Читать книгу The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney - Frances Burney - Страница 21

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 tincture of foppery or modish graces. In short, I like him vastly, and think him every way worthy his beautiful companion.

And let me tell you what I know will give you as much pleasure as it gave me,—that, by all I Could observe in the course of the evening, and we stayed very late, they are extremly happy in each other: he evidently adores her, and she as evidently idolises him. The world has by no means done him justice.

When he had paid his compliments to all his acquaintance, he went behind the sofa on which Mrs. Sheridan and Miss Offy Cholmondeley were seated, and entered into earnest conversation with them.

Upon Lord Harcourt’s again paying Mrs. Cholmondeley some compliment, she said,

“Well, my lord, after this I shall be quite sublime for some days! I shan’t descend into common life till—till Saturday. And then I shall drop into the vulgar style—I shall be in the ma foi way.”

I do really believe she could not resist this, for she had seemed determined to be quiet.

When next there was a rat-tat, Mrs. Cholmondeley and Lord Harcourt, and my father again, at the command of the former, moved into the middle of the room, and then Sir Joshua Reynolds and Dr. Warton⁵⁹ entered.

No further company came. You may imagine there was a general roar at the breaking of the circle, and when they got into order, Mr. Sheridan seated himself in the place Mrs. Cholmondeley had left, between my father and myself.

And now I must tell you a little conversation which I did not hear myself till I came home; it was between Mr. Sheridan and my father.

“Dr. Burney,” cried the former, “have you no older daughters? Can this possibly be the authoress of ‘Evelina’?”

And then he said abundance of fine things, and begged my father to introduce him to me.

“Why, it will be a very formidable thing to her,” answered he, “to be introduced to you.”

“Well then, by and by,” returned he.

Some time after this, my eyes happening to meet his, he waived the ceremony of introduction, and in a low voice said,

“I have been telling Dr. Burney that I have long expected to see in Miss Burney a lady of the gravest appearance, with the quickest parts.”

I was never much more astonished than at this unexpected address, as among all my numerous puffers the name of Sheridan has never reached me, and I did really imagine he had never deigned to look at my trash.

Of course I could make no verbal answer, and he proceeded then to speak of “Evelina” in terms of the highest praise but I was in such a ferment from surprise, not to say pleasure that I have no recollection of his expressions. I only remember telling him that I was much amazed he had spared time to read it, and that he repeatedly called it a most surprising book; and sometime after he added, “But I hope, Miss Burney, you don’t intend to throw away your pen?”

“You should take care, sir,” said I, “what you say: for you know not what weight it may have.”

He wished it might have any, he said, and soon after turned again to my father.

I protest, since the approbation of the Streathamites, I have met with none so flattering to me as this of Mr. Sheridan, in so very unexpected.

About this time Mrs. Cholmondeley was making much sport by wishing for an acrostic on her name. She said she had several times begged for one in vain, and began to entertain thoughts of writing one herself.

“For,” said she, “I am very famous for my rhymes, though I never made a line of poetry in my life.”

“An acrostic on your name,” said Mr. Sheridan, “would be a very formidable task; it must be so long that I think it should be divided into cantos.”

“Miss Burney,” cried Sir Joshua, who was now reseated, “Are not you a writer of verses?”

F.B.—No, sir.

Mrs C.—O don’t believe her. I have made a resolution not to believe anything she says.

Mr. S.—I think a lady should not write verses till she is past receiving them.

Mrs. C.—(rising and stalking majestically towards him).-Mr. Sheridan, pray, sir, what may you mean by this insinuation; did I not say I writ verses?

Mr. S.—Oh, but you—

Mrs. C.—Say no more, sir! You have made your meaning but too plain already. There now, I think that’s a speech for a tragedy.

Some time after, Sir Joshua, returning to his standing-place, entered into confab with Miss Linley and your slave upon various matters, during which Mr. Sheridan, joining us, said,

“Sir Joshua, I have been telling Miss Burney that she must not suffer her pen to lie idle—ought she?”

Sir J.—No, indeed, ought she not.

Mr. S.—Do you then, Sir Joshua, persuade her. But perhaps you have begun something? May we ask? Will you answer a question candidly?

F.B.—I don’t know, but as candidly as Mrs. Candour I think I certainly shall.

Mr. S.—What then are you about now?

F.B.—Why, twirling my fan, I think!

Mr. S.—No, no; but what are you about at home? However, it is not a fair question, so I won’t press it.

Yet he looked very inquisitive; but I was glad to get off without any downright answer.

Sir J.—Anything in the dialogue way, I think, she must succeed in; and I am sure invention will not be wanting.

Mr. S.—No, indeed; I think, and say, she should write a comedy.

SIr J.—I am sure I think so; and hope she will.

I could only answer by incredulous exclamations.

“Consider” continued Sir Joshua, “you have already had all the applause and fame you can have given you in the closet; but the acclamation of a theatre will be new to you.”

And then he put down his trumpet, and began a violent clapping of his hands.

I actually shook from head to foot! I felt myself already in Drury Lane, amidst the hubbub of a first night.

“Oh, no!” cried I, “there may be a noise, but it will be just the reverse.” And I returned his salute with a hissing.

Mr. Sheridan joined Sir Joshua very warmly.

“O sir,” cried I, “you should not run on so, you don’t know what mischief you may do!”

Mr. S.—I wish I may—I shall be very glad to be accessory.

Sir J.—She has, certainly, something of a knack at characters; where she got it I don’t know, and how she got it, I can’t imagine; but she certainly has it. And to throw it away is—

Mr. S.—Oh, she won’t, she will write a comedy, she has promised me she will!

F.B.—Oh! if you both run on in this manner, I shall—

I was going to say get under the chair, but Mr. Sheridan, interrupting me with a laugh, said,

“Set about one? very well, that’s right.”

“Ay,” cried Sir Joshua, “that’s very right. And You (to Mr. Sheridan) would take anything of hers, would you not? unsight, unseen?”⁶⁰ What a point blank question! who but Sir Joshua would have ventured it!

“Yes,” answered Mr. Sheridan, with quickness, “and make her a bow and my best thanks into the bargain.”

Now my dear Susy, tell me, did you ever hear the fellow to such a speech as this! it was all I could do to sit it.

“Mr. Sheridan,” I exclaimed, “are you not mocking me?”

“No, upon my honour! this is what I have meditated to say to you the first time I should have the pleasure of seeing you.”

To be sure, as Mrs. Thrale says, if folks are to be spoilt, there is nothing in the world so pleasant as spoiling! But I was never so much astonished, and seldom have been so much delighted, as by this attack of Mr. Sheridan. Afterwards he took my father aside, and formally repeated his opinion that I should write for the stage, and his desire to see my play, with encomiums the most flattering of “Evelina.”

And now, my dear Susy, if I should attempt the stage, I think I may be fairly acquitted of presumption, and however I may fall, that I was strongly pressed to try by Mrs. Thrale, and by Mr. Sheridan, the most successful and powerful of all dramatic living authors, will abundantly excuse my temerity.