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.
Mrs Thrale then repeated some Lines in French, and Dr Johnson some more in Latin; an Epilogue of Mr Garrick’s to Bonduca was then mentioned, and Dr Johnson said it was a miserable peformance, and every body agreed it was the worst he had ever made. ‘And yet,’ said Mr Seward, ‘it has been very much admired; but it is in praise of English valour, and so I suppose the subject made it popular.’
‘I don’t know, Sir,’ said Dr Johnson, ‘any thing about the subject, for I could not read on till I came to it: I got through half a dozen Lines, but I could observe no other subject than eternal dullness. I don’t know what is the matter with David; I am afraid he is grown superannuated, for his Prologues and Epilogues used to be incomparable.’
‘Nothing is so fatiguing,’ said Mrs Thrale, ‘as the Life of a Wit: he and Wilks are the 2 oldest men of their ages I know, for they have both worn themselves out by being eternally on the rack to give entertainment to others.’
‘David, Madam,’ said the Doctor, ‘looks much older than he is; for his Face has had double the Business of any other man’s, – it is never at rest, – when he speaks one minute, he has quite a different Countenance to what he assumes the next; I don’t believe he ever kept the same look for half an Hour to gether in the whole course of his Life; and such an eternal, restless, fatiguing play of the muscles, must certainly wear out a man’s Face much before its real Time.’
‘O yes,’ cried Mrs Thrale, ‘we must certainly make some allowance for such wear and Tear of a man’s Face.’
The next Name that was started, was that of Sir John Hawkins: and Mrs Thrale said ‘Why now, Mr Johnson, he is another of those whom you suffer nobody to abuse but yourself; why Garrick is one, too, – for if any other person speaks against him, you Brow-beat him in a minute!’
‘Why, Madam,’ answered he, ‘they don’t know when to abuse him, and when to praise him; I will allow no man to speak ill of David that he does not deserve; and as to Sir John: why really I believe him to be an honest man at the bottom, – but to be sure he is penurious; and he is mean; – and it must be owned he has a degree of brutality, and a tendency to savageness, that cannot easily be defended. –’
We all Laughed, as he meant we should, at this curious manner of speaking in his favour; and he then related an anecdote that he knew to be true in regard to his meanness. He said that Sir John and he once belonged to the same Club; – but that, as he Eat no supper, after the first night of his admission, he desired to be excused paying his share!
‘And was he excused?’
‘O yes, – for no man is angry at another for being inferior to himself! we all scorned him, – and admitted his plea. For my part, I was such a fool to pay my share for Wine, though I never tasted any. But Sir John was a most unclubable man!’
How delighted was I to hear this master of Languages so unaffectedly and sociably and good naturedly make Words, for the promotion of sport and good humour!
‘And this,’ continued he, ‘reminds me of a Gentleman and Lady with whom I travelled once; I suppose I must call them Gentleman and Lady according to form, because they travelled in their own Coach and 4 Horses: But at the first Inn where we stopt, the Lady called for – – a pint of Ale! – and when it came, quarrelled with the Waiter for not giving full measure! – Now Madame Duval could not have done a grosser thing!’
O how every body Laughed! – and to be sure I did not glow at all! nor munch fast, – nor look on my plate, – nor lose any part of my usual composure! But how grateful do I feel to this dear Dr Johnson for never naming me and the Book as belonging one to the other, and yet making an allusion that shewed his thoughts led to it! – and, at the same Time, that seemed to justify the Character, as being Natural! But, indeed, the delicacy I met with from him and from all the Thrales was yet more flattering to me than all the praise with which I have heard they have Honoured my Book. And though I was displeased with Mr Seward for his abruptness, which indeed most vilely disconcerted me, perhaps most others would have been gratified by it, and therefore –, upon further consideration, he appears less to blame in the affair than he did at first.
