Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  Nothing could surpass the confidence felt in Fanny by Maria, and the affection between them was never altered. In a letter of 1780, or later, Maria writes: “My heart at this instant glows with the same love and friendship it ever felt towards you, and I love your father as I ever did, and never will be the ungrateful wretch I must feel myself ever to forget his paternal kindness to me when I lived under his roof.”

  As we have no cooking at all in these early Diaries, and our heroine does but twice describe her own apparel, we wish to show that the Burneys did more than drink tea, and can only find Maria (who was rather “notable”) to fill the void. Here is part of a letter from Warham, then the abode of Sir John Turner. It seems to have been written after Hetty’s marriage, but whether in 1770 or 1771 it is hard to tell. She writes as if about to take the place of her mother as mistress in Dr. Burney’s house. We introduce Maria by this fragment, and she begins to open her love-affairs in the lively letter which follows it.]

  [From MARIA ALLEN to FANNY BURNEY.]

  ... Oh as I come Along some House keeping thoughts enterd my noddle as follows — tell Jenny I have Alterd the dinner on Monday — and intend having at top fry’d smelts — at Bottom the Ham — on one side 2 boild Chickens — on the other a small pigion Pie with 3 pigions in it and let the Crust be made very Rich and eggs in it — in the Middle a Orleon plumb Pudding — and a Roast Loin of Mutton — after the fish. There must be french beans round the Chickens — and let her get some green gages and filberts — and a few good Orleans for after dinner — Oh and pray remember that the Window blind belonging to the Common parlour be put up and the door shut when the Ladies come in that there may not seem a fuss — and let the Carpet be Laid down in the Musick Room for I shall carry them up there till dinner is ready — and let the hair cloth on the Stairs be taken away — for you Susey, and the Children can go up by the Study all the time they are with us to prevent dirt. Excuse All these ORDERS but they accur’d to me as necessary things while on my journey.

  [To Miss FANNY BURNEY.]

  My dear Fan,

  Prepare a good Stomach and good pair of Shoes for an agreeable walk to Cornhill — to eat your fill of Delicious Cheesecakes — (does not your mouth water at the bare idea) I was at the Assembly forced to go entirely against my own Inclination. But I always have sacrificed my own Inclinations to the will of other people — could not resist the pressing Importunity of — Bet Dickens — to go — tho’ it proved Horridly stupid. I drank tea at the — told old T[urner] — I was determined not to dance — he would not believe me — a wager ensued — half a Crown provided I followed my own inclinations — agreed — Mr. Audley asked me. I refused — sat still — yet followed my own Inclinations. But four couple began — Martin was there — yet stupid — nimporte — quite Indifferent — on both sides — Who had I — to converse with the whole Evening — not a female friend — none there — not an acquaintance — All Dancing — who then — I’ve forgot — nimporte — I broke my Earring — how — heaven knows — foolishly enough — one can’t always keep on the Mask of Wisdom — well n’importe I danced a Minuet a quatre the latter end of the Eve — with a stupid Wretch — need I name him — They danced Cotillions almost the whole Night — two sets — yet I did not join them — Miss Jenny Hawkins danced — with who — can’t you guess — well — n’importe —

  Some folks broke their promise of not Dancing. Well who could resist — the object was tempting — only half a Dance — the rest of time stupidly. Not a soul I know there of my own sex who are not too much engaged to speak to me — well nimporte — I drank tea with no one in no party — I was an Alien — quite save that poor bewitched solitary thing — not quite — got into the Chariot to come Home. Young Mrs. Hogg’s Coachman forgot to set me down at our own door — drove me in Chequer Street. I did not go in with her the much askd — came home — was I alone — guess — well all is vanity and vexation of spirit — did I pass a happy eve — guess — did My going answer the expense of the cheesecakes — yes — Was I better pleasd on Wednesday or Thursday morning — The Latter — ... You remember saying to me — the night before you went these words— “Write me a full account of the Assembly you need not mind explanitions — I shall not need them as I know how affairs stand — I will explain them to Hetty—” I have obeyed your orders, though have been rather to explicit I think — Adieu continue to love me — and remember me to dear Hetty and her Charles —

