Fanny Burney - Diary and Letters

When Mrs. Thrale joined us, Mr. Seward told us he had just seen Dr. Jebb.–Sir Richard, I mean,–and that he had advised him to marry.

“No,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “that will do nothing for you; but if you should marry, I have a wife for you.”

“Who?” cried he, “the S. S.?”

“The S. S.?–no!–she’s the last person for you,–her extreme softness, and tenderness, and weeping, would add languor to languor, and irritate all your disorders; ‘twould be drink to a dropsical man.”

“No, no,-it would soothe me.”

“Not a whit ! it would only fatigue you. The wife for you is Lady Anne Lindsay. She has birth, wit, and beauty, she has no fortune, and she’d readily accept you; and she is such a spirit that she’d animate you, I warrant you! O, she would trim you well! you’d be all alive presently. She’d take all the care of the money affairs,–and allow you out of them eighteen pence a week! That’s the wife for you!”

Mr. Seward was by no means ” agreeable ” to the proposal; he turned the conversation upon the S. S., and gave us an account of two visits he had made her, and spoke in favour of her manner of living, temper, and character. When he had run on in this strain for some time, Mrs. Thrale cried,

“Well, so you are grown very fond of her?”

“Oh dear, no!” answered he, drily, “not at all!”

” Why, I began to think,” said Mrs. Thrale, “you intended to supplant the parson.”

“No, I don’t: I don’t know what sort of an old woman she’d make; the tears won’t do then. Besides, I don’t think her so sensible as I used to do.”

“But she’s very pleasing,” cried I, “and very amiable.”

“Yes, she’s pleasing,–that’s certain; but I don’t think she reads much; the Greek has spoilt her.”

“Well, but you can read for yourself.”

“That’s true ; but does she work well?”

“I believe she does, and that’s a better thing.”

“Ay; so it is,” said he, saucily, “for ladies; ladies should rather write than read.”

“But authors,” cried I, “before they write should read.”

Returning again to the S. S., and being again rallied about her by Mrs. Thrale, who said she believed at last he would end there,-he said,

“Why, if I must marry–if I was bid to choose between that andracking on the wheel, I believe I should go to her.”

We all laughed at this exquisite compliment; but, as he said, it was a compliment, for though it proved no passion for her, it proved a preference.

“However,” he continued, “it won’t do.”

“Upon my word,” exclaimed I, “you settle it all your own way!–the lady would be ready at any rate!”

“Oh yes ! any man might marry Sophy Streatfield.”

I quite stopt to exclaim against him.

“I mean,” said he, “if he’d pay his court to her.”

Sunday, June 20,-While I was sitting with Mr. Thrale, in the library, Mr. Seward entered. As soon as the first inquiries were over, he spoke about what he calls our comedy, and he pressed and teazed me to set about it. But he grew, in the evening, so queer, so ennuy`e, that, in a fit of absurdity, I called him “Mr. Dry;” and the name took so with Mrs. Thrale, that I know not when he will lose it. Indeed, there is something in this young man’s alternate drollery and lassitude, entertaining qualities and wearying complaints, that provoke me to more pertness than I practise to almost anybody.

The play, he said, should have the double title of “The Indifferent Man, or Everything a Bore;” and I protested Mr. Dry should be the hero. And then we ran on, jointly planning a succession of ridiculous scenes;–he lashing himself pretty freely though not half so freely, or so much to the purpose, as I lashed him; for I attacked him, through the channel of Mr, Dry, upon his ennui, his causeless melancholy, his complaining languors, his yawning inattention, and his restless discontent. You may easily imagine I was in pretty high spirits to go so far: in truth, nothing else could either have prompted or excused my facetiousness : and his own manners are so cavalier, that they always, with me, stimulate a sympathising return.

He repeatedly begged me to go to work, and commit the projected scenes to paper: but I thought that might be carry-ing the jest too far; for as I was in no humour to spare him, writtten raillery might, perhaps, have been less to his taste than verbal.