After Dinner, when Mrs Thrale and I left the Gentlemen, we had a Conversation that to me, could not but be delightful, as she was all good humour, spirits, sense and agreeability. Surely I may make words, when at a loss, if Dr Johnson does. However, I shall not attempt to write any more particulars of this Day, – than which I have never known a happier, – because the Chief subject that was started and kept up, was an invitation for me to Stretham, and a desire that I might accompany my Father thither next Week, and stay with them some Time. Now, though no subject could be so highly agreeable to me, it would yet appear to no advantage upon paper, and therefore I shall abridge it into saying that Mrs Thrale was quite violently urgent, and assured my Father my Health might depend upon my returning again to spend some Time in the Country, for that, after such an illness, London might half kill me, – and a thousand other pleas, all uttered with the most good natured cordiality; and Mr Thrale joined her request with great politeness; – but nothing was absolutely fixed. We left them at about 8 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. 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.
From Journal Letter to Susanna Burney 30 August 1778
[Streatham]
I then escaped to look for a Book which we had been talking of, and Dr Johnson, when I returned to my seat, said he wished [Samuel] Richardson had been alive, ‘And then,’ he added, ‘you should have been Introduced to him, – though, I don’t know, niether; – Richardson would have been afraid of her!’
‘O yes! – that’s a likely matter!’ quoth I.
‘It’s very true,’ continued he; ‘Richardson would have been really afraid of her; – there is merit in Evelina which he could not have borne. – No, it would not have done! – unless, indeed, she would have flattered him prodigiously. – Harry Fielding, too, would have been afraid of her, – there is nothing so delicately finished in all Harry Fielding’s Works, as in Evelina; –’ (Then, shaking his Head at me, he exclaimed) ‘O, you little Character-monger, you!’
Mrs Thrale then returned to her charge, and again urged me about a Comedy, – and again I tried to silence her, – and we had a fine fight together; – till she called upon Dr Johnson to back her, – ‘Why, Madam,’ said he, Laughing, – ‘she is Writing one! – What a rout is here, indeed! – She is writing one up stairs all the Time. – Who ever knew when she began Evelina? She is working at some drama, depend upon it.’
‘True, true Oh King!’ thought I
‘Well, that will be a sly trick!’ cried Mrs Thrale; – ‘however, you know best, I believe, about That, as well as about every other Thing.’
…
I told her [Mrs Thrale] how much I dreaded being discovered, and besought her not to betray me any further. She again began Laughing, and openly declared she should not consult me about the matter. I was really uneasy, – nay, quite uncomfortable, – for the first Time I have been so since I came hither; – but as we were obliged soon to return, I could not then press my request with the earnestness I wished. – But she told me that, as soon as I had left the Room when Mr Lort took up Evelina, he exclaimed contemptuously ‘Why it’s printed for Lowndes! –’ and that Dr Johnson then told him there were things and Chara
cters in it more than worthy of Fielding! ‘Oho!’ cried Mr Lort, ‘what, is it better than Fielding?’ ‘Harry Fielding,’ answered Dr Johnson, ‘knew nothing but the shell of Life.’ ‘So You, Ma’am,’ added the flattering Mrs Thrale, ‘have found the kernel!’
Are they all mad? or do they want to make me so?
When we returned, to my great joy they were talking of other subjects, – yet I could not sufficiently recover myself the whole Evening to Speak one word but in answer, for the dread of the Criticisms which Mr Lort might, innocently, make the next Day, kept me in a most uncomfortable state of agitation.
When Mrs Thrale and I retired, she not only, as usual, accompanied me to my Room, but stayed with me at least an Hour, talking over the affair. I seized, with eagerness, this favourable opportunity of conjuring her not merely not to tell Mr Lort my secret, but ever after never to tell any body. For a great while she only Laughed, saying ‘Poor Miss Burney! – so you thought just to have played and sported with your sisters and Cousins, and had it all your own way! – but now you are in for it! – – but if you will be an Author and a Wit, – you must take the Consequence!’
