On Monday last, my father sent a note to Mrs. Cholmondeley, to propose
our waiting on her the Wednesday following; she accepted the proposal,
and accordingly on Wednesday evening, my father, mother, and self went
to Hertford-street. I should have told you that Mrs. Cholmondeley, when
my father some time ago called on her, sent me a message, that if I
would go to see her, I should not again be stared at or worried; and she
acknowledged that my visit at Sir Joshua's had been a formidable one,
and that I was watched the whole evening; but that upon the whole, the
company behaved extremely well, for they only ogled!
Well, we were received by Mrs. Cholmondeley with great politeness, and
in a manner that showed she intended to throw aside Madame Duval, and to
conduct herself towards me in a new style.
Mr. and Misses Cholmondeley and Miss Forrest were with her; but who else
think you?--why Mrs. Sheridan! I was absolutely charmed at the sight of
her. I think her quite as beautiful as ever, and even more captivating;
for she has now a look of ease and happiness that animates her whole
face.
Miss Linley was with her; she is very handsome, but nothing near her
sister: the elegance of Mrs. Sheridan's beauty is unequalled by any I
ever saw, except Mrs. Crewe.[83] I was pleased with her in all respects.
She is much more lively and agreeable than I had any idea of finding
her; she was very gay, and very unaffected, and totally free from airs
of any kind. Miss Linley was very much out of spirits; she did not speak
three words the whole evening, and looked wholly unmoved at all that
passed. Indeed, she appeared to be heavy and inanimate.
Mrs. Cholmondeley sat next me. She is determined, I believe, to make me
like her: and she will, I believe, have full success; for she is very
clever, very entertaining, and very much unlike anybody else.
The first subject started was the Opera, and all joined in the praise of
Pacchierotti.[84] Mrs. Sheridan declared she could not hear him without
tears, and that he was the first Italian singer who ever affected her to
such a degree.
Then they talked of the intended marriage of the Duke of Dorset, to Miss
Cumberland, and many ridiculous anecdotes were related. The conversation
naturally fell upon Mr. Cumberland[85], and he was finely cut up!
“What a man is that!” said Mrs. Cholmondeley: “I cannot bear him--so
querulous, so dissatisfied, so determined to like nobody, and nothing
but himself!”
After this, Miss More[86] was mentioned and I was asked what I thought
of her?
“Don't be formal with me if you are, I sha'n't like you!”
“I have no hope that you will any way!”
“Oh, fie! fie! but as to Miss More--I don't like her at all: that is, I
detest her! She does nothing but flatter and fawn; and then she thinks
ill of nobody. Oh, there's no supporting the company of professed
flatterers. She gives me such doses of it, that I cannot endure her; but
I always sit still and make no answer, but receive it as if I thought it
my due: that is the only way to quiet her.[87] She is really detestable.
I hope, Miss Burney, you don't think I admire all geniuses? The only
person I flatter,” continued she, “is Garrick; and he likes it so much,
that it pays one by the spirits it gives him. Other people that I like,
I dare not flatter.”
A rat-tat-tat-tat ensued, and the Earl of Harcourt was announced. When
he had paid his compliments to Mrs. Cholmondeley, speaking of the lady
from whose house he was just come, he said,
“Mrs. Vesey[88] Is vastly agreeable, but her fear of ceremony is really
troublesome; for her eagerness to break a circle is such, that she
insists upon everybody's sitting with their backs one to another; that
is, the chairs are drawn into little parties of three together, in a
confused manner, all over the room.”
“Why, then,” said my father, “they may have the pleasure of caballing
and cutting up one another, even in the same room.”
“Oh, I like the notion of all things,” cried Mrs. Cholmondeley, “I shall
certainly adopt it.”
Then she drew her chair into the middle of our circle. Lord Harcourt
turned his round, and his back to most of us, and my father did the
same. You can't imagine a more absurd sight.
Just then the door opened, and Mr. Sheridan entered.
Was I not in luck? Not that I believe the meeting was accidental; but I
had more wished to meet him and his wife than any people I know not.
