The “Adieu, Streatham!” that had been uttered figuratively by Dr. Burney, without any knowledge of its nearness to reality, was now fast approaching to becoming a mere matter of fact; for, to the almost equal grief, however far from equal loss, of Dr. Johnson and Dr. Burney, Streatham, a short time afterwards, though not publicly relinquished, was quitted by Mrs. Thrale and her family.
Both friends rejoiced, however, that the library and the pictures, at least, on this first breaking up, fell into the hands of so able an appreciator of literature and of painting, as the Earl of Shelburne.
Mrs. Thrale removed first to Brighton, and next repaired to pass a winter in Argyll Street, previously to fixing her ultimate proceedings.
GENERAL PAOLI.
The last little narration that was written to Mr. Crisp of any party at Streatham, as it contains a description of the celebrated Corsican General, Paoli, with whom Dr. Burney had there been invited to dine; and whom Mr. Crisp, also, had been pressed, though unavailingly, to meet; will here be copied, in the hope that the reader, like Dr. Burney, will learn with pleasure General Paoli’s own history of his opening intercourse with Mr. Boswell.
To SAMUEL CRISP, ESQ.,
Chesington.
How sorry am I, my dear Mr. Crisp, that you could not come to Streatham at the time Mrs. Thrale hoped to see you; for when are we likely to meet at Streatham again? And you would have been much pleased, I am sure, with the famous Corsican General, Paoli, who spent the day there, and was extremely communicative and agreeable.
He is a very pleasing man; tall and genteel in his person, remarkably attentive, obliging, and polite; and as soft and mild in his speech, as if he came from feeding sheep in Corsica, like a shepherd; rather than as if he had left the warlike field where he had led his armies to battle.
I will give you a little specimen of his language and discourse, as they are now fresh in my ears.
When Mrs. Thrale named me, he started back, though smilingly, and said: ‘ I am very glad enough to see you in the face, Miss Evelina, which I have wished for long enough. O charming book! I give it you my word I have read it often enough. It is my favourite studio so for apprehending the English language; which is difficult often. I pray you, Miss Evelina, write some more little volumes of the quickest.’
I disclaimed the name, and was walking away; but he followed me with an apology. ‘I pray your pardon, Mademoiselle. My ideas got in a blunder often. It is Miss Borni what name I meant to accentuate, I pray your pardon, Miss Evelina. I make very much error in my English many times enough.’
My father then lead him to speak of Mr. Boswell, by inquiring into the commencement of their connexion.
“He came,” answered the General, “to my country sudden, and he fetched me some letters of recommending him. But I was of the belief he might, in the verity, be no other person but one imposter. And I supposed, in my mente, he was in the privacy one espy; for I look away from him to my other companies, and, in one moment, when I look back to him, I behold it in his hands his tablet, and one pencil! O, he was at the work, I give it you my honour, of writing down all what I say to some persons whatsoever in the room! Indeed I was angry enough. Pretty much so, I give it you my word. But soon after, I discern he was no impostor, and besides, no espy; for soon I find it out I was myself only the monster he came to observe, and to describe with one pencil in his tablet! O, is a very good man, Mr. Boswell, in the bottom! so cheerful, so witty, so gentle, so talkable. But, at the first, O, I was indeed faché of the sufficient. I was in one passion, in my mente, very well,”
He had brought with him to Streatham a dog, of which he is exceeding fond; but he apologised for being so accompanied, from the safety which he owed to that faithful animal, as a guard from robbers. “I walk out,” he cried, “when I will one night, and I lose myself. The dark it comes on of a blackish colour. I don’t know where I put my foot! In a moment comes behind me one hard step. I go on. The hard step he follow. Sudden I turn round; a little fierce, it may be. I meeted one man: an ogly one. He had not sleeped in the night! He was so big whatsoever; with one clob stick, so thick to my arm. He lifted it up. I had no pistollettos; I call my dog. I open his mouth, for the survey to his teeth. My friend, I say, look to the muzzle! Give me your clob stick at the moment, or he shall destroy you when you are ten! The man kept his clob stick but he took up his heels, and he ran away from that time to this moment!”