He challenged me to meet him the next morning, before breakfast, in the library, that we might work together at some scenes, but I thought it as well to let the matter drop, and did not make my entry till they were all assembled.

He, however, ran upon nothing else ; and, as soon as we happened to be left together, he again attacked me.

“Come,” said he, “have you nothing ready yet? I dare say you have half an act in your pocket.”

“No,” quoth I, “I have quite forgot the whole business; I was only in the humour for it last night.”

“How shall it begin?” cried he; “with Mr. Dry in his study?– his slippers just on, his hair about his ears,–exclaiming, ‘O what a bore is life!–What is to be done next?”

“Next?” cried I, “what, before he has done anything at all?”

“Oh, he has dressed himself, you know.–Well, then he takes up a book–”

“For example, this,” cried I, giving him Clarendon’s History.

He took it up in character, and flinging it away, cried

“No–this will never do,–a history by a party writer is vodious.”

I then gave him Robertson’s “America.”

“This,” cried he, “is of all reading the most melancholy;–an account of possessions we have lost by our own folly.”

I then gave him Baretti’s “Spanish Travels.”

“Who,” cried he, flinging it aside, “can read travels by a fellow who never speaks a word of truth.”

Then I gave him a volume of “Clarissa.”

“Pho,” cried he, “a novel writ by a bookseller!–there is but one novel now one can bear to read,–and that’s written by a young lady.”

I hastened to stop him with Dalrymple’s Memoirs, and then proceeded to give him various others, upon all which he made severe, splenetic, yet comical comments;–and we continued thus employed till he was summoned to accompany Mr. Thrale to town.

The next morning, Wednesday, I had some very serious talk with Mr. Seward,–and such as gave me no inclination for railery, though it was concerning his ennui; on the contrary, I resolved,
at the moment, never to rally him upon that subject again, for his account of himself filled me with compassion.

He told me that he had never been well for three hours in a day in his life, and that when he was thought only tired he was really so ill that he believed scarce another man would stay in company. I was quite shocked at this account, and told him, honestly, that I had done him so little justice as to attribute all his languors to affectation.

At dinner we had three persons added to our company,–my dear father, Miss Streatfield, and Miss Brown.

Miss Brown, as I foresaw, proved the queen of the day. Miss Streatfield requires longer time to make conquests. She is, indeed, much more really beautiful than Fanny Brown; but Fanny Brown is much more showy, and her open, goodhumoured, gay, laughing face inspires an almost immediate wish of conversing and merry-making with her. Indeed, the two days she spent here have raised her greatly in my regard. She is a charming girl, and so natural, and easy, and sweet-tempered, that there is no being half an hour in her company without ardently wishing her well.

Next day at breakfast, our party was Sir Philip, Mr. Fuller, Miss Streatfield, Miss Brown, the Thrales, and I.

The first office performed was dressing Miss Brown. She had put on bright, jonquil ribbons. Mrs. Thrale exclaimed against them immediately; Mr. Fuller half joined her, and away she went, and brought green ribbons of her own, which she made Miss Brown run up stairs with to put on. This she did with the utmost good humour; but dress is the last thing in which she excels; for she has lived so much abroad, and so much with foreigners at home, that she never appears habited as an Englishwoman, nor as a high-bred foreigner, but rather as an Italian Opera-dancer; and her wild, careless, giddy manner, her loud hearty laugh, and general negligence of appearance, contribute to give her that air and look. I like her so much, that I am quite sorry she is not better advised, either by her own or some friend’s judgment.

Miss Brown, however, was queen of the breakfast: for though her giddiness made everybody take liberties with her, her goodhumour made everybody love her, and her gaiety made everybody desirous to associate with her. Sir Philip played with her as with a young and sportive kitten; Mr. Fuller laughed and chatted with her; and Mr. Seward, when here, teases and torments her. The truth is, he cannot bear her, and she, in return, equally fears and dislikes him, but still she cannot help attracting his notice.

