I half laughed, but was perplexed in my own mind whether to be sad or merry at such a speech.
“But then,” she continued, “after making, should I lose such a friend, I would not survive.”
“Not survive?” repeated I, “what can you mean?”
She looked down, but said nothing.
“Surely you cannot mean,” said I, very gravely indeed, “to put a violent end to your life.”
“I should not,” said she, again looking up, “hesitate a moment.”
I was quite thunderstruck, and for some time could not say a word; but when I did speak, it was in a style of exhortation so serious and earnest, I am ashamed to write it to you, lest you should think it too much.
She gave me an attention that was even respectful, but when I urged her to tell me by what right she thought herself entitled to rush unlicensed on eternity, she said, “By the right of believing I shall be extinct.” I really felt horror-struck.
“Where, for heaven’s sake,” I cried, “where have you picked up such dreadful reasoning?”
“In Hume,” said she; “I have read his Essays repeatedly.”
“I am sorry to find they have power to do so much mischief; you should not have read them, at least till a man equal to Hume in abilities had answered him. Have you read any more infidel writers?”
“Yes, Bolingbroke, the divinest of all writers.”
“And do you read nothing upon the right side?”
“Yes, the bible, till I was sick to death of it, every Sunday evening to my mother.”
Have you read Beattie on the Immutability of Truth?”
“No.”
“Give me leave then to recommend it to you. After Hume’s Essays you ought to read it. And even for lighter reading, if you were to look at Mason’s ‘Elegy on Lady Coventry,’ it might be of no disservice to you.”
This was the chief of our conversation, which indeed made an impression upon me I shall not easily get rid of. A young and agreeable infidel is even a shocking sight, and with her romantic, flighty, and unguarded turn of mind, what could happen to her that could give surprise?
BALL-ROOM FLIRTATIONS.
Friday. — In the evening was the last ball expected to be at Bath this season, and therefore knowing we could go to no other, it was settled we should go to this. Of our party were Mrs. Byron and Augusta, Miss Philips, and Charlotte Lewis.
Mrs. Byron was placed at the upper end of the room by Mr. Tyson, because she is honourable, and her daughter next to her; I, of course, the lowest of our party; but the moment Mr. Tyson had arranged us, Augusta arose, and nothing would satisfy her but taking a seat not only next to but below me; nor could I for my life get the better of the affectionate humility with which she quite supplicated me to be content. She was soon after followed by Captain Brisbane, a young officer who had met her in Spring Gardens, and seemed much struck with her, and was now presented to her by Mr. Tyson for her partner.
Captain Brisbane is a very pretty sort of young man, but did not much enliven us. Soon after I perceived Captain Bouchier, who, after talking some time with Mrs. Thrale, and various parties, made up to us, and upon Augusta’s being called upon to dance a minuet, took her place, and began a very lively sort of chit-chat.
I had, however, no small difficulty to keep him from abusing my friend Augusta. He had once danced with her, and their commerce had not been much to her advantage. I defended her upon the score of her amiable simplicity and unaffected ingenuousness, but I could not have the courage to contradict him when he said he had no notion she was very brilliant by the conversation he had had with her. Augusta, indeed, is nothing less than brilliant: but she is natural, artless, and very affectionate. Just before she went to dance her minuet, upon my admiring her bouquet, which was the most beautiful in the room, she tore from it the only two moss roses in it, and so spoilt it all before her exhibition, merely that I might have the best of it.
Country dances were now preparing, and after a little further chat, Captain Bouchier asked me for the honour of my hand, but I had previously resolved not to dance, and therefore declined his offer. But he took, of the sudden, a fancy to prate with me, and therefore budged not after the refusal.
He told me this was the worst ball for company there had been the whole season; and, with a wicked laugh that was too significant to be misunderstood, said, “And, as you have been to no other, perhaps you will give this for a specimen of a Bath ball!”
