Complete Works of Frances Burney

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by Frances Burney


  I had not the advantage of choosing my play, nor do I know what would have been my decision had it fallen to my lot. Her majesty, had just begun Colman’s works, and “Polly Honeycomb” was to open my campaign.

  “I think,” cried the queen most graciously, “Miss Burney will read the better for drawing a chair and sitting down,”. “ yes, mamma! I dare say so!” cried Princess Augusta and Princess Elizabeth, both in a moment.

  The queen then told me to draw my chair close to her side. I made no scruples. Heaven knows I needed not the addition of standing! but most glad I felt in being placed thus near, as it saved a constant painful effort of loud reading.

  “Lady Courtown,” cried the queen, “you had better draw nearer, for Miss Burney has the misfortune of reading rather low at first.”

  Nothing could be more amiable than this opening. Accordingly, I did, as I had promised, my best; and, indifferent as that was, it would rather have surprised you, all things considered, that it was not yet worse. But I exerted all the courage I possess, and, having often read to the queen, I felt how much it behoved me not to let her surmise I had any greater awe to surmount.

  It is but a vulgar performance; and I was obliged to omit, as well as I could at sight, several circumstances very unpleasant for reading, and ill enough fitted for such hearers. it went off pretty flat. Nobody is to comment, nobody is to interrupt; and even between one act and another not a moment’s pause is expected to be made.

  I had been already informed of this etiquette by Mr. Turbulent and Miss Planta; nevertheless, it is not only oppressive to the reader, but loses to the hearers so much spirit and satisfaction, that I determined to endeavour, should I again be called upon, to introduce a little break into this tiresome and unnatural profundity of respectful solemnity. My own embarrassment, however, made it agree with me for the present uncommonly well.

  Lady Courtown never uttered one single word the whole time; yet is she one of the most loquacious of our establishment. But such is the settled etiquette.

  The queen has a taste for conversation, and the princesses a good-humoured love for it, that doubles the regret of such an annihilation of all nature and all pleasantry. But what will not prejudice and education inculcate? They have been brought up to annex silence to respect and decorum: to talk, therefore, unbid, or to differ from any given opinion even when called upon, are regarded as high improprieties, if not presumptions.

  They none of them do justice to their own minds, while they enforce this subjection upon the minds of others. I had not experienced it before; for when reading alone with the queen, or listening to her reading to me, I have always frankly spoken almost whatever has occurred to me. But there I had no other examples before me, and therefore I might inoffensively be guided by myself; and her majesty’s continuance of the same honour has shown no disapprobation of my proceeding. But here it was not easy to make any decision for myself: to have done what Lady Courtown forbore doing would have been undoubtedly a liberty.

  So we all behaved alike - and easily can I now conceive the disappointment and mortification of poor Mr. Garrick when he read “Lethe” to a royal audience. Its tameness must have tamed even him, and I doubt not he never acquitted himself so ill.

  THE LONG-FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY: MISS BURNEY AGAIN AS READER.

  On Easter Sunday, the 4th of April, when I left my beloved Susan at St. James’s, I left with her all spirit for any voluntary employment, and it occurred to me I could best while away the leisure allowed me by returning to my long-forgotten tragedy. This I have done, in those moments as yet given to my journal, and it is well I had so sad a resource, since any merrier I must have aimed at in vain.

  It was a year and four months since I had looked at or thought of it. I found nothing but unconnected speeches, and hints, and ideas, though enough in quantity, perhaps, for a whole play. I have now begun planning and methodising, and have written three or four regular scenes. I mention all these particulars of my progress, in answer to certain queries in the comments of my Susan and Fredy, both of old date.

  Well (for that is my hack, as “however” is my dear Susanna’s), we set off rather late for Windsor,-Mr. de Luc, Miss Planta, and myself; Mrs. Schwellenberg stayed in town. . . .

  I invited my old beau, as her majesty calls Mr. Bryant, to dinner, and he made me my best day out of the ten days of our Windsor sojourn. He has insisted upon lending me some more books, all concerning the most distant parts of the earth, or on subjects the most abstruse. His singular simplicity in constantly conceiving that, because to him such books alone are new, they must have the same recommendation to me, is extremely amusing; and though I do all that is possible to clear up the distinction, he never remembers it.

