“I have been complaining to Sir Joshua that he left me wholly to my own
sagacity; however, it did not here deceive me.”
“Oh dear, then,” said Miss Georgiana, looking a little consternated,
“perhaps you won't thank me for calling you to this place!”
Nothing was said, and so we all began dinner,--young Burke making
himself my next neighbour.
Captain Phillips[149] knows Mr. Burke. Has he or has he not told you how
delightful a creature he is? If he has not, pray in my name, abuse him
without mercy; if he has, pray ask if he will subscribe to my account of
him, which herewith shall follow.
He is tall, his figure is noble, his air commanding, his address
graceful, his voice is clear, penetrating, sonorous, and powerful, his
language is copious, various, and eloquent; his manners are attractive,
his conversation is delightful.
What says Captain Phillips? Have I chanced to see him in his happiest
hour? or is he all this in common? Since we lost Garrick I have seen
nobody so enchanting.
I can give you, however, very little of what was said, for the
conversation was not suivie, Mr. Burke darting from subject to subject
with as much rapidity as entertainment. Neither is the charm of his
discourse more in the matter than the manner: all, therefore, that is
related from him loses half its effect in not being related by him. Such
little sketches as I can recollect take however.
From the window of the dining-parlour, Sir Joshua directed us to look at
a pretty white house which belonged to Lady Di Beauclerk.
“I am extremely glad,” said Mr. Burke, “to see her at last so well
housed; poor woman! the bowl has long rolled in misery; I rejoice that
it has now found its balance. I never, myself, so much enjoyed the sight
of happiness in another, as in that woman when I first saw her after the
death of her husband. It was really enlivening to behold her placed in
that sweet house, released from all her cares, a thousand pounds a-year
at her own disposal, and--her husband was dead! Oh, it was pleasant, it
was delightful to see her enjoyment of her situation!”
“But, without considering the circumstances,” said Mr. Gibbon, “this
may appear very strange, though, when they are fairly stated, it is
perfectly rational and unavoidable.”
“Very true,” said Mr. Burke, “if the circumstances are not considered,
Lady Di may seem highly reprehensible.”
He then, addressing himself particularly to me, as the person least
likely to be acquainted with the character of Mr. Beauclerk, drew it
himself in strong and marked expressions, describing the misery he gave
his wife, his singular ill-treatment of her, and the necessary relief
the death of such a man must give.[150]
He then reminded Sir Joshua of a day in which they had dined at Mr.
Beauclerk's, soon after his marriage with Lord Bolingbroke's divorced
wife, in company with Goldsmith, and told a new story of poor
Goldsmith's eternal blundering.
A LETTER FROM BURKE To FANNY BURNEY.
Whitehall, July 29, 1782.
Madam,
I should feel exceedingly to blame if I could refuse to myself the
natural satisfaction, and to you the just but poor return, of my best
thanks for the very great instruction and entertainment I have received
from the new present you have bestowed on the public. There are few--I
believe I may say fairly there are none at all--that will not find
themselves better informed concerning human nature, and their stock of
observation enriched, by reading your “Cecilia.” They certainly will,
let their experience in life and manners be what it may. The arrogance
of age must submit to be taught by youth. You have crowded into a few
small volumes an incredible variety of characters; most of them well
planned, well supported, and well contrasted with each other. If there
be any fault in this respect, It is one in which you are in no great
danger of being imitated. Justly as your characters are drawn, perhaps
they are too numerous. But I beg pardon; I fear it is quite in vain
to preach economy to those who are come young to excessive and sudden
opulence.
I might trespass on your delicacy if I should fill my letter with what I
fill my conversation to others. I should be troublesome to you alone if
I should tell you all I feel and think on the natural vein of humour,
the tender pathetic, the comprehensive and noble moral, and the
sagacious observance, that appear quite throughout that extraordinary
performance.
In an age distinguished by producing extraordinary women, I hardly dare
to tell you where my opinion would place you amongst them. I respect
your modesty, that will not endure the commendations which your merit
forces from everybody.
I have the honour to be, with great gratitude, respect, and esteem,
madam, your most obedient and most humble servant,