Afterwards, speaking of the Irish giant, who is now shown in town, he said, —
“He is so large I am as a baby! I look at him — oh! I find myself so little as a child! Indeed, my indignation it rises when I see him hold up his hand so high. I am as nothing; and I find myself in the power of a man who fetches from me half a crown.”
This language, which is all spoke very pompously by him, sounds comical from himself, though I know not how it may read.
SECT. 5 (1782-3-4-)
“CECILIA”: A PAEAN OF PRAISE: LAMENTATIONS.
[“This is the last visit remembered, or, at least, narrated,
of Streatham.” With these words Madame D’Arblay concludes
the account given in the “Memoirs of Dr. Burney,” of her
meeting with General Paoli. In the autumn Of 1782 Mrs.
Thrale went, with her daughters and Dr. Johnson, to
Brighthelmstone, where Fanny joined them. On their return
to London, November 20, the Thrales settled for the winter
in Argyle-street, and Fanny repaired to her father’s
residence in St. Martin’s-street. She saw much of Mrs.
Thrale during the winter, but in the following April that
lady quitted London for Bath, where she resided until her
marriage with Signor Piozzi in the summer of 1784. She
maintained an affectionate correspondence with Fanny until
after the marriage, but from the date of their parting in
London, they saw no more of each other, except for one brief
interval in May, 1784, for several years.
We must here give an account, as concise as possible, of the
transaction which was so bitterly resented by the friends of
Mrs. Thrale, but in which her conduct seems to us, taking
all the circumstances fairly into consideration, to have
been less deserving of condemnation than their
uncharitableness. She had first seen Piozzi, an Italian
singer, at a party at Dr. Burney’s in 1777, and her
behaviour to him on that occasion had certainly afforded no
premonition of her subsequent infatuation. Piozzi, who was
nearly of the same age as herself, was, as Miss Seward
describes him, “a handsome man, with gentle, pleasing,
unaffected manners, and with very eminent skill in his
profession.” He was requested by Dr. Burney to sing; rather
unfortunately, it would appear, for the company, which
included Johnson and the Grevilles, was by no means composed
of musical enthusiasts, and Mrs. Thrale, in particular,
“knew not a flat from a sharp, nor a crotchet from a
quaver.” However, he complied; and Mrs. Thrale, after
sitting awhile in silence, finding the proceedings dull, was
seized with a desire to enliven them. “In a fit of utter
recklessness, she suddenly, but softly, arose, and stealing
on tiptoe behind Signor Piozzi, who was accompanying himself
on the pianoforte to an animated aria parlante, with his
back to the company and his face to the wall, she
ludicrously began imitating him by squaring her elbows,
elevating them with ecstatic shrugs of the shoulders, and
casting up her eyes, while languishingly reclining her head;
as if she were not less enthusiastically, though somewhat
more suddenly, struck with the transports of harmony than
himself.
“But the amusement which such an unlooked-for exhibition —
caused to the party, was momentary; for Dr. Burney, shocked
lest the poor signor should observe, and be hurt by this
mimicry, glided gently round to Mrs. Thrale, and, with
something between pleasantry and severity, whispered to her,
‘Because, madam, you have no ear yourself for music, will
you destroy the attention of all who, in that one point, are
otherwise gifted?’”
This deserved rebuke the lively lady took in perfectly good
part, and the incident passed without further notice. She
does not appear to have met with Piozzi again, Until, in
July, 1780, she picked him up at Brighton. She now
finds him “amazingly like her father,” and insists that he
shall teach Hester music. From this point the fever
gradually increased. In August, 1781, little more than four
months after her husband’s death, Piozzi has become “a
prodigious favourite” with her; she has even developed a
taste for his music, which “fills the mind with emotions one
would not be without, though inconvenient enough sometimes.”
In the spring Of 1783, soon after her arrival at Bath, they
were formally engaged, but the urgent remonstrances of her
friends and family caused the engagement to be broken off,
and Piozzi went to Italy. Her infatuation, however, was too
strong to be overcome. Under the struggle, long protracted,
her health gave way, and at length, by the advice of her
doctor, and with the sullen consent of Miss Thrale, Piozzi
was summoned to Bath. He, too, had been faithful, and he
lost no time in obeying the summons. They were married,
according to the Roman Catholic rites, in London, and again,
on the 25th of July, 1784, in a Protestant church at Bath,
her three elder daughters, of whom the eldest, Hester
(“Queeny”), was not yet twenty years of age, having quitted
Bath before his arrival.
Mrs. Piozzi left England with her husband and her youngest
daughter, Cecilia, and lived for some years in Italy, where
she compiled her well known “Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson.” Her
wedded life with Piozzi was certainly happy, and he gave her
no reason to repent the step she had taken. The indignation
of her former friends, especially of Dr. Johnson, was
carried to a length which, the cause being considered,
appears little short of ridiculous. Mrs. Thrale’s second
marriage may have been ill-advised, but it was neither
criminal nor disgraceful. Piozzi was incontestably a
respectable man and a constant lover; but that an Italian
musician, who depended upon his talents for his livelihood,
should become the husband of the celebrated Mrs. Thrale, and
the stepfather of four young ladies of fashion, the
daughters of a brewer, and the heiresses to his large
fortune, — there was the rub! The dislike of Dr. Johnson and
his friends to the marriage was, from a worldly point of
view, justifiable enough, but it argues ill for their
generosity of mind that they should have attached such
overwhelming importance to such petty considerations. Mrs.
