St. Martin’s Street, Thursday night.
[1st Deer.]
My Dear Daddy,
What you have thought of me and of my promises I know not — but evil communication! — Ever since I found myself defrauded of my proper goods and chattels by a certain gentleman whom I had held in the highest veneration for honesty; — I have insensibly found myself reconciled to a certain easiness of PROMISE and a cavalier carelessness of PERFORMANCE, which formerly I was Goth enough to be greatly averse to. The truth is — for at last I find I have still some Gothiness left — that while you thus inflexibly continue to hoard my old papers, it is with some effort that I send you new ones.
Hang her papers! you cry — if there is this fuss about them, I wish they were all at Old Nick! — prithee let her have them. Well, if I get them, at any rate I don’t care. So you may abuse as much as you please, if you will but convey them to me. To you they can only furnish entertainment, if any, from the first perusal; — but to me, who know all the people and things mentioned, they may possibly give some pleasure, by rubbing up my memory, when I am a very Tabby, before when I shall not think of looking into them. But the return was the condition, so give me my bond.
I told you that as to writing a Lyon stood in the way. — Now you will not easily conjecture that a Lyon could wear so gentle a face, and kind an aspect, as the one who has stood between my pen and me — it is moreover of the female kind, and hight Eliz. Simmons. For I had made a resolution that I would certainly go to visit her before my next letter — and indeed I could not have prevailed with myself how to have broke the resolution, if I had not this morning seen her, and fully convinced her that it has been my misfortune, not my fault, that I have not hitherto waited upon her. I will not trouble you, therefore, with a long story, I will only tell you that I am now recovering from a very severe indisposition, which began by a violent cold; and that I am still a forlorn body and denied admitance into the [air].
And now my dearest Sir, to make you some amends for all the scolding and impertinence with which I have begun this letter, I will tell you that I have seen Omai, and if I am, as I intend to be, very minute in my account, will you shake hands and be friends?
“Yes, you little Devil you! so to business, and no more words.” Very well, I obey. You must know then, in the first place, that glad as I was to see this great personage, I extremely regretted not having you of the party, as you had half promised you would be, — and as I am sure you would have been extremely well pleased, and that the Journey would have more than answered to you: but the notice was so extremely short it was impossible. Now to facts.
[]and my brother went last [Monday] to the play of Isabella at Drury Lane — They sat in one of the Upper Boxes, from whence they spied Omai and Mr. Banks — upon which they [crossed.... over] to speak to his friend. Omai received him with a hearty shake of the hand, and made room for him by his side. Jem asked Mr. Banks when he could see him to dinner? Mr. B. said that he believed he was engaged every day till the holydays, which he was to spend at Hinchinbrooke. Jem then returned to... However on [Tuesday] night, very late, there came a note which I will write down. It was directed to my brother. — Omai presents his Compts to Mr. Burney, and if it is agreeable and convenient to him, he will do himself the honour of dining with Mr. Burney to-morrow, but if it is not so, Omai will wait upon Mr. Burney some other time that shall suit him better. Omai begs to have an answer, and that if he is to come, begs Mr. Burney will fetch him.
Early on [Wednesday] morning, Jem called at Mr. Banks, with my father’s compts to him, and to Dr. Solander, and begging their company also. But they were engaged at the Royal Society.
Mr. Strange and Mr. Hayes, at their own motion, came to dinner to meet our guest. We did not dine till four. But Omai came at two, and Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander brought him, in order to make a short visit to my father. They were all just come from the House of Lords, where they had taken Omai to hear the King make his speech from the Throne.
