Yet far far from my heart is forgetfulness. My brother is inexpressibly dear to me, and my concern at his absence though abated is not extinct — nor ever, without happy news will be! But sorrow is so unavailing, so useless, that the moment it sufficiently subsides to give reason room for fair play, I shall ever listen with pleasure to her exhortations. Misery is a guest that we are glad to part with, however certain of her speedy return.
It is with great satisfaction I observe Hetty (who some time before we left town grew melancholy and sad) has the same constant flow of spirits and gaiety she inherited from nature. Few things, I think, are more dispiriting than perceiving a disposition alter from liveliness to dejection, — nothing so much saddens me.
Would to God we could hear good news of my brother even now that I confess my affection so much and insensibly lessened I never see a stormy night without shuddering, nor a letter without trembling.
* * * * * *
Poland Street, London.
Sunday, Sept. 8th.
We have been at this ever dear house, in charming London above a week, — I am now in my little closet, and intend writing the memoirs of the past ten days for the perusal of my dear friend, whose gratitude I doubt not will be as great as the obligation requires.
[Mama, Miss Allen, Susette, Charlotte, Bessy and beautiful little Dick remain at Lynn till we return there, I believe — and sorry we are all round at the separation. Mama, Allen, and Susette accompanied us as far as Thetford, where we saw the remains, which we visited carefully, of monasteries and abbeys, very curious and antique.] Called to supper. —
12 o’clock.
There is something in the sight of the ruins of antiquity, which always inspires me with melancholy, and yet gives me a pleasure which compensates for the pain— ’Tis dreadful to see the ravage of time and the fury of war, which are the joint causes of the destruction of cities, etc — and yet ’tis pleasing to discover the taste of former ages by the remains of their works, and to endeavour to trace the rise and progress we have made in improving or altering the fabricks, laws, and customs of our forefathers; and we can form no opinion, with equal certainty of truth, by any other means than by the relicks we have preserved ——
Tuesday, Sept.
Again interrupted and every day my subject grows upon me. I must be more concise or I shall never come to the present moment, which, God bless it! is more precious than all the past put together.
At Thetford we slept, [and the next morning separated. Miss Allen and sweet Susette looked weeping after us till the road turned.] Our first stage was very gloomy — we spent it in regretting the absence of those who had so much contributed to enliven our first day’s journey, which was really delightful — but we recovered our spirits afterwards, and were very comfortable — we slept at Hockrel that night and on Friday evening got to town — rather slow travelling, but the same horses with our heavy large coach could not go faster. We dined that day on Epping Forest — what a delightful spot! we almost always go different roads to Lynn, which makes a variety of prospect and novelty of view highly preferable to the [high road] sameness. Hetty was charmed even with the smoak [of London.]....
[Poland Street, Tuesday.]
* * * * *
Here however we are [again], and with as much happiness both in present possession, and in prospect for the future as can possibly fall to a mortal’s lot: — if my dear James would write! —
* * * * * *
[Thursday, Oct. 2.
That sweet Mrs. Pleydell would win a heart of stone.].... There is a something, je ne sai quoi in the really amiable or agreeable which does not need intimacy or time to create esteem and admiration for them: for my own part, I love many people with sincere affection whom I have not seen above half an Hour — of this number is Mrs. Pleydell, who has something in her manners which engages the heart as effectually, immediately, as many thousand people would be able to do in years. [I hear she is now at Tunbridge. Besides her being so very beautiful.]....
Friday.
I pass unnoticed — for so the world did by me!
* * * * * *
Saturday.
... it was my turn to sit up... for papa made a late visit to Mr. Greville. When the door opened I heard him and some other talking very earnestly and loud and into the room together they both bolted — and then I knew the voice of Dr. Hawkesworth. He was engaged so deeply in conversation, with papa, that neither seemed to know what they were about However, on coming into the parlour the Doctor made his compliments to me, and out of it they then stalked again, and ran up into the study where they stayed some time, and then flying down the Dr wished me good night, and got into the coach again, and papa followed and talked with him at the door of it some time. There is an earnestness, a spirit in the conversation of very superior men which makes them absolutely forget every body and every thing about them, and which, when one knows not the subject which engages them, appears ridiculous to spectators; to hearers the appearance is different — I was only a spectator, and could not possibly help laughing heartily to see them capering about all the time they talked as if they were bewildered. [I believe it was only to look for books, and authors, and authorities for what they said.]