Streatham, Sunday, June 13. After church we all strolled the grounds, and the topic of our discourse was Miss Streatfield. Mrs. Thrale asserted that she had a power of captivation that was irresistible; that her beauty, joined to her softness, her caressing manners, her tearful eyes, and alluring looks, would insinuate her into the heart of any man she thought worth attacking.

Sir Philip declared himself of a totally different opinion,?,:’and quoted Dr. Johnson against her, who had told him that, taking away her Greek, she was as ignorant as a butterfly.

Mr. Seward declared her Greek was all against her, with him, for that, instead of reading Pope, Swift, or “The Spectator”– books from which she might derive useful knowledge and improvement–it had led her to devote all her reading time to the first eight books of Homer.

“But,” said Mrs. Thrale, “her Greek, you must own, has made all her celebrity:–you would have heard no more of her than of any other pretty girl, but for that.”

“What I object to,” said Sir Philip, “is her avowed Preference for this parson. Surely it is very indelicate in any lady to let all the world know with whom she is in love ! ”

“The parson,” said the severe Mr. Seward, “I suppose, spoke first,–or she would as soon have been in love with you, or with me!”

You will easily believe I gave him no pleasant look. He wanted me to slacken my pace, and tell him, in confidence, my private opinion of her : but I told him, very truly, that as I knew her chiefly by account, not by acquaintance, I had not absolutely formed my opinion.

“Were I to live with her four days,” said this odd man, “I believe the fifth I should want to take her to church.”

“You’d be devilish tired of her, though,” said Sir Philip, “in half a year. A crying wife will never do!”

“Oh, yes,” cried he, “the pleasure of soothing her would make amends.”

“Ah,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “I would insure her power of crying herself into any of your hearts she pleased. I made her cry to Miss Burney, to show how beautiful she looked in tears.” ”

“If I had been her,” said Mr. Seward, “I would never have visited you again.”

“Oh, but she liked it,” answered Mrs. T., “for she knows how well she does it. Miss Burney would have run away, but she came forward on purpose to show herself. I would have done so by nobody else – but Sophy Streatfield is never happier than when the tears trickle from her fine eyes in company.”

“Suppose, Miss Burney,” said Mr. Seward, “we make her the heroine of our comedy? and call it “Hearts have at ye all?”

“Excellent,” cried I, “it can’t be better.”

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. R—, of whom I know nothing but that he married into MrThrale’s family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When we were dressed for dinner, and went into the parlour, we had the agreeable surprise of seeing Mr. Seward.  There was also Mr. Lort, who is reckoned one of the most learned men alive, and is also a collector of curiosities, alike in literature and natural history.  His manners are somewhat blunt and odd, and he is altogether out of the common road, without having chosen a better path.

The day was passed most agreeably.  In the evening we had, as usual, a literary conversation.  Mr. Lort produced several curious MSS. of the famous Bristol Chatterton; among others, his will, and divers verses written against Dr. Johnson, as a placeman and pensioner; all of which he read aloud, with a steady voice and unmoved countenance.

I was astonished at him; Mrs. Thrale not much pleased; Mr. Thrale silent and attentive; and Mr. Seward was slily laughing.  Dr. johnson himself listened profoundly and laughed openly.  Indeed, I believe he wishes his abusers no other Thiing than a good dinner, like Pope.

Just as we had got our biscuits and toast-and-water, which make the Streatham supper, and which, indeed, is all there is any chance of eating after our late and great dinners, Mr. Lort suddenly said, “Pray, ma’am, have you heard anything of a novel that runs about a good deal, called ‘Evelina’?”

What a ferment did this question, before such a set, Put me in! I did not know whether he spoke to me, or Mrs. Thrale, and Mrs. Thrale was in the same doubt, and as she owned, felt herself in a little palpitation for me, not knowing what might come next, Between us both, therefore, he had no answer. “It has been recommended to me,” continued he; “but I have no great desire to see it, because it has such a foolish name.  Yet I have heard a great deal of it, too.”

