Wyatt:--fine pictures, library,
etc.
After a luncheon here, we went to Etruria, which I had never
seen. Old Mr. Wedgwood is dead, and his son and successor not at
home ; but we went to the pottery manufacture, and saw the whole
process of forming the beautiful things which are dispersed all
over the universe from this place. Mrs. C. offered to send you a
little hand churn for your breakfast butter ; but I should have
broke it to pieces, and durst not accept of it. But if it would
be of any use, when you have a cow, I will get you one at the
Wedgwood ware-house in London. Here we parted.
The president and I got to Lichfield by about ten o'clock that
night. In the morning, before my companion was up, I strolled
about the city with one of the waiters, in search of Frank
Barber,' who I had been told lived there; but on ,inquiry I was
told his residence was in a village three or four miles off. I
however soon found the house where dear Dr. Johnson was born, and
his father's shop. The house is stuccoed, has five sash-windows
in front, and pillars before it. It is the best house
thereabouts, near St. Mary's Church, in a broad street, and is
now a grocer's shop.
I went next to the Garrick house, which has been lately repaired,
stuccoed, enlarged, and sashed. Peter Garrick, David's eldest
brother, died about two years ago, leaving all his Possessions to
the apothecary that had attended him. But the will was disputed
and set aside not long since, it having appeared at a trial that
the testator was insane at the time the will was made; so that
Mrs. Doxie, Garrick's sister, a widow with a numerous family,
recovered the house and -_30,000, She now lives in it with her
family, and has been able to set up a carriage. The inhabitants
of Lichfield were so pleased
Page 130
with the decision of the court on the trial, that they
illuminated the streets, and had public rejoicings on the
occasion.
After examining this house well, I tried to find the residence of
Dr. James, inventor of the admirable fever powders, which have so
often saved the life of our dear Susey, and others without
number. But the ungrateful inhabitants knew nothing about him. .
. .
The cathedral, which has been lately thoroughly repaired
internally, is the most complete and beautiful Gothic building I
ever saw. The outside was trŠs mal trait‚ by the fanatics of the
last century; but there are three beautiful spires still
standing, and more than fifty whole-length figures of saints in
their original niches. The choir is exquisitely beautiful. A fine
new organ is erected, and was well played, and I never heard the
cathedral service so well performed to that instrument only
before. The services and anthems were middle-aged music, neither
too old and dry, nor too modern and light ; the voices subdued,
and exquisitely softened and sweetened by the building,
While the lessons were reading, which I could not hear, I looked
for monuments, and found a beautiful one to Garrick, and another
just by it to Johnson; the former erected by Mrs. Garrick, who
has been daily abused for not erecting one to her husband in
Westminster Abbey ; but sure that was a debt due to him from the
public, and that due from his widow best paid here.(141)
Johnson's has been erected by his friends:--both are beautiful,
and alike in every particular.
There is a monument here to Johnson's first patron, Mr. Walmsley,
whose amplitude of learning and copiousness of communication were
such, that our revered friend said, "it might be doubted whether
a day passed in which he had not some advantage from his
friendship." There is a monument likewise to Lady M. W. Montagu,
and to the father of Mr. Addison, etc.
We left Lichfield about two o'clock, and reached Daventry that
night, stopping a little at Coventry to look at the great church
and Peeping Tom. Next day got to St. Albans time enough to look
'It the church and neighbouring ruins. Next morning breakfasted
at Barnet, where my car met me, and got to Chelsea by three
o'clock, leaving my agreeable compagnon de voyage, M. le
pr‚sident, at his apartments in town. . . .
Page 131
AT DR. HERSCHEL'S.
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Chelsea College, Thursday, September 28.
My dear Fanny,--I read your letter pen in hand, and shall try to
answer it by to-day's post. But first let me tell you that it
was very unlikely to find me at home, for on Tuesday I went to
Lord Chesterfield's at Bailie's, and arrived there in very good
time for a four o'clock dinner - when, behold ! I was informed by
the porter that " both my lord and lady were in town, and did not
return till Saturday ! " Lord Chesterfield had unexpectedly been
obliged to go to town by indisposition. Though I was asked to
alight and take refreshment, I departed immediately, intending to
dine and lie at Windsor, to be near Dr. Herschel, with whom a
visit had been arranged by letter. But as I was now at liberty
to make that visit at any time of the day I pleased, I drove
through Slough in my way to Windsor, in order to ask at Dr.
Herschel's door when my visit would be least inconvenient to
him--that night or next morning. The good soul was at dinner, but
came to the door himself, to press me to alight immediately and
partake of his family repast - and this he did so heartily that I
could not resist. I was introduced to the family at table, four
ladies, and a little boy about the age and size of Martin.(142) I
was quite shocked at seeing so many females: I expected (not
knowing Herschel was married) only to have found Miss Herschel. .
. . I expressed my concern and shame at disturbing them at this
time of the day ; told my story, at which they were so cruel as
to rejoice, and went so far as to say they rejoiced at the
accident which had brought me there, and hoped I would send my
carriage away, and take a bed with them. They were sorry they had
no stables for my horses. I thought it necessary, You may, be
sure, to faire la petite bouche, ,but in spite of my blushes I
was obliged to submit to my trunk being taken in and the car sent
to the inn just by. . . .
Your health was drunk after dinner (put that int.) your pocket);
and after much social conversation and a few hearty laughs, the
ladies proposed to take a walk, in order, I believe, to leave
Herschel and me together. We walked and talked
Page 132
round his great telescopes till it grew damp and dusk, then
retreated into his study to philosophise. I had a string of
questions ready to ask, and astronomical difficulties to solve,
which, with looking at curious books and instruments, filled up
the time charmingly till tea, which being drank with
the ladies, we two retired again to the starry. Now having paved
the way, we began to talk of my poetical plan, and he pressed me
to read what I had done.(143) Heaven help his head! my eight
books, of from four hundred to eight hundred and twenty lines,
would require two or three days to read.
He made me unpack my trunk for my MS., from which I read him the
titles of the chapters, and begged he would choose any book or
character of a great astronomer he pleased. "Oh, let us have the
beginning." I read him the first eighteen or twenty lines of the
exordium, and then said I rather wished to come to modern times -
I was more certain of my ground in high antiquity than after the
time of Copernicus, and began my eighth chapter, entirely on
Newton and his system. He gave me the greatest encouragement
said repeatedly that I perfectly understood what I was writing'
about - and only stopped me at two places: one was at a word too
strong for what I had to describe, and the other at one too weak.
The doctrine he allowed to be quite orthodox, concerning
gravitation, refraction, reflection, optics, comets, magnitudes,
distances, revolutions, etc., but made a discovery to me which,
had I known sooner, would have overset me, and prevented my
reading any part of my work: he said he had almost always had an
aversion to poetry, which he regarded as the arrangement of fine
words, without any useful meaning or adherence to truth; but
that, when truth and science were united to these fine words, he
liked poetry very well; and next morning, after breakfast, he
made me read as much of another chapter on Descartes, etc., as
the time would allow, as I had ordered my carriage at twelve. I
read, talked, asked questions, and looked at books and
instruments, till near one, when I set off for Chelsea.
Page 133
HOSPITALITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Francis.)
Westhamble, November 16, 1797.
Your letter was most welcome to me, my dearest Charlotte, and I
am delighted Mr. Broome(144) and my dear father will so speedily
meet. If they steer clear of politics, there can be no doubt of
their immediate exchange of regard and esteem. At all events, I
depend upon Mr. B.'s forbearance of such subjects, if their
opinions clash. Pray let me hear how the interview went off.
I need not say how I shall rejoice to see you again, nor how
charmed we shall both be to make a nearer acquaintance with Mr.
Broome; but, for heaven's sake, my dear girl, how are we to give
him a dinner?--unless he will bring with him his poultry, for
ours are not yet arrived from Bookham; and his fish, for ours are
still at the bottom of some pond we know not where, and his spit,
for our jack is yet without clue; and his kitchen grate, for ours
waits for Count Rumford's(145) next pamphlet;--not to mention his
table-linen;--and not to speak
Page 134
of his knives and forks, some ten of our poor original twelve
having been massacred in M. d'Arblay's first essays in the art of
carpentering ;-and to say nothing of his large spoons, the silver
of our plated ones having feloniously made off under cover of the
whitening-brush--and not to talk of his cook, ours being not yet
hired ;-and not to start the subject of wine, ours, by some odd
accident, still remaining at the wine-merchant's! With all these
impediments, however, to convivial hilarity, if he will eat a
quarter of a joint of meat (his share, I mean), tied up by a
packthread, and roasted by a log of wood on the bricks,--and
declare no potatoes so good as those dug by M. d'Arblay out of
our garden,--and protest our small beer gives the spirits of
champagne,--and make no inquiries where we have deposited the
hops he will conclude we have emptied out of our table-cloth,--
and pronounce that bare walls are superior to tapestry,--and
promise us the first sight of his epistle upon visiting a
new-built cottage,--we shall be sincerely happy to receive him in
our hermitage; where I hope to learn, for my dearest Charlotte's
sake, to love him as much as, for his own I have very long
admired him.
WAR TAXES. "CAMILLA" COTTAGE.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Westhamble, December, '97.
The new threefold assessment of taxes has terrified us rather
seriously ; though the necessity, and therefore justice, of them,
we mutually feel. My father thinks his own share will amount to
eighty pounds a year ! We have, this very morning, decided upon
parting with four of our new windows, --a great abatement of
agr‚mens to ourselves, and of ornament to our appearance; and a
still greater sacrifice to the amour Propre of my architect, who,
indeed,--his fondness for his edifice considered,--does not ill
deserve praise that the scheme had not his mere consent, but his
own free proposition. . . .
We quitted Bookham with one single regret--that of leaving our
excellent neighbours the Cookes. . . . we languished for the
moment of removal with almost infantine fretfulness at every
delay that distanced it; and when at last the grand day came, our
final packings, with all their toil
Page 135
and difficulties and labour and expense, were mere acts of
pleasantry; so bewitched were we with the impending change, that,
though from six o'clock to three we were hard at work, without a
kettle to boil the breakfast, or a knife to cut bread for a
luncheon, we missed nothing, wanted nothing, and were as
insensible to fatigue as to hunger.
M. d'Arblay set out on foot, loaded with remaining relics of
things, to us precious, and Betty afterwards with a remnant of
glass or two; the other maid had been sent two days before. I was
forced to have a chaise for my Alex and me, and a few
looking-glasses, a few folios, and not a few other oddments and
then, with dearest Mr. Locke, our founder's portrait, and my
little boy, off I set, and I would my dearest Susan could relate
to me as delicious a journey.
My mate, striding over hedge and ditch, arrived first, though he
set out after' to welcome me to our new dwelling; and we entered
our new best room, in which I found a glorious fire of wood, and
a little bench, borrowed of one of the departing carpenters :
nothing else. We contrived to make room for each other, and Alex
disdained all rest. His spirits were so high upon finding two or
three rooms totally free for his horse (alias any stick he can
pick up) and himself, unencumbered by chairs and tables and
such-like lumber, that he was as merry as a little Andrew and as
wild as twenty colts. Here we unpacked a small basket containing
three or four loaves, and, with a garden-knife, fell to work;
some eggs had been procured from a neighbouring farm, and one
saucepan had been brought. We dined, therefore, exquisitely, and
drank to our new possession from a glass of clear water out of
our new well.
At about eight o'clock our goods arrived. We had our bed put up
in the middle of our room, to avoid risk of damp walls, and our
Alex had his dear Willy's crib at our feet.
We none of us caught cold. We had fire night and day in the
maids' room, as well as Our own -or rather in my Susan's room;
for we lent them that, their own having a little inconvenience
against a fire, because it is built without a chimney. We
Continued making fires all around us the first fortnight, and
then found wood would be as bad as an apothecary's bill, so
desisted; but we did not stop short so soon as to want the latter
to succeed the former, or put our calculation to the proof.
Our first week was devoted to unpacking, and exulting in Our
completed plan. To have no one thing at hand, nothing
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to eat, nowhere to sit--all were trifles, rather, I think,
amusing than incommodious. The house looked so clean, the
distribution of the rooms and closets is so convenient, the
prospect everywhere around is so gay and so lovely, and the park
of dear Norbury is so close at hand, that we hardly knew how to
require anything else for existence than the enjoyment of our own
situation.
At this period I received my summons. I believe I have already
explained that I had applied to Miss Planta for advice whether my
best chance of admission would be at Windsor, Kew, or London. I
had a most kind letter of answer, importing my letter had been
seen, and that her majesty would herself fix the time when she
could admit me. This was a great happiness to me, and the fixture
was for the Queen's house in town.
VISITORS ARRIVE INOPPORTUNELY.
The only drawback to the extreme satisfaction of such
graciousness as allowing an appointment to secure me from a
fruitless journey, as well as from impropriety and all fear of
intrusion, was, that exactly at this period the Princess d'Henin
and M. de Lally were expected at Norbury. I hardly could have
regretted anything else, I was so delighted by my summons; but
this I indeed lamented. They arrived to dinner on Thursday: I was
involved in preparations, and unable to meet them, and my mate
would not be persuaded to relinquish aiding me.
The next morning, through mud, through mire, they came to our
cottage. The poor princess was forced to change shoes and
stockings. M. de Lally is more accustomed to such expeditions.
Nothing could be more sweet than they both were, nor indeed, more
grateful than I felt for my share in their kind exertion. The
house was re-viewed all over, even the little pot au feu was
opened by the princess, excessively curious to see our manner of
living in its minute detail.
I have not heard if your letter has been received by M. de Lally;
but I knew not then you had written, and therefore did not
inquire. The princess talked of nothing so much as you, and with
a softness of regard that quite melted me. I always tell her
warmly how you feel about her. M. de Lally was most melancholy
about France; the last new and most alas! barbarous
revolution(146) has disheartened all his hopes--alas!
Page 137
whose can withstand it? They made a long and kind visit, and in
the afternoon we went to Norbury Park, where we remained till
near eleven o'clock, and thought the time very short.
Madame d'Henin related some of her adventures in this second
flight from her terrible country, and told them with a spirit and
a power of observation that would have made them interesting if a
tale of old times ; but now, all that gives account of those
events awakens the whole mind to attention.
M. de Lally after tea read us a beginning of a new tragedy,
composed upon an Irish story, but bearing allusion so palpable to
the virtues and misfortunes of Louis XVI. that it had almost as
strong an effect upon our passions and faculties as if it had
borne the name of that good and unhappy prince. It is written
with great pathos, noble sentiment, and most eloquent language.
I parted from them with extreme reluctance-nay, vexation.
ANOTHER VISIT TO THE ROYAL FAMILY.
I set off for town early the next day, Saturday.
My time was not yet fixed for my royal interview, but I had
various preparations impossible to make in this dear, quiet,
obscure cottage. Mon ami could not accompany me, as we had still
two men constantly at work, the house without being quite
unfinished but I could not bear to leave his little
representative, who, with Betty, was my companion to Chelsea.
There I was expected, and Our dearest father came forth with open
arms to welcome us. He was in delightful spirits, the sweetest
humour, and perfectly good looks and good health. My little
rogue soon engaged him in a romp, which conquered his rustic
shyness, and they became the best friends in the world.
Thursday morning I had a letter from Miss Planta, written with
extreme warmth of kindness, and fixing the next day at eleven
o'clock for my royal admission.
Page 138
I went up-stairs to Miss Planta's room, where, while I waited for
her to be called, the charming Princess Mary passed by, attended
by Mrs. Cheveley. She recollected me and turned back, and came up
to me with a fair hand graciously held out to me. "How do you
do, Madame d'Arblay?" she cried: "I am vastly glad to see you
again and how does your little boy do?"
I gave her a little account of the rogue, and she proceeded to
inquire about my new cottage, and its actual state. I entered
into a long detail of its bare walls, and unfurnished sides, and
the gambols of the little man unencumbered by cares of fractures
from useless ornaments, that amused her good-humoured interest in
my affairs very much , and she did not leave me till Miss Planta
came to usher me to Princess Augusta.
That kind princess received me with a smile so gay, and a look so
pleased at my pleasure in again seeing her, that I quite
regretted the etiquette which prevented a chaste embrace. She
was sitting at her toilette having her hair dressed. The royal
family were all going at night to the play. She turned instantly
from the glass to face me, and insisted upon my being seated
immediately. She then wholly forgot her attire and ornaments and
appearance, and consigned herself wholly to conversation, with
that intelligent animation which marks her character. She
inquired immediately how my little boy did, and then with great
sweetness after his father, and after my father.
My first subject was the princess royal, and I accounted for not
having left my hermitage in the hope of once more seeing her
royal highness before her departure. It would have been, I told
her, so melancholy a pleasure to have come merely for a last
view, that I could not bear to take my annual indulgence at a
period which would make it leave a mournful impression upon my
mind for a twelvemonth to come. The princess said she could enter
into that, but said it as if she had been surprised I had not
appeared. She then gave ne some account of the ceremony ;(147)
and when I told her I had heard that her royal highness the bride
had never looked so lovely, she confirmed the praise warmly, but
laughingly added, "'Twas the queen dressed her! You know what a
figure she used to make of herself, with her odd manner Of
Page 139
dressing herself; but mamma said, 'Now really, princess royal,
this one time is the last, and I cannot suffer you to make such a
quiz of yourself; so I will really have you dressed such a quiz
of yourself, properly.' And indeed the queen was quite in the
right, for everybody said she had never looked so well in her
life."
