Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  We took our leaves at about three in the morning, I mine with much concern, assured as I was of not seeing them again so long, if ever: for mama’s not being acquainted with this family, may probably put an end to our intimacy when we are all in town again. Mr. Seaton handed Hetty to the carriage. — Mr. John Dundas very civilly beg’d the favour of my hand, which, just as I had held towards him, Major Dundas, impertinent coxcomb! pushed himself between us, and very cavalierly took it. I can’t say it made any difference to me, but I cannot bear the airs of that Major. Mr. John laughed it off very well, threatning to send him a challenge next day; bidding him remember Montague House; and not imagion he would pocket such an affront.

  Captain and Mrs. Pringle came home with us: the former intimated his intention of calling to pay me a farewell visit ere I went; — fearing the consequences of his despair, I would not prohibit him. Poor Hetty passed an uneasy night, racked with uncertainty about this Seton, this eternal destroyer of her peace! — Were he sincere, she owned she could be happier in a union with him than with any man breathing: — indeed, he deserves her not; — but the next morning, when she had considered well of every thing, she declared were he to make her the most solemn offer of his hand, she would refuse him, — and half added — accept of Charles!

  Wednesday.

  At breakfast entered Captain Pringle; pitied Hetty, pitied himself, for my intended absence — nor did he exclude me from his pity — in truth it was I most merited it. He hoped, however, that I did not carry my heart down with me I assured me I should find it very troublesome in the country, and vastly more entertaining to go without that, though not without a successor to it — he told me I was now at the most susceptible age, and hoped I made not a bad use of my time: — said the country was intolerably insipid without la belle passion. Having stayed about two hours, he made his compliments, and departed. Soon after Mr. Seaton called, on pretence of bringing Hetty a Poem, which she had expressed a wish to read, called the Deserter. I wonder he chose to bring it! How blind to our own failings are we!....

  I now come to Thursday, my last day... in dear London.

  In the morning Harry Phipps called — and stayed some time. Hetty and I wished to form a friendship [with him] nor has he shewn any aversion to such a scheme; there is something very engaging in him. Soon after, [tat tat tat too] — Tat, tat, at the door — and enter Mr. Seton. I was quite amazed — he marched up to me, and presented me with a little parcel, which on opening I found to contain a dozen franks directed to Hetty. Free, Dundas! He had mentioned this to her before, tho’, as she rather declin’d it, from our little acquaintance with Mr. Dundas, we did not expect them. Mr. Seaton said that my sister should have a dozen directed to me, if I would tell him my direction. Imagion my blushes etc. He stayed near two hours. I don’t admire being obliged to him. — He says that Mrs. Debieg mentioned it to Mr. Dundas — but it’s much the same. Really Mr. Dundas must wonder we should permit such a request after only seeing him twice! I should not like he should think ill of us, for we think very well of him. Mr. Seaton told me that he has a wife and daughter in Scotland, the latter married. [Just after he was gone — Mr.

  Young whom we had not seen for an age called to-day. He was most] absurdly dressed for a common visit, being in light blue, embroidered with silver, a bag and sword, and walking in the rain! He looked extremely well, and looked tolerably conscious of it — Upon my word he is quite altered from what I thought him on our first acquaintance — he looks all airs and affectation; — assumed a coxcombical assurance and indolence joined — yet I believe this was put on — for what purpose I cannot tell, unless it were to let us see what a power of transformation he possessed. He bowed to the ground at entering, then swinging his hat the full extent of his arm, “ This is the most unfortunate shower,” cried he, “or, rather, I am most unfortunate in being caught in it Pray how does Dr. Burney do? Where is he?” We, in return, enquired after Mrs. Young. “She’s very well, in the environs of Soho, I believe.”

  “At Mrs. Cornelys’, I presume,” said Hetty. “Ay sure,” returned he— “just going to open a ball with Lord Carlisle. But where is Dr. Burney?” Once again we answered, out, on business; and retorted a second enquiry after Mrs. Young. “We just now parted in a pet,” said he, “but, I think, we were to meet here—” Soon after she came in a chair. After common salutations—” Pray how came you to leave me so, Mr. Young?” cried she—” Only think,” turning to us—” the fellow of a coachman drove the horses’ heads towards a court in Soho Square, and pretended he could not move them; and Mr. Young was fool enough to get out, and let the man have his way, — when he deserved to be horse-whipped.”