After this, talking of the Irish giant who is now shewn in town, he said, “He is so large, I am as a baby! I look at him, and I feel so little as a child! Indeed my indignation it rises when I see him hold up one arm, spread out to the full, to make me walk under it for my canopy! I am as nothing! and it turns my bile more than whatsoever to find myself in the power of one man, who fetches from me half a crown for looking at his seven feet!”
All this comic English he pronounces in a manner the most comically pompous. Nevertheless, my father thinks he will soon speak better, and that he seems less to want language than patience to assort it; hurrying on impetuously, and any how, rather than stopping for recollection.
He diverted us all very much after dinner, by begging leave of Mrs. Thrale to give “one toast and then, with smiling pomposity, pronouncing “The great Vagabond!” meaning to designate Dr. Johnson as “The Rambler.”
This is the last visit remembered, or, at least, narrated, of Streatham.
HISTORY OF MUSIC.
Streatham thus gone, though the intercourse with Mrs. Thrale, who now resided in Argyle-street, London, was as fondly, if not as happily, sustained as ever, Dr. Burney had again his first amanuensis and librarian wholly under his roof; and the pleasure of his parental feelings doubled those of his renown; for the new author was included, with the most flattering distinction, in almost every invitation that he received, or acquaintance that he made, where a female presided in the society.
Never was practical proof more conspicuous of the power of surmounting every difficulty that rises against our progress to an appointed end, when Inclination and Business take each other by the hand in its pursuit, than was now evinced by the conduct and success of Dr. Burney in his musical enterprize.
He vigilantly visited both the Universities, leaving nothing uninvestigated that assiduity or address could ferret out to his purpose. The following account of these visits is copied from his own memorials:
“I went three several years to the Bodleian and other libraries in that most admirable seminary of learning and science, the Oxford University. I had previously spent a week at Cambridge; and, at both those Universities, I had, in my researches, discovered curious and rare manuscript tracts on Music of the middle ages, before the invention of the press, not mentioned in any of the printed or manuscript catalogues; and which the most learned librarians did not know were in existence, from the several different Treatises in Latin, French, and obselete English, being bound up in odd volumes, and only the first of them mentioned in the lettering, or title of the volume. At Christ Church, to which Dr. Aldrich had bequeathed his musical library, I met with innumerable compositions by the best Masters of Italy, as well as of our own country, that were then extant; such as Carissimi, Luigi, Cesti, Stradella, Tye, Tallis, Bird, Morley, and Purcel. I made a catalogue of this admirable collection, including the tracts and musical compositions of the learned and ingenious Dean, its founder; a copy of which I had the honour to present to the college.”
The British Museum Library he ransacked, pen in hand, repeatedly: that of Sir Joseph Bankes was as open to him as his own: Mr. Garrick conducted him, by appointment, to that of the Earl of Shelburne, afterwards Marquis of Lansdowne; which was personally shewn to him, with distinguished consideration, by that literary nobleman. To name every other to which he had access would be prolixity; but to omit that of his Majesty, George the Third, would be insensibility. Dr. Burney was permitted to make a full examination of its noble contents; and to take thence whatever extracts he thought conducive to his design, by his Majesty’
s own gracious orders, delivered through the then librarian, Mr. Barnard.
But for bringing these accumulating materials into play, time still, with all the vigilance of his grasp upon its fragments, was wanting; and to counteract the relentless calls of his professional business, he was forced to superadd an unsparing requisition upon his sleep — the only creditor that he never paid.
SAM’S CLUB.
Immediately after vacating Streatham, Dr. Burney was called upon, by his great and good friend of Bolt-court, to become a member of a club which he was then instituting for the emolument of Samuel, a footman of the late Mr. Thrale. This man, who was no longer wanted for the broken establishment of Streatham, had saved sufficient money for setting up a humble species of hotel, to which this club would be a manifest advantage. It was called, from the name of the honest domestic whom Dr. Johnson wished to serve, Sam’s Club. It was held in Essex-street, in the Strand. Its rules, &c are printed by Mr. Boswell.