The word "quiz," you may depend, was never the queen's. I had
great comfort, however, in gathering, from all that passed on
that subject, that the royal family is persuaded this estimable
princess is happy. From what I know of her disposition I am led
to believe the situation may make her so. She is born to preside,
and that with equal softness and dignity; but she was here in
utter subjection, for which she had neither spirits nor
inclination. She adored the king, honoured the queen, and loved
her sisters, and had much kindness for her brothers ; but her
style of life was not adapted to the royalty of her nature, any
more than of her birth; and though she only wished for power to
do good and to confer favours, she thought herself out of her
place in not possessing it.
I was particularly happy to learn from the Princess Augusta that
she has already a favourite friend in her new Court, in one of
the princesses of Wurtemberg, wife of a younger brother of the
hereditary prince, and who is almost as a widow, from the prince,
her husband, being constantly with the army. This is a
delightful circumstance, as her turn of mind, and taste, and
,employments, accord singularly with those of our princess.
I have no recollection of the order of our conversation, but will
give you what morsels occur to me as they arise in my memory.
The terrible mutiny occupied us some time.(148) She told me
Page 140
many anecdotes that she had learnt in favour Of various sailors,
declaring, with great animation, her security In their good
hearts, however drawn aside by harder and more cunning heads, The
sweetness with which she delights to get out of all that is
forbidding in her rank is truly adorable. In speaking of a sailor
on board the St. Fiorenzo, when the royal family made their
excursion by sea from Weymouth, she said, "You must know this man
was a great favourite of mine, for he had the most honest
countenance you can conceive, and I have often talked with him,
every time we have been at Weymouth, so that we were good
friends; but I wanted now in particular to ask him concerning the
mutiny, but I knew I should not get him to speak out while the
king and queen and my sisters were by ; so I told Lady Charlotte
Bellasyse to watch an opportunity when he was upon deck, and the
rest were in the cabin, and then we went up to him and questioned
him; and he quite answered my expectations, for, instead of
taking any merit to himself from belonging to the St. Fiorenso,
which was never in the mutiny, the good creature said he was sure
there was not a sailor in the navy that was not sorry to have
belonged to it, and would not have got out of it as readily as
himself, if he had known but how."
The Princess Elizabeth now entered, but she did not stay. She
came to ask something of her sister relative to a little fˆte she
was preparing, by way of a collation, in honour of the Princess
Sophia, who was twenty this day. She made kind inquiries after my
health, etc., and, being mistress of the birthday fˆte, hurried
off, and I had not the pleasure to see her any more.
I must be less minute, or I shall never have done.
My charming Princess Augusta renewed the conversation.
Admiral Duncan's noble victory(149) became the theme, but it was
interrupted by the appearance of the lovely Princess Amelia, now
become a model of grace, beauty and sweetness,
Page 141
in their bud. She gave me her hand with the softest expression
of kindness, and almost immediately began questioning me
concerning my little boy and with an air of interest the most
captivating. But again Princess Augusta declined any
interruptors: "You shall have Madame d'Arblay all to yourself, my
dear, soon," she cried, laughingly; and, with a smile a little
serious, the sweet Princess Amelia retreated.
It would have been truly edifying to young ladies living in the
great and public world to have assisted in my place at the
toilette of this exquisite Princess Augusta. Her ease, amounting
even to indifference, as to her ornaments and decoration, showed
a mind so disengaged from vanity, so superior to personal
appearance, that I could with difficulty forbear manifesting my
admiration. She let the hair-dresser proceed upon her head
without comment and without examination, just as if it was solely
his affair ; and when the man, Robinson, humbly begged to know
what ornaments he was to prepare the hair for, she said, "O,
there are my feathers, and my gown is blue, so take what you
think right." And when he begged she would say whether she would
have any ribbons or other things mixed with the feathers and
jewels, she said, "You understand all that best, Mr. Robinson,
I'm sure; there are the things, so take just what you please."
And after this she left him wholly to himself, never a moment
interrupting her discourse or her attention with a single
direction.
INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN.
Princess Augusta had just begun a very interesting account of an
officer that had conducted himself singularly well in the mutiny,
when Miss Planta came to summon me to the queen. I begged
permission to return afterwards for my unfinished narrative, and
then proceeded to the white closet.
The queen was alone, seated at a table, and working. Miss Planta
opened the door and retired without entering. I felt a good deal
affected by the sight of her Majesty again, so graciously
accorded to my request ; but my first and instinctive feeling was
nothing to what I experienced when, after my profoundly
respectful reverence, I raised my eyes, and saw in hers a look of
sensibility so expressive of regard, and so examining, so
penetrating into mine, as to seem to convey, involuntarily, a
regret I had quitted her. This, at least, was the idea that
struck me, from the species of look which met
Page 142
me; and it touched me to the heart, and brought instantly, in
defiance of all struggle, a flood of tears into my eyes. I was
some minutes recovering; and when I then entreated her
forgiveness, and cleared up, the voice with which she Spoke, in
hoping I was well, told me she had caught a little of my
sensation, for it was by no means steady. Indeed, at that
moment, I longed to kneel and beseech her pardon for the
displeasure I had felt in her long resistance of my resignation,
for I think, now, it was from a real and truly honourable wish to
attach me to her for ever. But I then suffered too much from a
situation so ill adapted to my choice and disposition, to do
justice to her opposition, or to enjoy its honour to myself. Now
that I am so singularly, alas! nearly singularly happy, though
wholly from my perseverance in that resignation, I feel all I owe
her, and I feel more and more grateful for every mark of her
condescension, either recollected or renewed.
She looked ill, pale, and harassed. The king was but just
returned from his abortive visit to the Nore, and the inquietude
she had sustained during that short separation, circumstanced
many ways alarmingly, had evidently shaken her: I saw with much,
with deep concern, her sunk eyes and spirits. I believe the sight
of me raised not the latter. Mrs. Schwellenberg had not long
been dead, and I have some reason to think she would not have
been sorry to have had me supply the vacancy; for I had immediate
notice sent me of her death by Miss Planta, so written as to
persuade me it was a letter by command. But not all my duty, all
my gratitude, could urge me, even one short fleeting moment, to
weigh any interest against the soothing serenity, the unfading
felicity, of a hermitage such as mine.
We spoke of poor Mrs. Schwelly,--and of her successor, Mlle.
Backmeister,--and of mine, Mrs. Bremyere; and I could not but
express my concern that her majesty had again been so
unfortunate, for Mlle. Jacobi had just retired to Germany, ill
and dissatisfied with everything in England. The Princess Augusta
had recounted to me the whole narrative of her retirement, and
its circumstances. The queen told me that the king had very
handsomely taken care of her. But such frequent retirements are
heavy weights upon the royal bounty.
I felt almost guilty when the subject was started; but not from
any reproach, any allusion,-not a word was dropped that had not
kindness and goodness for its basis and its superstructure at
once.
Page 143
"How is your little boy?" was one of the earliest questions. "is
he here?" she added.
"O yes," I answered, misunderstanding her, "he is my shadow; I go
nowhere without him."
"But here, I mean?"
"O no! ma'am, I did not dare presume--"
I stopped, for her look said it would be no presumption. And Miss
Planta had already desired me to bring him to her next time;
which I suspect was by higher order than her own suggestion.
She then inquired after my dear father, and so graciously, that I
told her not only of his good health, but his occupations, his
new work, a "Poetical History of Astronomy," and his
consultations with Herschel.
She permitted me to speak a good deal of the Princess of
Wurtemberg, whom they still all call princess royal. She told me
she had worked her wedding garment, and entirely, and the real
labour it had proved, from her steadiness to have no help, well
knowing that three stitches done by any other would make it
immediately said it was none of it by herself. "As the bride of a
widower," she continued, "I know she ought to be in white and
gold ; but as the king's eldest daughter she had a right to white
and silver, which she preferred."
A little then we talked of the late great naval victory, and she
said it was singularly encouraging to us that the three great
victories at sea had been "against our three great enemies,
successively : Lord Howe against the French, Lord St. Vincent
against the Spaniards, and Lord Duncan against the Dutch."(150)
She spoke very feelingly of the difficult situation of the Orange
family, now in England, upon this battle; and she repeated me the
contents of' a letter from the Princess of Orange, whose
character she much extolled, upon the occasion,
page 144
to the Princess Elizabeth, saying she could not bear to be the
only person in England to withhold her congratulations to the
king upon such an occasion, when no one owed him such
obligations; but all she had to regret was that the Dutch had not
fought with, not against, the English, and that the defeat had
not fallen upon those who ought to be their joint enemies. She
admired and pitied, inexpressibly, this poor fugitive princess.
I told her of a note my father had received from Lady Mary
Duncan, in answer to his wishing her joy of her relation's
prowess and success, in which he says, "Lady Mary has been, for
some days past, like the rest of the nation drunk for joy." This
led to more talk of this singular lady: and reciprocal stories of
her oddities.
She then deigned to inquire very particularly about our new
cottage,-its size, its number of rooms, and its grounds. I told
her, honestly, it was excessively comfortable, though unfinished
and unfitted up, for that it had innumerable little contrivances
and conveniences, just adapted to our particular use and taste,
as M. d'Arblay had been its sole architect and surveyor. "Then I
dare say," she answered, "it is very commodious, for there are no
people understand enjoyable accommodations more than French
gentleman, when they have the arranging them themselves."
This was very kind, and encouraged me to talk a good deal of my
partner, in his various works and employments ; and her manner of
attention was even touchingly condescending, all circumstances
considered. And she then related to me the works of two French
priests, to whom she has herself been so good as to commit the
fitting up of one of her apartments at Frogmore. And afterwards
she gave me a description of what another French gentleman--
elegantly and feelingly avoiding to say emigrant--had done in a
room belonging to Mrs. Harcourt, at Sophia farm, where he had the
sole superintendence of it, and has made it beautiful.
When she asked about our field, I told her we hoped in time to
buy it, as Mr. Locke had the extreme kindness to consent to part
with it to us, when it should suit our convenience to purchase
instead of renting it. I thought I saw a look of peculiar
satisfaction at this, that seemed to convey pleasure in the
implication thence to be drawn, that England was our decided, not
forced or eventual residence. And she led me on to many minute
particulars of our situation and way of living, with a sweetness
of interest I can never forget.
Page 145
Nor even here stopped the sensations of gratitude and pleasure
she thus awoke. She spoke then of my beloved Susan ; asked if
she were still in Ireland, and how the " pretty Norbury " did.
She then a little embarrassed me by an inquiry "why Major
Phillips went to Ireland?" for my answer, that he was persuaded
he should improve his estate by superintending the agriculture of
it himself, seemed dissatisfactory; however, she pressed it no
further. But I cannot judge by what passed whether she concludes
he is employed in a military way there, or whether she has heard
that he has retired. She seemed kindly pleased at all I had to
relate of my dear Norbury, and I delighted to call him back to
her remembrance.
She talked a good deal of the Duchess of York, who continues the
first favourite of the whole royal family. She told me of her
beautiful works, lamented her indifferent health, and expatiated
upon her admirable distribution of her time and plan of life, and
charming qualities and character.
But what chiefly dwells upon me with pleasure is, that she spoke
to me upon some subjects and persons that I know she would not
for the world should be repeated, with just the same confidence,
the same reliance upon my grateful discretion for her openness,
that she honoured me with while she thought me established in her
service for life. I need not tell my Susan how this binds me
more than ever to her.
Very short to me seemed the time, though the whole conversation
was serious, and her air thoughtful almost to sadness, when a
page touched the door, and said something in German. The queen,
who was then standing by the window, turned round to answer him,
and then, with a sort of Congratulatory smile to me, said, "Now
you will see what you don't expect--the king!"
I could indeed not expect it, for he was at Blackheath at a
review, and he was returned only to dress for the levee. . .
THE KING AND HIS INFANT GRAND-DAUGHTER.
The king related very pleasantly- a little anecdote of Lady --.
"She brought the little Princess Charlotte,"(151) he said "to me
just before the review. 'She hoped,' she said, 'I should not
take it ill, for, having mentioned it to the child,
Page 146
she built so upon it that she had thought of nothing else.' Now
this," cried he, laughing heartily, "was pretty strong! How can
she know what a child is thinking of before it can speak?"
I was very happy at the fondness they both expressed for the
little princess, "A sweet little creature," the king called her;
"A most lovely child," the queen turned to me to add and the king
said he had taken her upon his horse, and given her a little
ride, before the regiment rode up to him. "'TIS very odd," he
added, "but she always knows me on horseback, and never else."
"Yes," said the queen, "when his majesty comes to her on
horseback, she claps her little bands, and endeavours to say
'Gampa!' immediately." I was much pleased that she is brought up
to such simple and affectionate acknowledgment of relationship.
The king then inquired about my father, and with a look of
interest and kindness that regularly accompanies his mention of
that most dear person. He asked after his health, his spirits,
and his occupations, waiting for long answers to each inquiry,
The queen anticipated my relation of his astronomic work, and he
seemed much pleased with the design, as well as at hearing that
his prot‚g‚ Dr. Herschel, had been consulted.
I was then a little surprised by finding he had heard of
"Clarentine."(152) He asked me, smilingly, some questions about
it, and if it were true, what he suspected, that my young sister
had a mind to do as I had done, and bring out a work in secret? I
was very much pleased then when the queen said, "I have seen it,
sir, and it is very pretty." . . .
ADMIRAL DUNCAN'S VICTORY. THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF
ORANGE.
I then, by her majesty's kind appointment, returned to my lovely
and loved Princess Augusta. Her hairdresser was just gone, and
she was proceeding in equipping herself "If you can bear to see
all this work," cried she, "pray come and sit with me, my dear
Madame d'Arblay."
Nothing could be more expeditious than her attiring herself,
nothing more careless than her examination how it succeeded. But
judge my confusion and embarrassment, when, upon my saying I came
to petition for the rest of the Story,
Page 147
she had just begun, and her answering by inquiring what it was
about, I could not tell! It had entirely escaped my memory; and
though I sought every way I could suggest to recall it, I so
entirely failed, that after her repeated demands, I was compelled
honestly to own that the commotion I had been put in by my
interview with their majesties had really driven it from my mind.
She bore this with the true good humour of good sense but I was
most excessively ashamed.
She then resumed the reigning subject of the day, Admiral
Duncan's victory and this led to speak again of the Orange
family; but she checked what seemed occurring to her about them,
till her wardrobe-woman had done and was -dismissed ; then,
hurrying her away, while she sat down by me, putting on her long
and superb diamond earrings herself, and without even turning
towards a glass, she said, "I don't like much to talk of that
family before the servants, for I am told they already think the
king too good to them."
The Princess of Orange is, I find, a great favourite with them
all ; the Prince Frederick also, I believe, they like very much;
but the prince himself, she said, " has never, in fact, had his
education finished. He was married quite a ',-,'boy - but, being
married, concluded himself a man, and not only turned off all his
instructors, but thought it unnecessary to ask, or hear, counsel
or advice of any one. He is like a fallow field,-that is, not of
a soil that can't be improved ;:but one that has been left quite
to itself, and therefore has no materials put in it for
improvement."
She then told me that she had hindered him, with great faculty,
from going to a great dinner, given at the Mansion House. upon
the victory of Admiral Duncan. It was not, she said, that he did
not feel for his country in that defeat, but that he never
weighed the impropriety of his public appearance upon an occasion
of rejoicing at it, nor the Ill effect the history of his so
doing would produce in Holland. She had the kindness of heart to
take upon herself preventing him "for no one," says she, "that is
about him dares ever speak to him, to give him any hint of
advice; which is a great "Misfortune: to him, poor man, for it
makes him never know what is said or thought of him." She related
with a great deal of humour her arguments to dissuade him, and
his naŒve manner of combating them. But though she conquered at
last, she did not convince,
Page 148
The Princess of Orange, she told me, had a most superior
understanding and might guide him sensibly and honourably, but he
was so jealous of being thought led by her counsel' that he never
listened to it at all. She gave me to understand that this
unhappy princess had had a life of uninterrupted indulgence and
prosperity till the late revolution - and that the suddenness of
such adversity had rather soured her mind, which, had it met
sorrow and evil by any gradations, would have been equal to
bearing them even nobly - but so quick a transition from
affluence, and power, and wealth, and grandeur, to a fugitive and
dependent state, had almost overpowered her.
A door was now opened from an inner apartment, where, I believe,
was the grand collation for the Princess Sophia's birthday, and a
tall thin young man appeared at it, peeping and staring, but not
entering.
"O! How do you do, Ernest?" cried the princess; "I hope you are
well; only pray do shut the door."