  I am yours sincerely

  MARIA LUCIA ALLEN

  [Lucius appears to have been one of the Christian names of Mr. Rishton. Maria has playfully written “Lucia,” then blurred it with her finger. Susan adds this postscript: — ]

  “Susanna sends her love to all 3 — has nothing to say, as is not able to write so much yet say so little as Miss A—”

  1771

  [We cannot tell how much has been cut away from the diary of this year before the first date which remains in it, that of the 11th of April. Thereby we have lost all account of Dr. Burney’s joyous return to his family in January, and of his speedy retreat to Chesington to arrange his notes, and the journals of his tour in France and Italy, for publication.

  In her elder days, Mme. D’Arblay drew up a list of “persons and things as ocurring” in her diaries from 1768 to 1779.

  It seems probable that what she entered upon this list she meant to stand when her manuscripts were published. As the name of Miss Ford is the first upon her notes for this year (1771) she herself most likely cut out what went before it. We assume (we can do no more than assume) that when the names of people exist in her notes, and nothing about them is to be found in her journals, the pages are in many cases missing by accident, in many others through the varying measure of discretion, and sense of fitness, in those who handled them about 1847. Her own effacements, which are numerous, can almost always be known to be hers, by their extreme thoroughness; the lines being so closely scored through and through that scarcely one word can be made out Those of later hands, have sometimes been read, and printed. Between the paragraph upon Christopher Smart at p. 133, and that on Signor Martinelli, p. 135, passages concerning her brothers, Charles and James, her sister Susan, Leoni, Signor Corri, and Signora Bicheli, were once in this journal; after Martinelli, and before Dr. Armstrong, p. 137, we have lost all that was written of Mr. Sleepe, Mr. James Sansom, and Mr. Francis Sansom; after Dr. Armstrong, p. 138, of Mrs. Barsanti, Miss Riddle, Mrs. Sansom, Mrs. Burney, senr., Miss Mainstone, Miss Const, Molly Stancliffe, and Mrs. Const.]

  Queen’s Square, Bloomsbury — April 11th.

  Wonder, they say, is the attribute of fools. I cannot think it. Is it possible to live without it? Does a day pass that we meet not with something strange, unexpected, unaccountable? The guilty only, or those who have very severely suffered by others’ guilt — such alone can live in the world without wonder. Surely this maxim should be confined to intellectual ignorance — But it seems to me to be very unjust to impute to folly the wonder of inexperience at the works of man, it should rather be called innocence. What can one think of the natural disposition of a young person who, with an eye of suspicion, looks around for secret designs in the appearance of kindness, and evil intentions in the profession of friendship? I could not think well of such apprehensions and expectations in youth. A bad opinion of the world should be dearly bought to be excusable. Why then is wonder the attribute of fools? Who without it, however sensible, if not hackneyed in the ways of vice, can behold ingratitude in the obliged? indifference in the beloved? discontent in the prosperous? deceit in the trusted? and gaiety in the depth of mourning? I do, I will hope that instances of this kind are uncommon enough to authorise and create wonder in all; except, indeed, those very miserable beings, who, having met with perfidy and deceit in every individual they have unhappily relied upon, regard the whole world as being depraved, treacherous and selfish.

  I have of late been led into many reflections from the strange and unexpected behaviour I have seen on sever
al occasions: one happened this morning. Mrs. Colman, wife of the famous author Mr. Colman, a sweet amiable woman, was taken ill and died suddenly rather more than a fortnight since. We were intimately acquainted with, and very sincerely regretted her. In point of understanding she was infinitely inferior to Mr. Colman; but she possessed an uncommon sweetness of temper, much sensibility, and a generous and restless desire of obliging, and of making her friends happy.