He told me he had very lately met with Hannah More, and then mentioned Mrs. Montagu and Mrs. Carter, whence he took occasion to say most high and fine things of the ladies of the present age, — their writings, and talents; and I soon found he had no small reverence for us blue-stockings.
About this time Charlotte, who had confessedly dressed herself for dancing, but whose pretty face had by some means been overlooked, drawled towards us, and asked me why I would not dance?
“I never intended it,” said I, “but I hoped to have seen you.”
“No,” said she, yawning, “no more shall I, — I don’t choose.”
“Don’t you?” said Captain Bouchier, dryly, “why not?
“Why, because I don’t like it.”
“O fie!” cried he; “consider how cruel that is.”
“I must consider myself,” said she, pertly; “for I don’t choose to heat myself this hot weather.”
Just then a young man came forward, and requested her hand. She coloured, looked excessively silly, and walked off with him to join the dancers. When, between the dances, she came our way, he plagued her, a la Sir Clement.
“Well,” cried he, “so you have been dancing this hot night! I thought you would have considered yourself better?”
“Oh,” said she, “I could not help it — I had much rather not; — it was quite disagreeable to me.”
“No, no, — pardon me there!” said he, maliciously; “I saw pleasure dance first in your eyes; I never saw you look more delighted: you were quite the queen of smiles!”
She looked as if she could have killed him; and yet, from giddiness and good-humour, was compelled to join in the laugh.
After this we went to tea. When that was over, and we all returned to the ball-room, Captain Bouchier followed me, and again took a seat next mine, which he kept, without once moving, the whole night.
He again applied to me to dance, but I was more steady than Charlotte; and he was called upon, and reproached by Captain Brisbane and others for sitting still when there were so few dancers; but he told them he could not endure being pressed into the service, or serving at all under the master of the ceremonies.
Well, I have no more time for particulars, though we had much more converse; for so it happened that we talked all the evening almost together, as Mrs. Thrale and Mrs. Byron were engaged with each other: Miss Thrale, who did not dance, was fairly jockeyed out of her place next me by Captain Bouchier, and the other young ladies were with their partners. Before we broke up, this captain asked me if I should be at the play next night?— “Yes,” I could not but say, as we had had places taken some time; but I did not half like it, for his manner of asking plainly implied, “If you go, why I will!”
When we made our exit, he saw me safe out of the rooms, with as much attention as if we had actually been partners. As we were near home we did not get into chairs; and Mr. Travell joined us in our walk.
“Why, what a flirtation,” cried Mrs. Thrale; “why, Burney, this is a man of taste! — Pray, Mr. Travell, will it do? What has he.”
“Twenty thousand pounds, ma’am,” answered the beau.
“O ho! has he so? — Well, well, we’ll think of it.”
Finding her so facetious, I determined not to acquaint her with the query concerning the play, knowing that, if I did, and he appeared there, she would be outrageous in merriment. She is a most dear creature, but never restrains her tongue in anything, nor, indeed, any of her feelings: — she laughs, cries, scolds, sports, reasons, makes fun, — does ever
ything she has an inclination to do, without any study of prudence, or thought of blame; and pure and artless as is this character, it often draws both herself and others into scrapes, which a little discretion would avoid.
FURTHER FLIRTATIONS.
Saturday morning I spent in visiting. At dinner we had Mrs. Lambart and Colonel Campbell. All the discourse was upon Augusta Byron’s having made a conquest of Captain Brisbane, and the match was soon concluded upon, — at least, they all allowed it would be decided this night, when she was to go with us to the play; and if Captain Brisbane was there, why then he was in for it, and the thing was done.
Well — Augusta came at the usual time; Colonel Campbell took leave, but Mrs. Lambart accompanied us to the play: and, in the lobby, the first object we saw was Captain Brisbane. He immediately advanced to us, and, joining our party, followed us into our box.
Nothing could equal the wickedness of Mrs. Thrale and Mrs. Lambart; they smiled at each other with such significance! Fortunately, however, Augusta did not observe them.