* * * * * *
[Poor] Mr. Smart presented me this morning with a rose, [blooming and sweet as if we were in the month of June.]
“It was given me,” said he, “by a fair lady — though not so fair as you!” I always admired poetical licence! ——
This, however, is nothing to what he afterwards amused himself with saying. The Critical Reviewers, ever eager to catch at every opportunity of lessening and degrading the merit of this unfortunate man (who has been twice confined in a mad house), would think all the most rancourous observations on his declining powers fully justified, and perhaps even pronounce him to be in a state of mind that rendered him a proper object to return a third time to Bedlam, if they heard that he had descended to flatter and praise me! even little me, F. B., or Q in a corner.
* * * * * *
13th Nov.
Poor Mr. Hayes, an old, and intimate friend of papa’s is below; he has lost his wife while we were in Lynn, and I dread meeting him.
I live in perpetual alarm — every rap at the door I think will bring me news — my rest is very much disturbed — I dream confused things of my brother for ever. But all that relates to me is nothing. My papa observes my low spirits, and asks the cause; ’tis impossible for me to answer. He is more kind, more affectionate to me than ever. Dearest, best of fathers!
* * * * * *
[Dec. 20.
My dear brother has now been home these three weeks!].... and my beloved father daily appears more and more kind and affectionate to this dear brother, and we are now all happily settled. This affair never gave us more uneasiness, than, thank God, it does at last happiness. James’s character appears the same as ever — honest, generous, sensible, unpolished; always unwilling to take offence, yet always eager to resent it; very careless, and possessed of an uncommon share of good nature; full of humour, mirth and jollity; ever delighted at mirth in others, and happy in a peculiar talent of propagating it himself. His heart is full of love and affection for us — I sincerely believe he would perform the most difficult task which could possibly be imposed on him, to do us service. In short, he is a most worthy, deserving creature, and we are extremely happy in his company — tho’ he complains that we use him very ill, in making engagements in which he cannot join from ignorance of the partys; but “’twas unavoidable, Fate and Necessity,” as Lord Ogleby says.
Sunday.
[We are going to lose our dear brother again; as he is going on a new voyage, and he is now on board his ship, and quite happy, and quite good and amiable. He] has applied himself very much to the study of mathematics lately, and will take a very good collection of books with him in his voyage. [God prosper him!]
Dec. 26th.
I have spent this day alone, nevertheless, very comfort
ably. I have at present so many pursuits, that my whole time can be very well employed at home, and could if every hour doubled in length. I am now aiming at some knowledge of the Grecian history; I began Stanyan some time since, but never finished it, I am just beginning to read Smith’s translation of Thucydides’ history of the Peloponnesian War — I mention the translator, lest I should be suspected of reading the original Greek.... I think the precaution necessary!
* * * * * *
1770
Jan. 10th, 1770.
How very differently do I begin this year to what I did the last! O, how unhappy I then was — My poor Susan on the brink of the grave! — But I will not waste time in recollecting past misfortunes, when present happiness opens so fair a prospect to make me forget them. In truth, I have a most delightful subject to commence the present year with — such a one, as I fear I may never chance to meet with again. — Yet why should I look into futurity with a gloomy eye? — But let me wave all this [nonsense,] and tell you, my dear, faithful, ever attentive Nobody — that I was last Monday at a masquerade!
Has Nobody any curiosity to read an account of this frolic? I am sure Nobody has, and Nobody will I satisfy by writing one. I am so good natured as to prevent Nobody’s wishes.