He did not obey, nor move, either forwards or backwards, but kept
peering and peeping. She called to him again, beseeching him to
shut the door- but he was determined to first gratify his
curiosity, and, when he had looked as long as he thought
pleasant, he entered the apartment; but Princess Augusta, instead
of receiving and welcoming him, only said, "Good-bye, my dear
Ernest; I shall see you again at the play."
He then marched on, finding himself so little desired, and only
saying, "No, you won't; I hate the play."
I had risen when I found it one of the princes, and with a motion
of readiness to depart - but my dear princess would not let me.
When we were alone again, "Ernest," she said, "has a very good
heart; only he speaks without taking time to think." She then
gave me an instance. The Orange family by some chance were all
assembled with our royal family when the news of the great
victory at sea arrived; or at least upon the same day. "We were
all," said she, " distressed for them upon SO trying an occasion
and at supper we talked, of' course, Of every other subject; but
Ernest, quite uneasy at the forbearance, said to me, 'You don't
think I won't drink Duncan's health to-night?' 'Hush!' cried I.
'That's very hard indeed!' said he, quite loud. I saw the
princess of
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orange looking at him, and was sure she had heard him; I trod
upon his foot, and made him turn to her. She looked so
disturbed, that he saw she had understood him, and he coloured
very high. The Princess of Orange then said, 'I hope my being
here will be no restraint upon anybody: I know what must be the
subject of everybody's thoughts, and I beg I may not prevent its
being so of their discourse.' Poor Ernest now was so sorry, he
was ready to die, and the tears started into his eyes; and he
would not have given his toast after this for all the world."
SOME NOTABLE ACTRESSES.
The play they were going to was "The Merchant of Venice," to see
a new actress, just now much talked of--Miss Betterton; and the
king, hearing she was extremely frightened at the thoughts of
appearing before him, desired she might choose her own part for
the first exhibition in his presence. She fixed upon Portia.
In speaking of Miss Farren's marriage with the Earl of Derby, she
displayed that sweet mind which her state and station has so
wholly escaped sullying; for, far from expressing either horror,
or resentment, or derision at an actress being elevated to the
rank of second countess of England, she told me, with an air of
satisfaction, that she was informed she had behaved extremely
well since her marriage, and done many generous and charitable
actions.
She spoke with pleasure, too, of the high marriage made by
another actress, Miss Wallis, who has preserved a spotless
character, and is now the wife of a man of fortune and family Mr
Campbell.
In mentioning Mrs. Siddons, and her great and affecting powers,
she much surprised me by intelligence that she had bought the
proprietorship of Sadler's-wells. I could not hear it without
some amusement it seemed, I said, so extraordinary a
combination--so degrading a one, indeed,-that of the first tragic
actress, the living Melpomene, and something so burlesque as
Sadler's-wells. She laughed, and said it offered her a very
ludicrous image, for Mrs. Siddons and Sadler's-wells," said she,
" seems to me as ill-fitted as the dish they call a toad in a
hole which I never saw, but always think of with anger, -
-putting a noble sirloin of beef into .1 ,'poor, Paltry
batter-pudding!
Page 150
THE DUKE OF CLARENCE.
The door now again opened, and another royal personage put in his
head - and upon the princess saying, "How d'ye do, William?" I
recollected the Duke of Clarence.
I rose, of course, and he made a civil bow to my curtsey The
princess asked him about the House of Lords the preceding
evening, where I found he had spoken very handsomely and
generously in eulogium of Admiral Duncan. Finding he was inclined
to stay, the princess said to me,
"Madame d'Arblay, I beg you will sit down."
"Pray, madam," said the duke, with a formal motion of his hand,
"let me beg you to be seated."
"You know--you recollect Madame d'Arblay, don't you, William ?"
said the princess. He bowed civilly an affirmative, and then
began talking to me of Chesington. How I grieved poor dear Kitty
was gone! How great would have been her gratification to have
heard that he mentioned her, and with an air of kindness, as if
he had really entered into the solid goodness of her character.
I was much Surprised and much pleased, yet not without some
perplexity and some embarrassment, as his knowledge of the
excellent Kitty was from her being the dupe of the mistress of
his aide-de-camp.
The princess, however, saved me any confusion beyond
apprehension, for she asked not one question. He moved on
towards the next apartment, and we were again alone.
She then talked to me a great deal of him, and gave me,
admirably, his character. She is very partial to him, but by no
means blindly. He had very good parts, she said, but seldom did
them justice. "If he has something of high importance to do,"
she continued, "he will exert himself to the utmost, and do it
really well; but otherwise, he is so fond of his ease, he lets
everything take its course. He can just do a great deal or
nothing. However, I really think, if he takes pains, he may make
something of a speaker by and by in the House."
She related a visit he had made at Lady Mary Duncan's, at Hampton
Court, upon hearing Admiral Duncan was there and told me the
whole and most minute particulars of the battle, as they were
repeated by his royal highness from the admiral's own account.
But You will dispense with the martial detail from me. "Lady
Mary," cried she, "is much
Page 151
enchanted with her gallant nephew. 'I used to look,' says she,
'for honour and glory from my other side, the T--s ; but I
receive it only from the Duncans ! As to the T-s, what good do
they do their country?--why, they play all day at tennis, and
learn with vast skill to notch and scotch and go one! And that's
what their country gets from them!"'
I thought now I should certainly be dismissed, for a page came to
the door to announce that the Duke of York was arrived : but she
only said, "Very well; pray shut the door," which seemed her
gentle manner of having it understood she would not be disturbed,
as she used the same words when messages were brought her from
the Princesses Elizabeth and Mary.
She spoke again of the Duchess of York with the same fondness as
at Windsor. "I told you before," she said, "I loved her like one
of my own sisters, and I can tell you no more: and she knows it;
for one day she was taken ill, and fainted, and we put her upon
one of our beds, and got her everything we could think of
ourselves, and let nobody else wait upon her ; and when she
revived she said to my brother, 'These are my sisters--I am sure
they are! they must be my own!"
PRINCESS SOPHIA OF GLOUCESTER.
Our next and last interruption, I think, was from a very gentle
tap at the door, and a "May I come in?" from a soft voice, while
the lock was turned, and a youthful and very lovely female put in
her head.
The princess immediately rose, and said, " "O yes," and held out
her two hands to her; turning at the same time to me, and saying,
"Princess Sophia."
I found it was the Duke of Gloucester's(154) daughter. She is
very fat, with very fine eyes, a bright, even dazzling bloom,
fine teeth, a beautiful skin, and a look of extreme modesty and
sweetness. She curtseyed to me so distinguishingly, that I was
almost confused by her condescension, fearing she 'Might imagine,
from finding me seated with the Princess 'Augusta, and in such
close conference, I was somebody.
"You look so fine and so grand," cried she, examining the
princess's attire, which was very superb in silver and diamonds,
"that I am almost afraid to come near you!" Her own dress was
perfectly simple, though remarkably elegant.
Page 152
O!--I hate myself when so fine cried Princess Augusta; "I cannot
bear it but there is no help--the people at the play always
expect it."
They then conversed a little while, both standing ; and then
Princess Augusta said, "Give my love to the duke (meaning of
Gloucester), "and I hope I shall see him bye and bye; and to
William."(155) (meaning the duke's son). And this, which was not
a positive request that she would prolong her visit, was
understood; and the lovely cousin made her curtsey and retired.
To me, again, she made another, so gravely low and civil, that I
really blushed to receive it, from added fear of being mistaken.
I accompanied her to the door, and shut it for her; and the
moment she was out of the room, and out of sight of the Princess
Augusta, she turned round to me, and with a smile of extreme
Civility, and a voice very soft, said, "I am so happy to see
you!--I have longed for it a great, great while--for I have read
you with such delight and instruction, so often."
I was very much surprised indeed; I expressed my sense of her
goodness as well as I could; and she curtseyed again, and glided
away. "How infinitely gracious is all your royal highness's
House to me!" cried I, as I returned to my charming princess; who
again made me take my seat next her own, and again renewed her
discourse.
I stayed on with this delightful princess till near four o'clock,
when she descended to dinner. I then accompanied her to the head
of the stairs, saying, "I feel quite low that this is over! How I
wish it might be repeated in half a year instead of a year!"
"I'm sure, and so do I!" were the last kind words she
condescendingly uttered.
I then made a little visit to Miss Planta, who was extremely
friendly, and asked me why I should wait another year before I
came. I told her I had leave for an annual visit, and could not
presume to encroach beyond such a permission. However, as she
proposed my calling upon her when I happened to be in town, I
begged her to take some opportunity to hint my wish of admission,
if possible, more frequently.
Very soon afterwards I had a letter from Miss Planta, saying she
had mentioned to her majesty my regret of the
Page 153
long intervals of annual admissions; and that her majesty had
most graciously answered, "She should be very glad to see me
whenever I came to town."
DIARY RESUMED: (Addressed to Mrs. Phillips.)
INDIGNATION AGAINST TALLEYRAND.
Westhamble, Jan. 18, 1798-I am very impatient to know
if the invasion threat affects your part of Ireland. Our 'Oracle'
is of opinion the French soldiers will not go to Ireland, though
there flattered with much help, because they can expect but
little advantage, after all the accounts spread by the Opposition
of its starving condition ; but that they will come to England,
though sure of contest, at least, because there they expect the
very road to be paved with gold.
Nevertheless, how I wish my heart's beloved here! to share with
us at least the same fears, instead of the division of
apprehension we must now mutually be tormented with. I own I am
sometimes affrighted enough. These sanguine and sanguinary
wretches will risk all for the smallest hope of plunder ; and
Barras assures them they have only to enter England to be lords
of wealth unbounded.
But Talleyrand!--how like myself must you have felt at his
conduct! indignant--amazed--ashamed! Our first prepossession
against him was instinct--he conquered it by pains indefatigable
to win us, and he succeeded astonishingly, for we became partial
to him almost to fondness. The part he now acts against England
may be justified, perhaps, by the spirit of revenge ; but the
part he submits to perform of coadjutor with the worst of
villains--with Barras--Rewbel--Merlin--marks some internal
atrocity of character that disgusts as much as disappoints me.
And now, a last stroke, which appears in yesterday's paper, gives
the finishing hand to his portrait in my eyes. He has sent (and
written) the letter which exhorts the King of Prussia to order
the Duke of Brunswick to banish and drive from his dominions all
the emigrants there in asylum --and among these are the
Archbishop of Rennes (his uncle) and--his own mother!
Poor M. de Narbonne! how will he be shocked and let down! where
he now is we cannot conjecture: all emigrants are exiled from the
Canton of Berne, where he resided; I feel extremely disturbed
about him. If that wretch Talleyrand has
Page 154
not given him some private Intimation to escape, and where to be
safe, he must be a monster.
THE D'ARBLAY MAISONNETTE.
This very day, I thank God ! we paid the last of our work men.
Our house now is our own fairly --that it is our own madly too
you will all think, when I tell you the small remnant of our
income that has outlived this payment. However, if the
Carmagnols do not seize our walls, we despair not of enjoying, in
defiance of all straitness and strictness, our dear dwelling to
our hearts' content. But we are reducing our expenses and way of
life, in order to go on, in a manner you would laugh to see,
though almost cry to hear. But I never forget 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."
We know nothing yet of our taxes-nothing- of our assessments; but
we are of good courage, and so pleased with our maisonnette, we
think nothing too dear for it, provided we can but exist in it. I
should like much to know how you stand affected about the
assessment, and about the invasion. O that all these public
troubles would accelerate Your return! private blessings they
would then, at least, prove. Ah, my Susan, how do I yearn for
some little ray upon this subject!
Charles and his family are at Bath, and Charlotte is gone to them
for a fortnight. All accounts that reach me of all the house and
race are well. Mr. Locke gives us very-frequent peeps indeed,
and looks with such benevolent pleasure at our dear cottage and
its environs! and seems to say, "I brought all this to bear," and
to feel happy in the noble trust he placed in our self-belief
that he might venture to show that kind courage without which we
could never have been united. All this retrospection is
expressed by his penetrating eyes it every visit. He rarely
alights ; but I frequently enter the phaeton, and take a
conversation in an airing. And when he comes without his
precious Amelia, he indulges my Alex in being our third.
INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN AND THE PRINCESSES.
And now I have to prepare another Court relation for MY dearest
Susanna. I received on Wednesday morn a letter from our dearest
Page 155
father, telling me he feared he should be forced to quit his
Chelsea apartments, from a new arrangement among the officers,
and wishing me to represent his difficulties, his books, health,
time of life, and other circumstances, through Miss Planta, to
the queen. M. d'Arblay and I both thought that, if I had any
chance of being of the smallest use, it would be by endeavouring
to obtain an audience-not by letter; and as the most remote hope
of success was sufficient to urge -every exertion, we settled
that I should set out instantly for Chelsea ; and a chaise,
therefore, we sent for from Dorking, and I set off at noon. M.
d'A. would not go, as we knew not what accommodation I might find
; and I could not, uninvited and unexpected, take my little
darling boy; so I went not merrily, though never more willingly.
My dear father was at home, and, I could see, by no means
surprised by my appearance, though he had not hinted at desiring
it. Of course he was not very angry nor sorry, and we communed
together upon his apprehensions, and settled our plan. I was to
endeavour to represent his case to the queen, in hopes it might
reach his majesty, and procure some order in his favour.
I wrote to Miss Planta, merely to say I was come to pass three
days at Chelsea, and, presuming upon the gracious permission of
her majesty, I ventured to make known my arrival, ,in the hope it
might possibly procure me the honour of admittance. The next
morning, Thursday, I had a note from Miss Planta, to say that she
had the pleasure to acquaint ',.",me her majesty desired I would
be at the Queen's house next day at ten o'clock.
Miss Planta conducted me immediately, by order, to the Princess
Elizabeth, who received me alone, and kept me tˆte-…-tˆte till I
was summoned to the queen, which was near ,.an hour. She was all
condescension and openness, and inquired into my way of life and
plans, with a sort of kindness that I am sure belonged to a real
wish to find them happy and prosperous. When I mentioned how much
of our time was mutually given to books and writing, M. d'Arblay
being as great a scribbler as myself, she good-naturedly
exclaimed, "How fortunate he should have so much the same taste!"
"It was that, in fact," I answered, "which united us for our
acquaintance began, in intimacy, by reading French together, and
writing themes, both French and English, for each other's
correction."
Page 156
"Pray," cried she, " if it is not impertinent, may I ask to what
religion you shall bring up your son?"
"The Protestant," I replied; telling her it was M. d'Arblay's own
wish, since he was an Englishman born, he should be an Englishman
bred,--with much more upon the subject that my Susan knows
untold.
She then inquired why M. d'Arblay was not naturalised. This was
truly kind, for it looked like wishing our permanently fixing in
this his adopted country. I answered that he found he could not
be naturalised as a catholic, which had made him relinquish the
plan; for though he was firmly persuaded the real difference
between the two religions was trifling, and such as even appeared
to him, in the little he had had opportunity to examine, to be in
favour of Protestantism, he could not bring himself to study the
matter with a view of changing that seemed actuated by interest ;
nor could I wish it, earnest as I was for his naturalisation.
But he hoped, ere long, to be able to be naturalised as an
Irishman, that clause of religion not being there insisted upon ,
or else to become a denizen, which was next best, and which did
not meddle with religion at all. She made me talk to her a great
deal of my little boy, and my father, and M. d'Arblay; and when
Miss Planta came to fetch me to her majesty, she desired to see
me again before my departure.
The queen was in her White closet, working at a round table, with
the four remaining princesses, Augusta, Mary, Sophia, and Amelia.
She received me most sweetly, and with a look of far better
spirits than upon my last admission. She permitted me, in the
most gracious manner, to inquire about the princess royal, now
Duchess of WUrtemberg, and gave me an account of her that I hope
is not flattered ; for it seemed happy, and such as reconciled
them all to the separation. When she deigned to inquire,-
herself, after my dear father, you may be sure of the eagerness
With which I seized the moment for relating his embarrassment and
difficulties. She heard me with a benevolence that assured me,
though she made no speech, my history would not be forgotten, nor
remembered vainly. I was highly satisfied with her look and
manner. The Princesses Mary and Amelia had a little opening
between them , and when the queen was conversing with some lady
who was teaching the Princess Sophia some work, they began a
whispering conversation with me about my little
Page 157
boy. How tall is he?--how old is he?--Is he fat or thin?--is he
like you or M. d'Arblay? etc.--with sweet vivacity of interest,-
-the lovely Princess Amelia finishing her listening to my every
answer with a "dear little thing!" that made me long to embrace
her as I have done in her childhood. She is now full as tall as
princess royal, and as much formed ; she looks seventeen, though
only fourteen, but has an innocence, an Hebe blush, an air of
modest candour, and a gentleness so caressingly inviting, of
voice and eye, that I have seldom seen a more captivating young
creature.
Then they talked of my new house, and inquired about every room
it contained; and then of our grounds, and they were mightily
diverted with the mixtures of roses and cabbages, sweet briars,
and potatoes, etc.
