“Ah! poor soul!” cried Mrs. Strange, “I dare say he has been vexed enough! Honest man! I don’t think that man ever wronged or deceived a human being!”
“Don’t you, faith!” cried Mr. Bruce; “that’s saying more than I would! Can you really suppose that he has risen to the rank of General with so little trouble?”
“O, you know its only the women that are ever deceived; and, for my part, I never allowed that the best among you could deceive me; for, whenever you say pretty things to me, I make it a rule to believe them [to be] true!”
Bell Strange then carried him his tea. [She is about twelve years old], a very good-looking girl.... Mr. Bruce, turning to me, said, “Do you know, Miss Burney, that I intend to run away with Bell? We are to go to Scotland together. She won’t let me rest till I take her.”
“How can you say so, Sir?” cried Bell; “pray, ma’am, don’t believe it,” [colouring, and much fidgetted].
“Why, how now, Bell,” returned he, “what! won’t you go?”
“No, Sir.”
“This is the first lady,” said Mr. Bruce, rising, “who ever refused me!” Then addressing Mrs. Strange, he asked her if she had heard of Lord Rosemary lately? They then joined in drawing a most odious character of him, especially for avarice; after which Mr. Bruce walking up to me, said, “And yet this man is my rival!”
“Really!” cried I, “I am sure I wonder that he should [venture]” [I meant on account of his prodigious figure], “O!” answered he, [thinking I meant a compliment,] “it’s really true, Mrs. Strange, is it not, that he is my rival?”
“O, yes! they say so,” said she.
“I am surprised that he dares,” said my mother, “be rival to Mr. Bruce, for I wonder he does not apprehend that his long residence in Egypt made him so well acquainted with magic, that—”
[As what was written to Mr. Crisp has more details than the corresponding passage in the journal, it is quoted here in preference to that.
O!’ cried he, ‘I shall not poison him, but I shall bribe his servant to tie a cord across his staircase some night, and as I dare say he never is at the expense of allowing himself a candle to walk up and down, he must necessarily break his neck, and that will be as effectual As he went out of the room soon after, I asked Miss Strange what all this meant? She told me that it was reported that he was going to marry Lady Anne Lindsey, sister of the beautiful Lady Margaret Fordyce, the banker’s wife, and that whether this was true or not, Lord R. certainly paid his addresses to her ladyship.”
Both James Bruce, and Neil, third Earl of Rosebery, were widowers in 1775, but the beautiful, witty, and able Lady Anne Lindsay did not marry either of them. Nor did she marry Richard Atkinson, M.P., of the great firm of Muir and Atkinson, a rising politician, who died in 1785, bequeathing her a “considerable part of his property.” She waited until she was turned forty, when she married, in 1793, Andrew, son of Dr. Thomas Barnard, Bishop of Elphin, with whom she went to the Cape of Good Hope, he being Colonial Secretary under Lord Macartney. All know her pathetic poem, “Auld Robin Gray;” and her accomplished kinsman, the late Earl of Crawford, has printed many charming pages of hers in his “Lives of the Lindsays.” It was on her younger sister, Lady Margaret, that Sheridan wrote (in 1771) the lines —
“Marked you her eye of heavenly blue?
Marked you her cheek of rosy hue?
That eye, in liquid circles moving;
That cheek, abashed at man’s approving;
The one, Love’s arrows darting round,
The other, blushing at the sound.”
Bruce was the reverse of “Lord Rosemary” (as Fanny calls him) in his habits, for she tells Mr. Crisp that Mr. Bruce “is now in lodgings in Leicester Fields, at four guineas and a half a week. He keeps his carriage, but hardly ever goes out.” In May, 1776, Bruce took a lady of the Dundas family for his second wife, and in June, 1775, “his rival” married, secondly, Mary, only daughter of Sir Francis Vincent, Bart. Yet anyone who was superstitious might well have cried out “Absitl” or (as the Germans say) “Unberufen!” to avert ill from a speaker foretelling, as it were, his own doom, for in this way (minus the rival, the cord, and the bribe) died James Bruce in 1794, falling headlong down the stairs of his own house, and never speaking more.]