This Masquerade — how does that word grace my Journal! was, however, a very private one, and at the house of Mr. Laluze, a French dancing master —
Hetty had for three months thought of nothing but the masquerade — no more had I. She had long fixed upon her dress; my stupid head only set about one on Friday evening. I could think of no character I liked much, and could obtain; as to Nuns, Quakers, etc. (which I was much advised to) I cannot help thinking there is a gravity and extreme reserve required to support them well, which would have made me necessarily so dull and stupid, that I could not have met with much entertainment, and being unable to fix on a character, I resolved at length to go in a meer fancy dress —
One day — and who could do it less in?
The masqueraders spent in dressing.
It is really true that all Monday we passed in preparationing for the evening —
Oh, I must tell you, that speaking of my distress in regard to a dress one day to Mrs. Mancer, a very notable, talkative, good sort of old gentlewoman, and who is a half aunt to us — she said—” Why I’ll tell [you how Miss Fanny should] go — as Flora, the Goddess of Wisdom l.”
We had a concourse of people to see — us, and Hetty, who was dressed early, went down to receive them.
They sent me up repeated messages to hasten; — and when I was ready, they had made so much fuss, that I was really ashamed to go down, and but for my mask, which I put on, I could scarce have had courage to appear —
Hetty went as a Savoyard, with a hurdy gurdy fastened round her waist. Nothing could look more simple, innocent, or pretty. My dress was, a close pink Persian vest, — covered with gauze, in loose pleats, [and with flowers &c.
&c.] — a little garland or wreath of flowers on the left side of my head — When I came down, I found assembled Captain Pringle, Mr. Andrew, the three Miss Pascalls, Mr. Lambe, their father-in-law, — my aunt, James, Charles, and Hetty — so that our parlour was tolerably filled. Both our dresses met with approbation. Not one of the company could forbear repeatedly wishing themselves of our party. Nothing appears so gay, flattering and charming as a masquerade; and the sight of two who were going, and in very high spirits, was absolutely tantalising.
The Captain had a fine opportunity for gallantry — to say the truth, those whimsical dresses are not unbecoming. [He made a story for me—” That I had been incarcerated by the Grand Seignor as a] part of the Seraglio, and made prisoner by the Russians in the present war; and that the generosity of the commanding officer had prevailed with him to grant me my liberty, and that I had consequently thrown myself into the protection of the bravest and noblest people of Europe, and sought shelter from oppression in this Land of Freedom.” We stayed with this company about half an hour, and then — the Captain handed us into the coach, and away we drove — We called for [Mrs and] Miss Strange, and then went to Mr. Lalause, who lives in Leicester Square. Miss Strange had a white satin Domino trimmed with blue. Mr and Mrs. Lalause were neither of them in masquerade [dresses] —
The Room was large, and very well lighted, but, when we first went in, not half filled, so that every eye was turned on each new comer. I felt extremely awkward and abashed, notwithstanding my mask — Hetty went in playing on her hurdy gurdy, and the company flocked about her with much pleasure. I was soon found out by Miss Lalause, who is a fine girl, about sixteen — she had on a fancy dress — much in the style of mine. The first Mask who accosted me was an old Witch, tall, shrivelled, leaning on a broom stick, and, in short, a fear inspiring figure, apparently, by his walk, a man— “Thou thinkest, then, that that little bit of black silk is a mask?” cried he. I was absolutely confounded, for I thought directly that he meant to laugh at my mask, but on recollection I believe he was going on with some [compliment,] but I was so unable to rally, that with a silly half laugh, I turned on my heel, and walked away as far off as I could — I observed a Nun, dressed in black, who was speaking with great earnestness, and who I soon discovered by her voice to be a Miss Milne, a pretty Scotch nymph I have met at Mrs. Strange’s. I [stopt to listen] to her. She turn’d about and took my hand, and led me into a corner of the room—” Beautiful creature,” cried she, in a plaintive voice, “with what pain do I see you here, beset by this crowd of folly and deceit! O could I prevail on you to quit this wicked world, and all it’s vices, and to follow my footsteps!”
