Miss Reid. — You was saying, Mrs. Brooke, that you did not know till I told you that Dr. Burney had a wife; what do you think then of seeing these grown up daughters?
Mrs. Brooke. — Why, I don’t know how, [or why,] but I own I was never more suprised than when I heard that Dr. Burney was married.
Dr. Shebbeare. — What, I suppose you did not take him for a fool? — All men who marry are so, but above all God help him who takes a widow!
Mr. Strange. — This is a strange man, Mrs. Burney, but nobody ever minds him.
Dr. Shebbeare. — I don’t wonder that Dr. Burney went abroad I — all my amazement is at his ever coming home! unless, indeed, he left his understanding behind him, which I suppose was the case.
Mrs. Brooke. — I am sure that does not appear from his Tour. I never received more pleasure than from reading his account of what he saw and did abroad.
Dr. Shebbeare. — I hate authors! but I suppose one wit must hate another.
Mrs. Brooke. — Those few authors that I know give me great reason not to hate them; — quite the contrary — Dr. Johnson, Dr. Armstrong, and I wont say what I think of Dr. Burney; but for Dr. Armstrong I have a very particular regard. I have known him more than twenty years.
Dr. Shebbeare. — What, I suppose you like him for his intrigues?
Mrs. Brooke. — Indeed, I never heard he had any.
Dr. Shebbeare. — What, I suppose you had too many yourself to keep his in your memory?
Mrs. Brooke. — O, women, you know, Dr., never have intrigues. I wish Dr. Burney was here, I am sure he would be our champion.
Dr. Shebbeare. — What, do you suppose he’d speak against himself? I know but too well what it is to be married! I think I have been yoked for one and forty years, and I have wished my wife under ground any time since.
Mama. — And if she were you’d marry in a week!
Dr. Shebbeare. — I wish I was tried.
Mr. Strange. — Why this is a sad man, Mrs. Burney, I think we must toss him in a blanket.
Dr. Shebbeare. — Ay, with all my heart. But speak for yourself (to Mrs. Brooke), do you suppose your husband was not long since tired of you?
Mrs. Brooke. — O, as to that — that is not a fair question; — I don’t ask you if you’re tired of your wife.
Dr. Shebbeare. — And if you did, I’d tell you.
Miss Beatson. — Then I ask you, Dr. Shebbeare, are you tired of your wife?
Dr. Shebbeare. — I did not say I’d tell you, Bold Face.
Mama. — I wish that Mrs. Strange was here; she’d fight our battles admirably.
Mr. Strange. — Why do you never come to see her, Doctor?
Dr. Shebbeare. — Because she has so much tongue, that I expect she’ll talk herself to death, and I don’t choose to be accessary.
* * * * * *
Mr. Strange. — What do you think of the Bookseller’s Bill and the state of literary property, Doctor?
Dr. Shebbeare. — Why, I don’t think at all about it. I have done with books! I have not written a line these twenty years — though indeed I wasted a pint of ink last week.
Mama. — Then I am sure you must have spilt it, Dr.
Dr. Shebbeare. — I never knew a bookseller who was not a scoundrel; I was cheated plaguly about ‘Lydia,’ and the rascal who sold the ‘Marriage Act’ promised to share the profits, yet though I know that there have been six editions, he always calls it the first.
Miss Reid. — Pray Dr have you seen Nelly’s last drawing? She has made me dance a minuet!
Dr. Shebbeare. — Well said, Nelly! I’ll make thee immortal for that! I’ll write thy life.
Mrs. Brooke. — She’ll make herself immortal by her works.
As to Susy and I, we never presumed to open our lips for fear of being affronted! but, when we were coming away, Dr. Shebbeare called out to us, “Here! mind what I say; be sure you never marry!” You are right, thought I, there could not be a greater antidote to that state, than thinking of you.
Miss Reid was, I suppose, somewhat scandalized at this man’s conversation, as it happened at her house, and therefore, before we took leave, she said, “Now, I must tell you that Dr. Shebbeare has only been jesting; he thinks, as we do, all the time.”
“This it is,” cried he, “to have a friend to lye for one!”
