But not to Mr. Greville alone was flung one of those blissful or
baneful darts, that sometimes fix in a moment, and irreversibly, the
domestic fate of man; just such another, as potent, as pointed, as
piercing, yet as delicious, penetrated, a short time afterwards, the
breast of young Burney; and from eyes perhaps as lovely, though not as
celebrated; and from a mind perhaps as highly gifted, though not as
renowned.
Esther Sleepe—this memorialist’s mother—of whom she must now with
reverence, with fear—yet with pride and delight—offer the tribute of
a description—was small and delicate, but not diminutive, in person.
Her face had that sculptural oval form which gives to the air of the
head something like the ideal perfection of the poet’s imagination.
Her fair complexion was embellished by a rosy hue upon her cheeks of
Hebe freshness. Her eyes were of the finest azure, and beaming with
the brightest intelligence; though they owed to the softness of their
lustre a still more resistless fascination: and they were set in her
head with such a peculiarity of elegance in shape and proportion,
that they imparted a nobleness of expression to her brow and to her
forehead, that, whether she were beheld when attired for society; or
surprised under the negligence of domestic avocation; she could be
viewed by no stranger whom she did not strike with admiration; she
could be broken in upon by no old friend who did not look at her with
new pleasure.
It was at a dance that she first was seen by young Burney, at the house
of his elder brother, in Hatton Garden; and that first sight was to him
decisive, for he was not more charmed by her beauty than enchanted by
her conversation.
So extraordinary, indeed, were the endowments of her mind, that, her
small opportunity for their attainment considered, they are credible
only from having been known upon proof.
Born in the midst of the city—but not in one of those mansions where,
formerly,[10] luxury and riches revelled with a lavish preponderance
of magnificence, that left many of those of the nobles of the west
plain or old-fashioned in comparison: not in one of those dwellings
of the hospitable English merchant of early days, whose boundless
liberality brought tributary under his roof the arts and sciences, in
the persons of their professors; and who rivalled the nobles in the
accomplishments of their progeny, till, by mingling in acquirements,
they mingled in blood:—the birth of the lovely Esther had nothing
to boast from parental dignity, parental opulence, nor—strange, and
stranger yet to tell—parental worth.
Alone stood the lovely Esther, unsustained by ancestry, unsupported by
wealth, unimpelled by family virtue——
Yet no!—in this last article there was a partnership that redeemed
the defection, since the Male parent was not more wanting in goodness,
probity, and conduct, than the Female was perfect in all—if perfect
were a word that, without presumption, might ever be applied to a human
being.
With no advantage, therefore, of education, save the simple one of
early learning, or, rather, imbibing the French language, from her
maternal grandfather, who was a native of France, but had been forced
from his country by the edict of Nantz; this gifted young creature
was one of the most pleasing, well-mannered, well-read, elegant, and
even cultivated, of her sex: and wherever she appeared in a social
circle, and was drawn forth—which the attraction of her beauty made
commonly one and the same thing—she was generally distinguished as the
first female of the party for sense, literature, and, rarer still, for
judgment; a pre-eminence, however, not more justly, than, by herself,
unsuspectedly her due; for, more than unassuming, she was ignorant of
her singular superiority.[11]
To excel in music, or in painting, so as to rival even professors,
save the highest, in those arts, had not then been regarded as the
mere ordinary progress of female education: nor had the sciences yet
become playthings for the nursery. These new roads of ambition for
juvenile eminence are undoubtedly improvements, where they leave not
out more essential acquirements. Yet, perhaps, those who were born
before this elevation was the mode; whose calls, therefore, were not
so multitudinous for demonstrative embellishments, may be presumed to
have risen to more solid advantages in mental attainments, and in the
knowledge and practice of domestic duties, than the super-accomplished
aspirants at excellence in a mass, of the present moment.
A middle course might, perhaps, be more intellectually salubrious,
because more simple and natural: and foremost herself, if she may be
judged by analogy, foremost herself, had stood this lovely Esther, in
amalgamating the two systems in her own studies and pursuits, had they
equally, at that time, been within the scope of her consciousness:
for straight-forward as was her design in all that she deemed right,
whatever was presented to even a glimpse of her perceptions that was
new and ingenious, rapidly opened to her lively understanding a fresh
avenue to something curious, useful, or amusing, that she felt herself
irresistibly invited to explore.