The queen, catching the domestic theme, presently made inquiries
herself, both as to the building and the child, asking, with
respect to the latter, "Is he here?" as if she meant in the
palace. I told her I had come so unexpectedly myself upon my
father's difficulties, that I had not this time brought my little
shadow. I believed, however, I should fetch him, as, if I
lengthened my stay, M. d'Arblay would come also. "To be sure!"
she said, as if feeling the trio's full objections to separating.
She asked if I had seen a play just come out, called "He's much
to Blame;" and, on my negative, began to relate to me its plot
and characters, and the representation and its effect ; and,
warming herself by her own account and my attention, she
presently entered into a very minute history of each act, and a
criticism upon some incidents, with a spirit and judiciousness
that were charming. She is delightful in discourse when animated
by her subject, and speaking to auditors with whom, neither from
circumstance nor suspicion, she has restraint. But when, as
occasionally she deigned to ask my opinion of the several actors
she brought in review, I answered I had never seen them,--neither
Mrs. Pope, Miss Betterton, Mr. Murray, etc.,--she really looked
almost concerned. She knows my fondness for the theatre, and I
did not fear to say my inability to indulge it was almost my only
regret in my hermit life. "I, too," she graciously said, "prefer
plays to all other amusements."
By degrees all the princesses retired, except the Princess
Augusta. She then spoke more openly upon less public matters,-in
particular upon the affair, then just recent, of the
Page 158
Duke of Norfolk, who, you may have heard, had drunk, at the Whig
Club, "To the majesty of the people," in consequence of which the
king had erased his name from the privy council. His grace had
been caricatured drinking from a silver tankard with the burnt
bread still in flames touching his mouth, and exclaiming, "Pshaw!
my toast has burnt my mouth."
This led me to speak of his great brick house, which is our
immediate vis-…-vis. And much then ensued upon Lady ----
concerning whom she opened to me very completely, allowing all I
said of her uncommon excellence as a mother, but adding, "Though
she is certainly very clever, she thinks herself so a little too
much, and instructs others at every word. I was so tired with
her beginning everything with 'I think,' that, at last, just as
she said so, I stopped her, and cried., 'O, I know what you
think, Lady ----!' Really, one is obliged to be quite sharp with
her to keep her In her place." . . .
Lady C--, she had been informed, had a considerable sum in the
French funds, which she endeavoured from time to time to recover,
but upon her last effort, she had the following query put to her
agent by order of the Directory: how much she would have deducted
from the principal, as a contribution towards the loan raising
for the army of England? If Lady C-- were not mother-in-law to a
minister who sees the king almost daily, I should think this a
made story.
When, after about an hour and a half's audience, *she dismissed
me, she most graciously asked my stay at Chelsea, and desired I
would inform Miss Planta before I returned home. This gave me the
most gratifying feeling, and much hope for my dearest father.
ROYAL CONTRIBUTIONS TOWARDS THE WAR.
Returning then, according to my permission, to Princess
Elizabeth, she again took up her netting, and made me sit by her.
We talked a good deal of the new-married daughter of Lady
Templetown, and she was happy, she said, to hear from me that the
ceremony was performed by her own favourite Bishop of Durham, for
she was sure a blessing would attend his joining their hands. She
asked me much of my little man, and told me several things of the
Princess Charlotte, her niece, and our future queen; she seems
very fond of her, and says 'tis a lovely child, and extremely
like the Prince Of
Page 159
Wales. "She is just two years old," said she, "and speaks very
prettily, though not plainly. I flatter myself Aunt Liby, as she
calls me, is a great favourite with her."
My dearest Princess Augusta soon after came in, and, after
staying a few minutes, and giving some message to her sister,
said, "And when you leave Elizabeth, my dear Madame d'Arblay, I
hope you'll come to me."
This happened almost immediately, and I found her hurrying over
the duty of her toilette, which she presently despatched, though
she was going to a public concert of Ancient Music, and without
scarcely once looking in the glass, from haste to have done, and
from a freedom from vanity I never saw quite equalled in any
young woman of any class. She then dismissed her hairdresser and
wardrobe-woman, and made me sit by her.
Almost immediately we began upon the voluntary contributions to
the support of the war; and when I mentioned the queen's
munificent donation of five thousand pounds a-year for its
support, and my admiration of it, from my peculiar knowledge,
through my long residence under the royal roof, of the many
claims which her majesty's benevolence, as well as state, had
raised upon her powers, she seemed much gratified by the justice
I did her royal mother, and exclaimed eagerly "I do assure you,
my dear Madame d'Arblay, people ought to know more how good the
queen is, for they don't know it half." And then she told me
that she only by accident had learnt almost all that she knew of
the queen's bounties. "And the most I gathered," she continued,
laughing, "was, to tell you the real truth, by my own
impertinence - for when we were at Cheltenham, Lady Courtown (the
queen's lady-in-waiting for the country) put her pocket-book down
on the table, when I was alone with her, by some chance open at a
page where mamma's name was written : so, not guessing at any
secret commission, I took it up, and read-Given by her majesty's
commands--so much, and so much, and so much. And I was quite
surprised. However, Lady Courtown made me promise never to
mention it to the queen ; so I never have. But I long it should
be known, for all that; though I would not take such a liberty as
to spread it of my own judgment."
I then mentioned my own difficulties formerly, when her Majesty,
upon my ill state of health's urging my resigning the honour of
belonging to the royal household, so graciously
Page 160
settled upon me a pension, that I had been forbidden to name it.
I had been quite distressed in not avowing what I so gratefully
felt, and hearing questions and surmises and remarks I had no
power to answer. She seemed instantly to comprehend that my
silence might do wrong, on such an occasion, to the queen, for
she smiled, and with great quickness cried, "O, I dare say you
felt quite guilty in holding your tongue." And she was quite
pleased with the permission afterwards granted me to be explicit.
When I spoke of her own and her royal sisters' contributions, one
hundred pounds per annum, she blushed, bat seemed ready to enter
upon the subject, even confidentially, and related its whole
history. No one ever advised or named it to them, as they have
none of them any separate establishment, but all hang upon the
queen, from whose pin-money they are provided for till they
marry, or have an household of their own granted by Parliament.
"Yet we all longed to subscribe," cried she, "and thought it
quite right, if other young ladies did, not to be left out. But
the difficulty was, how to do what would not be improper for us,
and yet not to be generous at mamma's expense, for that would
only have been unjust. So we consulted some of our friends, and
then fixed upon one hundred pounds a-piece; and when we asked the
queen's leave, she was so good as to approve it. So then we
spoke to the king, and he said it was but little, but he wished
particularly nobody should subscribe what would really distress
them ; and that, if that was all we could conveniently do, and
regularly continue, he approved it more than to have us make a
greater exertion, and either bring ourselves into difficulties or
not go on. But he was not at all angry."
She then gave me the history of the contribution of her brothers.
The Prince of Wales could not give in his name without the leave
of his creditors. "But Ernest," cried she, "gives three hundred
pounds a-year, and that's a tenth of his income, for the king
allows him three thousand pounds."
All this leading to discourse upon loyalty, and then its
contrast, democracy, she narrated to me at full length a lecture
of Therwall's, which had been repeated to her by M. de
GuiffardiŠre. It was very curious from her mouth. But she is
candour in its whitest purity, wherever it is possible to display
it, in discriminating between good and bad, and abstracting rays
of light even from the darkest shades. So she did even from
Therwall.
Page 161
She made me, as usual, talk of my little boy, and was much amused
by hearing that, imitating what he heard from me, he called his
father "mon ami," and tutoyed him, drinking his health at dinner,
as his father does to me--"Š la sant‚."
When at length the Princess Augusta gave me the bow of cong‚ she
spoke of seeing me again soon: I said I should therefore lengthen
my stay in town, and induce M. d'Arblay to come and bring my boy.
"We shall see you then certainly," said she, smiling, "and do
pray, my dear Madame d'Arblay, bring your little boy with you.
And don't say anything to him," cried she, as I was departing;
"let us see him quite natural."
I understood her gracious, and let me say rational, desire, that
the child should not be impressed with any awe of the royal
presence. I assured her I must obey, for he was so young, so
wild, and so unused to present himself, except as a plaything,
that it would not be even in my power to make him orderly. . . .
My dear father was extremely pleased with what I had to tell him,
and hurried me back to Westhamble, to provide myself with baggage
for sojourning with him. My two Alexanders, you will believe,
were now warmly invited to Chelsea, and we all returned thither
together, accompanied by Betty Nurse.
INVITATION TO THE PLAY. MRS SCHWELLENBERG'S SUCCESSOR.
I shall Complete my next Court visit before I enter upon aught
else. I received, very soon, a note from Madame Bremyere, who is
my successor. [I have told you poor Mlle. Jacobi is returned to
Germany, I think; and that her niece, La Bettina, is to marry a
rich English merchant and settle in London.] This note says Mrs
Bremyere has received the queen's commands to invite Madame
d'Arblay to the play tomorrow night "-with her own desire I would
drink coffee in her apartment before we went to the theatre.
Could anything More sweetly mark the real kindness of the queen
than this remembrance of my fondness for plays ?
My dear father lent me his carriage, and I was now introduced to
the successor of Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mlle. Bachmeister, a German,
brought over by M. de Luc, who travelled to Germany to accompany
her hither. I found she was the lady I had seen with the queen
and princesses,
Page 162
ing some work. Not having been to the so-long-known apartments
since the death of Mrs. Schwellenberg, I knew not how they were
arranged, and had concluded Madame Bremyere possessed those of
Mrs. Schwellenberg. Thither, therefore, I went, and was received,
to my great surprise, by this lady, who was equally surprised by
my entrance, though without any doubt who I might be, from having
seen me with the queen, and from knowing I was to join the
play-party to my ci-devant box. I inquired if I had made any
mistake, but though she could not say no, she would not suffer Me
to rectify it, but sent to ask Madame Bremyere to meet me in her
room.
Mlle. Bachmeister is extremely genteel in her figure, though
extremely plain in her face; her voice is gentle and penetrating;
her manners are soft, yet dignified, and she appears to be both a
feeling and a cultivated character. I could not but lament such
had not been the former possessor of an apartment I had so often
entered with the most cruel antipathy. I liked her exceedingly;
she is a marked gentlewoman in her whole deportment, though
whether so from birth, education, or only mind, I am ignorant.
Since she gave me so pleasant a prejudice in her favour, you will
be sure our acquaintance began with some spirit. We talked much
of the situation she filled; and I thought it my duty to cast the
whole of my resignation of one so similar upon ill health. Mrs.
Bremyere soon joined us, and we took up Miss Barbara Planta in
our way to the theatre.
When the king entered, followed by the queen and his lovely
daughters, and the orchestra struck up " God save the king," and
the people all called for the singers, who filled the stage to
sing it, the emotion I was suddenly filled with so powerfully
possessed me, that I wished I could, for a minute or two, have
flown from the box, to have sobbed; I was so gratefully delighted
at the sight before me, and so enraptured at the continued
enthusiasm of the no longer volatile people for their worthy,
revered sovereign, that I really suffered from the restraint I
felt of being forced to behave decorously.
The play was the "Heir at Law," by Colman the younger. I liked it
extremely. It has a good deal of character, a happy plot, much
interest in the under parts, and is combined, I think, by real
genius, though open to innumerable partial criticisms. I heard a
gentleman's voice from the next box call softly to Miss Barbara
Planta, "Who is that lady?" and
Page 163
heard her answer my name, and him rejoin, "I thought so." I found
it was Lord Aylesbury, who also has resigned, and was at the play
only for the pleasure of sitting opposite his late royal
mistress. . . .
MADAME D'ARBLAY's LITTLE BOY AT COURT.
About a week after this theatrical regale, I went to the Queen's
house, to make known I had only a few more days to remain at
Chelsea. I arrived just as the royal family had set out for
Windsor; but Miss Bacbmeister, fortunately, had only ascended her
coach to follow. I alighted, and went to tell my errand. Mrs.
Bremyere, Mrs. Cheveley, and Miss Planta were her party. The
latter promised to speak for me to the queen; but, gathering I
had my little boy, in my father's carriage, she made me send for
him. They took him in, and loaded him with bonbons and
admiration, and would have loaded him with caresses to boot, but
the little wretch resisted that part of the entertainment. Upon
their return from Windsor, you will not suppose me made very
unhappy to receive the following billet:--
March 8th, 1798.
My dear friend,-The queen has commanded me to acquaint you that
she desires you will be at the Queen's house on Thursday morning
at ten o'clock, with your lovely boy. You are desired to come
upstairs in Princess Elizabeth's apartments, and her majesty will
send for you as soon as she can see you. Adieu! Yours most
affectionately, M. Planta.
A little before ten, you will easily believe, we were at the
,Queen's house, and were immediately ushered into the apartment
of the Princess Elizabeth, who, to show she expected my little
man, had some playthings upon one of her many tables; for her
royal highness has at least twenty in her principal room. The
child, in a new muslin frock, sash, etc.' did not look to much
disadvantage, and she examined him with the most good-humoured
pleasure, and, finding him too shy to be seized, had the
graciousness, as well as sense, to play round and court him by
sportive wiles, instead of being offended at his insensibility to
her royal notice. She ran about the room, peeped at him through
chairs, clapped her hands, half caught without touching him, and
showed a skill
Page 164
and a sweetness that made one almost sigh she should have no call
for her maternal propensities.
There came in presently Miss D-, a young lady about thirteen, who
seems in some measure under the protection of her royal highness,
who had rescued her poor injured and amiable mother, Lady D-,
from extreme distress, into which she had been involved by her
unworthy husband's connexion with the infamous Lady W-, who, more
hardhearted than even bailiffs, had forced certain of those
gentry, in an execution she had ordered in Sir H. D-'s house, to
seize even all the children's playthings ! as well as their
clothes, and that when Lady D-- had but just lain in, and was
nearly dying! This charming princess, who had been particularly
acquainted with Lady D- during her own illness at Kew Palace,
where the queen permitted the intercourse, came forward upon this
distress, and gave her a small independent house in the
neighbourhood of Kew, with every advantage she could annex to it.
But she is now lately no more, and, by the sort of reception
given to her daughter, I fancy the princess transfers to her that
kind benevolence the mother no longer wants.
just then, Miss Planta came to summon us to the Princess Augusta.
She received me with her customary sweetness, and called the
little boy to her. He went fearfully and cautiously, yet with a
look of curiosity at the state of her head, and the operations of
her friseur, that seemed to draw him on more powerfully than her
commands. He would not, however, be touched, always flying to my
side at the least attempt to take his hand. This would much have
vexed me, if I had not seen the ready allowance she made for his
retired life, and total want of use to the sight of anybody out
of our family, except the Lockes, amongst whom I told her his
peculiar preference for Amelia. "Come then," cried she, "come
hither, my dear, and tell me all about her,--is she very good to
you?--do you like her very much?"
He was now examining her fine carpet, and no answer was to be
procured. I would have apologised, but she would not let me.
"'Tis so natural," she cried, '"that he should be more amused
with those shapes and colours than with my stupid questions."
Princess Mary now came in, and, earnestly looking at him,
exclaimed, "He's beautiful!--what eyes!--do look at his eyes!"
Page 165
"Come hither, my dear," again cried Princess Augusta,
"come hither;" and, catching him to her for a Moment, and,
holding up his hair. to lift up his face and made him look at
her, she smiled very archly, and cried, "O ! horrid eyes!
shocking eyes!--take them away!"
Princess Elizabeth then entered, attended by a page, who was
loaded With playthings which she had been sending for. You may
suppose him caught now! He seized upon dogs, horses, chaise, a
cobbler, a watchman, and all he could grasp but would not give
his little person or cheeks, to my great confusion, for any of
them.
I was fain to call him a little savage, a wild deer, a creature
just caught from the woods, and whatever could indicate his
rustic life, and apprehension of new faces,--to prevent their
being hurt ; and their excessive good nature helped all my
excuses, nay, made them needless, except to myself. .
Princess Elizabeth now began playing upon an organ she had
brought him, which he flew to seize. "Ay, do! that's right, my
dear," cried Princess Augusta, stopping her ears at some
discordant sounds; "take it to mon ami, to frighten the cats out
of his garden."
And now, last of all, came in Princess Amelia, and, strange to
relate ! the child was instantly delighted with her! She came
first up to me, and, to my inexpressible surprise and
enchantment, she gave me her sweet beautiful face to kiss!--an
honour I had thought now for ever over, though she had so
frequently gratified me with it formerly. Still more touched,
however, than astonished, I would have kissed her hand, but,
withdrawing it, saying, "No, no,--you know I hate that!" she
again presented me her ruby lips, and with an expression of -such
ingenuous sweetness and innocence as was truly captivating. She
is and will be another Princess Augusta.
She then turned to the child, and his eyes met hers with a look
of the same pleasure that they were sought. She stooped down to
take his unresisting hands, and, exclaiming "Dear little thing!"
took him in her arms, to his own as obvious content as hers.
"He likes her!" cried Princess Augusta, "a little rogue! see how
he likes her!"
"Dear little thing!" with double the emphasis, repeated the
young princess, now sitting down and taking him upon her knee;
"and how does M. d'Arblay do?"