To enumerate all the coteries to which the Doctor, with his new associate, now resorted, would be uninteresting, for almost all are passed away! and nearly all are forgotten; though there was scarcely a name in their several sets that did not, at that time, carry some weight of public opinion. Such of them, nevertheless, that have left lasting memorials of their character, their wit, or their abilities, may not unacceptably be selected for some passing observations.
BAS BLEU SOCIETIES.
To begin with what still is famous in the aunals of conversation, the Bas Bleu Societies.
The first of these was then in the meridian of its lustre, but had been instituted many years previously at Bath. It owed its name to an apology made by Mr. Stillingfleet, in declining to accept an invitation to a literary meeting at Mrs. Vesey’s, from not being, he said, in the habit of displaying a proper equipment for an evening assembly. “Pho, pho,” cried she, with her well-known, yet always original simplicity, while she looked, inquisitively, at him and his accoutrements; “don’t mind dress! Come in your blue stockings!” With which words, humourously repeating them as he entered the apartment of the chosen coterie, Mr. Stillingfleet claimed permission for appearing, according to order. And those words, ever after, were fixed, in playful stigma, upon Mrs. Vesey’s associations.
This original coterie was still headed by Mrs. Vesey, though it was transferred from Bath to London. Dr. Burney and this Memorialist were now initiated into the midst of it. And however ridicule, in public, from those who had no taste for this bluism; or envy, in secret, from those who had no admission to it, might seek to depreciate its merit, it afforded to all lovers of intellectual entertainment a variety of amusement, an exemption from form, and a carte blanche certainty of good humour from the amiable and artless hostess, that rendered it as agreeable as it was singular: for Mrs. Vesey was as mirth-provoking from her oddities and mistakes, as Falstaff was wit-inspiring from his vaunting cowardice and sportive epicurism.
There was something so like the manoeuvres of a character in a comedy in the manners and movements of Mrs. Vesey, that the company seemed rather to feel themselves assembled, at their own cost and pleasure, in some public apartment, to saunter or to repose; to talk or to hold their tongues; to gaze around, or to drop asleep, as best might suit their humours; than drawn together to receive and to bestow, the civilities of given and accepted invitations.
Her fears were so great of the horror, as it was styled, of a circle, from the ceremony and awe which it produced, that she pushed all the small sofas, as well as chairs, pell-mell about the apartments, so as not to leave even a zig-zag path of communication free from impediment: and her greatest delight was to place the seats back to back, so that those who occupied them could perceive no more of their nearest neighbour than if the parties had been sent into different rooms: an arrangement that could only be eluded by such a twisting of the neck as to threaten the interlocutors with a spasmodic affection.
But there was never any distress beyond risibility: and the company that was collected was so generally of a superior cast, that talents and conversation soon found — as when do they miss it? — their own level: and all these extraneous whims merely served to give zest and originality to the assemblage.
Mrs. Vesey was of a character to which it is hardly possible to find a parallel, so untrue would it be to brand it with positive folly; yet so glaringly was it marked by almost incredible simplicity.
With really lively parts, a fertile imagination, and a pleasant quickness of remark, she had the unguardedness of childhood, joined to an Hibernian bewilderment of ideas that cast her incessantly into some burlesque situation; and incited even the most partial, and even the most sensitive of her own countrymen, to relate stories, speeches, and anecdotes of her astonishing self-perplexities, her confusion about times and circumstances, and her inconceivable jumble of recollections between what had happened, or what might have happened; and what had befallen others that she imagined had befallen herself; that made her name, though it could never be pronounced without personal regard, be constantly coupled with something grotesque.