Botany, then, was no familiar accomplishment; but flowers and plants
she cultivated with assiduous care; sowing, planting, pruning,
grafting, and rearing them, to all the purposes of sight and scent
that belong to their fragrant enjoyment; though untutored in their
nomenclature, and unlearned in their classification.
Astronomy, though beyond her grasp as a science, she passionately
caught at in its elementary visibility, loving it for its intrinsic
glory, and enamoured of it yet more fondly from her own favourite idea,
that the soul of the righteous, upon the decease of the body, may
be wafted to realms of light, and permitted thence to look down, as
guardian angel, on those most precious to it left behind.
Yet so strict was her sense of duty, that she never suffered this
vivid imagination to put it out of its bias; and the clearness of
her judgment regulated so scrupulously the disposition of her hours,
that, without neglecting any real devoir, she made leisure, by skilful
arrangements and quickness of execution, for nearly every favourite
object that hit her fancy; holding almost as sacred the employment of
her spare moments, as most others hold the fulfilment of their stated
occupations.
And, indeed, so only could she, thus self-taught by self-investigation,
study, and labour, have risen to those various excellences that struck
all who saw, and impressed all who knew her, with admiration mingled
with wonder.
Critical was the first instant of meeting between two young persons
thus similarly self-modelled, and thus singularly demonstrating, that
Education, with all her rules, her skill, her experienced knowledge,
and her warning wisdom, may so be supplied, be superseded, by Genius,
when allied to Industry, as to raise beings who merit to be pointed out
as examples, even to those who have not a difficulty to combat, who are
spurred by encouragement, and instructed by able teachers; to all which
advantages young Burney and Esther—though as far removed from distress
as from affluence—were equally strangers.
Who shall be surprised that two such beings, thus opening into life
and distinction through intellectual vigour, and thus instinctively
sustaining unaided conflicts against the darkness of ignorance, the
intricacies of new doctrines, and all the annoying obstructions of
early prejudices,—who shall be surprised, that two such beings, where,
on one side, there was so much beauty to attract, and on the other so
much discernment to perceive the value of her votary, upon meeting each
other at the susceptible age of ardent youth, should have emitted,
spontaneously, and at first sight, from heart to heart, sparks so
bright and pure that they might be called electric, save that their
flame was exempt from any shock?
Young Burney at this time had no power to sue for the hand, though he
had still less to forbear suing for the heart, of this fair creature:
not only he had no fortune to lay at her feet, no home to which he
could take her, no prosperity which he could invite her to share;
another barrier, which seemed to him still more formidable, stood
imperviously in his way—his peculiar position with Mr. Greville.
That gentleman, in freeing the subject of these memoirs from his
engagements with Dr. Arne, meant to act with as much kindness as
munificence; for, casting aside all ostentatious parade, he had shown
himself as desirous to gain, as to become, a friend. Yet was there no
reason to suppose he purposed to rear a vine, of which he would not
touch the grapes.
To be liberal, suited at once the real good taste of his character,
and his opinion of what was due to his rank in life; and in procuring
to himself the double pleasure of the society and the talents of
young Burney, he thought his largess to Dr. Arne well bestowed; but it
escaped his reflections, that the youth whom he made his companion in
London, at Wilbury House, at Newmarket, and at Bath, in quitting the
regular pursuit of his destined profession, risked forfeiting the most
certain guarantee to prosperity in business, progressive perseverance.
Nevertheless, those drawbacks to this splendid connection occurred not
at its beginning, nor yet for many a day after, to the young votary
of Apollo. The flattering brilliancy of the change, and the sort of
romance that hung upon its origin, kept aloof all calculations of its
relative mischiefs; which only distantly to have contemplated, in the
sparkling novelty that mingled such gay pleasure with his gratitude,
would have appeared to him ungenerous, if not sordid. Youth is rarely
enlightened by foresight upon prudential prospects; and the mental
optic of young Burney was not quickened to this perception, till the
desire of independence to his fortune was excited by the loss of it to
his heart; for never had he missed his liberty, till he sighed to make
it a fresh sacrifice to a more lasting bondage.
