she inquired after my sister Frances, whom she never had
mentioned before since I quitted my post. I was obliged briefly
to relate the transaction, seeking to adorn it by stating Mr.
Broome's being the author of "Simkin's Letters." She agreed in
their uncommon wit and humour.
My little rebel, meanwhile, finding his animals were not given
into his own hands, but removed from their mischief, was
struggling all this time to get at the Tunbridge-ware of
Page 168
the queen's work-box, and, in defiance of all my efforts to
prevent him, he seized one piece, which he called a hammer, and
began violently knocking the table with it. I would fain have
taken it away silently - but he resisted such grave authority,
and so continually took it back, that the queen, to my great
confusion, now gave it him. Soon, however, tired also of this, he
ran away from me into the next room, which was their majesties'
bedroom, and in which were all the jewels ready to take to St.
James's, for the Court attire. I was excessively ashamed, and
obliged to fetch him back in my arms, and there to keep him. "
"Get down, little man," said the queen; "you are too heavy for
your mamma."
He took not the smallest notice of this admonition. The queen,
accustomed to more implicit obedience, repeated it but he only
nestled his little head in my neck, and worked' about his whole
person, so that I with difficulty held him.
The queen now imagined he did not know whom she meant, and said,
" What does he call you? Has he any particular name for you?"
He now lifted up his head, and, before I could answer, called
out, in a fondling manner, "Mamma, mamma!"
"O!" said she, smiling, "he knows who I mean!"
His restlessness still interrupting all attention, in defiance of
my earnest whispers for quietness, she now said, "Perhaps he is
hungry?" and rang her bell, and ordered a page to bring some
cakes.
He took one with great pleasure, and was content to stand down to
eat it. I asked him if he had nothing to say for it; he nodded
his little head, and composedly answered, "Sanky, queen!" This
could not help amusing her, nor me, neither, for I had no
expectation of quite so succinct an answer.
The carriages were now come for St. James's, and the Princesses
Augusta and Elizabeth came into the apartment. The little monkey,
in a fit of renewed lassitude after his cake, had flung himself
on the floor, to repose at his ease. He rose, however, upon
their appearance, and the sweet Princess Augusta said to the
queen, "He has been so good, up-stairs, mamma, that nothing could
be better behaved." I could have kissed her for this instinctive
kindness, excited by a momentary view of my embarrassment at his
little airs and liberties.
The queen heard her with an air of approving, as well as
understanding, her motive, and spoke to me with the utmost
Page 169
condescension of him, though I cannot recollect how, for I was a
good deal fidgeted lest he should come to some disgrace, by any
actual mischief or positive rebellion. I escaped pretty well,
however, and they all left us with smiles and graciousness. . . .
You will not be much surprised to hear that papa came to help us
out of the coach, at* our return to Chelsea, eager to know how
our little rebel had conducted himself, and how he had been
received. The sight of his playthings, you will believe, was not
very disagreeable. The ark, watchman, and cobbler, I shall keep
for him till he may himself judge their worth beyond their price.
MLLE. BACHMEISTER PRODUCES A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION.
I returned to the Queen's house in the afternoon to drink coffee
with Mlle. Bachmeister, whom I found alone, and spent a half-hour
with very pleasantly, though very seriously, for her character is
grave and feeling, and I fear she is not happy. Afterwards we
were joined by Madame Bremyere, who is far more cheerful.
The play was called "Secrets Worth Knowing;" a new piece. In the
next box to ours sat Mrs. Ariana Egerton, the bed-chamber-woman
to her majesty, who used so frequently to visit me at Windsor.
She soon recollected me, though she protested I looked so
considerably in better health, she took me for my own Younger
sister - and we had a great deal of chat together, very amicable
and cordial. I so much respect her warm exertions for the
emigrant ladies, that I addressed her with real pleasure, in
pouring forth my praises for her kindness and benevolence.
When we returned to the Queen's house my father's carriage was
not arrived, and I was obliged to detain Mlle. Bachmeister in
conversation for full half an hour, while I waited ; but it
served to increase my good disposition to her. She is really an
interesting woman. Had she been in that place while I belonged to
the queen, heaven knows if I had so struggled for deliverance ,
for poor Mrs. Schwellenberg so wore, wasted, and tortured all my
little leisure, that my time for repose was, in fact, my time of
greatest labour. So all is for the best! I have escaped
offending lastingly the royal mistress I love and honour, and-I
live at Westhamble with my two precious Alexanders.
(137) The most interesting account of the unfortunate expedition
to Bantry Bay is to be found in Wolfe Tone's " Memoirs." Wolfe
Tone, one of the leading members of the Irish Revolutionary
party, had been for some time resident in Paris, engaged in
negotiations with the Directory, with the view of obtaining
French support for the Irish in their intended attempt to throw
off the yoke of England. About the middle of December, 1796, a
large French fleet, under the Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse, sailed
from Brest, having on board an army of f twenty-five thousand
men, commanded by General Hoche, one of the ablest officers of
the Republic. Wolfe Tone accompanied the troops in the capacity
of adjutant to the general, But the fleet was dispersed by
storms. The vessel which had General Hoche on board was obliged
to put into the harbour of Rochelle, and comparatively few of the
ships, with about six thousand troops on board, actually cast
anchor in Bantry Bay. Even there, the wind was so 'Violent as to
render landing impossible, and after a few days' delay the
expedition returned to France.-ED.
(138) Edmund Burke died, at his house at Beaconsfield, half an
hour after midnight on the morning Of Sunday, July 9, 1797. He
was buried, July 15, in the parish church of Beaconsfield.-ED.
(139) Sold for the benefit of the nation.
(140) Dr. Johnson's negro servant. Johnson left him a comfortable
annuity, on which he retired to Lichfield. He died in the
infirmary at Stafford, February 13, 1801.-ED.
(141) The Garrick family resided in Lichfield. David Garrick was
born in Hereford, but educated at Lichfield.-ED.
(142) Dr. Burney's little grandson, and the son of Captain James
BAR Burney. after years, as readers of "Elia" will remember,
Martin Burney was the friend of Charles Lamb.-ED.
(143) Since the death of his second wife, Dr. Burney had been
engaged upon a "historical and didactic poem on astronomy." He
had been urged to the undertaking by Fanny, who hoped that the
interest of this new occupation might prove a relief to his
sorrow. Astronomy Was a favourite subject with Dr. Burney, and
he made great progress with the poem, which was for years his
favourite recreation. At a later period, however, for some
reason which his daughter never discovered, he relinquished the
task and destroyed the manuscript.-ED.
(144) Ralph Broome, who married Charlotte Francis in 1798, wasthe
author of "The Letters of Simpkin the Second, poetic recorder of
all the proceedings upon the trial of Warren Hastings, Esq., in
Westminster Hall," published by Stockdale, 1789. These letters,
which had already appeared separately in "The World," form, as
the title implies, a burlesque report of the trial, in rhymed
verse. The author is very severe upon the managers, and
proportionately favourable to Mr. Hastings. The letters are
amusing and not without Wit, although in these respects "Simpkin
the Second" falls decidedly short of "Simpkin the First," who is,
of course, the Simple Simkin of Anstey's "New Bath Guide." upon
which clever satire Broome had modelled his performance.-ED.
(145) Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, was a very singular
character--- a compound of experimental philosopher, practical
philanthropist, soldier and statesman. He was born at Woburn,
Massachusetts, in 1753. A Tory during the struggle for American
independence, he embarked for England before the close of the
war. There he was well received by the government, but shortly
afterwards he went to Bavaria, where he entered into the service
of the Elector. He soon attained a high reputation by the
reforms which he introduced in various departments, and was
created a Count of the Holy Roman Empire, by the title of Count
Rumford. Among his principal achievements in Bavaria were the
reforms which he brought about in the army, and the measures
which he instituted for the relief of the poor and the
suppression of beggary. To Fanny, at present, Count Rumford was
more interesting as the inventor of an improved Cooking range, by
which the consumption of fuel was greatly reduced. See his "Life"
by James Renwick, in Sparks'.s "Library of American Biography,"
Boston, 1845.-ED.
(146) The insurrection of the 18th of Fructidor (September 4,
1797). In 1795, on the dissolution of the Convention, the
government of France was entrusted to a Directory of five
persons, assisted by two councils--the Council of Ancients, and
the Council of Five hundred. In course of time, the reactionary,
or anti-revolutionary, party obtained a large majority in the
councils, which were thus involved in continual disputes with the
Directory. The army supported the Directory, and on the 4th Of
September a large body of troops surrounded the Tuileries, and
arrested a number of the most obnoxious members of the councils;
many of these Were afterwards--not guillotined, but transported
to South America.-ED.
