[A party at “good Mr. Hoole’s.” — The great drollery of Mr.
Vincent Mathias. — A party at (the widowed) Mrs. Thrale’s.
— What was paid for the copyright of “Cecilia.”]
[These pages, although written in January, 1783, contain incidents of 1782 only.]
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he said, “It mustn’t be said that I like Mrs. F[itzgerald] better than any woman in the world, for it might be thought that I said it, and that would sound impertinent; besides there are five or six women in the world that I like as well.” Let them believe it that may, thought I. I was just going to tell him that he was like Mr. Pepys, but stopt short, when upon asking him if he knew Mr. Pepy’s, he answered, “What old Master Pepy’s? yes; he’s very fond of the women.”
“No,” cried I, “that mustn’t be said, for he is a married man.”
“Ay,” answered he, “and that is one proof.”
Janry 14, 1783.
I have long arrears to make up in journalizing, but must begin with the conclusion,
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fun.
I by myself I went to the Hooles on Sunday last. There was a set party there. Dr. Warton of Winchester School, a very pleasing man. His brother, Mr. Tom Warton, the greatest clod I ever saw, and so vulgar a figure with his clunch wig that I took him for a shoemaker at first. His real name is Colin McClod. Mr. Blunt, senior, rather a favourite of mine; a sensible, shrewd, handsome, gentleman-like man.
His son, Mr. Meadows Dr. Franklin, Miss Williams, author of Edwin and Eldrada, a legendary tale, a pretty girl rather, but so superfinely affected that, tho’ I had the honour of being introduced to her, I couldn’t think of conversing with her. Mr. Sastres, whom I am always glad to see, General Paoli, — Miss Polly Todd, and a set of vulgar drest up men and women whose names I haven’t patience to mention, that I fancy went by half after 5 o’clock, for I went at 7, and found the room full. After I had been there about half an hour, Mr. Blunt was announced, and Mrs. Hoole insisted on his sitting by me, and after he had sat, or sot, a few 2ds, casting my eyes towards the bottom of the room, I there espied to my great satisfaction, young Mathias, who sat there and never said nothing to nobody. I asked Mr. Hoole if it was he. He answered in the affirmative, and went and brought him to the top of the room, where I sat in state, to me. Old Blunt, in a blunt way, got up, and made him take his seat by me on the sopha; — where he stuck by me till near the time of my going, and kept me in one continued roar of laughter from his down-sitting to his up-rising. He was so excessive comical that before I had recovered from one laugh, I was shaking with another. Of all the droll people I have yet met with, he is the drollest of the droll. His puns came so quick one upon another that I can’t re member a quarter of it; — but the most comical nonsense I have yet heard I think. He is a young Twining! et cest beaucoup dire! He quoted a thing from “Anticipation” that I had forgot, of two of the speakers that piqued themselves on being always of the same opinion, insomuch that when they walk’d out together they boasted that they had but one idea between them! He asked me if I knew the meaning of the word Disembogue? and said he had heard an explanation of it by a man who being ask’d the same question answer’d— “Disembogue? — oh — why, Disembogue is, if you was to Disembogue me, and I was to Disembogue you, that is Disembogue.”
“Oh,” cried the enquirer, “is that it? — very well;” quite satisfied. He told me of a gentleman that had a large party at his house, and they were strangers to each other, and when they were all assembled, sat perfectly silent, so he very deliberately walked up to one of the gentlemen in the company, and said. “Please Sir to begin the conversation!” He was excessively comical in his remarks on the footboy that waited with refreshment, and sweetned me a dish of tea and presented it to me with “Miss Burney, nature must be recruited.” He would fain have had me take off my gloves to drink my tea, quite made a point of it, said I should spoil ‘em, and quite took me to task about it; “Miss Burney, for shame; you’ll ruin your gloves.” — He took me in hand, I had a good mind to say like Madam Duval, “I desire, Sir, you won’t come a-ordering me in this manner.”
One great bore was that the whole room rose upon the entrance of every fresh person, and he and I agreed how tiresome it was, and one time he absolutely held me down that I mightn’t stand up! He said that his hair-dresser is very fond of dressing his brother’s hair because he has such a great quantity, and he assured him that “his brother had, without exception, the thickest head he ever saw!” — He was quite on the watch for fun, for he wouldn’t even suffer me to blow my nose quietly, crying, “ Miss Burney, for shame, in this hot room, I am surprised at you!” — He says he laughs so sometimes, that he loses his strength, and feels as if he was seperated in the middle, quite a wasp’s shape!
