The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney. Frances Burney
not by acquaintance, I had not absolutely formed my opinion.
“Were I to live with her four days,” said this odd man, “I believe the fifth I should want to take her to church.”
“You’d be devilish tired of her, though,” said Sir Philip, “in half a year. A crying wife will never do!”
“Oh, yes,” cried he, “the pleasure of soothing her would make amends.”
“Ah,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “I would insure her power of crying herself into any of your hearts she pleased. I made her cry to Miss Burney, to show how beautiful she looked in tears.”
“If I had been her,” said Mr. Seward, “I would never have visited you again.”
“Oh, but she liked it,” answered Mrs. T., “for she knows how well she does it. Miss Burney would have run away, but she came forward on purpose to show herself. I would have done so by nobody else—but Sophy Streatfield is never happier than when the tears trickle from her fine eyes in company.”
“Suppose, Miss Burney,” said Mr. Seward, “we make her the heroine of our comedy? and call it ‘Hearts have at ye all?’”
“Excellent,” cried I, “it can’t be better.”
Giddy Miss Brown
At dinner we had three persons added to our company,—my dear father, Miss Streatfield, and Miss Brown.
Miss Brown, as I foresaw, proved the queen of the day. Miss Streatfield requires longer time to make conquests. She is, indeed, much more really beautiful than Fanny Brown; but Fanny Brown is much more showy, and her open, good-humoured, gay, laughing face inspires an almost immediate wish of conversing and merry-making with her. Indeed, the two days she spent here have raised her greatly in my regard. She is a charming girl, and so natural, and easy, and sweet-tempered, that there is no being half an hour in her company without ardently wishing her well.
Next day at breakfast, our party was Sir Philip, Mr. Fuller, Miss Streatfield, Miss Brown, the Thrales, and I.
The first office performed was dressing Miss Brown. She had put on bright, jonquil ribbons. Mrs. Thrale exclaimed against them immediately; Mr. Fuller half joined her, and away she went, and brought green ribbons of her own, which she made Miss Brown run up stairs with to put on. This she did with the utmost good humour; but dress is the last thing in which she excels; for she has lived so much abroad, and so much with foreigners at home, that she never appears habited as an Englishwoman, nor as a high-bred foreigner, but rather as an Italian Opera-dancer; and her wild, careless, giddy manner, her loud hearty laugh, and general negligence of appearance, contribute to give her that air and look. I like her so much, that I am quite sorry she is not better advised, either by her own or some friend’s judgment.
Miss Brown, however, was queen of the breakfast: for though her giddiness made everybody take liberties with her, her good-humour made everybody love her, and her gaiety made everybody desirous to associate with her. Sir Philip played with her as with a young and sportive kitten; Mr. Fuller laughed and chatted with her; and Mr. Seward, when here, teases and torments her. The truth is, he cannot bear her, and she, in return, equally fears and dislikes him, but still she cannot help attracting his notice.
Sophy Streatfield again Weeps to Orde
Wednesday, June 16.—We had at breakfast a scene, of its sort, the most curious I ever saw.
The persons were Sir Philip, Mr. Seward, Dr. Delap,67 Miss Streatfield, Mrs. and Miss Thrale, and I. The discourse turning I know not how, upon Miss Streatfield, Mrs. Thrale said,
“Ay I made her cry once for Miss Burney as pretty as could be, but nobody does cry so pretty as the S. S. I’m sure, when she cried for Seward, I never saw her look half so lovely.”
“For Seward?” cried Sir Philip; “did she cry for Seward? What a happy dog! I hope she’ll never cry for me, for if she does, I won’t answer for the consequences!”
“Seward,” said Mrs. Thrale, “had affronted Johnson, and then Johnson affronted Seward, and then the S. S. cried.”68
“Oh,” cried Sir Philip, “that I had but been here!”
“Nay,” answered Mrs. Thrale, “you’d only have seen how like three fools three sensible persons behaved: for my part, I was quite sick of it, and of them too.”
Sir P.—But what did Seward do? was he not melted?
Mrs. T.—Not he; he was thinking only of his own affront, and taking fire at that.
Mr. S.—Why, yes, I did take fire, for I went and planted my back to it.
S.S.—And Mrs. Thrale kept stuffing me with toast-and-water.
Sir P.—But what did Seward do with himself? Was not he in extacy? What did he do or say?
Mr. S.—Oh, I said pho, pho, don’t let’s have any more of this,—it’s making it of too much consequence: no more piping, pray.
Sir P.—Well, I have heard so much of these tears, that I would give the universe to have a sight of them.
Mrs. T.—Well, she shall cry again if you like it.
S.S.—No, pray, Mrs. Thrale.
Sir P.—Oh, pray, do! pray let me see a little of it.
Mrs. T.—Yes, do cry a little, Sopby (in a wheedling voice), pray do! Consider, now, you are going today, and it’s very hard if you won’t cry a little: indeed, S. S., you ought to cry.
Now for the wonder of wonders. When Mrs. Thrale, in a coaxing voice, suited to a nurse soothing a baby, had run on for some time,—while all the rest of us, in laughter, joined in the request,—two crystal tears came into the soft eyes of the S. S., and rolled gently down her cheeks! Such a sight I never saw before, nor could I have believed. She offered not to conceal or dissipate them: on the contrary, she really contrived to have them seen by everybody. She looked, indeed, uncommonly handsome; for her pretty face was not, like Chloe’s, blubbered; it was smooth and elegant, and neither her features nor complexion were at all ruffled; nay, indeed, she was smiling all the time.
“Look, look!” cried Mrs. Thrale; “see if the tears are not come already.”
Loud and rude bursts of laughter broke from us all at once. How, indeed, could they be restrained? Yet we all stared, and looked and relooked again and again, twenty times, ere we could believe our eyes. Sir Philip, I thought, would have died in convulsions; for his laughter and his politeness, struggling furiously with one another, made him almost black in the face. Mr. Seward looked half vexed that her crying for him was now so much lowered in its flattery, yet grinned incessantly; Miss Thrale laughed as much as contempt would allow her: but Dr. Delap seemed petrified with astonishment.
When our mirth abated, Sir Philip, colouring violently with his efforts to speak, said,
“I thank you, ma’am, I’m much obliged to you.”
But I really believe he spoke without knowing what he was saying.
“What a wonderful command,” said Dr. Delap, very gravely, “that lady must have over herself!”
She now took out a handkerchief, and wiped her eyes.
“Sir Philip,” cried Mr. Seward, “how can you suffer her to dry her own eyes?—you, who sit next her?”
“I dare not dry them for her,” answered he, “because I am not the right man.”
“But if I sat next her,” returned he, “she would not dry them herself.”
“I wish,” cried Dr. Delap, “I had a bottle to put them in; ’tis a thousand pities they should be wasted.”
“There,