(147) The marriage of the princess royal and the hereditary
prince of Wurtemberg, May 18, 1797.-ED.
(148) In April, 797, a serious mutiny broke out in the fleet at
Spithead. The sailors demanded increased pay and better food.
Their demands were finally conceded, and they returned to their
duty, May 14. A few days later, a still more alarming mutiny
broke out in the fleet at the Nore. The mutineers hoisted the
red flag, May 23, and, being joined by vessels from other
squadrons, found themselves presently masters of eleven ships of
the line, and thirteen frigates. With this powerful fleet they
blocked the Thames, and put a stop to the river trade of London.
Their demands were more extensive than those of the Spithead
Mutineers, but government firmly refused further concessions, and
in June the want of union and resolution among the men brought
about the collapse of the mutiny. Ship after ship deserted the
red flag, until the last vessel was steered into Sheerness
harbour, and given up to the authorities. Several of the leaders
were tried by court-martial and hanged ; the rest of the
mutineers were pardoned.-ED.
(149) The decisive victory gained by Admiral Duncan over the
Dutch fleet, off Camperdown, October 11, 1797. in January, 1795,
the French army under General Pichegru had conquered Holland with
little difficulty, meeting, indeed, with much sympathy from the
inhabitants. The Prince of Orange and his family were forced to
take refuge in England and the representatives of the Dutch
people immediately assembling, proclaimed Holland a republic,
under the protection of France. From that time Holland had been
in alliance with France, and at war with England. Duncan was
rewarded for his victory with a pension and a peerage--Viscount
Duncan of Camperdown henceforward.-ED.
(150) Duncan's victory we have already noted. Lord Howe's was the
great victory of June 1, 1794, over the French fleet commanded by
Admiral Villaret-joyeuse. It was in this battle that the Vengeur
went down, out Of which incident Barrere manufactured, for the
benefit of the French people, that rousing story of the disabled
ship refusing to strike its colours, and sinking while every man
of the crew, With his last breath, shouted "Vive la Republique!"
Magnificent, had it not been pure fiction! Lord St. Vincent (then
Admiral Jervis) gained a complete victory over the Spanish fleet
off Cape St. Vincent, February 14, 1797. Spain, as well as
Holland, was now in alliance with France: had made peace with
France in 1795, and declared war against England in the following
year. ,K Admiral Jervis received the title of Earl St. Vincent
and a pension in consequence of his victory.-ED.
(151) Only child of the Prince and Princess of Wales, born
January 7, 1796.-ED.
(152) A novel by Sarah Harriet Burney.-ED.
(153) The Duke of Cumberland, afterward, King of Hanover; fifth
son of George III.; born 1771, died 1851.-ED.
(154) William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, and brother of George
III.-ED.
(155) William Frederick, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, and
husband of the Princess Mary. He was born in 1776, and died in
1836.-ED.
(156) Arthur O'Connor, nephew and heir of Lord Longueville, was
one of the Irish leaders, who took part in the negotiations
between the Revolutionary party in Ireland and the French
Directory. He and two or three of his associates were arrested
at Margate (February 28, 1798), where they were attempting to
hire a boat to take them to France. They were tried at Maidstone
(May 21), and one of the party, on whom were found some
compromising papers, including an address to the Directory, was
convicted and hanged. O'Connor was acquitted, but immediately
rearrested and detained in custody during the rising in Ireland.-
ED.
Page 170 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.)
Page 172
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,
Page 173
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
niece 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
Page 174
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?
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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.
I was extremely surprised to be told by the maid a gentleman and
lady had called at the door, who sent in a card and begged to
know if I could admit them; and to see the names on the card were
Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld.(161) I had never seen them more than
twice; the first time, by their own desire, Mrs. Chapone carried
me to meet them at Mr. Burrows's: the other time, I think, was at
Mrs. Chapone's. You must be sure I could not hesitate to receive,
and receive with thankfulness, this civility from the authoress
of the most useful books, next to Mrs. Trimmer's, that have been
yet written for dear little children; though this with the world
is probably her very secondary merit, her many pretty Poems, and
particularly songs, being generally esteemed. But many more have
written those as well, and not a few better; for children's books
she began the new walk, which has since been so well cultivated,
to the great information as well as utility of parents.
Mr. Barbauld is a dissenting minister--an author also, but I am
unacquainted with his works. They were in our little
dining-parlour-the only one that has any chairs in it--and began
apologies for their visit; but I interrupted and finished them
with my thanks. She is much altered, but not for the worse to me,
though she is for herself, since the flight of her youth, which
is evident, has taken also with it a great portion of an almost
set smile, which had an air of determined complacence and
prepared acquiescence that seemed to result
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from a sweetness which never risked being off guard. I remember
Mrs. Chapone's saying to me, after our interview, "She is a very
good young woman, as well as replete with talents; but why must
one always smile so? It makes my poor jaws ache to look at her."
We talked, of course, of that excellent lady ; and you will
believe I did not quote her notions of smiling. The Burrows
family, she told me,. was quite broken up; old Mrs. Amy alone
remaining alive. Her brother, Dr. Aiken,(162) with his family,
were passing the summer at Dorking, on account of his ill-health,
the air of that town having been recommended for his complaints.
The Barbaulds were come to spend some time with him, and would
not be so near without renewing their acquaintance. They had been
walking in Norbury Park, which they admired very much; and Mrs.
Barbauld very elegantly said, "If there was such a public officer
as a legislator of taste, Mr. Locke ought to be chosen for it."
They inquired much about M. d'Arblay, who was working in his
garden, and would not be at the trouble of dressing to appear.
They desired to see Alex, and I produced him ; and his
orthographical feats were very well-timed here, for as soon as
Mrs. Barbauld said, "What is your name, you pretty creature?" he
sturdily answered "B, o, y; boy."
Almost all our discourse was upon the Irish rebellion. Mr.
Barbauld is a very little, diminutive figure, but well-bred and
sensible.
I borrowed her poems, afterwards, of Mr. Daniel, who chanced to
have them, and have read them with much esteem of the piety and
worth they exhibit, and real admiration of the last amongst them,
which is an epistle to Mr. Wilberforce in favour of the
demolition of the slave-trade, 1 'n which her energy seems to
spring from the real spirit of virtue, suffering at the luxurious
depravity which can tolerate, in a free land, so unjust, cruel,
and abominable a traffic.
We returned their visit together in a few days, at Dr. Aiken's
lodgings, at Dorking, where, as she permitted M. d'Arblay to
speak French, they had a very animated discourse upon buildings,
French and English, each supporting those of their own country
with great spirit, but my monsieur,
Page 180
to own the truth, having greatly the advantage both in manner and
argument. He was in spirits, and came forth with his best
exertions. Dr. Aiken looks very sickly, but is said to be better:
he has a good countenance.
PRINCESS AMELIA AT JUNIPER HALL.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Westhamble, 1798.
And now, my beloved Susan, I will sketch my last Court history of
this year.
The Princess Amelia, who had been extremely ill since My last
royal admittance, of some complaint in her knee which caused
spasms the most dreadfully painful, was now returning from her
sea-bathing at Worthing, and I heard from all around the
neighbourhood that her royal highness was to rest and stop one
night at juniper Hall, whither she was to be attended by Mr.
Keate the surgeon, and by Sir Lucas Pepys, who was her physician
at Worthing.
I could not hear of her approaching so near our habitation, and
sleeping within sight of us, and be contented without an effort
to see her; yet I would not distress Lady Rothes by an
application she would not know how either to refuse or grant,
from the established etiquette of bringing no one into the
presence of their royal highnesses but by the queen's permission.
So infinitely sweet, however, that young love of a princess
always is to me, that I gathered courage to address a petition to
her majesty herself, through the medium of Miss Planta, for leave
to pay my homage.-I will copy my answer, sent by return of post.
..
"My dear friend,-I have infinite pleasure in acquainting you that
the queen has ordered me to say that you have her leave to see
dear Princess Amelia, provided Sir Lucas Pepys and Dr. Keate
permit it, etc."