For my part, I had been confined up stairs for three days — however, I was much better, and obtained leave to come down, though very much wrapt up, and quite a figure, but I did not chuse to appear till Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander were gone. I found Omai seated on the great chair, and my brother next to him, and talking Otaheite as fast as possible. You cannot suppose how fluently and easily Jem speaks it. Mama and Susy and Charlotte were opposite. As soon as there was a cessation of talk, Jem introduced me, and told him I was another sister. He rose, and made a very fine bow, and then seated himself again. But when Jem went on, and told him that I was not well, he again directly rose, and muttering something of the firey in a very polite manner, without speech insisting upon my taking his seat, — and he would not be refused. He then drew his chair next to mine, and looking at me with an expression of pity said “very well to-morrow-morrow?” — I imagine he meant I hope you will be very well in two or three morrows — and when I shook my head, he said “no? O very badly When Mr. Strange and Mr. Hayes were introduced to him, he paid his compliments with great politeness to them, which he has found a method of doing without words.
As he had been to Court, he was very fine. He had on a suit of Manchester velvet, lined with white satten, a bag, lace ruffles, and a very handsome sword which the King had given to him. He is tall and very well made, much darker than I expected to see him, but has a pleasing countenance. —
He makes remarkable good bows — not for him, but for anybody, however long under a Dancing Master’s care. Indeed he seems to shame Education, for his manners are so extremely graceful, and he is so polite, attentive, and easy, that you would have thought he came from some foreign Court. You will think that I speak in a high style; but I assure you there was but one opinion about him.
At dinner I had the pleasure of sitting next to him, as my cold kept me near the fire. The moment he was helped, he presented his plate to me, which, when I declined, he had not the over-shot politeness to offer all rounds as I have seen some people do, but took it quietly again. He eat heartily and committed not the slightest blunder at table, neither did he do anything awkwardly or ungainly. He found by the turn of the conversation, and some wry faces, that a joint of beef was not roasted enough, and therefore when he was helped, he took great pains to assure mama that he liked it, and said two or three times—” very dood, — very dood.” It is very odd, but true, that he can pronounce the th, as in thank you, and the w, as in well, and yet cannot say g, which he uses a d for. But I now recollect, that in the beginning of a word, as George, he can pronounce it. He took a good deal of notice of Dick, yet was not quite so well pleased with him, as I had expected him to be.
During dinner, he called for some drink. The man, not understanding what he would have, brought the porter. We saw that he was wrong, however, Omai was too well bred to send it back, he took it in his hand, and the man then brought him the small beer; — he laughed, and said— “Two!” — however, he sent off the small beer, as the worse of the two. Another time he called for port-wine. And when the bread was handed, he took two bits, and laughed and said “one — two.” He even observed my abstinence, which I think you would have laughed at, for he turned to me with some surprize, when dinner was almost over, and said “no wine?”
Mr. Hayes asked him, through Jem, how he liked the King and his Speech. He had the politeness to try to answer in English and to Mr. Hayes — and said “very well, King George!”
After dinner, mama gave the king for a toast. He made a bow, and said “Thank you, madam” and then tost off “King George!”
He told Jem that he had an engagement at six o’clock, to go with Dr. Solander to see no less than twelve ladies. — Jem translated this to us — he understands enough of English to find out when he is talked of, in general, and so he did now, and he laughed heartily, and began to count, with his fingers, in order to be understood—” 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 — twelve — woman!” said he.
When Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander went a
way, he said to them Good-bye — good-bye. He never looked at his dress, though it was on for the first time. Indeed he appears to be a perfectly rational and intelligent man, with an understanding far superior to the common race of us cultivated gentry. He could not else have borne so well the way of Life into which he is thrown, without some practice.
When the man brought him the two beers, I forgot to mention that in returning them, one hit against the other, and occasioned a little sprinkling. He was shocked extremely — indeed I was afraid for his fine cloaths, and would have pin’d up the wet table cloth, to prevent its hurting them — but he would not permit me; and, by his manner seem’d to intreat me not to trouble myself! — however he had thought enough to spread his handkerchief over his knee.
Before six, the coach came. Our man came in and said “Mr. Omai’s servant.” He heard it at once, and answered “very well.” He kept his seat about five minutes after, and then rose and got his hat and sword. My father happening to be talking to Mr. Strange, Omai stood still, neither chusing to interrupt him, nor to make his compliments to any body else first. When he was disengaged, Omai went up to him, and made an exceeding fine bow — the same to mama — then separately to every one in the company, and then went out with Jem to his coach.
