Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  My dearest Sir,

  Your ever affecte F. B.

  [Miss BURNEY TO MR. CRISP.]

  July — 76.

  Now really, my dear Daddy, this is prodigiously curious! — Was it me or you who should first shew signs of life? Does the traveller, or the fixed resident expect reasonably the first letter? Besides, till you issue your orders, and give me a few hints, I don’t know what to write about, further than a bill of health — which take as follows: —

  My father is charmingly. My mother still very weak, but acknowledges herself to be better. She is now at Lynn. As to the destination of the family for the rest of the summer, I am even yet in the dark, and cannot give you any intelligence. But the great Man of Men is your friend James, who is now, in fact and in power, Captain of his ship, though, alas! not in honour or profit. The case is, Captain Clarke has obtained permission to stay some time longer in town, to settle his affairs, and in the hope of profiting by some Act — that I don’t very well understand — concerning debtors. He has surrendered himself, and is now actually in the King’s Bench. An order has been sent from the Admiralty to our Lieutenant to carry the ship himself to Plymouth. And further of his affairs I know not myself, nor whether he is yet sailed nor any thing about him. We have never seen his sweet face since the last day that I saw yours; and that glorious confusion to which you was a witness, was, I presume, meant by way of a tender farewell of the house. He was stopt in the Portland Road, by contrary winds, and took that opportunity of writing to my father. In his letter, though he clumps compliments, &c., to all, the only person he mentions by name is yourself.

  Saturday, July 27.

  O dear, — O dear, — O dear! I was unfortunately interrupted after writing the above, which I began the moment I received your letter; — and after that, I had an inflammation in my eyes, which has almost incapacitated me from using them, and indeed they are still so weak, that any exertion of them gives me a good deal of pain. But indeed, I am now quite ashamed to write at all; — and had I any reasonable hope of seeing you, I would defer my apologies and my pleadings till that time, — but things seem so ordered, that I believe I shall not be allowed that happiness for a long time, and therefore, after some very serious confabs between me and my conscience, have taken courage, and resolved to try to make my peace with my dear, and I fear much displeased Daddy. O that I could devise any means or ways or methods by which to atone for my dilitariness! Will you accept from me two letters every week ‘till I have made up for the lost time? I know I must not expect any answer as yet — and therefore I will promise myself your compliance with this condition, which to me is not a very pleasant one, as I must own letter-writing gives me no manner of diversion, save merely as the means of procuring returns.

  My mother came from Lynn and Stanhoe last Saturday, so well, aparently, that no common eye could discern she had been ill. However, she did not give up her Bristol scheme, and this very afternoon, she and my father set off for that place — and with them went Charlotte, who is to accompany my mother to Wales, where she proposes spending near two months. That dear little girl went so much à contre cœur, that I was quite sorry and concerned for her. I believe she would willingly and literally have parted with a little finger to have been left behind with me, and no wonder! — for she is never spoke to, never noticed at all, except as an errand runner: in which capacity, I am apt to suspect, she now travels, as she is by no means a favourite; however while my father is of the party, who leaves them at Bristol, I hope she may be happy. I should myself have gone, but for the difficulty of placing Charlotte and Sally anywhere properly. And so I am now quite alone, — at large and at liberty! — Hetty and Susy remain at Worcester till September. I have nobody but little Sally for a companion. But I have no dread of ennui, nor fear of idleness or listlessness. I am going (as soon as I have finished this letter) to study Italian, which I can do alone at least as easily as I did French. However, I believe I shall be rather more engaged, than less; for since my intended situation has been known, I have received more invitations, &c., than I ever did before, and in particular, my good old friend, Mr. Hutton, no sooner heard of my summer destination, than he made me a most earnest invite to visit his wife; — which he never before did to any of the family. The Miss Paynes, who are really sweet girls, and very great favourites with me, — will almost live with me, for they are so willing to come here, that they want nothing but asking to be with me for ever, and they serve admirably to keep up my spirits, and excite all sorts of nonsensical sport and jollity. Indeed, but for them, I believe I should be apt to confine

  * * * * * *

  [A portion of a letter from MR. CRISP to Miss BURNEY.]