The child now left all his new playthings, his admired
Page 166
carpet, and his privilege of jumping from room to room, for the
gentle pleasure of sitting in her lap and receiving her caresses.
I could not be very angry, you will believe, yet I would have
given the world I could have made him equally grateful to the
Princess Augusta. This last charming personage, I now found, was
going to Sit for her picture--I fancy to send to the Duchess of
Wurtemberg. She gave me leave to attend her with my bantling.
The other princesses retired to dress for Court.
It was with great difficulty I could part my little love from his
grand collection of new playthings, all of which he had dragged
into the painting-room, and wanted now to pull them down-stairs
to the queen's apartment. I persuaded him, however, to
relinquish the design without a quarrel, by promising we would
return for them.
HIS PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN.
I was not a little anxious, you will believe, in this
presentation of my unconsciously honoured rogue, who entered the
White closet totally unimpressed with any awe, and only with a
sensation of disappointment in not meeting again the gay young
party, and variety of playthings, he had left above. The queen,
nevertheless, was all condescending indulgence, and had a Noah's
ark ready displayed upon the table for him.
But her look was serious and full of care, and, though perfectly
gracious, none of her winning smiles brightened her countenance,
and her voice was never cheerful. I have since known that the
Irish conspiracy with France was just then discovered, and
O'Connor that very morning taken.(156) No wonder she should have
felt a shock that pervaded her whole mind and manners! If we all
are struck with horror at such developments of treason, danger,
and guilt, what must they prove to the royal family, at whom they
are
Page 167
regularly aimed ? How my heart has ached for them in that
horrible business!
"And how does your papa do?" said the queen.
"He's at Telsea," answered the child.
"And how does grandDapa do?"
"He's in the toach," he replied.
"And what a pretty frock you've got on! who made it you, mamma,
or little aunty?"
The little boy now grew restless, and pulled me about, with a
desire to change his situation. I was a good deal embarrassed, as
I saw the queen meant to enter into conversation as usual; which
I knew to be impossible, unless he had some entertainment to
occupy him. She perceived this soon, and had the goodness
immediately to open Noah's ark herself, which she had meant he
should take away with him to examine and possess at once. But he
was now soon in raptures : and, as the various animals were
produced, looked with a delight that danced in all his features;
and when any appeared of which he knew the name, he capered with
joy; such as, "O! a tow [cow]!" But at the dog, he clapped his
little hands, and running close to her Majesty; leant upon her
lap, exclaiming, "O, it's bow wow!"
"And do you know this, little man?" said the queen, showing him a
cat.
"Yes," cried he, again jumping as he leant upon her, "its name is
talled pussey!"
And at the appearance of Noah, in a green mantle, and leaning on
a stick, he said, "At's (that's] the shepherd's boy!"
The queen now inquired about my dear father, and heard all I had
to say relative to his apartments, with an air of interest, yet
not as if it was new to her. I have great reason to believe the
accommodation then arranging, and since settled, as to his
continuance in the College, has been deeply influenced by some
royal hint. . . .
I imagined she had just heard of the marriage of Charlotte, for
she inquired after my sister Frances, whom she never had
mentioned before since I quitted my post. I was obliged briefly
to relate the transaction, seeking to adorn it by stating Mr.
Broome's being the author of "Simkin's Letters." She agreed in
their uncommon wit and humour.
My little rebel, meanwhile, finding his animals were not given
into his own hands, but removed from their mischief, was
struggling all this time to get at the Tunbridge-ware of
Page 168
the queen's work-box, and, in defiance of all my efforts to
prevent him, he seized one piece, which he called a hammer, and
began violently knocking the table with it. I would fain have
taken it away silently - but he resisted such grave authority,
and so continually took it back, that the queen, to my great
confusion, now gave it him. Soon, however, tired also of this, he
ran away from me into the next room, which was their majesties'
bedroom, and in which were all the jewels ready to take to St.
James's, for the Court attire. I was excessively ashamed, and
obliged to fetch him back in my arms, and there to keep him. "
"Get down, little man," said the queen; "you are too heavy for
your mamma."
He took not the smallest notice of this admonition. The queen,
accustomed to more implicit obedience, repeated it but he only
nestled his little head in my neck, and worked' about his whole
person, so that I with difficulty held him.
The queen now imagined he did not know whom she meant, and said,
" What does he call you? Has he any particular name for you?"
He now lifted up his head, and, before I could answer, called
out, in a fondling manner, "Mamma, mamma!"
"O!" said she, smiling, "he knows who I mean!"
His restlessness still interrupting all attention, in defiance of
my earnest whispers for quietness, she now said, "Perhaps he is
hungry?" and rang her bell, and ordered a page to bring some
cakes.
He took one with great pleasure, and was content to stand down to
eat it. I asked him if he had nothing to say for it; he nodded
his little head, and composedly answered, "Sanky, queen!" This
could not help amusing her, nor me, neither, for I had no
expectation of quite so succinct an answer.
The carriages were now come for St. James's, and the Princesses
Augusta and Elizabeth came into the apartment. The little monkey,
in a fit of renewed lassitude after his cake, had flung himself
on the floor, to repose at his ease. He rose, however, upon
their appearance, and the sweet Princess Augusta said to the
queen, "He has been so good, up-stairs, mamma, that nothing could
be better behaved." I could have kissed her for this instinctive
kindness, excited by a momentary view of my embarrassment at his
little airs and liberties.
The queen heard her with an air of approving, as well as
understanding, her motive, and spoke to me with the utmost
Page 169
condescension of him, though I cannot recollect how, for I was a
good deal fidgeted lest he should come to some disgrace, by any
actual mischief or positive rebellion. I escaped pretty well,
however, and they all left us with smiles and graciousness. . . .
You will not be much surprised to hear that papa came to help us
out of the coach, at* our return to Chelsea, eager to know how
our little rebel had conducted himself, and how he had been
received. The sight of his playthings, you will believe, was not
very disagreeable. The ark, watchman, and cobbler, I shall keep
for him till he may himself judge their worth beyond their price.
MLLE. BACHMEISTER PRODUCES A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION.
I returned to the Queen's house in the afternoon to drink coffee
with Mlle. Bachmeister, whom I found alone, and spent a half-hour
with very pleasantly, though very seriously, for her character is
grave and feeling, and I fear she is not happy. Afterwards we
were joined by Madame Bremyere, who is far more cheerful.
The play was called "Secrets Worth Knowing;" a new piece. In the
next box to ours sat Mrs. Ariana Egerton, the bed-chamber-woman
to her majesty, who used so frequently to visit me at Windsor.
She soon recollected me, though she protested I looked so
considerably in better health, she took me for my own Younger
sister - and we had a great deal of chat together, very amicable
and cordial. I so much respect her warm exertions for the
emigrant ladies, that I addressed her with real pleasure, in
pouring forth my praises for her kindness and benevolence.
When we returned to the Queen's house my father's carriage was
not arrived, and I was obliged to detain Mlle. Bachmeister in
conversation for full half an hour, while I waited ; but it
served to increase my good disposition to her. She is really an
interesting woman. Had she been in that place while I belonged to
the queen, heaven knows if I had so struggled for deliverance ,
for poor Mrs. Schwellenberg so wore, wasted, and tortured all my
little leisure, that my time for repose was, in fact, my time of
greatest labour. So all is for the best! I have escaped
offending lastingly the royal mistress I love and honour, and-I
live at Westhamble with my two precious Alexanders.
(137) The most interesting account of the unfortunate expedition
to Bantry Bay is to be found in Wolfe Tone's " Memoirs." Wolfe
Tone, one of the leading members of the Irish Revolutionary
party, had been for some time resident in Paris, engaged in
negotiations with the Directory, with the view of obtaining
French support for the Irish in their intended attempt to throw
off the yoke of England. About the middle of December, 1796, a
large French fleet, under the Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse, sailed
from Brest, having on board an army of f twenty-five thousand
men, commanded by General Hoche, one of the ablest officers of
the Republic. Wolfe Tone accompanied the troops in the capacity
of adjutant to the general, But the fleet was dispersed by
storms. The vessel which had General Hoche on board was obliged
to put into the harbour of Rochelle, and comparatively few of the
ships, with about six thousand troops on board, actually cast
anchor in Bantry Bay. Even there, the wind was so 'Violent as to
render landing impossible, and after a few days' delay the
expedition returned to France.-ED.
(138) Edmund Burke died, at his house at Beaconsfield, half an
hour after midnight on the morning Of Sunday, July 9, 1797. He
was buried, July 15, in the parish church of Beaconsfield.-ED.
(139) Sold for the benefit of the nation.
(140) Dr. Johnson's negro servant. Johnson left him a comfortable
annuity, on which he retired to Lichfield. He died in the
infirmary at Stafford, February 13, 1801.-ED.
(141) The Garrick family resided in Lichfield. David Garrick was
born in Hereford, but educated at Lichfield.-ED.
(142) Dr. Burney's little grandson, and the son of Captain James
BAR Burney. after years, as readers of "Elia" will remember,
Martin Burney was the friend of Charles Lamb.-ED.
(143) Since the death of his second wife, Dr. Burney had been
engaged upon a "historical and didactic poem on astronomy." He
had been urged to the undertaking by Fanny, who hoped that the
interest of this new occupation might prove a relief to his
sorrow. Astronomy Was a favourite subject with Dr. Burney, and
he made great progress with the poem, which was for years his
favourite recreation. At a later period, however, for some
reason which his daughter never discovered, he relinquished the
task and destroyed the manuscript.-ED.
(144) Ralph Broome, who married Charlotte Francis in 1798, wasthe
author of "The Letters of Simpkin the Second, poetic recorder of
all the proceedings upon the trial of Warren Hastings, Esq., in
Westminster Hall," published by Stockdale, 1789. These letters,
which had already appeared separately in "The World," form, as
the title implies, a burlesque report of the trial, in rhymed
verse. The author is very severe upon the managers, and
proportionately favourable to Mr. Hastings. The letters are
amusing and not without Wit, although in these respects "Simpkin
the Second" falls decidedly short of "Simpkin the First," who is,
of course, the Simple Simkin of Anstey's "New Bath Guide." upon
which clever satire Broome had modelled his performance.-ED.
(145) Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, was a very singular
character--- a compound of experimental philosopher, practical
philanthropist, soldier and statesman. He was born at Woburn,
Massachusetts, in 1753. A Tory during the struggle for American
independence, he embarked for England before the close of the
war. There he was well received by the government, but shortly
afterwards he went to Bavaria, where he entered into the service
of the Elector. He soon attained a high reputation by the
reforms which he introduced in various departments, and was
created a Count of the Holy Roman Empire, by the title of Count
Rumford. Among his principal achievements in Bavaria were the
reforms which he brought about in the army, and the measures
which he instituted for the relief of the poor and the
suppression of beggary. To Fanny, at present, Count Rumford was
more interesting as the inventor of an improved Cooking range, by
which the consumption of fuel was greatly reduced. See his "Life"
by James Renwick, in Sparks'.s "Library of American Biography,"
Boston, 1845.-ED.
(146) The insurrection of the 18th of Fructidor (September 4,
1797). In 1795, on the dissolution of the Convention, the
government of France was entrusted to a Directory of five
persons, assisted by two councils--the Council of Ancients, and
the Council of Five hundred. In course of time, the reactionary,
or anti-revolutionary, party obtained a large majority in the
councils, which were thus involved in continual disputes with the
Directory. The army supported the Directory, and on the 4th Of
September a large body of troops surrounded the Tuileries, and
arrested a number of the most obnoxious members of the councils;
many of these Were afterwards--not guillotined, but transported
to South America.-ED.
(147) The marriage of the princess royal and the hereditary
prince of Wurtemberg, May 18, 1797.-ED.
(148) In April, 797, a serious mutiny broke out in the fleet at
Spithead. The sailors demanded increased pay and better food.
Their demands were finally conceded, and they returned to their
duty, May 14. A few days later, a still more alarming mutiny
broke out in the fleet at the Nore. The mutineers hoisted the
red flag, May 23, and, being joined by vessels from other
squadrons, found themselves presently masters of eleven ships of
the line, and thirteen frigates. With this powerful fleet they
blocked the Thames, and put a stop to the river trade of London.
Their demands were more extensive than those of the Spithead
Mutineers, but government firmly refused further concessions, and
in June the want of union and resolution among the men brought
about the collapse of the mutiny. Ship after ship deserted the
red flag, until the last vessel was steered into Sheerness
harbour, and given up to the authorities. Several of the leaders
were tried by court-martial and hanged ; the rest of the
mutineers were pardoned.-ED.
(149) The decisive victory gained by Admiral Duncan over the
Dutch fleet, off Camperdown, October 11, 1797. in January, 1795,
the French army under General Pichegru had conquered Holland with
little difficulty, meeting, indeed, with much sympathy from the
inhabitants. The Prince of Orange and his family were forced to
take refuge in England and the representatives of the Dutch
people immediately assembling, proclaimed Holland a republic,
under the protection of France. From that time Holland had been
in alliance with France, and at war with England. Duncan was
rewarded for his victory with a pension and a peerage--Viscount
Duncan of Camperdown henceforward.-ED.
(150) Duncan's victory we have already noted. Lord Howe's was the
great victory of June 1, 1794, over the French fleet commanded by
Admiral Villaret-joyeuse. It was in this battle that the Vengeur
went down, out Of which incident Barrere manufactured, for the
benefit of the French people, that rousing story of the disabled
ship refusing to strike its colours, and sinking while every man
of the crew, With his last breath, shouted "Vive la Republique!"
Magnificent, had it not been pure fiction! Lord St. Vincent (then
Admiral Jervis) gained a complete victory over the Spanish fleet
off Cape St. Vincent, February 14, 1797. Spain, as well as
Holland, was now in alliance with France: had made peace with
France in 1795, and declared war against England in the following
year. ,K Admiral Jervis received the title of Earl St. Vincent
and a pension in consequence of his victory.-ED.
(151) Only child of the Prince and Princess of Wales, born
January 7, 1796.-ED.
(152) A novel by Sarah Harriet Burney.-ED.
(153) The Duke of Cumberland, afterward, King of Hanover; fifth
son of George III.; born 1771, died 1851.-ED.
(154) William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, and brother of George
III.-ED.
(155) William Frederick, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, and
husband of the Princess Mary. He was born in 1776, and died in
1836.-ED.
(156) Arthur O'Connor, nephew and heir of Lord Longueville, was
one of the Irish leaders, who took part in the negotiations
between the Revolutionary party in Ireland and the French
Directory. He and two or three of his associates were arrested
at Margate (February 28, 1798), where they were attempting to
hire a boat to take them to France. They were tried at Maidstone
(May 21), and one of the party, on whom were found some
compromising papers, including an address to the Directory, was
convicted and hanged. O'Connor was acquitted, but immediately
rearrested and detained in custody during the rising in Ireland.-
ED.
Page 170 SECTION 22.
(1798-1802.)
VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WESTHAMBLE: DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS:
SOJOURN IN FRANCE.
[From the " Memoirs of Dr. Burney " we extract the following
details respecting the death of Fanny's favourite sister, Susan
Phillips.
"Winter now was nearly at hand, and travelling seemed deeply
dangerous, in her sickly state, for the enfeebled Susanna. Yet
she herself, panting to receive again the blessing of her beloved
father, concentrated every idea of recovery in her return. She
declined, therefore, though with exquisite sensibility, the
supplicating desire of this Editor [Madame d'Arblay] to join and
to nurse her at Belcotton, her own cottage ; and persevered
through every impediment in her efforts to reach the parental
home. . . . Every obstacle, at length, being finally vanquished,
the journey was resolved upon, and its preparations were made;--
when a fearful new illness suddenly confined the helpless invalid
to her bed. There she remained some weeks - after which, with the
utmost difficulty, and by two long days' travelling, though for a
distance of only twenty-six miles, she reached Dublin where,
exhausted, emaciated, she was again forced to her bed ; there
again to remain for nearly as long a new delay! " Every hour of
separation became now to the Doctor Dr. Burney] an hour of grief,
from the certainty that, the expedition once begun, it could be
caused only by suffering malady, or expiring strength.
"It was not till the very close of the year 1799, amidst deep
snow, fierce frost, blighting winds, and darksome days, that,
scarcely alive, his sinking Susanna was landed at Park Gate.
There she was joined by her affectionate brother, Dr. Charles,
who hastened to hail her arrival, that he might convey her in his
own warm carriage to her heart-yearning father, her fondly
impatient brethren, and the tenderest of friends. But he found
her in no state to travel: further feeble,
Page 171
drooping, wasted away, scarcely to be known, shrunk, nearly
withered!--yet still with her fair mind in full possession of its
clearest powers; still with all the native sweetness of her
looks, manners, voice, and smiles; still with all her desire to
please; her affecting patience of endurance; her touching
sensibility for every species of attention; and all her
unalterable loveliness of disposition, that sought to console for
her own afflictions, to give comfort for her own sufferings!
"During the space of a doubtful week, her kind brother Dr.
