“How much pleasure you must have had in writing it; had not you?”
“Y--e--s, ma'am.”
“So has my sister; she's never without a pen in her hand; she can't help
writing for her life. When Lord Hawke is travelling about with her, she
keeps writing all the way.”
“Yes,” said Lady Hawke; “I really can't help writing. One has great
pleasure in writing the things; has one not, Miss Burney?”
“Y--e--s, ma'am.”
“But your novel,” cried Lady Say and Sele, “is in such a style!--so
elegant! I am vastly glad you made it end happily. I hate a novel that
don't end happy.”
“Yes,” said Lady Hawke, with a languid smile, “I was vastly glad when
she married Lord Orville. I was sadly afraid it would not have been.”
“My sister intends,” said Lady Say and Sele, “to print her 'Mausoleum,'
just for her own friends and acquaintances.”
“Yes,” said Lady Hawke; “I have never printed yet.”
“I saw Lady Hawke's name,” quoth I to my first friend, “ascribed to the
play of 'Variety.'”[147]
“Did you indeed?” cried Lady Say, in an ecstasy. “Sister! do you know
Miss Burney saw your name in the newspapers, about the play!”
“Did she?” said Lady Hawke, smiling complacently. “But I really did not
write it; I never wrote a play in my life.”
“Well,” cried Lady Say, “but do repeat that sweet part that I am so fond
of--you know what I mean; Miss Burney must hear it,--out of your novel,
you know!”
Lady H.-No, I can't; I have forgot it.
Lady S.-Oh, no! I am sure you have not; I insist upon it.
Lady H.-But I know you can repeat it yourself; you have so fine a
memory; I am sure you can repeat it.
Lady S.-Oh, but I should not do it justice! that's all,--I should not do
it justice!
Lady Hawke then bent forward, and repeated--“'If, when he made the
declaration of his love, the sensibility that beamed in his eyes was
felt in his heart, what pleasing sensations and soft alarms might not
that tender avowal awaken!'”
“And from what, ma'am,” cried I, astonished, and imagining I had
mistaken them, “is this taken?”
“From my sister's novel!” answered the delighted Lady Say and
Sele, expecting my raptures to be equal to her own; “it's in the
'Mausoleum,'--did not you know that? Well, I can't think how you can
write these sweet novels! And it's all just like that part. Lord Hawke
himself says it's all poetry. For my part, I'm sure I never could write
so. I suppose, Miss Burney, you are producing another,--a'n't you?”
“No, ma'am.”
“Oh, I dare say you are. I dare say you are writing one this Very
minute!”
Mrs. Paradise now came up to me again, followed by a square man,
middle-aged, and hum-drum, who, I found was Lord Say and Sele,
afterwards from the Kirwans, for though they introduced him to me, I was
so confounded by their vehemence and their manners, that I did not hear
his name.
“Miss Burney,” said Mrs. P., presenting me to him, “authoress of
'Evelina.'”
“Yes,” cried Lady Say and Sele, starting up, “'tis the authoress of
'Evelina!'”
“Of what?” cried he.
“Of 'Evelina.' You'd never think it,--she looks so young, to have so
much invention, and such an elegant style! Well, I could write a play, I
think, but I'm sure I could never write a novel.”
“Oh, yes, you could, if you would try,” said Lady Hawke.
“Oh, no, I could not,” answered she; “I could not get a style--that's
the thing--I could not tell how to get a style! and a novel's nothing
without a style, you know!”
“Why no,” said Lady Hawke; “that's true. But then you write such
charming letters, you know!”
“Letters!” repeated Lady S. and S. simpering; “do you think so? Do you
know I wrote a long letter to Mrs. Ray just before I came here, this
very afternoon,--quite a long letter! I did, I assure you!”
Here Mrs. Paradise came forward with another gentleman, younger,
slimmer, and smarter, and saying to me, “Sir Gregory Page Turner,” said
to him,
“Miss Burney, authoress of 'Evelina.'”
At which Lady Say and Sele, In fresh transport, again rose, and
rapturously again repeated--
“Yes, she's authoress of 'Evelina'! Have you read it?”
“No; is it to be had?”
“Oh dear, yes! it's been printed these two years! You'd never think it!
But it's the most elegant novel I ever read in my life. Writ in such a
style!”
“Certainly,” said he very civilly; “I have every inducement to get it.
Pray where is it to be had? everywhere, I suppose?”
“Oh, nowhere, I hope,” cried I, wishing at that moment it had been never
in human ken.
My square friend, Lord Say and Sele, then putting his head forward,
said, very solemnly, “I'll purchase it!”
His lady then mentioned to me a hundred novels that I had never heard
of, asking my opinion of them, and whether I knew the authors? Lady
Hawke only occasionally and languidly joining in the discourse: and then
Lady S. and S., suddenly rising, begged me not to move, for she should
be back again in a minute, and flew to the next room.
I took, however, the first opportunity of Lady Hawke's casting down her
eyes, and reclining her delicate head, to make away from this
terrible set; and, just as I was got by the pianoforte, where I hoped
Pacchierotti would soon present himself, Mrs. Paradise again came to me,
and said,--
“Miss Burney, Lady Say and Sele wishes vastly to cultivate your
acquaintance, and begs to know if she may have the honour of your
company to an assembly at her house next Friday?--and I will do myself
the pleasure to call for you if you will give me leave.”
“Her ladyship does me much honour, but I am unfortunately engaged,” was
my answer, with as much promptness as I could command.