Piozzi has been blamed for deserting her three elder
daughters; but the fact is, it was her daughters who
deserted her, and refused to recognise her husband. Her
only fault, if fault it can be called, was in declining to
sacrifice the whole happiness of her life to the supposed
requirements of their rank in society. In condemning her
friends for their severity and illiberality, we must,
however, make an exception in favour of Fanny. She, like
the rest, had been averse to the match, but her cordiality
to Mrs. Piozzi remained undiminished; and when, soon after
the marriage, their correspondence was discontinued, to be
renewed only after the lapse
of many years, it was not
Fanny, but Mrs. Piozzi, who broke it off, instigated, Fanny
always believed, by her husband.
Her separation from Mrs. Thrale was not the only event which
brought sorrow to Fanny during the years to which the
following section of the Diary relates. Mr. Crisp, the
person dearest to her of all human beings outside her own
family, died at Chesington, of an attack of his old malady,
the gout, on the 24th of April, 1783, aged seventy-five.
Fanny and Susan were with him at the last, and Fanny’s love
was rewarded, her anguish soothed yet deepened, when, almost
with his dying breath, her Daddy Crisp called her “the
dearest thing to him on earth.”
Towards the end of 1784 another heavy blow fell upon Fanny,
in the loss of Dr. Johnson, who died on the 13th of
December. The touching references in the Diary to his last
illness form an interesting supplement to Boswell’s
narrative.
But the picture of Fanny’s life during these years is not
without bright touches. As such we may reckon the great,
and deserved success of her novel, “Cecilia”; the
commencement of her acquaintance with two ladies who were
hereafter to be numbered among her dearest friends — the
venerable Mrs. Delany, and Mrs. Locke, of Norbury Park,
Surrey; and last, not least, the growing intimacy between
Edmund Burke and the family of Dr. Burney. — ED.]
AT BRIGHTON AGAIN, THE “FAmous Miss BURNEY.”
Brighthelmstone, Oct. 26.
My journey was incidentless — but the moment I came into Brighthelmstone I was met by Mrs. Thrale, who had most eagerly been waiting for me a long while, and therefore I dismounted, and walked home with her. It would be very superfluous to tell you how she received me, for you cannot but know, from her impatient letters, what I had reason to expect of kindness and welcome.
Dr. Johnson received me, too, with his usual goodness, and with a salute so loud, that the two young beaus, Cotton and Swinerton, have never done laughing about it.
Mrs. Thrale spent two or three hours in my room, talking over all her affairs, and then we wished each other bon repos, and — retired. Grandissima conclusion!
Oh, but let me not forget that a fine note came from Mr. Pepys, who is here with his family, saying he was pressde de vivre, and entreating to see Mrs. and Miss T., Dr. Johnson, and Cecilia at his house the next day. I hate mightily this method of naming me from my heroines, of whose honour I think I am more jealous than of my own.
Oct. 27 — The Pepyses came to visit me in form, but I was dressing; in the evening, however, Mrs. and Miss T. took me to them. Dr. Johnson would not go; he told me it was my day, and I should be crowned, for Mr. Pepys was wild about “Cecilia.” We found at Mr. Pepys’ nobody but his wife, his brother, Dr. Pepys, and Dr. Pepys’ lady, Countess of Rothes. Mr. Pepys received me with such distinction, that it was very evident how much the book, with the most flattering opinion of it, was in his head; however, he behaved very prettily, and only mentioned it by allusions; most particularly upon the character of Meadows, which he took various opportunities of pronouncing to be the “best hit possible” upon the present race of fine gentlemen. We did not stay with them long, but called upon Miss Benson, and proceeded to the rooms. Mr. Pepys was very unwilling to part with us, and wanted to frighten me from going, by saying, —
“And has Miss Burney the courage to venture to the Rooms? I wonder she dares!”
I did not seem to understand him, though to mistake him was impossible. However, I thought of him again when I was at the rooms, for most violent was the staring and whispering as I passed and repassed! insomuch that I shall by no means be in any haste to go again to them. Susan and Sophy Thrale, who were with their aunt, Mrs. Scott, told Queeny upon our return that they heard nothing said, whichever way they turned, but “That’s she!” “That’s the famous Miss Burney!” I shall certainly escape going any more, if it is in my power.
Monday, Oct. 28. — Mr. Pepys had but just left me, when Mrs. Thrale sent Susan with a particular request to see me in her dressing-room, where I found her with a milliner.
“Oh, Miss Burney,” she cried, “I could not help promising Mrs. Cockran that she should have a sight of you — she has begged it so hard.”