Charles, awaited the happy moment when she might be able to move
on. But on--save as a corpse,---she moved no more! *
Gentle was her end! gentle as the whole tenor of her life but as
sudden in its conclusion as it had been lingering in its
approach."
* She died at Park Gate, January 6, 1800, and was buried in
Neston Churchyard, near Park Gate.-ED.
The latter portion of the following section introduces the reader
to new scenes and new acquaintances. During the summer of 1801
negotiations for peace between France and England were carried on
in London, between lord Hawkesbury, on the part of the English
government, and M. Otto, the French plenipotentiary. The
preliminary treaty was signed in London, October 1, 1801, and
ratified a few days later on the part of Napoleon Bonaparte, then
First Consul, and de facto ruler of France, by a special envoy
from Paris--General Lauriston. The definitive treaty, by which
the details of mutual concessions, etc., were finally arranged,
was signed at Amiens, March 25, 1802. In England the peace was
received with rapture: General Lauriston was drawn in triumph in
his carriage through the streets of London by the people. The
"mutual concessions," however, showed a large balance in favour
of France. As Sheridan observed, it was a peace of which every
one was glad, but no one proud.
The establishment of peace determined M. d'Arblay to revisit
France, and to endeavour to obtain from the First Consul the
half-pay pension to which his former services in the army had
entitled him. In this project he was warmly encouraged by his old
friend and comrade, General Lauriston, whom he had called upon in
London, and who had received him with open arms. The result of
his journey may be read in the following pages. His wife and son
joined him in France, in April, 1802, with the intention of
returning to England after a year's absence. But their return was
prevented by the renewal of the war between the two countries in
the following year, and ten years elapsed before Fanny saw again
her father and her native country. Her first impressions of
France are recorded in the " Diary" with very pleasant
minuteness, but of her life during the greater part of these
years of exile a few letters, Written at long intervals, give us
all the information which we possess. -ED.)
Page 172
A VISIT TO MRS. CHAFONE.
March 1798.I have not told you of my renewed intercourse with
Mrs. Chapone, who had repeatedly sent me kind wishes and
messages, of her desire to see me again. She was unfortunately
ill, and I was sent from her door without being named; but she
sent me a kind note to Chelsea, which gave me very great
pleasure. Indeed, she had always behaved towards me with
affection as well as kindness, and I owe to her the blessing of
my first acquaintance with my dear Mrs., Delany. It was Mrs.
Chapone who took me to her first, whose kind account had made her
desire to know me, and who always expressed the most generous
pleasure in the intimacy she had brought about, though it soon
took place of all that had preceded it with herself. I wrote a
very long answer, with a little history of our way of life, and
traits of-M. d'Arblay, by which her quick discernment might judge
both of that and my state of mind.
When we came again to Chelsea at this period, our Esther desired,
or was desired by Mrs. Chapone, to arrange a meeting. I was
really sorry I could not call upon her with my urchin; but I
could only get conveyed to her one evening, when I went with our
Esther, but was disappointed of M. d'Arblay, who had been obliged
to go to Westhamble. This really mortified me, and vexed Mrs.
Chapone.
We found her alone, and she received me with the most open
affection. Mrs. Chapone knew the day I could be with her too late
to make any party, and would have been profuse in apologies if I
had not truly declared I rejoiced in seeing her alone, Indeed, it
would have been better If we had been so completely, for our
dearest Esther knew but few of the old connexions concerning whom
I wished to inquire and to talk, and she knew too much of all
about myself and my situation of which Mrs. Chapone wished to ask
and to hear. I fear, therefore, she was tired, though she would
not: say so, and though she looked and conducted herself with
great sweetness..
Mrs. Chapone spoke warmly of "Camilla," especially of Sir Hugh,
but told me she had detected me in some Gallicisms,
Page 173
and pointed some out. She pressed me in a very flattering manner
to write again ; and dear Hetty, forgetting our relationship's
decency, seconded her so heartily you must have laughed to hear
her hoping we could never furnish our house till I went again to
the press. When Mrs. Chapone heard of my father's difficulties
about Chelsea, and fears of removal, on account of his twenty
thousand volumes,--"Twenty thousand volumes!" she repeated;
"bless me! why, how can he so encumber himself? Why does he not
burn half? for how much must be to spare that never can be worth
his looking at from such a store! And can he want to keep them
all? I should not have suspected Dr. Burney, of all men, of being
such a Dr. Orkborne!"(157)......
MRS. BOSCAWEN, LADY STRANGE, AND MR. SEWARD.
The few other visits which opportunity and inclination united for
my making during our short and full fortnight were--
To Mrs. Boscawen, whither we went all three, for I knew she
wished to see our little one, whom I had in the coach with Betty,
ready for a summons. Mrs. Boscawen was all herself,---that is,
all elegance and good-breeding. Do you remember the verses on the
blues which we attributed to Mr. Pepys?--
Each art of conversation knowing,
High-bred, elegant boscawen.
To Miss Thrale's, where I also carried my little Alex.
To Lady Strange(158) whom I had not seen for more years than I
know how to count. She was at home, and alone, except for her
young grandchild, another Bell Strange, daughter of James, who is
lately returned from India, with a large fortune, is become
member of Parliament, and has married, for his second wife, a
niece of Secretary Dundas's. Lady Strange received me with great
kindness, and, to my great surprise, knew me instantly. I found
her more serious and grave than formerly; I had not seen her
since Sir
Page 174
Robert's death, and many events of no enlivening nature; but I
found, with great pleasure, that all her native fire and wit and
intelligence were still within, though less voluntary and quick
in flashing out, for every instant I stayed she grew brighter and
nearer her true self.
Her little grandchild is a delightful little creature, the very
reverse of the other Bell(159) in appearance and disposition, for
she is handsome and open and gay; but I hope, at the same time,
her resemblance in character, as Bell is strictly principled and
upright.
Lady Strange inquired if I had any family, and, when she gathered
I had a little one down-stairs in the carriage, desired to see
it, for little Bell was wild in the request. "But have nae
mair!" cried she; "the times are bad and hard;--ha' nae mair! if
you take my advice, you'll ha' nae mair! you've been vary
discreet, and, faith, I commend you!"
Little Bell had run down-stairs to hasten Betty and the child,
and now, having seized him in her arms, she sprang into the room
with him. His surprise, her courage, her fondling, her little
form, and her prettiness, had astonished him into consenting to
her seizure ; but he sprang from her to me the moment they
entered the drawing-room. I begged Lady Strange to give him her
blessing. She looked at him with a strong and earnest expression
of examining interest and pleasure, and then, with an arch smile,
turning suddenly about to me, exclaimed, "Ah! faith and troth,
you mun ha' some mair! if you can make 'em so pratty as this, you
mun ha' some mair! sweet bairn! I gi' you my benediction! be a
comfort to your papa and mamma! Ah, madam!" (with one of her deep
sighs) "I must gi' my consent to your having some mair ! if you
can make 'em so pratty as this, faith and troth, I mun let you
have a girl!"
I write all this without scruple to my dearest Susan, for
prattiness like this little urchin's is not likely to spoil
either him or ourselves by lasting. 'Tis a juvenile flower, yet
one my Susan will again, I hope, view while still in its first
bloom. . . .
I was extremely pleased in having an interview again with my old,
and I believe very faithful, friend Mr. Seward, whom I had not
seen since my marriage, but Whom I had heard, through the Lockes,
was indefatigable in inquiries and
Page 175
expressions of good-will upon every occasion. He had sent me his
compilation of anecdotes of distinguished characters, and two
little letters have passed between us upon them. I was unluckily
engaged the morning he was at Chelsea, and obliged to quit him
before we had quite overcome a little awkwardness which our long
absence and my changed name had involuntarily produced at our
first meeting; and I was really sorry, as I have always retained
a true esteem for him, though his singularities and affectation
of affectation always struck me. But both those and his spirit
of satire are mere quizziness 3 his mind is all solid benevolence
and worth.
A MYSTERIOUS BANK-NOTE.
And now I must finish this Chelsea narrative, with its most
singular, though brief, adventure. One morning at breakfast, my
father received a letter, which he opened, and found to be only a
blank cover with a letter enclosed, directed "A Madame, Madame
d'Arblay." This, upon opening, produced a little bank-note of
five pounds, and these words:--
"Madame d'Arblay need not have any scruple in accepting the
enclosed trifle, as it is considered only as a small tribute of
gratitude and kindness, so small, indeed, that every precaution
has been taken to prevent the least chance of discovery ; and the
person who sends it even will never know whether it was received
or not. Dr. Burney is quite ignorant of it."
This is written evidently in a feigned hand, and I have not the
most remote idea whence it can come. But for the word gratitude I
might have suggested many ; but, upon the whole, I am utterly
unable to suggest any one creature upon earth likely to do such a
thing. I might have thought of my adorable princess, but that it
is so little a sum. Be it as it may, it is certainly done in
great kindness, by some one who knows five pounds is not so small
a matter to us as to most others ; and after vainly striving to
find out or conjecture whence it came, we determined to devote it
to our country. There's patriotism! we gave it in voluntary
subscription for the war and it was very seasonable to us for
this purpose.
This magnificent patriotic donation was presented to the Bank of
England by Mr. Angerstein, through Mr. Locke, and we have had
thanks from the committee which made us blush. Many reasons have
prevented my naming this anecdote, the principal of which were
fears that, if it should
Page 176
be known such a thing was made use of, and, as it chanced when we
should otherwise have really been distressed how to
come forward or hold back, any other friend might adopt the same
method, which, gratefully as I feel the kindness that alone could
have instigated it, has yet a depressing effect, and I would not
have it become current. Could I, or should I ever trace it, I
must, in some mode or other, attempt retaliation.
THE NEW BROTHER-IN-LAW: A CORDIAL PROFESSOR.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
After sundry abortive proposals of our new brother-in-law, Mr.
Broome, for our meeting, he and Charlotte finally came, with
little Charlotte, to breakfast and spend a day with us. He has by
no means the wit and humour and hilarity his "Simkin's Letters"
prepare for; but the pen and the tongue are often unequally
gifted. He is said to be very learned, deeply skilled in
languages, and general erudition and he is full of information
upon most subjects that can be mentioned. We talked of India,
and he permitted me to ask what questions I pleased upon points
and things of which I was glad to gather accounts from so able a
traveller.
Another family visit which took place this Summer gave us
pleasure of a far more easy nature, because unmixed with watchful
anxiety; this was from Charles and his son, who, by an
appointment for which he begged our consent, brought with him
also Mr. Professor Young, of Glasgow, a man whose learning sits
upon him far lighter than Mr. Broome's ! Mr. Young has the
bonhonlie of M. de Lally, with as much native humour as he has
acquired erudition: he has a face that looks all honesty and
kindness, and manners gentle and humble ; an enthusiasm for
whatever he thinks excellent, whether in talents or character, in
art or in nature; and is altogether a man it seems impossible to
know, even for a day, and not to love and wish well. This latter
is probably the effect of his own cordial disposition to amity.
He took to us, all three, so evidently and so warmly, and was so
smitten with our little dwelling, its situation and simplicity,
and so much struck with what he learned and saw of M. d'Arblay's
cultivating literally his own grounds, and literally being his
own gardener, after finding by conversation, what a use he had
made of his earlier days In literary
Page 177
attainments, that he seemed as if he thought himself brought to a
vision of the golden age,---such was the appearance of his own
sincere and upright mind in rejoicing to see happiness where
there was palpably no luxury, no wealth. It was a most agreeable
surprise to me to find such a man in Mr. Professor Young, as I
had expected a sharp though amusing satirist, from his very comic
but sarcastic imitation of Dr. Johnson's "Lives," in a criticism
upon Gray's "Elegy."
Charles was all kind affection, and delighted at our approbation
of his friend, for the professor has been such many years, and
very essentially formerly,-a circumstance Charles is now
gratefully and warmly returning. It is an excellent part of
Charles's character that he never forgets any kind office he has
received.
I learned from them that Mr. Rogers, author of the "Pleasures of
Memory," that most sweet poem, had ridden round the lanes about
our domain to view it, and stood--or made his horse stand,--at
our gate a considerable time, to examine our Camilla cottage,--a
name I am sorry to find Charles, or some one, had spread to him;
and he honoured all with his good word. I should like to meet
with him.
PRECOCIOUS MASTER ALEX.
Lady Rothes(160) constant in every manifestation of regard, came
hither the first week of our establishment, and came three times
to denials, when my gratitude forced open my doors. Her daughter,
Lady Harriet, was with her: she is a pretty and pleasing young
woman. Sir Lucas came another morning, bringing my old friend Mr.
Pepys. Alex was in high spirits and amused them singularly. He
had just taken to spelling; and every word he heard, of which he
either knew or could guess the orthography, he instantly, in a
little concise and steady manner, pronounced all the letters of,
with a look of great but very grave satisfaction at his own
performances, and a familiar nod at every word so conquered, as
thus :--
Mr. Pepys. You are a fine boy, indeed!
Alex. B, o, y; boy. (Every letter articulated with strong, almost
heroic emphasis.)
Mr. P. And do you run about here in this pleasant place all day
long?
Page 178
Alex. D, a, y; day.
Mr. P. And can you read your book, You Sweet little fellow?
Alex. R, e, a, d; read. Etc.
He was in such good looks that all this nonsense won
nothing but admiration, and Mr. Pepys could attend to nothing
else, but only charged me to let him alone. "For mercy's sake,
don't make him study," cried Sir Lucas also; "he is so well
disposed that you must rather repress than advance him, or his
health may pay the forfeit of his application."
"O, leave him alone! cried Mr. Pepys: "take care only of his
health and strength; never fear such a boy as that wanting
learning."
THE BARBAULDS.
I was extremely surprised to be told by the maid a gentleman and
lady had called at the door, who sent in a card and begged to
know if I could admit them; and to see the names on the card were
Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld.(161) I had never seen them more than
twice; the first time, by their own desire, Mrs. Chapone carried
me to meet them at Mr. Burrows's: the other time, I think, was at
Mrs. Chapone's. You must be sure I could not hesitate to receive,
and receive with thankfulness, this civility from the authoress
of the most useful books, next to Mrs. Trimmer's, that have been
yet written for dear little children; though this with the world
is probably her very secondary merit, her many pretty Poems, and
particularly songs, being generally esteemed. But many more have
written those as well, and not a few better; for children's books
she began the new walk, which has since been so well cultivated,
to the great information as well as utility of parents.
Mr. Barbauld is a dissenting minister--an author also, but I am
unacquainted with his works. They were in our little
dining-parlour-the only one that has any chairs in it--and began
apologies for their visit; but I interrupted and finished them
with my thanks. She is much altered, but not for the worse to me,
though she is for herself, since the flight of her youth, which
is evident, has taken also with it a great portion of an almost
set smile, which had an air of determined complacence and
prepared acquiescence that seemed to result
Page 179
from a sweetness which never risked being off guard. I remember
Mrs. Chapone's saying to me, after our interview, "She is a very
good young woman, as well as replete with talents; but why must
one always smile so? It makes my poor jaws ache to look at her."
We talked, of course, of that excellent lady ; and you will
believe I did not quote her notions of smiling. The Burrows
family, she told me,. was quite broken up; old Mrs. Amy alone
remaining alive. Her brother, Dr. Aiken,(162) with his family,
were passing the summer at Dorking, on account of his ill-health,
the air of that town having been recommended for his complaints.
The Barbaulds were come to spend some time with him, and would
not be so near without renewing their acquaintance. They had been
walking in Norbury Park, which they admired very much; and Mrs.
Barbauld very elegantly said, "If there was such a public officer
as a legislator of taste, Mr. Locke ought to be chosen for it."
They inquired much about M. d'Arblay, who was working in his
garden, and would not be at the trouble of dressing to appear.
They desired to see Alex, and I produced him ; and his
orthographical feats were very well-timed here, for as soon as
Mrs. Barbauld said, "What is your name, you pretty creature?" he
sturdily answered "B, o, y; boy."
Almost all our discourse was upon the Irish rebellion. Mr.
Barbauld is a very little, diminutive figure, but well-bred and
sensible.
I borrowed her poems, afterwards, of Mr. Daniel, who chanced to
have them, and have read them with much esteem of the piety and
worth they exhibit, and real admiration of the last amongst them,
which is an epistle to Mr. Wilberforce in favour of the
demolition of the slave-trade, 1 'n which her energy seems to
spring from the real spirit of virtue, suffering at the luxurious
depravity which can tolerate, in a free land, so unjust, cruel,
and abominable a traffic.
We returned their visit together in a few days, at Dr. Aiken's
lodgings, at Dorking, where, as she permitted M. d'Arblay to
speak French, they had a very animated discourse upon buildings,
French and English, each supporting those of their own country
with great spirit, but my monsieur,
Page 180
to own the truth, having greatly the advantage both in manner and
argument. He was in spirits, and came forth with his best
exertions. Dr. Aiken looks very sickly, but is said to be better:
he has a good countenance.
PRINCESS AMELIA AT JUNIPER HALL.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Westhamble, 1798.
And now, my beloved Susan, I will sketch my last Court history of
this year.
