_Wednesday_.--We could not prevail with Dr. Johnson to stay till Mrs.
Montagu arrived, though, by appointment, she came very early. She and
Miss Gregory came by one o'clock.
There was no party to meet her. She is middle-sized, very thin, and
looks infirm; she has a sensible and penetrating countenance, and the
air and manner of a woman accustomed to being distinguished, and of
great parts. Dr. Johnson, who agrees in this, told us that a Mrs.
Hervey, of his acquaintance, says she can remember Mrs. Montagu trying
for this same air and manner. Mr. Crisp has said the same: however,
nobody can now impartially see her, and not confess that she has
extremely well succeeded.
My expectations, which were compounded of the praise of Mrs. Thrale, and
the abuse of Mr. Crisp, were most exactly, answered, for I thought her
in a medium way.
Miss Gregory is a fine young woman, and seems gentle and well-bred.
A bustle with the dog Presto--Mrs. Thrale's favourite--at the entrance
of these ladies into the library, prevented any formal reception; but as
soon as Mrs. Montagu heard my name, she inquired very civilly after my
father, and made many speeches concerning a volume of “Linguet,”[70]
which she has lost; but she hopes soon to be able to replace it. I am
sure he is very high in her favour, because she did me the honour of
addressing herself to me three or four times.
But my ease and tranquillity were soon disturbed: for she had not been
in the room more than ten minutes, ere, turning to Mrs. Thrale, she
said,
“Oh, ma'am--but your 'Evelina'--I have not yet got it. I sent for it,
but the bookseller had it not. However, I will certainly have it.”
“Ay, I hope so,” answered Mrs. Thrale, “and I hope you will like it too;
for 'tis a book to be liked.”
I began now a vehement nose-blowing, for the benefit of handkerchiefing
my face.
“I hope though,” said Mrs. Montagu, drily, “it is not in verse? I can
read anything in prose, but I have a great dread of a long story in
verse.”
“No, ma'am, no; 'tis all in prose, I assure you. 'Tis a novel; and an
exceeding--but it does nothing good to be praised too much, so I will
say nothing more about it: only this, that Mr. Burke sat up all night to
read it.”
“Indeed? Well, I propose myself great pleasure from it and I am
gratified by hearing it is written by a woman.”
“And Sir Joshua Reynolds,” continued Mrs. Thrale, “has been offering
fifty pounds to know the author.”
“Well, I will have it to read on my journey; I am going to Berkshire,
and it shall be my travelling book.”
“No, ma'am if you please you shall have it now. Queeny, do look it for
Mrs. Montagu, and let it be put in her carriage, and go to town with
her.”
Miss Thrale rose to look for it, and involuntarily I rose too, intending
to walk off, for my situation was inexpressibly awkward; but then I
recollected that if I went away, it might seem like giving Mrs. Thrale
leave and opportunity to tell my tale, and therefore I stopped at a
distant window, where I busied myself in contemplating the poultry.
“And Dr. Johnson, ma'am,” added my kind puffer, “says Fielding never
wrote so well--never wrote equal to this book; he says it is a better
picture of life and manners than is to be found anywhere in Fielding.”
“Indeed?” cried Mrs. Montagu, surprised; “that I did not expect, for I
have been informed it is the work of a young lady and therefore, though
I expected a very pretty book, I supposed it to be a work of mere
imagination, and the name I thought attractive; but life and manners I
never dreamt of finding.”
“Well, ma'am, what I tell you is literally true; and for my part, I am
never better pleased than when good girls write clever books--and that
this is clever--But all this time we are killing Miss Burney, who wrote
the book herself.”
What a clap of thunder was this!--the last thing in the world I should
have expected before my face? I know not what bewitched Mrs. Thrale, but
this was carrying the jest further than ever. All retenu being now at
an end, I fairly and abruptly took to my heels, and ran out of the room
with the utmost trepidation, amidst astonished exclamations from Mrs.
Montagu and Miss Gregory.