  So amiable a character must, I am sure, endear her infinitely to Mr. Colman, whom she, with the greatest reason, was beyond expression attached to. He is one of the best tempered (though I believe very passionate) of men, lively, agreeable, open-hearted, and clever. Her daughter... Miss Ford, is about sixteen, very genteel in person, well bred, and very well educated. Her son, George Colman, is still younger. Poor Mrs. Colman was doatingly fond of both her children.... I have heartily pitied them for the loss of such a mother, ever since I heard of it.

  This morning it happened that only I was at home, [when]... I heard a violent rap at the door, and John came in with Miss Ford’s name. I felt myself almost shudder with the idea of what she must suffer from entering a house in which her mother had been so intimate, and while her death was so recent; and, when she came in, I knew not what to do with my eyes, to prevent their meeting her’s. I was equally distressed for words, not knowing how to address her on this melancholy occasion. But I soon found my apprehensions were needless; for she received my salute, and seated herself with great composure, and without manifesting any concern. I talked, as well as I was able, of indifferent matters, and she followed as I led, with the utmost ease and serenity; offered to call upon me any morning that would be agreeable to me, to go an airing, spoke just as usual of Mr. Colman and her brother, whom I enquired much after; and with the ready politeness of an old mistress of a family hoped soon to have the pleasure of seeing me in Queen Street! Then, said she was going to St. James’ and so many places, that she could not possibly stay longer.

  I held up my hands and eyes with astonishment, when she left me. Good God! thought I, is all the tenderness of the fondest of mothers so soon forgot? or, is it that, becoming the mistress of the house, for such Mr. Colman has made her, having his servants and equipage at her-command, — is it in such things to compensate for the best of parents?

  April 20.

  I was last night with mama and Miss Allen to Ranelagh.... I saw few people that I knew, and none that I cared for.

  [Here occurs a gap, which we find from Mme. D’Arblay’s notes was once filled with the affairs of “Mrs. Doctor Burney,” Miss Allen, and Mr. Rishton. As the second marriage of Dr. Burney, and the reaching the grave age of fifteen, moved Fanny to burn her elegies and odes; nay, her tragedies and epic poems, and to indulge only in writing journals, with some scruples even about that; so it would appear that the experience she had of other people’s love-affairs stirred her mind to begin “Evelina” early in 1774. To tell a tale aright which, to our belief, had an influence over Fanny’s imagination, we must begin with a pedigree.

  Martin Folkes, an eminent barrister, was father of Martin Folkes, a bencher of Gray’s Inn, who married Dorothy, one of the three co-heiresses of Sir William Hovell, of Hillington Hall, in Norfolk, not far from Lynn. Martin (II) had three sons, of whom only the eldest (Martin) and the second (William) need be named. Martin (III) is the Martin Folkes whose name abounds in the memoirs, autobiographies, and journals of the men of letters or science of his period [1690-1754]. He was of Westminster School, and a pupil of the famous Dr. Laughton at Clare Hall, Cambridge, and had also studied at Saumur. He was named Vice-President of the Royal Society by Newton in 1722-3, and contested the Presidentship with Sir Hans Sloane, upon the death of Newton, in 1727. Failing to win, he travelled in Germany and Italy for two years. In the end he succeeded Sloane as P.R.S., Dr. Hartley as a foreign member of the Academie des Sciences, and the Duke of Somerset as President of the Society of Antiquaries. Oxford gave him his D.C.L. before his own University offered her own degree of doctor. He wrote many papers upon a great variety of subjects, for his fancy was kindled by all things interesting in art, science, or learning, though he is charged by a contemporary with “refusing constantly” (as P.R.S.) “all papers that treat of the Longitude.” No wonder. The longitude was the “great Boar” (as they spelled it) of that time. The more serious charge of making “infidelity fashionable” in the Royal Society, by being himself “an errant infidel and loud scoffer,” is made by several writers, as well as by his brother in the Royal Society and Society of Antiquaries, Stukeley, who also wrote himself M.D. and S.T.P. Stukeley was (as the poet Gray said) “a gossip in coffee-houses,” as well as in his Common-place Book. Yet, as he had seen much of Martin Folkes from at least 1720, called him his “good friend,” and given him a fibula, we may (after allowing for a few palpable errors) give some credence to the sad story he tells, which bears upon the fortunes of Martini grandson, Martin Folkes Rishton. It tallies, besides, with the more generous account given by Nichols. “Before he was at age” Martin Folkes married from Drury Lane Theatre a beautiful, discreet, and even exemplary woman, who acted under the name of Lucretia Bradshaw. His mother, on hearing of his marriage, threw herself out of a window. She only broke her arm (which was less than she meant to do), but the fracture may not have been in vain as a useful warning to her youngest son William, who, in due time, married twice, and went where money was. His second wife was the only child and rich heiress of that odd Norfolk man, Sir William Browne, President of the College of Physicians. To President Folkes a Martin (IV) was born, of Westminster School, Clare Hall, and Saumur — a brilliant youth, who shared his fathers likings, especially for coins and medals. He was in Rome with his father when poor Lucretia (once Bradshaw) went mad upon religion. She was brought home to a house for lunatics at Chelsea, where she remained, surviving her husband. Her son was killed by a fall from his horse, while ending his studies in France. Martin Folkes resigned the Presidentship of the Royal Society in 1751, after an attack of paralysis, but lingered in life until the middle of 1754. He was renowned for collecting curious and beautiful things, and giving generously to students. To his Society he left his portrait of Lord Verulam, and a ring for future Presidents, which he had himself worn as P.R.S. To his brother William he bequeathed their mother’s estate of Hillington; to his two daughters, Dorothy and Lucretia, twelve thousand pounds apiece. Dorothy (says Stukeley) had run away with “an indigent person,”

