Evelina

by Frances Burney

  ‘I have nothing, Sir,’ said I, ‘to do with it, as it is my intention to stay at home; and therefore Mr Branghton will be so good as to send Madame Duval word what place is fixed upon, when it is convenient to him.’

  And then, making a slight courtsie, I left them.

  How much does my disgust for these people increase my pity for poor Mr Macartney! I will not see them when I can avoid so doing; but I am determined to take every opportunity in my power, to shew civility to this unhappy man, whose misfortunes, with this family, only render him an object of scorn. I was, however, very well pleased with M. Du Bois, who, far from joining in their mirth, expressed himself extremely shocked at their ill-breeding.

  We had not walked ten yards before we were followed by Mr Smith, who came to make excuses, and to assure me they were only joking, and hoped I took nothing ill, for, if I did, he would make a quarrel of it himself with the Branghtons, rather than I should receive any offence.

  I begged him not to take any trouble about so immaterial an affair, and assured him I should not myself. He was so officious, that he would not be prevailed upon to return home, till he had walked with us to Mr Dawkins’s.

  Madame Duval was very much displeased that I brought her so little satisfaction. White-Conduit House was, at last, fixed upon; and, notwithstanding my great dislike of such parties and such places, I was obliged to accompany them.

  Very disagreeable, and much according to my expectations, the evening proved. There were many people all smart and gaudy, and so pert and low-bred, that I could hardly endure being amongst them; but the party to which, unfortunately, I belonged, seemed all at home.

  Letter Fifteen

  Evelina in continuation

  Holborn, June 17th

  Yesterday Mr Smith carried his point, of making a party for Vauxhall, consisting of Madame Duval, M. Du Bois, all the Branghtons, Mr Brown, himself, – and me! – for I find all endeavours vain to escape any thing which these people desire I should not.

  There were twenty disputes previous to our setting out; first, as to the time of our going. Mr Branghton, his son, and young Brown, were for six o’clock; and all the ladies and Mr Smith were for eight; – the latter, however, conquered.

  Then, as to the way we should go; some were for a boat, others for a coach, and Mr Branghton himself was for walking: but the boat, at length, was decided upon. Indeed this was the only part of the expedition that was agreeable to me, for the Thames was delightfully pleasant.

  The Garden is very pretty, but too formal; I should have been better pleased, had it consisted less of strait walks, where

  Grove nods at grove, each alley has its brother.

  The trees, the numerous lights, and the company in the circle round the orchestra make a most brilliant and gay appearance; and, had I been with a party less disagreeable to me, I should have thought it a place formed for animation and pleasure. There was a concert, in the course of which, a hautboy concerto was so charmingly played, that I could have thought myself upon enchanted ground, had I had spirits more gentle to associate with. The hautboy in the open air is heavenly.

  Mr Smith endeavoured to attach himself to me, with such officious assiduity, and impertinent freedom, that he quite sickened me. Indeed, M. Du Bois was the only man of the party to whom, voluntarily, I ever addressed myself. He is civil and respectful, and I have found nobody else so since I left Howard Grove. His English is very bad, but I prefer it to speaking French myself, which I dare not venture to do. I converse with him frequently, both to disengage myself from others, and to oblige Madame Duval, who is always pleased when he is attended to.

  As we were walking about the orchestra, I heard a bell ring, and, in a moment, Mr Smith, flying up to me, caught my hand, and, with a motion too quick to be resisted, ran away with me many yards before I had breath to ask his meaning, though I struggled as well as I could to get from him. At last, however, I insisted upon stopping; ‘Stopping, Ma’am!’ cried he, ‘why, we must run on, or we shall lose the cascade!’

  And then again, he hurried me away, mixing with a crowd of people, all running with so much velocity, that I could not imagine what had raised such an alarm. We were soon followed by the rest of the party; and my surprise and ignorance proved a source of diversion to them all, which was not exhausted the whole evening. Young Branghton, in particular, laughed till he could hardly stand.

  The scene of the cascade I thought extremely pretty, and the general effect striking and lively.

  But this was not the only surprise which was to divert them at my expence; for they led me about the garden, purposely to enjoy my first sight of various other deceptions.

