“Pray, Miss Burney, now you write so much, when do you intend to publish?”
“Publish?” cried Mr. Crisp, “why, she has published; she brought out a book the other day that has made a great noise ‘Evelina’ — and she bribed the reviewers to speak well of it, and set it a going.”
I was almost ready to run out of the room; but, though the hit was so palpable in regard to the book, what he said of the reviewers was so much the contrary that it checked my alarm: indeed, had he the most remote idea of the truth, he would be the last man to have hinted at it before a room full of people.
“Oh!” cried I, as composedly as I could, “that is but a small part of my authorship — I shall give you a list of my folios soon.”
They had all some jocularity upon the occasion, but I found I was perfectly safe; indeed my best security is, that my daddy concludes the author to be a man, and all the rest follow as he leads.
Mr. Burney, yesterday, after dinner, said— “Gentlemen and ladies, I’ll propose a toast”; then filling his glass, he drank “to The author of ‘Evelina’!”
Had they known the author was present, they could not have more civilly accepted the toast; it was a bold kind of drollery in Mr. Burney, for I was fain to drink my own health in a bumper, which he filled for me, laughing heartily himself.
August 3 — I have an immensity to write. Susan has copied me a letter which Mrs. Thrale has written to my father, upon the occasion of returning my mother two novels by Madame Riccoboni. It is so honourable to me, and so sweet in her, that I must COPY it for my faithful journal.
Streatham, July 22.
Dear Sir,
I forgot to give you the novels in your carriage, which I now send. “Evelina” certainly excels them far enough, both in probability of story, elegance of sentiment, and general power over the mind, whether exerted in humour or pathos; add to this, that Riccoboni is a veteran author, and all she ever can be; but I cannot tell what might not be expected from “Evelina,” were she to try her genius at comedy.
So far had I written of my letter, when Mr. Johnson returned home, full of the praises of the book I had lent him, and protesting there Were passages in it which Might do honour to Richardson. We talk of it for ever, and he feels ardent after the d’enouement; hee “could not get rid of the rogue,” he said. I lent him the second volume, and he is now busy with the other.
You must be more a philosopher, and less a father, than I wish you, not to be pleased with this letter; and the giving such pleasure yields to nothing but receiving it. Long, my dear sir, may you live to enjoy the just praises of your children! and long may they live to deserve and delight such a parent! These are things that you would say in verse — but poetry implies fiction, and all this is naked truth.
My compliments to Mrs. Burney, and kindest wishes to all your flock, etc.
How, sweet, how amiable in this charming woman is her desire of making my dear father satisfied with his scribbler’s attempt! I do, indeed, feel the most grateful love for her. But Dr. Johnson’s approbation! — It almost crazed me with agreeable surprise — it gave me such a flight of spirits that I danced a jig to Mr. Crisp, Without any preparation, music, or explanation; — to his no small amazement and diversion. I left him, however, to make his own comments upon my friskiness without affording him the smallest assistance.
Susan also writes me word, that when my father went last to Streatham, Dr. Johnson was not there, but Mrs. Thrale told him, that when he gave her the first volume of “Evelina,” which she had lent him, he said, “Why, madam, why, what a charming book you lent me!” and eagerly inquired for the rest. He was particularly pleased with the Snow-hill scenes, and said that Mr. Smith’s vulgar gentility was admirably portrayed; and when Sir Clement joins them, he said there was a shade of character prodigiously well marked. Well may it be said, that the greatest winds are ever the most candid to the inferior set! I think I should love Dr. Johnson for such lenity to a poor mere worm in literature, even if I were not myself the identical grub he has obliged.
I now come to last Saturday evening, when my beloved father came to Chesington, in full health, charming spirits, and all kindness, openness, and entertainment.
In his way hither he had stopped at Streatham, and he settled with Mrs. Thrale that he would call on her again in his way to town, and carry me with him! and Mrs. Thrale said, “We all long to know her.”
I have been in a kind of twitter ever since, for there seems something very formidable in the idea of appearing as an authoress! I ever dreaded it, as it is a title which must raise more expectations than I have any chance of answering. Yet I am highly flattered by her invitation, and highly delighted in the prospect of being introduced to the Streatham society.
She sent me some very serious advice to write for the theatre, as, she says, I so naturally run into conversations, that “Evelina” absolutely and plainly points out that path to me; and she hinted how much she should be pleased to be “honoured with my confidence.”
My dear father communicated this intelligence, and a great deal more, with a pleasure that almost surpassed that with which I heard it, and he seems quite eager for me to make another attempt. He desired to take upon himself the communication to my daddy Crisp, and as it is now in so many hands that it is possible accident might discover it to him, I readily consented.
Sunday evening, as I was going into my father’s room, I heard him say, “The variety of characters — the variety of scenes — and the language — why, she has had very little education but what she has given herself,-less than any of the others!” and Mr. Crisp exclaimed, “Wonderful! — it’s wonderful!”
I now found what was going forward, and therefore deemed it most fitting to decamp. About an hour after, as I was passing through the hall, I met my daddy (Crisp). His face was all animation and archness; he doubled his fist at me, and would have stopped me, but I ran past him into the parlour.