  The king, for which I was very sorry, did not come Into the room. He made it but one visit, indeed, during this week. He then conversed almost wholly with General Grenville upon the affairs of France; and in a manner so unaffected, open and manly, so highly superior to all despotic principles, even while most condemning the unlicensed fury of the Parisian mob, that I wished all the nations of the world to have heard him, that they might have known the real existence of a patriot king.

  Another reading took place, and much more comfortably; it was to the queen and princesses, without any lady-in-waiting. The queen, as before, condescended to order me to sit close to her side; and as I had no model before me, I scrupled much less to follow the bent of my own ideas by small occasional comments. And these were of use both to body and mind; they rested the lungs from one invariable exertion, as much as they saved the mind from one strain of attention.

  Our play was “The Man of Business,” a very good comedy, but too local for long life. And another of Colman’s which I read afterwards has the same defect. Half the follies and peculiarities it satirises are wholly at an end and forgotten. Humour springing from mere dress, or habits, or phraseology, is quickly obsolete; when it sinks deeper, and dives into character, it may live for ever.

  I dedicated my Wednesday evening to a very comfortable visit to our dear James, whose very good and deserving wife, and fine little fat children, with our Esther and her fair Marianne and Fanny, all cordially conspired to make me happy. We read a good deal of Captain Bligh’s interesting narrative,(327 every word Of which James has taken as much to heart as if it were his own production.

  I go on, occasionally, with my tragedy. It does not much enliven, but it soothes me.

  COLONEL MANNERS IN HIS SENATORIAL CAPACITY.

  April 23. — I shall add nothing at present to my Journal but the summary of a conversation I have had with Colonel Manners, who, at our last excursion, was here without any other gentleman.

  Knowing he likes to be considered as a senator, I thought the best subject for our discussion would be the House of Commons; I therefore made sundry political inquiries, so foreign to My Usual mode, that you would not a little have smiled to have heard them. I had been informed he had once made an attempt to speak, during the Regency business, last winter; I begged to know how the matter stood, and he made a most frank display of its whole circumstances. “Why, they were speaking away,” he cried, “upon the Regency, and so, — and they were saying if the king could not reign, and recover; and Burke was making some of his eloquence, and talking; and, says he, ‘hurled from his throne,’ — and so I put out my finger in this manner, as if I was in a great passion, for I felt myself very red, and I was in a monstrous passion I suppose, but I was only going to say ‘Hear! Hear!’ but I happened to lean one hand down upon my knee, in this way, just as Mr. Pitt does when he wants to speak.- and I stooped forward, just as if I was going to rise up and begin but just then I caught Mr. Pitt’s eye, looking at me so pitifully; he thought I was going to speak, and he was frightened to death, for he thought — for the thing was, he got up himself, and he said over all I wanted to say; and the thing is, he almost always does; for just as I have something particular to say, Mr. Pitt begins, and goes through it all, so that he don’t leave anythi
ng more to be said about it; and so, I suppose, as he looked at me so pitifully, he thought I should say it first, or else that should get into some scrape, because I was so warm and looking so red.”

  Any comment would disgrace this; I will therefore only tell you his opinion, in his own words, of one of our late taxes.

  “There’s only one tax, ma’am, that ever I voted for against my conscience, for I’ve always been very particular about that; but that is the bacheldor’s tax, and that I hold to be very unconstitutional, and I am very sorry I voted for it, because it’s very unfair; for how can a man help being a bacheldor, if nobody will have him? and besides, it’s not any fault to be taxed for, because We did not make ourselves bacheldors, for we were made so by God, for nobody was born married, and so I think it’s a very unconstitutional tax.”

  A CONVERSATION WITH MR. WINDHAM AT THE HASTINGS TRIAL.

  April 27.-I had the happiness of my dearest Fredy’s society in Westminster Hall — if happiness and that place may be named together.

  The day was mixed: Evidence and Mr. Anstruther weighing it down, and Mr. Burke speaking from time to time, and lighting it up. O, were his purpose worthy his talents, what an effect would his oratory produce! I always hear him with so much concern, I can scarce rejoice even in being kept awake by him.