It was then he first felt the torment of uncertain situation; it
was then he appreciated the high male value of self-dependence; it
was then he first conceived, that, though gaiety may be found, and
followed, and met, and enjoyed abroad, not there, but at home, is
happiness! Yet, from the moment a bosom whisper softly murmured to him
the name of Esther, he had no difficulty to believe in the distinct
existence of happiness from pleasure; and—still less to devise
where—for him—it must be sought.
When he made known to his fair enslaver his singular position, and
entreated her counsel to disentangle him from a net, of which, till
now, the soft texture had impeded all discernment of the confinement,
the early wisdom with which she preached to him patience and
forbearance, rather diminished than augmented his power of practising
either, by an increase of admiration that doubled the eagerness of his
passion.
Nevertheless, he was fain to comply with her counsel, though less from
acquiescence than from helplessness how to devise stronger measures,
while under this nameless species of obligation to Mr. Greville, which
he could not satisfy his delicacy in breaking; nor yet, in adhering to,
justify his sense of his own rights.
He could consent, however, to be passive only while awaiting some
happy turn for propitiating his efforts to escape from the sumptuous
scenes, which, with his heart away from them, he now looked upon as
obscuring, not illuminating, his existence; since they promoted not
the means of arriving at all he began to hold worth pursuit, “Home,
sweet home!” which he now severely saw could be reached only by regular
assiduity in his profession.
From this time it was with difficulty he could assume spirit sufficient
for sustaining his intercourse, hitherto so happy, so lively, with the
Grevilles; not alone from the sufferings of absence, but from hard
secret conflicts, whether or not to reveal his distress. Mr. Greville,
who, a short time back would quickly have discerned his latent
uneasiness, was now so occupied by his own new happiness, conjugal and
paternal, that though he welcomed young Burney with unabated kindness,
his own thoughts, and his observations, were all centered in his two
Fannys.
During the first fair breathings of early wedded love, the scoff
of the tender passion, the sneer against romance, the contempt of
refined reciprocations of sentiment, are done away, even from the most
sarcastic, by a newly imbibed consciousness of the felicity of virtuous
tenderness; which were its permanence more frequently equal to its
enjoyment, would irresistibly convert the scorn of its deriders into
envy. But constancy in affection from long dissipated characters, must
always, whether in friendship or in love, be as rare as it is right;
for constancy requires virtue to be leagued with the passions.
Unmarked, therefore, young Burney kept to himself his unhappiness;
though he was not now impeded from communication by fears of the
raillery with which, previously to his marriage, Mr. Greville would
have held up to mockery a tale of love in a cottage, as a proper
pendant to a tale of love in bedlam. But still he was withheld from
all genial confidence, by apprehensions of remonstrances which he
now considered as mercenary, if not derogatory, against imprudent
connexions; and of representations of his own claims to higher views;
which he now, from his belief that his incomparable choice would
out-balance in excellence all vain attempts at competition, deemed
profane if not insane.
Mrs. Greville, having no clew to his secret feelings, was not aware of
their disturbance; she might else easily, and she would willingly, have
drawn forth his confidence, from the kindly disposition that subsisted,
on both sides, to trust and to friendship.
But a discovery the most painful of the perturbed state of his mind,
was soon afterwards impelled by a change of affairs in the Grevilles,
which they believed would enchant him with pleasure; but which they
found, to their unspeakable astonishment, overpowered him with
affliction.
This was no other than a plan of going abroad for some years, and of
including him in their party.
Concealment was instantly at an end. The sudden dismay of his ingenuous
countenance, though it told not the cause, betrayed past recall his
repugnance to the scheme.