* * * *
[He then asked] Miss Strange, how she could let her harpsichord be so much out of order? “I went down,” said he, “to try it, but, upon my word! it is too bad to be touched. However, while I was at it, in comes Bell, and seats herself quietly behind me; but no sooner did I rise, than away she flew down a flight of stairs quite to the cellar, I suppose; expecting, no doubt, that I should follow. But,” added he, drily, “I did not. Well, Bell, what do you glow’r at? [I don’t know if I spell the word right.] Do you understand Scotch, Miss Burney?”
“I believe I can go so far as that word, Sir.”
“But, Brucey, why are you so negligent of your Music? You play, Miss Burney?”
“Very little, Sir.”
“O, I hope I shall hear you; I am to come to your house some day with Mrs. Strange, and then—”
“When we have the honour of seeing you, Sir,” cried I, “I hope you will hear a much better player than me.”
“O, as to that,” answered he, “I would not give a fig to hear a man play, comparatively.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Strange, “I knew a young lady who was at a concert for the first time, and she sat and sighed and groaned, [and groaned and sighed,] and at last she said, * Well, I can’t help it!’ and burst into tears.”
“There’s a woman,” cried Mr. Bruce, with some emotion, “who could never make a man unhappy! Her soul must be all harmony!”
We then joined in recommending to Miss Strange to practice; and Mr. Bruce took it into his head to affect to speak to me in a whisper, bending his head, not without difficulty, to a level with mine. What he said I have forgot, though I know it was something of no manner of consequence; but really I saw every body’s eyes, struck with his attitude, were fixed upon us in total silence, so that I hardly heard him from the embarassment I was in.
Except what I have written, almost every word that he said was [either] addressed en badinage to plague Bell, or in diverting himself with Miss Strange’s parrot. He seemed determined not to enter into conversation with the company in general, nor to speak upon any but trifling topics. It is pity, that a man who seems to have some generous feelings, that break out by starts, and who certainly is a man of learning and of humour, should be thus run away with by pride [and self-conceit].
March 10th.
We had a large party here last Sunday, the first of the kind we have had in this house.
Mr. Bruce, who is very fond of music, had appointed that day to accompany Mrs. Strange hither, [in order] to hear Mr. Burney play upon our Merlin harpsichord. Mr. Twining also brought his wife and another lady with the same view. These, with Miss Strange, my sister, and ourselves, formed the party. Mr. Bruce, however, did not appear till very late. Mr. Twining and his ladies came before six. He apologised for his unfashionable hour. “But,” added he, honestly, “I not only wished for a long evening here, but also to avoid having to enter the room, after your company were assembled [under the Abyssinian Giant].”
Mrs and Miss Strange came soon after. We enquired after His Abyssinian Majesty; they said he dined at General Melville’s, and was to join them here. We waited tea about an hour during which time the conversation was too general and mixed to be remembered; the tea equipage was then ordered, and we had all done, and Mr. Burney, followed by Mr. Twining, had gone into the Library where our music was to be, and which joins the dining room, where we all were when a Thundering Rap called up our attention, and Mr. Bruce was announced, and entered the room like a monarch, [so grand and so pompous].
We soon found that he was disconcerted; he complained to Mrs. Strange, who enquired after the General, that he had invited a set of stupid people to meet him, and he seemed to have left
the party in disgust. He took one dish of tea, and then desired to speak to my father, concerning his Letter that is to be printed in the [Musical] History. My father asked him into his study, which is a very comfortable snug room within the library, whence at the same moment Mr. Twining was returning to the dining-room. My father introduced him to Mr. Bruce; they exchanged bows, and [Mr. Bruce] went on. Mr. Twining lifted up his hands and eyes in a droll kind of astonishment, when Mr. Bruce was out of sight, and coming up to us, said [in a low voice], “This is the most awful man I ever saw!” and added, “I never felt myself so little before.”
“Troth, never mind,” cried Mrs. Strange, “if you was six foot high, he would look over you, and he can do no more now.”
Mr. Twining then sate down; but said he felt in fear of his life; “for, if he should come in hastily,” cried he, “and overlook me, taking this chair to be empty, it will be all over with me! I shall be crushed!”
After some time, finding they did not return, Mr. Twining, impatient to hear Mr. Burney, begged him to go to the harpsichord. Accordingly, we all went into the library, and Mr. Burney fired away in a voluntary.