With so complete and honourable a credential, I now scrupled not
to address a few lines to Lady Rothes, telling her My authority,
to prevent any embarrassment, for entreating her leave to pay my
devoirs to the young princess on Saturday morning,--the Friday I
imagined she would arrive too fatigued to be seen. I intimated
also my wish to bring my boy, not to be presented unless
demanded, but to be Put into some closet where he might be at
hand in case of that
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honour. The sweet princess's excessive graciousness to him gave
me courage for this request. Lady Rothes sent me a kind note
which made me perfectly comfortable.
It was the 1st of December, but a beautifully clear and fine day.
I borrowed Mr. Locke's carriage. Sir Lucas came to us
immediately, and ushered us to the breakfast-parlour, giving me
the most cheering accounts of the recovery of the princess. Here
I was received by Lady Rothes, who presented me to Lady Albinia
Cumberland, widow of Cumberland the author's only son, and one of
the ladies of the princesses. I found her a peculiarly pleasing
woman, in voice, manner, look, and behaviour.
This introduction over, I had the pleasure to shake hands with
Miss Goldsworthy, whom I was very glad to see, and who was very
cordial and kind; but who is become, alas! so dreadfully deaf,
there is no conversing with her, but by talking for a whole house
to hear every word ! With this infirmity, however, she is still
in her first youth and brightness, compared with her brother,
who, though I knew him of the party, is so dreadfully altered,
that I with difficulty could venture to speak to him by the name
of General Goldsworthy. He has had three or four more strokes of
apoplexy since I saw him. I fancy he had a strong consciousness
of his alteration, for he seemed embarrassed and shy, and only
bowed to me, at first, without speaking. but I wore that off
afterwards, by chatting over old stories with him.
The princess breakfasted alone, attended by Mrs. Cheveley. When
this general breakfast was over, Lady Albinia retired. But in a
very few minutes she returned, and said, "Her royal highness
desires to see Madame d'Arblay and her little boy."
The princess was seated on a sofa, in a French gray riding-dress,
with pink lapels, her beautiful and richly flowing and shining
fair locks unornamented. Her breakfast was still before her, and
Mrs. Cheveley in waiting. Lady Albinia announced me, and she
received me with the brightest smile, calling me up to her, and
stopping my profound reverence, by pouting out her sweet ruby
lips for me to kiss.
She desired me to come and sit by her; but, ashamed of so much
indulgence, I seemed not to hear her, and drew a chair at a
little distance. "No, no," she cried, nodding, "come here; come
and sit by me here, my dear Madame d'Arblay." I had then only to
say 'twas my duty to obey her, and I seated myself on her sofa.
Lady Albinia, whom she motioned
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to sit, took an opposite chair, and Mrs. Cheveley, after we had
spoken a few words together, retired.
Her attention now was bestowed upon my Alex, who required not
quite so much solicitation to take his part of the sofa. He came
jumping and skipping up to her royal highness, with such gay and
merry antics, that it was impossible not to be diverted with so
sudden a change from his composed and quiet behaviour in the
other room. He seemed enchanted to see her again, and I was only
alarmed lest he should skip upon her poor knee in his caressing
agility.
I bid him, in vain, however, repeat Ariel's "Come unto these
yellow sands," which he can say very prettily; he began, and the
princess, who knew it, prompted him to go on --but a fit of shame
came suddenly across him-or of capriciousness-and he would not
continue.
Lady Albinia soon after left the room - and the princess, then,
turning hastily and eagerly to me, said, "Now we are alone, do
let me ask you one question, Madame d'Arblay. Are you--are
you--[looking with strong expression to discover her answer]
writing anything?"
I could not help laughing, but replied in the negative.
"Upon your honour?" she cried earnestly, and looking
disappointed. This was too hard an interrogatory for evasion;
and I was forced to say--the truth--that I was about nothing I
had yet fixed if or not I should ever finish, but that I was
rarely without some project. This seemed to satisfy and please
her.
I told her of my having seen the Duke of Clarence at Leatherhead
fair. "What, William?" she cried, surprised. This unaffected,
natural way of naming her brothers and sisters is infinitely
pleasing. She took a miniature from her pocket, and said, "I
must show you Meney's picture," meaning Princess Mary, whom she
still calls Meney, because it was the name she gave her when
unable to pronounce Mary--a time she knew I well remembered. It
was a very sweet miniature, and extremely like. "Ah! what
happiness," I cried, "your royal highness will feel, and give,
upon returning to their majesties and their royal highnesses,
after such an absence, and such sufferings!" "O! yes!--I shall
be SO glad!" she cried, and then Lady Albinia came in and
whispered her it was time to admit Lady Rothes, who then entered
with Lady Harriet and the Miss Leslies. When she was removing,
painfully lifted from her seat
Page 183
between Sir Lucas and Mr. Keate, she stopped to pay her
compliments and thanks to Lady Rothes with a dignity and self-
command extremely striking. .
DEATH OF MR. SEWARD.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
Westhamble, May 2, 1799.
Poor Mr. Seward! I am indeed exceedingly concerned--nay,
grieved--for his loss to us: to us I trust I may say; for I
believe he was so substantially good a creature, that he has left
no fear or regret merely for himself. He fully expected his end
was quickly approaching. I saw him at my father's at Chelsea, and
he spent almost a whole morning with me in chatting of other
times, as he called it ; for we travelled back to Streatham, Dr.
Johnson, and the Thrales. But he told me he knew his disease
incurable. Indeed he had passed a quarter of an hour in
recovering breath, in a room with the servants, before he let me
know he had mounted the college stairs. My father was not at
home. He had thought himself immediately dying, he said, four
days before, by certain sensations that he believed to be fatal,
but he mentioned it with cheerfulness ; and though active in
trying all means to lengthen life, declared himself perfectly
calm in suspecting they would fail. TO give me a proof, he said
he had been anxious to serve Mr. Wesley, the methodist musician,
and he had recommended him to the patronage of the Hammersleys,
and begged my father to meet him there to dinner; but as this was
arranged, he was seized himself with a dangerous attack, which he
believed to be mortal. And during this belief, "willing to have
the business go on," said he, laughing, "and not miss me, I wrote
a letter to a young lady, to tell her all I wished to be done
upon the occasion, to serve Wesley, and to show him to advantage.
I gave every direction I should have given in person, in a
complete persuasion at the moment I should never hold a pen in my
hand again."
This letter, I found, was to Miss Hammersley.
I had afterwards the pleasure of introducing M. d'Arblay to him,
and it seemed a gratification to him to make the acquaintance. I
knew he had been curious to see him, and he wrote my father word
afterwards he had been much pleased.
My father says he sat with him an hour the Saturday before he
died - and though he thought him very ill, he was so little
Page 184
aware his end was so rapidly approaching, that, like my dearest
friend, he laments his loss as if by sudden death.
I was sorry, too, to see in the newspapers, the expulsion of Mr.
Barry from the Royal Academy. I suppose it is from some furious
harangue.(163) His passions have no restraint though I think
extremely well of his heart, as well as of his understanding.
DR. BURNEY AGAIN VISITS DR. HERSCHEL.
(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Slough, Monday morning, July 22, 1799, in bed at Dr. Herschel's,
half-past five, where I can neither sleep nor lie idle.
My dear Fanny,-I believe I told you on Friday that I was going to
finish the perusal of my astronomical verses to the great
astronomer on Saturday. Here I arrived at three o'clock,-
-neither Dr. nor Mrs. H. at home. This was rather discouraging,
but all was set to rights by the appearance of Miss Baldwin, a
sweet, timid, amiable girl, Mrs. Herschel's niece. ....When we
had conversed about ten minutes, in came two other sweet girls,
the daughters of Dr. Parry of Bath, on a visit here. More
natural, obliging, charming girls I have seldom seen; and,
moreover, very pretty. We soon got acquainted. I found they were
musical, and in other respects very well educated. It being a
quarter past four, and the lord and lady of the mansion not
returned, Miss Baldwin would have dinner served, according to
order, and an excellent dinner it was, and our chattation no
disagreeable sauce.
After an admirable dessert, I made the Misses Parry sing and
play, and sang and played with them so delightfully, "you can't
think!"
Mr. and Mrs. H. did not return till between seven and eight ; but
when they came, apologies for being out on pressing business,
cordiality and kindness, could not be more liberally bestowed.
After tea Dr. H. proposed that we two should retire into a quiet
room, in order to resume the perusal of my work, in
Page 185
which no progress had been made since last December. The evening
was finished very cheerfully; and we went to our bowers not much
out of humour with each other, or with the world.