  Sept. 1776.]

  My dear Fanny,

  ... What? Do you believe I have drop’t your correspondence? and ask, what you have done? — in answer to this strange quæry this is my reply, and that in the sincerity of my heart — there are not above two or three people in the world that I love so well as Fanny Burney — better none — whose correspondence I would prefer, not one — My sister Gast, is pretty much of the same way of thinking; for she has known her a long while, tho’ seen her so lately. — .... I have liv’d long enough in the world, to see the futility of professions; and the instability of characters, humours, and what are called friendships: — in a course of years the commerce of that world commonly renverses all these things topsy turvy; if that change should happen in Fanny Burney, it is not likely at my time of life, I should live to see it, so I am glad to catch the present moment, and enjoy it, while it lasts — Adieu, my dear Fanny. Your affectionate Daddy,

  S. C.

  Gast and Ham and Kate send their love.

  [These fragments of a letter from Mr. Crisp to Fanny were apparently written in November, 1776.]

  ... really concerned when you tell... colds and cuppings, and still continuing unwell; and yet he must go out, instead of nursing at home — this money hunting is a cursed thing. — I know too well how it must be with him, by myself — for if I was starving I could not turn out for bread, nor, in my present state of health, shift my quarters, and lye out [of] my bed, ‘tho the house were in danger of falling. ’Tis true he is not a quarter so bad as I am; but still he must feel what ’tis to be forced out of doors to attend and humour people he does not....

  Thank you, my dear Fanny, for your conversation piece at Sir James Lake’s. If specimens of this kind had been preserved of the different Tons that have succeeded one another for twenty centuries last past, how interesting would they have been! infinitely more so, than antique statues, bas-reliefs, and intaglio’s. To compare the vanities and puppyisms of the Greek and Roman, and Gothic, and Moorish, and Ecclesiastic reigning fine gentlemen of the day with one another, and the present age must be a high entertainment, to a mind that has a turn for a mixture of contemplation and satire; and to do you justice, Fanny, you paint well; therefore send me more, and more.

  * * * * *

  [A portion of a letter from Miss BURNEY to MR. CRISP, endorsed by him 2 Dec. 1776.]

  * * * * *

  The party consisted of Signora Agujari, — invited without the least thought of her singing, and merely as an auditor herself. She looked charmingly, though horribly ill dressed, in old court mourning, by way of being quite in the fashion.

  Signor Colla, and his triste sister, stupid as a post, and tired to death, for she neither speaks French or English, and was condemned merely to look and be looked at all the evening.

  Mrs. Ord, a very charming woman, of whom I have spoken more than once. Her daughter, of whom ditto. Mr. Ord, a near relation, a most agreeable, well bred, lively young man, who is just returned from his travels, and talked French and Italian delightfully. He is an enthusiast in music, and seemed to enjoy Agujari with a rapture little short of what we felt ourselves.

  Mr. Fitzgerald, a hard featured, tall, hard voiced and hard mannered Irishman: fond of music, but fonder of discussing than of listening, — as are many other people w
ho shall be nameless. Miss Fitzgerald, his daughter, as droll a sort of piece of goods (to use your expression) as one might wish to know. She is good natured and sprightly, but so unlike other Misses of the present time that she is really diverting, for she speaks her mind as freely and readily before a room full of company, as if with only a single friend. She laughs louder than a man, pokes her head vehemently, dresses shockingly, and has a carriage the most ungain that ever was seen. Keene Fitzgerald is half a coxcomb and half a man of sense; now humble and diffident; now satisfied and conceited; and so much for him. Mr. Nollekens, who is a jolly, fat, lisping, laughing, underbred, good humoured man as lives: his merit seems pretty much confined to his profession, and his language is as vulgar as his works are elegant Mrs. Nollekens, his wife, a civil, obliging, gentle sort of woman; rather too complaisant.

  Governor Devaynes, and Mr. Dudley Long: with these two, as I had no conversation, I can say nothing.

