The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney. Frances Burney
And another time, “Well, I wish people who can entertain me would entertain me!”
These sort of pointed speeches are almost worse than direct attacks, for there is no knowing how to look, or what to say, especially where the eyes of a whole company mark the object for Whom they are meant. To the last of these speeches I made no sort of answer but Sir Joshua very good-naturedly turned it from me, by saying,
“Well, let everyone do what they can in their different ways; do you begin yourself.”
“Oh, I can’t!” cried she; “I have tried, but I can’t.”
“Oh, so you think, then,” answered he, “that all the world is made only to entertain you?”
A very lively dialogue ensued. But I grow tired of writing. One thing, however, I must mention, which, at the time, frightened me wofully.
“Pray, Sir Joshua,” asked Lord Palmerston, “what is this ‘Warley’ that is just come out?”
Was not this a cruel question? I felt in such a twitter!
“Why, I don’t know,” answered he; “but the reviewers, my lord, speak very well of it.”
Mrs. C.—Who wrote it?
Sir Joshua.—Mr. Huddisford.
Mrs. C.—O! I don’t like it at all, then! Huddisford what a name! Miss Burney, pray can you conceive anything of such a name as Huddisford?
I could not speak a word, and I dare say I looked no-how. But was it not an unlucky reference to me? Sir Joshua attempted a kind of vindication of him; but Lord Palmerston said, drily,
“I think, Sir Joshua, it is dedicated to you?”
“Yes, my lord,” answered he.
“Oh, your servant! Is it so?” cried Mrs. Cholmondeley; “then you need say no more!”
Sir Joshua laughed, and the subject, to my great relief, was dropped.
When we broke up to depart, which was not till near two in the morning, Mrs. Cholmondeley went up to my mother, and begged her permission to visit in St. Martin’s-street. Then, as she left the room, she said to me, with a droll sort of threatening look,
“You have not got rid of me yet, I have been forcing myself into your house.”
I must own I was not at all displeased at this, as I had very much and very reasonably feared that she would have been by then as sick of me from disappointment, as she was before eager for me from curiosity.
When we came away, Offy Palmer, laughing, said to me,
“I think this will be a breaking-in to you!”
“Ah,” cried I, “if I had known of your party!”
“You would have been sick in bed, I suppose?”
I would not answer “No,” yet I was glad it was over. And so concludeth this memorable evening.
Fanny Burney’s Introduction to Sheridan
On Monday last, my father sent a note to Mrs. Cholmondeley, to propose our waiting on her the Wednesday following; she accepted the proposal, and accordingly on Wednesday evening, my father, mother, and self went to Hertford-street. I should have told you that Mrs. Cholmondeley, when my father some time ago called on her, sent me a message, that if I would go to see her, I should not again be stared at or worried; and she acknowledged that my visit at Sir Joshua’s had been a formidable one, and that I was watched the whole evening; but that upon the whole, the company behaved extremely well, for they only ogled!
Well, we were received by Mrs. Cholmondeley with great politeness, and in a manner that showed she intended to throw aside Madame Duval, and to conduct herself towards me in a new style.
Mr. and Misses Cholmondeley and Miss Forrest were with her; but who else think you?—why Mrs. Sheridan! I was absolutely charmed at the sight of her. I think her quite as beautiful as ever, and even more captivating; for she has now a look of ease and happiness that animates her whole face.
Miss Linley was with her; she is very handsome, but nothing near her sister: the elegance of Mrs. Sheridan’s beauty is unequalled by any I ever saw, except Mrs. Crewe.53 I was pleased with her in all respects. She is much more lively and agreeable than I had any idea of finding her; she was very gay, and very unaffected, and totally free from airs of any kind. Miss Linley was very much out of spirits; she did not speak three words the whole evening, and looked wholly unmoved at all that passed. Indeed, she appeared to be heavy and inanimate.
Mrs. Cholmondeley sat next me. She is determined, I believe, to make me like her: and she will, I believe, have full success; for she is very clever, very entertaining, and very much unlike anybody else.
The first subject started was the Opera, and all joined in the praise of Pacchierotti.54 Mrs. Sheridan declared she could not hear him without tears, and that he was the first Italian singer who ever affected her to such a degree.
Then they talked of the intended marriage of the Duke of Dorset, to Miss Cumberland, and many ridiculous anecdotes were related. The conversation naturally fell upon Mr. Cumberland55, and he was finely cut up!
“What a man is that!” said Mrs. Cholmondeley: “I cannot bear him—so querulous, so dissatisfied, so determined to like nobody, and nothing but himself!”
After this, Miss More56 was mentioned and I was asked what I thought of her?
“Don’t be formal with me if you are, I sha’n’t like you!”
“I have no hope that you will any way!”
“Oh, fie! fie! but as to Miss More—I don’t like her at all: that is, I detest her! She does nothing but flatter and fawn; and then she thinks ill of nobody. Oh, there’s no supporting the company of professed flatterers. She gives me such doses of it, that I cannot endure her; but I always sit still and make no answer, but receive it as if I thought it my due: that is the only way to quiet her.57 She is really detestable. I hope, Miss Burney, you don’t think I admire all geniuses? The only person I flatter,” continued she, “is Garrick; and he likes it so much, that it pays one by the spirits it gives him. Other people that I like, I dare not flatter.”
A rat-tat-tat-tat ensued, and the Earl of Harcourt was announced. When he had paid his compliments to Mrs. Cholmondeley, speaking of the lady from whose house he was just come, he said,
“Mrs. Vesey58 Is vastly agreeable, but her fear of ceremony is really troublesome; for her eagerness to break a circle is such, that she insists upon everybody’s sitting with their backs one to another; that is, the chairs are drawn into little parties of three together, in a confused manner, all over the room.”
“Why, then,” said my father, “they may have the pleasure of caballing and cutting up one another, even in the same room.”
“Oh, I like the notion of all things,” cried Mrs. Cholmondeley, “I shall certainly adopt it.”
Then she drew her chair into the middle of our circle. Lord Harcourt turned his round, and his back to most of us, and my father did the same. You can’t imagine a more absurd sight.
Just then the door opened, and Mr. Sheridan entered.
Was I not in luck? Not that I believe the meeting was accidental; but I had more wished to meet him and his wife than any people I know not.
I could not endure my ridiculous situation, but replaced myself in an orderly manner immediately. Mr. Sheridan stared at the mall, and Mrs. Cholmondeley said she intended it as a hint for a comedy.
Mr. Sheridan has a very fine figure, and a good though I don’t think a handsome face. He is tall, and very upright, and his appearance and address are at once manly and fashionable, without the smallest