DR. BURNEY AND THE KING.
We had settled a plan to go to the chapel at Windsor in' the
morning, the king and royal family being there, and the town very
full. Dr. H. and Mrs. H. stayed at home, and I was accompanied by
the three Graces. Dr. Goodenough, the successor of Dr. Shepherd,
as canon, preached. I had dined with him at Dr. Duval's. He is a
very agreeable man, and passionately fond of music, with whom, as
a professor, a critic, and an historian of the art; I seem to
stand very high; but I could not hear a single sentence of his
sermon, on account of the distance. After the service I got a
glimpse of the good king, in his light-grey farmer-like morning
Windsor uniform, in a great crowd, but could not even obtain that
glance of the queen and princesses. The day was charming. The
chapel is admirably repaired, beautified, and a new west window
painted on glass. All was cheerfulness, gaiety, and good humour,
such as the subjects of no other monarch, I believe, i on earth
enjoy at present; and except return of creepings now and then,
and a cough, I was as happy as the best.
At dinner we all agreed to go to the Terrace,--Mr., Mrs., and
Miss H., with their nice little boy, and the three young ladies.
This plan we put in execution, and arrived on the Terrace a
little after seven. I never saw it more crowded or gay. The
park was almost full of happy people--farmers, servants, and
tradespeople,--alt In Elysium. Deer in the distance, and dears
unnumbered near. Here I met with everybody I wished and expected
to see previous to the king's arrival in the part of the Terrace
where I and my party were planted. .....
Chelsea, Tuesday, three o'clock.
Not a moment could I get to write till now; and I am afraid of
forgetting some part of my history, but I ought not, for the
events of this visit are very memorable.
When the king and queen, arm in arm, were approaching the place
where the Herschel family and I had planted ourselves, one of the
Misses Parry heard the queen say to his majesty, "There's Dr.
Burney," when they instantly came to me, so smiling and gracious
that I longed to throw myself at
Page 186
their feet. "How do you, Dr. Burney?" said the king, "Why, you
are grown fat and young."
"Yes, indeed," said the queen; "I was very glad to hear from
Madame d'Arblay how well you looked."
"Why, you used to be as thin as Dr. Lind," says the king. Lind
was then in sight--a mere lath; but these few words were
accompanied with such Very gracious smiles, and seemingly
affectionate good-humour--the whole royal family, except the
Prince of Wales, standing by in the midst of a crowd of the first
people in the kingdom for rank and office--that I was afterwards
looked at as a sight. After this the king and queen hardly ever
passed by me without a smile and a nod. The weather was charming;
the park as full as the Terrace, the king having given permission
to the farmers, tradesmen, and even livery servants, to be there
during the time of his walking.
Now I must tell you that Herschel proposed to me to go with him
to the king's concert at night, he having permission to go when
he chooses, his five nephews (Griesbachs) making a principal part
of the band. "And," says he, "I know you will be welcome." But I
should not have presumed to believe this if his majesty had not
formerly taken me into his concert-room himself from your
apartments. This circumstance, and the gracious notice with
which I had been just honoured, emboldened me. A fine music-room
in the Castle, next the Terrace, is now fitted up for his
majesty's evening concerts, and an organ erected. Part of the
first act had been performed previous to our arrival. There were
none but the performers in the room, except the Duchesses of Kent
and cumberland, with two or three general officers backwards. The
king seldom goes into the music-room after the first act; and the
second and part of the third were over before we saw anything of
him, though we heard his majesty, the queen, and princesses
talking in the next room. At length he came directly up to me and
Herschel, and the first question his majesty asked me was,--"How
does Astronomy go on?" I, pretending to suppose he knew nothing
of my poem, said, "Dr. Herschel will better inform your majesty
than I can." "Ay, ay," says the king, "but you are going to tell
us something with your pen;" and moved his hand in a writing
manner. "What--what--progress have you made?" "Sir, it is all
finished, and all but the last of twelve books have been read to
my friend Dr. Herschel." The king, then, looking at Herschel, as
who would say, "How is it?" "It
Page 187
is a very capital work, sir," says H. "I wonder how you find
time?" said the king. "I make time, Sir." "How, how?" "I take
it out of my sleep, sir." When the considerate good king, "But
you'll hurt your health. How long," he adds, "have you been at
it?" "Two or three years, at odd and stolen moments, Sir."
"Well," said the king (as he had said to you before), "whatever
you write, I am sure will be entertaining." I bowed most humbly,
as ashamed of not deserving so flattering a speech. "I don't say
it to flatter you," says the king; "if I did not think it, I
would not say it."
OVERWHELMED WITH THE ROYAL GRACIOUSNESS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
"Fore George, a more excellent song than t'other!"
Westhamble, July 25, '99.
Why, my dearest padre, your subjects rise and rise,-till
subjects, in fact, are no longer in question. I do not wonder you
felt melted by the king's goodness. I am sure I did in its
perusal. And the queen!-her naming me so immediately went to my
heart. Her speeches about me to Mrs. Locke in the drawing-room,
her interest in my welfare, her deigning to say she had "never
been amongst those who had blamed my marriage," though she lost
by it my occasional attendances, and her remarking "I looked the
picture of happiness," had warmed me to the most fervent
gratitude, and the more because her saying she had never been
amongst those who had blamed me shows there were people who had
not failed to do me ill offices in her hearing; though probably,
and I firmly believe, without any personal enmity, as I am
unconscious of my having any owed me; but merely from a cruel
malice with which many seize every opportunity, almost
involuntarily, to do mischief and most especially to undermine at
Court any one presumed to be in any favour. And, still further,
I thought her words conveyed a confirmation of what her conduct
towards me in my new capacity always led me to conjecture,
namely, that my guardian star had ordained it so that the real
character and principles of my honoured and honourable mate had,
by some happy chance, reached the royal ear "before the news of
our union. The dear king's graciousness :to M. d'Arblay upon the
Terrace, when the commander-in-chief, just then returned from the
Continent, was by his side, made it impossible not to suggest
this : and now, the queen's
Page 188
again naming me so in, public puts it, in my conception, beyond
doubt. My kindest father will be glad, I am sure, to have added
to the great delight of his recital a strength to a notion I so
much love to cherish.
WAR RUMOURS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Aug. 14, '99.
People here are very sanguine that Ireland is quiet, and will
remain so; and that the combined fleets can never reach it. How
are your own politics upon that point? Mine will take their
colour, be it what it may. Our dear father is Visiting about,
from Mr. Cox's to Mrs. Crewe, with whom be is now at Dover, where
Mr. Crewe has some command. We are all in extreme disturbance
here about the secret expedition. Nothing authentic is arrived
from the first armament; and the second is all prepared for
sailing. . . . Both officers and men are gathered from all
quarters. - Heaven grant them speedy safety, and ultimate peace !
God bless my own dearest Susan, and strengthen and restore her.
Amen! Amen.
ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, October 1, '99.
Whether gaily or sadly to usher what I have to say I know not,
but your sensations, like mine, will I am sure be mixed. The
major has now written to Mrs. Locke that he is anxious to have
Susan return to England. She is "in an ill state of health," he
says, and he wishes her to try her native air; but the revival of
coming to you and among us all, and the tender care that will be
taken of her, is likely to do much for her; therefore, if we get
her but to this side the channel, the blessing is comparatively
so great, that I shall feel truly thankful to heaven.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Westhamble, December 10, '99.
O my Susan, my heart's dear sister! with what bitter
sorrow have I read this last account! With us, with yourself,
your children,-all,-you have trifled in respect to health, though
in all things else you are honour and veracity personified;
Page 189
but nothing had prepared me to think you in such a grave state as
I now find you. Would to God I could get to you! If Mr. Keirnan
thinks you had best pass the winter in Dublin, stay, and let me
come to you. Venture nothing against his opinion, for mercy's
sake! Fears for your health take place of all impatience to
expedite your return; only go not back to Belcotton, where you
cannot be under his direction, and are away from the physician he
thinks of so highly.
I shall write immediately to Charles about the carriage. I am
sure of his answer beforehand,--so must you be. Act, therefore,
with regard to the carriage, as if already it were arranged. But
I am well aware it must not set out till you Are well enough to
nearly fix your day of sailing. I say nearly, for we must always
allow for accidents. I shall write to our dear father, and Etty,
and James, and send to Norbury Park - but I shall wait till
to-morrow, not to infect them with what I am infected.. . .