What a strange fancy it was, for such a man as this to write novels! However, I am tired of writing; and so, Adieu! sweet Doctor Shebbeare. [I must read “The Marriage-Act,” and “Lydia,” nevertheless.]
March 17th.
The Spring is generally fertile in new acquaintances. My father received the following note last week.
I cannot find the note, but it was from Mr. Twiss, a gentleman just returned from a tour in Spain.... and he writes, ardently desiring to know my dear father, and converse with him on Spanish music.
My father was much pleased with this note, and soon after waited upon Mr. Twiss, who made him a present of many scarce [Spanish] national airs, and made an appointment to drink tea here on Sunday. Being at present a candidate to be a member of the Royal Society, he requested my father to sign his certificate; which he very readily agreed....
On Sunday he came at five o’clock, and was shewn into the study, where he was cabinetted with my father till seven, when he came into the parlour to tea. He is very tall and thin; there is something very odd in him. I pretend not to even sketch his character, not being able to form any precise idea of it; but it would be strange, if there was not some peculiarity about him, when it is considered he has spent more than a third of his life in rambling about foreign countries, and that he is still a young man, and has not seen England since [he was] seventeen, till within a few months. He has travelled entirely at his own pleasure, and without even a tutor; he has not only been all over Europe, except the North, but over great part of Africa. He speaks Spanish, Italian, French, German, (and I suppose of course Greek and Latin) with great ease and fluency.
As my father has never been in Spain or Portugal, and as Mr. Twiss has always been very curious concerning musical matters, he gave him a collection of Spanish queries relative to this subject, which I copied for that purpose. While he was drinking tea, he turned suddenly to my father, and asked him in Italian, which of us two (Susy or me) played the harpsichord so well? My father told him that the player was not here. “maritata?” demanded Mr. Twiss. “Si, e maritata,” answered my father. As I know enough of Italian to understand any common and easy conversation, I could not help rather simpering, which I suppose he observed; for he turned again to my father, “Credo che questa signorina intende l’Italiano?” However, as my father said that we did play a little and for our own diversion, he was very earnest with him to speak to us for that purpose; but, thank Heaven! in vain. Soon after, he said something to my father, which by the direction of his eyes, concerned us, in a whisper; to which he answered, “No;” and then the other said aloud, “And do both the young ladies sing likewise, Sir?”
“No, no, no!” from all quarters. He talked a great deal about Spain, which as being least known, my father was most anxious to hear of. Among other things, he said that the married ladies were very easy of access; but that the single who, indeed, very seldom left a convent till the day of their marriage, were kept very rigidly retired, and that it was death to touch them even by the little finger! He said that no ladies were to be seen walking, but that they appeared openly at the Theatres, where they sat, however, generally in the darkest part, but without veils; and that they had glow-worms strung into beautiful shapes, for ornaments to their hair, and for stomachers; which had a most striking effect. This tale made Mrs. Allen immediately his enemy; and the moment he was gone, she railed most violently at the lies of travellers. Mama, too, did not believe a word of it, arguing upon the short life of glow-worms, when once they were taken in the hand. For my part, I stood up for his advocate, and urged the unfairness of judging of animals any more than of men, only by those of our own country [and clim
ate. All that shocked me was, the cruelty of stringing them.]
* * * * *
March 30th.
I have a most extraordinary evening to give account of. Last [night] we had a second visit from the Spanish traveller, Mr. Twiss. Mrs. Young drank tea with us. Her husband is infinitely better; which I much rejoice at. Dr. Shepherd also assisted at that warm collation. Mr. Twiss did not come till late, and was shewn into the study —
When they had finished their private conversation, my father brought Mr. Twiss into the parlour, and invited him to stay supper, which from him in his present hurry is no small favour. The discourse till supper was entirely in parties. Mrs. Young, Mrs. Allen, and Mama talked upon fashions, which is ever an agreeable subject to Mrs. Young, and constantly introduced by her; Dr. Shepherd, Mr. Twiss, and my father conversed upon foreign countries, and Susy and I sat very snug together, amused either by ourselves or them, as we chose.