The Princess Amelia, who had been extremely ill since My last
royal admittance, of some complaint in her knee which caused
spasms the most dreadfully painful, was now returning from her
sea-bathing at Worthing, and I heard from all around the
neighbourhood that her royal highness was to rest and stop one
night at juniper Hall, whither she was to be attended by Mr.
Keate the surgeon, and by Sir Lucas Pepys, who was her physician
at Worthing.
I could not hear of her approaching so near our habitation, and
sleeping within sight of us, and be contented without an effort
to see her; yet I would not distress Lady Rothes by an
application she would not know how either to refuse or grant,
from the established etiquette of bringing no one into the
presence of their royal highnesses but by the queen's permission.
So infinitely sweet, however, that young love of a princess
always is to me, that I gathered courage to address a petition to
her majesty herself, through the medium of Miss Planta, for leave
to pay my homage.-I will copy my answer, sent by return of post.
..
"My dear friend,-I have infinite pleasure in acquainting you that
the queen has ordered me to say that you have her leave to see
dear Princess Amelia, provided Sir Lucas Pepys and Dr. Keate
permit it, etc."
With so complete and honourable a credential, I now scrupled not
to address a few lines to Lady Rothes, telling her My authority,
to prevent any embarrassment, for entreating her leave to pay my
devoirs to the young princess on Saturday morning,--the Friday I
imagined she would arrive too fatigued to be seen. I intimated
also my wish to bring my boy, not to be presented unless
demanded, but to be Put into some closet where he might be at
hand in case of that
Page 181
honour. The sweet princess's excessive graciousness to him gave
me courage for this request. Lady Rothes sent me a kind note
which made me perfectly comfortable.
It was the 1st of December, but a beautifully clear and fine day.
I borrowed Mr. Locke's carriage. Sir Lucas came to us
immediately, and ushered us to the breakfast-parlour, giving me
the most cheering accounts of the recovery of the princess. Here
I was received by Lady Rothes, who presented me to Lady Albinia
Cumberland, widow of Cumberland the author's only son, and one of
the ladies of the princesses. I found her a peculiarly pleasing
woman, in voice, manner, look, and behaviour.
This introduction over, I had the pleasure to shake hands with
Miss Goldsworthy, whom I was very glad to see, and who was very
cordial and kind; but who is become, alas! so dreadfully deaf,
there is no conversing with her, but by talking for a whole house
to hear every word ! With this infirmity, however, she is still
in her first youth and brightness, compared with her brother,
who, though I knew him of the party, is so dreadfully altered,
that I with difficulty could venture to speak to him by the name
of General Goldsworthy. He has had three or four more strokes of
apoplexy since I saw him. I fancy he had a strong consciousness
of his alteration, for he seemed embarrassed and shy, and only
bowed to me, at first, without speaking. but I wore that off
afterwards, by chatting over old stories with him.
The princess breakfasted alone, attended by Mrs. Cheveley. When
this general breakfast was over, Lady Albinia retired. But in a
very few minutes she returned, and said, "Her royal highness
desires to see Madame d'Arblay and her little boy."
The princess was seated on a sofa, in a French gray riding-dress,
with pink lapels, her beautiful and richly flowing and shining
fair locks unornamented. Her breakfast was still before her, and
Mrs. Cheveley in waiting. Lady Albinia announced me, and she
received me with the brightest smile, calling me up to her, and
stopping my profound reverence, by pouting out her sweet ruby
lips for me to kiss.
She desired me to come and sit by her; but, ashamed of so much
indulgence, I seemed not to hear her, and drew a chair at a
little distance. "No, no," she cried, nodding, "come here; come
and sit by me here, my dear Madame d'Arblay." I had then only to
say 'twas my duty to obey her, and I seated myself on her sofa.
Lady Albinia, whom she motioned
Page 182
to sit, took an opposite chair, and Mrs. Cheveley, after we had
spoken a few words together, retired.
Her attention now was bestowed upon my Alex, who required not
quite so much solicitation to take his part of the sofa. He came
jumping and skipping up to her royal highness, with such gay and
merry antics, that it was impossible not to be diverted with so
sudden a change from his composed and quiet behaviour in the
other room. He seemed enchanted to see her again, and I was only
alarmed lest he should skip upon her poor knee in his caressing
agility.
I bid him, in vain, however, repeat Ariel's "Come unto these
yellow sands," which he can say very prettily; he began, and the
princess, who knew it, prompted him to go on --but a fit of shame
came suddenly across him-or of capriciousness-and he would not
continue.
Lady Albinia soon after left the room - and the princess, then,
turning hastily and eagerly to me, said, "Now we are alone, do
let me ask you one question, Madame d'Arblay. Are you--are
you--[looking with strong expression to discover her answer]
writing anything?"
I could not help laughing, but replied in the negative.
"Upon your honour?" she cried earnestly, and looking
disappointed. This was too hard an interrogatory for evasion;
and I was forced to say--the truth--that I was about nothing I
had yet fixed if or not I should ever finish, but that I was
rarely without some project. This seemed to satisfy and please
her.
I told her of my having seen the Duke of Clarence at Leatherhead
fair. "What, William?" she cried, surprised. This unaffected,
natural way of naming her brothers and sisters is infinitely
pleasing. She took a miniature from her pocket, and said, "I
must show you Meney's picture," meaning Princess Mary, whom she
still calls Meney, because it was the name she gave her when
unable to pronounce Mary--a time she knew I well remembered. It
was a very sweet miniature, and extremely like. "Ah! what
happiness," I cried, "your royal highness will feel, and give,
upon returning to their majesties and their royal highnesses,
after such an absence, and such sufferings!" "O! yes!--I shall
be SO glad!" she cried, and then Lady Albinia came in and
whispered her it was time to admit Lady Rothes, who then entered
with Lady Harriet and the Miss Leslies. When she was removing,
painfully lifted from her seat
Page 183
between Sir Lucas and Mr. Keate, she stopped to pay her
compliments and thanks to Lady Rothes with a dignity and self-
command extremely striking. .
DEATH OF MR. SEWARD.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
Westhamble, May 2, 1799.
Poor Mr. Seward! I am indeed exceedingly concerned--nay,
grieved--for his loss to us: to us I trust I may say; for I
believe he was so substantially good a creature, that he has left
no fear or regret merely for himself. He fully expected his end
was quickly approaching. I saw him at my father's at Chelsea, and
he spent almost a whole morning with me in chatting of other
times, as he called it ; for we travelled back to Streatham, Dr.
Johnson, and the Thrales. But he told me he knew his disease
incurable. Indeed he had passed a quarter of an hour in
recovering breath, in a room with the servants, before he let me
know he had mounted the college stairs. My father was not at
home. He had thought himself immediately dying, he said, four
days before, by certain sensations that he believed to be fatal,
but he mentioned it with cheerfulness ; and though active in
trying all means to lengthen life, declared himself perfectly
calm in suspecting they would fail. TO give me a proof, he said
he had been anxious to serve Mr. Wesley, the methodist musician,
and he had recommended him to the patronage of the Hammersleys,
and begged my father to meet him there to dinner; but as this was
arranged, he was seized himself with a dangerous attack, which he
believed to be mortal. And during this belief, "willing to have
the business go on," said he, laughing, "and not miss me, I wrote
a letter to a young lady, to tell her all I wished to be done
upon the occasion, to serve Wesley, and to show him to advantage.
I gave every direction I should have given in person, in a
complete persuasion at the moment I should never hold a pen in my
hand again."
This letter, I found, was to Miss Hammersley.
I had afterwards the pleasure of introducing M. d'Arblay to him,
and it seemed a gratification to him to make the acquaintance. I
knew he had been curious to see him, and he wrote my father word
afterwards he had been much pleased.
My father says he sat with him an hour the Saturday before he
died - and though he thought him very ill, he was so little
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aware his end was so rapidly approaching, that, like my dearest
friend, he laments his loss as if by sudden death.
I was sorry, too, to see in the newspapers, the expulsion of Mr.
Barry from the Royal Academy. I suppose it is from some furious
harangue.(163) His passions have no restraint though I think
extremely well of his heart, as well as of his understanding.
DR. BURNEY AGAIN VISITS DR. HERSCHEL.
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Slough, Monday morning, July 22, 1799, in bed at Dr. Herschel's,
half-past five, where I can neither sleep nor lie idle.
My dear Fanny,-I believe I told you on Friday that I was going to
finish the perusal of my astronomical verses to the great
astronomer on Saturday. Here I arrived at three o'clock,-
-neither Dr. nor Mrs. H. at home. This was rather discouraging,
but all was set to rights by the appearance of Miss Baldwin, a
sweet, timid, amiable girl, Mrs. Herschel's niece. ....When we
had conversed about ten minutes, in came two other sweet girls,
the daughters of Dr. Parry of Bath, on a visit here. More
natural, obliging, charming girls I have seldom seen; and,
moreover, very pretty. We soon got acquainted. I found they were
musical, and in other respects very well educated. It being a
quarter past four, and the lord and lady of the mansion not
returned, Miss Baldwin would have dinner served, according to
order, and an excellent dinner it was, and our chattation no
disagreeable sauce.
After an admirable dessert, I made the Misses Parry sing and
play, and sang and played with them so delightfully, "you can't
think!"
Mr. and Mrs. H. did not return till between seven and eight ; but
when they came, apologies for being out on pressing business,
cordiality and kindness, could not be more liberally bestowed.
After tea Dr. H. proposed that we two should retire into a quiet
room, in order to resume the perusal of my work, in
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which no progress had been made since last December. The evening
was finished very cheerfully; and we went to our bowers not much
out of humour with each other, or with the world.
DR. BURNEY AND THE KING.
We had settled a plan to go to the chapel at Windsor in' the
morning, the king and royal family being there, and the town very
full. Dr. H. and Mrs. H. stayed at home, and I was accompanied by
the three Graces. Dr. Goodenough, the successor of Dr. Shepherd,
as canon, preached. I had dined with him at Dr. Duval's. He is a
very agreeable man, and passionately fond of music, with whom, as
a professor, a critic, and an historian of the art; I seem to
stand very high; but I could not hear a single sentence of his
sermon, on account of the distance. After the service I got a
glimpse of the good king, in his light-grey farmer-like morning
Windsor uniform, in a great crowd, but could not even obtain that
glance of the queen and princesses. The day was charming. The
chapel is admirably repaired, beautified, and a new west window
painted on glass. All was cheerfulness, gaiety, and good humour,
such as the subjects of no other monarch, I believe, i on earth
enjoy at present; and except return of creepings now and then,
and a cough, I was as happy as the best.
At dinner we all agreed to go to the Terrace,--Mr., Mrs., and
Miss H., with their nice little boy, and the three young ladies.
This plan we put in execution, and arrived on the Terrace a
little after seven. I never saw it more crowded or gay. The
park was almost full of happy people--farmers, servants, and
tradespeople,--alt In Elysium. Deer in the distance, and dears
unnumbered near. Here I met with everybody I wished and expected
to see previous to the king's arrival in the part of the Terrace
where I and my party were planted. .....
Chelsea, Tuesday, three o'clock.
Not a moment could I get to write till now; and I am afraid of
forgetting some part of my history, but I ought not, for the
events of this visit are very memorable.
When the king and queen, arm in arm, were approaching the place
where the Herschel family and I had planted ourselves, one of the
Misses Parry heard the queen say to his majesty, "There's Dr.
Burney," when they instantly came to me, so smiling and gracious
that I longed to throw myself at
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their feet. "How do you, Dr. Burney?" said the king, "Why, you
are grown fat and young."
"Yes, indeed," said the queen; "I was very glad to hear from
Madame d'Arblay how well you looked."
"Why, you used to be as thin as Dr. Lind," says the king. Lind
was then in sight--a mere lath; but these few words were
accompanied with such Very gracious smiles, and seemingly
affectionate good-humour--the whole royal family, except the
Prince of Wales, standing by in the midst of a crowd of the first
people in the kingdom for rank and office--that I was afterwards
looked at as a sight. After this the king and queen hardly ever
passed by me without a smile and a nod. The weather was charming;
the park as full as the Terrace, the king having given permission
to the farmers, tradesmen, and even livery servants, to be there
during the time of his walking.
Now I must tell you that Herschel proposed to me to go with him
to the king's concert at night, he having permission to go when
he chooses, his five nephews (Griesbachs) making a principal part
of the band. "And," says he, "I know you will be welcome." But I
should not have presumed to believe this if his majesty had not
formerly taken me into his concert-room himself from your
apartments. This circumstance, and the gracious notice with
which I had been just honoured, emboldened me. A fine music-room
in the Castle, next the Terrace, is now fitted up for his
majesty's evening concerts, and an organ erected. Part of the
first act had been performed previous to our arrival. There were
none but the performers in the room, except the Duchesses of Kent
and cumberland, with two or three general officers backwards. The
king seldom goes into the music-room after the first act; and the
second and part of the third were over before we saw anything of
him, though we heard his majesty, the queen, and princesses
talking in the next room. At length he came directly up to me and
Herschel, and the first question his majesty asked me was,--"How
does Astronomy go on?" I, pretending to suppose he knew nothing
of my poem, said, "Dr. Herschel will better inform your majesty
than I can." "Ay, ay," says the king, "but you are going to tell
us something with your pen;" and moved his hand in a writing
manner. "What--what--progress have you made?" "Sir, it is all
finished, and all but the last of twelve books have been read to
my friend Dr. Herschel." The king, then, looking at Herschel, as
who would say, "How is it?" "It
Page 187
is a very capital work, sir," says H. "I wonder how you find
time?" said the king. "I make time, Sir." "How, how?" "I take
it out of my sleep, sir." When the considerate good king, "But
you'll hurt your health. How long," he adds, "have you been at
it?" "Two or three years, at odd and stolen moments, Sir."
"Well," said the king (as he had said to you before), "whatever
you write, I am sure will be entertaining." I bowed most humbly,
as ashamed of not deserving so flattering a speech. "I don't say
it to flatter you," says the king; "if I did not think it, I
would not say it."
OVERWHELMED WITH THE ROYAL GRACIOUSNESS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
"Fore George, a more excellent song than t'other!"
Westhamble, July 25, '99.
Why, my dearest padre, your subjects rise and rise,-till
subjects, in fact, are no longer in question. I do not wonder you
felt melted by the king's goodness. I am sure I did in its
perusal. And the queen!-her naming me so immediately went to my
heart. Her speeches about me to Mrs. Locke in the drawing-room,
her interest in my welfare, her deigning to say she had "never
been amongst those who had blamed my marriage," though she lost
by it my occasional attendances, and her remarking "I looked the
picture of happiness," had warmed me to the most fervent
gratitude, and the more because her saying she had never been
amongst those who had blamed me shows there were people who had
not failed to do me ill offices in her hearing; though probably,
and I firmly believe, without any personal enmity, as I am
unconscious of my having any owed me; but merely from a cruel
malice with which many seize every opportunity, almost
involuntarily, to do mischief and most especially to undermine at
Court any one presumed to be in any favour. And, still further,
I thought her words conveyed a confirmation of what her conduct
towards me in my new capacity always led me to conjecture,
namely, that my guardian star had ordained it so that the real
character and principles of my honoured and honourable mate had,
by some happy chance, reached the royal ear "before the news of
our union. The dear king's graciousness :to M. d'Arblay upon the
Terrace, when the commander-in-chief, just then returned from the
Continent, was by his side, made it impossible not to suggest
this : and now, the queen's
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again naming me so in, public puts it, in my conception, beyond
doubt. My kindest father will be glad, I am sure, to have added
to the great delight of his recital a strength to a notion I so
much love to cherish.
WAR RUMOURS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Aug. 14, '99.
People here are very sanguine that Ireland is quiet, and will
remain so; and that the combined fleets can never reach it. How
are your own politics upon that point? Mine will take their
colour, be it what it may. Our dear father is Visiting about,
from Mr. Cox's to Mrs. Crewe, with whom be is now at Dover, where
Mr. Crewe has some command. We are all in extreme disturbance
here about the secret expedition. Nothing authentic is arrived
from the first armament; and the second is all prepared for
sailing. . . . Both officers and men are gathered from all
quarters. - Heaven grant them speedy safety, and ultimate peace !
God bless my own dearest Susan, and strengthen and restore her.
Amen! Amen.
ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, October 1, '99.
Whether gaily or sadly to usher what I have to say I know not,
but your sensations, like mine, will I am sure be mixed. The
major has now written to Mrs. Locke that he is anxious to have
Susan return to England. She is "in an ill state of health," he
says, and he wishes her to try her native air; but the revival of
coming to you and among us all, and the tender care that will be
taken of her, is likely to do much for her; therefore, if we get
her but to this side the channel, the blessing is comparatively
so great, that I shall feel truly thankful to heaven.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Westhamble, December 10, '99.
O my Susan, my heart's dear sister! with what bitter
sorrow have I read this last account! With us, with yourself,
your children,-all,-you have trifled in respect to health, though
in all things else you are honour and veracity personified;
Page 189
but nothing had prepared me to think you in such a grave state as
I now find you. Would to God I could get to you! If Mr. Keirnan
thinks you had best pass the winter in Dublin, stay, and let me
come to you. Venture nothing against his opinion, for mercy's
sake! Fears for your health take place of all impatience to
expedite your return; only go not back to Belcotton, where you
cannot be under his direction, and are away from the physician he
thinks of so highly.
