[There is a great gap in Mrs. Rishton’s letters between June, 1772, and the 22nd of February, 1773, on which day she writes to Fanny, regretting her mother’s injury, and the alarm of all who were in the coach accident. She writes from “Alfred’s Buildings,” Bath, where she seems to have spent the autumn and winter for the sake of drinking the waters. She had been ill, indeed she was not so robust as her high spirits might make us suppose. As a girl, she had bad health. She says that she is much alone, although Mr. Rishton was so kind that “there is not a sun that rises that does not make [her] more thankful for being his wife.”
The Rishtons were looking forward to living at Stanhoe House, which belonged to “Mrs.’Mun Allen” (the wife of one of Maria’s family), and Fanny is desired to “put no spokes in the wheel of her own Norfolk journey,” as Maria hopes to see her at Stanhoe. “I hope not to see Bath of many years. I am surprised what a change Matrimony has made in me — and you may remember how we used to wonder at Hetty’s being so wifish. — I woud not be condemned to settle here if any one coud give me a house ready furnished.” In the next letter she has suffered from servants, having been obliged to send away a butler whom they had hired in London, as he “proved so dirty, stupid, and unqualified in every respect.” Maria has even a passing fit of jealousy; thinks her husband cooled towards her, and prays Fanny’s pity for what she must suffer, assuring her that she may depend upon her letters being burned directly. “So be free. I have been vastly disappointed in not going to Fischer’s concert to-night. I suppose all Bath will be there, for it is the last time the eldest Linley sings at Bath, she is engaged for the oratorios — but Rishton who is rather more exact about dress than I am, can’t think of my appearing. R.... wanted me to buy a suit of mignionet linnen fringed for second mourning — but my economy prevaild over that, and as he was unwilling I should appear else, I gave up the dear Fischer — see what a cruel thing to have a sposo who is rather a p — p — y in those sort of things. Now don’t you think this little anecdote put into proper hands might make a dismal tale, such as ‘Ah, poor girl, she has reason enough to repent — denied going into company, left all alone, husband flirting with every Miss in his way,’ &c tho’ I am afraid I am not enough in favor to be an object of pity — well all for the best. Rishton is gone” [to the concert] “fischer’s hautboy has the same merit with him the Bagpipes or Jews’ trump might.”]
[From MR. CRISP to FRANCES BURNEY.]
[I773]
Dear Fanny,
Tho the weak knotty joints of my knuckles are somewhat tired with writing to your Mamma by this post, I cannot forbear forcing them to pay you this short tribute of acknowledgement for your kind and entertaining letter. You are an exceeding good child, and I shall cherish you accordingly. You have good and grateful sentiments about you; in short, you have good things in you, and I wish it was in my power to bring about, — but stop, my pen! you are going beyond your line; but there are many valuable people in this wide world of ours, that for want of rightly understanding one another, do not do what Nature seems to have intended they should do; I mean draw close together by mutual attraction. ’Tis pity; for the really valuable do not over-abound. The esteem you express for sincerity, shows the world has not infected you with its contagion; but be ware of too liberal a use of it, my dear Fanny; ’tis a dangerous weapon to carry about one; it is a sword that is very apt to eat into the scabbard and wound its owner. At my hour of life ’tis not worth while to change one’s old habits; but, if I were to begin the world again, I should certainly carry it very much muffled up. You have drawn a very good picture of two brothers, and strikingly like I believe; I am sure one is so; and as sure all I have seen of the other is so.
.. You with reason set a just value on your lot —
Dear Fanny,
Once for all let me assure you you need not fear your letters coming too often this road. For why? They bring me intelligence of a set of people I do not hate; they amuse and entertain me; and above all they are a sort of proof that my child Fanny retains a degree of regard for a certain queer, old, worn, and rusticated Fogram, for whom, with all his faults, and infirmities I have a particular kindness. —
And now my dear Fanny, from the manner in which you express the uncertainty of my meaning, it is plain that you.... My intention is not to take....