Dr. Shepherd is going abroad himself in a short time, as tutor to a young man of the name of Hatton. He has never yet been farther than the Netherlands, though he has intended to travel I believe for thirty years of the fifty he has lived; but a certain timidity seems to have restrained him. Giardini relates that, when he was on the continent, being obliged to wear a sword, which his cloth prevents his being burthened with here, he was so extremely awkward for want of practice, that the first day he walked out, the sword got between his legs, and fairly tript him up — over — or down — I don’t know which is best to say. He is prodigiously tall and stout, and must have made a most ludicrous appearance. He enquired many particulars concerning Mr. Twiss’s travels, with a kind of painful eagerness; and, whenever he related any disasters, the poor Doctor seemed in an agony, as if the same dangers were immediately to become his own.
Mr. Twiss has certainly travelled upon a sensible plan, as he has carried with him twelve curious Questions to be asked wherever he went; and he made his stay at the towns he visited always according to the entertainment he received. He has written four quarto volumes of observations and descriptions during his peregrinations. He intends to publish his Tour through Spain and Portugal, as being the countries of which there is the least known. He is going soon to Danemark, and Russia: his curiosity seems insatiable; and I think his fortune too ought to be inexhaustible.
When supper appeared, Mr. Twiss desired to sit by the young ladies; and making me take a place next to Mrs. Allen, seated himself by me — Dr. Shepherd still kept the conversation upon travelling. Mr. Twiss spoke very highly of the Spanish ladies, who he said he fully intended hereafter to visit again. He said that the bull-fights, which he much admired, were still in high vogue at Madrid. “It is curious to observe,” said he, with a sly kind of seriousness, “that the ladies are very fond of assisting upon these festivals; and they who scream at a frog or faint at a spider, will with all imaginable courtesy fling nuts upon the ground to make the Cavaliers stumble; and, whenever they are in danger, they clap their hands, and call out, ‘Bravo, Torre! Bravo Torre!’” However, he did confess that there were ladies in Spain, who were never seen at the bull-fights; which for the honour of my sex I rejoiced to hear. It seems amazing to me, that this barbarous diversion should not be exploded.
When Naples was mentioned, he was pleased to make confession, that he left it in disgrace, that is, that he was obliged to run away! As these sort of avowals immediately imply a love-affair, and wear a strong air of vanity, my father, who smoaked him, putting on a look of mortification, said, “Well, I was told, that when I arrived at Naples, if I did but show myself upon the Piazza della — I should be sure to receive three or four billet doux in a few moments. Accordingly, as soon as I got there, I dressed myself to the best advantage, and immediately went to the Piazza; but to no purpose! and though I walked there every morning I stayed, the devil a billet doux did I ever meet with!” Every body laughed, Mrs. Young in particular, and cried out, looking full at Mr, Twiss, “Well; Dr. Burney, when you go next, you must put a mask on!”
I don’t know whether Mr. Twiss felt the reproof my father meant to convey or not; but he fought off the billet doux, and declared that he also had not had any. “But, why should you run away then?” cried Dr. Shepherd, who is dullness itself. “O, Sir,” answered Mr. Twiss, “the ladies are concerned! but another time, Dr. Burney, when we are alone—”
“The ladies?” cried Dr. Shepherd, “but how could the ladies drive you away? I should have supposed they would have kept you?”
“Lord, Dr. Shepherd, for God’s sake,” cried Mrs. Young, who shewed as much too much quickness, as the Doctor did too much dullness; [“don’t ask such questions!”] “But, Dr. Burney,” said Mr. Twiss, “was you never accosted by una Bella ragazza?” Then turning to me, “You know what a ragazza is Ma’am?”
“Sir?”
“A Signorina?”
I stammered out something like neither yes or no; because the question rather frightened me, lest he should conclude that in understanding that, I knew much more; but I believe he had already drawn his conclusions, from my foolish simpering before, upon his first visit; for he began such an attack, in Italian, [of preposterous compliments,] that my head was almost turned. Yet it so happened, all he said being of the easy style, that I understood every word, though it is wholly out of my power to write in that language. Finding me silent [to his astonishing panegerick,] he said in English, “Why, what objection can you have to speaking to me in Italian? — A very obvious one,” answered I, “because it is not in my power.”