  The day was nearly passed, and I was eating a biscuit to prevent an absolute doze while Mr. Anstruther was talking, when, raising myself from a listening bend, I turned to the left, and perceived Mr. Windham, who had quietly placed himself by my side without speaking.

  My surprise was so great, and so totally had I given up all idea of renewing our conferences, that I could scarce refrain expressing it. Probably it was visible enough, for he said, as if apologising for coming up, that so to do was the only regale their toils allowed them. He then regretted that it was a stupid day, and, with all his old civility about me and my time, declared he was always sorry to see me there when nothing worth attention was going forward.

  This soon brought us round to our former intimacy of converse; and, the moment I was able, I ventured at my usual inquiry about his own speaking, and if it would soon take place. “No,” he answered, with a look of great pleasure, “I shall now not speak at all. — I have cleared myself from that task, and never with such satisfaction did I get rid of any!”

  Amazed, yet internally glad, I hazarded some further inquiry into the reason of this change of plan.

  They were drawing, he said, to a conclusion, and the particular charge which he had engaged himself to open was relinquished.(328) “I have therefore,” he cried, “washed my hands of making a speech, yet satisfied my conscience, my honour, my promises, and my intentions; for I have declined undertaking anything new, and no claim therefore remains upon me.”

  “Well,” quoth I, “I am at a loss whether to be glad or sorry.”

  He comprehended instantly, — glad for Mr. Hastings, or sorry for not hearing him. He laughed, but said something a little reproachful, upon my continued interest for that gentleman. I would not pretend it was diminished; I determined he should find me as frank as heretofore, and abscond, or abide, as his nerves stood the firmness.

  “You are never, then” (I said afterwards), “to speak here?”

  “Once,” he answered, “I said a few words—”

  “O when?” I cried; “I am very sorry I did not know it, and hear you, — as you did speak!”

  “O,” cried he, laughing, “I do not fear this flattery now, as I shall speak no more.”

  “But what,” cried I, “was the occasion that drew you forth?”

  “Nothing very material but I saw Burke run hard, and I wished to help him.”

  “That was just,” cried I, “what I should have expected from you — and just what I have not been able not to honour, on some other occasions, even where I have most blamed the matter that has drawn forth the assistance.”

  This was going pretty far: — he could not but instantly feel I meant the Regency discussions. He neither made me any answer, nor turned his head, even obliquely, my way.

  I was not sorry, however. ’Tis always best to be sincere. Finding him quite silent, to soften matters as well as I could with honesty, I began an éloge of Mr. Burke, both warm and true, as far as regards his wonderful abilities. But he soon distinguished the rigorous precision with which, Involuntarily, I praised the powers without adverting to their Use.

  Suddenly then, and with a look of extreme keenness, he turned his eyes upon me, and exclaimed, “Yes, — and he has very highly, also the faculty of being right!” I would the friendship that dictated this assertion were as unwarped as it is animated.

  I could not help saying rather faintly, “Has he?”

  Not faintly he answered, “He has! — but not the world alone, even his friends, are apt to misjudge him. What he enters upon, however with earnestness, YOU will commonly find turn out as he represents it.”

  His genius, his mental faculties, and the natural goodness of his heart, I then praised as warmly as Mr. Windham could have praised them himself; but the subject ran me aground a second time, as, quite undesignedly, I concluded my panegyric with declaring that I found it impossible not to admire, — nay, love him, through all his wrong. Ending another total silence and averted head, I started something more general upon the trial.

  His openness then returned, with all its customary vivacity, and he expressed himself extremely irritated upon various matters which had been carried against the managers by the judges.

  “But, Mr. Windham!” exclaimed I, “the judges! — is it possible you can enter into such a notion as to suppose Mr. Hastings capable of bribing them?”

  “O, for capable,” cried he, “I don’t know—”

  “Well, leave that word out, and suppose him even willing — can you imagine all the judges and all the lords — for they must concur — disposed to be bribed?”

  “No; but I see them all determined to acquit Mr. Hastings.”

  “Determined? — nay, that indeed is doing him very little honour.”

  “O, for honour! — if he is acquitted—” He stopped, — as if that were sufficient.

