Fanny Burney - Diary and Letters

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.

Streatham, May, Friday.  Once more, my dearest Susy, I will attempt journalising, and endeavour, according to my
promise, to keep up something of the kind during our absence, however brief and curtailed.

To-day, while Mrs. Thrale was chatting with me in my room, we saw Mr. Murphy drive into the courtyard.  Down stairs flew Mrs. Thrale, but, in a few minutes, up she flew again, ‘crying,

“Mr. Murphy is crazy for your play–he won’t let me rest for it– do pray let me run away with the first act.”

Little as I like to have it seen in this unfinished state, she was too urgent to be resisted, so off she made with it.

I did not shew my phiz till I was summoned to dinner.  Mr. Murphy, probably out of flummery, made us wait some minutes, and, when he did come, said,

I had much ado not to keep you all longer, for I could hardly get away from some new acquaintances I was just making.”

As he could not stay to sleep here, he had only time, after dinner, to finish the first act.  He was pleased to commend it very liberally; he has pointed out two places where he thinks I might enlarge, but has not criticised one word; on the contrary, the dialogue he has honoured with high praise.

Brighthelmstone, May 26.  The road from Streatham hither is beautiful: Mr., Mrs., Miss Thrale, and Miss Susan Thrale, and I, travelled in a coach, with four horses, and two of the servants in a chaise, besides two men on horseback; so we were obliged to stop for some time at three places on the road.

We got home by about nine o’clock.  Mr. Thrale’s house is in West Street, which is the court end of the town here, as well as in London.  ‘Tis a neat, small house, and I have a snug comfortable room to myself.  The sea is not many yards from our windows.  Our journey was delightfully pleasant, the day being heavenly, the roads in fine order, the prospects charming, and everybody good-humoured and cheerful.

Thursday.  just before we went to dinner, a chaise drove up to the door, and from it issued Mr. Murphy.  He met with, a very joyful reception; and Mr. Thrale, for the first time in his life, said he was “a good fellow”: for he makes it a sort Of TUle to salute him with the title of “scoundrel,” or “rascal.”  They are very old friends; and I question if Mr. Thrale loves any man so well.

He made me many very flattering speeches, of his eagerness to go on with my play, to know what became of the several characters, and to what place I should next conduct them; assuring me that the first act had run in his head ever since he had read it.

In the evening we all, adjourned to Major H-’s, where, besides his own family, we found Lord Mordaunt, son to the Earl of Peterborough,–a pretty, languid, tonnish young man; Mr. Fisher, who is said to be a scholar, but is nothing enchanting as a gentleman; young Fitzgerald, as much the thing as ever; and Mr. Lucius Corcannon.

Mr. Murphy was the life of the party: he was in good spirits, and extremely entertaining; he told a million of stories, admirably well; but stories won’t do upon paper, therefore I shall not attempt to present you with them.

This morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Murphy said,

“I must now go to the seat by the seaside, with my new set of acquaintance, from whom I expect no little entertainment.”

“Ay,” said Mrs. Thrale, “and there you’ll find us all! I believe this rogue means me for Lady Smatter; but Mrs. Voluble  must speak the epilogue, Mr. Murphy.”

“That must depend upon who performs the part,” answered he.

“Don’t talk of it now,” cried I, “for Mr. Thrale knows nothing of it.”

“I think,” cried Mr. Murphy, “you might touch upon his character in ‘Censor.’”

“Ay,” cried Mr. Thrale, “I expect a knock some time or other; but, when it comes, I’ll carry all my myrmidons to cat-call!”

Mr. Murphy then made me fetch him the second act, and walked off with it.

Streatham, February.-I have been here so long, MY dearest Susan, Without writing a word, that now I hardly know where or how to begin, But I will try to draw up a concise account of what has passed for this last fortnight, and then endeavour to be more minute.

Mrs. Thrale and Dr. Johnson vied with each other in the kindness of their reception of me.  Mr. Thrale was, as usual at first, cold and quiet, but soon, as usual also, warmed into sociality,

The next day Sir Philip Jennings Clerke came.  He is not at all a man of letters, but extremely well-bred, nay, elegant, in his manners, and sensible and agreeable in his conversation, He is a professed minority man, and very active and zealous in the opposition.  He had, when I came, a bill in agitation concerning contractors–too long a matter to explain upon paper–but which was levelled against bribery and corruption in the ministry, and which he was to make a motion upon in __the House of Commons the next week.