  Miss B. — something, a sister-in-law of Mr. Hayes of the Pantheon: a young lady quite à la mode, — every part of her dress, the very pink and extreme of the fashion; — her head erect and stiff as any statue; — her voice low, and delicate, and mincing; — her hair higher than twelve wigs stuck one on the other; — her waist taper and pinched, evidently; — her eyes cast languishingly from one object to another, and her conversation very much the thing. What was most pleasant, this fashionable lady came in with Miss Fitzgerald, who is so exactly her opposite that they could never be looked at without having the difference remarked. Mr. Merlin, Mr. Burney, and my sister.

  O how we all wished for our Daddy when the Divine Agujari said she would sing! She was all good humour and sweetness. She sang — O, Sir! — what words can I use? — Could I write what she deserves, you would come to hear her, let what would be the consequence. O, Mr. Crisp, she would heal all your complaints, — her voice would restore you to health and spirits, — I think it is almost greater than ever, — and then, when softened, so sweet, so mellow, so affecting! She has every thing! — every requisite to accomplish a singer, in every style and manner! — the sublime and the beautiful equally at command! I tremble not lest she should not answer to you, for she cannot, cannot fail! She astonishes and she affects at pleasure — O that you could come and hear her! Is it impossible? I die to have you enjoy the greatest luxury the world can offer; — such to me — such, I am sure, to you, would be the singing of Agujari! Adieu, dear Sir, my love to Mrs. Hamilton and Kitty.

  Ever most truly yours, F. B.

  [On the wrapper of this year’s letters, are the words —

  “Parts of Letters to and from Mr. Crisp and F. B. in 1777.”

  “First sight of Dr. Johnson, Mrs and Miss Thrale, and Mr. Seward. N.B. — This is the only letter of my own I have preserved of this year.... for reasons given in the preceding.”

  The letters destroyed in 1776 were “on family subjects.” On another wrapper, which has once been used for these letters of 1777, a letter is mentioned, concerning “Dr. Johnson and Sir Philip Jennings Clerke.” No such letter has been found. We believe that, by mistake, some account of a warm political dispute at Streatham, in 1779, between Dr. Johnson and Sir P. J. Clerke, was once misplaced in this cover, that the error was detected, and the paper put into its proper place. It is to be found in the diaries already printed. It will be observed on reference to them that Sir Philip is described as if Fanny saw him for the first time in 1779. Pages are probably missing at either end of the visits to Gloucester, and to Westwood Park. After that, the names of Sir John Pechell, Mr. Pechell, Miss Pechell, Miss Chambers and Miss Betty [Chambers], Miss Jones, and Dr. Johnson of Worcester occur in Madame D’Arblay’s notes, but all concerning them is lost 1777 was the year when the copying of the rough draft of “Evelina” had made such progress, that the book is, for the first time, obscurely hinted at in the letter to Susan of the 15th of March, and distinctly written of in the pages called the prelude to the Worcester Journal. These detached introductory pages are (with exceptions enclosed in brackets) in the handwriting of Fanny after her apprenticeship as copyist to her father; that is, in clear, easy, and rather large characters, distinct from the small running scrawl of her earliest diaries, and the less distinct and blacker writing of her old age. “The prelude” may have been written as an introduction to the Barborne Journal, when that was given back to her, after being handed about by Susan and Mr. Crisp to those who were to be trusted, as the Teignmouth Journal had been before it; or, it may have been added when her letters to Susan were returned to her.

  The words and passages in brackets are much later.]

  [From Miss BURNEY to Miss S. BURNEY.]

  [Chesington.]

  Your letter, my dear Susy, was a most acceptable regale to me; but I wish you would remember my so often repeated request and entreaty, to give me two for one, which I could plainly prove would be but justice and equity, according to the situations we are in; but that I will not affront your judgement by supposing you require my assistance for discovering what is so obvious. I think you can’t much wonder that Miss C. is not fond of her morning’s amusement at our house. Upon my word, I am ashamed to think of it. I don’t know which was worst the raspberry or the coffee; but nothing of the refreshment kind seems palateable in Saint Martin’s. Pray, when you see her next, make my best compliments to her. I die to hear the Vauxhall Mad Song; I have an idea of it, that makes me almost mad, that I missed it. However, to recover my senses, I must think of that pretty couplet, which you know, of old, is always a consolation to me, namely,

  “What is wishing? — wishing will not do;

  We cannot have a cake, — and eat it too!”