I’m sure he made me laugh ‘till I cried out for mercy. On my saying he would kill me— “No,” said he, “I’ll only gently wound you.” I was much pleased by a speako or two he made, for he said he came there with the hope of meeting me — and, upon my saying there was one thing I envied prodigiously, he cried with great quickness, “ay, what can that be? I can’t at all imagine, I’m sure.” — I meant the having a great command of countenance when any thing rediculous pass’d. Mr. Hoole came poking up from the bottom of the room to tell him that there was a disputation on the Italian poets, going forward there; — but to my great surprise, this had no effect tho’ he is a learned clerk in Italian, but he kept his seat and went on with his fun with me!
One thing rather confounded me, for he offered to call here, and how he will be received by the lady is rather dubous. He said he shou’d come by himself, but I charged him to bring his sister in his hand. About half an hour before I came away, Mr. Blunt senior came and took him off to introduce him to Miss Williams, and then I had scarce any more fun with him. I told him he ought to write a Farce, and he said, if he did, he should dedicate it to me. I came away about ten o’clock, and alltogether it was an evening such as I have had but few of in my life.
Janry 15th.
Proceed my Muse. I have been very great with Mrs. Fitz Gerald lately, — she took me down to their seat at Cookham in Berkshire for a few days, and has taken me frequently with her to the opera, where she has a sweet box in the third row that holds three in front; and I have been twice to the play with her; and dined with her repeatedly. It is an acquaintance after my own heart, Mr. Fitz, her husband, I like vastly: a sensible sweet tempered man, with a good taste for fun. She is delightful. She smoaks the Lady charmingly, for she says “she is so fond of talking that she is certain she was one of the principal speakers at the Belle Assemblée — She says she is sure she heard her one night. Mr. Poor and the Fit’s have cut; which I regret, but poor man nobody likes him that ever I met but Andrew Strange, Bessy Kirwan, and her father, and i! I have a quarrel with him too, tho’ he don’t know it, and that is for his impertinence in always calling me Charlotte. I am afraid of telling him of it, because it would look prodigiously proud; — but I gave him a hint one night at the Opera, when he said Charlotte. “Mr. Poor is a Quaker,” cried I, but my courage fail’d me at the time, and I said it in so low a voice that I don’t believe he heard me. I have begun this winter happier than ever I did another — I have had an invitation to Mrs. Thrale’s, and my dear father and Fanny and I went. She is now in town in Argyle Street. There was a large party there — Dr. Pepys, and his wife, Lady Rothes, old Master Pepys and his wife — Mr. Seward, Sastres, Mrs. Ord, the Duke de Sanglos, an Italian, an elegant, pretty, young man. Mr. Selwyn, Mr and Mrs. Davenant with a long &c., and Mrs. Byron. I believe I had no particular enemies there for all that knew me look’d glad to see me there. Mrs. Thrale received me sweetly; and Mr. Seward came up to me immediately as he commonly does when I meet him to do the honours to me in his odd way; — lugging a chair into the middle of the room for me, and upon my saying I could not sit there by myself, “oh,” cried he, “I’ll stand by you, and amuse you.” Miss Thrale wa
s, to my no small astonishment, civil to me, and sat by me the whole evening. She has taken it into her head to be civil to people this winter, I hear. I had not a very entertaining evening, but I would not but have been there, for the flash of the thing.
Miss Mathias’s father Mr. Vincent Mathias, and her uncle James Mathias, and Mrs. Fitz Gerald’s father all died last autumn.
Fanny’s Cecilia came out last summer, and is as much liked and read I believe as any book ever was. She had £250 for it from Payne and Cadell. Most people say she ought to have had a thousand. It is now going into the third edition, tho’ Payne owns that they printed 2000 at the first edition, and Lowndes told me five hundred was the common number for a novel.
FINIS 1782.
FRAGMENT VI.
[Dick Burney staying with his Bishop. — The Pantheon. — More of Mr. Vincent Mathias.]
[February, 1783?]
The Monday before last, we had an agreable dinner of it enough. Cozen Dick was there on a visit. Mrs. North says the Bishop has a tendre for me. He is a sweet man, — and she a sensible, agreable, handsome woman. From thence I went with my Father to the Pantheon, or Panthin, for it was rather thinnish. There we met Mrs. Montague’s nephew and heir, a very elegant man, — who condescended to talk a great deal to me; — and there we saw Dr. Warren’s two sons, who were playing at cards in the gallery; — and we stopt and spoke to them, and staid till Mr. Charles Warren call’d out—” Dr. Burney, you’ve made me lose deal.” My father says he told him, since, that he was sorry he had’nt time to come and speak to me any more before we came away; which I am surprised at, considering I was such a bad partner for him at Mrs. Paradise’s ball. From the Pantheon, we went to a rout at Mrs. Thrale’s, where I saw Mrs. Montague to my great satisfaction, as I wish to see all celebrated people.
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Wednesday, Feby 5th.