I was horribly disconcerted, but I am now so irrecoverably in for it,
that I begin to leave off reproaches and expostulations; indeed, they
have very little availed me while they might have been of service, but
now they would pass for mere parade and affectation; and therefore since
they can do no good, I gulp them down. I find them, indeed, somewhat
hard of digestion, but they must make their own way as well as they can.
I determined not to make my appearance again till dinner was upon table;
yet I could neither read nor write, nor indeed do any thing but consider
the new situation in life into which I am thus hurried--I had almost
said forced--and if I had, methinks it would be no untruth.
Miss Thrale came laughing up after me, and tried to persuade me to
return. She was mightily diverted all the morning, and came to me with
repeated messages of summons to attend the company, but I could not
brave it again into the roon, and therefore entreated her to say I was
finishing a letter. Yet I was sorry to lose so much of Mrs. Montagu.
When dinner was upon table, I followed the procession, in a tragedy
step, as Mr. Thrale will have it, into the dining parlour. Dr. Johnson
was returned.
The conversation was not brilliant, nor do I remember much of it; but
Mrs. Montagu behaved to me just as I could have wished, since she spoke
to me very little, but spoke that little with the utmost politeness.
But Miss Gregory, though herself a modest girl, quite stared me out of
countenance, and never took her eyes off my face.
When Mrs. Montagu's new house was talked of, Dr. Johnson, in a jocose
manner, desired to know if he should be invited to see it.
“Ay, sure,” cried Mrs. Montagu, looking well pleased; “or I shan't like
it: but I invite you all to a house warming; I shall hope for the honour
of seeing all this company at my new house next Easter day: I fix the
day now that it may be remembered.”
Everybody bowed and accepted the invite but me, and I thought fitting
not to hear it; for I have no notion of snapping at invites from the
eminent. But Dr. Johnson, who sat next to me, was determined I should
be of the party, for he suddenly clapped his hand on my shoulder, and
called out aloud,
“Little Burney, you and I will go together?”
“Yes, surely,” cried Mrs. Montagu, “I shall hope for the pleasure of
seeing 'Evelina.'”
“'Evelina'” repeated he; “has Mrs. Montagu then found out 'Evelina?'”
“Yes,” cried she, “and I am proud of it: I am proud that a work so
commended should be a woman's.”
How my face burnt!
“Has Mrs. Montagu,” asked Dr. Johnson, “read 'Evelina?'”
“No, sir, not yet; but I shall immediately, for I feel the greatest
eagerness to read it.”
“I am very sorry, madam,” replied he, “that you have not already, read
it, because you cannot speak of it with a full conviction of its merit:
which, I believe, when you have read it, you will have great pleasure in
acknowledging.”
Some other things were said, but I remember them not, for I could hardly
keep my place: but my sweet, naughty Mrs. Thrale looked delighted for
me....
When they were gone, how did Dr. Johnson astonish me by asking if I
had observed what an ugly cap Miss Gregory had on? Then taking both my
hands, and looking at me with an expression of much kindness, he said,
“Well, Miss Burney, Mrs. Montagu now will read 'Evelina'”....
Mrs. Thrale then told me such civil things. Mrs. Montagu, it seems,
during my retreat, inquired very particularly what kind of book it was?
“And I told her,” continued Mrs. Thrale, “that it was a picture of life,
manners, and characters. 'But won't she go on,' says she; 'surely she
won't stop here?'
“'Why,' said I, 'I want her to go on in a new path--I want her to write
a comedy.'
“'But,' said Mrs. Montagu, 'one thing must be considered; Fielding, who
was so admirable in novel writing, never succeeded when he wrote for the
stage.'”
“Very well said,” cried Dr. Johnson “that was an answer which showed she
considered her subject.”
Mrs. Thrale continued:
“'Well, but a propos,' said Mrs. Montagu, 'if Miss Burney does write a
play, I beg I may know of it; or, if she thinks proper, see it; and
all my influence is at her service. We shall all be glad to assist in
spreading the fame of Miss Burney.'”
I tremble for what all this will end in. I verily think I had best stop
where I am, and never again attempt writing: for after so much honour,
so much success--how shall I bear a downfall?