With parts so lively, powers of observation so ready, and a spirit so
delighting in whatever was uncommon and curious, they had expected
that such a prospect of visiting new countries, surveying new scenes,
mingling with new characters; and traversing the foreign world, under
their auspices, in all its splendour, would have raised in him a
buoyant transport, exhilarating to behold. But the sudden paleness
that overspread his face; his downcast eye; the quiver of his lips;
and the unintelligible stammer of his vainly attempted reply, excited
interrogatories so anxious and so vehement, that they soon induced an
avowal that a secret power had gotten possession of his mind, and
sturdily exiled from it all ambition, curiosity, or pleasure, that came
not in the form of an offering to its all-absorbing shrine.
Every objection and admonition which he had anticipated, were
immediately brought forward by this confession; but they were presented
with a lenity that showed his advisers to be fully capable of
conceiving, though persuaded that they ought to oppose, his feelings.
Disconcerted, as well as dejected, because dissatisfied as well as
unhappy in his situation, from mental incertitudes what were its real
calls; and whether or not the ties of interest and obligation were
here of sufficient strength to demand the sacrifice of those of love;
he attempted not to vindicate, unreflectingly, his wishes; and still
less did he permit himself to treat them as his intentions. With faint
smiles, therefore, but stifled sighs, he heard, with civil attention,
their opinions; though, determined not to involve himself in any
embarrassing conditions, he would risk no reply; and soon afterwards,
curbing his emotion, he started abruptly another subject.
“They thought him wise, and followed as he led.”
All the anguish, however, that was here suppressed, found vent with
redoubled force at the feet of the fair partner in his disappointment;
who, while unaffectedly sharing it, resolutely declined receiving
clandestinely his hand, though tenderly she clung to his heart. She
would listen to no project that might lead him to relinquish such solid
friends, at the very moment that they were preparing to give him the
strongest proof of their fondness for his society, and of their zeal in
his benefit and improvement.
Young Burney was not the less unhappy at this decision from being
sensible of its justice, since his judgment could not but thank her, in
secret, for pronouncing the hard dictates of his own.
All that he now solicited was her picture, that he might wear her
resemblance next his heart, till that heart should beat to its
responsive original.
With this request she gracefully complied; and she sat for him to
Spencer, one of the most famous miniature painters of that day.
Of striking likeness was this performance, of which the head and
unornamented hair were executed with the most chaste simplicity;
and young Burney reaped from this possession all that had power to
afford him consolation; since he now could soften off the pangs of
separation, by gliding from company, public places or assemblages, to
commune by himself with the countenance of all he held most dear.
Thus solaced, he resigned himself with more courage to his approaching
misfortune.
The Grevilles, it is probable, from seeing him apparently revived,
imagined that, awakened from his flights of fancy, he was recovering
his senses: but when, from this idea, they started, with light
raillery, the tender subject, they found their utter mistake. The
most distant hint of abandoning such excellence, save for the moment,
and from the moment’s necessity, nearly convulsed him with inward
disturbance; and so changed his whole appearance, that, concerned as
well as amazed, they were themselves glad to hasten from so piercing a
topic.
Too much moved, however, to regain his equilibrium, he could not
be drawn from a disturbed taciturnity, till shame, conquering his
agitation, enabled him to call back his self-command. He forced, then,
a laugh at his own emotion; but, presently afterwards seized with an
irresistible desire of shewing what he thought its vindication, he
took from his bosom the cherished miniature, and placed it, fearfully,
almost awfully, upon a table.
It was instantly and eagerly snatched from hand to hand by the gay
couple; and young Burney had the unspeakable relief of perceiving
that this impulsive trial was successful. With expansive smiles they
examined and discussed the charm of the complexion, the beauty of
the features, and the sensibility and sweetness conveyed by their
expression: and what was then the joy, the pride of heart, the soul’s
delight of the subject of these memoirs, when those fastidious judges,
and superior self-possessors of personal attractions, voluntarily and
generously united in avowing that they could no longer wonder at his
captivation.
As a statue he stood fixed before them; a smiling one, indeed; a happy
one; but as breathless, as speechless, as motionless.
Mr. Greville then, with a laugh, exclaimed, “But why, Burney, why don’t
you marry her?”
Whether this were uttered sportively, inadvertently, or seriously,
young Burney took neither time nor reflection to weigh; but, starting
forward with ingenuous transport, called out, “May I?”