Well, we took our seats, and Captain Brisbane, by getting into the next box, on a line with ours, placed himself next to Augusta: but hardly had Mrs. T. and L. composed their faces, ere I heard the box-door open. Every one looked round but me, and I had reasons for avoiding such curiosity, — reasons well enough founded, for instantly grins, broader than before, widened the mouths of the two married ladies, while even Miss Thrale began a titter that half choaked her, and Augusta, nodding to me with an arch smirk, said, “Miss Burney, I wish you joy!”
To be sure I could have no doubt who entered, but, very innocently, I demanded of them all the cause of their mirth. They scrupled not explaining themselves; and I found my caution, in not mentioning the query that had been put to me, availed me nothing, for the captain was already a marked man in my service!
He placed himself exactly behind me, but very quietly and silently, and did not, for some minutes, speak to me; afterwards, however, he did a little, — except when my favourite, Mr. Lee, who acted Old Norval, in “Douglas,” was on the stage, and then he was strictly silent. I am in no cue to write our discourse; but it was pleasant and entertaining enough at the time, and his observations upon the play and the players were lively and comical. But I was prodigiously worried by my own party, who took every opportunity to inquire how I was entertained and so forth, — and to snigger.
Two young ladies, who seemed about eighteen, and sat above us were so much shocked by the death of Douglas, that both burst into a loud fit of roaring, like little children, — and sobbed on, afterwards, for almost half the farce! I was quite astonished; and Miss Weston complained that they really disturbed her sorrows; but Captain Bouchier was highly diverted, and went to give them comfort, as if they had been babies, telling them it was all over, and that they need not cry any more.
Monday. — At breakfast, Mrs. Thrale said,
“Ah, you never tell me your love-secrets, but I could tell you one if I chose it!”
This produced entreaties — and entreaties thus much further —
“Why, I know very well who is in love with Fanny Burney!”
I told her that was more than I did, but owned it was not difficult to guess who she meant, though I could not tell what.
“Captain Bouchier,” said she. “But you did not tell me so, nor he either; I had it from Mr. Tyson, our master of the ceremonies, who told me you made a conquest of him at the ball; and he knows these matters pretty well; ’tis his trade to know them.”
“Well-a-day!” quoth I—”’tis unlucky we did not meet a little sooner, for this very day he is ordered away with his troop into Norfolk.”
BATH EASTON AND SCEPTICAL MISS W ——
Thursday, June 8. — We went to Bath Easton. Mrs. Lambart went with us.
The house is charmingly situated, well fitted up, convenient, and pleasant, and not large, but commodious and elegant. Thursday is still their public day for company, though the business of the vase is over for this season.
The room into which we were conducted was so much crowded we could hardly make our way. Lady Miller came to the door, and, as she had first done to the rest of us, took my hand, and led me up to a most prodigious fat old lady, and introduced me to her. This was Mrs. Riggs, her ladyship’s mother, who seems to have Bath Easton and its owners under her feet.
I was smiled upon with a graciousness designedly marked, and seemed most uncommonly welcome. Mrs. Riggs looked as if she could have shouted for joy at sight of me! She is mighty merry and facetious, Sir John was very quiet, but very civil.
I saw the place appropriated for the vase, but at this time it was removed. As it was hot, Sir John Miller offered us to walk round the house, and see his greenhouse, etc. So away we set off, Harriet Bowdler accompanying me, and some others following.
We had not strolled far ere we were overtaken by another party, and among them I perceived Miss W — my new sceptical friend. She joined me immediately, and I found she was by no means in so sad a humour as when I saw her last, on the contrary, she seemed flightily gay.
“Were you never here before?” she asked me.
“No.”
“No? why what an acquisition you are then! I suppose you will contribute to the vase?”
“No, indeed!”
“No more you ought; you are quite too good for it.”
“No, not that; but I have no great passion for making the trial. You, I suppose, have contributed?”