  I ventured to ask why the judges and the lords-should make such a determination.

  “From the general knavery and villainy of mankind.” was his hard answer, “which always wishes to abet successful guilt.”

  “Well!” cried I, shaking my head, “you have not, relinquished your speech from having nothing to say. But I am glad you have relinquished it, for I have always been most afraid of you; and the reason is, those who know how to hold back will not for nothing come forward. There is one down there, who, if he knew how ever to hold back, would be great indeed!”

  He could not deny this, but would not affirm it. Poor Mr.

  Burke! — so near to being wholly right, while yet wholly wrong!

  When Mr. Burke mounted the rostrum, Mr. Windham stopped short, saying, “I won’t interrupt you-” and, in a moment, glided back to the managers’ box; where he stood behind Mr. Burke, evidently at hand to assist in any difficulty. His affection for him seems to amount to fondness. This is not for me to wonder at. Who was so captivated as myself by that extraordinary man, till he would no longer suffer me to reverence the talents I must still ever admire?

  A GLIMPSE OF MRS. PIOZZI.

  Sunday, May 2.-This morning, in my way to church, just as I arrived at the iron gate of our courtyard, a well-known voice called out, “Ah, there’s Miss Burney!”

  I started, and looked round — and saw — Mrs. Piozzi! I hastened up to her; she met my held-out hand with both hers: Mr. Piozzi an Cecilia(329) were with her — all smiling and good-humoured.

  “You are going,” she cried, “to church? — so, am I. I must run first to the inn: I suppose one — may sit — anywhere one pleases?”

  “Yes,” I cried, “but you must be quick, or you will sit nowhere, there will be such a throng.” This was all; — she hurried on, — so did I.

&nb
sp; I received exceeding great satisfaction in this little and unexpected meeting. She had been upon the Terrace, and was going to change her hat, and haste on both sides prevented awkwardness on either.

  Yet I saw she had taken in good part my concluding hand- presentation at my dear Mr. Locke’s:(330) she met me no more

  356 with that fiert`e of defiance: it was not-nor can it ever be with her old cordiality, but it was with some degree of pleasure, and that species of readiness which evinces a consciousness of meeting with a good reception.

  CAPTAIN BURNEY WANTS A SHIP AND TO GO TO COURT.

  May 6.-This being the last Pantheon, I put in my long intended claim; and it was greatly facilitated by the circumstance of a new singer, Madame Benda, making her first appearance. My dearest father fetched me from the Queen’s house. Esther and Marianne kept me places between them. Marianne never looked so pretty; I saw not a face there I thought equally lovely. And, oh, how Pacchierotti sung! — How -with what exquisite feeling, what penetrating pathos! I could almost have cried the whole time, that this one short song was all I should be able to hear!

  At the beginning of the second act I was obliged to decamp.

  James, who had just found me out, was my esquire. “Well,” he

  cried, in our way to the chair, “will there be war with Spain?”

  I assured him I thought not.

  “So I am afraid!” answered the true English tar. “ “However, if there is, I should be glad of a frigate of thirty-two guns. Now, if you ask for it, don’t say a frigate, and get me one of twenty-eight!”

  Good heaven! — poor innocent James! —

  And just as I reached the chair— “But how shall you feel,” he cried, “when I ask you to desire a guard-ship for me, in about two years’ time?”

  I could make no precise answer to that! He then added that he intended coming to Court! Very much frightened, I besought him first to come and drink tea with me — which he promised.

  In my way home, as I went ruminating upon this apparently but just, though really impracticable demand, I weighed well certain thoughts long revolving, and of late nearly bursting forth and the result was this — to try all, while yet there is time. Reproach else may aver, when too late, greater courage Would have had greater success. This idea settled my resolutions, and they all bent to one point, risking all risks. May 10.-This evening, by appointment came our good James and his wife, and soon afterwards, to my great pleasure, Captain Phillips joined us. I take it, therefore, for granted, he will have told all that passed in the business way. I was very anxious to gather more intelligibly the wishes and requests of poor James, and to put a stop to his coming to Court without taking such previous steps as are customary. I prevailed, and promised, in return, to make known his pretensions.

 

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