You may believe I stared; and the woman, whose eyes almost looked ready to eat me, eagerly came up to me, exclaiming, —
“Oh, ma’am, you don’t know what a favour this is to see you! I have longed for it so long! It is quite a comfort to me, indeed. Oh, ma’am, how clever you must be! All the ladies I deal with are quite distracted about ‘Cecilia,’ — and I got it myself. Oh, ma’am, how sensible you must be! It does my heart good to see you.”
DR. JOHNSON DOGMATISES.
Oct. 29. — We had a large party at home in the evening. I was presently engaged by Mr. Pepys, and he was joined by Mr. Coxe, and he by Miss Benson. Mr. Pepys led the conversation, and it was all upon criticism and poetry. The little set was broken up by my retreat, and Mr. Pepys joined Dr. Johnson, with whom he entered into an argument upon some lines of Gray, and upon Pope’s definition of wit, in which he was so roughly confuted, and so severely ridiculed, that he was hurt and piqued beyond all power of disguise, and, in the midst of the discourse, suddenly turned from him, and, wishing Mrs. Thrale good night, very abruptly withdrew.
Dr. Johnson was certainly right with respect to the argument and to reason; but his opposition was so warm, and his wit so satirical and exulting, that I was really quite grieved to see how unamiable he appeared, and how greatly he made himself dreaded by all, and by many abhorred. What pity that he will not curb the vehemence of his love of victory and superiority.
The sum of the dispute was this. Wit being talked of, Mr. Pepys repeated, —
“True wit is Nature to advantage dress’d,
What oft was thought, but ne’er so well express’d.”
“That, sir,” cried Dr. Johnson, “is a definition both false and foolish. Let wit be dressed how it will, it will equally be wit, and neither the more nor the less for any advantage dress can give it.”
Mr. P.-But, sir, may not wit be so ill expressed, and so obscure, by a bad speaker, as to be lost?
Dr. J.-The fault, then, sir, must be with the hearer. If a man cannot distinguish wit from words, he little deserves to hear it.
Mr. P.-But, sir, what Pope means —
Dr. J.-Sir, what Pope means, if he means what he says, is both false and foolish. In the first place, ‘what oft was thought,’ is all the worse for being often thought, because to be wit, it ought to be newly thought.
Mr. P.-But, sir, ’tis the expression makes it new.
Dr. J.-How can the expression make it new? It may make it clear, or may make it elegant — but how new? You are confounding words with things.
Mr. P.-But, sir, if one man says a thing very ill, may not another man say it so much better that —
Dr. J.-That other man, sir, deserves but small praise for the amendment; he is but the tailor to the first man’s thoughts.
Mr. P.-True, sir, he may be but the tailor; but then the difference is as great as between a man in a gold lace suit and a man in a blanket.
Dr. J.-Just so, sir, I thank you for that; the difference is precisely such, since it consists neither in the gold lace suit nor the blanket, but in the man by whom they are worn.
This was the summary; the various contemptuous sarcasms intermixed would fill, and very unpleasantly, a quire.
A CUNNING RUNAWAY HEIRESS.
Oct. 30. — Lady Warren is immensely tall, and extremely beautiful; she is now but just nineteen, though she has been married two or three years. She is giddy, gay, chatty, good-humoured, and a little affected; she hazards all that occurs to her, seems to th
ink the world at her feet, and is so young and gay and handsome that she is not much mistaken. She is, in short, an inferior Lady Honoria Pemberton; somewhat beneath her in parts and understanding, but strongly in that class of character. I had no conversation with her myself; but her voice is loud and deep, and all she said was for the whole room.
Marriages being talked of, “I’ll tell you,” cried she, “a story; that is, it sha’n’t be a story, but a fact. A lady of my acquaintance, who had 50,000L. fortune, ran away to Scotland with a gentleman she liked vastly; so she was a little doubtful of him, and had a mind to try him: so when they stopped to dine, and change horses, and all that, she said, ‘Now, as I have a great regard for you, I dare say you have for me — so I will tell you a secret: I have got no fortune at all, in reality, but only 5,000 pounds; for all the rest is a mere pretence: but if you like me for myself, and not for my fortune, you won’t mind that.’ So the gentleman said, ‘Oh, I don’t regard it at all, and you are the same charming angel that ever you was,’ and all those sort of things that people say to one, and then went out to see about the chaise. So he did not come back; but when dinner was ready, the lady said ‘Pray, where is he?’ ‘Lor, ma’am,’ said they, ‘why, that gentleman has been gone ever so long!’ So she came back by herself; and now she’s married to somebody else, and has her 50,000 pounds fortune all safe.”
DR. JOHNSON A BORE.
Saturday, November 2. — We went to Lady Shelley’s. Dr. Johnson, again, excepted in the invitation. He is almost constantly omitted, either from too much respect or too much fear. I am sorry for it, as he hates being alone, and as, though he scolds the others, he is well enough satisfied himself, and having given vent to all his own occasional anger or ill-humour, he is ready to begin again, and is never aware that those who have so been “downed” by him, never can much covet so triumphant a visitor. In contests of wit, the victor is as ill off in future consequences as the vanquished in present ridicule.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 540