Saturday Morning, Sept. 24th.
* * * * * * her heart to him and he gave her the....
We all honour him for his noble openness of heart, sincerity and manly friendliness. I’m sure there is not anything in the world I would wish to conceal from him.
Hetty and I are going out to tea this afternoon to Mrs. Pringle’s, a widow lady who lives in this street. She is a most sensible, entertaining, clever....
[Mrs. Colman] wife of the celebrated author who is also chief manager of that house, is extremely kind and friendly to us all — we are to dine at her house on Tuesday. Well, adieu for the present, if I pass an agreeable evening, I shall write again at night — or early to morrow — if not — your most obedient, very humble servant to command.
I’ve finish’d the Iliad this age — I never was so charm’d with a poem in my life — I’ve read the Odyssey since — and Mr. Hawkesworth’s Translation of Telemachus — I am going now to read Mr. Hume’s History of England, which I shall begin to-morrow — well now adieu at once.
Sunday, Noon.
We pass’d a very agreable evening at Mrs. Pringle’s yesterday — Mr. Seaton, a very sensible and clever man, and a prodigious admirer of Hetty’s...
Dinner bell, I declare!
Tuesday, Oct. 4th.
O dear, O dear, the kindest letter from Mr. Crisp. If my papa has not the most obdurate, barbarous and inhuman heart in the world, he must be moved by it to permit some of us to accept his invitation. We are all in agonies of fear and suspense — waiting with such impatience for papa’s return. If he should refuse us! — I verily believe I shall play truant! — I wish he’d come home I shall be so happy to see that dearest of men again! and then Miss Cooke — the good Mrs. Hamilton, too — in short, Chesington is all in all. I am going to console myself with reading the Iliad till his return.
Achilles has just relented, and hastes to the assistance and succour of the Grecians — is it not a fortunate part? — if my dear papa would just so relent too, I could almost aver that he would give us equal joy to that felt by the Greeks at the yielding of Achilles. To be sure the simile is not at all superior. Who will scruple to compare my papa to the Godlike Achilles? and who his daughters to the noble Grecians?—” Long famed for valiant chiefs, for Beauty now!” Homer himself would approve the justice of this comparison, for Homer himself was blind!
Friday.
[Mr. Crisp is come to town.] — .....
Tuesday, Nov. 15th.
Sunday morning, Mrs. Pringle called here — to invite me to tea in the afternoon, to meet the Emperor Tamerlaney, however, I excused myself on the score of having a little concert to night— “Well then,” said she, “Shall he come here?” There was no saying No — so she agreed that he should be introduced by her son in the evening to papa — for mama is at Lynn. Cerveto, who plays the base very finely, and his son, came in and, to grace the whole set, Mr. Crisp. We had a charming concert — Hetty play’d the piano forte, and Charles the violin, the two Cervetos the base, and papa the organ: and afterwards we had two solos on the violincello by young Cerveto, who plays delightfully — and my cousin [Charles] shone in a Lesson of papa’s on the harpsichord. Mr. Pringle and Mr. Mackenzie (you must know he is grandson to the unfortunate Earl of Cromartie, who lost his estates, etc., in the Rebellion) came in during the performance, drank a dish of tea — and away again — Well, now we come to Monday, that is — yesterday. At about five o’clock Hetty and I went to Mrs. Pringle’s, where we found to our great joy, Mr. Seaton was to be of the party — he is a charming man. We all went in our coach, Mrs. Pringle, her son, Mr. Seaton, and our Ladyships to see the play of Tamerlane acted by young gentlemen at an Academy in Soho Square. The play was much better perform’d than I expected, and the dresses were superb — made new for the purpose, by the members of the society, and proper for the characters and country — that is after the Turkish manner. The farce, too, was very well done. We were much entertain’d — Mr. Seaton was so very clever, droll, and entertaining, you can’t imagion. When the performance was over, Tamerlane came to me, to open the Ball! But I was frighten’d to death, and beg’d and besought him not to begin — he said one of the members always did — however I prevail’d, after much fuss, to put Hetty and Andrew Pringle first, and we were second. I assure you I danced like any thing — and called the second dance — after which, I hopp’d about with the utmost ease and cheerfulness — They were very perfect in the play, except in one speech; the young gentleman who perform’d Selima, suddenly stopp’d short, and forgot himself — it was in a love scene, — between her — him I mean — and Axalla, who was very tender. She — he — soon recovered tho’ Andrew whisper’d us that when it was over—” He’d lick her!” — Stratocles, amused himself with no other action at all but beating, with one hand, his breast, with the other he held his hat. I’m sure, I was ready to die with laughter at some of them. Arpasia and Moneses we all thought were the best perform’d. Tamerlane was midling; he seems to be about twenty — neither handsome or ugly, agreeable or disagreeable, and on the whole, very tolerable.
