SECTION 22. (1798-1802.)
VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WESTHAMBLE: DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS: SOJOURN IN FRANCE.
[From the “ Memoirs of Dr. Burney “ we extract the following details respecting the death of Fanny’s favourite sister, Susan Phillips.
“Winter now was nearly at hand, and travelling seemed deeply dangerous, in her sickly state, for the enfeebled Susanna. Yet she herself, panting to receive again the blessing of her beloved father, concentrated every idea of recovery in her return. She declined, therefore, though with exquisite sensibility, the supplicating desire of this Editor [Madame d’Arblay] to join and to nurse her at Belcotton, her own cottage; and persevered through every impediment in her efforts to reach the parental home. . . . Every obstacle, at length, being finally vanquished, the journey was resolved upon, and its preparations were made; — when a fearful new illness suddenly confined the helpless invalid to her bed. There she remained some weeks - after which, with the utmost difficulty, and by two long days’ travelling, though for a distance of only twenty-six miles, she reached Dublin where, exhausted, emaciated, she was again forced to her bed; there again to remain for nearly as long a new delay! “ Every hour of separation became now to the Doctor Dr. Burney] an hour of grief, from the certainty that, the expedition once begun, it could be caused only by suffering malady, or expiring strength.
“It was not till the very close of the year 1799, amidst deep snow, fierce frost, blighting winds, and darksome days, that, scarcely alive, his sinking Susanna was landed at Park Gate. There she was joined by her affectionate brother, Dr. Charles, who hastened to hail her arrival, that he might convey her in his own warm carriage to her heart-yearning father, her fondly impatient brethren, and the tenderest of friends. But he found her in no state to travel: further feeble, Page 171 drooping, wasted away, scarcely to be known, shrunk, nearly withered! — yet still with her fair mind in full possession of its clearest powers; still with all the native sweetness of her looks, manners, voice, and smiles; still with all her desire to please; her affecting patience of endurance; her touching sensibility for every species of attention; and all her unalterable loveliness of disposition, that sought to console for her own afflictions, to give comfort for her own sufferings!
“During the space of a doubtful week, her kind brother Dr. Charles, awaited the happy moment when she might be able to move on. But on — save as a corpse, — she moved no more! *
Gentle was her end! gentle as the whole tenor of her life but as sudden in its conclusion as it had been lingering in its approach.”
* She died at Park Gate, January 6, 1800, and was buried in
Neston Churchyard, near Park Gate.-ED.
The latter portion of the following section introduces the reader to new scenes and new acquaintances. During the summer of 1801 negotiations for peace between France and England were carried on in London, between lord Hawkesbury, on the part of the English government, and M. Otto, the French plenipotentiary. The preliminary treaty was signed in London, October 1, 1801, and ratified a few days later on the part of Napoleon Bonaparte, then First Consul, and de facto ruler of France, by a special envoy from Paris — General Lauriston. The definitive treaty, by which the details of mutual concessions, etc., were finally arranged, was signed at Amiens, March 25, 1802. In England the peace was received with rapture: General Lauriston was drawn in triumph in his carriage through the streets of London by the people. The “mutual concessions,” however, showed a large balance in favour of France. As Sheridan observed, it was a peace of which every one was glad, but no one proud.
The establishment of peace determined M. d’Arblay to revisit France, and to endeavour to obtain from the First Consul the half-pay pension to which his former services in the army had entitled him. In this project he was warmly encouraged by his old friend and comrade, General Lauriston, whom he had called upon in London, and who had received him with open arms. The result of his journey may be read in the following pages. His wife and son joined him in France, in April, 1802, with the intention of returning to England after a year’s absence. But their return was prevented by the renewal of the war between the two countries in the following year, and ten years elapsed before Fanny saw again her father and her native country. Her first impressions of France are recorded in the “ Diary” with very pleasant minuteness, but of her life during the greater part of these years of exile a few letters, Written at long intervals, give us all the information which we possess. -ED. A VISIT TO MRS. CHAFONE.