  “Instead of which,” returned he, “I gave him a shilling! where’s the difference?”

  “Who but you” cried she “would not have made the man come on with us? or else not have paid him? — and so I was forced to run into a toyshop, where he politely left me to my fate — and where I chanced to meet with a chair.” O rare Matrimony! thought I.

  Mr. Young turned to Hetty— “Where is Dr. Burney?”

  “Why, Lord!” cried she, “I told you twenty times, out, on business.”

  “O! ay, I believe you did—”

  “When will Miss Allen leave Bath,” said Mrs. Young. “Why, is Miss Allen at Bath?” cried he. “Lord! Mr. Young,” exclaimed she, “how can you be so affected! why you knew she was there a month ago—”

  “Not I, faith! never heard a syllable of the matter... not a single syllable!”

  “I have no patience with such affectation — you knew it as well as I did,” cried she. “Miss Burney” cried Mr. Young fixing his eyes earnestly on her face, “how does Mr. — what’s his name? — Charles, I believe — ay, how does Mr Charles Burney do?”

  “Very well, I believe” said she, half smiling in spight of a studied composure. “When does my sister come to town?” asked Mr. Young. “Next Tuesday” said I— “and I go to Lynn to-morrow.”

  “To-morrow! is this magick? and why do you go?” said Mr. Young. “To take mama’s place, and be very notable.”

  “And for that do you go? — No reason besides?—”

  “Not one!”

  “I’ll go too! — when is it?”

  “Next Tuesday.”

  “I’ll go too, I protest!” cried Mr. Young. “Pray do;” said I, “it will be very worth while!”

  “I will, upon my honour!”

  * * * * *

  He then insisted on Hetty’s singing — which she did, and most sweetly. They went away about nine. My dear papa soon after came home. I told him of my franks, though in some fear that he should think me wrong in consenting to have them, though I don’t know how I could have refused them....

  Lynn Regis.

  My Susette and I are very comfortable here...... We work, read, walk, and play on the harpsichord — these are our employments, and we find them sufficient to fill up all our time without ever being tired.

  I am reading again, the History of England, that of Smollet — I have read to the reign of George the Second, and, in spight of the dislike I have to Smollet’s language and style of writing, I am much entertained, for scarce a name is now mentioned that is not familiar to my ear, and I delight in thus tracing the rise and progress of the great characters of the age —

  We meet with great civility and kindness in this town, and ——

  Friday.

  I was interrupted. I am just returned from making a visit to S sisters, 2 married and 3 single, who all live together, and rejoiced am I that I am returned. There is with them a child, not 3 years old, grandson to one of them, who is the idol of them all: the poor boy, by their ill judged and ruinous indulgence is rendered an object of dislike to all others: they have taught him to speak like a parrot, only such words as they dictate; they make him affect the language of a man, and then boast that no child ever talked like him. What is the effect of this singularity but making him appear affected, troublesome, and unnatural? How in
finitely more amiable is the native simplicity and artlessness with which children are [ — ]! Then they permit him to amuse himself at pleasure with all insects — flys, butterflys — poor little animals — the torture... and one of the last really turned me so sick... I could not recover myself the whole... Is not humanity disgraced by this barbarity to the dumb creation? The poor child belongs to a sex sufficiently prone to cruelty: is it for women thus early to encourage it? Another, to my thoughts, worse than absurd way which [they] have chose to make him shine which is to bid him say the Lord’s Prayer and the Belief in order to display his fine memory. Why won’t they make him get ballads by heart? To sport thus with our religious duties is to me exceedingly shocking, and had I been old enough to dare speak my sentiments unasked, I would have told them so.

  [To Miss BURNEY, Chesington.]

  My dearest sister,

  With a very short time to write, and a very great deal to say, I take up my pen to thank you most heartily for your comfortable letter. I had thought it very long on the road. We are now in daily expectation of the important letter from papa — and let me say one thing — it seems to me not unlikely that immediately that papa receives the last pacquet, he will write to my uncle. I hope therefore that you have ere now acquainted him with your affairs, or else that you directly will, as it would be shocking for him to hear of it first from abroad, and as he would then perhaps always believe that you intended to secret it from him.