“Mais vous aurez la bonté de me parler Francois,” cried he;.... but I again assured him of my inability; for I was quite ashamed of this address, [as everybody was looking at us, and] all of them [were] listening. He turned then to my father, “Questa Signorina é troppa modesta.” My father, all kindness, had seemed to pity my embarrassment; “Poor Fanny!” cried he, “she has not had such an attack [before]; this is as bad as a bull-fight to her!”
“I hope not, Sir,” cried Mr. Twiss, rather hurt, and then again turning to me, “Do you go to the Masquerade advertised for Monday the nth of April?”
“No, Sir.” Though I have some expectation of going with my mother to... but I thought it most fitting not to confess that. “Have you ever been to one?” continued he. “I was — at a private one.” I was ashamed to own that I had to this very ardent enquirer. “And what character did you honour with supporting?”
“Oh! none; I did not venture to try one.” He then went on with some high-flown complimentary guesses at what I acted.
“Did I tell you, Dr. Burney, how horribly I was served about the fandango? I went to Hammersmith [purposely] to find a dancer and found an old woman! I was never so mad.”
“Well;” said my father, “if I see a Spaniard at the next Masquerade, I shall know who it is!”
“Why, no;” answered he, “I am not determined; sometimes I think of a Highlander.”
“O! I know you’ll be snug? said my father, laughing. “But if you see a fandango, danced,” cried I to my father— “O! Ma’am,” cried he, eagerly, “willyou dance it with me? and give me leave to give you lessons?”
“No, Sir; I should require too many.”
“O no; Ma’am; I can easily teach you. Upon my word, the fandango, like the allemande, requires sentiment, to dance it well; without an agreeable partner it would be impossible; for I find myself so animated by it, — it gives me such feelings! I do declare that I could not for the universe dance the fandango with an old woman!”
“No, Sir,” cried [old] Mrs. Allen, angrily, “and I suppose that an old woman could not dance it with you?” —
When supper was removed, Mr. Twiss again attacked me in Italian. “Credo che inamoratá, perche non mangiava.”
“O! no;” answered I, [truly enough, though laughing, “I am not, indeed.”] “E il lingua d’amore,” continued he, and added that it became “una bella bocca.”
“And it had best be confined to such,” answered I. After something fur
ther, which I have forgotten, he asked me in a tone of [pathetic] reproach—” Ma perche,” &c., “but why will you not answer me in Italian?”
“Because I assure you I cannot.”
“Ma, but you have understood all I have said!”
“Some part, by accident only.”
“Well, Ma’am,” cried he in English, “I hope that when I have the honour to be further known to you, you will speak to me in no other language! I think, Dr. Burney, that the Spanish is the noblest language in the world! I would, if it was in my power, always speak Spanish to men, and Italian to women. As to English, that is quite out of the question, you know! but for French^ I protest I am ashamed of speaking it; it is become so very vulgar and common, everybody knows it.”
“See! how it is,” cried my father, [archly,] “the French language from being spoken at every Court in Europe, and being reckoned the politest living language, is now sunk to worse than nothing, — to vulgarity!”
“I think I never knew a foreigner,” said Mr. Twiss, “who spoke English so well as Baretti does; but so very slow,” (in a drawling voice, turning to me) “that if he — were — to — make — love — it — would — take — him — tree — hours — to make a declaration. However, I am of opinion, Dr. Burney, that the English bids fair to be the standard language at the European Courts in another century. — Have you ever seen, Ma’am, any of the great Dr. Johnson’s curious hand writing?”
He then put into my hand a letter from that awful Colossus of literature, as he is often called. I told him that I had seen his writing (which is scarce legible).... in a letter to my father. However, he shewed me one word; (it was testimony) that I could not possibly make out.
“But, Ma’am,” added he, “you write so well yourself! I have the Spanish Queries you did me the honour to write; and upon my word, it is very seldom a lady writes so [correctly].”
“Oh!” cried I, “I am particularly proud of the spelling of the Spanish words! I hope you admired that?” [He had already pointed out a mistake I had made; he looked quite shocked.]
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 476
