The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney. Frances Burney
given Mr. Garrick. The whole town seems distracted about her. Every other diversion is forsaken. Miss Linley alone engrosses all eyes, ears, hearts.”
The “young man of great talents” was, when Fanny first met him, already renowned as the author of “The Rivals” and “The School for Scandal.” His wife’s extraordinary beauty has been perpetuated in one of Reynolds’s masterpieces, in which she is represented as St. Cecilia, sitting at an organ. Her father seems to have fully deserved the character which Fanny gives him. In 1772 Eliza, then only nineteen, ran away to France with young Sheridan, who was just of age, and, it is reported, was privately married to him at the time. They were pursued, however, by old Linley, and Eliza was brought back, to become the rage of the town as a singer. Her lover married her openly in April, 1773, and thenceforward she sang no more in public.
Fanny’s account of her visits to Tunbridge Wells and Brighton will recall, to readers of her novels, the delightfully humorous descriptions of the society at those fashionable resorts, in “Camilla” and “The Wanderer.” Mount Ephraim, at Tunbridge Wells, where Sophy Streatfield resided, will be recognized as the scene of the accident in which Camilla’s life is saved by Sir Sedley Clarendel.
A Queer Adventure
St. Martin’s Street, January.
On Thursday, I had another adventure, and one that has made me grin ever since. A gentleman inquiring for my father, was asked into the parlour. The then inhabitants were only my mother and me. In entered a square old gentleman, well-wigged, formal, grave and important. He seated himself. My mother asked if he had any message for my father? “No, none.”
Then he regarded me with a certain dry kind of attention for some time; after which, turning suddenly to my mother, he demanded,
“Pray, ma’am, is this your daughter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“O! this is Evelina, is it?”
“No, sir,” cried I, staring at him, and glad none of you were in the way to say “Yes.”
“No?” repeated he, incredulous; “is not your name Evelina, ma’am?”
“Dear, no, sir,” again quoth I, staring harder.
“Ma’am,” cried he, drily; “I beg your pardon! I had understood your name was Evelina.”
Soon: after, he went away.
And when he put down his card, who should it prove but Dr. Franklin.43 Was it not queer?
An Evening at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s A Demonstrative “Evelina” Enthusiast
Now to this grand visit, which was become more tremendous than ever because of the pamphlet 44 business, and I felt almost ashamed to see Sir Joshua, and could not but conclude he would think of it too.
My mother, who changed her mind, came with me. My father promised to come before the Opera was half over.
We found the Miss Palmers alone. We were, for near an hour, quite easy, chatty, and comfortable; no pointed speech was made, and no starer entered. But when I asked the elder Miss Palmer if she would allow me to look at some of her drawings, she said,
“Not unless you will let me see something of yours.”
“Of mine?” quoth I. “Oh! I have nothing to show.”
“I am sure you have; you must have.”
“No, indeed; I don’t draw at all.”
“Draw? No, but I mean some of your writing.”
“Oh, I never write—except letters.”
“Letters? those are the very things I want to see.”
“Oh, not such as you mean.”
“Oh now, don’t say so; I am sure you are about something and if you would but show me—”
“No, no, I am about nothing—I am quite out of conceit with writing.” I had my thoughts full of the vile Warley.
“You out of conceit?” exclaimed she; “nay, then, if you are, who should be otherwise!”
Just then, Mrs. and Miss Horneck were announced. You may suppose I thought directly of the one hundred and sixty miles45—and may take it for granted I looked them very boldly in the face! Mrs. Horneck seated herself by my mother. Miss Palmer introduced me to her and her daughter, who seated herself next me; but not one word passed between us!
Mrs. Horneck, as I found in the course of the evening, is an exceedingly sensible, well-bred woman. Her daughter is very beautiful; but was low-spirited and silent during the whole visit. She was, indeed, very unhappy, as Miss Palmer informed me, upon account of some ill news she had lately heard of the affairs of a gentleman to whom she is shortly to be married.
Not long after came a whole troop, consisting of Mr. Cholmondeley!—perilous name!—Miss Cholmondeley, and Miss Fanny Cholmondeley, his daughters, and Miss Forrest. Mrs. Cholmondeley, I found, was engaged elsewhere, but soon expected.46 Now here was a trick of Sir Joshua, to make me meet all these people.
Mr. Cholmondeley is a clergyman; nothing shining either in person or manners, but rather somewhat grim in the first, and glum in the last. Yet he appears to have humour himself, and to enjoy it much in others.
Miss Cholmondeley I saw too little of to mention.
Miss Fanny Cholmondeley is a rather pretty, pale girl; very young and inartificial, and though tall and grown up, treated by her family as a child, and seemingly well content to really think herself such. She followed me whichever way I turned, and though she was too modest to stare, never ceased watching me the whole evening.
Miss Forrest is an immensely tall and not handsome young woman. Further I know not.
Next came my father, all gaiety and spirits. Then Mr. William Burke.47
Soon after, Sir Joshua returned home. He paid his compliments to everybody, and then brought a chair next mine, and said,
“So you were afraid to come among us?”
I don’t know if I wrote to you a speech to that purpose, which I made to the Miss Palmers? and which, I suppose, they had repeated to him. He went on, saying I might as well fear hobgoblins, and that I had only to hold up my head to be above them all.
After this address, his behaviour was exactly what my wishes would have dictated to him, for my own ease and quietness; for he never once even alluded to my book, but conversed rationally, gaily, and serenely: and so I became more comfortable than I had been ever since the first entrance of company. Our confab was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. King; a gentleman who is, it seems, for ever with the Burkes;—and presently Lord Palmerston48 was announced.
Well, while this was going forward, a violent rapping bespoke, I was sure, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and I ran from the standers, and turning my back against the door, looked over Miss Palmer’s cards; for you may well imagine, I was really in a tremor at a meeting which so long has been in agitation, and with the person who, of all persons, has been most warm and enthusiastic for my book.
She had not, however, been in the room half an instant, ere my father came up to me, and tapping me on the shoulder, said, “Fanny, here’s a lady who wishes to speak to you.”
I curtsied in silence, she too curtsied, and fixed her eyes full on my face: and then tapping me with her fan, she cried,
“Come, come, you must not look grave upon me.”
Upon this, I te-he’d; she now looked at me yet more earnestly, and, after an odd silence, said, abruptly—
“But is it true?”
“What,