He then repeated “Evelina”–in a very languishing and ridiculous tone.

My heart beat so quick against my stays that I almost panted with extreme agitation, from the dread either of hearing some horrible criticism, or of being betrayed: and I munched my biscuit as if I had not eaten for a fortnight. I believe the whole party were in some little consternation Dr. Johnson began see-sawing; Mr. Thrale awoke; Mr. E – ‘ who I fear has picked up some notion of the affair from being so much in the house, grinned amazingly; and Mr. Seward, biting his nails and flinging himself back in his chair, I am sure had wickedness enough to enjoy the whole scene.

Mrs. Thrale was really a little fluttered, but without looking at me, said, “And pray what, Mr. Lort, what have you heard of it?”

“Why they say,” answered he, “that it’s an account of a young lady’s first entrance into company, and of the scrapes she gets into; and they say there’s a great deal of character in it, but I have not cared to look in it, because the name is so foolish- -’Evelina’!”

“Why foolish, sir?” cried Dr. Johnson.  “Where’s the folly of it?”

“Why, I won’t say much for the name myself,” said Mrs. Thrale, “to those who don’t know the reason of it, which I found out, but which nobody else seems to know.”  She then explained the name from Evelyn, according to my own meaning.

“Well,” said Dr. Johnson, ” if that was the reason, it is a very good one.”

“Why, have you had the book here?” cried Mr. Lort, staring.

“Ay, indeed, have we,” said Mrs. Thrale; “I read it When I was last confined, and I laughed over it, and I cried over it!”

“O ho!” said Mr. Lort, “this is another thing!  If you have had it here, I will certainly read it.”

“Had it?  ay,” returned she; “and Dr. Johnson, who would not look at it at first, was so caught by it when I put it in the coach with him, that he has sung its praises ever since,–and he says Richardson would have been proud to have written it.”

“O ho! this is a good hearing,”  cried Mr. Lort; “if Dr. Johnson can read it, I shall get it with all speed.”

“You need not go far for it,” said Mrs. Thrale, “for it’s now upon yonder table.”

I could sit still no longer; there was something so awkward, so uncommon, so strange in my then situation, that I wished myself a hundred miles off, and indeed, I had almost choked myself with the biscuit, for I could not for my life swallow it: and so I  got up, and, as Mr. Lort wen to the table to look for “Evelina,” I left the room, and was forced to call for water to wash down the biscuit, which literally stuck in my throat.

I heartily wished Mr. Lort at jerusalem. I did not much like going back, but the moment I recovered breath, I resolved  not to make bad worse by staying longer away: but at the door of the room, I met Mrs. Thrale, who, asking me if I would have some water, took me into a back room, and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

“This is very good sport,” cried she; “the man is as innocent about the matter as a child, and we shall hear what he says about it to-morrow morning at breakfast. I made a sign to Dr.Jonnson and Seward not to tell him.”

she found I was not in a humour to think it such good sport as she did, she grew more serious, and taking my hand kindly said, “May you never, Miss Burney, know any other pain than that of hearing yourself praised! and I am sure that you must often feel.”

When I told her how much I dreaded being discovered, and beggt her not to betray me any further, she again began laughing, and openly declared she should not consult me about the matter.  But she told me that, as soon as I had left the room, when Mr. Lort took up “Evelina,” he exclaimed contemptuously “Why, it’s printed for Lowndes!” and that Dr. Johnson then told him there were things and characters in it more than worthy of Fielding. “Oh ho!” cried Mr. Lort; “what, is it better than Fielding?”

“Harry Fielding,” answered Dr. Johnson, “knew nothing but the shell of life.”

“So you, ma’am,” added the flattering Mrs. Thrale, “have found the kernel.”

Are they all mad? or do they only want to make me so.