Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  I had no opportunity of speaking to my father all that day. In the evening Mr. Burney and Hetty came. Hetty told me that the day before Mrs. O’Connor had called on her, and [acquainted her that Mr. Barlow had owned] his attachment to me, and requested... to know, first, whether I had any pre-engagement, and, secondly, whether I had ever expressed any antipathy to him. She answered both these in the negative; and then Mrs. O’Connor, in Mr. B’s name, entreated her to be his advocate; which she readily promised.

  After his conversation with me, he called on her himself. She says he was all dejection and sadness. He expressed the greatest respect for me; feared I thought him wanting in it; apologised for his early declaration, which, he said, resulted from his sincerity and his having no experience either in the arts or the ways of men.

  My father sent for Hetty up stairs and made a thousand enquiries concerning Mr. Barlow.

  The next day, a day, the remembrance of which will be never erased from my memory, — my father first spoke to me in favour of Mr. Barlow, and desired me not to be peremptory in the answer I was going to write, [though it was to appear written previously.]

  I scarce made any answer; I was terrified to death. I felt the utter impossibility of resisting not merely my father’s persuasion, but even his advice. I felt too, that I had no argumentative objections to make to Mr. Barlow, his character — disposition — situation — I know nothing against; but, O! I felt he was no companion for my heart! I wept like an infant, when alone; eat nothing; seemed as if already married, and passed the whole day in more misery than, merely on my own account, I ever did before in my life, except [when a child,] upon the loss of my own beloved mother, and ever revered and most dear grandmother!

  After supper I went into the study, while my dear father was alone, to wish him good night; which I did as chearfully as I could, though pretty evidently in dreadful uneasiness. When I had got to the door, he called me back, and asked [some questions] concerning a new [Court] mourning gown.... [kindly saying he would] assist Susey and me [in our fitting-out,] which he accordingly did, and affectionately embraced me, saying, “I wish I could do more for thee, Fanny!”

  “Oh, Sir;” cried I, “7wish for nothing! only let me Uve with you.”

  “My life!” cried he, kissing me kindly, “Thou shalt live with me for ever, if thee wilt! Thou canst not think I meant to get rid of thee?”

  “I could not Sir; I could not!” cried I; [“I could not outlive such a thought!” and, as I kissed him — O! how gratefully and thankfully! with what a relief to my heart!] I saw his eyes full of tears! a mark of his tenderness which I shall never forget! “God knows,” continued he, “I wish not to part with my girls! only, don’t be too hasty!”

  Thus relieved, restored to future hopes, I went to bed, light, happy, and thankful, as if escaped from destruction.

  I had, however, written my letter before my father spoke, and as I had expressly told Mr. Barlow it contained a Refusal, I thought it would be even ridiculous to alter it. I rather determined, if my father had persisted in desiring it, to unsay a rejection than not to write it after having declared I already had. This is the copy: —

  Sir,

  I am much concerned to find that my silence to the first letter with which you honoured me has not had the effect it was meant to produce, of preventing your giving yourself any further trouble upon my account.

  The good opinion you are pleased to express of me, however extraordinary upon so short an acquaintance, certainly claims my acknowledgments; but as I have no intention of changing my present situation, I can only assure you of my good wishes for your health and happiness, and request and desire that you will bestow no further thoughts, time, or trouble upon, Sir,

  Your most humble servant,

  F. BURNEY.

  St. Martin’s Street,

  Leicester Fields.

  From that day to this my father, I thank Heaven, has never again mentioned Mr. Barlow.

  June 9th.

  I called at my sister’s lately, and was very sorry to hear that Mr. Barlow, who has been again to visit her, expressed himself to be as strongly as ever attached to me, and requested of her to suffer him to meet me some day at her house, by letting him know when I was with her. She told him I should be very angry with her. He promised to appear much surprised, that I should never know the meeting was not accidental, and she was at length prevailed upon to promise him her assistance. However, reflecting upon it afterwards, she repented, and therefore told me of what had passed. I assured her I was extremely glad she had saved me so disagreeable a task as a second refusal would have been — for as his motives are obvious so my resolution is unalterable — but by my father, who, I am sure is too indulgent to require me to give my hand without my heart.

  I commissioned her, when she saw him to tell him that she found by my conversation I was so determined that she thought it was only exposing both of us to uneasiness to promote a meeting.

