The Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay
Chapter 5 : Odd so! thought I, what do you mean by that?"Pooh, nonsense!" cried I, "w

Odd so! thought I, what do you mean by that?

"Pooh, nonsense!" cried I, "what should make you think of me?"

"Why, you look guilty," answered he.

This was a horrible home stroke. Deuce take my looks! thought I--I shall owe them a grudge for this! however I found it was a mere random shot, and, without much difficulty, I laughed it to scorn.

And who do you think he guessed next?--My father!--there's for you!--and several questions he asked me, whether he had lately been shut up much-and so on. And this was not all--for he afterwards guessed Mrs.

Thrale and Mrs. Greville.[39]

There's honour and glory for you!--I a.s.sure you I grinned prodigiously.

_July 20._--I have had a letter from Susan. She informs me that my father, when he took the books back to Streatham, actually acquainted Mrs. Thrale with my secret. He took an opportunity, when they were alone together, of saying that Upon her recommendation, he had himself, as well as my mother; been reading "Evelina."

"Well!" cried she, "and is it not a very pretty book? and a Very clever book? and a very comical book?

"Why," answered he, "'tis well enough; but I have something to tell you about it."

"Well? what?" cried she; "has Mrs. Cholmondeley found out the author?"

"No," returned he, "not that I know of, but I believe I have, though but very lately."

"Well, pray let's hear!" cried she, eagerly, "I want to know him of all things."

How my father must laugh at the him!--He then, however, undeceived her in regard to that particular, by telling her it was "our f.a.n.n.y!" for she knows all about our family, as my father talks to her of his domestic concerns without any reserve.

A hundred handsome things, of course, followed; and she afterwards read some of the comic parts to Dr. Johnson, Mr. Thrale, and whoever came near her. How I should have quivered had I been there! but they tell me that Dr. Johnson laughed as heartily as my father himself did.

Nothing can be more ridiculous than the scenes in which I am almost perpetually engaged. Mr. Crisp, who is totally without suspicion, says, almost daily, something that has double the meaning he intends to convey; for, as I am often writing, either letters, Italian, or some of my own vagaries, he commonly calls me the scribe, and the auth.o.r.ess; asks when I shall print; says he will have all my works on royal paper, etc.; and the other day, Mrs. Gast, who frequently lectures me about studying too hard, and injuring my health, said--

"Pray, Miss Burney, now you write so much, when do you intend to publish?"

"Publish?" cried Mr. Crisp, "why, she has published; she brought out a book the other day that has made a great noise 'Evelina'--and she bribed the reviewers to speak well of it, and set it a going."

I was almost ready to run out of the room; but, though the hit was so palpable in regard to the book, what he said of the reviewers was so much the contrary that it checked my alarm: indeed, had he the most remote idea of the truth, he would be the last man to have hinted at it before a room full of people.

"Oh!" cried I, as composedly as I could, "that is but a small part of my authors.h.i.+p--I shall give you a list of my folios soon."

They had all some jocularity upon the occasion, but I found I was perfectly safe; indeed my best security is, that my daddy concludes the author to be a man, and all the rest follow as he leads.

Mr. Burney,[40] yesterday, after dinner, said--"Gentlemen and ladies, I'll propose a toast"; then filling his gla.s.s, he drank "to The author of 'Evelina'!"

Had they known the author was present, they could not have more civilly accepted the toast; it was a bold kind of drollery in Mr. Burney, for I was fain to drink my own health in a b.u.mper, which he filled for me, laughing heartily himself.

_August 3_--I have an immensity to write. Susan has copied me a letter which Mrs. Thrale has written to my father, upon the occasion of returning my mother two novels by Madame Riccoboni.[41] It is so honourable to me, and so sweet in her, that I must COPY it for my faithful journal.

Streatham, July 22.

Dear Sir,

I forgot to give you the novels in your carriage, which I now send.

"Evelina" certainly excels them far enough, both in probability of story, elegance of sentiment, and general power over the mind, whether exerted in humour or pathos; add to this, that Riccoboni is a veteran author, and all she ever can be; but I cannot tell what might not be expected from "Evelina," were she to try her genius at comedy.

So far had I written of my letter, when Mr. Johnson returned home, full of the praises of the book I had lent him, and protesting there Were pa.s.sages in it which Might do honour to Richardson. We talk of it for ever, and he feels ardent after the d'enouement; hee "could not get rid of the rogue," he said. I lent him the second volume, and he is now busy with the other.

You must be more a philosopher, and less a father, than I wish you, not to be pleased with this letter; and the giving such pleasure yields to nothing but receiving it. Long, my dear sir, may you live to enjoy the just praises of your children! and long may they live to deserve and delight such a parent! These are things that you would say in verse---but poetry implies fiction, and all this is naked truth.

