Читать книгу The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney - Frances Burney - Страница 108

Wednesday, Dec. 8.—At night my father brought us the most dismal tidings of dear Dr. Johnson. Dr. Warren had seen him, and told him to take what opium he pleased! He had thanked and taken leave of all his physicians. Alas!—I shall lose him, and he will take no leave of me!¹⁵³ My father was deeply depressed; he has himself tried in vain for admission this week. Yet some people see him—the Hooles, Mr. Sastres, Mr. Langton;—but then they must be in the house, watching for one moment, whole hours. I hear from every one he is now perfectly resigned to his approaching fate, and no longer in terror of death. I am thankfully happy in hearing that he speaks himself now of the change his mind has undergone, from its dark horror—and says—“He feels the irradiation of hope,” Good, and pious, and excellent Christian—who shall feel it if not he?

Dec. 11.—We had a party to dinner, by long appointment, for which, indeed, none of us were well disposed, the apprehension of hearing news only of death being hard upon us all. The party was, Dr. Rose, Dr. Gillies, Dr. Garthshore, and Charles.

The day could not be well—but mark the night.

My father, in the morning, saw this first of men! I had not his account till bed-time; he feared over-exciting me. He would not, he said, but have seen him for worlds! He happened to be better, and admitted him. He was up, and very composed. He took his hand very kindly, asked after all his family, and then, in particular, how Fanny did? “I hope,” he said, “Fanny did not take it amiss that I did not see her? I was very bad!”

Amiss!—what a Word! Oh that I had been present to have answered it! My father stayed, I suppose, half an hour, and then was coming away. He again took his hand, and encouraged him to come again to him; and when he was taking leave, said—“Tell Fanny to pray for me!”

Ah! dear Dr. Johnson! might I but have your prayers! After which, still grasping his hand, he made a prayer for himself,—the most fervent, pious, humble, eloquent, and touching, my father says, that ever was composed. Oh, would I had heard it! He ended it with Amen! in which my father joined, and was echoed by all present. And again, when my father was leaving him, he brightened up, something of his arch look returned, and he said—“I think I shall throw the ball at Fanny yet!”

Little more passed ere my father came away, decided, most tenderly, not to tell me this till our party was done.

This most earnestly increased my desire to see him; this kind and frequent mention of me melted me into double sorrow and regret. I would give the world I had but gone to him that day! It was, however, impossible, and the day was over before I knew he had said what I look upon as a call to me. This morning,¹⁵⁴ after church time, I went. Frank¹⁵⁵ said he was very ill, and saw nobody; I told him I had understood by my father the day before that he meant to see me. He then let me in. I went into his room up stairs; he was in his bedroom. I saw it crowded, and ran hastily down. Frank told me his master had refused seeing even Mr. Langton. I told him merely to say I had called, but by no means to press my admission. His own feelings were all that should be consulted; his tenderness, I knew, would be equal, whether he was able to see me or not.

I went into the parlour, preferring being alone in the cold, to any company with a fire. Here I waited long, here and upon the stairs, which I ascended and descended to meet again with Frank, and make inquiries; but I met him not. At last, upon Dr. Johnson’s ringing his bell, I saw Frank enter his room, and Mr. Langton follow. “Who’s that?” I heard him say; they answered, “Mr. Langton,” and I found he did not return.

Soon after, all the rest went away but a Mrs. Davis, a good sort of woman, whom this truly charitable soul had sent for to take a dinner at his house. I then went and waited with her by the fire; it was, however, between three and four o’clock before I got any answer. Mr. Langton then came himself. He could not look at me, and I turned away from him. Mrs. Davis asked how the doctor was? “Going on to death very fast!” was his mournful answer. “Has he taken,” said she, “anything?” “Nothing at all! We carried him some bread and milk—he refused it, and said—‘The less the better.’” She asked more questions, by which I found his faculties were perfect, his mind composed, and his dissolution was quick drawing on. . . .

I could not immediately go on, and it is now long since I have written at all; but I will go back to this afflicting theme, which I can now better bear.

Mr. Langton was, I believe, a quarter of an hour in the room before I suspected he meant to speak to me, never looking near me. At last he said—

“This poor man, I understand, ma’am, desired yesterday to see you.”

“My understanding that, sir, brought me here today.”

“Poor man! it is a pity he did not know himself better, and that you should have had this trouble.”

“Trouble!” cried I; “I would have come a hundred times to see him the hundredth and first!”

“He hopes, now, you will excuse him; he is very sorry not to see you; but he desired me to come and speak to you myself, and tell you he hopes you will excuse him, for he feels himself too weak for such an interview.”