But, when she found me seriously urgent, and really frightened, – she changed her Note, and said ‘O, – if I find you are in earnest in desiring concealment, I shall quite scold you! – for if such a desire does not proceed from Affectation, – ’tis from something Worse.’
‘No, indeed,’ cried I, ‘not from Affectation, – for my conduct has been as uniform in trying to keep snug as my words: and I never have wavered: I never have told any body out of my own Family; nor half the Bodies in it. – And I have so long forborne making this request to you, for no other reason in the World but for fear you should think me affected.’
‘Well, I won’t suspect you of affectation,’ – returned she, – ‘nay, I can’t, for you have looked, like your name sake in the Clandestine Marriage, all this Evening, of 50 Colours, I wow and purtest; – but – when I clear you of that, I leave something worse.’
‘And what, – dear Madam, what can be worse?’
‘Why an over-delicacy that may make you unhappy all your Life! – Indeed you must check it, – you must get the better of it: – for why should you write a Book, Print a Book, and have every Body Read and like your Book, and then sneak in a Corner and disown it!’
‘My printing it, indeed,’ said I, ‘tells terribly against me, to all who are unacquainted with the circumstances that belonged to it: but I had so little notion of being discovered, and was so well persuaded that the Book would never be heard of, that I really thought myself as safe, and meant to be as private, when the Book was at Mr Lowndes’, as when it was in my own Bureau.’
‘Well, – I don’t know what we shall do with you! it is a sweet Book, and it will make its way, but indeed you must blunt a little of this delicacy, – for the Book has such success, that if you don’t own it – somebody else will!’
I then told her that I had never, in the course of my life, been so much confounded as at Mr Seward’s attack; as I had not had any idea he was au fait; she Laughed, and said ‘Poor Seward! – I am sure he would be hurt, if he found he had done wrong! but I told him myself.’
Again I entreated her to rest, at least, contented with the communications she had already made, and to promise not to tell Mr Lort, nor any others.
‘O,’ cried she, with quickness, ‘you must excuse me! – You did not tell it me, – Dr Burney did, and he made no conditions: so I have told it to all the people I have seen, if I have liked them, and thought they would have a taste for the Book.’
‘O Mrs Thrale! –’ was all I could exclaim, – for I had not had any idea her communications had been so general, or that my Case was so desperate.
‘No, no,’ continued she, ‘You must blunt your feelings, and learn to been and to hear, the praises you deserve: if I had written the Book, I should have been proud to own it.’
‘O Mrs Thrale! this is going too far indeed!’
‘Not at all; any body would be proud of it.’
You will not wonder I should be ashamed to hear such Words at the Time, when I assure you I am ashamed of writing them now. – Even to my most partial dearest Susan. –
Yet notwithstanding all her advice, and all her encouragement, I was so much agitated by the certainty of being known as a scribbler, that I was really ill all night and I could not sleep, – and, at 4 in the morning, found myself so very unwell, that I was obliged to get up, and take a dose of nastiness with which Mr Devaynes had furnished me, but which I had; hitherto, despised and rejected.
When Mrs Thrale came to me the next morning, she was quite concerned to find I had really suffered from my panics; – ‘O Miss Burney,’ cried she, ‘what shall we do with you? – this must be conquered, indeed; this delicacy must be got over.’
‘Don’t call it delicacy,’ cried I, ‘when I know you only think it folly.’
‘Why indeed,’ said she, Laughing, ‘it is not very wise!’
‘Well,’ cried I, ‘if, indeed, I am in for it, – why I must seriously set about reconciling myself – yet I never can!’
‘We all Love you,’ said the sweet woman, – ‘we all Love you dearly already, – but the Time will come when we shall all be proud of you; – so proud we shall not know where to place you! – you must set about a Comedy, – and set about it openly; it is the true style of writing for you, – but you must give up all these fears and this shyness, – you must do it without any disadvantages, – and we will have no more of such sly, sneaking, private ways!’
