Evelina

by Frances Burney

  The Captain intends to take us to-night to the Fantocini. I cannot bear that Captain; I can give you no idea how gross he is. I heartily rejoice that he was not present at the disagreeable conclusion of yesterday’s adventure, for I am sure he would have contributed to my confusion; which might perhaps have diverted him, as he seldom or never smiles but at some other person’s expence.

  And here I conclude my London letters, – and without any regret, for I am too inexperienced and ignorant to conduct myself with propriety in this town, where every thing is new to me, and many things are unaccountable and perplexing.

  Adieu, my dear Sir; Heaven restore me safely to you! I wish I was to go immediately to Berry Hill; yet the wish is ungrateful to Mrs Mirvan, and therefore I will repress it. I shall write an account of the Fantocini from Howard Grove. We have not been to half the public places that are now open, though I dare say you will think we have been to all. But they are almost as innumerable as the persons who fill them.

  Letter Fourteen

  Evelina in continuation

  Queen-Ann-Street, April 13

  How much will you be surprised, my dearest Sir, at receiving another letter from London of your Evelina’s writing! But, believe me, it was not my fault, neither is it my happiness, that I am still here: our journey has been postponed by an accident equally unexpected and disagreeable.

  We went last night to see the Fantocini, where we had infinite entertainment from the performance of a little comedy, in French and Italian, by puppets, so admirably managed, that they both astonished and diverted us all, except the Captain, who has a fixed and most prejudiced hatred of whatever is not English.

  When it was over, while we waited for the coach, a tall elderly woman brushed quickly past us, calling out, ‘My God! what shall I do?’

  ‘Why what would you do?’ cried the Captain.

  ‘Ma foi, Monsieur,’* answered she, ‘I have lost my company, and in this place I don’t know nobody.’

  There was something foreign in her accent, though it was difficult to discover whether she was an English or a French woman. She was very well dressed, and seemed so entirely at a loss what to do, that Mrs Mirvan proposed to the Captain to assist her.

  ‘Assist her!’ cried he, ‘ay, with all my heart; – let a link-boy call her a coach.’

  There was not one to be had, and it rained very fast.

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ exclaimed the stranger, ‘what shall become of me? Je suis au désespoir!’*

  ‘Dear Sir,’ cried Miss Mirvan, ‘pray let us take the poor lady into our coach. She is quite alone, and a foreigner – .’

  ‘She’s never the better for that,’ answered he, ‘she may be a woman of the town, for any thing you know.’

  ‘She does not appear such,’ said Mrs Mirvan, ‘and indeed she seems so much distressed, that we shall but follow the golden rule if we carry her to her lodgings.’

  ‘You are mighty fond of new acquaintance,’ returned he, ‘but first let us know if she be going our way.’

  Upon enquiry, we found that she lived in Oxford Road, and, after some disputing, the Captain, surlily, and with a very bad grace, consented to admit her into his coach; though he soon convinced us, that he was determined she should not be too much obliged to him, for he seemed absolutely bent upon quarrelling with her: for which strange inhospitality, I can assign no other reason, than that she appeared to be a foreigner.

  The conversation began, by her telling us, that she had been in England only two days; that the gentlemen belonging to her were Parisians, and had left her, to see for a hackney-coach, as her own carriage was abroad; and that she had waited for them till she was quite frightened, and concluded that they had lost themselves.

  ‘And pray,’ said the Captain, ‘why did you go to a public place without an Englishman?’

  ‘Ma foi, Sir,’ answered she, ‘because none of my acquaintance is in town.’

  ‘Why then,’ said he, ‘I’ll tell you what; your best way is to go out of it yourself.’

  ‘Pardi, Monsieur,’ returned she, ‘and so I shall; for, I promise you, I think the English a parcel of brutes; and I’ll go back to France as fast as I can, for I would not live among none of you.’

  ‘Who wants you?’ cried the Captain; ‘do you suppose, Madam French, we have not enough of other nations to pick our pockets already? I’ll warrant you, there’s no need for you for to put in your oar.’