O my Susan! that I could come to you! But all must depend on Mr.
Keirnan's decision. If you can come to us with perfect safety,
however slowly, I shall not dare add to your embarrassment of
persons and package. Else Charles's carriage--O, what a
temptation to air it for you all the way! Take no more large
paper, that you may write with less fatigue, and, if possible,
oftener;--to any one will suffice for all.
(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
9th January, 1800.
My most dear padre,-My mate will say all,-so I can only offer up
my earnest prayers I may soon be allowed the blessing--the only
one I sigh for--of embracing my dearest Susan in your arms and
under your roof. Amen. F. D'A.
These were the last written lines of the last period--unsuspected
as such--of my perfect happiness on earth; for they were stopped
on the road by news that my heart's beloved sister, Susanna
Elizabeth Phillips, had ceased to breathe. The tenderest of
husbands--the most feeling of human beings--had only reached
Norbury Park, on his way to a believed meeting with that angel,
when the fatal blow was struck; and he came back to West Hamble--
to the dreadful task of revealing the irreparable loss which his
own goodness, sweetness, patience, and sympathy could alone have
made supported.
Page 190
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
9th January, 1800.
"As a guardian angel!"--Yes, my dearest Fredy, as such in every
interval of despondence I have looked up to the sky to see her,
but my eyes cannot pierce through the thick atmosphere, and I can
only represent her to me seated on a chair of sickness, her soft
hand held partly out to me as I approach her; her softer eyes so
greeting me as never welcome was expressed before; and a smile of
heavenly expression speaking the tender gladness of her grateful
soul that God at length should grant our re-union. From our
earliest moments, my Fredy, when no misfortune happened to our
dear family, we wanted nothing but each other. Joyfully as others
were received by us--loved by us--all that was necessary to our
happiness was fulfilled by our simple junction. This I remember
with my first remembrance; nor do I recollect a single instance
of being affected beyond a minute by any outward disappointment,
if its result was leaving us together.
She was the soul of my soul !-and 'tis wonderful to me, my
dearest Fredy, that the first shock did not join them immediately
by the flight of mine-but that over-that dreadful, harrowing,
never-to be-forgotten moment of horror that made me wish to be
mad--the ties that after that first endearing period have shared
with her my heart, come to my aid. Yet I was long incredulous;
and still sometimes I think it is not--and that she will come--
and I paint her by my side--by my father's--in every room of
these apartments, destined to have chequered the woes of her life
with rays of comfort, joy, and affection.
O, my Fredy ! not selfish is the affliction that repines her
earthly course of sorrow was allowed no shade!--that at the
instant soft peace and consolation awaited her she should breathe
her last! You would understand all the hardship of resignation
for me were you to read the joyful opening of her letter, on her
landing, to my poor father, and her prayer at the end to be
restored to him. O, my Fredy! could you indeed think of me--be
alarmed for me on that dreadful day?---I can hardly make that
enter my comprehension; but I thank you from my soul; for that is
beyond any love I had thought possible, even from Your tender
heart.
Tell me you all keep well, and forgive me my distraction. I
write so fast I fear you can hardly read; but you will See
Page 191
I am conversing with you, and that will show you how I turn to
you for the comfort of your tenderness. Yes, you have all a loss,
indeed!
A PRINCESS'S CONDESCENSION.
(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke).
Greenwich, Friday, February, 1800.
Here we are, my beloved friend. We came yesterday. All places to
me are now less awful than my own so dear habitation. My royal
interview took place on Wednesday. I was five hours with the
royal family, three of them alone with the queen, whose
graciousness and kind goodness I cannot express. And each of the
princesses saw me with a sort of concern and interest I can never
forget. I did tolerably well, though not quite as steadily as I
expected but with my own Princess Augusta I lost all command.
She is still wrapt up, and just recovering from a fever herself-
and she spoke to me in a tone--a voice so commiserating--I could
not stand it--I was forced to stop short in my approach, and hide
my face with my muff. She came up to me immediately, put her arm
upon my shoulder, and kissed me--I shall never forget it.--How
much more than thousands of words did a condescension so tender
tell me her kind feelings!--She is one of the few beings in this
world that can be, in the words of M. de Narbonne, "all that is
douce and all that is sbirituelle,"--his words upon my lost
darling!
It is impossible more of comfort or gratification could be given
than I received from them all.
HORTICULTURAL MISFORTUNES.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney).
Westhamble, March 22, 1800.
Day after day I have meant to write to my dearest father 'but I
have been unwell ever since our return, and that has not added to
my being sprightly. I have not once crossed 'the threshold since
I re-entered the house till to-day, when Mr. and Mrs. Locke
almost insisted upon taking me an airing. I am glad of it, for it
has done me good, and broken a kind of spell that made me
unwilling to stir.
Page 192
M. d'Arblay has worked most laboriously in his garden but his
misfortunes there, during our absence, might melt a heart of
stone. The horses of our next neighbouring farmer broke through
our hedges, and have made a kind of bog of our mead ow, by
scampering in it during the wet; the sheep followed, who have
eaten up all our greens, every sprout and cabbage and lettuce,
destined for the winter ; while the horses dug up our turnips and
carrots; and the swine, pursuing such examples, have trod down
all the young plants besides devouring whatever the others left
of vegetables. Our potatoes, left, from our abrupt departure, in
the ground, are all rotten or frostbitten, and utterly spoilt;
and not a single thing has our whole ground produced us since we
came home. A few dried carrots, which remain from the in-doors
collection, are all we have to temper our viands..
What think you of this for people who make it a rule to owe a
third of their sustenance to the garden? Poor M, d'A.'s renewal
of toil, to supply future times, is exemplary to behold, after
such discouragement. But he works as if nothing had failed; such
is his patience as well as industry.
My Alex, I am sure you will be kindly glad to hear, is entirely
well; and looks so blooming--no rose can be fresher. I am
encouraging back his spouting propensity, to fit him for his
royal interview with the sweet and gay young princess who has
demanded him, who will, I know, be diverted with his speeches and
gestures. We must present ourselves before Easter, as the Court
then adjourns to Windsor for ten days. My gardener will not again
leave his grounds to the fourfooted marauders; and our stay,
therefore, will be the very shortest we can possibly make it ;
for though we love retirement, we do not like solitude.
I long for some further account of you, dearest: sir, and how you
bear the mixture of business and company, of "fag and frolic," as
Charlotte used to phrase it.
Westhamble, April 27, 1800.
My Alex improves in all that I can teach, and my gardener
is laboriously recovering from his winter misfortunes. He is now
raising a hillock by the gate, for a view of NorbUry Park from
our grounds, and he has planted potatoes upon almost every spot
where they can grow. The dreadful price of provisions makes this
our first attention. The poor people about us complain they are
nearly starved, and the children of the
Page 193
journeymen of the tradesmen at Dorking come to our door to beg
halfpence for a little bread. What the occasion of such
universal dearth can be we can form no notion, and have no
information. The price of bread we can conceive from the bad
harvest; but meat, butter, and shoes!---nay, all sorts of
nourriture or clothing seem to rise in the same proportion, and
without any adequate cause. The imputed one of the war does not
appear to me sufficient, though the drawback from all by the
income-tax is severely an underminer of comfort. What is become
of the campaign? are both parties incapacitated from beginning?
or is each waiting a happy moment to strike some definitive
stroke? We are strangely in the dark about all that is going on,
and unless you will have the compassion to write us some news, we
may be kept so till Mr. Locke returns.
A WITHDRAWN COMEDY.
[Towards the close of the preceding year Dr. Charles Burney had
placed in the hands of Mr. Harris, the manager of Covent
Garden-theatre, a comedy by Madame d'Arblay, called "Love and
Fashion." Mr. Harris highly approved the piece, and early in the
spring put it into rehearsal ; but Dr. Burney was seized with a
panic concerning its success, and, to oblige him, his daughter
and her husband withdrew it. The following letter announced their
generous compliance with his wishes.]
(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
Monday.
I hasten to tell you, dearest sir, Mr. H. has at length listened
to our petitions, and has returned me my poor ill-fated ---,
wholly relinquishing all claim to it for this season. He has
promised also to do his utmost, as far as his influence extends,
to keep the newspapers totally silent in future. We demand,
therefore, no contradictory paragraph, as the report must needs
die when the reality no more exists. Nobody has believed it from
the beginning, on account of the premature moment when it was
advertised.