“No, never — I can’t. I have tried, but I could never write verses in my life — never get beyond Cupid and stupid.”
“Did Cupid, then, always come in your way? what a mischievous urchin!”
“No, he has not been very mischievous to me this year.”
“Not this year? Oh, very well! He has spared you, then, for a whole twelvemonth!”
She laughed, and we were interrupted by more company.
Some time after, while I was talking with Miss W — and Harriet Bowdler, Mrs. Riggs came up to us, and with an expression of comical admiration, fixed her eyes upon me, and for some time amused herself with apparently watching me. Mrs. Lambart, who was at cards, turned round and begged me to give her her cloak, for she felt rheumatic; I could not readily find it, and, after looking some time, I was obliged to give her my own; but while I was hunting, Mrs. Riggs followed me, laughing, nodding, and looking much delighted, and every now and then saying,
“That’s right, Evelina — Ah! look for it, Evelina! — Evelina always did so — she always looked for people’s cloaks, and was obliging and well-bred!”
I grinned a little, to be sure, but tried to escape her, by again getting between Miss W — and Harriet Bowdler; but Mrs. Riggs still kept opposite to me, expressing from time to time, by uplifted hands and eyes, comical applause, Harriet Bowdler modestly mumbled some praise, but addressed it to Miss Thrale. I begged a truce, and retired to a chair in a corner, at the request of Miss W — to have a tete-a-tete, for which, however, her strange levity gave me no great desire. She begged to know if I had written anything else. I assured her never.
“The ‘Sylph,’” said she, “I am told, was yours.”
“I had nothing at all to do with that or anything else that ever was published but ‘Evelina;’ you, I suppose, read the ‘Sylph’ for its name’s sake?”
“No; I never read novels — I hate them; I never read ‘Evelina’ till I was quite persecuted by hearing it talked of. ‘Sir Charles Grandison’ I tried once, but could not bear it; Sir Charles for a lover! no lover for me! for a guardian or the trustee of an estate, he might do very well — but for a lover!”
“What — when he bows upon your hand! would not that do?”
She kept me by her side for a full hour, and we again talked over our former conversation; and I enquired what first led her to seeking infidel books?
“Pope,” she said; he was himself a deist, she believed, and his praise of Bolingbroke made her mad to read his books, and then the rest followed e
asily. She also gave me an account of her private and domestic life; of her misery at home, her search of dissipation, and her incapability of happiness.
CURIOSITY ABOUT THE “EVELINA” SET.
Our conversation would have lasted till leave-taking, but for our being interrupted by Miss Miller, a most beautiful little girl of ten years old. Miss W — begged her to sing us a French song. She coquetted, but Mrs. Riggs came to us, and said if I wished it I did her grand-daughter great honour, and she insisted upon her obedience. The little girl laughed and complied, and we went into another room to hear her, followed by the Misses Caldwell. She sung in a pretty childish manner enough.
When we became more intimate, she said,
“Ma’am, I have a great favour to request of you, if you please!”
I begged to know what it was, and assured her I would grant it; and to be out of the way of these misses, I led her to the window.
“Ma’am,” said the little girl, “will you then be so good as to tell me where Evelina is now?”
I was a little surprised at the question, and told her I had not heard lately.
“Oh, ma’am, but I am sure you know!” cried she, “for you know you wrote it; and mamma was so good as to let me hear her read it; and pray, ma’am, do tell me where she is? and whether Miss Branghton and Miss Polly went to see her when she was married to Lord Orville?”
I promised her I would inquire, and let her know.
“And pray, ma’am, is Madame Duval with her now?”
And several other questions she asked me, with a childish simplicity that was very diverting. She took the whole for a true story, and was quite eager to know what was become of all the people. And when I said I would inquire, and tell her when we next met.
“Oh, but, ma’am,” she said, “had not you better write it down, because then there would be more of it, you know?”
ALARM AT THE “NO POPERY” RIOTS.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 534