“Affronted you — how was that?”
“Why, his foot kicked me, here, upon the shin, — and you can’t think how he hurt me, — so I said then I would never dance with the young gentlemen any more.”
I then asked her to sing to me. She immediately complied, and I squeezed in my laughter with great decency.
When we came down, Lady Packington took her to task for not being dressed herself, and the poor girl looked so foolish that nobody could refrain smiling, at least. When she was going, as her journey was for the present only to Droitwich, which is but two miles from Westwood, Lady Packington said she would take that opportunity to shew me more of the Park, and to give me a drive round the Pool: accordingly I attended her Ladyship in seeing Miss W. to Mrs. Aubery, her aunt. I was very sorry to leave her, for I had by no means the entertainment after she was gone; indeed I told her that I was sure we should not be so merry when she was gone, — and she seemed extremely pleased at the compliment.
Notwithstanding I laughed so intolerably at Miss W., I continued so well to satisfy her that she was not the object of my mirth, that we were exceeding good friends, and she invited me very cordially to make her a visit at Hartlebury. “You know,” says she, “ your cousin Richard comes.... and you should persuade him to bring you with him; and then” she added “well go together to Stourport; but you must let me know when you come, or else, I sha’nt be dressed; for I always go any how at home; you can’t think what a figure I am. Now, if you come, without telling me first, I’ll tell you how you’ll find me: I shall have on a dirty cotton gown, and a dirty muslin handkerchief about my neck, and a cloth apron, may be, and quite a close cap; for I never do my hair up, when I’m alone, for I don’t much mind our young gentlemen; and I shall have on a red stuff coat; and now I’ll lay you any thing you will, that’s the way you’ll find me.”
I ventured not to lay against her, because I thought her rather too much in the secret.
While I dressed for dinner, she again gave me her company and conversation; and indeed, there was no person in the house I so much desired to have with me; for she was always as good as a comedy to me.
She marvelled very much at the quantity of my hair, and bidding me look at her’s, said, “See what a little I have, and my hair’s as low as any thing; and for all that, it’s all a falsity! only see! One day one of the curls came off, and Master Packington tied it to the bell. I am often angry enough with Master Packington, for he was always doing something or other to me.”
The next day, as it rained all the morning, we could not walk out. Therefore, Lady Packington produced some coins she had had very lately dug out by the Nuns’ Chapel; and then got Rapin’s History of England, and we went to work in viewing the coins of the different reigns, in order to discover the age of those she had found. She is fond of figuring upon these subjects; but yet she shewed so much ignorance of History as to render her researches truly ridiculous, for so little did she know of the matter that she always took it for granted that every King of the same name followed in regular succession; and so, when we had examined the coins of Henry the Second, “Now,” said she, “we’ll come to Henry the Third;” but happening, instead, to meet with Richard the First. With the same correctness she looked for Richard the Second and was not at all abashed at her blunder.... We then descended: and after breakfast Lady Packington was so civil as to go entirely over the house with me; and it is so large that she was quite fatigued by the time we returned to the parlour.
The weather was unfortunately very indifferent during my stay at Westwood; which prevented my enjoying any benefit from the beautiful Pool which is in the Park, though Sir Herbert was so obliging as to plan a water-excursion every day; for he was very desirous to shew me his barge, and to display all the beauty of his largest pool, which is reckoned the finest in England, being more than two miles long, and proportionably wide. However, the weather never allowed of any such schemes being put in execution —
[Here a couple of leaves of manuscript, snipped by scissors into six shreds, which have been tacked with thread upon a blank leaf of paper, end all we have of Fanny’s journal for 1777. Between the words “the beautiful pool,” and “is in the park,” two lines in Susan’s writing occur. They have headed a leaf which Fanny has reversed when she wrote upon it. “I expect,” writes Susan, “to have this paper returned me with a little ink, which I shall regard with interest, — very shortly — I know you can’t get this sort at Barebones.”