This release gives me present repose, which, indeed, I much
wanted; for to combat your, to me, unaccountable but most
afflicting displeasure, in the midst of my own panics and
disturbance, would have been ample punishment to me had I been
guilty of a crime, in doing what I have all my life been
Page 194
urged to, and all my life intended, --writing a comedy. Your
goodness, your kindness, your regard for my fame, I know have
caused both your trepidation, which doomed me to certain failure,
and your displeasure that I ran, what you thought, a wanton risk.
But it is not wanton, my dearest father. My imagination is not at
my own control, or I would always have continued in the walk YOU
approved. The combinations for another long work did not occur
to me; incidents and effects for a drama did. I 'thought the
field more than open--inviting to me. The chance held out golden
dreams.--The risk could be only our own; for, permit me to say,
appear when it will, you will find nothing in the principles, the
moral, or the language that will make you blush for me. A failure
upon those points only, can bring disgrace; Upon mere cabal or
want of dramatic powers, it can only cause disappointment.
I hope, therefore, my dearest father, in thinking this over you
will cease to nourish such terrors and disgust at an essay so
natural, and rather say to yourself, with an internal smile,
"After all, 'tis but like father like child; for to what walk do
I confine myself? She took my example in writing--she takes it in
ranging. Why then, after all, should I lock her up in one
paddock, well as she has fed there, if she says she finds nothing
more to nibble; while I find all the earth unequal to my
ambition, and mount the skies to content it? Come on, then, poor
Fan! the world has acknowledged you my offspring, and I will
disencourage you no more. Leap the pales of your paddock--let us
pursue our career; and, while you frisk from novel to comedy, I,
quitting music and prose, will try a race with poetry and the
stars."
I am sure my dear father will not infer, from this appeal, I mean
to parallel our works. No one more truly measures her own
inferiority, which, with respect to yours, has always been my
pride. I only mean to show, that if my muse loves a little
variety, she has an hereditary claim to try it.
M. D'ARBLAY's FRENCH PROPERTY.
(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
Westhamble, November 7, 1800.
I think it very long not to hear at least of YOU, my dearest
padre. My tranquil and happy security, alas! has been
Page 195
broken in upon by severe conflicts since I wrote to My dearest
father last, which I would not communicate while yet pending, but
must now briefly narrate. My partner, the truest of partners, has
been erased from the list of emigrants nearly a year; and in that
period has been much pressed and much blamed by his remaining
friends in France, by every opportunity through which they could
send to him, for not immediately returning, and seeing if
anything could be yet saved from the wreck of his own and
family's fortune ; but he held steady to his original purpose
never to revisit his own country till it was at peace with this ;
till a letter came from his beloved uncle himself, conveyed to
him through Hambro', which shook all the firmness of his
resolution, and has kept him, since its receipt, in a state of
fermentation, from doubts and difficulties, and crossing wishes
and interests, that has much affected his health as well as
tranquillity.
All, however, now, is at least decided; for a few days since he
received a letter from M. Lajard, who is returned to Paris, with
information from his uncle's eldest son, that some of his small
property is yet unsold, to about the amount of 1000 pounds, and
can still be saved from sequestration if he will immediately go
over and claim it; or, if that is impossible, if he will send his
procuration to his uncle, from some country not at war with
France.
This ended all his internal contest; and he is gone this very
morning to town to procure a passport and a passage in some
vessel bound to Holland.
So unused are we to part, never yet for a week having been
separated during the eight years of our union, that our first
idea was going together, and taking our Alex; and certain I am
nothing would do me such material and mental good as so complete
a change of scene; but the great expense of the voyage and
journey, and the inclement season for our little boy, at length
finally settled us to pray only for a speedy meeting. But I did
not give it up till late last night, and am far from quite
reconciled to relinquishing it even now.
He has no intention to go to France, or he would make an effort
to pass by Calais, which would delightfully shorten the passage;
but he merely means to remain at the Hague while he sends over
his procuration, and learns how soon he may hope to reap its
fruits.
page 196
Westhamble, 16th December, 1800.
He is returned, my dearest father, already! MY joy and surprise
are so great I seem in a dream. I have just this moment a letter
from him, written at Gravesend. What he has been able to arrange
as to his affairs, I know not ; and just now cannot care, so
great is my thankfulness for his safety and return. He waits in
the river for his passport, and will, when he obtains it, hasten,
I need not say, to Westhamble.
HOME MATTERS.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, September i, 1801.
A carpet we have-though not yet spread, as the chimney is
unfinished, and room incomplete. Charles brought us the tapis-so
that, in fact, we have yet bought nothing for our best room--and
meant,--for our own share--to buy a table . . . and if my dearest
father will be so good--and so naughty at once, as to crown our
salle d'audience with a gift we shall prize beyond all others, we
can think only of a table. Not a dining one, but a sort of table
for a little work and a few books,--en ala--without which, a room
looks always forlorn. I need not say how we shall love it ; and I
must not say how we shall blush at it; and I cannot say how we
feel obliged at it--for the room will then be complete in
love-offerings. Mr. Locke finished glazing or polishing his
impression border for the chimney on Saturday. It will be, I
fear, his last work of that sort, his eyes, which are very
longsighted, now beginning to fail and weaken at near objects.
My Alex intends very soon, he says, to marry-and, not long since,
with the gravest simplicity, he went up to Mr William Locke, who
was here with his fair bride, and said, "How did you get that
wife, William? because I want to get such a one--and I don't know
which is the way." And he is now actually employed in fixing
sticks and stones at convenient distances, upon a spot very near
our own, where he means to raise a suitable structure for his
residence, after his nuptials. You will not think he has suffered
much time to be wasted before he has begun deliberating upon his
conjugal establishment.
We spent the greatest part of last week in visits at Norbury
Park, to meet M. de Lally, whom I am very sorry you missed.
Page 197
He is delightful in the country full of resources, of gaiety, of
intelligence, of good humour and mingling powers of instruction.
with entertainment. He has read us several fragments of works of
his own, admirable in eloquence, sense, and feeling - chiefly
parts of tragedies, and all referring to subjects next his heart,
and clearest in his head ; namely, the French Revolution and its
calamities, and filial reverence and enthusiasm for injured
parents.
CONTEMPLATED JOURNEY To FRANCE.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, October 3, 1801.
God avert mischief from this peace, my dearest father! For in our
hermitage you may imagine, more readily than I can express, the
hopes and happiness it excites. M. d'Arblay now feels paid for
his long forbearance, his kind patience, and compliance with my
earnest wishes not to revisit his native land while we were at
war with it. He can now go with honour as well as propriety - for
every body, even the highest personages, will rather expect he
should make the journey as a thing of course, than hear of it as
a proposition for deliberation. He will now have his heart's
desire granted, in again seeing his loved and respectable
uncle,-and many relations, and more friends, and his own native
town, as well as soil ; and he will have the delight of
presenting to that uncle, and those friends, his little pet Alex.
With all this gratification to one whose endurance of such a
length of suspense, and repetition of disappointment, I have
observed with gratitude, and felt with sympathy-must not I, too,
find pleasure ? Though, on my side, many are the drawbacks - but
I ought not, and must not, listen to them. We shall arrange our
affairs with all the speed in our power, after the ratification
is arrived, for saving the cold and windy weather; but the
approach of winter is unlucky, as it will lengthen our stay, to
avoid travelling and voyaging during its severity - unless,
indeed, any internal movement, or the menace of any, should make
frost and snow secondary fears, and induce us to scamper off.
But the present is a season less liable in all appearance to
storms, than the seasons that may follow. Fates, joy, and
pleasure, will probably for some months occupy the public in
France - and it will not be till
Page 198
those rejoicings are past, that they will set about weighing
causes of new commotion, the rights of their governors, or the
means, or desirability of changing them. I would far rather go
immediately, than six months hence.
[The projected journey of Madame d'Arblay with her husband did
not take place this year; the season being already advanced, and
their little boy not strong enough to bear the fatigue of such an
expedition. Monsieur d'Arblay went alone to France.]
M. D'ARBLAY's ROUGH SEA PASSAGE.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, November 11, 1801.
I did not purpose writing to my dearest father till my suspense
and inquietude were happily removed by a letter from France; but
as I find he is already anxious himself, I will now relate all I
yet know of my dearest traveller's history. On Wednesday the 28th
of October, he set off for Gravesend. A vessel, he was told, was
ready for sailing,- and would set off the following day. He
secured his passage, and took up his abode at an inn, whence he
wrote me a very long letter, in full hope his next would be from
his own country. But Thursday came, and no sailing--though the
wind was fair, and the weather then calm: he amused his
disappointment as well as he could by visiting divers gardeners,
and taking sundry lessons for rearing and managing asparagus.