  How can it have got about, God knows, but every body here speaks of your marriage as a certain and speedy affair. So you will have it in town. I fear mama cannot go; — as for me, I am ready to break my heart when I think of being absent from you. O that it were in my power to quit this place directly! But I hope all for the best; indeed I cannot bear to suppose that I shall be away from you. Miss Allen goes to Snettisham to-morrow — is too busy to write, but will from thence. Susette’s best love attends you. I have had a sensible and affectionate letter from my cousin, which I beg you to thank him for in my name.

  Sweet Chesington! — abominable Lynn!

  My dear Hetty, I shall write myself into the vapours and then give them to you — so I will have done. But I must say how much I admire your plan of life. Certainly it would seem very strange for you to have gone to the Coffee House, for all his and your own acquaintance will be visiting you on the occasion. I will write to you the very instant we hear from Venice. My kindest and best love to my ever dear Mr. Crisp and to dear Kitty. Let us know about the Barbornes when you can. Adieu, my dearest, dear sister. I am in much haste. My first wish is to be with you. God forbid I should not! Believe me ever with the utmost affection

  Your

  FRANCES BURNEY.

  Poland Street.

  [I have not written for an age — the reason is, my thoughts have been all drawn away from myself and given up to my dear Hetty — and to her I have been writing without end; — so that all my time besides was due to my dearest Suzette with whom I have been reading French: having taught myself that charming language for the sake of its bewitching authors — for I shall never want to speak it.

  With this dear Suzette and my sweet little Charlotte, it is well I can be so happy: for Hetty, my dear Hetty, has given herself away from us. She has married at last her faithful Charles. God send her happy! He is one of the worthiest young men living. — I am come up to town to spend a little time with them. They are now in our house till they can find a dwelling to their taste.

  Papa has bought a house in Queen Square. It is settled by Mr. Crisp to my very great grief that we are quite to drop Mrs. Pringle, that we may see no more of Mr. Seton.]

  For this reason I shall be glad to quit Poland Street, — that I may no more see Mrs. Pringle since I dare not visit or even speak to her, when it is not unavoidable, as it was a few days since, when Miss Allen and I were standing at the parlour window, and Mrs. Pringle passed, but seeing me turned back and made a motion to me to open the window, which I did, though I was terribly confused what to say to her, for it was not in my power to explain the reasons of my absence from her; yet, after so much kindness and civility as we have met with from her, I am sure excuses were very necessary. She asked me how I did, and immediately added—” Pray what have I done that you never come near me?” I was much at a loss what to say, but stammered something about the hurry of moving, want of time, etc. — She shook her head— “Want of time! — what only next door?....I’ll assure you I think it very ungrateful in you.” Her bluntness confounded me, which I believe she saw, for she said in a softer manner— “Well, my dear, I am glad to see you so well — I wish you good morning” — and walked away. I am truly sorry to say I believe this is the last time I shall speak to Mrs. Pringle. I have a very strong sense of the favours we have received from her, and were it in my power, would convince her that I have — but it is not. Just before her eldest son, the Captain, went abroad last spring, he gave to my sister a Copy of Verses on her, and me, which I will write out.

  [Four stanzas follow, professing to be French. Captain Pringle most likely copied them in part from a book, grafting upon them some conceits of “his own pure brain.”

  “Belle Vénus,” and “Madame Minerve,” took human forms one day, and made such mischief among hearts on earth, that the cry of men rose to Olympus. In his wrath, Jupiter banished the goddesses for ever, — (of all places in the world,) to Poland Street, Soho (“la rue de Pologne”) bidding them be women for the rest of their lives!

  “Soit femmes pour le reste de la vie!” (sic)

  This line is a fair sample of the sense and grammar of these verses, which, after copying in her youth, Madame D’Arblay has noted in her age, as being “out of all metre, and not French.” They are also “out of all” spelling, and right accents, but as we printed the not much wiser effusions of “Incognitus,”

  “Melidorus,” and Mr. Mackenzie, Captain Pringle’s merit mention. As Lord Mulgrave wrote of a generation before theirs, “Without his song no fop is to be found.”]