After these lively visits in the West of England were finished, Fanny returned to St. Martin’s Street, where we may think of her as copying the third volume of “Evelina” for the printing-press, since Mr. Lowndes had refused to publish her novel by instalments. To our after-seeing eyes, these early letters and journals visibly lead on to the publication of “Evelina.” The book is latent in the diaries. The “prentice-hand” sketches Mr. Seaton and Dick Burney, Mrs. S. and Mrs. Wall; the “watering-place,” and the country boarding-house of the last century, with their variety of visitors; the makers of music, and the men and women of fashion who delighted in it; “the lyons” of the time, the haughty and touchy King of Abyssinia, the savage Omai, and the criminal Orloff; the coxcombs of literature, Mr. Twiss and Mr. Keate, and its ruffian, Dr. Shebbeare. The past mistress “draws large” Sir Clement and the Captain, Madame Duval, and the Branghtons, with their inimitable lodger— “the Holborn Beau” — Mr. Smith.
After the abrupt ending of the visit to Westwood, no word of Fanny’s writing has come before our eyes until her diary for 1778 suddenly begins with a paragraph which has been omitted by the editor of her later diaries, as nave others, which we print in full, as they give a happy ending (befitting a novelist above others) to all that has gone before in these volumes. They, and the letters of the most loving of all sisters, Susan Burney, are, as it were, the third volume of a fresh and lively story which widens and deepens towards its joyous close. A lover made happy, it is true, is not to be found therein, but the pride and happiness of a father, and the rapture of the most amiable and affectionate of clever families, make the wedding little missed.]
[SOME PAGES FROM THE DIARY OF FRANCES BURNEY FOR THE YEAR 1778.]
March is almost over — and not a word have I bestowed upon my Journal! — n’importe, — I shall now whisk on to the present time, mentioning whatever occurs to me promiscuously.
[This year was ushered in by a grand and most important event, — for at the latter end of January the literary world was favoured with the first publication of the ingenious, learned, and most profound Fanny Burney! — I doubt not but this memorable affair will, in future times, mark the period whence chronologers will date the zenith of the polite arts in this island! This admirable authoress has named her most elaborate performance “EVELINA, OR A YOUNG LADY’S ENTRANCE INTO THE WORLD.” Perhaps this may seem a rather bold attempt and title for a female whose knowledge of the world is very confined, and whose inclinations, as well as situation, incline her to a private and domestic life. All I can urge is, that I have only presumed to trace the accidents and adventures to which a “ young woman” is liable. I have not pretended to shew the world what it actually is, but what it appears to a girl of seventeen: — and so far as that, surely any girl who is past seventeen may safely do?
The motto of my excuse shall be taken from Pope’s “Temple of Fame,” —
“In every Work, regard the Writer’s end,
None e’er can compass more than they intend.”
About the middle of January, my cousin Edward brought me a private message from my aunts, that a parcel was come for me, under the name of Grafton.
I had, some little time before, acquainted both my aunts of my frolic: they will, I am sure, be discreet, — indeed, I exacted a vow from them of strict secresy; — and they love me with such partial kindness, that I have a pleasure in reposing much confidence in them.] And the more so, as their connections in life are so very confined, that almost all their concerns centre in o
ur, and my uncled family.
[I immediately conjectured what the parcel was, and found the following letter: —
To MR. GRAFTON:
To be left at the Orange Coffee House.
Mr. Grafton,
Sir,
I take the liberty to send you a novel, which a gentleman your acquaintance, said you would hand to him. I beg with expedition, as ’tis time it should be published, and ’tis requisite he should first revise it, or the reviewers may find a flaw.
I am, Sir,
Your obed serv,
THOS. LOWNDES.
Fleet Street, Jan. 7, 1778.