Men of such different principles as Dr. Johnson and Sir Philip you may imagine, can not have much sympathy or cordiality in their political debates; however, the very superior abilities of the former, and the remarkable good breeding of the latter have kept both upon good terms; though they have had several arguments, in which each has exerted his utmost force for conquest.

The heads of one of their debates I must try to remember, because I should be sorry to forget.  Sir Philip explained his bill; Dr. Johnson at first scoffed at it; Mr. Thrale betted a guinea the motion would not pass, and Sir Philip, that he should divide a hundred and fifty upon it.

Sir Philip, addressing himself to Mrs. Thrale, hoped she would not suffer the Tories to warp her judgment, and told me he hoped my father had not tainted my principles; and then he further explained his bill, and indeed made it appear so
equitable, that Mrs. Thrale gave in to it, and wished her husband to vote for it.  He still bung back ; but, to our general
surprise, Dr. Johnson having made more particular inquiries into its merits, first softened towards it, and then declared it a very rational and fair bill, and joined with Mrs, Thrale in soliciting Mr. Thrale’s vote.

Sir Philip was, and with very good reason, quite delighted.  He opened upon politics more amply, and freely declared his opinions, which were so strongly against the government, and so much bordering upon the republican principles, that Dr. Johnson suddenly took fire; he called back his recantation begged Mr. Thrale not to vote for Sir Philip’s bill, and grew’ very animated against his antagonist.

“The bill,” said he, “ought to be opposed by all honest men! in itself, and considered simply it is equitable, and I would
forward it; but when we find what a faction it is to support and encourage, it ought not to be listened to.  All men should oppose it who do not wish well to sedition!”

These, and several other expressions yet more strong, he made use of; and had Sir Philip had less unalterable politeness, I believe they would have had a vehement quarrel.  He maintained his ground, however, with calmness and steadiness, though he had neither argument nor wit at all equal to such an opponent.

Dr. Johnson pursued him with unabating vigour and dexterity, and at length, though he could not convince, he so entirely baffled him, that Sir Philip was self-compelled to be quiet-which, with a very good grace, he confessed.

Dr. Johnson then, recollecting himself, and thinking, as he owned afterwards, that the dispute grew too serious, with a skill all his own, suddenly and unexpectedly turned it to burlesque; and taking Sir Philip by the hand at the moment we arose after supper, and were separating for the night,

“Sir Philip,” said he, “you are too liberal a man for the party to which you belong; I shall have much pride in the honour of converting you; for I really believe, if you were not spoiled by bad company, the spirit of faction would not have possessed you. Go, then, sir, to the House, but make not your motion!  Give up your bill, and surprise the world by turning to the side of truth and reason.  Rise, sir, when they least expect you, and address your fellow-patriots to this Purpose:–Gentlemen, I have, for many a weary day, been deceived and seduced by you.  I have now opened my eyes; I see that you are all scoundrels–the subversion of all government is your aim.  Gentlemen, I will no longer herd among rascals in whose infamy my name and character must be included.  I therefore renounce you all, gentlemen, as you deserve to be renounced.’ ”

Then, shaking his hand heartily, he added,

“Go, sir, go to bed; meditate upon this recantation, and rise in the morning a more honest man than you laid down.”

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?”

Sept. 26-The present chief sport with Mrs. Thrale is disposing of me in the holy state of matrimony, and she offers me whoever comes to the house.  This was begun by Mrs. Montagu, who, it seems, proposed a match for me in my absence, with Sir Joshua Reynolds!-no less a man, I assure you!

When I was dressing for dinner, Mrs. Thrale told me that Mr. Crutchley was expected.

“Who’s he?” quoth I.

” A young man of very large fortune, who was a ward of Mr. Thrale.  Queeny, what do you say of him for Miss Burney?”

“Him?” cried she; “no, indeed; what has Miss Burney done to have him?”

” Nay, believe me, a man of his fortune may offer himself anywhere.  However, I won’t recommend him.”

” Why then, ma’am,” cried I, with dignity, “I reject him!”

This Mr. Crutchley stayed till after breakfast the next morning. I can’t tell you anything, of him, because I neither like nor dislike him.  Mr. Crutchley was scarce gone, ere Mr. Smith arrived.   Mr. Smith is a second cousin to Mr. Thrale, and a modest pretty sort of young man.  He stayed till Friday morning. When he was gone,

“What say you to him, Miss Burney?” cried Mrs. Thrale; “I’m sure I offer you variety.”

“Why I like him better than Mr. Crutchley, but I don’t think I shall pine for either of them.”

Dr. Johnson,” said Mrs. Thrale, “don’t you think Jerry Crutchley very much improved?”