Before supper, however, I again met him, and he would not suffer me to escape; he caught both my hands, and looked as if he would have looked me through, and then exclaimed, “Why you little hussy, — you young devil! — an’t you ashamed to look me in the face, you Evelina, you! Why, what a dance have you led me about it! Young friend, indeed! O you little hussy, what tricks have you served me!”
I was obliged to allow of his running on with these gentle appellations for I know not how long, ere he could sufficiently compose himself after his great surprise, to ask or hear any particulars — and then, he broke out every three instants with exclamations of astonishment at how I had found time to write so much unsuspected, and how and where I had picked up such various materials; and not a few times did he, with me, as he had with my father, exclaim, “wonderful!”
He has, since, made me read him all my letters upon this subject. He said Lowndes would have made an estate had he given me one thousand pounds for it, and that he ought not to have given me less. “You have nothing to do now,” continued he, “but to take your pen in hand, for your fame and reputation are made, and any bookseller will snap at what you write.”
I then told him that I could not but really and unaffectedly regret that the affair was spread to Mrs. Williams and her friends.
“Pho,” said he, “if those who are proper judges think it right, that it should be known, why should you trouble yourself about it? You have not spread it, there can be no imputation of vanity fall to your share, and it cannot come out more to your honour than through such a channel as Mrs. Thrale.”
A FIRST VISIT TO MRS. THRALE AND AN INTRODUCTION To DR. JOHNSON.
[An introduction to Mrs. Thrale was practically an
introduction into the most brilliant literary circle of the
day. Literary lions of all sizes, from the monarch Johnson
downwards, were wont to resort to Streatham, to eat Thrale’s
dinners, and to enjoy the conversation of his lively wife.
At Streatham Dr. Burney had been a welcome guest s
ince 1776,
when he commenced his intimacy with the family by giving
music lessons to the eldest daughter, Hester Thrale
(Johnson’s “Queenie”). The head of the house, Henry Thrale,
the wealthy brewer and member of Parliament for Southwark,
was a sensible, unassuming man, whom Johnson loved and
esteemed, and who returned Johnson’s attachment with the
sincerest regard. His acquirements, in Johnson’s opinion
were of a far more solid character than those Of his wife,
whose wit and vivacity, however, gave her more distinction
in those brilliant assemblies to which Fanny is now, for the
first time, to be introduced. Mrs. Thrale was in her
thirty-eighth year at the date of Fanny’s first visit. — ED.]
August. — I have now to write an account of the most consequential day I have spent since my birth: namely, my visit.
Our journey to Streatham, was the least pleasant part of the day, for the roads were dreadfully dusty, and I was really in the fidgets from thinking what my reception might be, and from fearing they would expect a less awkward and backward kind of person than I was sure they would find.
Mr. Thrale’s house is white, and very pleasantly situated, in a fine paddock. Mrs. Thrale was strolling about, and came to us as we got out of the chaise.
“Ah,” cried she, “I hear Dr. Burney’s voice! and you have brought your daughter? — well, now you are good!”
She then received me, taking both my hands, and with mixed politeness and cordiality welcoming me to Streatham. She led me into the house, and addressed herself almost wholly for a few minutes to my father, as if to give me an assurance she did not mean to regard me as a show, or to distress or frighten me by drawing me out. Afterwards she took me upstairs, and showed me the house, and said she had very much wished to see me at Streatham, and should always think herself much obliged to Dr. Burney for his goodness in bringing me, which she looked upon as a very great favour.
But though we were some time together, and though she was so very civil, she did not hint at my book, and I love her much more than ever for her delicacy in avoiding a subject which she could not but see would have greatly embarrassed me.
When we returned to the music-room, we found Miss Thrale was with my father. Miss Thrale is a very fine girl, about fourteen years of age, but cold and reserved, though full of knowledge and intelligence.
Soon after, Mrs. Thrale took me to the library; she talked a little while upon common topics, and then, at last, she mentioned “Evelina.”
“Yesterday at supper,” said she, “we talked it all over, and discussed all your characters — but Dr. Johnson’s favourite is Mr. Smith. He declares the fine gentleman manqué was never better drawn; and he acted him all the evening, saying he was ‘all for the ladies!’ He repeated whole scenes by heart. I declare I was astonished at him. O, you can’t imagine how much he is pleased with the book; he ‘could not get rid of the rogue,’ he told me. But was it not droll,” said she, “that I should recommend it to Dr. Burney? and tease him, so innocently, to read it?”
I now prevailed upon Mrs. Thrale to let me amuse myself, and she went to dress. I then prowled about to choose some book and I saw upon the reading-table, “Evelina.” — I had just fixed upon a new translation of Cicero’s “Laelius,” when the library-door was opened, and Mr. Seward entered. I instantly put away my book, because I dreaded being thought studious and affected. He offered his service to find anything for me, and then, in the same breath, ran on to speak of the work with which I had myself ‘favoured the world!’