I told her of my fright, while at Chesington, concerning Mrs Williams, and of the Letter I wrote to beg my Father would hasten to caution her.
‘And did he?’ said she.
‘O yes, directly.’
‘O fie! – I am ashamed of him! how can he think of humouring you in such maggots! If the Book had not been liked, I would have said nothing to it. – But it is a sweet Book, – and the great beauty of it is, that it reflects back all our own ideas and observations: for every body must have met with something similar to almost all the incidents.’
In short, had I been the Child of this delightful woman; she could not have taken more pains to reconcile me to my situation: even when she Laughed, she continued, by her manner, still to Assure, or to sooth me.
From Journal Letter to Susanna Burney 20 December 1778
A violent rapping bespoke, I was sure, Mrs Cholmondeley, – and I ran from the standers, and, turning my back against the Door, looked over Miss Palmer’s Cards: for, you may well imagine, I was really in a tremor at a meeting which so long has been in agitation, and with the person who, of all Persons, has been most warm and enthusiastic for my Book.
She had not, however, been in the room half an instant, ere my Father came up to me, and, tapping me on the shoulder, said ‘Fanny, here’s a lady who wishes to speak to you.’
I courtsied, in silent reverence, – she, too, Courtsied, and fixed her Eyes full on my Face; and then, tapping me with her Fan, she cried ‘Come, come, You must not look grave upon me!’
Upon this, – I te-he’d, – she now looked at me yet more earnestly, – and, after an odd silence, said, abruptly ‘But is it true?’
‘What – ma’am?’
‘It can’t be! – tell me, though, is it true?’
I could only simper.
‘Why don’t you tell me? – but it can’t be, – I don’t believe it! – no, – you are an Impostor!’
Sir Joshua and Lord Palmerston were both at her side; Oh how notably silly must I look! She again repeated her question of is it true? – and I again affected not to understand her, – and then Sir Joshua, taking hold of her arm, attempted to pull her away saying ‘Come, come, Mrs Cholmondeley, I won’t have her over-powered here!’
I love Sir Joshua much for this. But Mrs Cholmondeley, turning to him, said with quickness and vehemence ‘Why, I a’n’t going to kill her! – don’t be afraid, – I sha’n’t compliment h
er! – I can’t, indeed! –’ Then, taking my Hand, she led me through them all, to another part of the Room, where again, she examined my Phiz, and viewed and re-viewed my whole person! – ‘Now,’ said she, ‘do tell me, – is it true? –’
‘What, Ma’am? – I don’t – I don’t know what –’
‘Pho, what, – why you know what, – in short, can you read? and can you write?’
‘N – o – ma’am!’
‘I thought so!’ cried she; ‘I have suspected it was a trick, some time, – and now I am sure of it! you are too young by half! it can’t be! –’
I Laughed, and would have got away, – but she would not let me. ‘No,’ cried she, ‘one thing you must, at least, tell me; – are you very conceited?’
What a question! ‘Come, answer me!’ continued she; – ‘you won’t? – Mrs Burney, – Dr Burney, – come here, – tell me if she is not very conceited? if she is not Eat up with conceit by this Time?’
They were both pleased to answer ‘not half enough.’
‘Well!’ exclaimed she, ‘that is the most wonderful part of all! Why that is yet more extraordinary than writing the Book!’
I then got away from her, and again looked over Miss Palmer’s Cards: but she was after me in a minute. ‘Pray, Miss Burney,’ cried she, aloud, ‘do You know any thing of this Game?’
‘No, ma’am.’ ‘No?’ repeated she; ‘ma foi, that’s pity!’ This raised such a Laugh! I was forced to move on, – yet every body seemed afraid to Laugh, too, and studying to be delicate, as if they had been cautioned: which, I have since found, was really the case, and by Sir Joshua himself.
Again, however, she was at my side. ‘What Game do you like, Miss Burney?’ cried she.
‘I play at none, ma’am.’
Evelina Page 49