  I wish this young man well. I believe him to be worthy, but am sorry he will not be answered —

  Friday, June [10th].

  * * * * * *

  On Wednesday morning, while my mother [and I were in the study with Miss Lidderdale, of Lynn, the servant came to tell me that a gentleman was in] the parlour waiting for me. “Did not he send up his name?” cried mama. “No ma’am,” answered he. “Do you know who he is?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  I supposed it was Mr. Barlow, and heartily wished I had been out. I went down stairs [perforce,]... and found him alone. He bowed. I curtsied. He seemed at a loss what to say, — and as I determined not to ask him to sit down, or to say anything that might encourage him either to stay or to repeat his visit, I was silent also. At length he stammered out—” I hope, ma’am, you are well?”

  “Very well, I thank you,” was my laconic reply.

  Another silence; and then— “Your cold? — I hope ma’am — I hope you have quite—”

  “O, it is quite gone,” cried I; “lam perfectly well.”

  “I am very happy to hear it — I could not, Ma’am, I could not deny myself the satisfaction of enquiring after your health.”

  “I am sorry, Sir,” answered I very gravely, “that you should have taken the trouble to call.”

  “Does it give you — I hope, Ma’am, it does not give you — any uneasiness?”

  I made no answer, but went towards the window. There I saw Dick and Miss Fydell, a lady who was coming to see Miss Lidderdale, [advancing to the door.] I was rejoiced at so speedy an opportunity of ending the tete-à-tete, and flew myself to the door to let them in. I then began to talk to Miss Fydell, all the time standing myself, that I might not be obliged to ask Mr. Barlow to sit.

  He seemed a good deal agitated. I was truly quite sorry to be so rude to him — but what can be [done] when a man will not take an answer? I would, with all my heart, have been civil and sociable with him in a friendly manner, from gratitude for the real regard he seems to have for me — but I have heard, [from Mr. Crisp,] too much of mankind to believe he would not draw inferences, and entertain expectations from such friendliness that might greatly distress and embarrass me. Besides, ever since my father spoke for him, I have quite dreaded the continuation of his addresses.

  His situation was too uneasy to be long supported, and after enquiring about the family, he took his leave, with a look so mortified and unhappy that I felt shocked at myself for what, in fact, I could not help. [However, when he had mournfully shut the parlour door, and I heard the street door open, I re-opened the parlour door] and called out that I wished him a good walk. He started back, and seemed going to return, but I immediately came into the parlour, yet not before I could see by his change of countenance that he was pleased with this little mark of civility.

  I hope, however, that this visit will be his last. I think he will never have the courage to make another. I have not mentioned it to my father. Indeed I dare not renew a subject which has caused me so much uneasiness an
d fright. Sorry as I am for Mr. B., who is a worthy young man, I cannot involve myself in a life of discomfort for his satisfaction.

  I have had the great pleasure of a letter from my dear Mr. Crisp, in answer to my pleas against marrying heart-whole, in which he most kindly gives up the cause, and allows of my reasoning and opinion.

  What my mother thinks of the affair I know not, but the other day, when Hetty and Mr. Burney were here, she suddenly, in a laughing way, turned to me and said—” O, but — Fanny — was you, cruel, or kind, the other morning? Upon my word, it is time to enquire! — a gentleman whose visits are admitted!” —

  I only laughed, not caring to be serious so publicly; but, really, it was a very provoking turn to give to Mr. B.’s calls, and will make me doubly desirous that they should not be renewed.

  I forgot to mention that one evening, about a fortnight since, as we were all walking in the Park, we met Mrs. Pringle again. I introduced to her her young old friend, Charlotte, and they were naturally glad to see each other. She was extremely cordial in her invitations to all of us, and I much wish it was in my power to accept them.

  We also saw poor Miss L., whose face immediately shewed that she recollected my eldest sister and me; however we walked on wishing to avoid speaking to her: but when we were at Spring Garden gate, she just touched my shoulder as she came suddenly behind us, and said—” Miss Burney! — how do you do?” I answered her rather coldly, and Hetty turned from her abruptly. I was afterwards very sorry that I did not speak with more kindness to her, for Susey says that she looked greatly disappointed. It is, however, impossible, and improper to keep up acquaintance with a female who has lost her character, however sincerely she may be an object of pity. What way this unfortunate girl is in at present I know not, but Miss Strange believes her to be as culpable as ever. She was with a very decent looking party, and was very genteely dressed without shew or frippery, and looked very handsome. Much is to be said in excuse of a poor credulous young creature whose person is attractive while her mind is unformed. Should she quit her way of life before she grows more abandoned, I shall have great pleasure in shewing her any civility in my circumscribed power, for the remembrance of her innocence when I first knew her. Miss Strange has heard the story of her marriage all contradicted.