March 1798.I have not told you of my renewed intercourse with Mrs. Chapone, who had repeatedly sent me kind wishes and messages, of her desire to see me again. She was unfortunately ill, and I was sent from her door without being named; but she sent me a kind note to Chelsea, which gave me very great pleasure. Indeed, she had always behaved towards me with affection as well as kindness, and I owe to her the blessing of my first acquaintance with my dear Mrs., Delany. It was Mrs. Chapone who took me to her first, whose kind account had made her desire to know me, and who always expressed the most generous pleasure in the intimacy she had brought about, though it soon took place of all that had preceded it with herself. I wrote a very long answer, with a little history of our way of life, and traits of-M. d’Arblay, by which her quick discernment might judge both of that and my state of mind.
When we came again to Chelsea at this period, our Esther desired, or was desired by Mrs. Chapone, to arrange a meeting. I was really sorry I could not call upon her with my urchin; but I could only get conveyed to her one evening, when I went with our Esther, but was disappointed of M. d’Arblay, who had been obliged to go to Westhamble. This really mortified me, and vexed Mrs. Chapone.
We found her alone, and she received me with the most open affection. Mrs. Chapone knew the day I could be with her too late to make any party, and would have been profuse in apologies if I had not truly declared I rejoiced in seeing her alone, Indeed, it would have been better If we had been so completely, for our dearest Esther knew but few of the old connexions concerning whom I wished to inquire and to talk, and she knew too much of all about myself and my situation of which Mrs. Chapone wished to ask and to hear. I fear, therefore, she was tired, though she would not: say so, and though she looked and conducted herself with great sweetness..
Mrs. Chapone spoke warmly of “Camilla,” especially of Sir Hugh, but told me she had detected me in some Gallicisms, and pointed some out. She pressed me in a very flattering manner to write again; and dear Hetty, forgetting our relationship’s decency, seconded her so heartily you must have laughed to hear her hoping we could never furnish our house till I went again to the press. When Mrs. Chapone heard of my father’s difficulties about Chelsea, and fears of removal, on account of his twenty thousand volumes,— “Twenty thousand volumes!” she repeated; “bless me! why, how can he so encumber himself? Why does he not burn half? for how much must be to spare that never can be worth his looking at from such a store! And can he want to keep them all? I should not have suspected Dr. Burney, of all men, of being such a Dr. Orkborne!”(157)……
MRS. BOSCAWEN, LADY STRANGE, AND MR. SEWARD.
The few other visits which opportunity and inclination united for my making during our short and full fortnight were —
To Mrs. Boscawen, whither we went all three, for I knew she wished to see our little one, whom I had in the coach with Betty, ready for a summons. Mrs. Boscawen was all herself, — that is, all elegance and good-breeding. Do you remember the verses on the blues which we attributed to Mr. Pepys? —
Each art of conversation knowing,
High-bred, elegant boscawen.
To Miss Thrale’s, where I also carried my little Alex.
To Lady Strange(158) whom I had not seen for more years than I know how to count. She was at home, and alone, except for her young grandchild, another Bell Strange, daughter of James, who is lately returned from India, with a large fortune, is become member of Parliament, and has married, for his second wife, a niec
e of Secretary Dundas’s. Lady Strange received me with great kindness, and, to my great surprise, knew me instantly. I found her more serious and grave than formerly; I had not seen her since Sir
Robert’s death, and many events of no enlivening nature; but I found, with great pleasure, that all her native fire and wit and intelligence were still within, though less voluntary and quick in flashing out, for every instant I stayed she grew brighter and nearer her true self.
Her little grandchild is a delightful little creature, the very reverse of the other Bell(159) in appearance and disposition, for she is handsome and open and gay; but I hope, at the same time, her resemblance in character, as Bell is strictly principled and upright.