[Thursday, Nov. 16th.
I have had to-day the first real conversation I ever had in my life, except with Mr. Crisp — It was with Mr.
Seaton. Hetty has seen him again and she is quite charm’d with him.] He called with a message from Mrs. Pringle this morning and I had the pleasure of a delightful Téte á Téte with him — for Hetty, unluckily, was out, and Susy kept up stairs. I am really half in love with him, he is so sensible, clever, entertaining — His person is very far from recommending him to favour — he is very little, and far from handsome, but he has a sensible countenance, and appears quite an Adonis after half an hour’s conversation. Do you know, he actually stay’d above three hours with me? I own to you that I am not a little flattered that a man of his superior sense and cleverness, should think me worth so much of his time, which is much more than ever I had reason to expect. He ask’d me, if my sister and self were engaged to Mrs. Pringle’s this afternoon? “No — not that I know of, at least.”
“No? why Mrs. Pringle promis’d me I should meet Miss Burney and you there this evening. But she’s a strange woman; — she has an excellent heart, and understanding, but she is not well versed in real [delicacy and good breeding]. But, however, I wish I could know if you ladies were to be there — because if I go at a venture, I may be disappointed, and then so much time is thrown away. I hope Miss Burney caught no cold last night, for she came away, just after a dance.”
F, No Sir, I believe not. But you fared worse, I fear, it rain’d very hard, and Hetty says you could not get a chair or coach.
Mr, S, Why, I could have managed that better! There were but two chairs to be had. Miss Crawford, a young lady, who was with Mrs. Pringle, offered to go in the same chair as herself — and then Miss Burney could have taken me into her’s. But she would not consent to it at all — and I see you laugh too! — I am afraid I made an improper proposal —
F, Improper! why surely you only laugh’d yourself.
Mr, S, No indeed. It is very common in Scotland, and in truth I know nothing of the English punctilios; perhaps it was wrong. I feared so at the time, when Miss Burney refused me, and you can’t imagion how much it chagrined me. But I see few young ladies, and often fear I make myself either particular or ridiculous.
F, Indeed, when my sister told me of it, I very naturally concluded you could only have made such a proposal in jest.
He caught up the words — when my sister told me of it—” O,” said he, “how much I would give to hear some of your private conversations! I dare say they are very curious; and the remarks you each make, I am sure must be very clever. I don’t doubt but you sometimes take me to task!”
F. I see you are now fishings to draw out our sentiments: but I shall be on my guard!
Mr, S, [O, When Mrs. Pringle trusted me with the message,] I hesitated some time, to know whether I should call or not. For it is customary in my country to
do so many things which appear singular here, that I am continually at a loss, and should esteem it a most particular favour, if you would have the goodness to tell me honestly, at once, when you see me making any of these gross mistakes.
F. I’m sure it would be highly vain and conceited in us to pretend to advise you.
Mr. S. Quite the contrary. And if I had the pleasure of hearing some of your private chats, I doubt not I should make myself quite another creature: for then, what you blamed, I would amend, and what you were pleased to be contented with, I would confirm myself in.