  ‘Pick your pockets, Sir! I wish nobody wanted to pick your pockets no more than I do; and I’ll promise you, you’d be safe enough. But there’s no nation under the sun can beat the English for ill-politeness; for my part, I hate the very sight of them, and so I shall only just visit a person of quality or two, of my particular acquaintance, and then I shall go back again to France.’

  ‘Ay, do,’ cried he, ‘and then go to the devil together, for that’s the fittest voyage for the French and the quality.’

  ‘We’ll take care, however,’ cried the stranger, with great vehemence, ‘not to admit none of your vulgar, unmannered English among us.’

  ‘O never fear,’ returned he coolly, ‘we sha’n’t dispute the point with you; you and the quality may have the devil all to yourselves.’

  Desirous of changing the subject of a conversation which now became very alarming, Miss Mirvan called out, ‘Lord, how slow the man drives!’

  ‘Never mind, Moll,’ said her father, ‘I’ll warrant you he’ll drive fast enough to-morrow, when you’re going to Howard Grove.’

  ‘To Howard Grove!’ exclaimed the stranger; ‘why mon Dieu, do you know Lady Howard?’

  ‘Why, what if we do?’ answered he, ‘that’s nothing to you; she’s none of your quality, I’ll promise you.’

  ‘Who told you that,’ cried she, ‘you don’t know nothing about the matter; besides, you’re the ill-bredest person ever I see; and as to your knowing Lady Howard, I don’t believe no such a thing; unless, indeed, you are her steward.’

  The Captain, swearing terribly, said, with great fury, ‘You would much sooner be taken for her wash-woman.’

  ‘Her wash-woman, indeed! – Ha, ha, ha! – why you ha’n’t no eyes; did you ever see a wash-woman in such a gown as this? – besides, I’m no such mean person, for I’m as good as Lady Howard, and as rich too; and besides, I’m now come to England to visit her.’

  ‘You may spare yourself that there trouble,’ said the Captain, ‘she has paupers enough about her already.’

  ‘Paupers, Mr! – no more a pauper than yourself, nor so much neither; – but you are a low, dirty fellow, and I shan’t stoop to take no more notice of you.’

  ‘Dirty fellow!’ (exclaimed the Captain, seizing both her wrists), ‘hark you, Mrs Frog, you’d best hold your tongue, for I must make bold to tell you, if you don’t, that I shall make no ceremony of tripping you out of the window; and there you may lie in the mud till some of your Monseers come to help you out of it.’

  Their increasing passion quite terrified us; and Mrs Mirvan was beginning to remonstrate with the Captain, when we were all silenced by what follows.

  ‘Let me go, villain that you are, let me go, or I’ll promise you I’ll get you put to prison for this usage; I’m no common person, I assure you, and, ma foi, I’ll go to Justice Fielding about you; for I’m a person of fashion, and I’ll make you know it, or my name i’n’t Duval.’

  I heard no more: amazed, frightened, and unspeakably shocked, an involuntary exclamation of Gracious Heaven! escaped me, and, more dead than alive, I sunk into Mrs Mirvan’s arms. But let me draw a veil over a scene too cruel for a heart so compassionately tender as yours; it is sufficient that you know this supposed foreigner proved to be Madame Duval, – the grand-mother of your Evelina!

  O, Sir, to discover so near a relation in a woman who had thus introduced herself! – what would become of me, were it not for you, my protector, my friend, and my refuge?

  My extreme concern, and Mrs Mirvan’s surprise, immediately betrayed me. But I will not shock you
with the manner of her acknowledging me, or the bitterness, the grossness – I cannot otherwise express myself, – with which she spoke of those unhappy past transactions you have so pathetically related to me. All the misery of a much-injured parent, dear, though never seen, regretted, though never known, crowded so forcibly upon my memory, that they rendered this interview – one only excepted – the most afflicting I can ever know.

  When we stopped at her lodgings, she desired me to accompany her into the house, and said she could easily procure a room for me to sleep in. Alarmed and trembling, I turned to Mrs Mirvan. ‘My daughter, Madam,’ said that sweet woman, ‘cannot so abruptly part with her young friend; you must allow a little time to wean them from each other.’