I drank tea at Hetty’s on Monday, and met Miss Mathias, and her brother, and a very sweet evening I had; — only too musical. I like some music vastly, but Hetty and Mr. Burney never can have enough. Mr. Burney was out, and from the time tea was over (i e from half after seven ‘till half after ten) she never ceased playing at top of the harpsichord, except to let Miss Mathias sit down to the instrument. Too much of one thing is good for no thing, and then Hetty is quite mad with young Mathias and me for talking — Captain Phillips came in to tea. We were talking of near-sighted people at tea, and Mr. Mathias said he was uncommonly near-sighted — There was a plate of muffin on the hearth; “Now,” said he, “do you know I could not swear that was a muffin at this distance.” He said that a lady that read Livy, ask’d him to give [her] a succinct account of the new opera. We were speaking of the blue stocking Club, and he ask’d me “where the blue stocking manufactory was!” How brimfull of fun he is! He shew’d us a pair of new gloves that he said he had bought of the everlasting glove-maker, who promised him they should last him twenty years; and if he did not like ’em at the end of sixteen years, he would take ’em again The near-sighted people always draw their chairs very close to other peoples; he did it so palpably that I was forced two or three times to retreat with mine. One time he jerked himself against my hoop, and then, in a voice of alarm, cried out, “for G— ‘s sake, Miss Charlotte, what is this?” I told him it was a hoop, but he would insist upon feeling it, to know, he said, whether it was not made of wicker! and then ask’d me, with great gravity, what was the original design of the deception of a hoop?
Sally Payne desired me when I saw him next to ask him for a story he tells of the President of his College; so I did, and told him I heard it was a famous story, but I couldn’t make him tell it me, he only laugh’d, and said, “What! when I come into a room, I suppose the company cry, ‘this is the gentleman that tells the famous story.’”
There are two odd figures introduced in the comical opera of Il Convito, that nobody can understand. They come in without paint, and are dressed in white coats, and with white hats. Mr. Mathias says one of them is meant for the ghost of an injured baker.
I have a very large muff made of the skin of a sea-otter that Jemm brought me from King George’s Sound, and Mr. Mathias insisted upon it that it was a young New Zealand bear made into a muff! called it Miss Charlotte’s Cub, — and when I laid....
FRAGMENT VII.
[A dinner with Mr. Vincent Mathias and his sister.]
Sunday Febry the twenty third by owl’s light.
[1783?]
Miss Mathias call’d on me on Thursday last and invited me to dinner the next day, which invitation I accepted with rapture. The party was the family, the agreeable Mr. Wharton, Sir George Fanner (?) son to Captain Farmer, (?) that lost his life so gloriously in an engagement at sea, and two other men. I had as delightful a visit as I ever had in my life! — young Mathias and his friend Mr. Wharton were so excessively funny. The former says he knows a bookbinder at Cambridge, that is exactly the character of Hobson. He gave us some of his speeches, and one was, “I’ll not be disturbed at my dinner. When I’m about my book I’ll not be about my beef, and when I’m about my beef I’ll not be about my book. I’ll not spoil my vittals for no man.” This Hobsonian speech he sputter’d out just as if his mouth had been full of beef and pudding at the time. There was such a succession of fun passd between him and Mr. Wharton that one joke drove another out of one’s head, and I can now hardly recollect any thing that was said, which is very provoking as there were more good things passd than ever I remember at a sitting before. He, Mr. Mat: gave an account of a man whose first speech always is, “I hope you’re very well, I thank you, 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.” This he said was genuine. Mr. Mat: had sent me word by his sister that he intended doing himself the pleasure of calling and he had at it again on Friday, so I put it upon his coming to see the Observatory, and said to him “But shall you come and see the Observatory?”
“I shall come and see you,” cried he, “hang the Observatory. I shall enquire for Miss Charlotte Ann, (shall I say Ann, or Anna?) Burney, and if they say she is not at home, I shall not go in.” Mr. Mat: and his friend Wharton repeated some lines from one of the old English poets, alternately, a line a piece; which had the most delightfully rediculous effect — They are well match’d. At the fag end of the evening, when they were all gone, Miss Mathias and her brother both fell upon me to tell them what I had written. Something they were certain. This they said bonnement, but I chose to take it ironically, and said writing was my fort “Ay,” cried Mr. Mathias, with a significant look, “There’s many a true word spoke in jest. I mean what I say — What have you written?”
“An epigram or two on Miss poll tod” (sic). “That’s very possible,” cried he, “but I want to know what besides.” We playd with the conversation cards, and to be sure I didn’t laugh! I never yet heard —
FRAGMENT VIII.
[Mr. Vincent Mathias “in an abyss of literature.”]
[1783?]