  A wise maxim, Miss Susan, and altogether as new and instructive as it is wise; and moreover and above, expressed with no small poignancy of wit. The turn at the end is truly epigrammatic, and makes my mouth water. I can easily believe Rauzzini has behaved in the same way he looks, i e like an Angel, since you say so; but I long to know the particulars of a conduct sufficiently seraphic to have made you usher him to his place among the Cherubim and Seraphim. You say you have much more to say, had you paper; — surely never before had any one the meanness to avow so stingy an excuse! However, if you can’t afford to buy, why, beg! or, if you are too modest for that, why, steal; for stealing can never impeach your modesty; and that, you know, is a female’s first recommendation, since the very action itself, far from discovering any boldness, manifests an internal diffidence of being welcome to what is taken.

  Now, as I hope I have cleared up this point to your satisfaction and to the utter extinction of all vulgar prejudices, I entreat that I may never again hear so shabby an apology.

  We pass our time here very serenely, and distant as you may think us from the great world, I sometimes find myself in the midst of it, though nobody suspects the brilliancy of the company I occasionally keep. We walk, talk, write, read, eat, drink, thrum, and sleep. These are our recreations, which for your better conception I will somewhat enlarge upon.

  Imprimis; — We walk: The brightness of the sun invites us abroad; the tranquillity of the scene promises all the pleasures of philosophic contemplation, which, “ever studious of rural amusement,” I eagerly pursue. Mais, helas! scarce have I wandered over half a meadow, ere the bleak winds whistle round my head; off flies my faithless hat; my perfidious cloak endeavours to follow, — even though it clings with well-acted fondness to my neck; my apron, my gown, all my habiliments, with rebellious emotion, wage a civil war with the Mother country! though there is not an individual among them, but has been indebted to me for the very existence, by which they so treacherously betray me! My shoes too, though they cannot, like the rest, brave me to my teeth, are equally false and worthless; for, far from aiding me by springing forward, with the generous zeal they owe me for having rescued them from the dark and dusty warehouse in which they were pent, — they fail me in the very moment I require their assistance, sink me in bogs, pop me into the mud, and attaching themselves rather t
o the mire than to the feet which guide them, threaten me perpetually with desertion; and I shall not be much surprised, if some day when I least think of it, they should give me the slip, and settle themselves by the way.

  Secondly; — We talk. That you can do yourself; so I shall not enter into a minute discussion of this point.

  Thirdly; — We write; that is thus: Mr. Crisp writes to Miss Simmons; Mrs. Hamilton to the butcher; and Miss Cooke, a list of clothes for the washerwoman; and as to me, — do you know I write to you every evening, while the family play at cards? The folks here often marvel at your ingratitude in sending me so few returns in kind.

  Fourthly; — We read: Mr. Crisp pores over Crit. Reviews and Sir John Hawkens (sic); Mrs. Hamilton, the tradesmen’s bills; Miss Cook, her own Pocket-book or Ladies’ Memorandum; and I am studying against I return to town, Le Diable Boiteux, which contains no few moral sentences, proper for those who dwell in a great Metropolis.

  Fifthly; We eat: There is something in this part of our daily occupation, too singular and uncommon to be passed over, without some particular notice and observation. Our method is as follows: we have certain substances of various sorts, consisting chiefly of beasts, birds and vegetables, which being first roasted, boiled, or baked (N.B. We shall not eat raw flesh till Mr. Bruce publishes his Travels), are put upon dishes either of pewter, earthen-ware, or china; and then being cut into small divisions, every plate receives a part. After this, with the aid of a knife and fork, the divisions are made still smaller; they are then (care being taken not to maim the mouth by the above offensive weapons) put between the lips, where by the aid of the teeth the divisions are made yet more delicate, till, diminishing almost insensibly, they form a general mash, or wad, and are then swallowed.