  “a bookkeeper,” of the name of Rishton, who “used her very ill.” Certainly Dorothy was only left a couple of family portraits, while her younger sister was made her fathers executrix, and heiress of what he loved best, his “great and well-chosen library,” his fine collection of English coins, and vast gatherings of objects of vertú or curiosity. Two years after his death, Lucretia, his daughter (who was then four-and-thirty), married Richard Bettenson, who also is said by Stukeley to have been at that time an “indigent person.” At any rate, the fine library and rich museum of Martin Folkes were sold the year Lucretia married; the sale lasting fifty-six days, of which the books consumed forty-one, and the prints and engravings eight. Lucretia died two years after her marriage. In 1773 we find Bettenson, who had succeeded to a baronetcy, living in Queen Square, with a large income, but in an overfrugal way. He was childless, and the baronetcy expired with him; so that he treated his wife’s nephew and his own ward, Martin Folkes Rishton, as his heir, and sent him to travel for two years in the beginning of this year, 1771 — partly, perhaps, to keep him out of harm’s way in the form of Maria Allen, who may have been as beautiful as her mother had been and her sister then was. We have not found any reasons why Mrs. Burney was so very warm against Mr. Rishton, except that he had been extravagant at Oxford, and that she had heard some story that he had done something unworthy of a gentleman. Mr. Crisp, Hetty, Fanny, and Susan, were under the same belief that he was an unfit and unsafe lover for Maria, but Fanny and Susan (the confidantes) were much more pitiful than the �
��wifish Hetty,” although they pleaded on the side of Discretion; with the usual result, as may be seen hereafter.]

  May 8th.

  My father’s book, on ‘ The present state of Music,’ made its appearance in the world the 3rd of this month, and we flatter ourselves it will be favourably received. — Last Sunday was the first day for some time past, that my father has favoured us with his company in a sociable stile, having been so exceedingly occupied by writing in those few hours he spends at home, that he really seemed lost to his family; and the comfort of his society and conversation are [now] almost as new as grateful to us. He prints this book for himself. He has sent a multitude of them to his particular friends as presents; among others, to the famous Dr. Hawkesworth, to that charming poet Mr. Mason, to Mr. Garrick, and Mr. Crisp, who, all four, were consulted about it when a manuscript, and interested themselves much with it. Dr. Shepherd, Mr. Colman, Dr. Armstrong, Mr. Strange, Dr. Bever, Giardini, and many others had likewise books sent to them, before the publication —