I shall write immediately to Charles about the carriage. I am
sure of his answer beforehand,--so must you be. Act, therefore,
with regard to the carriage, as if already it were arranged. But
I am well aware it must not set out till you Are well enough to
nearly fix your day of sailing. I say nearly, for we must always
allow for accidents. I shall write to our dear father, and Etty,
and James, and send to Norbury Park - but I shall wait till
to-morrow, not to infect them with what I am infected.. . .
O my Susan! that I could come to you! But all must depend on Mr.
Keirnan's decision. If you can come to us with perfect safety,
however slowly, I shall not dare add to your embarrassment of
persons and package. Else Charles's carriage--O, what a
temptation to air it for you all the way! Take no more large
paper, that you may write with less fatigue, and, if possible,
oftener;--to any one will suffice for all.
(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
9th January, 1800.
My most dear padre,-My mate will say all,-so I can only offer up
my earnest prayers I may soon be allowed the blessing--the only
one I sigh for--of embracing my dearest Susan in your arms and
under your roof. Amen. F. D'A.
These were the last written lines of the last period--unsuspected
as such--of my perfect happiness on earth; for they were stopped
on the road by news that my heart's beloved sister, Susanna
Elizabeth Phillips, had ceased to breathe. The tenderest of
husbands--the most feeling of human beings--had only reached
Norbury Park, on his way to a believed meeting with that angel,
when the fatal blow was struck; and he came back to West Hamble--
to the dreadful task of revealing the irreparable loss which his
own goodness, sweetness, patience, and sympathy could alone have
made supported.
Page 190
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
9th January, 1800.
"As a guardian angel!"--Yes, my dearest Fredy, as such in every
interval of despondence I have looked up to the sky to see her,
but my eyes cannot pierce through the thick atmosphere, and I can
only represent her to me seated on a chair of sickness, her soft
hand held partly out to me as I approach her; her softer eyes so
greeting me as never welcome was expressed before; and a smile of
heavenly expression speaking the tender gladness of her grateful
soul that God at length should grant our re-union. From our
earliest moments, my Fredy, when no misfortune happened to our
dear family, we wanted nothing but each other. Joyfully as others
were received by us--loved by us--all that was necessary to our
happiness was fulfilled by our simple junction. This I remember
with my first remembrance; nor do I recollect a single instance
of being affected beyond a minute by any outward disappointment,
if its result was leaving us together.
She was the soul of my soul !-and 'tis wonderful to me, my
dearest Fredy, that the first shock did not join them immediately
by the flight of mine-but that over-that dreadful, harrowing,
never-to be-forgotten moment of horror that made me wish to be
mad--the ties that after that first endearing period have shared
with her my heart, come to my aid. Yet I was long incredulous;
and still sometimes I think it is not--and that she will come--
and I paint her by my side--by my father's--in every room of
these apartments, destined to have chequered the woes of her life
with rays of comfort, joy, and affection.
O, my Fredy ! not selfish is the affliction that repines her
earthly course of sorrow was allowed no shade!--that at the
instant soft peace and consolation awaited her she should breathe
her last! You would understand all the hardship of resignation
for me were you to read the joyful opening of her letter, on her
landing, to my poor father, and her prayer at the end to be
restored to him. O, my Fredy! could you indeed think of me--be
alarmed for me on that dreadful day?---I can hardly make that
enter my comprehension; but I thank you from my soul; for that is
beyond any love I had thought possible, even from Your tender
heart.
Tell me you all keep well, and forgive me my distraction. I
write so fast I fear you can hardly read; but you will See
Page 191
I am conversing with you, and that will show you how I turn to
you for the comfort of your tenderness. Yes, you have all a loss,
indeed!
A PRINCESS'S CONDESCENSION.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke).
Greenwich, Friday, February, 1800.
Here we are, my beloved friend. We came yesterday. All places to
me are now less awful than my own so dear habitation. My royal
interview took place on Wednesday. I was five hours with the
royal family, three of them alone with the queen, whose
graciousness and kind goodness I cannot express. And each of the
princesses saw me with a sort of concern and interest I can never
forget. I did tolerably well, though not quite as steadily as I
expected but with my own Princess Augusta I lost all command.
She is still wrapt up, and just recovering from a fever herself-
and she spoke to me in a tone--a voice so commiserating--I could
not stand it--I was forced to stop short in my approach, and hide
my face with my muff. She came up to me immediately, put her arm
upon my shoulder, and kissed me--I shall never forget it.--How
much more than thousands of words did a condescension so tender
tell me her kind feelings!--She is one of the few beings in this
world that can be, in the words of M. de Narbonne, "all that is
douce and all that is sbirituelle,"--his words upon my lost
darling!
It is impossible more of comfort or gratification could be given
than I received from them all.
HORTICULTURAL MISFORTUNES.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney).
Westhamble, March 22, 1800.
Day after day I have meant to write to my dearest father 'but I
have been unwell ever since our return, and that has not added to
my being sprightly. I have not once crossed 'the threshold since
I re-entered the house till to-day, when Mr. and Mrs. Locke
almost insisted upon taking me an airing. I am glad of it, for it
has done me good, and broken a kind of spell that made me
unwilling to stir.
Page 192
M. d'Arblay has worked most laboriously in his garden but his
misfortunes there, during our absence, might melt a heart of
stone. The horses of our next neighbouring farmer broke through
our hedges, and have made a kind of bog of our mead ow, by
scampering in it during the wet; the sheep followed, who have
eaten up all our greens, every sprout and cabbage and lettuce,
destined for the winter ; while the horses dug up our turnips and
carrots; and the swine, pursuing such examples, have trod down
all the young plants besides devouring whatever the others left
of vegetables. Our potatoes, left, from our abrupt departure, in
the ground, are all rotten or frostbitten, and utterly spoilt;
and not a single thing has our whole ground produced us since we
came home. A few dried carrots, which remain from the in-doors
collection, are all we have to temper our viands..
What think you of this for people who make it a rule to owe a
third of their sustenance to the garden? Poor M, d'A.'s renewal
of toil, to supply future times, is exemplary to behold, after
such discouragement. But he works as if nothing had failed; such
is his patience as well as industry.
My Alex, I am sure you will be kindly glad to hear, is entirely
well; and looks so blooming--no rose can be fresher. I am
encouraging back his spouting propensity, to fit him for his
royal interview with the sweet and gay young princess who has
demanded him, who will, I know, be diverted with his speeches and
gestures. We must present ourselves before Easter, as the Court
then adjourns to Windsor for ten days. My gardener will not again
leave his grounds to the fourfooted marauders; and our stay,
therefore, will be the very shortest we can possibly make it ;
for though we love retirement, we do not like solitude.
I long for some further account of you, dearest: sir, and how you
bear the mixture of business and company, of "fag and frolic," as
Charlotte used to phrase it.
Westhamble, April 27, 1800.
My Alex improves in all that I can teach, and my gardener
is laboriously recovering from his winter misfortunes. He is now
raising a hillock by the gate, for a view of NorbUry Park from
our grounds, and he has planted potatoes upon almost every spot
where they can grow. The dreadful price of provisions makes this
our first attention. The poor people about us complain they are
nearly starved, and the children of the
Page 193
journeymen of the tradesmen at Dorking come to our door to beg
halfpence for a little bread. What the occasion of such
universal dearth can be we can form no notion, and have no
information. The price of bread we can conceive from the bad
harvest; but meat, butter, and shoes!---nay, all sorts of
nourriture or clothing seem to rise in the same proportion, and
without any adequate cause. The imputed one of the war does not
appear to me sufficient, though the drawback from all by the
income-tax is severely an underminer of comfort. What is become
of the campaign? are both parties incapacitated from beginning?
or is each waiting a happy moment to strike some definitive
stroke? We are strangely in the dark about all that is going on,
and unless you will have the compassion to write us some news, we
may be kept so till Mr. Locke returns.
A WITHDRAWN COMEDY.
[Towards the close of the preceding year Dr. Charles Burney had
placed in the hands of Mr. Harris, the manager of Covent
Garden-theatre, a comedy by Madame d'Arblay, called "Love and
Fashion." Mr. Harris highly approved the piece, and early in the
spring put it into rehearsal ; but Dr. Burney was seized with a
panic concerning its success, and, to oblige him, his daughter
and her husband withdrew it. The following letter announced their
generous compliance with his wishes.]
(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
Monday.
I hasten to tell you, dearest sir, Mr. H. has at length listened
to our petitions, and has returned me my poor ill-fated ---,
wholly relinquishing all claim to it for this season. He has
promised also to do his utmost, as far as his influence extends,
to keep the newspapers totally silent in future. We demand,
therefore, no contradictory paragraph, as the report must needs
die when the reality no more exists. Nobody has believed it from
the beginning, on account of the premature moment when it was
advertised.
This release gives me present repose, which, indeed, I much
wanted; for to combat your, to me, unaccountable but most
afflicting displeasure, in the midst of my own panics and
disturbance, would have been ample punishment to me had I been
guilty of a crime, in doing what I have all my life been
Page 194
urged to, and all my life intended, --writing a comedy. Your
goodness, your kindness, your regard for my fame, I know have
caused both your trepidation, which doomed me to certain failure,
and your displeasure that I ran, what you thought, a wanton risk.
But it is not wanton, my dearest father. My imagination is not at
my own control, or I would always have continued in the walk YOU
approved. The combinations for another long work did not occur
to me; incidents and effects for a drama did. I 'thought the
field more than open--inviting to me. The chance held out golden
dreams.--The risk could be only our own; for, permit me to say,
appear when it will, you will find nothing in the principles, the
moral, or the language that will make you blush for me. A failure
upon those points only, can bring disgrace; Upon mere cabal or
want of dramatic powers, it can only cause disappointment.
I hope, therefore, my dearest father, in thinking this over you
will cease to nourish such terrors and disgust at an essay so
natural, and rather say to yourself, with an internal smile,
"After all, 'tis but like father like child; for to what walk do
I confine myself? She took my example in writing--she takes it in
ranging. Why then, after all, should I lock her up in one
paddock, well as she has fed there, if she says she finds nothing
more to nibble; while I find all the earth unequal to my
ambition, and mount the skies to content it? Come on, then, poor
Fan! the world has acknowledged you my offspring, and I will
disencourage you no more. Leap the pales of your paddock--let us
pursue our career; and, while you frisk from novel to comedy, I,
quitting music and prose, will try a race with poetry and the
stars."
I am sure my dear father will not infer, from this appeal, I mean
to parallel our works. No one more truly measures her own
inferiority, which, with respect to yours, has always been my
pride. I only mean to show, that if my muse loves a little
variety, she has an hereditary claim to try it.
M. D'ARBLAY's FRENCH PROPERTY.
(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
Westhamble, November 7, 1800.
I think it very long not to hear at least of YOU, my dearest
padre. My tranquil and happy security, alas! has been
Page 195
broken in upon by severe conflicts since I wrote to My dearest
father last, which I would not communicate while yet pending, but
must now briefly narrate. My partner, the truest of partners, has
been erased from the list of emigrants nearly a year; and in that
period has been much pressed and much blamed by his remaining
friends in France, by every opportunity through which they could
send to him, for not immediately returning, and seeing if
anything could be yet saved from the wreck of his own and
family's fortune ; but he held steady to his original purpose
never to revisit his own country till it was at peace with this ;
till a letter came from his beloved uncle himself, conveyed to
him through Hambro', which shook all the firmness of his
resolution, and has kept him, since its receipt, in a state of
fermentation, from doubts and difficulties, and crossing wishes
and interests, that has much affected his health as well as
tranquillity.
All, however, now, is at least decided; for a few days since he
received a letter from M. Lajard, who is returned to Paris, with
information from his uncle's eldest son, that some of his small
property is yet unsold, to about the amount of 1000 pounds, and
can still be saved from sequestration if he will immediately go
over and claim it; or, if that is impossible, if he will send his
procuration to his uncle, from some country not at war with
France.
This ended all his internal contest; and he is gone this very
morning to town to procure a passport and a passage in some
vessel bound to Holland.
So unused are we to part, never yet for a week having been
separated during the eight years of our union, that our first
idea was going together, and taking our Alex; and certain I am
nothing would do me such material and mental good as so complete
a change of scene; but the great expense of the voyage and
journey, and the inclement season for our little boy, at length
finally settled us to pray only for a speedy meeting. But I did
not give it up till late last night, and am far from quite
reconciled to relinquishing it even now.
He has no intention to go to France, or he would make an effort
to pass by Calais, which would delightfully shorten the passage;
but he merely means to remain at the Hague while he sends over
his procuration, and learns how soon he may hope to reap its
fruits.
page 196
Westhamble, 16th December, 1800.
He is returned, my dearest father, already! MY joy and surprise
are so great I seem in a dream. I have just this moment a letter
from him, written at Gravesend. What he has been able to arrange
as to his affairs, I know not ; and just now cannot care, so
great is my thankfulness for his safety and return. He waits in
the river for his passport, and will, when he obtains it, hasten,
I need not say, to Westhamble.
HOME MATTERS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, September i, 1801.
A carpet we have-though not yet spread, as the chimney is
unfinished, and room incomplete. Charles brought us the tapis-so
that, in fact, we have yet bought nothing for our best room--and
meant,--for our own share--to buy a table . . . and if my dearest
father will be so good--and so naughty at once, as to crown our
salle d'audience with a gift we shall prize beyond all others, we
can think only of a table. Not a dining one, but a sort of table
for a little work and a few books,--en ala--without which, a room
looks always forlorn. I need not say how we shall love it ; and I
must not say how we shall blush at it; and I cannot say how we
feel obliged at it--for the room will then be complete in
love-offerings. Mr. Locke finished glazing or polishing his
impression border for the chimney on Saturday. It will be, I
fear, his last work of that sort, his eyes, which are very
longsighted, now beginning to fail and weaken at near objects.
My Alex intends very soon, he says, to marry-and, not long since,
with the gravest simplicity, he went up to Mr William Locke, who
was here with his fair bride, and said, "How did you get that
wife, William? because I want to get such a one--and I don't know
which is the way." And he is now actually employed in fixing
sticks and stones at convenient distances, upon a spot very near
our own, where he means to raise a suitable structure for his
residence, after his nuptials. You will not think he has suffered
much time to be wasted before he has begun deliberating upon his
conjugal establishment.
We spent the greatest part of last week in visits at Norbury
Park, to meet M. de Lally, whom I am very sorry you missed.
Page 197
He is delightful in the country full of resources, of gaiety, of
intelligence, of good humour and mingling powers of instruction.
with entertainment. He has read us several fragments of works of
his own, admirable in eloquence, sense, and feeling - chiefly
parts of tragedies, and all referring to subjects next his heart,
and clearest in his head ; namely, the French Revolution and its
calamities, and filial reverence and enthusiasm for injured
parents.
CONTEMPLATED JOURNEY To FRANCE.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, October 3, 1801.
God avert mischief from this peace, my dearest father! For in our
hermitage you may imagine, more readily than I can express, the
hopes and happiness it excites. M. d'Arblay now feels paid for
his long forbearance, his kind patience, and compliance with my
earnest wishes not to revisit his native land while we were at
war with it. He can now go with honour as well as propriety - for
every body, even the highest personages, will rather expect he
should make the journey as a thing of course, than hear of it as
a proposition for deliberation. He will now have his heart's
desire granted, in again seeing his loved and respectable
uncle,-and many relations, and more friends, and his own native
town, as well as soil ; and he will have the delight of
presenting to that uncle, and those friends, his little pet Alex.
With all this gratification to one whose endurance of such a
length of suspense, and repetition of disappointment, I have
observed with gratitude, and felt with sympathy-must not I, too,
find pleasure ? Though, on my side, many are the drawbacks - but
I ought not, and must not, listen to them. We shall arrange our
affairs with all the speed in our power, after the ratification
is arrived, for saving the cold and windy weather; but the
approach of winter is unlucky, as it will lengthen our stay, to
avoid travelling and voyaging during its severity - unless,
indeed, any internal movement, or the menace of any, should make
frost and snow secondary fears, and induce us to scamper off.
But the present is a season less liable in all appearance to
storms, than the seasons that may follow. Fates, joy, and
pleasure, will probably for some months occupy the public in
France - and it will not be till
Page 198
those rejoicings are past, that they will set about weighing
causes of new commotion, the rights of their governors, or the
means, or desirability of changing them. I would far rather go
immediately, than six months hence.
[The projected journey of Madame d'Arblay with her husband did
not take place this year; the season being already advanced, and
their little boy not strong enough to bear the fatigue of such an
expedition. Monsieur d'Arblay went alone to France.]
M. D'ARBLAY's ROUGH SEA PASSAGE.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, November 11, 1801.
I did not purpose writing to my dearest father till my suspense
and inquietude were happily removed by a letter from France; but
as I find he is already anxious himself, I will now relate all I
yet kn |