  Can any thing be more galant? My sister and myself propose in future signing no other names than those of Venus and Minerva.

  Wednesday Oct [I?]

  ... our play, which I shall presently copy a bill of. There was just a week’s interval from the proposing and the performing. But I will begin with a play bill, which I had the honour to draw up.

  .. the 29th Will be presented, By a Company of Comedians in Queen Square.

  Queen Square, Nov. 16.

  I have now changed my abode, and quitted dear Poland Street for ever. How well satisfied shall I be if after having lived as long in Queen Square, I can look back to equally happy days!

  We have a charming house here. It is situated at the upper end of the square, and has a delightful prospect of Hamstead and Hygate, we have more than room for our family, large as it is, and all the rooms are well fitted up, convenient, and handsome.....

  I left Mr. Burney and my sister with regret; I passed five happy weeks with them.

  [The following fragment is in a proper place here, as winding up the record of the waverings of Mr. Seton.]

  ... [Though he never knew his own mind while she was single,].... and that his friends, and his party, knowing his disappointment, and not knowing how his behaviour incurred it, all look upon her marriage as if it was jilting him. I know, that they all thought much higher for her than Mr. Burney, who has nothing to offer but the fruits of his profession; and she is so pretty, and so accomplished, so agreeable and so active, that both in and out of her family it was imagined she would connect herself to far more worldly advantage. The extreme worth, however, and excellent though unpretending understanding of Mr. Burney and his goodness of heart, and regard from childhood will, I trust and hope, make her happy, and make....

  [Here ends a record of “such love as belongs to admiration, and leads to flirtation, and ends in nothing at all” But the strong measure of moving to Queen Square to be out of the close neighbourhood of so easy a chaperon as th
e good-natured, social, hospitable Mrs. Pringle, did no more than change the scene and the actors upon the stage. We shall soon see that it was also the proverbial change, “from the frying-pan into the fire”; for in Queen Square lived Sir Richard Bettenson, Mr. Rishton’s uncle by marriage, and Sir William Browne, M.D., whose daughter was married to his great-uncle. Hence the square was a little Lynn Regis when the Burneys also entered it; and there were two young people who could easily renew the love-affair begun at Lynn. Madame Minerve (herself all fancy-free) was soon to watch and chronicle another inroad of the great god Cupid. Herself younger than Hetty and Maria, she observed their growing attachments with tender and anxious care, with a sister’s feelings, but also (how can nature be expelled?) with the eye of an unconscious artist. Hetty, the sweet and sensible, had scarcely settled into a very happy married life with her modest and constant Charles, than the stormier love-tale of Maria Allen and Martin Folkes Rishton began to occupy the mind of Fanny. She was not to lack a heroine, or (as in 1768) to complain of “insipid calm and uninterrupted quiet.” Discreet she was; but the warnings of Dolly Young as to the danger of “all going down” in journals was not always heeded. Twelve pages at the end of this Diary have been cut out, perhaps by her own hand, perhaps by the hand of some one still more discreet. We learn from Fanny’s own memoranda that they contained the names of Miss Allen and Mr. Rishton. Much of the Diary of 1771 has, in like manner, been sacrificed to prudence; but Fanny preserved, as long as she lived, a bundle of Maria’s letters, which (though they have undergone some censorship) half show, half hide, a romance which stirred her fancy, and, it may be, turned back her thoughts to the story (which she had burnt) of “Caroline Evelyn.” These letters have been elsewhere described by Fanny as being “flighty, ridiculous, uncommon, lively, comical, entertaining, frank, and undisguised.” They are also not a little indiscreet; and, in one of them, Maria most justly describes herself as not being “near so squeamish as you [Fanny] are.” In fact, nothing lying before the Editor gives a higher opinion of the natural refinement of Hetty, Fanny, and Susy, than the contrast between what they did and wrote, and the occasional doings and writing of this impulsive girl. The contrast in education is equally striking. Maria could spell tolerably, and her writing was neat, and even good when she chose to take pains; but she was commonly careless, and often left her readers to correct her grammar and spelling, and supply little words of connexion. Dateless for the most part are her letters; and, although they have been numbered in most cases by Mme. D’Arblay, the order of numbering cannot always be trusted.