I hastily got up, left him my most affectionate respects, and every good wish I could half utter, and ran back to the coach. Ah, my Susy! I have never been to Bolt-court since! I then drove to poor Miss Strange,¹⁵⁶ to make inquiries of the maid but Andrew ran out to the coach door, and told me all hope was at an end. In short, the next day was fatal to both!—the same day!

December 20.—This day was the ever-honoured, ever-lamented Dr. Johnson committed to the earth. Oh, how sad a day to me! My father attended, and so did Charles.¹⁵⁷ I could not keep my eyes dry all day; nor can I now, in the recollecting it; but let me pass over what to mourn is now so vain!

December 30.—In the evening I went to Mrs. Chapone. I was late, on account of the coach, and all her party was assembled. This was the first time I had seen any of them, except Mrs. Ord, since last spring. I was received with the utmost kindness by them all, but chiefly by Mrs. Chapone herself, who has really, I believe, a sincere regard for me. I had talk with all of them, except Mrs. Levison, with whom I have merely a courtesying acquaintance. But I was very sad within; the loss of dear Dr. Johnson—the flight of Mrs. Thrale, the death of poor Miss Kitty Cambridge, and of poor, good Miss Strange,—all these home and bosom strokes, which had all struck me since my last meeting this society, were revolving in my mind the whole time I stayed.

Sir Lucas Pepys talked to me a great deal of Mrs. Thrale, and read me a letter from her, which seems to shew her gay and happy. I hope it shews not false colours. No one else named her——but poor Dr. Johnson was discussed repeatedly. How melancholy will all these circumstances render these once so pleasant meetings.

¹²² “Memoirs of Dr. Burney,” vol. ii. p. 110.

¹²³ The physician, afterwards Sir Lucas Pepys.

¹²⁴ A character in “Cecilia.”

¹²⁵ The master of the ceremonies.

¹²⁶ Philip Metcalf, elected member of Parliament for Horsham, together with Mr. Crutchley, in 1784.

¹²⁷ Miss Burney had seen this gentleman a few days previously and thus speaks of him in her “Diary.”—“Mr. Kaye of the Dragoons,—a baronet’s son, and a very tall, handsome, and agreeable-looking young man; and, is the folks say, it is he for whom all the belles here are sighing. I was glad to see he seemed quite free from the nonchalance, impertinence of the times.”

¹²⁸ Afterwards Countess of Cork and Orrery.

¹²⁹ The Thrales and Fanny were now again in London, whither they returned from Brighton, November 20. Mrs. Thrale had taken a house in Argyle-street,

¹³⁰ Lady Margaret Cavendish Harley, daughter of Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford; married, in 1734, to the second Duke of Portland, She inherited from her father a taste for literature. She was the constant associate of Mrs. Delaney, and an old friend of Mr. Crisp. Of Mrs. Delany we shall give some account hereafter

¹³¹ Mrs. Greville’s maiden name was Frances Macartney.

¹³² The miserly guardian of Cecilia, in Fanny’s novel. Among the “Fragments of the journal of Charlotte Anne Burney,” appended to the “Early Diary,” occurs the following passage, written at the end of 1782. “Fanny’s Cecilia came out last summer, and is as much liked and read I believe as any book ever was. She had 250 pounds for it from Payne and Cadell. Most people say she ought to have had a thousand. It is now going into the third edition, though Payne owns that they printed 2,000 at the first edition, and Lowndes told me five hundred was the common number for a novel.” (“Early Diary,” vol. ii. P. 307.)

¹³³ Richard Burke, the only son of the great Edmund. He died in 1794, before his father.

¹³⁴ Sir Joshua Reynolds was then in his sixtieth year; he was born in 1723.

¹³⁵ She copied pictures cleverly and painted portraits.

¹³⁶ Probably the Hon. Thomas Erskine, afterwards Lord Chancellor.

¹³⁷ Richard Owen Cambridge, a gentleman admired for his wit in conversation, and esteemed as an author. “He wrote a burlesque poem called ‘The Scribleriad,’ and was a principal contributor to the periodical paper called ‘The World.’” He died in 1802, at his villa on the banks of the Thames, near Twickenham, aged eighty-five years.

¹³⁸ Mrs. Ord was a famous blue-stocking and giver of literary parties, and a constant friend of Fanny’s

¹³⁹ The Rev. George Owen Cambridge, second son of Richard Owen Cambridge, whose works he edited, and whose memoir he wrote. He died at Twickenham in 1841.

¹⁴⁰ John Hoole, the translator of Tasso.