Mr. Twining, at once astonished and delighted at his performance, exclaimed, “Is not this better than being tall?” When Mr. Bruce and my father joined the party, Mrs. Strange introduced Mr. Burney and my sister.... Mr. Twining was [really] enraptured; Mrs. Strange listened with silent wonder and pleasure; and Mr. Bruce was composed into perfect good humour. He forgot the General, discarded his sternness, and wore upon his face smiles, attention, and satisfaction.
As to Mrs. Twining, she seems a very stupid woman. I marvel that Mr. Twining could choose her! She may, however, have virtues unknown to me; — perhaps, too, she was rich?
The whole party was asked to a family supper, when, to a general surprise, Mr. Bruce [himself] consented to stay! an honour we by no means expected; however, he was implicitly followed by the rest of the set. Mr. Bruce sat between Mrs. Twining and me. That lady and he did not fatigue themselves with exchanging one [single] word the whole evening. However, Mr. Bruce was exceeding courteous and in great good humour. He made me seem so very short, as I sat next to him, that had not Mr. Burney, who is still less than myself, been on my other side, I should have felt quite... pitiful. But what very much diverted me was, that whenever I turned to Mr. Burney, I found his head leaning behind my chair, to peer at Mr. Bruce, [as he would have done at any outlandish animal]. Indeed, no eye was off him; though I believe he did not perceive it, as he hardly ever himself looks at any body. [He seems quite satisfied with thinking of his own consequence.]
The conversation during supper turned upon madness, a subject which the Strange’s are very full of, as a lady of their [intimate] acquaintance left their house but on Friday in that terrible disorder. We asked how she happened to be then? They said that she had seemed recovered. Mr. Bruce who had seen her, was very inquisitive about her. Mrs. Strange said that the beginning of her wandering that evening was, by going up to her, and asking her if she could make faces?
“I wish,” said Mr. Bruce, “she had asked me! I believe I could have satisfied her that way!”
“O,” said Miss Strange, “she had a great desire to speak to you, Sir; she said that she had much to say to you.”
“If,” said Mr. Bruce, “without any preface, she had entered the room, and come up to me, making faces; I confess I should have been rather surprised!”
“I am sure,” cried I, “I should have made a face without much difficulty! I am amazed at Miss Strange’s courage in staying with her!”
“I have been a great deal with her,” answered Miss Strange, “and she particularly minds whatever I say.”
“But how are you to answer for your life a moment,” cried Mr. Bruce, “in company with a mad woman? When she seems most quiet, may she not snatch up a pair of scissors or whatever is near, and destroy you? or at least run them into your eyes, and blind or maim you for life?”
“Nay; while I tried to hold her from going into the street,” said Mrs. Strange, “she scratched my arm, as you see—”
“Did she fetch blood,” cried Mr. Bruce, “if she did you will surely go mad too: [you may depend upon that!] Nay, I would advise you to go directly to the sea; and be dipt! I assure you I would not be in your situation!”
He said this so drily, that I stared at him, and could not forbear beginning to expostulate, when turning round to me. I saw he was laughing.
“If you are bit by a mad cat” continued he, “will you not go mad? and how much more by a mad woman?”
“But I was not bit,” answered Mrs. Strange, “I only felt her nail, and where there enters no slaver, there is no danger.”
“I hope,” said my mother, “that her friends will not place her in a private mad-house; there is so much iniquity practised at those places that, in order to keep them, they will not let their friends know when they are really recovered.”
“Aye, indeed!” cried Mr. Bruce, “why this is very bad encouragement to go mad!”
And now I must have done with this evening, unless I were to write horrid tales of madness; for that horrid subject being started, every body had something terrible to say upon it.
Mr. Twining has since left town.
March 13th.
Enclosed in a letter to myself, I received on Tuesday one for Miss Strange, from my brother, to thank her for a letter she had favoured him with to a relation at Boston. I went in the afternoon with it to Mrs. Strange, and found her and her two daughters at tea, with Mr. Bruce. I told Miss Strange, that I had just received dispatches from Portsmouth, but as her letter was from a gentleman I delivered it before her mother, for fear of consequences!
“From Portsmouth?” said Mr. Bruce, “what, from Collins, Brucey?”
“It is from a very honest Tar,” answered I.
