FANNY BURNEY to MR. CRISP.
_Friday, July 30_.--This seems a strange, unseasonable period for my
undertaking, but yet, my dear daddy, when you have read my conversation
with Mr. Sheridan, I believe you will agree that I must have been wholly
insensible, nay, almost ungrateful, to resist encouragement such as
he gave me--nay, more than encouragement, entreaties, all of which he
warmly repeated to my father.
Now, as to the play itself, I own I had wished to have been the bearer
of it when I visit Chesington; but you seem so urgent, and my father
himself is so desirous to carry it you, that I have given that plan up.
O my dear daddy, if your next letter were to contain your real opinion
of it, how should I dread to open it! Be, however, as honest as your
good nature and delicacy will allow you to be, and assure yourself I
shall be very certain that all your criticisms will proceed from your
earnest wishes to obviate those of others, and that you would have much
more pleasure in being my panegyrist.
As to Mrs. Gast, I should be glad to know what I would refuse to a
sister of yours. Make her, therefore, of your coterie, if she is with
you while the piece is in your possession.
And now let me tell you what I wish in regard to this affair. I should
like that your first reading should have nothing to do with me--that you
should go quick through it, or let my father read it to you--forgetting
all the time, as much as you can, that Fannikin is the writer, or even
that it is a play in manuscript, and capable of alterations;--and then,
when you have done, I should like to have three lines, telling me, as
nearly as you can trust my candour, its general effect. After that take
it to your own desk, and lash it at your leisure.
FANNY BURNEY to DR. BURNEY.
The fatal knell, then, is knolled, and down among the dead men sink the
poor “Witlings”--for ever, and for ever, and for ever!
I give a sigh, whether I will or not, to their memory! for, however
worthless, they were mes enfans. You, my dear sir, who enjoyed, I
really think, even more than myself, the astonishing success of my first
attempt, would, I believe, even more than myself, be hurt at the failure
of my second; and I am sure I speak from the bottom of a very honest
heart, when I most solemnly declare, that upon your account any disgrace
would mortify and afflict me more than upon my own; for whatever appears
with your knowledge, will be naturally supposed to have met with your
approbation, and, perhaps, your assistance; therefore, though all
particular censure would fall where it ought--upon me--yet any general
censure of the whole, and the plan, would cruelly, but certainly involve
you in its severity.
You bid me open my heart to you,--and so, my dearest sir, I will, for
it is the greatest happiness of my life that I dare be sincere to you.
I expected many objections to be raised--a thousand errors to be pointed
out--and a million of alterations to be proposed; but the suppression
of the piece were words I did not expect; indeed, after the warm
approbation of Mrs. Thrale, and the repeated commendations and flattery
of Mr. Murphy, how could I?
I do not, therefore, pretend to wish you should think a decision, for
which I was so little prepared, has given me no disturbance; for I must
be a far more egregious witling than any of those I tried to draw, to
imagine you could ever credit that I wrote without some remote hope of
success now--though I literally did when I composed “Evelina”!
But my mortification is not at throwing away the characters, or the
contrivance;--it is all at throwing away the time,--which I with
difficulty stole, and which I have buried in the mere trouble of
writing.
FANNY BURNEY to MR. CRISP.
Well! there are plays that are to be saved, and plays that are not to
be saved! so good night, Mr. Dabbler!--good night, Lady
Smatter,--Mrs. Sapient,--Mrs. Voluble,--Mrs.
Wheedle,--Censor,--Cecilia,--Beaufort,--and you, you great oaf,
Bobby!--good night! good night!
And good morning, Miss Fanny Burney!--I hope you have opened your eyes
for some time, and will not close them in so drowsy a fit again--at
least till the full of the moon.
I won't tell you, I have been absolutely ravished with delight at the
fall of the curtain; but I intend to take the affair in the tant mieux
manner, and to console myself for your censure by this greatest proof I
have ever received of the sincerity, candour, and, let me add, esteem,
of my dear daddy. And as I happen to love myself rather more than my
play, this consolation is not a very trifling one.
As to all you say of my reputation and so forth, I perceive the kindness
of your endeavours to put me in humour with myself, and prevent my
taking huff, which, if I did, I should deserve to receive, upon any
future trial, hollow praise from you,--and the rest from the public.
The only bad thing in this affair is, that I cannot take the comfort
of my poor friend Dabbler, by calling you a crabbed fellow, because you
write with almost more kindness than ever; neither can I (though I try
hard) persuade myself that you have not a grain of taste in your whole
composition. This, however, seriously I do believe, that when my
two daddies put their heads together to concert for me that hissing,
groaning, catcalling epistle they sent me, they felt as sorry for poor
little Miss Bayes as she could possibly do for herself.[100]
“QUITE WHAT WE CALL,” AND “GIVE ME LEAVE To TELL YOU.”
We had Lady Ladd at Streatham; Mr. Stephen Fuller, the sensible, but
deaf old gentleman I have formerly mentioned, dined here also; as did
Mr. R--,[101] whose trite, settled, tonish emptiness of discourse is a
never-failing source of laughter and diversion.
“Well, I say, what, Miss Burney, so you had a very good party last
Tuesday?--what we call the family party--in that sort of way? Pray who
had you?”
“Mr. Chamier.”[102]
“Mr. Chamier, ay? Give me leave to tell you, Miss Burney, that Mr.
Chamier is what we call a very sensible man!”
“Certainly. And Mr. Pepys.”[103]
“Mr. Pepys? Ay, very good--very good in that sort of way. I am quite
sorry I could not be here; but I was so much indisposed--quite what we
call the nursing party.”
“I'm very sorry; but I hope little Sharp[104] is well?
“Ma'am, your most humble! you're a very good lady, indeed!--quite
what we call a good lady! Little Sharp is perfectly well: that sort of
attention, and things of that sort,---the bow-wow system is very well.
But pray, Miss Burney, give me leave to ask, in that sort of way, had
you anybody else?”
“Yes, Lady Ladd and Mr. Seward.”
“So, so!--quite the family system! Give me leave to tell you, Miss
Burney, this commands attention!--what we call a respectable invitation!
I am sorry I could not come, indeed; for we young men, Miss Burney,
we make it what we call a sort of rule to take notice of this sort of
attention. But I was extremely indisposed, indeed--what we call the
walnut system had quite---Pray what's the news, Miss Burney?--in that
sort of way, is there any news?”
“None, that I have heard. Have you heard any?”
“Why, very bad! very bad, indeed!--quite what we call poor old England!
I was told, in town,--fact--fact, I assure you--that these Dons intend
us an invasion this very month, they and the Monsieurs intend us the
respectable salute this very month;--the powder system, in that sort
of way! Give me leave to tell you, Miss Burney, this is what we call a
disagreeable visit, in that sort of way.”
I think, if possible, his language looks more absurd upon paper even
than it sounds in conversation, from the perpetual recurrence of the
same words and expressions--