  About ten o’clock, Mr Smith having chosen a box in a very conspicuous place, we all went to supper. Much fault was found with every thing that was ordered, though not a morsel of any thing was left; and the dearness of the provisions, with conjectures upon what profit was made by them, supplied discourse during the whole meal.

  When wine and cyder were brought, Mr Smith said, ‘Now let’s enjoy ourselves; now is the time, or never. Well, Ma’am, and how do you like Vauxhall?’

  ‘Like it!’ cried young Branghton, ‘why, how can she help liking it? She has never seen such a place before, that I’ll answer for.’

  ‘For my part,’ said Miss Branghton, ‘I like it because it is not vulgar.’

  ‘This must have been a fine treat for you, Miss,’ said Mr. Branghton; ‘why, I suppose you was never so happy in all your life before?’

  I endeavoured to express my satisfaction with some pleasure, yet I believe they were much amazed at my coldness.

  ‘Miss ought to stay in town till the last night,’ said young Branghton, ‘and then, it’s my belief, she’d say something to it! Why, Lord, it’s the best night of any; there’s always a riot, – and there the folks run about, – and then there’s such squealing and squalling! – and there all the lamps are broke, – and the women run skimper scamper, – I declare I would not take five guineas to miss the last night!’

  I was very glad when they all grew tired of sitting, and called for the waiter to pay the bill. The Miss Branghtons said they would walk on, while the gentlemen settled the account, and asked me to accompany them, which, however, I declined.

  ‘You girls may do as you please,’ said Madame Duval, ‘but as to me, I promise you, I sha’n’t go no where without the gentlemen.’

  ‘No more, I suppose, will my Cousin,’ said Miss Branghton, looking reproachfully towards Mr. Smith.

  This reflection, which I feared would flatter his vanity, made me, most unfortunately, request Madame Duval’s permission to attend them. She granted it, and away we went, having promised to meet in the room.

  To the room therefore, I would immediately have gone: but the sisters agreed that they would first have a little pleasure, and they tittered and talked so loud, that they attracted universal notice.

  ‘Lord, Polly,’ said the eldest, ‘suppose we were to take a turn in the dark walks!’

  ‘Ay, do,’ answered she, ‘and then we’ll hide ourselves and then Mr. Brown will think we are lost.’

  I remonstrated very warmly against this plan, telling them that it would endanger our missing the rest of the party all the evening.

  ‘O dear,’ cried Miss Branghton, ‘I thought how uneasy Miss would be, without a beau!’

  This impertinence I did not think worth answering; and, quite by compulsion, I followed them down a long alley, in which there was hardly any light.

  By the time we came near the end, a large party of gentlemen, apparently very riotous, and who were hallowing, leaning on one another, and laughing immoderately, seemed to rush suddenly from behind some trees, and, meeting us face to face, put their arms at their sides, and formed a kind of circle, which first stopped our proceeding, and then our retreating, for we were presently entirely enclosed. The Miss Branghtons screamed aloud, and I was frightened exceedingly: our screams were answered with bursts of laughter, and, for some m
inutes, we were kept prisoners, till, at last, one of them, rudely, seizing hold of me, said I was a pretty little creature.

  Terrified to death, I struggled with such vehemence to disengage myself from him, that I succeeded, in spite of his efforts to detain me; and immediately, and with a swiftness which fear only could have given me, I flew rather than ran up the walk, hoping to secure my safety by returning to the lights and company we had so foolishly left: but, before I could possibly accomplish my purpose, I was met by another party of men, one of whom placed himself so directly in my way, calling out, ‘Whither so fast, my love?’ – that I could only have proceeded, by running into his arms.

  In a moment, both my hands, by different persons, were caught hold of; and one of them, in a most familiar manner desired, when I ran next, to accompany me in a race; while the rest of the party stood still and laughed.

  I was almost distracted with terror, and so breathless with running, that I could not speak, till another advancing, said, I was as handsome as an angel, and desired to be of the party. I then just articulated, ‘For Heaven’s sake, Gentlemen, let me pass!’