He must certainly possess an uncommon share of observation and attention. I assure you every body was delighted with him. I only wished I could have spoke his language. Lord Sandwich has actually studied it so as to make himself understood in it. His hands are very much tattooed, but his face is not at all. He is by no means handsome, though I like his countenance.
The conversation of our house has turned ever since upon Mr. Stanhope and Omai — the first with all the advantage of Lord Chesterfield’s instructions, brought up at a great school, introduced at fifteen to a Court, taught all possible accomplishments from an infant, and having all the care, expence, labour, and benefit of the best education that any man can receive, — proved after it all a meer pedantic booby; — the second with no tutor but Nature, changes, after he is grown up, his dress, his way of life, his diet, his country and his friends; — and appears in a new world like a man who had all his life studied the Graces, and attended with unremitting application and diligence to form his manners, and to render his appearance and behaviour politely easy, and thoroughly well bred! I think this shows how much more nature can do without art, than art with all her refinement unassisted by nature.
If I have been too prolix, you must excuse me, because it is wholly owing to the great curiosity I have heard you express for whatever concerns Omai. My father desires his love to you, and says that if you will but come to town, as soon as Omai returns from Hinchinbrooke, he will promise you that you shall still have a meeting with him.
As to our Chesington jaunt, I fear Jem’s letter quite frightened you. My sister continues very weak, but hopes to be able to go. Mr. Burney can only stay one night. For my part I have not yet mentioned — My kind love to Katty —
Adieu, my dear Sir,
I beg you to believe me,
Your ever affectionate and obliged
F. BURNEY.
[This letter is endorsed by Mr. Crisp, “December 1.” Fanny appears to have sat down and written this letter of more than seven quarto pages that very Thursday night.]
* * * * * *
Not having opportunity of proceeding in my ingenious narration, it has laid by so long, that I have now forgot all I intended to have added, and I cannot give myself the trouble of recollection, not being in a prosing humour. I shall therefore take an abrupt and rather cavalier leave of this adventure; and as I am already much in arrears with some new ones! I shall reserve all my forces for those by way of amende honorable — [to — whom? — why to myself, that is to Nobody! Heigh-ho! poor me! Are Nobody and I one and the same person?]
VOLUME II.
1775
[In one respect this, of all these diaries, is the most perfect. Only one name on Mme. D’Arblay’s list is missing in the manuscript, the name of Jenny Barsanti. After the letter on Omai, Fanny must have felt secure of her power to please Mr. Crisp. Beyond him, at distant Burford, his sisters sued to share his enjoyment of her letters. Their wish was slowly granted.
As Dr. Burney was partly disabled by rheumatism during this, the year before the publication of the first volume of his “History of Music,” she must have plied a busy pen. Besides copying for him, writing her own “private fancies and vagaries,” and keeping her journal, (which, even in its mutilated condition, contains more than a hundred large quarto pages), she established herself as Mr. Crisp’s “anecdote-monger,” by writing him a series of letters of from six to twelve large quarto pages, ten of which letters have been preserved. In these she described scenes while they were still vivid before her eyes, or reported conversations which were almost sounding in her ears. The corresponding accounts in her journal are often retrospective, being written as she could snatch time, at some distance from the events. They are perhaps a little more orderly in arrangement of speeches, and incidents than the letters; otherwise they differ very little. Now and then, the letters have details which are omitted in the journal, and vice versâ; but the difference is not considerable. Here and there, we give such extracts from the letters as are complementary to the narratives of the journal. In the case of the first appearance of Gabrielli, and the Concert for Prince Orloff at Dr. Burney’s house in November, it seemed worth while to give a great part of the narrative in the letter, as well as that in the journal.] but of which none so innocent as herself. The visit had been some time arranged, and we expected her with extreme impatience.] Dr. Matty who is a little, formal, affected man, but held in the highest class for