Читать книгу The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney - Frances Burney - Страница 23

On Thursday, while my dear father was here, who should be announced but Mr. Murphy;⁶² the man of all other strangers to me whom I most longed to see.

He is tall and well made, has a very gentlemanlike appearance, and a quietness of manner upon his first address that, to me, is very pleasing. His face looks sensible, and his deportment is perfectly easy and polite.

When he had been welcomed by Mrs. Thrale, and had gone through the reception-salutations of Dr. Johnson and my father, Mrs. Thrale, advancing to me, said,

“But here is a lady I must introduce to you, Mr. Murphy here is another F. B.”

“Indeed!” cried he, taking my hand; “is this a sister of Miss Brown’s?”

“No, no; this is Miss Burney.”

“What!” cried he, staring; “is this—is this—this is not the lady that—that—”

“Yes, but it is,” answered she, laughing.

“‘No, you don’t say so? You don’t mean the lady that—”

“Yes yes I do; no less a lady, I assure you.”

He then said he was very glad of the honour of seeing me. I sneaked away. When we came upstairs, Mrs. Thrale charged me to make myself agreeable to Mr. Murphy.

“He may be of use to you, in what I am most eager for, your writing a play: he knows stage business so well; and if you but take a fancy to one another, he may be more able to serve you than all of us put together. My ambition is, that Johnson should write your prologue, and Murphy your epilogue, then I shall be quite happy.”

At tea-time, when I went into the library, I found Johnson reading, and Mrs. Thrale in close conference with Mr. Murphy.

“If I,” said Mr. Murphy, looking very archly, “had written a certain book—a book I won’t name, but a book I have lately read—I would next write a comedy.”

“Good,” cried Mrs. Thrale, colouring with pleasure; “you think so too?”

“Yes, indeed; I thought so while I was reading it; it struck me repeatedly.”

“Don’t look at me, Miss Burney,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “for this is no doing of mine. Well, I wonder what Miss Burney will do twenty years hence, when she can blush no more; for now she can never hear the name of her book.”

Mr. M.—Nay, I name no book; at least no author: how can I, for I don’t know the author; there is no name given to it: I only say, whoever wrote that book ought to write a comedy. Dr. Johnson might write it for aught I know.

F. B.—Oh, yes!

Mr. M.—Nay, I have often told him he does not know his own strength, or he would write a comedy, and so I think.

Dr. J. (laughing)—Suppose Burney and I begin together?

Mr. M.—Ah, I wish you would! I wish you would Beaumont and Fletcher us!

F.B.—My father asked me, this morning, how my head stood. If he should have asked me this evening, I don’t know what answer I must have made.

Mr. M.—I have no wish to turn anybody’s head: I speak what I really think;—comedy is the forte of that book. I laughed over it most violently: and if the author—I won’t say who (all the time looking away from me)—will write a comedy I will most readily, and with great pleasure, give any advice or assistance in my power.

“Well, now you are a sweet man!” cried Mrs. Thrale, who looked ready to kiss him. “Did not I tell you, Miss Burney, that Mr. Murphy was the man?”

Mr. M.—All I can do, I shall be very happy to do; and at least I will undertake to say I can tell what the sovereigns of the upper gallery will bear: for they are the most formidable part of an audience. I have had so much experience in this sort of work, that I believe I can always tell what will be hissed at least. And if Miss Burney will write, and will show me—

Dr. J.—Come, come, have done with this now; why should you overpower her? Let’s have no more of it. I don’t mean to dissent from what you say; I think well of it, and approve of it; but you have said enough of it.

Mr. Murphy, who equally loves and reverences Dr. Johnson, instantly changed the subject.

Yesterday, at night, I asked Dr. Johnson if he would permit me to take a great liberty with him? He assented with the most encouraging smile. And then I said,

“I believe, sir, you heard part of what passed between Mr. Murphy and me the other evening, concerning—a comedy. Now, if I should make such an attempt, would you be so good as to allow me, any time before Michaelmas, to put it in the coach, for you to look over as you go to town?”

“To be sure, my dear!—What, have you begun a comedy then?”

I told him how the affair stood. He then gave me advice which just accorded with my wishes, viz., not to make known that I had any such intention; to keep my own counsel; not to whisper even the name of it; to raise no expectations, which were always prejudicial, and finally, to have it performed while the town knew nothing of whose it was. I readily assured him of my hearty concurrence in his opinion; but he somewhat distressed me when I told him that Mr. Murphy must be in my confidence, as he had offered his services, by desiring he might be the last to see it.

What I shall do, I know not, for he has, himself, begged to be the first. Mrs. Thrale, however, shall guide me between them. He spoke highly of Mr. Murphy, too, for he really loves him. He said he would not have it in the coach, but I should read it to him; however, I could sooner drown or hang!

When I would have offered some apology for the attempt, he stopt me, and desired I would never make any.

“For,” said he, “if it succeeds, it makes its own apology, if not——”

“If not,” quoth I, “I cannot do worse than Dr. Goldsmith, when his play⁶³ failed,—go home and cry.”

He laughed, but told me, repeatedly (I mean twice, which, for him, is very remarkable), that I might depend upon all the service in his power; and, he added, it would be well to make Murphy the last judge, “for he knows the stage,” he said, “and I am quite ignorant of it.”

Afterwards, grasping my hand with the most affectionate warmth, he said,

“I wish you success! I wish you well! my dear little Burney!”

When, at length, I told him I could stay no longer, and bid him good night, he said, “There is none like you, my dear little Burney! there is none like you!—good night, my darling!”