No negative could immediately follow an interrogatory that had thus
been invited; and to have pronounced one in another minute would have
been too late; for the enraptured and ardent young lover, hastily
construing a short pause into an affirmative, blithely left them to the
enjoyment of their palpable amusement at his precipitancy; and flew,
with extatic celerity, to proclaim himself liberated from all mundane
shackles, to her with whom he thought eternal bondage would be a state
celestial.
From this period, to that of their exquisitely happy union,
“Gallopp’d apace the fiery-footed steeds,”
that urged on Time with as much gay delight as prancing rapidity;
for if they had not, in their matrimonial preparations, the luxuries
of wealth, neither had they its fatiguing ceremonies; if they had
not the security of future advantage, they avoided the torment of
present procrastination; and if they had but little to bestow upon one
another, they were saved, at least, the impatiency of waiting for the
seals, signatures, and etiquettes of lawyers, to bind down a lucrative
prosperity to survivorship.
To the mother of the bride, alone of her family, was confided, on the
instant, this spontaneous, this sudden felicity. Little formality
was requisite, before the passing of the marriage act, for presenting
at the hymeneal altar its destined votaries; and contracts the most
sacred could be rendered indissoluble almost at the very moment of
their projection: a strange dearth of foresight in those legislators
who could so little weigh the chances of a minor’s judgment upon what,
eventually, may either suit his taste or form his happiness, for the
larger portion of existence that commonly follows his majority.
This mother of the bride was of a nature so free from stain, so
elementally white, that it would scarcely seem an hyperbole to
denominate her an angel upon earth—if purity of mind that breathed
to late old age the innocence of infancy, and sustained the whole
intervening period in the constant practice of self-sacrificing
virtue, with piety for its sole stimulus, and holy hope for its
sole reward, can make pardonable the hazard of such an anticipating
appellation,—from which, however, she, her humble self, would have
shrunk as from sacrilege.
She was originally of French extraction, from a family of the name of
Dubois; but though her father was one of the conscientious victims
of the Edict of Nantz, she, from some unknown cause— probably of
maternal education—had been brought up a Roman Catholic. The inborn
religion of her mind, however, counteracted all that was hostile to her
fellow-creatures, in the doctrine of the religion of her ancestors; and
her gentle hopes and fervent prayers were offered up as devoutly for
those whom she feared were wrong, as they were vented enthusiastically
for those whom she was bred to believe were right.
Her bridal daughter, who had been educated a Protestant, and who
to that faith adhered steadily and piously through life, loved her
with that devoted love which could not but emanate from sympathy of
excellence. She was the first pride of her mother,—or, rather, the
first delight; for pride, under any form, or through any avenue, direct
or collateral, by which that subtle passion works or swells its way to
the human breast, her mother knew not; though she was endued with an
innate sense of dignity that seemed to exhale around her a sentiment of
reverence that, notwithstanding her genuine and invariable humility,
guarded her from every species and every approach of disrespect.
She could not but be gratified by an alliance so productive, rather
than promising, of happiness to her favourite child; and Mr.
Burney—as the married man must now be called—soon imbibed the filial
veneration felt by his wife, and loved his mother-in-law as sincerely
as if she had been his mother-in-blood.
All plan of going abroad was now, of course, at an end; and the
Grevilles, and their beautiful infant daughter, leaving behind them
Benedict the married man, set out, a family trio, upon their tour.
The customary compliments of introduction on one hand, and of
congratulation on the other, passed, in their usual forms upon such
occasions, between the bridegroom and his own family.
* * * * *
Rarely can the highest zest of pleasure awaken, in its most active
votary, a sprightliness of pursuit more gay or more spirited, than
Mr. Burney now experienced and exhibited in the commonly grave and
sober career of business, from the ardour of his desire to obtain
self-dependence.
He worked not, indeed, with the fiery excitement of expectation; his
reward was already in his hands; but from the nobler impulse he worked
of meriting his fair lot; while she, his stimulus, deemed her own the
highest prize from that matrimonial wheel whence issue bliss or bane to
the remnant life of a sensitive female.