  ‘Pardon me, Ma’am’ answered Madame Duval, (who, from the time of her being known, somewhat softened her manners), ‘Miss can’t possibly be so nearly connected to this child as I am.’

  ‘No matter for that,’ cried the Captain, (who espoused my cause to satisfy his own pique, though an awkward apology had passed between them), ‘she was sent to us, and so, d’ye see, we don’t chuse for to part with her.’

  I promised to wait upon her at what time she pleased the next day, and, after a short debate, she desired me to breakfast with her, and we proceeded to Queen-Ann-Street.

  What an unfortunate adventure! I could not close my eyes the whole night. A thousand times I wished I had never left Berry Hill; however, my return thither shall be accelerated to the utmost of my power; and, once more in that abode of tranquil happiness, I will suffer no temptation to allure me elsewhere.

  Mrs Mirvan was so kind as to accompany me to Madame Duval’s house this morning. The Captain too, offered his service, which I declined, from a fear she should suppose I meant to insult her.

  She frowned most terribly upon Mrs Mirvan, but she received me with as much tenderness as I believe she is capable of feeling. Indeed, our meeting seems really to have affected her; for when, overcome by the variety of emotions which the sight of her occasioned, I almost fainted in her arms, she burst into tears, and said, ‘Let me not lose my poor daughter a second time!’ This unexpected humanity softened me extremely; but she very soon excited my warmest indignation, by the ungrateful mention she made of the best of men, my dear, and most generous benefactor. However, grief and anger mutually gave way to terror, upon her avowing the intention of her visiting England was to make me return with her to France. This, she said, was a plan she had formed from the instant she had heard of my birth, which, she protested, did not reach her ears till I must have been twelve years of age; but Monsieur Duval, who, she declared, was the worst husband in the world, would not permit her to do any thing she wished: he had been dead but three months, which had been employed in arranging certain affairs, that were no sooner settled, than she set off for England. She was already out of mourning, for she said nobody here could tell how long she had been a widow.

  She must have been married very early in life; what her age is, I do not know, but she really looks to be less than fifty. She dresses very gaily, paints very high, and the traces of former beauty are still very visible in her face.

  I know not when, or how, this visit would have ended, had not the Captain called for Mrs Mirvan, and absolutely insisted upon my attending her. He is become, very suddenly, so warmly my friend, that I quite dread his officiousness. Mrs Mirvan, however, whose principal study seems to be healing those wounds which her husband inflicts, appeased Madame Duval’s wrath, by a very polite invitation to drink tea and spend the evening here. Not without great difficulty was the Captain prevailed upon to defer his journey some time longer; but what could be done? it would have been indecent for me to have quitted town the very instant I discovered that Madame Duval was in it; and to have stayed here solely under her protection – Mrs Mirvan, thank Heaven, was too kind for such a thought. That she should follow us to Howard Grove, I almost equally dreaded; it is, therefore, determined that we remain in London for some days, or a week: though the Captain has declared that the old French hag, as he is pleased to call her, shall fare never the better for it.

  My only hope, is to get safe to Berry Hill; where, counselled and sheltered by you, I shall have nothing more to fear. Adieu, my ever dear and most honoured Sir! I shall have no happiness till I am again with you!

  Letter Fifteen

  Mr Villars to Evelina

  Berry Hill, April 16

  In the belief and hope that my Evelina would ere now have bid adieu to London, I had intended to have deferred writing, till I heard of her return to Howard Grove; but the letter I have this moment received, with intelligence of Madame Duval’s arrival in England, demands an immediate answer.

  Her journey hither equally grieves and alarms me: how much did I pity my child, when I read of a discovery at once so unexpected and unwished! I have long dreaded this meeting and its consequence; to claim you, seems naturally to follow acknowledging you: I am well acquainted with her disposition, and have for many years foreseen the contest which now threatens us.