As for sincerity, Fanny, such a young untainted, unhackneyed mind as your own may naturally enough be struck with the bright side of it; but take the word of an old sufferer; it ten times hurts the owner for once it does any good to the hearer; whom you are to thank and be highly obliged to, if he does not from that moment become your enemy. Whenever, therefore, you have heated your imagination with these glowing, generous, great sentiments, let me recommend to you by way of a cooler, to reflect on the following lines in the mouth of a more wary character —
What, shall I wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at?
[? March.]
My father’s German Tour will be published next week; Heaven grant it as favourable a reception as the Italian one... he is extremely anxious and diffident beyond any author that ever, I believe, existed. He has shut himself up entirely from all who know him, but his own family. Dr. Armstrong, among others, has called fifty times unsuccessfully, though he has always the gallantry to say, that he wants nobody, when he sees us. I had the pleasure of a long téte á téte with him last Monday. He asked me what I conjectured to be the prime cost of the most capital picture in Mr. Strange’s last sale? It is a landscape by Nicholas Poussins, and was purchased by Sir Watkin Wynn, at the sum of six hundred and fifty pounds. I told him that I could not possibly guess; but I supposed it to be much less than was then given for it. “But I can tell you exactly,” said he, “for I have it from a gentleman, who was well acquainted with the transaction: the prime cost was seven pounds, odd shillings! and for that sum Poussins sold it! What Mr. Strange might purchase it for at Paris, I cannot say.” How very hard that the man by whose labour and talents this fine landscape was produced should have worked so much for the advantage of others, and so little for his own!
Dr. Armstrong told me of some particulars in the will of the famous Lord Chesterfield, who is just dead. “He has given,” said he, “some very excellent advice to Mr. Stanhope, his heir, admonishing him never to indulge himself in the pernicious practice of gaming, and he has taken some pretty effectual measures towards securing his advice from being forgot, as he has added a clause to it that, if ever he loses £100 by gaming, he is to forfeit 5,000. In another article he has represented the ill consequences of horseracing, earnestly begging him not to give in to that diversion; and to this salutary counsel he has annexed a small clause that, if ever Mr. Stanhope is seen upon Newmarket Heath, he is immediately to forfeit 5,000 pounds! and these forfeited sums are all to be given in charity by the Dean and Chapter of Canterbury.” I fancy it would be of great service if this will should prove a model for future ones. It was but last week that this nobleman purchased two of the capital pictures of Mr. Strange’s collection, though he was then so much confined, that he was obliged to have them carried to his own room, to examine: an evident proof that he retained not only his senses, but his love of the arts, to his last moments.
I have likewise had the honour of two (short) conversations with Mr. Baretti; he called with a letter from Dr. Marsili, a physician of Padua, who desired him to send my father’s Italian Tour to him, which he was very impatient to see, as he was my father’s Ciceroni at Padua. Mr. Baretti appears to be very facetious; he amused himself very much with Charlotte, [whom he calls Churlotte, and kisses whether she will or no, always calmly saying, “Kiss k me, Churlotte He asked if she] had read “Robinson Crusoe”? Charlotte coloured and... answered, “Yes, sir.”
“And pray, how many years vas he on de uninhabited island?”
“Oh, sir; I can’t tell that!”.... “Vat! don’t you remember vat you read? den, my pretty Churlotte, you might spare your eyesight. But can you remember vat was
de name of Robinson Crusoe’s island?”
“Oh! sir, no, that I can’t, indeed!”
“And could you read all dat book, and not find out, dat it has no name at all?” He enquired of me very particularly how my sister “[Hetty]” did, whom he had seen when a child.
