On Thursday, while my dear father was here, who should be announced but
Mr. Murphy;[93] the man of all other strangers to me whom I most longed
to see.
He is tall and well made, has a very gentlemanlike appearance, and
a quietness of manner upon his first address that, to me, is very
pleasing. His face looks sensible, and his deportment is perfectly easy
and polite.
When he had been welcomed by Mrs. Thrale, and had gone through the
reception-salutations of Dr. Johnson and my father, Mrs. Thrale,
advancing to me, said,
“But here is a lady I must introduce to you, Mr. Murphy here is another
F. B.”
“Indeed!” cried he, taking my hand; “is this a sister of Miss Brown's?”
“No, no; this is Miss Burney.”
“What!” cried he, staring; “is this--is this--this is not the lady
that--that--”
“Yes, but it is,” answered she, laughing.
“'No, you don't say so? You don't mean the lady that--”
“Yes yes I do; no less a lady, I assure you.”
He then said he was very glad of the honour of seeing me. I sneaked
away. When we came upstairs, Mrs. Thrale charged me to make myself
agreeable to Mr. Murphy.
“He may be of use to you, in what I am most eager for, your writing a
play: he knows stage business so well; and if you but take a fancy
to one another, he may be more able to serve you than all of us put
together. My ambition is, that Johnson should write your prologue, and
Murphy your epilogue, then I shall be quite happy.”
At tea-time, when I went into the library, I found Johnson reading, and
Mrs. Thrale in close conference with Mr. Murphy.
“If I,” said Mr. Murphy, looking very archly, “had written a certain
book--a book I won't name, but a book I have lately read--I would next
write a comedy.”
“Good,” cried Mrs. Thrale, colouring with pleasure; “you think so too?”
“Yes, indeed; I thought so while I was reading it; it struck me
repeatedly.”
“Don't look at me, Miss Burney,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “for this is no
doing of mine. Well, I wonder what Miss Burney will do twenty years
hence, when she can blush no more; for now she can never hear the name
of her book.”
Mr. M.-Nay, I name no book; at least no author: how can I, for I don't
know the author; there is no name given to it: I only say, whoever wrote
that book ought to write a comedy. Dr. Johnson might write it for aught
I know.
F. B.-Oh, yes!
Mr. M.-Nay, I have often told him he does not know his own strength, or
he would write a comedy, and so I think.
Dr. J. (laughing)--Suppose Burney and I begin together?
Mr. M.-Ah, I wish you would! I wish you would Beaumont and Fletcher us!
F.B.-My father asked me, this morning, how my head stood. If he should
have asked me this evening, I don't know what answer I must have made.
Mr. M.-I have no wish to turn anybody's head: I speak what I really
think;--comedy is the forte of that book. I laughed over it most
violently: and if the author--I won't say who [all the time looking
away from me]--will write a comedy I will most readily, and with great
pleasure, give any advice or assistance in my power.
“Well, now you are a sweet man!” cried Mrs. Thrale, who looked ready
to kiss him. “Did not I tell you, Miss Burney, that Mr. Murphy was the
man?”
Mr. M.-All I can do, I shall be very happy to do; and at least I will
undertake to say I can tell what the sovereigns of the upper gallery
will bear: for they are the most formidable part of an audience. I have
had so much experience in this sort of work, that I believe I can always
tell what will be hissed at least. And if Miss Burney will write, and
will show me--
Dr. J.-Come, come, have done with this now; why should you overpower
her? Let's have no more of it. I don't mean to dissent from what you
say; I think well of it, and approve of it; but you have said enough of
it.
Mr. Murphy, who equally loves and reverences Dr. Johnson, instantly
changed the subject.
Yesterday, at night, I asked Dr. Johnson if he would permit me to take a
great liberty with him? He assented with the most encouraging smile. And
then I said,
“I believe, sir, you heard part of what passed between Mr. Murphy and me
the other evening, concerning--a comedy. Now, if I should make such
an attempt, would you be so good as to allow me, any time before
Michaelmas, to put it in the coach, for you to look over as you go to
town?”
“To be sure, my dear!--What, have you begun a comedy then?”
I told him how the affair stood. He then gave me advice which just
accorded with my wishes, viz., not to make known that I had any such
intention; to keep my own counsel; not to whisper even the name of it;
to raise no expectations, which were always prejudicial, and finally, to
have it performed while the town knew nothing of whose it was. I readily
assured him of my hearty concurrence in his opinion; but he somewhat
distressed me when I told him that Mr. Murphy must be in my confidence,
as he had offered his services, by desiring he might be the last to see
it.
What I shall do, I know not, for he has, himself, begged to be the
first. Mrs. Thrale, however, shall guide me between them. He spoke
highly of Mr. Murphy, too, for he really loves him. He said he would
not have it in the coach, but I should read it to him; however, I could
sooner drown or hang!
When I would have offered some apology for the attempt, he stopt me, and
desired I would never make any.
“For,” said he, “if it succeeds, it makes its own apology, if not----”
“If not,” quoth I, “I cannot do worse than Dr. Goldsmith, when his
play[94] failed,--go home and cry.”
He laughed, but told me, repeatedly (I mean twice, which, for him, is
very remarkable), that I might depend upon all the service in his power;
and, he added, it would be well to make Murphy the last judge, “for he
knows the stage,” he said, “and I am quite ignorant of it.”
Afterwards, grasping my hand with the most affectionate warmth, he said,
“I wish you success! I wish you well! my dear little Burney!”
When, at length, I told him I could stay no longer, and bid him good
night, he said, “There is none like you, my dear little Burney! there is
none like you!--good night, my darling!”