Dr. J.-Yes, madam, I think he is.

Mrs. T.-Shall he have Miss Burney?

Dr. J.-Why, I think not; at least I must know more about him; I Must inquire into his connections, his recreations, his
employments, and his character, from his intimates, before I trust Miss Burney with him.  And he must come down very handsomely with a settlement.  I will not have him left to his generosity; for as he will marry her for her wit, and she him for his fortune, he ought to bid well, and let him come down with what he will, his price will never be equal to her worth.

Mrs. T.-She says she likes Mr. Smith better.

Dr. J.-Yes, but I won’t have her like Mr. Smith without money, better than Mr. Crutchley with it.  Besides, if she has
Crutchley, he will use her well, to vindicate his choice.  the world, madam, has a reasonable claim upon all mankind to account for their conduct; therefore, if with his great wealth, he marries a woman who has but little, he will be more attentive to display her merit, than if she was equally rich,–in order to show that the woman he has chosen deserves from the world all the respect and admiration it can bestow, or that else she would not have been his choice.

Mrs. T.-I believe young Smith is the better man.

F.B.-Well, I won’t be rash in thinking of either; I will take some time for consideration before I fix.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” quoth I.

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

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

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

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

Monday, Sept. 21.-I have had a thousand delightful conversations with Dr. Johnson, who, whether he loves me or not,  I am sure seems to have some opinion of my discretion, for he speaks of all this house to me with unbounded confidence, neither diminishing faults, nor exaggerating praise.

Whenever he is below stairs he keeps me a prisoner, for he does not like I should quit the room a moment; if I rise he constantly calls out, “Don’t you go, little Burney!”

Last night, when we were talking of compliments and of gross speeches, Mrs. Thrale most justly said, that nobody could make either like Dr. Johnson.  “Your compliments, sir, are made seldom, but when they are made they have an elegance unequalled; but then when you are angry! who dares make speeches so bitter and so cruel?”

Dr. J.-Madam, I am always sorry when I make bitter speeches, and I never do it, but when I am insufferably vexed.

Mrs. T-Yes, Sir; but you suffer things to vex you, that nobody else would vex at.  I am sure I have had my share of scoldings from YOU!

Dr. J-It is true, you have ; but you have borne it like an angel, and you have been the better for it.

Mrs. T.-That I believe, sir: for I have received more instruction from You than from any man, or any book: and the vanity that you should think me worth instructing, always overcame the vexation of being found fault with.  And so you had the scolding, and I the improvement.

F.B.-And I am sure both make for the honour of both!

Dr J.-I think so too.  But Mrs. Thrale is a sweet creature, and never angry; she has a temper the most delightful of any woman I ever knew.

Mrs. T-This I can tell you, sir, and without any flattery– I not only bear your reproofs when present, but in almost everything I do in your absence, I ask myself whether you would like it, and what you would say to it.  Yet I believe there is nobody you dispute with oftener than me.

F.B.-But you two are so well established with one another, that you can bear a rebuff that would kill a stranger.

Dr. J.-Yes; but we disputed the same before we were so well established with one another.

Mrs. T.-Oh, sometimes I think I shall die no other death than hearing the bitter things he says to others.  What he says to myself I can bear, because I know how sincerely he is my friend, and that he means to mend me; but to others it is cruel.

Dr. j.-Why, madam, you often provoke me to say severe things, by unreasonable commendation.  If you would not call for my praise, I would not give you my censure; but it constantly moves my indignation to be applied to, to speak well of a thing which I think contemptible.

F.B.-Well, this I know, whoever I may hear complain of Dr. Johnson’s severity, I shall always vouch for his kindness, as far as regards myself, and his indulgence.

Mrs. T.-Ay, but I hope he will trim you yet, too!

Dr. J.-I hope not: I should be very sorry to say anything that should vex my dear little Burney.

F.B.-If you did, sir, it would vex me more than you can imagine. I should sink in a minute.

Mrs-. T.-I remember, sir, when we were travelling in Wales, how you called me to account for my civility to the people.  ‘Madam,’ you said, ‘let me have no more of this idle commendation of nothing.  Why is it, that whatever You see, and whoever you see, you are to be so indiscriminately lavish of praise?’ ‘Why! I’ll tell you, sir,’ said I, ‘when I am with you and Mr. Thrale, and Queeny, I am obliged to be civil for four!’”

There was a cutter for you!  But this I must say, for the honour of both–Mrs. Thrale speaks to Dr. Johnson with as much
sincerity, (though with greater softness,) as he does to her.