Friday, also, came-and still no sailing ! He was more and more
vexed ; but had recourse then to a chemist, with whom he revised
much of his early knowledge. Saturday followed--no sailing! and
he found the people waited on and on, in hopes of more
passengers, though never avowing their purpose, His patience was
now nearly exhausted, and he went and made such vifs
remonstrances that he almost startled the managers. They
pretended the ballast was all they stayed for : he offered to aid
that himself; and actually went to work, and never rested till
the vessel was absolutely ready: orders, enfin, were given for
sailing next morning, though he fears, with all his skill, and
all his eloquence, and all his aiding, they were more owing to
the arrival of four passengers than to his exertions. That night,
October the 31st, he went on board; and November the 1st he set
sail at five o'clock in the morning.
Page 199
You know how high a wind arose on Sunday the 1st, and
how dreadful a storm succeeded, lasting all night, all Monday,
and all night again. How thankful, how grateful am I to have
heard of his safety since so terrifying a period. They got on,
with infinite difficulty and danger, as far as Margate; they
there took anchor, and my kind voyager got a letter for me sent
on shore, "moyennant un schelling ."(164) To tell you my
gratitude in knowing him safe after that tempest--no I cannot!
Your warm affections, my dearest father, will easily paint to you
my thankfulness.
Next, they got on to Deal, and here anchored again, for the
winds, though they abated on shore, kept violent and dangerous
near the coast. Some of the passengers went on shore, and put two
letters for me in the post, assuring me all was safe. These two
passengers, who merely meant to dine on shore, and see the town,
were left behind. The sea rose so high, no boat could put off to
bring them back; and, though the captain hoisted a flag to
announce he was sailing, there was no redress. They had not
proceeded a league before the sea grew yet more rough and
perilous, and the captain was forced to hoist a flag of distress.
Everything in the vessel was overset; my poor M. d'Arblay's
provision-basket flung down, and its contents demolished; his
bottle of wine broken by another toss, and violent fall, and he
was nearly famished. The water now began to get into the ship,
all hands were at work that could work, and he, my poor voyager,
gave his whole noble strength to the pump, till he was so
exhausted, so fatigued, so weakened, that with difficulty he
could hold a pen to repeat that still--I might be tranquille, for
all danger was again over. A pilot came out to them from Dover,
for seven guineas, which the higher of the passengers subscribed
for (and here poor M. d'A. was reckoned of that class], and the
vessel was got into the port at Dover, and the pilot, moyennant
un autre schelling, put me again a letter, with all these
particulars, into the post.
This was Thursday the 5th. The sea still so boisterous, the
vessel was unable to cross the water. The magistrates at Dover
permitted the poor passengers all to land ; and M. d'Arblay wrote
to me again, from the inn, after being regaled with an excellent
dinner, of which he had been much in want. Here they met again
the two passengers lost at Deal, who, in hopes of this
circumstance, had travelled post
Page 200
from thence to Dover. Here, too, M. d'A. met the Duke de Duras,
an hereditary officer of the crown, but who told him, since peace
was made, and all hope seemed chased of a proper return to his
country, he was going, incognito, to visit a beloved old mother,
whom he had not seen for eleven years. "I have no passport," he
said, "for France , but I mean to avow myself to the commissary
at Calais, and tell him I know I am not erased, nor do I demand
to be so. I only solicit an interview with a venerable parent.
Send to Paris, to beg leave for it. You may put me in Prison
till the answer arrives; but, for mercy, for humanity's sake,
suffer me to wait in France till then! guarded as you please!"
This is his Purposed address--which my M. d'A. says he heard,
avec les larmes aux yeux.(165) I shall long to hear the event.
On Friday, November 6th, M. d'A. wrote me two lines:"Nov. 6,
1801.--,Je pars! the wind is excellent--au revoir." This is
dated ten o'clock in the morning. I have not had a word since.
[in the original edition here follow three letters, in French,
from M. d'Arblay to his wife. From these letters we translate the
following extracts.-ED.
"Paris.
"I do not yet know positively when it will be possible for me to
go to see my uncle. The settlement of my claim of half-pay is
anything but advanced. . . . To-morrow morning I have an
appointment with Du Taillis, aide-de-camp to Berthler (the French
minister of war). When I leave him, I hope to see Talleyrand;
but what I most particularly desire is, not to depart without
having at least a glimpse of the first Consul (Napoleon), that
man so justly celebrated. . . . In reference to the obligation
which we, formerly on the list of emigrants, have to him,
Narbonne said to me to-day, 'He has set all our heads on our
shoulders.' I like this expression."
" Paris, November 16, 1801.
"La Tour Maubourg, one of the companions of General Lafayette,
wished to marry his daughter to an emigrant whose name was not
yet struck off the list. He obtained an interview with the first
Consul, at which he entered into details on the matter, without
attempting to conceal the objections which might be taken to the
requested erasement of the young man's
Page 201
name from the list of emigrants. Bonaparte interrupted him and
said, 'Is the young man agreeable to your daughter?' 'Yes,
General.'-' 'Is he agreeable to you, M. de Maubourg?' 'Very much
so, General.'--'Well then, the man whom you judge worthy to enter
into such a family as yours, is surely worthy also to be a French
citizen.'"
"15th Frimaire (December 6), 1801.
"According to all appearance, my dearest, I shall not obtain the
settlement I ask for. Everybody says that nothing could be more
just than my demand, but so many persons who have served all
through the war are at present on half-pay, that I am desperately
afraid it will be the same with my past services as with my
property, and for the same reason-the impossibility of satisfying
all demands, however well founded. Meanwhile, my dearest, it is
impossible to conceal from ourselves that we have been living,
for some years, with all our economy, on resources which are now
either exhausted, or very nearly so. The greater part of our
income [Fanny's pension] is anything but certain, yet what should
we do if that were to fail us ? The moral of this discourse is,
that while I am fit for something, it is my duty, as a husband
and a father, to try what can be done to secure for us, if
possible, an old age of absolute independence ; and for our
little one a position which may prevent his being a burden to us.
. . .
". . . The consuls in England have not yet been nominated. The
consulship in London will be well worth having, and perhaps,
although there will be plenty of candidates, it might not be
impossible for me to obtain it. It is at least probable that I
could get appointed to one of the sea-ports. . . .
". . . Answer me at once, I beg of you. Think if this plan is
opposed to any of your tastes; for you know there is only one
possible happiness for me. Need I say more?")
SUGGESTED ABANDONMENT' OF CAMILLA COTTAGE.
(Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay.)
Westhamble, December 15, 1801.
The relief, the consolation of your frequent letters I can never
express, nor my grateful sense of your finding time for them,
situated as you now are-, and yet that I have this moment read,
of the 15 Frimaire, has made my heart ache
Page 202
heavily. Our hermitage is so dear to me-our book-room, 'so
precious, and in its retirement, its beauty of prospect, form,
convenience, and comforts, so impossible to replace, that I sigh,
and deeply, in thinking of relinquishing it. Your happiness,
however, is now all mine ; if deliberately therefore, you wish to
try a new system, I will surely try it, with you, be it what it
may. I will try any thing but what I try now--absence ! Think,
however, well, mon tr
s cher ami, before you decide upon any
occupation that robs you of being master of your own time,
leisure, hours, gardening, scribbling, and reading.
In the happiness you are now enjoying, while it Is SO new to you,
you are perhaps unable to appreciate your own value of those six
articles, which, except in moments of your bitter regret at the
privation of your first friends and beloved country, have made
your life so desirable. Weigh, weigh it well in the detail. I
cannot write.
Should you find the sum total preponderate in favour of your new
scheme, I will say no more. All schemes will to me be preferable
to seeing you again here, without the same fondness for the
place, and way of life, that has made it to me what it has been.
With regard to the necessity or urgency of the measure, I could
say much that I cannot write. You know now I can live with you,
and you know I am not without views, as well as hopes, of
ameliorating our condition.