  Cruel as are the circumstances of this affair, you must not, my love, suffer it to depress your spirits; remember, that while life is lent me, I will devote it to your service; and, for future time, I will make such provision as shall seem to me most conducive to your future happiness. Secure of my protection, and relying on my tenderness, let no apprehensions of Madame Duval disturb your peace; conduct yourself towards her with all the respect and deference due to so near a relation, remembering always, that the failure of duty on her part, can by no means justify any neglect on yours: indeed, the more forcibly you are struck with improprieties and misconduct in another, the greater should be your observance and diligence to avoid even the shadow of similar errors. Be careful, therefore, that no remissness of attention, no indifference of obliging, make known to her the independence I assure you of; but when she fixes the time for her leaving England, trust to me the task of refusing your attending her: disagreeable to myself I own it will be, yet to you, it would be improper, if not impossible.

  In regard to her opinion of me, I am more sorry than surprised at her determined blindness; the palliation which she feels the want of, for her own conduct, leads her to seek for failings in all who were concerned in those unhappy transactions which she has so much reason to lament. And this, as it is the cause, so we must, in some measure, consider it as the excuse of her inveteracy.

  How grateful to me are your wishes to return to Berry Hill! your lengthened stay in London, and the dissipation in which I find you are involved, fill me with uneasiness: I mean not however that I would have you sequester yourself from the party to which you belong, since Mrs Mirvan might thence infer a reproof which your youth and her kindness would render inexcusable. I will not, therefore, enlarge upon this subject, but content myself with telling you, that I shall heartily rejoice when I hear of your safe arrival at Howard Grove, for which place I hope you will be preparing at the time you receive this letter.

  I cannot too much thank you, my best Evelina, for the minuteness of your communications; continue to me this indulgence, for I should be miserable if in ignorance of your proceedings.

  How new to you is the scene of life in which you are now engaged, – balls – plays – operas – ridottos – Ah, my child! at your return hither, how will you bear the change? My heart trembles for your future tranquillity. – Yet I will hope every thing from the unsullied whiteness of your soul, and the native liveliness of your disposition.

  I am sure I need not say, how much more I was pleased with the mistakes of your inexperience at the private ball, than with the attempted adoption of more fashionable manners at the ridotto. But your confusion and mortifications were such as to entirely silence all reproofs on my part.

  I hope you will see no more of Sir Clement Willoughby, whose conversation and boldness are extremely disgustful to me. I was gratified by the good-nature of Lord Orville, upon your making use of his name, but I hope you will never again put it to s
uch a trial.

  Heaven bless thee, my dear child, and grant that neither misfortune nor vice may ever rob thee of that gaiety of heart which, resulting from innocence, while it constitutes your own, contributes also to the felicity of all who know you!

  ARTHUR VILLARS

  Letter Sixteen

  Evelina to the Rev. Mr Villars

  Queen-Ann-Street, Thursday morning, April 14

  Before our dinner was over yesterday, Madame Duval came to tea: though it will lessen your surprise, to hear that it was near five o’clock, for we never dine till the day is almost over. She was asked into another room, while the table was cleared, and then was invited to partake of the desert.

  She was attended by a French gentleman, whom she introduced by the name of Monsieur Du Bois: Mrs Mirvan received them both with her usual politeness; but the Captain looked very much displeased, and after a short silence, very sternly said to Madame Duval, ‘Pray who asked you to bring that there spark with you?’

  ‘O,’ cried she, ‘I never go no-where without him.’

  Another short silence ensued, which was terminated by the Captain’s turning roughly to the foreigner, and saying, ‘Do you know, Monseer, that you’re the first Frenchman I ever let come into my house?’

  Monsieur Du Bois made a profound bow. He speaks no English, and understands it so imperfectly, that he might, possibly, imagine he had received a compliment.

  Mrs Mirvan endeavoured to divert the Captain’s ill-humour, by starting new subjects; but he left to her all the trouble of supporting them, and leaned back in his chair in gloomy silence, except when any opportunity offered of uttering some sarcasm upon the French. Finding her efforts to render the evening agreeable were fruitless, Mrs Mirvan proposed a party to Ranelagh. Madame Duval joyfully consented to it, and the Captain, though he railed against the dissipation of the women, did not oppose it, and therefore Maria and I ran upstairs to dress ourselves.