My aunts, now, would take no denial to my reading to them:, in order to make errata; and — to cut the matter short, I was compelled to communicate the affair to my cousin Edward, — and then to obey their commands. Of course, they were all prodigiously charmed with it. My cousin, now, became my agent,[as deputy to Charles,] with Mr. Lowndes, and, when I had made the errata, carried it to him.
The book, however, was not published till the latter end of the month. A thousand little [odd] incidents happened about this time, but I am not in a humour to recollect them; however, they were none of them productive of a discovery either to my father or mother.]
My cousins Richard and James past thro’ town this Christmas, in their way to Dover, and they spent six weeks in France: on their return, poor Richard was taken extremely ill, and obliged to continue in [town].... and be attended by Dr. Jebb. James is gone to Worcester, and Miss Humphries is come hither by way of nurse: he [Richard] is now very much recovered, thank God, and gone to Brumpton for a little change of air, and there he is to continue till he is able to return to Worcester.
March 26th.
I have now to trace some curious anecdotes for about a fortnight past.
My cousin Richard has continued gaining strength and health with a daily rapidity of recovery, that has almost as much astonished as it has delighted us, and that is saying very much, for his truly amiable behaviour during his residence here, has so much encreased the regard I always had for him, that I have never in my life been more heartily rejoiced than upon his restoration to his friends.
On Friday se’night, my mother accompanied my father to Streatham, on a visit to Mrs. Thrale for four or five days. We invited Edward to drink tea with us, and, upon the plan of a frolic, we determined upon going to Bell’s circulating Library, at which my father subscribes for new books, in order to ask some questions about Evelina, however, when we got to the shop, I was ashamed to speak about it, and only enquired for some magazines, at the backs of which I saw it advertised. But Edward, the moment I walked off, asked the shop-man if he had.. [my little book, I am told, is now at all the circulating libraries.
I have an exceeding odd sensation, when I consider that it is now in the power of any and every body to read what I so carefully hoarded even from my best friends, till this last month or two, — and that a work which was so lately lodged, in all privacy in my bureau, may now be seen by every butcher and baker, cobler and tinker, throughout the three kingdoms, for the small tribute of three pence.
My aunt Anne and Miss Humphries being settled at this time at Brompton, I was going thither, with Susan to tea when Charlotte acquainted me that they were then employed in reading Evelina — [to the invalid my cousin Richard.] My sister had recommended it to Miss Humphries, — and my aunts and Edward agreed that they would read it, but without mentioning anything of the author!]
Edward, therefore, bought, and took it with him to Brompton —
[This intelligence gave me the utmost uneasiness, — I foresaw a thousand dangers of a discovery; — I dreaded the indiscreet warmth of all my confidents,] and I would almost as soon have told the Morning Post Editor as Miss Humphries.
[In truth I was quite sick with apprehension — and was too uncomfortable to go to Brompton, and my Susan carried my excuses. —
Upon her return I was somewhat tranquillised, for she assured me that there was not the smallest suspicion of the author, and that they had concluded it to be the work of a man, and Miss Humphries, who read it aloud to Richard, said several things in its commendation, and concluded them by exclaiming—” It’s a thousand pities the author should lie concealed!”
Finding myself more safe than I had apprehended, I ventured to go to Brompton next day.
In my way upstairs I heard Miss Humphries reading, she was in the midst of Mr. Villars’ Letter of consolation upon Sir John Belmont’s rejection of his daughter, and, just as I entered the room, she cried out—” How pretty that is!” —
How much in luck would she have thought herself, had she known who heard her!
In a private confabulation which I had with my aunt Anne, she told me a thousand things that had been said in its praise, and assured me they had not for a moment doubted that the work was a man’s.
Comforted and made easy by these assurances, I longed for the diversion of hearing their observations, and therefore (though rather mal à propos) after I had been near two hours in the room, I told Miss Humphries that I was afraid I had interrupted her, and begged she would go on with what she was reading.
“Why,” cried she, taking up the book—” We have been prodigiously entertained” — and, very readily, she continued.