  Another, then, rushing suddenly forward, exclaimed, ‘Heaven and earth! what voice is that? –’

  ‘The voice of the prettiest little actress I have seen this age,’ answered one of my persecutors.

  ‘No, – no, – no, – ’ I panted out, ‘I am no actress, – pray let me go, – pray let me pass – ’

  ‘By all that’s sacred,’ cried the same voice, which I then knew for Sir Clement Willoughby’s, ‘’tis herself!’

  ‘Sir Clement Willoughby!’ cried I. ‘O Sir, assist – assist me – or I shall die with terror! – ’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ cried he, disengaging them all from me in an instant, ‘pray leave this lady to me.’

  Loud laughs proceeded from every mouth, and two or three said, ‘Willoughby has all the luck!’ But one of them, in a passionate manner, vowed he would not give me up, for that he had the first right to me, and would support it.

  ‘You are mistaken,’ said Sir Clement, ‘this lady is – I will explain myself to you another time; but, I assure you, you are all mistaken.’

  And then, taking my willing hand, he led me off, amidst the loud acclamations, laughter, and gross merriment of his impertinent companions.

  As soon as we had escaped from them, Sir Clement, with a voice of surprise, exclaimed, ‘My dearest creature, what wonder, what strange revolution, has brought you to such a spot as this?’

  Ashamed of my situation, and extremely mortified to be thus recognized by him, I was for some time silent, and when he repeated his question, only stammered out, ‘I have, – I hardly know how, – lost myself from my party. – ’

  He caught my hand, and eagerly pressing it, in a passionate voice, said, ‘O that I had sooner met with thee!’

  Surprised at a freedom so unexpected, I angrily broke from him, saying, ‘Is this the protection you give me, Sir Clement?’

  And then I saw, what the perturbation of my mind had prevented my sooner noticing, that he had led me, though I know not how, into another of the dark alleys, instead of the place whither I meant to go.

  ‘Good God!’ I cried, ‘where am I? – What way are you going? – ’

  ‘Where,’ answered he, ‘we shall be least observed.’

  Astonished at this speech, I stopped short, and declared I would go no further.

  ‘And why not, my angel?’ again endeavouring to take my hand.

  My heart beat with resentment; I pushed him away from me with all my strength, and demanded how he dared treat me with such insolence?

  ‘Insolence!’ repeated he.

  ‘Yes, Sir Clement, insolence; from you, who know me, I had a claim for protection, – not to such treatment as this.’

  ‘By heaven,’ cried he with warmth, ‘you distract me, – why, tell me, – why do I see you here? – Is this a place for Miss Anville? – these dark walks! – no party! – no companion! – by all that’s good, I can scarce believe my senses!’

  Extremely offended at this speech, I turned angrily from him, and, not deigning to make any answer, walked on towards that part of the garden whence I perceived the lights and company.

  He followed me; but we were both some time silent.

  ‘So you will not explain to me your situation?’ said he, at length.

  ‘No, Sir,’ answered I, disdainfully.

  ‘Nor yet – suffer me to make my own interpretation? – ’

  I could not bear this strange manner of speaking; it made my very soul shudder, – and I burst into tears.

  He flew to me, and actually flung himself at my feet, as if regardless who might see him, saying, ‘O Miss Anville – loveliest of women – forgive my–my–I beseech you forgive me; – if I have offended, – if I have hurt you – I could kill myself at the thought! – ’

  ‘No matter, Sir, no matter,’ cried I, ‘if I can but find my friends, – I will never speak to – never see you again!’

  ‘Good God! – good Heaven! – my dearest life, what is it I have done? – what is it I have said? – ’

  ‘You best know, Sir, what and why; – but don’t hold me here, – let me be gone; and do you!’

  ‘Not till you forgive me! – I cannot part with you in anger.’

  ‘For shame, for shame, Sir!’ cried I indignantly, ‘do you suppose I am to be thus compelled? – do you take advantage of the absence of my friends, to affront me?’

  ‘No, Madam,’ cried he, rising, ‘I would sooner forfeit my life than act so mean a part. But you have flung me into amazement unspeakable, and you will not condescend to listen to my request of giving me some explanation.’