Dr. Hawkesworth... supped with us very lately, and was extremely sociable and agreeable; yet he always seems rather to be reading than speaking; his language is so remarkably elegant and flowing. I could not but imagine, that he was reciting one of his own “Adventurers,” in an account he gave of a school-boy’s holiday. I will endeavour to recollect it: “His sleep,” said he, “the night before is broken and disturbed; his anticipation of pleasure is too lively to let him rest; yet he wakes, delighted that the happy day is come. If it is in his power, he lays in bed, till he is ashamed of leaving it, and at last rises ashamed of being ashamed. The remaining part of the morning he passes in considering what to do; but every plan that occurs, appears unworthy employing so precious a day. At length, evening comes, and his recollection then tells him a thousand things which he might have done; he spends the rest of the night in regretting that he wasted the day; and at last goes to bed disgusted, wearied, and disappointed.” This description, however, belongs rather to young men than to boys, whose childish or boisterous amusements present themselves with the light.
[? April.]
We went, Susan and I, to a very fine concert lately for Mr. Fischaris (the celebrated Hautbois) benefit. Never was music more lost than upon Mrs. Young, far from evincing pleasure she suffered — But can I speak of music, and not mention Miss Linley? The town has rung of no other name this month.
Miss Linley is daughter to a musician of Bath, a very sour, ill-bred, severe, and selfish man. She is believed to be very romantic; she has long been very celebrated for her singing, though never, till within this month, has she been in London. She has met with a great variety of adventures, and has had more lovers and admirers than any nymph of these times. She has been addressed by men of all ranks. I dare not pretend to say, honourably, which is doubtful; but what is certain is, that whatever were their designs, she has rejected them all. She has long been attached to a Mr. Sheridan, a young man of [great talents, and] very well spoken of, whom it is expected she will speedily marry. She has performed this Lent at the Oratorio of Drury Lane, under Mr. Stanley’s direction. The applause and admiration she has met with, can only be compared to what is given Mr. Garrick. The whole town seems distracted about her. Every other diversion is forsaken. Miss Linley alone engrosses all eyes, ears, hearts. At Mrs. Stanley’s invitation, mama, Susan, and myself sat in her box at Alexander Balus, to see and hear this Syren. Her voice is soft, sweet, clear, and affecting. She sings with good expression, and has great fancy and even taste in her cadences, though perhaps a finished singer would give less way to the former, and prefer few and select notes. She has an exceeding good shake, and the best and most critical judges, all pronounce her to be infinitely superior to all other English singers. The Town in general give her the preference to any other. To me her singing was extremely pleasing. Perhaps, except the divine Millico, I would rather hear her (if I also saw her!) than any other.
As Mrs. Stanley’s box is very high, and I am very nearsighted, I could only perceive that Miss Linley’s figure was extremely genteel, and the form of her face very elegant. I had heard from Miss Kinnaird, who is acquainted with Mrs. Stanley, that she always went into the green-room after the oratorio, and I determined to make interest for the same favour, as it had been granted to Miss Kinnaird. I had immediate success. As soon as the performance was over, we all went into that famous apartment, which I was surprised to see, was lined with red! There was not a creature there; but at my request Miss Arland, Mrs. Stanley’s sister, went into another room, and asked Miss Linley and her sister to favour us with her company. The rest of the family, viz.: father, mother, and brother were already in the [red] green room.
Had I been for my sins born of the male race, I should certainly have added one more to Miss Linley’s train. She is really beautiful; her complexion a clear, lovely, animated brown, with a blooming colour on her cheeks; her nose, that most elegant of shapes, Grecian; fine luxurious, easy-sitting hair, a charming forehead, pretty mouth, and most bewitching eyes. With all this her carriage is modest and unassuming, and her countenance indicates diffidence, and a strong desire of pleasing, — a desire in which she can never be disappointed. I most sincerely and earnestly wish her well, safely, and happily settled. I think that so young a woman, gifted with such enchanting talents, and surrounded by so many admirers, who can preserve herself unconscious of her charms and diffident of her powers, has merit that entitles her to the strongest approbation, and I hope, to the greatest happiness: — a union from affection with a man who deserves her!