Lady Strange inquired if I had any family, and, when she gathered I had a little one down-stairs in the carriage, desired to see it, for little Bell was wild in the request. “But have nae mair!” cried she; “the times are bad and hard; — ha’ nae mair! if you take my advice, you’ll ha’ nae mair! you’ve been vary discreet, and, faith, I commend you!”
Little Bell had run down-stairs to hasten Betty and the child, and now, having seized him in her arms, she sprang into the room with him. His surprise, her courage, her fondling, her little form, and her prettiness, had astonished him into consenting to her seizure; but he sprang from her to me the moment they entered the drawing-room. I begged Lady Strange to give him her blessing. She looked at him with a strong and earnest expression of examining interest and pleasure, and then, with an arch smile, turning suddenly about to me, exclaimed, “Ah! faith and troth, you mun ha’ some mair! if you can make ’em so pratty as this, you mun ha’ some mair! sweet bairn! I gi’ you my benediction! be a comfort to your papa and mamma! Ah, madam!” (with one of her deep sighs) “I must gi’ my consent to your having some mair! if you can make ’em so pratty as this, faith and troth, I mun let you have a girl!”
I write all this without scruple to my dearest Susan, for prattiness like this little urchin’s is not likely to spoil either him or ourselves by lasting. ’Tis a juvenile flower, yet one my Susan will again, I hope, view while still in its first bloom. . . .
I was extremely pleased in having an interview again with my old, and I believe very faithful, friend Mr. Seward, whom I had not seen since my marriage, but Whom I had heard, through the Lockes, was indefatigable in inquiries and Page 175 expressions of good-will upon every occasion. He had sent me his compilation of anecdotes of distinguished characters, and two little letters have passed between us upon them. I was unluckily engaged the morning he was at Chelsea, and obliged to quit him before we had quite overcome a little awkwardness which our long absence and my changed name had involuntarily produced at our first meeting; and I was really sorry, as I have always retained a true esteem for him, though his singularities and affectation of affectation always struck me. But both those and his spirit of satire are mere quizziness 3 his mind is all solid benevolence and worth.
A MYSTERIOUS BANK-NOTE.
And now I must finish this Chelsea narrative, with its most singular, though brief, adventure. One morning at breakfast, my father received a letter, which he opened, and found to be only a blank cover with a letter enclosed, directed “A Madame, Madame d’Arblay.” This, upon opening, produced a little bank-note of five pounds, and these words: —
“Madame d’Arblay need not have any scruple in accepting the enclosed trifle, as it is considered only as a small tribute of gratitude and kindness, so small, indeed, that every precaution has been taken to prevent the least chance of discovery; and the person who sends it even will never know whether it was received or not. Dr. Burney is quite ignorant of it.”
This is written evidently in a feigned hand, and I have not the most remote idea whence it can come. But for the word gratitude I might have suggested many; but, upon the whole, I am utterly unable to suggest any one creature upon earth likely to do such a thing. I might have thought of my adorable princess, but that it is so little a sum. Be it as it may, it is certainly done in great kindness, by some one who knows five pounds is not so small a matter to us as to most others; and after vainly striving to find out or conjecture whence it came, we determined to devote it to our country. There’s patriotism! we gave it in voluntary subscription for the war and it was very seasonable to us for this purpose.
This magnificent patriotic donation was presented to the Bank of England by Mr. Angerstein, through Mr. Locke, and we have had thanks from the committee which made us blush. Many reasons have prevented my naming this anecdote, the principal of which were fears that, if it should Page 176 be known such a thing was made use of, and, as it chanced when we should otherwise have really been distressed how to come forward or hold back, any other friend might adopt the same method, which, gratefully as I feel the kindness that alone could have instigated it, has yet a depressing effect, and I would not have it become current. Could I, or should I ever trace it, I must, in some mode or other, attempt retaliation.
THE NEW BROTHER-IN-LAW: A CORDIAL PROFESSOR.