I will fully discuss the subject with our oracle.(166) His
kindness, his affection for you! Yesterday, when I produced your
letter, and the extracts from M. Necker, and was going to read
some, he said, in that voice that is so penetratingly sweet, when
he speaks from his heart--"I had rather hear one line of
d'Arblay's than a volume of M. Necker's,"--yet at the same time
begging to peruse the MS. when I could spare it. I wish you could
have heard the tone in which he pronounced those words: it
vibrated on my ears all day.
I have spent near two hours upon this theme with our dearest
oracle and his other half He is much affected by the idea of any
change that may remove us from his daily sight; but, with his
unvarying disinterestedness, says he thinks such a place would be
fully acquitted by you. If it is of consul here, in London, he
is sure you would fill up all its functions even
Page 203
admirably. I put the whole consideration into your own hands ,
what, upon mature deliberation, you judge to be best, I will
abide by. Heaven guide and speed your determination!
M. D'ARBLAY'S PROPOSED RETIREMENT FROM MILITARY SERVICE.
1802.
[The beginning of this year was attended with much anxiety to
Madame d'Arblay. Her husband, disappointed in the hopes
suggested by his friends, of his receiving employment as French
commercial consul in London, directed his efforts to obtaining
his half-pay on the retired list of French officers. This was
promised, on condition that he should previously serve at St.
Domingo, where General Leclerc was then endeavouring to put down
Toussaint's insurrection. He accepted the appointment
conditionally on his being allowed to retire as soon as that
expedition should be ended. This, he was told, was impossible,
and he therefore hastened back to his family towards the end of
January.
In February, a despatch followed him from General Berthier, then
minister at war, announcing that his appointment was made out,
and on his own terms. 'To this M. d'Arblay wrote his acceptance,
but repeated a stipulation he had before made, that while he was
ready to fight against the enemies of the Republic, yet, should
future events disturb the peace lately established between France
and England, it was his unalterable determination never to take
up arms against the British government. As this determination had
already been signified by M. d'Arblay, he waited not to hear the
result of its repetition, but set off again for Paris to receive
orders, and proceed thence to St. Domingo.
After a short time he was informed that his stipulation of never
taking up arms against England could not be accepted, and that
his military appointment was in consequence annulled. Having been
required at the Alien office, on quitting England, to engage that
he would not return for the space of one year, he now proposed
that Madame d'Arblay, with her little boy, should join him in
France:-and among the following letters will be found several in
which she describes her first impressions on reaching that
country, and the society to which she was introduced.]
Page 204
(Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta.)
Camilla Cottage, Westhamble, February 11, 1802.
A most unexpected, and, to me, severe event, draws from me now an
account I had hoped to have reserved for a far happier
communication, but which I must beg you to endeavour to seek some
leisure moment for making known, with the utmost humility, to my
royal mistress. . . .
Upon the total failure of every effort M. d'Arblay could make to
recover any part of his natural inheritance, he was advised by
his friends to apply to the French government for half pay, upon
the claims of his former military services. He drew up a memoir,
openly stating his attachment and loyalty to his late king, and
appealing for this justice after undeserved proscription. His
right was admitted, but he was informed it could only be made
good by his re-entering the army; and a proposal to that effect
was sent him by Berthier, the minister of war.
The disturbance of his mind at an offer which so many existing
circumstances forbade his foreseeing, was indescribable. He had
purposed faithfully retiring to his hermitage, with his
fellow-hermit, for the remainder of his life: and nothing upon
earth could ever induce him to bear arms against the country
which had given him asylum, as well as birth to his wife and
child;--and yet a military spirit of honour, born and bred in
him, made it repugnant to all his feelings to demand even
retribution from the government of his own country, yet refuse to
serve it. Finally, therefore, he resolved to accept the offer
conditionally--to accompany the expedition to St. Domingo, for
the restoration of order in the French colonies, and then,
restored thus to his rank in the army, to claim his retraite.
This he declared to the minister of war, annexing a further
clause of receiving his instructions immediately from the
government.
The minister's answer to this was, that these conditions were
impossible. Relieved rather than resigned-though dejected to find
himself thus thrown out of every promise of prosperity, M.
d'Arblay hastened back to his cottage, to the inexpressible
satisfaction of the- recluse he had left there.
short, however, has been its duration ! A packet has just
followed him, containing a letter from Berthier, to tell him that
his appointment was made out according to his own demands ! and
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enclosing another letter to the commander-in-chief, Leclerc, with
the orders of government for employing him, delivered in terms,
the most distinguished, of his professional character.
All hesitation, therefore, now necessarily ends, and nothing
remains for M. d'Arblay but acquiescence and despatch,-- while
his best consolation is in the assurance he has universally
received, that this expedition has the good wishes and sanction
of England. And, to avert any misconception or misrepresentation,
he has this day delivered to M. Otto(167) a letter, addressed
immediately to the first Consul, acknowledging the flattering
manner in which he has been called forth, but decidedly and
clearly repeating what he had already declared to the war
minister, that though he would faithfully fulfil the engagement
into which he was entering, it was his unalterable resolution
never to take up arms against the British government.
I presume to hope this little detail may, at some convenient
moment, meet her majesty's eyes-with every expression of my
profoundest devotion.
M. D'ARBLAY's DISAPPOINTMENT.
(Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay.)
Westhamble, March 14, 1802.
O my dearest friend,- Can the intelligence I have most
desired come to me in a form that forbids my joy at it? What
tumultuous sensations your letter of the 8th has raised!(168)
Alas! that to relinquish this purpose should to you be as great
unhappiness as to me was its suggestion! I know not how to enter
upon the subject--how to express a single feeling. I fear to
seem ungrateful to providence, or to you ungenerous. I will
only, therefore, say, that as all your motives have been the most
strictly honourable, it is not possible they should not,
ultimately, have justice done them by all.
That I feel for your disappointment I need not tell you, when you
find it has power to shake to its foundation what would else be
the purest satisfaction of my soul. Let us--let us hope fairer
days will ensue and do not let the courage
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which was so prompt to support you to St. Domingo fail you in
remaining at Paris.
What you say of the year's probation I knew not before. Would
you have me make any inquiry if it be irreversible?' I should
think not ; and am most ready and eager to try by every means in
my power, if you will authorize me. If not, to follow you,
whithersoever you will, is much less my duty than my delight !
You have only to dictate whither, and how, and every doubt, every
fear, every difficulty, will give way to my eager desire to bring
your little boy to you. Would I not have left even Kin to have
followed you and your fate even to St. Domingo? 'Tis well,
however, you did not listen to me, for that poor little
susceptible soul could not, as yet lose us both at once, and be
preserved himself He has lived' so singularly alone with us, and
for us, that he does not dream of any possible existence in which
we should be both separated from him.
But of him--our
retreat--our books--our scribbling--our garden--our unique mode
of life--I must not talk to you now, now that your mind,
thoughts, views, and wishes are all distorted from themes of
peace, domestic life, and literary pursuits; yet time, I hope,
reflection, your natural philosophy of accommodating yourself to
your fate, and your kindness for those who are wholly devoted to
you, will bring you back to the love of those scenes, modes, and
sentiments, which for upwards of eight years have sufficed for
our mutual happiness.
I had been negotiating for apartments at Twickenham, opposite
Richmond, ever since you went, and on Friday I wrote to close
with the engagement. This very morning I have two letters, full
of delight at our approaching neighbourhood. Miss C.(169) herself
writes in tears, she says, of joy, that I should be so near her,
and that you should have wished it, and blesses you for your
confidence in her warm friendship. It is quite impossible
to read of such affection and zeal and goodness with dry eyes. I
am confounded how to disenchant her--- yet so generous and
disinterested she is, that, however disappointed, she will be
sure to rejoice for me in our re-union; for you, my dearest
friend! ah! who can rejoice? Your mind was all made up to the
return of its professional pursuits, and I am frightened out of
all my own satisfaction by MY dread of the weight of this chagrin
upon your spirits. What
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you can do to avert depression,, that cruel underminer of every
faculty that makes life worth sustaining, I beseech you to call
forth. Think how I have worked for fortitude since Feb. 11th.
Alas! vainly I have tried what most I wished--my
poor pen!--but now "occupe-toi pour raliser l'esprance." Those
words will operate like magic, I trust; and I will not close my
eyes this night till I have committed to paper some opening to a
new essay. Be good, then, and don't let me be as unhappy this way
as I have been the other. Direct always to me, Norbury Park,
Dorking. Heaven bless--bless you
[Here follows, in the original edition, another letter in French,
from M. d'Arblay to his wife. We translate the following
passage.-ED.