But what most contributed to render the scenes of her social circle nearly dramatic in comic effect, was her deafness; for with all the pity due to that socialless infirmity; and all the pity doubly due to one who still sought -conversation as the first of human delights, it was impossible, with a grave face, to behold her manner of constantly marring the pleasure of which she was in pursuit.
She had commonly two or three, or more, ear-trumpets hanging to her wrists, or slung about her neck; or tost upon the chimney-piece or table; with intention to try them, severally and alternately, upon different speakers, as occasion might arise; and the instant that any earnestness of countenance, or animation of gesture, struck her eye, she darted forward, trumpet in hand, to inquire what was going on; but almost always arrived at the speaker at the moment that he was become, in his turn, the hearer; and eagerly held her brazen instrument to his mouth to catch sounds that were already past and gone. And, after quietly listening some minutes, she would gently utter her disappointment, by crying: “Well! I really thought you were talking of something?”
And then, though a whole group would hold it fitting to flock around her, and recount what had been said; if a smile caught her roving eye from any opposite direction, the fear of losing something more entertaining, would make her beg not to trouble them, and again rush on to the gayer talkers. But as a laugh is excited more commonly by sportive nonsense than by wit, she usually gleaned nothing from her change of place, and hastened therefore back to ask for the rest of what she had interrupted. But generally finding that set dispersing, or dispersed, she would look around her with a forlorn surprise, and cry: “I can’t conceive why it is that nobody talks to-night? I can’t catch a word!”
Or, if some one of peculiar note were engaging attention; if Sir William Hamilton, for example, were describing Herculaneum or Pompeii; or Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Hannah More were discussing some new author, or favourite work; or if the then still beautiful, though old, Duchess of Leinster, was encountering the beautiful and young Duchess of Devonshire; or, if Mr. Burke, having stept in, and, marking no one with whom he wished to exchange ideas, had seized upon the first book or pamphlet he could catch, to soothe his harassed mind by reading — which he not seldom did, and most incomparably, a passage or two aloud; circumstances of such a sort would arouse in her so great an earnestness for participation, that she would hasten from one spot to another, in constant hope of better fare; frequently clapping, in her hurry, the broad part of the brazen ear to her temple: but after waiting, with anxious impatience, for the development she expected, but waiting in vain, she would drop her trumpet, and almost dolorously exclaim: “I hope nobody has had any bad news to night? but as soon as I come near any body, nobody speaks!”
Yet, with all these peculiarities, Mrs. Vesey was eminently amiable, candid, gentle, and even sensible; but she had an ardour to know whatever was going forward, and to see whoever was named, th
at kept her curiosity constantly in a panic; and almost dangerously increased the singular wanderings of her imagination.
Here, amongst the few remaining men of letters of the preceding literary era, Dr. Burney met Horace Walpole, Owen Cambridge, and Soame Jenyns, who were commonly, then, denominated the old wits; but who rarely, indeed, were surrounded by any new ones who stood much chance of vying with them in readiness of repartee, pith of matter, terseness of expression, or pleasantry in expanding gay ideas.
MRS. MONTAGU.
“Yet, while to Mrs. Vesey, the Bas Bleu society owed its origin and its epithet, the meetings that took place at Mrs. Montagu’s were soon more popularly known by that denomination; for though they could not be more fashionable, they were far more splendid.
Mrs. Montagu had built a superb new house, which was magnificently fitted up, and appeared to be rather appropriate for princes, nobles, and courtiers, than for poets, philosophers, and blue stocking votaries. And here, in fact, rank and talents were so frequently brought together, that what the satirist uttered scoffingly, the author pronounced proudly, in setting aside the original claimant, to dub Mrs. Montagu Queen of the Blues.
This majestic title was hers, in fact, from more flattering rights than hang upon mere pre-eminence of riches or station. Her Essay on the Learning and Genius of Shakespeare; and the literary zeal which made her the voluntary champion of our immortal bard, had so national a claim to support and to praise, that her book, on its first coming out, had gained the almost general plaudits that mounted her, thenceforward, to the Parnassian heights of female British literature.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 410