I must own I suffered great difficulty in refraining from laughing upon several occasions, — and several times, when they praised what they read, I was upon the point of saying— “You are very good!—” and so forth, and I could scarce keep myself from making acknowledgements, and bowing my head involuntarily.
However, I got off [perfectly] safely.
MONDAY, Susan and I went to tea at Brompton. We met Miss Humphries coming to town. She told us she had just finished— “Evelina” — and gave us to understand that she could not get away till she had done it. We heard afterwards, from my aunt, the most flattering praises, — and Richard could talk of nothing else! His encomiums gave me double pleasure, from being wholly unexpected: for I had prepared myself to hear that he held it extremely cheap. And I was yet more satisfied, because I was sure they were sincere, as he convinced me that he had not the most distant idea of suspicion, by finding great fault with Evelina herself for her bashfulness with such a man as Lord Orville.]—” A man,” continued he—” whose politeness is so extraordinary, — who is so elegant, so refined, — so — so — unaccountably polite, — for I can think of no [other] word. — I never read, never heard such language in my life! — and then, just as he is speaking to her, she is so confused, — that she [always] runs out of the room!”
[I could have answered him, that he ought to consider the original character of Evelina, — that she had been brought up in the strictest retirement, that she knew nothing of the world, and only acted from the impulses of Nature; and that her timidity always prevented her from daring to hope that Lord Orville was seriously attached to her. In short, I could have bid him read the Preface again, where she is called— “the offspring of Nature, and of Nature in her simplest attire” — but I feared appearing too well acquainted with the book, and I rejoiced that an unprejudiced reader should make no weightier objection.]
Edward walked home with us; I railed at him violently for having bought the book, and charged him to consult with me before he again put it into any body’s hands: but he told me he hoped that, as it had gone off so well, I should not regret it. Indeed he seems quite delighted at the approbation it has met with. He was extremely desirous that his brother should be made acquainted with the author, telling me that he wished to plead for him, but did not know how.
The next day, my father and mother returned to town. On Thursday morning, we went to a delightful Concert at Mr. Harris’s. The sweet Rauzini was there, and sung four Duets with Miss Louisa Harris. He has now left the Opera, where he is succeeded by Roncaglia. I was extremely delighted at meeting with him again, and again hearing him sing. La Motte, Cervetto,.... played several Quartettos divinely, and the morning afforded me th
e greatest entertainment.
There was nobody we knew but Lady Hales and Miss Coussmaker, who were as usual very civil.
Friday.
Miss Humphries, Charlotte, Edward and I went to the Oratorio of Judas Maccabeus. Oratorios I don’t love, so I shall say nothing of the performance. We were, also, a few nights since, at Giardini’s Benefit, and heard a most charming Concert —
Edward talked only of Evelina, and frequently —
[It seems, — to my utter amazement, Miss Humphries has guessed the author to be Anstey, who wrote the Bath Guide! — How improbable — and how extraordinary a supposition. But they have both of them done it so much honour that, but for Richard’s anger at Evelina’s bashfulness, I never could believe they did not suspect me.]
* * * * *
[As there are few better characters in comedy than that of clever Dick Burney, we tell what we have learned of him in a summary of some more of these hitherto unprinted pages from Fanny’s diary for 1778. His coxcombry was conscious, nay, intentional; he laughed at himself; he mimicked his own “airs and graces.” Then he had such an easy way of permitting rather than leading, ladies like the two whom we have met in these diaries, to show off their “airs and graces “ in a game of coquetry, played with scarce an approach to meaning, on their part; with none at all on his. In her dreary court-life Fanny was, at times, tormented by M. Guiffardière, “a half-witted French Protestant Minister, who talked oddly about conjugal fidelity,” and affected stormy gallantry towards herself. Once she writes that, “although I believe his rhodomontading to be quite as innocent as that of our cousin Richard, there is something in it, at times, too Violent for my nerves.”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 500