My compliments to Mrs. Burney, and kindest wishes to all your flock, etc.

How, sweet, how amiable in this charming woman is her desire of making my dear father satisfied with his scribbler's attempt! I do, indeed, feel the most grateful love for her. But Dr. Johnson's approbation!--It almost crazed me with agreeable surprise--it gave me such a flight of spirits that I danced a jig to Mr. Crisp, Without any preparation, music, or explanation;--to his no small amazement and diversion. I left him, however, to make his own comments upon my friskiness without affording him the smallest a.s.sistance.

Susan also writes me word, that when my father went last to Streatham, Dr. Johnson was not there, but Mrs. Thrale told him, that when he gave her the first volume of "Evelina," which she had lent him, he said, "Why, madam, why, what a charming book you lent me!" and eagerly inquired for the rest. He was particularly pleased with the Snow-hill scenes, and said that Mr. Smith's vulgar gentility was admirably portrayed; and when Sir Clement joins them, he said there was a shade of character prodigiously well marked. Well may it be said, that the greatest winds are ever the most candid to the inferior set! I think I should love Dr. Johnson for such lenity to a poor mere worm in literature, even if I were not myself the identical grub he has obliged.

I now come to last Sat.u.r.day evening, when my beloved father came to Chesington, in full health, charming spirits, and all kindness, openness, and entertainment.

In his way hither he had stopped at Streatham, and he settled with Mrs.

Thrale that he would call on her again in his way to town, and carry me with him! and Mrs. Thrale said, "We all long to know her."

I have been in a kind of twitter ever since, for there seems something very formidable in the idea of appearing as an auth.o.r.ess! I ever dreaded it, as it is a t.i.tle which must raise more expectations than I have any chance of answering. Yet I am highly flattered by her invitation, and highly delighted in the prospect of being introduced to the Streatham society.

She sent me some very serious advice to write for the theatre, as, she says, I so naturally run into conversations, that "Evelina" absolutely and plainly points out that path to me; and she hinted how much she should be pleased to be "honoured with my confidence."

My dear father communicated this intelligence, and a great deal more, with a pleasure that almost surpa.s.sed that with which I heard it, and he seems quite eager for me to make another attempt. He desired to take upon himself the communication to my daddy Crisp, and as it is now in so many hands that it is possible accident might discover it to him, I readily consented.

Sunday evening, as I was going into my father's room, I heard him say, "The variety of characters--the variety of scenes--and the language--why, she has had very little education but what she has given herself,-less than any of the others!" and Mr. Crisp exclaimed, "Wonderful!--it's wonderful!"

I now found what was going forward, and therefore deemed it most fitting to decamp. About an hour after, as I was pa.s.sing through the hall, I met my daddy (Crisp). His face was all animation and archness; he doubled his fist at me, and would have stopped me, but I ran past him into the parlour.

Before supper, however, I again met him, and he would not suffer me to escape; he caught both my hands, and looked as if he would have looked me through, and then exclaimed, "Why you little hussy,--you young devil!--an't you ashamed to look me in the face, you Evelina, you!

Why, what a dance have you led me about it! Young friend, indeed! O you little hussy, what tricks have you served me!"

I was obliged to allow of his running on with these gentle appellations for I know not how long, ere he could sufficiently compose himself after his great surprise, to ask or hear any particulars--and then, he broke out every three instants with exclamations of astonishment at how I had found time to write so much unsuspected, and how and where I had picked up such various materials; and not a few times did he, with me, as he had with my father, exclaim, "wonderful!"

He has, since, made me read him all my letters upon this subject. He said Lowndes would have made an estate had he given me one thousand pounds for it, and that he ought not to have given me less. "You have nothing to do now," continued he, "but to take your pen in hand, for your fame and reputation are made, and any bookseller will snap at what you write."

I then told him that I could not but really and unaffectedly regret that the affair was spread to Mrs. Williams and her friends.

"Pho," said he, "if those who are proper judges think it right, that it should be known, why should you trouble yourself about it? You have not spread it, there can be no imputation of vanity fall to your share, and it cannot come out more to your honour than through such a channel as Mrs. Thrale."

A FIRST VISIT TO MRS. THRALE AND AN INTRODUCTION To DR. JOHNSON.

[An introduction to Mrs. Thrale was practically an introduction into the most brilliant literary circle of the day. Literary lions of all sizes, from the monarch Johnson downwards, were wont to resort to Streatham, to eat Thrale's dinners, and to enjoy the conversation of his lively wife.