learning, handed and presented Signora Agujari. She was accompanied by Signor Colla, an Italian musician, and [the Revd.] Mr. Penneck. She is of the middle stature, and has the misfortune to be lame; owing perhaps if there is any truth in the story to her being mauled when an infant by a pig, in consequence of which she is reported to have a silver side. Her face is handsome, and expressive of all her words. She has the character of being immensely proud. She was, however, all civility here, though her excessive vanity was perpetually [self] betrayed. Signor Colla, to whom she is reported to be married, is a lively, — I might almost say, fiery Italian. She sings no songs but of his composition, and he is her constant attendant. We were not much delighted with Mr. Penneck, who is generally believed to be half a mad-man; though by no means from flightiness ^ which sometimes occasions a mighty agreeable craziness, for he is perfectly sombre. He is not, however, insensible, for he took so violent a passion for a Miss Miller, an actress, that upon suspecting Mr. Colman was his rival, this pious clegyman, who is twice the height at least of Mr. Colman, one night, in the streets, knocked him down, when he was quite unprepared for any attack. How ill does a nature so malignant suit with the character and dignity which ought to distinguish a clergyman! I have often thought it very unfortunate that this first of professions should be [open at pleasure] to the worst of men, instead of being devoted to the most respectable.
The conversation was chiefly in French. As soon as public places were mentioned, Signora Agujari asked us if we had been to the Pantheon? and lifted up her hands and eyes, when she heard we had not, doubtless concluding us to the highest degree barbarous and Gothic, not to have flown on the wings of — half Guineas — to see and hear this Wonder of the World. We all were, however, languishing to hear her, though as it was not perfectly convenient to us to offer her fifty guineas for a song, we were somewhat in fear of requesting one. My father hinted it to Dr. Maty, Dr. Maty hinted it to Signor Colla; Signor Colla did not take the hint of hinting it to the Bastardini. He said that she certainly would sing to the Doctor Burney; but that she had a slight sore throat, and would wish to sing to him to the greatest advantage. He then launched into most profuse panygyric of my father, of his fame abroad, and of the great happiness he had in being introduced to a so célèbre homme.
We were all d
isappointed; but Signora Agujari promised to make us another visit very soon, when she would bring two of her most favourite airs with her. As soon as she heard the conversation turn upon her singing, she asked my father if he had not heard la Gabriella?
“No;” he said, “she was in Sicily, when he visited Italy.”
“Ah, Diable!” cried she, “c’est dommage!”
“Diable” is a favourite exclamation with her, though in other respects she is not at all masculine.
“Mais vous, Mlle.,” said my father, “l’avez-vous entendue?”
“O, no!” returned she, and added that they two could never be in the same place together; and Signor Colla said, that two first singers could never meet. “Two suns,” said Dr. Maty, in Italian, “are never seen at once.”
Thus I find she allows Gabriella to be worthy the title of rival; all others are inferiors. We asked her how she liked the new opera? She said she had never been to the Opera-House; she feared taking cold.
Had she heard Rauzini?
“Never;”
“mais on me dit,” added she, “qu’il chante joliment.”
My father then asked her how she liked Galluci, the second to herself at the Pantheon. She answered that she had never heard her; for that she always left the room, when she had finished her [own] song. How conceitedly incurious! But she chuses to make it known, that no singing can please her but her own. Signor Colla is of the same opinion for himself; he speaks of her with rapture; he said to my Father, “Ah Monsieur! c’est une prodige!”
Sukey had understood Dr. Maty that Agujari was married to Signor Colla, and having told Hetty and me so, we concluded that she only kept her maiden name as being the most known; which is the practice with most of the Italian singers. However this mistake occasioned a very ridiculous question from Hetty, which was brought in by her pleading want of practice, when she was asked to play the harpsichord; the Bastardini expostulated with her upon the subject, and she answered that she had had other things to mind of late, than her music. “Et qu’est ce que c’est?” demanded Agujari. “Des Enfans,” answered Hetty.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 480