“But how am I to account,” said I, “for the reason that one who so much despises the World, should choose to mix with the gayest part of it? [What do you do here?]”
“I come but,” said she, “to see and to save such innocent, beautiful, young creatures as you from the snares of the wicked. Listen to me! I was once such as you are, I mixed with the world; I was caressed by it, I loved it — I was deceived! Surrounded by an artful set of flattering, designing men, I fell but too easily into the net they spread for me. I am now convinced of the vanity of life, and in this peaceful, tranquil state shall I pass the remainder of my days.”
“It is so impossible,” said I, “to listen to you without being benefited by your conversation, that I shall to the utmost of my power imitate you, and always choose to despise the world, and hold it in contempt — at a Masquerade!” —
“Alas,” said she, “I am here merely to contemplate on the strange follies and vices of mankind — this scene affords me only a subject of joy to think I have quitted it.”
We were here interrupted, and parted. After that I had several short conversations with different Masks. I will tell you the principal dresses as well as I can recollect them. They were a Punch who was indeed very completely dressed, and who very well supported his character; the Witch whom I mentioned before was a very capital figure, and told many fortunes with great humour; a Shepherd, of all characters the last, were I a man, I should have wished to have assumed; a Harliquin, who hopped and skipped about very lightly and gayly; a Huntsman, who indeed seemed suited for nothing but the company of dogs; a Gardener; a Persian; two or three Turks, and two Friars; a[n admirable] Merlin, who spoke of spells, magick and charms with all the mock heroick and bombast manner which his character could require. There were also two most jolly looking Sailors, and many Dominos, besides some dresses which I have forgot. Among the females, two sweet little Nuns in white pleased me most, there was a very complete Shepherdess, with the gayest crook, the smartest little hat, and most trifling conversation one might desire; nevertheless full as clever as her choice of so hackneyed and insipid a dress led one to expect. You may imagine that she was immediately and unavoidably paired with the amiable Shepherd I mentioned before. There were two or three young pastoral nymphs to keep her in countenance: and I can recollect no other dresses, save an Indian Queen; and Dominos.
I seized the fi
rst opportunity that offered of again joining my sage monitor the fair Nun — who did not seem averse to honouring me with her conversation. She renewed her former subject, expatiated on the wickedness of mankind and degeneracy of the world, dwelt with great energy and warmth on the deceit and craft of man, and pressed me to join her holy order with the zeal of an enthusiast in religion — A pink Domino advanced, and charged her not to instill her preposterous sentiments into my mind; she answered him with so much contempt that he immediately quitted us. — We were then accosted by the Shepherd, who would fain have appeared of some consequence, and aimed at being gallant and agreeable — poor man! wofully was he the contrary. The Nun did not spare him. “Hence,” cried she, “thou gaudy animal, with thy trifling and ridiculous trappings, away let not this fair creature be corrupted by thy company! O fly the pernicious impertinence of these shadows which surround thee!” —
“The — the lady” — stammered the poor swain—” the lady will be — will be more likely — to be hurt — by — by you than — than—”
“Yes — yes,” cried she—” she would be safe enough were she followed only by such as thee!”
Hetty just then bid me observe a very droll old Dutchman, who soon after joined us. He accosted us in high Dutch — not that I would quarrel with any one who told me it was low Dutch! Heaven knows, it might be Arabick for aught I could tell! He was very completely dressed, and had on an exceeding droll old man’s mask, and was smoaking a pipe. He presented me with a quid of tobaco, I accepted it very cordially. The Nun was not disposed to be pleased. She attacked poor Mynheer with much haughtiness— “Thou savage! hence to thy native land of brutes and barbarians; smoak thy pipe there, but pollute not us with thy dull and coarse attempts at wit and pleasantry!”.... The Dutchman, however, heeded her not, he amused himself with talking Dutch and making signs [of devotion] to me, while the Nun [railed] and I laughed. At last she took my hand and led me to another part of the room, where we renewed our former conversation.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 456