“Then pray, Brucey, let me look at the seal, to see whether he has sent you two pigeons billing? or a bleeding heart? or a dove cooing?”
When he found my brother was the person in question, and that he was going to America, he said he was sorry for it, as there was going to be another South-Sea Expedition, which would have been much more desirable for him. “And,” said I, “much more agreeable to him; for he wishes it of all things. He says he should now make a much better figure at Otaheite, than when there before, as he learnt the language of Omai in his passage home.”
“Ah, weel, honest lad,” said Mrs. Strange, “I suppose he would get a wife or something pretty there.”.
“Perhaps, Oberea,” added Mr. Bruce.
“Poor Oberea,” said I, “he says is dethroned.”
“But,” said he archly, “if Mr. Banks goes, he will reinstate her! But this poor fellow, Omai, has lost all his time) they have taught him nothing; he will only pass for a consummate liar when he returns; for how can he make them believe half the things he will tell them? He can give them no idea of our houses, carriages, or any thing that will appear probable.”
“Troth, then,” cried Mrs. Strange, “they should give him a set of dolls’ things and a baby’s house, to show them; he should have every thing in miniature, by way of model; dressed babies, cradles, lying-in-women, and a’ sort of pratty things.”
There is a humorous ingenuity in this, that I really believe would be well worth being tried.
Masquerades being mentioned, the comely Mrs. Tolfray, whom I have sometimes met at their house, was spoken of.... She exhibited herself [always, they said,] as a Queen.... She was once Queen of the Amazons; after that, [Mary] Queen of Scots; and last of all, Andromache.
“I should think she must have appeared in character,” cried I, “as Queen of the Amazons.”
“I own I should like to have seen her,” said Mr. Bruce; “but how was she dressed?”
“O,” answered Miss Strange, “in buskins, and her hair about her shoulders.”
“But there was a peculiar custom,” said Mr. Bruce, “among the Amazons, which ought to have been attended to; w
hich was that they cut off the left breast. Now Mrs. Tolfray has both right and left breast so very entire that there is scarce any part of them suffered to be lost, or lessened even, to public view. What dress had she for Andromache?”
“Black velvet and a hoop,” answered Miss Strange.
“And who the devil was to know that for Andromache?” cried he. “Does nobody else wear black?”
“She had better have been in a gown of her own spinning,” quoth I.
Mrs. Strange enquired of Mr. Bruce, if he was acquainted with Mr and Mrs. Bodville? the former of whom she gave great encomiums to, saying he was the most ingenious man, and never idle night or day; or scarce spending a moment of his life but in his peculiar branch of studies.
“Then what [the devil] did he marry for?” demanded Mr. Bruce. “I think his wife is but little obliged to him. Now a man is certainly right to give his day to his studies; but the evening should be devoted to society; he should give it to his wife, or his friends, to conversation, or [to] making love.”
“Now, do you know, I adore you for that!” exclaimed Mrs. Strange, [“it’s just my way of thinking; so be sure it’s perfect.”]
We have been to return the visit of Signora Agujari. She was all civility... and has renewed her promise of another and a musical evening. She speaks of it with an undisguised consciousness of the great pleasure she is to give us. If Mr. Bruce is the proudest man I ever saw, so is the Bastardella the vainest woman. She says she lives quite alone, and that it is charity to visit her. She proposed cultivating very much with our family; for she said that she hardly ever saw any body, as she was always refused to gentlemen. She certainly has great merit in this conduct. as besides her talents, she is a fine woman and must be everywhere courted.
* * * * * *
March 23rd.
Yesterday morning, as Susette and I were returning [from and with] Mr. Burney, we met the celebrated actress Mrs. Abington walking across (?) Tavistock Street... when we came to the end of the street, at the corner of Charles Street, who should we see but Mr. Garrick.... Mrs. Abington... crossed over to him, while we walked gravely on, taking no sort of notice of his bow.... They went down Charles Street together, and when we were out of their sight we again turned.... When we came to the bottom of Southampton Street, he offered us each a hand to cross the Strand, but we declined, and told him we were not going that way. “Are not you?” cried he. “Well, then, I’ll go your way.” So saying, he put himself between us with a humorous and sportive kind of gallantry which from him was infinitely agreeable. He again proposed calling a coach and making away with us....
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 482