I could not endure my ridiculous situation, but replaced myself in an
orderly manner immediately. Mr. Sheridan stared at the mall, and Mrs.
Cholmondeley said she intended it as a hint for a comedy.
Mr. Sheridan has a very fine figure, and a good though I don't think
a handsome face. He is tall, and very upright, and his appearance and
address are at once manly and fashionable, without the smallest tincture
of foppery or modish graces. In short, I like him vastly, and think him
every way worthy his beautiful companion.
And let me tell you what I know will give you as much pleasure as it
gave me,--that, by all I Could observe in the course of the evening, and
we stayed very late, they are extremly happy in each other: he evidently
adores her, and she as evidently idolises him. The world has by no means
done him justice.
When he had paid his compliments to all his acquaintance, he went behind
the sofa on which Mrs. Sheridan and Miss Offy Cholmondeley were seated,
and entered into earnest conversation with them.
Upon Lord Harcourt's again paying Mrs. Cholmondeley some compliment, she
said,
“Well, my lord, after this I shall be quite sublime for some days! I
shan't descend into common life till--till Saturday. And then I shall
drop into the vulgar style--I shall be in the ma foi way.”
I do really believe she could not resist this, for she had seemed
determined to be quiet.
When next there was a rat-tat, Mrs. Cholmondeley and Lord Harcourt, and
my father again, at the command of the former, moved into the middle of
the room, and then Sir Joshua Reynolds and Dr. Warton[89] entered.
No further company came. You may imagine there was a general roar at
the breaking of the circle, and when they got into order, Mr. Sheridan
seated himself in the place Mrs. Cholmondeley had left, between my
father and myself.
And now I must tell you a little conversation which I did not hear
myself till I came home; it was between Mr. Sheridan and my father.
“Dr. Burney,” cried the former, “have you no older daughters? Can this
possibly be the authoress of 'Evelina'?”
And then he said abundance of fine things, and begged my father to
introduce him to me.
“Why, it will be a very formidable thing to her,” answered he, “to be
introduced to you.”
“Well then, by and by,” returned he.
Some time after this, my eyes happening to meet his, he waived the
ceremony of introduction, and in a low voice said,
“I have been telling Dr. Burney that I have long expected to see in Miss
Burney a lady of the gravest appearance, with the quickest parts.”
I was never much more astonished than at this unexpected address, as
among all my numerous puffers the name of Sheridan has never reached me,
and I did really imagine he had never deigned to look at my trash.
Of course I could make no verbal answer, and he proceeded then to speak
of “Evelina” in terms of the highest praise but I was in such a ferment
from surprise, not to say pleasure that I have no recollection of his
expressions. I only remember telling him that I was much amazed he
had spared time to read it, and that he repeatedly called it a most
surprising book; and sometime after he added, “But I hope, Miss Burney,
you don't intend to throw away your pen?”
“You should take care, sir,” said I, “what you say: for you know not
what weight it may have.”
He wished it might have any, he said, and soon after turned again to my
father.
I protest, since the approbation of the Streathamites, I have met with
none so flattering to me as this of Mr. Sheridan, in so very unexpected.
About this time Mrs. Cholmondeley was making much sport by wishing for
an acrostic on her name. She said she had several times begged for one
in vain, and began to entertain thoughts of writing one herself.
“For,” said she, “I am very famous for my rhymes, though I never made a
line of poetry in my life.”
“An acrostic on your name,” said Mr. Sheridan, “would be a very
formidable task; it must be so long that I think it should be divided
into cantos.”
“Miss Burney,” cried Sir Joshua, who was now reseated, “Are not you a
writer of verses?”
F.B.-No, sir.
Mrs C.-O don't believe her. I have made a resolution not to believe
anything she says.
Mr. S.-I think a lady should not write verses till she is past receiving
them.
Mrs. C.-(rising and stalking majestically towards him).-Mr. Sheridan,
pray, sir, what may you mean by this insinuation; did I not say I writ
verses?