The exact words he began with I cannot recollect, for I was actually confounded by the attack; and his abrupt manner of letting me know he was au fait equally astonished and provoked me. How different from the delicacy of Mr. and Mrs. Thrale.
When we were summoned to dinner, Mrs. Thrale made my father and me sit on each side of her. I said that I hoped I did not take Dr. Johnson’s place; — for he had not yet appeared.
“No,” answered Mrs. Thrale, “he will sit by you, which I am sure will give him great pleasure.”
Soon after we were seated, this great man entered. I have so true a veneration for him, that the very sight of him inspires me with delight and reverence, notwithstanding the cruel infirmities to which he is subject; for he has almost perpetual convulsive movements, either of his hands, lips, feet, or knees, and sometimes of all together.
Mrs. Thrale introduced me to him, and he took his place. We had a noble dinner, and a most elegant dessert. Dr. Johnson, in the middle of dinner, asked Mrs. Thrale what were some little pies that were near him.
“Mutton,” answered she, “so I don’t ask you to eat any, because I know you despise it.”
“No, madam, no,” cried he, “I despise nothing that is so good of its sort; but I am too proud now to eat of it. Sitting by Miss Burney makes me very proud to-day!”
“Miss Burney,” said Mrs. Thrale, laughing, “you must take care of your heart if Dr. Johnson attacks it for I assure you he is not often successless.”
“What’s that you say, madam?” cried he; “are you making mischief between the young lady and me already?”
A little while after he drank Miss Thrale’s health and mine, and then added: “Tis a terrible thing that we cannot wish young ladies well, without wishing them to become old women!”
“But some people,” said Mr. Seward, “are old and young at the same time, for they wear so well that they never look old.”
“No, sir, no,” cried the doctor, laughing; “that never yet was; you might as well say they are at the same time tall and short. I remember an epitaph to that purpose, which is in—”
(I have quite forgot what, — and also the name it was made upon, but the rest I recollect exactly:)
“ —— lies buried here;
So early wise, so lasting fair,
That none, unless her years you told,
Thought her a child, or thought her old.”
We left Streatham at about eight o’clock, and Mr. Seward, who handed me into the chaise, added his interest to the rest, that my father would not fail to bring me next week. In short I was loaded with civilities from them all. And my ride home was equally happy with the rest of the day, for my kind and most beloved father was so happy in my happiness, and congratulated me so sweetly, that he could, like myself, think on no other subject: and he told me that, after passing through such a house as that, I could have nothing to fear — meaning for my book, my honoured book.
Yet my honours stopped not here; for Hetty, who, with her sposo, was here to receive us, told me she had lately met Mrs. Reynolds, sister of Sir Joshua; and that she talked very much and very highly of a new novel called “Evelina”; though without a shadow of suspicion as to the scribbler; and not contented with her own praise, she said that Sir Joshua, who began it one day when he was too much engaged to go on with it, was so much caught, that he could think of nothing else, and was quite absent all the day, not knowing a word that was said to him: and, when he took it up again, found himself so much interested in it, that he sat up all night to finish it! Sir Joshua, it seems, vows he would give fifty pounds to know the author! I have also heard, by the means of Charles, that other persons have declared they will find him out!
FANNY BURNEY INTERVIEWS HER PUBLISHER.
This intelligence determined me upon going myself to Mr. Lowndes, and discovering what sort of answers he made to such curious inquirers as I found were likely to address him. But as I did not dare trust myself to speak, for I felt that I should not be able to act my part well, I asked my mother to accompany me. We introduced ourselves by buying the book, for which I had a commission from Mrs. G —— . Fortunately Mr. Lowndes himself was in the shop; as we found by his air of consequence and authority, as well as his age; for I never saw him before.
The moment he had given my mother the book, she asked him if he
could tell her who wrote it.
“No,” he answered; “I don’t know myself.”
“Pho, pho,” said she, “you mayn’t choose to tell, but you must know.”
“I don’t indeed, ma’am,” answered he “I have no honour in keeping the secret, for I have never been trusted. All I know of the matter is, that it is a gentleman of the other end of the town.”
MY mother made a thousand other inquiries, to which his answers were to the following effect: that for a great while, he did not know if it was a man or a woman; but now, he knew that much, and that he was a master of his subject, and well versed in the manners of the times.
“For some time,” continued he, “I thought it had been Horace Walpole’s; for he once published a book in this snug manner; but I don’t think it is now. I have often people come to inquire of me who it is; but I suppose he will come Out soon, and then when the rest of the world knows it, I shall. Servants often come for it from the other end of the town, and I have asked them divers questions myself, to see if I could get at the author but I never got any satisfaction.”
Just before we came away, upon my mother’s still further pressing him, he said, with a most important face,
“Why, to tell you the truth, madam, I have been informed that it is a piece of real secret history; and, in that case, it will never be known.”
This was too much for me — I grinned irresistibly, and was obliged to look out at the shop-door till we came away.
How many ridiculous things have I heard upon this subject! I hope that next, some particular family will be fixed upon, to whom this secret history must belong! However, I am delighted to find myself so safe.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 521