¹⁴¹ Frances Reynolds, the miniature painter—Sir Joshua’s sister

¹⁴² Soame Jenyns was one of the most celebrated of the “old wits.” He was born in 1704; was for twenty-five years member of Parliament for Cambridgeshire; died in 1787. His principal works were “A Free Enquiry into the Origin of Evil,” and “A View of the Internal Evidence of the Christian Religion.” Boswell writes of him: “Jenyns was possessed of lively talents, and a style eminently pure and ‘easy’, and could very happily play with a light subject, either in prose or verse; but when he speculated on that most difficult and excruciating question, ‘The Origin of Evil,’ he ventured far beyond his depth, and, accordingly, was exposed by Johnson (in the ‘Literary Magazine’), both with acute argument and brilliant wit.”

¹⁴³ “Memoirs of Dr. Burney,” vol. iii. p. 169.

¹⁴⁴ Hester Mulso was born in 1727; she married, in 1760, an attorney named Chapone, who died within a year of the marriage. Among the many young ladies who surrounded and corresponded with Samuel Richardson, Hester was a first favourite. The great novelist’s letters to his “dear Miss Mulso” are very pleasant to read. Mrs. Chapone enjoyed considerable esteem as an authoress. Her “Letters on the Improvement of the Mind,” dedicated to Mrs. Montagu, went through several editions. We should like to praise them, but the truth must be owned—they are decidedly commonplace and “goody-goody.” Still, they are written in a spirit of tender earnestness, which raises our esteem for the writer, though it fails to reconcile us to the book. Mrs. Chapone died on Christmas-day, 1801.

¹⁴⁵ Truly said, “my dear Miss Mulso,” but if they cannot feel the wonderful charm and reality of “Clarissa” in the very first volume, they may as well leave it alone.

¹⁴⁶ In a corner of the nave of the quaint little church at Chesington is a large white marble tablet, marking the spot where Mr. Crisp lies buried. The following lines from the pen of Fanny’s father inscribed on it do not, it must be confessed, exhibit the doctor’s poetical talents by any means in a favourable light.

“In memory of SAMUEL CRISP, Esq., who died April 24, 1783, aged 76.

Reader, this cold and humble spot contains

The much lamented, much rever’d remains

Of one whose wisdom, learning, taste, and sense,

Good-humour’d wit and wide benevolence

Cheer’d and enlightened all this hamlet round,

Wherever genius, worth, or want was found.

To few it is that bounteous heav’n imparts

Such depth of knowledge, and such taste in arts

Such penetration, and enchanting pow’rs

Of brit’ning social and convivial hours.

Had he, through life, been blest by nature kind

With health robust of body as of mind,

With skill to serve and charm mankind, so great

In arts, in science, letters, church, or state,

His name the nation’s annals had enroll’d

And virtues to remotest ages told.”

“C. BURNEY.”

(Mr. Gibbon, “in stepping too lightly from, or to a boat of Mr. Cambridge’s, had slipt into the Thames; whence, however, he was intrepidly and immediately rescued, with no other mischief than a wet jacket, by one of that fearless, water-proof race, denominated, by Mr. Gibbon, the amphibious family of the Cambridges.” (“Memoir of Dr. Burney,” vol. ii. P. 341.)

¹⁴⁷ The “Essex Head” club, just founded by Dr. Johnson. The meetings were held thrice a week at the Essex Head, a tavern in Essex-street, Strand, kept by Samuel Greaves, an old servant of Mr. Thrale’s. Among the rule’s of the club, which were drawn up by Dr. Johnson, we find the following: “Every member present at the club shall spend at least sixpence; and every member who stays away shall forfeit threepence.” He ought to have added, “to be spent by the company in punch.” (See Goldsmith’s delightful essay on the London clubs.)

¹⁴⁸ The Lockes, of Norbury Park, Surrey, were friends of Fanny’s sister, Mrs. Phillips, and, subsequently, among the most constant and attached friends of Fanny herself.

¹⁴⁹ It must be borne in mind that the “Diary” is addressed to Fanny’s sister Susan (Mrs. Phillips),

¹⁵⁰ Mrs. Locke.

¹⁵¹ Mrs. Phillips had lately gone to live at Boulogne for the benefit of her health.

¹⁵² Mrs. Phillips returned in less than a twelvemonth from Boulogne, much recovered in health, and settled with her husband and family in a house at Mickleham, at the foot of Norbury Park.

¹⁵³ Fanny had called upon Dr. Johnson the same day, but he was too ill to see her.

¹⁵⁴ Sunday, December 12.

¹⁵⁵ Frank Barber, Dr. Johnson’s negro servant.—

¹⁵⁶ Mary Bruce Strange, daughter of Sir Robert Strange, the celebrated engraver. She died, as Fanny tells us, on the same day with Dr. Johnson, December 13, 1784, aged thirty-five. The Stranges were old and very intimate friends of the Burneys

¹⁵⁷ Her brother