  [MISS BURNEY TO MR. CRISP.]

  [May 16th.]

  And so it is all over with me! — and I am to be given up — to forfeit your blessing — to lose your good opinion — to be doomed to regret and the horrors — because — I have not a mind to be married. — Forgive me, dearest Mr. Crisp — forgive me — but indeed I cannot act from worldly motives — You know and have long known and laughed at my notions and character: continue still to laugh at me — but pray don’t make me cry — for your last letter really made me unhappy I am grieved that you can so earnestly espouse the cause of a person you never saw. I heartily wish him well — he is, I believe, a worthy young man, but I have long accustomed myself to the idea of being an old maid, and the title has lost all its terrors in my ears. I feel no repugnance to the expectation of being ranked among the number.

  As to the visit to Hoxton, my dear Daddy, how could I make it without leaving Mr. Barlow to infer the Lord knows what? By what he says in his letter, it is evident he would have taken it to himself: he is hasty, and I dreaded being somehow or other entangled. I have no dislike to him. The whole party were strongly his friends, and upon the whole I thought it necessary to keep away. I would not for the world be thought to trifle with any man. I could not have made that visit without giving him reason to draw conclusions very disagreeable to me. Don’t imagine by what I say that I have made a vow for a single life — No: but on the other hand I have no objection to it, and have all my life determined never to marry without having the very highest value and esteem for the man who should be my lord. Were I ever so well disposed to follow your advice and see more of this youth, I am convinced he would not let me; he is so extremely precipitate. I must either determine for, or against him, or, at least, enter into such conditions as I should feel myself bound to abide by. Besides, — I AM QUITE FIXED.

  If you ask my objections, I must frankly own they are such as perhaps will only satisfy myself, for I have none to make to his character, disposition, or person; — they are all good; — but he is not used to company, or the world; his language is stiff, studied, and even affected. In short, he does not hit my fancy.

  “I do not like you, Dr. Fell,

  The reason why I cannot tell.

  But I don’t like you, Dr. Fell.”

  Hetty and the party went on Saturday to Hoxton. I desired them to say I was not well. How the day passed, I know not. They have all quarrelled with me about this affair, and I don’t care to go to [one or other of them till they forget it.] But while we were at breakfast, yesterday morning, John came in and said a gentleman desired to speak to me. Mr. Barlow came in — to enquire after my health! — You would have laughed had you been present — I was so much frightened, lest my mother should blab my [not having been ill?] and lest he should desire to speak to me, — that I quite lost my voice, in so much that he himself afterwards took notice how bad my cold was, though in fact I have none at all! while on the other hand, he was so terribly confused that he made three several bows before he could get out a word. My mother, Bessy, and Charlotte all stared with amazement, wondering who he was, and what his visit meant, as to Sukey, she could not keep her countenance at first, though soon after she very good naturedly entered into conversation with Mr. Barlow to our mutual relief. I am very uneasy at not having answered his letter. I should be equally grieved to have him take my silence either for contempt, or for compliance; but my father, to whom I shewed it, desired me not to answer it — why I cannot imagine. If he sided against me, I could not resist the stream, for Sukey is firmly Mr. Barlow’s friend, but, I thank heaven he does not interfere. He is all indulgence, and to quit his roof requires inducements which I am sure I shall never have. I never, never can love any human being as I love him. Once more, I entreat your forgiveness, and that you will write me word you forgive me.