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perfectly a gentleman, and says she thinks he has a very pleasing voice; which he has. He askd me what I had done with his books that he gave me? I told him that I kept them in my bureau, and he was pleased to say that I did them a great deal of honour, and added that he wishd he could have the ransacking of my bureau. He is always suspecting me of being an authoress. He said that when he was at our house that night he felt himself in “an abyss of literature”
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delight except in the dear Garrick’s. The Lady in her usual spightful style pretends to forget the names of all my friends, as being unworthy a place in her memory, and calls Miss Mathias nothing but Miss Thingum, and him the little black man. He said he should call again, but I dare say he won’t. He has a great aversion to gloves, and is always railing at me for wearing them. He said he supposed I was fond of a line in the Bath Guide.
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rather in a glow, as they always are with laughing; this Mr. Mathias observd, and said, “I look’d like Thais.”—” Why?” said I, “I hope I shall not set an
y thing on fire.”
“I won’t answer for that,” said he —
We had’nt their footman to go with us, and he said “ his man was let, or hindered from coming.” We had no company but them two.... then, that’s one comfort; he was taking hold of my gloves, and they were crumpled and creesd, as gloves commonly are when on, and I said it was the wrincles in my flesh, upon which he stroakd my glove down and cried, “Its not proud flesh tho:” — but he did provoke me more than I almost ever was provoked. My gloves, like my neighbours’, are commonly a little soild with moisture in the fingers, and I left my gloves on my chair when I got up to go nearer the harpsichord, and he seized them, and began examining the fingers’ ends — How mad I was! — I was obliged to pursue him all round the room for them, and had quite a battle with him in endeavouring to snatch them back again, but he was [deaf] to my entreaties, and all I could do, he would insist —
LETTER III.
From CHARLOTTE BURNEY to MRS. PHILLIPS (Susan Burney), at Mrs. Hamilton’s, Chesington, near Kingston, Surry.
[Endorsed Jany 16th, 1784.]
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... I suppose Bessy K[irwan] either has, or will, write you a succinct account of Mrs. P’s ball on Twelfth Night, so I shall only give a few nanny goats of it — It was a very pleasant evening — There were eight couple, and more gentlemen than ladies, which I think was very proper, as it made the ladies of more consequence. There were but two good dancers among the gentlemen, Mr. Smith, and Mr. Frieri, a Portuguese, whom you have seen at the K[irwans]. He is a scholar of Le Picq’s. They mixed the fans together, and drew for partners with them, the first dance or two, and then changed partners every dance or two. I say they, for I was destined, some how or other, to dance with Mr. Smith the whole evening, for he askd me to dance with him as soon as I went in, and took it in his head to contrive for me to dance with him every dance. I don’t know how he managed it, but he and Mrs. P. caballed together about it, and so it was. — I didn’t much care, for unless I had danced with Mr. Frieri, I had as lieve have danced with him as any of the others. Mr. Planta of the Museum was one of the dancers, and Dick, and some more whom I did’nt take the trouble to enquire the names of. Miss Kirwans and Miss Planta, Mrs. Northy, painted like Agujari, in a balloon hat, and Mrs. P. and her two daughters, were all the fair females that danced. But the behaviour of the lady, who had one of her tea cups broke by the all knowing P[lanta?] was really too rediculous! — She took a great fancy to dance with Mr. Frieri, who is acquainted with our friends in Newman St and after the two first dances, engaged the eldest of them for his partner. As soon as he had gone down one dance with her, he engaged her for the next, and immediately after, up came Mrs. Teacup and asked him to dance the next dance with her! He looked rather confused, and said he was engaged to Miss Kirwan. “Oh, never mind,” replied she, “you can go down this one dance with me.” He excused himself as politely as he could, but [she] told him she had got another partner for Miss Kirwan, and that he must go down that dance with her; so he submitted, — but as soon as it was over, he went and secured Miss Kirwan for the next, which he had no sooner done, than Mrs. Teacup flew up to him a second time, with a request that he would go down that next dance with her eldest daughter! — He again pleaded a pre-engagement, but all in vain, for she stuck to her request, altho’ he repeatedly told her he was engaged! — being a foreigner, she thought to impose upon him I suppose, for she said he must go down that dance with Miss P. for it was customary! so he again submitted to be led a dance against his will! — He then secured Miss Kirwan for the next, and as soon as that was over, for the next, but he might have spared himself the trouble, for before he began the second, Mrs. P. came up to him again with “Mr. Frieri, who do you dance this dance with?”—” With Miss Kirwan, Ma’am.”— “No, but you must dance this pretty dance with me.”—” Why, really, Ma’am,” replied he in great confusion, “I am engaged to Miss Kirwan; she has promised to dance this dance with me.”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 509