F. But correction should come from a superior — in character I mean — for merely to hear that we either approved or condemned does not make you either better or worse, as it may most likely proceed from caprice, fancy, or want of judgement.
Mr. S. I beg your pardon — I doubt not your capacity to amend me at all. And as I am really a stranger to the manners of the English, it would be great goodness. I am so little in company with young ladies (I scarce know five) that I have not observed their little peculiarities, etc. The truth is, the young women here are so mortally silly and insipid, that I cannot bear them. — Upon my word, except you and your sister, I have scarce met with one worthy being spoke to. Their chat is all on caps — balls — cards — dress — nonsense.
F. Upon my word, you are unmercifully severe.
Mr. S. Nay, it’s truth. You have sensible women here, but then, they are very devils; — censorious, uncharitable, sarcastick. — The women in Scotland have twice — thrice their freedom, with all their virtue — and are very conversable and agreeable — their educations are more finish’d. In England, I was quite struck to see how forward the girls are made — A child of ten years old will chat and keep you company, while her parents are busy, or out, etc., with the ease of a woman of twenty-six — But then, how does this education go on? Not at all; it absolutely stops short. Perhaps, I have been very unfortunate in my acquaintance, but so it is, that you and your sister are almost the only girls I have met, who could keep up any conversation — and I vow, if I had gone into almost any other house, and talk’d at this rate to a young lady, — she would have been sound asleep by this time. Or at least, she would have amused me with gaping and yawning all the time, and certainly, she would not have understood a word I had uttered.
F. And so, this is your opinion of our sex?
Mr. S. Ay; and of mine, too.
F. Why you are absolutely a man hater, a misanthrope.
Mr. S. Quite the contrary. Nobody enjoys better spirits — or more happiness.
F. Then assuredly you have advanced most of these severe judgements, merely for argument, and not as your real thoughts. You know, we continually say things to support an opinion which we have given, that in reality we don’t above half mean.
Mr. S. I grant you I may have exaggerated — but nothing more. Look at your ladies of quality — Are they not for ever parting with their husbands — forfeiting their reputations — and is their life aught but dissipation? In common genteel life, indeed, you may now and then meet with very fine girls — who have politeness, sense, and’ conversation — but these are few. And then, look at your tradesmen’s daughters — what are they? — poor creatures indeed! all pertness, imitation and folly.
I said a great deal in defence of our poor sex, and all I could say, but it sounds so poor compared to my opponent, that I dare not write it.
“And what are you studying here?” said he, “O ho, ‘Marianne’! And did you ever read ‘Le Paysan Parvenu’? They are the two best novels that ever were wrote, for they are pictures of nature, and therefore excell your Clarissas and Grandisons far away. Now, Sir Charles Grandison is all perfection, and consequently, the last character we find in real life. In truth there’s no such thing.”
F. Indeed! do you really think a Sir Charles Grandison never existed?
Mr. S. Certainly not. He’s too perfect for human nature.
F It quite hurts me to hear anybody declare a really and thoroughly good man never lived. It is so much to the disgrace of mankind.
Mr, S. Ay — you are too young to conceive its truth. I own to you, you are therefore more happy. I would give all I am worth to have the same innocence and credulity of heart I had some years since; and to be able to go through life with it.
F, But if, as you assert, nobody around you would be the same, would not that innocence rather expose you to danger, than increase your happiness?
Mr. S. Faith, I don’t know, since you must be exposed to it at all events. Besides, when once — which every body must be — you are convinced of the wickedness and deceit of men, it is impossible to preserve untainted your own innocence of heart. Experience will prove the depravity of mankind, and the conviction of it only serves to create distrust, suspicion, caution, and sometimes causelessly.
F, But surely this experience has its advantages as well as its inconveniences, since without it you are liable to be ensnared in every trap, which, according to your account of mankind, they put in your way.