  Don’t be uneasy about my welfare, my dear Daddy, I dare say I shall do very well, I cannot persuade myself to snap at a settlement, and I do assure you this young man would not suffer me to deliberate long. Had marriage from prudence and convenience been my desire, I believe I have had it quite as much in my power [two or three times] as now. [Particularly] there was a certain youth, not quite so hasty to be sure, as Mr. Barlow, but not far otherwise, who took much pains for cultivating our acquaintance. I happened to dance with him at a private masquerade... and he called two or three times afterwards, and wrote two notes with most pressing [requests, through a third person, that he might be introduced to my father, and to know whether] he might exist again [or not]. However, after the answer he received, [written by myself] to the second note, I heard of him no more. In short, I long since settled to either attach myself with my whole heart, or to have the courage to lead apes. I have now, and I shall ever have, the most grateful sense of your kindness, and of the interest you take in my concerns. I heartily wish I could act by your advice, and that I could return an attachment, which strange as it appears to me, I so little deserve. After all, so long as I live to be of some comfort, (as I flatter myself I am,) to my father, I can have no motive to wish to sign myself other than his and your, Ever obliged, and ever affectionate, and devoted,

  FRANCES BURNEY, to the end of the chapter, Amen.

  As to his circumstances, I have made no enquiries, for I honestly confess they would have but little influence with me, one way or other.

  [It is difficult to fix the date of the letter to Mr. Crisp describing Dr. Burney’s first concert of this year. In fact, it has puzzled Mme. D’Arblay herself, who has (in her old age) successively inserted three or four tentative dates; all of which are wrong. It seems to have been written after the account of the “Deiden” concert in her journal. Mr. Crisp has endorsed it “May”
only. It begins thus: “I was extremely happy at the receipt of your last letter, because you assure me you are not angry with me, though believe me, I cannot with unconcern read your cautions and prognostics: I am not triumphant, but I am not desponding; and I must again repeat what I have so often had the hardiesse to say, that I have no idea why the single life may not be happy. LIBERTY is not without its value — with women as well as with men, though it may not have equal recommendations for both, and I hope never (without a prospect brighter to myself), to lose mine; and have no such prospect in view. Had I ever hesitated about Mr. Barlow, your advice, my dear Sir, would have turned the balance on his side; but I never did or could. So now to other matters.” More than four pages are then given to the music of Mr and Mrs. Burney, the Baroness Deiden, and the rest. These pages (with some amplifications), are printed in the “Memoirs of Dr. Burney.” Fanny then ends with a request for advice. She has refused one invitation to the house of Mrs. O’Connor; shall she accept another? Shall she go to Hoxton with the set purpose of discouraging Mr. Barlow? Shall she “force myself to say (as Lord Ogleby expresses it) shocking things to him?.... or avoid him totally, and hope the affair will drop as it is? I don’t care to say any more to my father about it. I certainly ought not to keep Mr. Barlow in suspense, if it is possible he can think himself so. Pray instruct me, only remembering that I am fixed. — Adieu, my dear Sir, I am now and ever, most faithfully and truly yours, FRANCES BURNEY.”]

  [MISS BURNEY TO MR. CRISP.]

  [Probably written on the 1st of June.]

  My dear Sir,

  My father cannot see you before Sunday, when he proposes to be with you as soon as he can. Whether alone, or with anyone else, or whether your anecdote-monger will accompany him, as yet none but the great gods can tell! If I do not see you, I must take this opportunity of entreating and conjuring you not to use your influence with my father for Mr. Barlow, in case he should mention that personage to you. I have not time to tell you all about it, but a great deal has passed since I wrote last, and I have suffered the most cruel and terrifying uneasiness. I am now again at peace, and hope to continue so. Should my father happen to speak to you of what I have said, (as it is well known that I write very openly to you) I entreat you to assure him that I have expressed the greatest aversion to forming a connection with Mr. B. I have not dared to speak so much to the purpose myself, — for I have been, and I am, determined at all events not to oppose his will and advice; but I know he wishes only for my happiness, and I am sensible that I should be wretched for ever if induced to marry where I have no manner of affection, or regard... O Mr. Crisp, it is dreadful to me to think of my uniting my destiny, — spending my time, — devoting my life, — to one whose face I never desire to see again! Had I with equal bluntness expressed myself to my father, I am certain he would not ever think of Mr. Barlow more, — but his interference was so unexpected — it silenced, confounded, and frightened me. I see you did not care to send me your advice, which however, would be too late, as Mr. Barlow is no dreaming lover. I hope all is over [for I have written a point blank refusal — without shewing it to anybody, that I might put an end to the worry.] I don’t think my mother will be able to be with you, as Miss Lidderdale of Lynn is expected here, — but this is unsettled.