[In No. 38, which is dated “Tingmouth, April ye 25th,” Maria tells Fanny that she never made so pleasant a journey in her life as in the three days spent in going from Froome to Exeter, driving with her husband in the “whiskey,” her maid and the baggage being in the chaise. “Tingmouth” (a spelling of the name which Fanny copied from Maria and always retained) “surpasses everything her imagination had formed of the most beautiful;” she goes on to say that: —
“You see nothing here but women in the summer — their husbands all go out to the Newfoundland fishery for 8 or 9 months in the [year] so the women do all the laborious business such as rowing and towing the boats and go out a fishing yet I never saw cleaner Cottages nor healthier finer Children — the Women are in general Handsome none plain tho’ tall and Strapping owing [to] their robust work — Their husbands come home about november or december — consequently the winter is their time for Mirth and Jollity. They are very poor, yet no signs of poverty appear, nor have I seen a beggar since I came — I will now litterally describe our dwelling — the owner is a captain of a ship, such as Molly Stancliffe’s father, not at all in a higher style — they have one of the very neatest Thatchd Cottages you ever saw — we have it almost all that is a little parlour not much bigger than the 3rd Room in Queen’s Square — the furniture a very elegant set Beaufet painted blue — and Open — filled with Curious odd bits of China glass flowers etc that the Captain has pick’d up during his Voyages — a very fine picture of our Saviour on the Cross — supposed to be a Raphael — and a Magdalen by Corregio — with a vast many curious prints cut out of Common Prayer-book and I am afraid the old Family Bible is a Loser — the window with very pretty flower in pots — and a Most delightful Mirtle hedge as thick as any common one in a very little Spot of Garden before the house — we have behind our parlour a Scullery converted into a Kitchen over this is two very neat Bedchambers with nice Clean Linen Beds — in short this Cottage woud make a very great figure in Miss Minified hands and very much resembles the retreat of some heroine — the front of our house looks on a fine green not a quarter of a Mile from the Ocean we have a fine view of a Cliff that resembles that Shakespear describes at dover — We don’t know half the beauties of the place yet we have rode out once — thro’ such Lanes that open every now and then to the Sea. There is delightful fishing here for Whiting Mackerel young Salmon etc. — we shall often go out and take our dinners with us — the people are so Simple and happy — I am quite Charmed with them, here is one of the finest beaches for Bathing you ever saw. We have a brace of beautiful Spaniels and a remarkable fine pomeranian dog R gave a great deal of money for at Bath to please me — we have great diversion with them they all take the water and are our Constant Companions — we intend getting a very large Newfoundland dog before we leave this place.”
What is given of this letter is literally transcribed, with Maria’s characteristic omission of little words, and her little dashes to make up for the absence of stops. After her signature Maria writes her address: “at Capt. Whitbourne’s, Tingmouth, near Exon, Devon.”]
Sunday, May 3rd.
I have a thousand things to write, too many to observe me
thod, and therefore I shall commit them as they occur.
Premierement, — We have had from the Cape of Good Hope the welcome news of my brothers promotion, Lieutenant Shanks, a young man who was on board the Adventure, one of the three sloops under Captain Cooke, was so ill, that he was obliged to leave the ship, and return to England, “in whose place,” says the Captain’s letter to Lord Sandwich, “I have appointed Mr. Burney, whom I have found very deserving.” This is most comfortable intelligence and rejoices us unspeakably; he will be a lieutenant of three years standing by his return. He has written to us in very good spirits, and assures us that the Cape of Good Hope is a very agreeable place! Lord Sandwich has interested himself very much about this affair, and behaved to my father, to whom he seems really attached, in the most friendly manner. I wish he may preserve his place of first Lord of the Admiralty to the time of James’s return.
Mr and Mrs. Rishton are turned absolute hermits for this summer, they have left Bath, and are gone to Tingmouth in Devonshire where they have taken a cottage rather than a house. The country she says is beautiful. They are however only to remain there till Stanhoe House which they have taken for 7 years is ready for them — I hear very often from Mrs. Rishton, whose friendship, affection, and confidence, will, I believe, end only with our lives.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 468