Mr, S. Assuredly — But, depend upon it, no one need fear missing this experience!
F, You seem to have a most shocking opinion of the world in general.
Mr, S. Because the world in general merits it. The most innocent time must be the rise of any state, when they are unacquainted with vice. Now Rome, in its infancy —
F, O, that was not the most flourishing time of Rome, for in its infancy it was inhabited merely by villains and ruffians.
Mr, S, O but they soon forgot that, in forming their State: and established excellent Laws, and became models of morality, liberty, virtue.
F, Yes; and the first proof they gave of their virtue, was to murder their founder, to whom they were indebted for every thing — and farther to rob the neighbouring states of their wives and daughters, whom they forcibly detained. I can’t say you have hit on the best country to shew the innocence of its first state.
Mr, S. O, you are too hard upon me! Well then the rise of the Grecian cities. They certainly were virtuous in their infancy. And so are all nations — in proportion to their poverty, for money is the source of the greatest vice, and that nation which is most rich, is most wicked.
F But, Sir, this is saying, in reality, nothing for virtue; since if these people you mention were only virtuous thro’ necessity, and as wicked as they could be, they are in fact full as vicious as any country whatever.
Mr. S. That’s very true. In short I believe there was always the same degree of real (tho’ there could not be of practical) vice in mankind, in all countrys, and all ages, as at present.
F. You must give me leave again to repeat that I fancy you inveigh thus violently against the world, partly at least in order to support your own side of the question; for surely any person who really and truly thought so like a misanthrope as you talk, must abhor mankind, and shut themselves up in a cave, away from them all. You absolutely appear to be the greatest satirist, and most severe judge of the world —
Mr S. O, no. I assure you nobody lives happier in it — or can have greater or more equal spirits, but I can see the faults of people nevertheless.
F Permit me to say one thing, Sir: You tell me that you are a stranger, that you know not the manners of the ladies here; that you don’t know this — are ignorant of that — (a lady’s going home after a ball, for example!). Well, Sir, give me leave to ask what you have observed? Why even all our faults! You have not been very blind to them, or taken much time to find them out! You seem to have taken the worst side of the question all the way.
Mr. S. O, Ma’am, your most obedient — But, (looking at his watch) what a time I have detained you from your employments by my tongue! But it is so seldom I can find ladies who, like you and your sister, can keep up a conversation, that I am loath to lose them when I do, and I do protest, that to talk with a young lady who will answer me with the sense and reason that you do now, gives me far more pleasure than all the plays, operas or diversions in the world: for
none of them can be compared to a sensible, spirited conversation.
I should be ashamed to write down these [much] uncle” served, outre compliments, but that they are made, as you see, only when they are unavoidable, and consequently become no compliment at all. I am quite surprised to find how much of his conversation I have remembered, but as there was only him and myself, it was not very difficult.
[Below this eight lines are erased, which seem to begin with “Writing for papa.” This is the only allusion throughout these Diaries to what was Fanny’s constant work when with her father.]
Saturday, Nov. 18th.
[Eight scored out lines of a new paragraph end the last page left of this year’s Journal. A few sentences may be made out]:
We passed the most curious evening yesterday.... Never sure did any conversation seem more like a scene in a comedy.... I must tell you something of what pass’d.
[The names of Hetty and of Mrs. Pringle may be read. Fifty-three years afterwards, Fanny wrote to Hetty— “October 21, 1821. Though so sluggish to learn, I was always observant: do you remember Mr. Seaton’s denominating me at fifteen, the silent, observant Miss Fanny?” Perhaps she broke her nearly total silence among strangers for the first time in this very long talk with Mr. Seaton. This passage is particularly interesting as giving the first example of her extraordinary power of retaining protracted conversations unmarked by any special brilliancy, or novelty of thought. She does not even appear to have seen that the wily Mr. Seaton was trying to please her as well as her lovely sister. Her innocent enjoyment was in the argument, and in repeating it in writing.]
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 453