(Madame d’Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) After sundry abortive proposals of our new brother-in-law, Mr. Broome, for our meeting, he and Charlotte finally came, with little Charlotte, to breakfast and spend a day with us. He has by no means the wit and humour and hilarity his “Simkin’s Letters” prepare for; but the pen and the tongue are often unequally gifted. He is said to be very learned, deeply skilled in languages, and general erudition and he is full of information upon most subjects that can be mentioned. We talked of India, and he permitted me to ask what questions I pleased upon points and things of which I was glad to gather accounts from so able a traveller.
Another family visit which took place this Summer gave us pleasure of a far more easy nature, because unmixed with watchful anxiety; this was from Charles and his son, who, by an appointment for which he begged our consent, brought with him also Mr. Professor Young, of Glasgow, a man whose learning sits upon him far lighter than Mr. Broome’s! Mr. Young has the bonhonlie of M. de Lally, with as much native humour as he has acquired erudition: he has a face that looks all honesty and kindness, and manners gentle and humble; an enthusiasm for whatever he thinks excellent, whether in talents or character, in art or in nature; and is altogether a man it seems impossible to know, even for a day, and not to love and wish well. This latter is probably the effect of his own cordial disposition to amity. He took to us, all three, so evidently and so warmly, and was so smitten with our little dwelling, its situation and simplicity, and so much struck with what he learned and saw of M. d’Arblay’s cultivating literally his own grounds, and literally being his own gardener, after finding by conversation, what a use he had made of his earlier days In literary Page 177 attainments, that he seemed as if he thought himself brought to a vision of the golden age, — such was the appearance of his own sincere and upright mind in rejoicing to see happiness where there was palpably no luxury, no wealth. It was a most agreeable surprise to me to find such a man in Mr. Professor Young, as I had expected a sharp though amusing satirist, from his very comic but sarcastic imitation of Dr. Johnson’s “Lives,” in a criticism upon Gray’s “Elegy.”
Charles was all kind affection, and delighted at our approbation of his friend, for the professor has been such many years, and very essentially formerly,-a circumstance Charles is now gratefully and warmly returning. It is an excellent part of Charles’s character that he never forgets any kind office he has received.
I learned from them that Mr. Rogers, author of the “Pleasures of Memory,” that most sweet poem, had ridden round the lanes about our domain to view it, and stood — or made his horse stand, — at our gate a considerable time, to examine our Camilla cottage, — a name I am sorry to find Charles, or some one, had spread to him; and he honoured all with his good word. I should like to meet with him.
PRECOCIOUS MASTER ALEX.
Lady Rothes(160) constant in every manifestation of regard, came hither the first week of our establishment, and came three times to denials, when
my gratitude forced open my doors. Her daughter, Lady Harriet, was with her: she is a pretty and pleasing young woman. Sir Lucas came another morning, bringing my old friend Mr. Pepys. Alex was in high spirits and amused them singularly. He had just taken to spelling; and every word he heard, of which he either knew or could guess the orthography, he instantly, in a little concise and steady manner, pronounced all the letters of, with a look of great but very grave satisfaction at his own performances, and a familiar nod at every word so conquered, as thus : —
Mr. Pepys. You are a fine boy, indeed!
Alex. B, o, y; boy. (Every letter articulated with strong, almost heroic emphasis.)
Mr. P. And do you run about here in this pleasant place all day long Alex. D, a, y; day.
Mr. P. And can you read your book, You Sweet little fellow?
Alex. R, e, a, d; read. Etc.
He was in such good looks that all this nonsense won nothing but admiration, and Mr. Pepys could attend to nothing else, but only charged me to let him alone. “For mercy’s sake, don’t make him study,” cried Sir Lucas also; “he is so well disposed that you must rather repress than advance him, or his health may pay the forfeit of his application.”
“O, leave him alone! cried Mr. Pepys: “take care only of his health and strength; never fear such a boy as that wanting learning.”
THE BARBAULDS.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 640