  ‘The manner, Sir,’ said I, ‘in which you spoke that request, made, and will make me scorn to answer it.’

  ‘Scorn! – I will own to you, I expected not such displeasure from Miss Anville.’

  ‘Perhaps, Sir, if you had, you would less voluntarily have merited it.’

  ‘My dearest life, surely it must be known to you, that the man does not breathe, who adores you so passionately, so fervently, so tenderly as I do! – why then will you delight in perplexing me? – in keeping me in suspence – in torturing me with doubt? – ’

  ‘I, Sir, delight in perplexing you! – You are much mistaken. – Your suspence, your doubts, your perplexities, – are of your own creating; and believe me, Sir, they may offend, but they can never delight me: – but, as you have yourself raised, you must yourself satisfy them.’

  ‘Good God! – that such haughtiness and such sweetness can inhabit the same mansion!’

  I made no answer, but quickening my pace, I walked on silently and sullenly; till this most impetuous of men, snatching my hand, which he grasped with violence, besought me to forgive him, with such earnestness of supplication, that, merely to escape his importunities, I was forced to speak, and, in some measure, to grant the pardon he requested: though it was accorded with a very ill grace: but, indeed, I knew not how to resist the humility of his entreaties: yet never shall I recollect the occasion he gave me of displeasure, without feeling it renewed.

  We now soon arrived in the midst of the general crowd, and my own safety being then insured, I grew extremely uneasy for the Miss Branghtons, whose danger, however imprudently in curred by their own folly, I too well knew how to tremble for. To this consideration all my pride of heart yielded, and I determined to seek my party with the utmost speed; though not without a sigh did I recollect the fruitless attempt I had made, after the opera, of concealing from this man my unfortunate connections, which I was now obliged to make known.

  I hastened, therefore, to the room, with a view of sending young Branghton to the aid of his sisters. In a very short time, I perceived Madame Duval, and the rest, looking at one of the paintings. I must own to you, honestly, my dear Sir, that an involuntary repugnance seized me, at presenting such a set to Sir Clement, – he, who had been used to see me in parties so different! – My pace slacke
ned as I approached them, – but they presently perceived me.

  ‘Ah, Mademoiselle!’ cried M. Du Bois, ‘Que je suis charmé de vous voir!’*

  ‘Pray, Miss,’ cried Mr Brown, ‘where’s Miss Polly?’

  ‘Why, Miss, you’ve been a long while gone,’ said Mr Branghton; ‘we thought you’d been lost. But what have you done with your cousins?’

  I hesitated, – for Sir Clement regarded me with a look of wonder.

  ‘Pardi,’ cried Madame Duval, ‘I sha’n’t let you leave me again in a hurry. Why, here we’ve been in such a fright! – and, all the while, I suppose you’ve been thinking nothing about the matter.’

  ‘Well,’ said young Branghton, ‘as long as Miss is come back, I don’t mind, for as to Bid and Poll, they can take care of themselves. But the best joke is, Mr Smith is gone all about a-looking for you.’

  These speeches were made almost all in a breath: but when, at last, they waited for an answer, I told them, that in walking up one of the long alleys, we had been frightened and separated.

  ‘The long alleys!’ repeated Mr Branghton, ‘and, pray, what had you to do in the long alleys? why, to be sure, you must all of you have had a mind to be affronted!’

  This speech was not more impertinent to me, than surprising to Sir Clement, who regarded all the party with evident astonishment. However, I told young Branghton that no time ought to be lost, for that his sisters might require his immediate protection.

  ‘But how will they get it?’ cried this brutal brother; ‘if they’ve a mind to behave in such a manner as that, they ought to protect themselves; and so they may for me.’

  ‘Well,’ said the simple Mr Brown, ‘whether you go or no, I think I may as well see after Miss Polly.’

  The father, then, interfering, insisted that his son should accompany him; and away they went.

  It was now that Madame Duval first perceived Sir Clement; to whom turning with a look of great displeasure, she angrily said, ‘Ma foi, so you are comed here, of all the people in the world! – I wonder, child, you would let such a – such a person as that keep company with you.’